FurtherChroniclesOfAvonlea

ByL.M.Montgomery

FurtherChroniclesOfAvonlea

I. AUNTCYNTHIA'SPERSIANCAT

Max always blesses the animalwhen it is referred to; and I don't deny thatthingshaveworkedtogetherforgoodafterall.ButwhenIthinkoftheanguishofmindwhichIsmayandIunderwentonaccountofthatabominablecat,itisnotablessingthatarisesuppermostinmythoughts.

Ineverwasfondofcats,althoughIadmittheyarewellenoughintheirplace,andIcanworryalongcomfortablywithanice,matronlyold tabbywhocantakecareofherselfandbeofsomeuseintheworld.AsforIsmay,shehatescatsandalwaysdid.

ButAuntCynthia,whoadoredthem,nevercouldbringherselftounderstandthatanyonecouldpossiblydislikethem.ShefirmlybelievedthatIsmayandIreally liked cats deep down in our hearts, but that, owing to some perversetwistinourmoralnatures,wewouldnotownuptoit,butwillfullypersistedindeclaringwedidn't.

OfallcatsIloathedthatwhitePersiancatofAuntCynthia's.And,indeed,aswealwayssuspectedandfinallyproved,Auntherselflookeduponthecreature

withmorepridethanaffection.Shewouldhavetakententimesthecomfortina good, common puss that she did in that spoiled beauty.But a Persian catwith a recorded pedigree and amarket value of one hundred dollars tickledAuntCynthia'sprideofpossessiontosuchanextentthatshedeludedherselfintobelievingthattheanimalwasreallytheappleofhereye.

Ithadbeenpresentedtoherwhenakittenbyamissionarynephewwhohadbrought it all theway home fromPersia; and for the next three yearsAuntCynthia'shouseholdexisted towaiton thatcat,handand foot. Itwassnow-white,withabluish-grayspotonthetipof its tail;anditwasblue-eyedanddeafanddelicate.AuntCynthiawasalwaysworryinglestitshouldtakecoldanddie.IsmayandIusedtowishthatitwould—weweresotiredofhearingabout it and itswhims.Butwe did not say so toAuntCynthia. ShewouldprobablyneverhavespokentousagainandtherewasnowisdominoffendingAuntCynthia.Whenyouhaveanunencumberedaunt,withafatbankaccount,itisjustaswelltokeepongoodtermswithher,ifyoucan.Besides,wereallyliked Aunt Cynthia very much—at times. Aunt Cynthia was one of thoseratherexasperatingpeoplewhonagatandfindfaultwithyouuntilyouthinkyouarejustifiedinhatingthem,andwhothenturnroundanddosomethingsoreally nice and kind for you that you feel as if youwere compelled to lovethemdutifullyinstead.

Sowe listenedmeeklywhen shediscoursedonFatima—the cat's namewasFatima—and,ifitwaswickedofustowishforthelatter'sdecease,wewerewellpunishedforitlateron.

One day, inNovember, Aunt Cynthia came sailing out to Spencervale. Shereally came in a phaeton, drawn by a fat gray pony, but somehow AuntCynthiaalwaysgaveyoutheimpressionofafullriggedshipcominggallantlyonbeforeafavorablewind.

ThatwasaJonahdayforusall through.Everythinghadgonewrong.Ismayhad spilled grease on her velvet coat, and the fit of the new blouse I wasmakingwas hopelessly askew, and the kitchen stove smoked and the breadwassour.Moreover,HuldahJaneKeyson,ourtriedandtrustyoldfamilynurseand cook and general "boss," had what she called the "realagy" in hershoulder; and, thoughHuldah Jane is as good anold creature as ever lived,whenshehasthe"realagy"otherpeoplewhoareinthehousewanttogetoutof it and, if they can't, feel about as comfortable as St. Lawrence on hisgridiron.

AndontopofthiscameAuntCynthia'scallandrequest.

"Dearme,"saidAuntCynthia,sniffing,"don'tIsmellsmoke?

Yougirlsmustmanageyourrangeverybadly.Mineneversmokes.Butitisnomorethanonemightexpectwhentwogirlstrytokeephousewithoutamanabouttheplace."

"Weget alongverywellwithout amanabout theplace," I said loftily.Maxhadn't been in for four whole days and, though nobody wanted to see himparticularly,Icouldn'thelpwonderingwhy."Menarenuisances."

"I dare say you would like to pretend you think so," said Aunt Cynthia,aggravatingly."Butnowomaneverdoesreallythinkso,youknow.IimaginethatprettyAnneShirley,whoisvisitingEllaKimball,doesn't.IsawherandDr. Irving out walking this afternoon, looking very well satisfied withthemselves.Ifyoudilly-dallymuchlonger,Sue,youwillletMaxslipthroughyourfingersyet."

Thatwasa tactful thing tosay toME,whohadrefusedMaxIrvingsooftenthat I had lost count. I was furious, and so I smiled most sweetly on mymaddeningaunt.

"DearAunt,howamusingofyou,"Isaid,smoothly."YoutalkasifIwantedMax."

"Soyoudo,"saidAuntCynthia.

"If so,why should I have refused him time and again?" I asked, smilingly.RightwellAuntCynthiaknewIhad.Maxalwaystoldher.

"Goodnessaloneknowswhy,"saidAuntCynthia,"butyoumaydoitoncetoooften and find yourself taken at your word. There is something veryfascinatingaboutthisAnneShirley."

"Indeedthereis,"Iassented."ShehastheloveliesteyesIeversaw.ShewouldbejustthewifeforMax,andIhopehewillmarryher."

"Humph,"saidAuntCynthia."Well,Iwon'tenticeyouintotellinganymorefibs.AndIdidn'tdriveouthereto-dayinallthiswindtotalksenseintoyouconcerningMax.I'mgoingtoHalifaxfortwomonthsandIwantyoutotakechargeofFatimaforme,whileIamaway."

"Fatima!"Iexclaimed.

"Yes. Idon'tdare to trustherwith the servants.Mindyoualwayswarmhermilk before you give it to her, and don't on any account let her run out ofdoors."

I looked at Ismay and Ismay looked atme.We knewwewere in for it. To

refuse would mortally offend Aunt Cynthia. Besides, if I betrayed anyunwillingness,AuntCynthiawouldbesuretoputitdowntogrumpinessoverwhatshehadsaidaboutMax,andrub it in foryears.But Iventured toask,"Whatifanythinghappenstoherwhileyouareaway?"

"It is to prevent that, I'm leaving her with you," said Aunt Cynthia. "Yousimplymustnotletanythinghappentoher.Itwilldoyougoodtohavealittleresponsibility. And you will have a chance to find out what an adorablecreature Fatima really is. Well, that is all settled. I'll send Fatima out to-morrow."

"YoucantakecareofthathorridFatimabeastyourself,"saidIsmay,whenthedoor closed behindAuntCynthia. "Iwon't touchherwith a yard-stick.Youhadnobusinesstosaywe'dtakeher."

"DidIsaywewouldtakeher?"Idemanded,crossly."AuntCynthiatookourconsentforgranted.Andyouknow,aswellasIdo,wecouldn'thaverefused.Sowhatistheuseofbeinggrouchy?"

"IfanythinghappenstoherAuntCynthiawillholdusresponsible,"saidIsmaydarkly.

"DoyouthinkAnneShirleyisreallyengagedtoGilbertBlythe?"Iaskedcuriously.

"I've heard that she was," said Ismay, absently. "Does she eat anything butmilk?Willitdotogivehermice?"

"Oh,Iguessso.ButdoyouthinkMaxhasreallyfalleninlovewithher?"

"Idaresay.Whatareliefitwillbeforyouifhehas."

"Oh, of course," I said, frostily. "Anne Shirley or Anne Anybody Else, isperfectlywelcometoMaxifshewantshim.Icertainlydonot.IsmayMeade,ifthatstovedoesn'tstopsmokingIshallflyintobits.Thisisadetestableday.Ihatethatcreature!"

"Oh, you shouldn't talk like that,whenyoudon't even knowher," protestedIsmay."EveryonesaysAnneShirleyislovely—"

"IwastalkingaboutFatima,"Icriedinarage.

"Oh!"saidIsmay.

Ismay is stupid at times. I thought theway she said "Oh"was inexcusablystupid.

Fatimaarrived thenextday.Maxbroughtherout inacoveredbasket, linedwith padded crimson satin.Max likes cats andAuntCynthia.He explainedhowwewere to treat Fatima andwhen Ismay had gone out of the room—IsmayalwayswentoutoftheroomwhensheknewIparticularlywantedhertoremain—heproposedtomeagain.OfcourseIsaidno,asusual,butIwasratherpleased.Maxhadbeenproposingtomeabouteverytwomonthsfortwoyears. Sometimes, as in this case, hewent threemonths, and then I alwayswondered why. I concluded that he could not be really interested in AnneShirley,andIwasrelieved.Ididn'twanttomarryMaxbutitwaspleasantandconvenienttohavehimaround,andwewouldmisshimdreadfullyifanyothergirlsnappedhimup.Hewassousefulandalwayswillingtodoanythingforus—nailashingleontheroof,driveustotown,putdowncarpets—inshort,averypresenthelpinallourtroubles.

SoIjustbeamedonhimwhenIsaidno.Maxbegancountingonhisfingers.Whenhegotasfaraseightheshookhisheadandbeganoveragain.

"Whatisit?"Iasked.

"I'mtryingtocountuphowmanytimesIhaveproposedtoyou,"hesaid."ButI can't rememberwhether I asked you tomarryme that daywe dug up thegardenornot.IfIdiditmakes—"

"No,youdidn't,"Iinterrupted.

"Well,thatmakesiteleven,"saidMaxreflectively."Prettynearthelimit,isn'tit?Mymanlypridewillnotallowmetopropose to thesamegirlmore thantwelvetimes.Sothenexttimewillbethelast,Suedarling."

"Oh,"Isaid,atrifleflatly.Iforgottoresenthiscallingmedarling.Iwonderedif thingswouldn'tbe ratherdullwhenMaxgaveupproposing tome. ItwastheonlyexcitementIhad.Butofcourseitwouldbebest—andhecouldn'tgoonat it forever, so,by thewayofgracefullydismissing the subject, I askedhimwhatMissShirleywaslike.

"Very sweet girl," saidMax. "You know I always admired those gray-eyedgirlswiththatsplendidTitianhair."

Iamdark,withbrowneyes.JustthenIdetestedMax.IgotupandsaidIwasgoingtogetsomemilkforFatima.

I found Ismay ina rage in thekitchen.Shehadbeenup in thegarret,andamousehadrunacrossherfoot.MicealwaysgetonIsmay'snerves.

"Weneedacatbadlyenough,"shefumed,"butnotauseless,pamperedthing,likeFatima.Thatgarret is literallyswarmingwithmice.You'llnotcatchme

goingupthereagain."

Fatimadidnotprovesuchanuisanceaswehadfeared.HuldahJanelikedher,andIsmay,inspiteofherdeclarationthatshewouldhavenothingtodowithher, looked after her comfort scrupulously. She even used to get up in themiddleofthenightandgoouttoseeifFatimawaswarm.Maxcameineverydayand,beingaround,gaveusgoodadvice.

Then one day, about three weeks after Aunt Cynthia's departure, Fatimadisappeared—just simply disappeared as if she had been dissolved into thinair.Weleftheroneafternoon,curledupasleepinherbasketbythefire,underHuldah Jane's eye,whilewewentout tomakeacall.WhenwecamehomeFatimawasgone.

HuldahJaneweptandwasasonewhomthegodshadmademad.Shevowedthat shehadnever letFatimaoutofher sight thewhole time, saveonce forthreeminuteswhensheranup to thegarret forsomesummersavory.WhenshecamebackthekitchendoorhadblownopenandFatimahadvanished.

IsmayandIwerefrantic.Weranaboutthegardenandthroughtheout-houses,and thewoods behind the house, likewild creatures, calling Fatima, but invain.ThenIsmaysatdownonthefrontdoorstepsandcried.

"Shehasgotoutandshe'llcatchherdeathofcoldandAuntCynthiawillneverforgiveus."

"I'mgoingforMax,"Ideclared.SoIdid,throughthesprucewoodsandoverthefieldasfastasmyfeetcouldcarryme,thankingmystarsthattherewasaMaxtogotoinsuchapredicament.

Maxcameoverandwehadanothersearch,butwithout result.Dayspassed,butwedidnotfindFatima.Iwouldcertainlyhavegonecrazyhaditnotbeenfor Max. He was worth his weight in gold during the awful week thatfollowed.Wedidnotdareadvertise, lestAuntCynthiashouldsee it;butweinquiredfarandwideforawhitePersiancatwithabluespotonitstail,andofferedarewardforit;butnobodyhadseenit,althoughpeoplekeptcomingtothehouse,nightandday,witheverykindofacatinbaskets,wantingtoknowifitwastheonewehadlost.

"Weshallnever seeFatimaagain," I saidhopelessly toMaxand Ismayoneafternoon. I had just turned away an oldwomanwith a big, yellow tommywhichsheinsistedmustbeours—"causeitkemtoourplace,mem,a-yowlingfearful,mem,anditdon'tbelongtonobodynotdownGraftonway,mem."

"I'mafraidyouwon't,"saidMax."Shemusthaveperishedfromexposurelong

erethis."

"Aunt Cynthia will never forgive us," said Ismay, dismally. "I had apresentimentoftroublethemomentthatcatcametothishouse."

Wehadneverheardofthispresentimentbefore,butIsmayisgoodathavingpresentiments—afterthingshappen.

"Whatshallwedo?"Idemanded,helplessly."Max,can'tyoufindsomewayoutofthisscrapeforus?"

"Advertise in the Charlottetown papers for a white Persian cat," suggestedMax."Someonemayhaveoneforsale.Ifso,youmustbuyit,andpalmitoffon your good Aunt as Fatima. She's very short-sighted, so it will be quitepossible."

"ButFatimahasabluespotonhertail,"Isaid.

"Youmustadvertiseforacatwithabluespotonitstail,"saidMax.

"Itwillcostaprettypenny,"saidIsmaydolefully."Fatimawasvaluedatonehundreddollars."

"We must take the money we have been saving for our new furs," I saidsorrowfully."Thereisnootherwayoutofit.ItwillcostusagooddealmoreifweloseAuntCynthia'sfavor.SheisquitecapableofbelievingthatwehavemadeawaywithFatimadeliberatelyandwithmaliceaforethought."

Soweadvertised.Maxwent to townandhadthenotice insertedin themostimportantdaily.WeaskedanyonewhohadawhitePersiancat,withabluespot on the tip of its tail, to dispose of, to communicatewithM. I., care oftheEnterprise.

Wereallydidnothavemuchhopethatanythingwouldcomeofit,soweweresurprisedanddelightedovertheletterMaxbroughthomefromtownfourdayslater.Itwasatype-writtenscreedfromHalifaxstatingthatthewriterhadforsaleawhitePersiancatansweringtoourdescription.Thepricewasahundredandtendollars,and,ifM.I.caredtogotoHalifaxandinspecttheanimal,itwouldbefoundat110HollisStreet,byinquiringfor"Persian."

"Temperyour joy,myfriends,"said Ismay,gloomily."Thecatmaynotsuit.The blue spot may be too big or too small or not in the right place. Iconsistently refuse to believe that any good thing can come out of thisdeplorableaffair."

Just at this moment there was a knock at the door and I hurried out. Thepostmaster'sboywas therewitha telegram. I tore itopen,glancedat it,anddashedbackintotheroom.

"Whatisitnow?"criedIsmay,beholdingmyface.

Iheldoutthetelegram.ItwasfromAuntCynthia.ShehadwiredustosendFatimatoHalifaxbyexpressimmediately.

For the first time Max did not seem ready to rush into the breach with asuggestion.ItwasIwhospokefirst.

"Max," I said, imploringly, "you'll see us through this, won't you? NeitherIsmaynorIcanrushofftoHalifaxatonce.Youmustgoto-morrowmorning.Gorightto110HollisStreetandaskfor'Persian.'IfthecatlooksenoughlikeFatima,buyitandtakeittoAuntCynthia.Ifitdoesn't—butitmust!You'llgo,won'tyou?"

"Thatdepends,"saidMax.

Istaredathim.ThiswassounlikeMax.

"Youaresendingmeonanastyerrand,"hesaid,coolly."HowdoIknowthatAuntCynthiawillbedeceivedafterall,evenifshebeshort-sighted.Buyingacatinajokeisahugerisk.AndifsheshouldseethroughtheschemeIshallbeinaprettymess."

"Oh,Max,"Isaid,onthevergeoftears.

"Ofcourse,"saidMax,lookingmeditativelyintothefire,"ifIwerereallyoneofthefamily,orhadanyreasonableprospectofbeingso,Iwouldnotmindsomuch.Itwouldbeallintheday'sworkthen.Butasitis—"

Ismaygotupandwentoutoftheroom.

"Oh,Max,please,"Isaid.

"Willyoumarryme,Sue?"demandedMaxsternly."Ifyouwillagree,I'llgotoHalifaxandbeardthelioninhisdenunflinchingly.Ifnecessary,IwilltakeablackstreetcattoAuntCynthia,andswearthatitisFatima.I'llgetyououtofthescrape,ifIhavetoprovethatyouneverhadFatima,thatsheissafeinyourpossession at the present time, and that there never was such an animal asFatimaanyhow. I'lldoanything,sayanything—but itmustbe formyfuturewife."

"Willnothingelsecontentyou?"Isaidhelplessly.

"Nothing."

I thought hard. Of course Max was acting abominably—but—but—he wasreally a dear fellow—and this was the twelfth time—and there was AnneShirley!IknewinmysecretsoulthatlifewouldbeadreadfullydismalthingifMaxwerenotaroundsomewhere.Besides,IwouldhavemarriedhimlongagohadnotAuntCynthia thrownus sopointedlyat eachother'sheadseversincehecametoSpencervale.

"Verywell,"Isaidcrossly.

MaxleftforHalifaxinthemorning.Nextdaywegotawiresayingitwasallright.The evening of the following day hewas back in Spencervale. IsmayandIputhiminachairandglaredathimimpatiently.

Maxbegantolaughandlaugheduntilheturnedblue.

"Iamgladitissoamusing,"saidIsmayseverely."IfSueandIcouldseethejokeitmightbemoreso."

"Dearlittlegirls,havepatiencewithme,"imploredMax."IfyouknewwhatitcostmetokeepastraightfaceinHalifaxyouwouldforgivemeforbreakingoutnow."

"Weforgiveyou—butforpity'ssaketellusallaboutit,"Icried.

"Well,assoonasIarrivedinHalifaxIhurriedto110HollisStreet,but—seehere!Didn'tyoutellmeyourAunt'saddresswas10PleasantStreet?"

"Soitis."

"'T isn't.You look at the address on a telegram next time you get one. Shewentaweekagotovisitanotherfriendwholivesat110Hollis."

"Max!"

"It's a fact. I rang the bell, andwas just going to ask themaid for 'Persian'whenyourAuntCynthiaherselfcamethroughthehallandpouncedonme."

"'Max,'shesaid,'haveyoubroughtFatima?'

"'No,' I answered, trying to adjustmywits to this new development as shetowedmeintothelibrary.'No,I—I—justcametoHalifaxonalittlematterofbusiness.'

"'Dearme,'saidAuntCynthia,crossly,'Idon'tknowwhatthosegirlsmean.Iwired them to send Fatima at once. And she has not come yet and I am

expectingacalleveryminutefromsomeonewhowantstobuyher.'

"'Oh!'Imurmured,miningdeepereveryminute.

"'Yes,' went on your aunt, 'there is an advertisement in theCharlottetownEnterpriseforaPersiancat,andIansweredit.Fatimaisreallyquite a charge,youknow—and soapt todie andbeadead loss,'—didyourauntmeanapun,girls?—'andso,althoughIamconsiderablyattachedtoher,Ihavedecidedtopartwithher.'

"By this time I had got my second wind, and I promptly decided that ajudiciousmixtureofthetruthwasthethingrequired.

"'Well,ofallthecuriouscoincidences,'Iexclaimed.'Why,MissRidley,itwasIwhoadvertisedforaPersiancat—onSue'sbehalf.SheandIsmayhavedecidedthattheywantacatlikeFatimaforthemselves.'

"Youshouldhaveseenhowshebeamed.Shesaidsheknewyoualwaysreallylikedcats,onlyyouwouldneverownuptoit.Weclinchedthedickerthenandthere. I passed her over your hundred and ten dollars—she took themoneywithout turning a hair—and now you are the joint owners of Fatima.Goodlucktoyourbargain!"

"Meanoldthing,"sniffedIsmay.ShemeantAuntCynthia,and,rememberingourshabbyfurs,Ididn'tdisagreewithher.

"But there is no Fatima," I said, dubiously. "How shall we account for herwhenAuntCynthiacomeshome?"

"Well,yourauntisn'tcominghomeforamonthyet.Whenshecomesyouwillhavetotellherthatthecat—islost—butyouneedn'tsayWHENithappened.Asfortherest,Fatimaisyourpropertynow,soAuntCynthiacan'tgrumble.But shewill have a poorer opinion than ever of your fitness to run a housealone."

WhenMax left Iwent to thewindow towatch himdown the path.Hewasreally a handsome fellow, and Iwasproudof him.At thegatehe turned towavemegood-by,and,ashedid,heglancedupward.EvenatthatdistanceIsawthelookofamazementonhisface.Thenhecameboltingback.

"Ismay,thehouseisonfire!"Ishrieked,asIflewtothedoor.

"Sue,"criedMax,"IsawFatima,orherghost,atthegarretwindowamomentago!"

"Nonsense!" I cried. But Ismay was already half way up the stairs and wefollowed. Straight to the garret we rushed. There sat Fatima, sleek andcomplacent,sunningherselfinthewindow.

Maxlaugheduntiltheraftersrang.

"She can't have been up here all this time," I protested, half tearfully. "Wewouldhaveheardhermeowing."

"Butyoudidn't,"saidMax.

"Shewouldhavediedofthecold,"declaredIsmay.

"Butshehasn't,"saidMax.

"Orstarved,"Icried.

"Theplaceisalivewithmice,"saidMax."No,girls,thereisnodoubtthecathas been here thewhole fortnight. Shemust have followedHuldah Jane uphere,unobserved,thatday.It'sawonderyoudidn'thearhercrying—ifshedidcry.Butperhapsshedidn't,and,ofcourse,yousleepdownstairs.Tothinkyouneverthoughtoflookinghereforher!"

"Ithascostusoverahundreddollars,"saidIsmay,withamalevolentglanceatthesleekFatima.

"Ithascostmemorethanthat,"Isaid,asIturnedtothestairway.

Maxheldmebackforaninstant,whileIsmayandFatimapattereddown.

"Doyouthinkithascosttoomuch,Sue?"hewhispered.

Ilookedathimsideways.Hewasreallyadear.Nicenessfairlyexhaledfromhim.

"No-o-o," I said, "but when we are married you will have to take care ofFatima,Iwon't."

"DearFatima,"saidMaxgratefully.

II. THEMATERIALIZINGOFCECIL

IthadneverworriedmeintheleastthatIwasn'tmarried,althougheverybodyinAvonleapitiedoldmaids;butitDIDworryme,andIfranklyconfessit,that

Ihadneverhadachancetobe.EvenNancy,myoldnurseandservant,knewthat,andpitiedmefor it.Nancy isanoldmaidherself,butshehashad twoproposals.Shedidnotaccepteitherofthembecauseonewasawidowerwithsevenchildren,andtheotheraveryshiftless,good-for-nothingfellow;but,ifanybodytwittedNancyonhersinglecondition,shecouldpointtriumphantlytothosetwoasevidencethat"shecouldanshewould."IfIhadnotlivedallmylife inAvonleaImighthavehad thebenefitof thedoubt;but Ihad,andeverybodykneweverythingaboutme—orthoughttheydid.

Ihadreallyoftenwonderedwhynobodyhadeverfalleninlovewithme.Iwasnotatallhomely;indeed,yearsago,GeorgeAdoniramMaybrickhadwrittenapoem addressed tome, inwhich he praisedmy beauty quite extravagantly;that didn'tmean anything becauseGeorgeAdoniramwrote poetry to all thegood-looking girls and never went with anybody but Flora King, who wascross-eyedandred-haired,butitprovesthatitwasnotmyappearancethatputme out of the running.Neitherwas it the fact that Iwrote poetrymyself—although not of George Adoniram's kind—because nobody ever knew that.WhenI felt itcomingonIshutmyselfup inmyroomandwrote itout inalittleblankbookIkept lockedup. It isnearlyfullnow,becauseIhavebeenwritingpoetryallmylife.ItistheonlythingIhaveeverbeenabletokeepasecret fromNancy. Nancy, in any case, has not a very high opinion ofmyabilitytotakecareofmyself;butItrembletoimaginewhatshewouldthinkifsheeverfoundoutaboutthatlittlebook.Iamconvincedshewouldsendforthedoctorpost-hasteandinsistonmustardplasterswhilewaitingforhim.

Nevertheless, Ikeptonat it,andwhatwithmyflowersandmycatsandmymagazinesandmy littlebook, Iwas reallyveryhappyandcontented.But itDID sting thatAdellaGilbert, across the road,whohas a drunkenhusband,should pity "poor Charlotte" because nobody had ever wanted her. PoorCharlotte indeed! If I had thrown myself at a man's head the way AdellaGilbertdidat—butthere,there,Imustrefrainfromsuchthoughts.Imustnotbeuncharitable.

The Sewing Circle met atMary Gillespie's on my fortieth birthday. I havegivenuptalkingaboutmybirthdays,althoughthat littleschemeisnotmuchgoodinAvonleawhereeverybodyknowsyourage—oriftheymakeamistakeit is never on the side of youth. But Nancy, who grew accustomed tocelebratingmybirthdayswhenIwasalittlegirl,nevergetsoverthehabit,andIdon'ttrytocureher,because,afterall,it'snicetohavesomeonemakeafussover you. She brought me up my breakfast before I got up out of bed—aconcessiontomylazinessthatNancywouldscorntomakeonanyotherdayofthe year. She had cooked everything I like best, and had decorated the traywith roses from the garden and ferns from the woods behind the house. I

enjoyedeverybitofthatbreakfast,andthenIgotupanddressed,puttingonmysecondbestmuslingown.IwouldhaveputonmyreallybestifIhadnothadthefearofNancybeforemyeyes;butIknewshewouldnevercondoneTHAT,evenonabirthday.Iwateredmyflowersandfedmycats,andthenIlockedmyselfupandwroteapoemonJune.IhadgivenupwritingbirthdayodesafterIwasthirty.

IntheafternoonIwenttotheSewingCircle.WhenIwasreadyforitIlookedinmyglassandwonderedif Icouldreallybeforty. IwasquitesureIdidn'tlook it.My hair was brown andwavy,my cheekswere pink, and the linescouldhardlybeseenatall,thoughpossiblythatwasbecauseofthedimlight.Ialwayshavemymirrorhunginthedarkestcornerofmyroom.Nancycannotimaginewhy.Iknowthelinesarethere,ofcourse;butwhentheydon'tshowveryplainIforgetthattheyarethere.

WehadalargeSewingCircle,youngandoldalikeattending.IreallycannotsayIeverenjoyedthemeetings—atleastnotuptothattime—althoughIwentreligiouslybecauseIthoughtitmydutytogo.Themarriedwomentalkedsomuchoftheirhusbandsandchildren,andofcourseIhadtobequietonthosetopics; and the young girls talked in corner groups about their beaux, andstopped itwhenI joined them,as if theyfeltsure thatanoldmaidwhohadneverhadabeaucouldn'tunderstandatall.Asfor theotheroldmaids, theytalkedgossipabouteveryone,andIdidnotlikethateither.Iknewtheminutemybackwas turned theywould fasten intomeandhint that Iusedhair-dyeanddeclareitwasperfectlyridiculousforawomanofFIFTYtowearapinkmuslindresswithlace-trimmedfrills.

Therewasafullattendance thatday, forweweregettingreadyforasaleoffancy work in aid of parsonage repairs. The young girls were merrier andnoisier than usual.WilhelminaMercerwas there, and she kept them going.TheMercerswerequitenewtoAvonlea,havingcomehereonlytwomonthspreviously.

I was sitting by the window and Wilhelmina Mercer, Maggie Henderson,SusetteCrossandGeorgieHallwereinalittlegroupjustbeforeme.Iwasn'tlisteningtotheirchatteratall,butpresentlyGeorgieexclaimedteasingly:

"MissCharlotteislaughingatus.Isupposeshethinksweareawfullysillytobetalkingaboutbeaux."

The truthwas that Iwassimplysmilingoversomeverypretty thoughts thathadcome tomeabout the roseswhichwereclimbingoverMaryGillespie'ssill. I meant to inscribe them in the little blank book when I went home.Georgie'sspeechbroughtmebacktoharshrealitieswithajolt.Ithurtme,as

suchspeechesalwaysdid.

"Didn'tyoueverhaveabeau,MissHolmes?"saidWilhelminalaughingly.

Just as it happened, a silence had fallen over the room for a moment, andeverybodyinitheardWilhelmina'squestion.

I reallydonotknowwhatgot intomeandpossessedme. Ihaveneverbeenable to account for what I said and did, because I am naturally a truthfulpersonandhatealldeceit.ItseemedtomethatIsimplycouldnotsay"No"toWilhelminabeforethatwholeroomfulofwomen.ItwasTOOhumiliating.IsupposeallthepricklesandstingsandslursIhadenduredforfifteenyearsonaccount of never having had a lover had what the new doctor calls "acumulativeeffect"andcametoaheadthenandthere.

"Yes,Ihadoneonce,mydear,"Isaidcalmly.

Foronce inmy life Imade a sensation.Everywoman in that roomstoppedsewing and stared at me. Most of them, I saw, didn't believe me, butWilhelminadid.Herprettyfacelightedupwithinterest.

"Oh,won'tyoutellusabouthim,MissHolmes?"shecoaxed,"andwhydidn'tyoumarryhim?"

"Thatisright,MissMercer,"saidJosephineCameron,withanastylittlelaugh."Makeher tell.We'reall interested. It'snews tous thatCharlotteeverhadabeau."

If Josephinehadnotsaid that, Imightnothavegoneon.Butshedidsay it,and, moreover, I caught Mary Gillespie and Adella Gilbert exchangingsignificantsmiles.Thatsettledit,andmademequitereckless."Inforapenny,inforapound,"thoughtI,andIsaidwithapensivesmile:

"Nobodyhereknewanythingabouthim,anditwasalllong,longago."

"Whatwashisname?"askedWilhelmina.

"Cecil Fenwick," I answered promptly. Cecil had always been my favoritename for a man; it figured quite frequently in the blank book. As for theFenwick part of it, I had a bit of newspaper inmy hand,measuring a hem,with"TryFenwick'sPorousPlasters"printedacrossit,andIsimplyjoinedthetwoinsuddenandirrevocablematrimony.

"Wheredidyoumeethim?"askedGeorgie.

Ihastilyreviewedmypast.TherewasonlyoneplacetolocateCecilFenwick.TheonlytimeIhadeverbeenfarenoughawayfromAvonleainmylifewas

whenIwaseighteenandhadgonetovisitanauntinNewBrunswick.

"InBlakely,NewBrunswick,"Isaid,almostbelievingthatIhadwhenIsawhowtheyalltookitinunsuspectingly."Iwasjusteighteenandhewastwenty-three."

"Whatdidhelooklike?"Susettewantedtoknow.

"Oh,hewasveryhandsome."Iproceededgliblytosketchmyideal.Totellthedreadful truth, Iwas enjoyingmyself; I could see respect dawning in thosegirls'eyes,andIknewthatIhadforeverthrownoffmyreproach.HenceforthIshouldbeawomanwitharomanticpast,faithfultotheoneloveofherlife—avery,verydifferentthingfromanoldmaidwhohadneverhadalover.

"Hewastallanddark,withlovely,curlyblackhairandbrilliant,piercingeyes.Hehadasplendidchin,andafinenose,andthemostfascinatingsmile!"

"Whatwashe?"askedMaggie.

"A young lawyer," I said, my choice of profession decided by an enlargedcrayonportraitofMaryGillespie'sdeceasedbrotheronaneaselbeforeme.Hehadbeenalawyer.

"Whydidn'tyoumarryhim?"demandedSusette.

"Wequarreled,"Iansweredsadly."Aterriblybitterquarrel.Oh,wewerebothsoyoungandsofoolish.Itwasmyfault.IvexedCecilbyflirtingwithanotherman"—wasn't I coming on!—"and he was jealous and angry. He went outWest andnever cameback. I havenever seenhim since, and I donot evenknowifheisalive.But—but—Icouldnevercareforanyotherman."

"Oh,howinteresting!"sighedWilhelmina."Idosolovesadlovestories.Butperhapshewillcomebacksomedayyet,MissHolmes."

"Oh,no,nevernow,"Isaid,shakingmyhead."Hehasforgottenallaboutme,Idaresay.Orifhehasn't,hehasneverforgivenme."

Mary Gillespie's Susan Jane announced tea at this moment, and I wasthankful,formyimaginationwasgivingout,andIdidn'tknowwhatquestionthose girls would ask next. But I felt already a change in the mentalatmospheresurroundingme,andallthroughsupperIwasthrilledwithasecretexultation.Repentant?Ashamed?Notabitofit!I'dhavedonethesamethingoveragain,andallIfeltsorryforwasthatIhadn'tdoneitlongago.

WhenIgothomethatnightNancylookedatmewonderingly,andsaid:

"Youlooklikeagirlto-night,MissCharlotte."

"I feel likeone," I said laughing; and I ran tomy roomanddidwhat I hadneverdonebefore—wroteasecondpoeminthesameday.Ihadtohavesomeoutlet for my feelings. I called it "In Summer Days of Long Ago," and IworkedMaryGillespie'srosesandCecilFenwick'seyesintoit,andmadeitsosadandreminiscentandminor-musickythatIfeltperfectlyhappy.

Forthenexttwomonthsallwentwellandmerrily.Nobodyeversaidanythingmore tome aboutCecil Fenwick, but the girls all chattered freely tome oftheir little loveaffairs, and Ibecamea sortofgeneralconfidant for them. Itjust warmed up the cockles of my heart, and I began to enjoy the SewingCircle famously. I got a lot of pretty newdresses and the dearest hat, and IwenteverywhereIwasaskedandhadagoodtime.

Butthereisonethingyoucanbeperfectlysureof.Ifyoudowrongyouaregoing to be punished for it sometime, somehow and somewhere. Mypunishmentwasdelayed for twomonths, and then itdescendedonmyheadandIwascrushedtotheverydust.

AnothernewfamilybesidestheMercershadcometoAvonleainthespring—theMaxwells. Therewere justMr. andMrs.Maxwell; theywere amiddle-agedcoupleandverywelloff.Mr.Maxwellhadboughtthelumbermills,andtheylivedupat theoldSpencerplacewhichhadalwaysbeen"the"placeofAvonlea. They lived quietly, andMrs.Maxwell hardly everwent anywherebecauseshewasdelicate.ShewasoutwhenIcalledandIwasoutwhenshereturnedmycall,sothatIhadnevermether.

ItwastheSewingCircledayagain—atSarahGardiner'sthistime.Iwaslate;everybodyelsewastherewhenIarrived,andtheminuteIenteredtheroomIknewsomethinghadhappened,althoughIcouldn'timaginewhat.Everybodylookedatmeinthestrangestway.Ofcourse,WilhelminaMercerwasthefirsttosethertonguegoing.

"Oh,MissHolmes,haveyouseenhimyet?"sheexclaimed.

"Seenwhom?"Isaidnon-excitedly,gettingoutmythimbleandpatterns.

"Why,CecilFenwick.He'shere—inAvonlea—visitinghissister,Mrs.Maxwell."

IsupposeIdidwhattheyexpectedmetodo.IdroppedeverythingIheld,andJosephineCameronsaidafterwardsthatCharlotteHolmeswouldneverbepalerwhenshewasinhercoffin.IftheyhadjustknownwhyIturnedsopale!

"It'simpossible!"Isaidblankly.

"It's really true," said Wilhelmina, delighted at this development, as shesupposedit,ofmyromance."IwasuptoseeMrs.Maxwelllastnight,andImethim."

"It—can'tbe—thesame—CecilFenwick,"Isaidfaintly,becauseIhadtosaysomething.

"Oh,yes,itis.HebelongsinBlakely,NewBrunswick,andhe'salawyer,andhe'sbeenoutWest twenty-twoyears.He'soh!sohandsome,and justasyoudescribed him, except that his hair is quite gray. He has never married—IaskedMrs.Maxwell—soyouseehehasnever forgottenyou,MissHolmes.And,oh,Ibelieveeverythingisgoingtocomeoutallright."

I couldn't exactly share her cheerful belief. Everything seemed tome to becomingoutmosthorriblywrong.IwassomixedupIdidn'tknowwhattodoorsay.IfeltasifIwereinabaddream—itMUSTbeadream—therecouldn'treallybeaCecilFenwick!Myfeelingsweresimplyindescribable.Fortunatelyevery one put my agitation down to quite a different cause, and they verykindly left me alone to recover myself. I shall never forget that awfulafternoon.Rightafter teaIexcusedmyselfandwenthomeasfastasIcouldgo.ThereIshutmyselfupinmyroom,butNOTtowritepoetryinmyblankbook.No,indeed!Ifeltinnopoeticalmood.

I tried to look the facts squarely in the face. There was a Cecil Fenwick,extraordinary as the coincidence was, and he was here in Avonlea. All myfriends—andfoes—believed thathewas theestranged loverofmyyouth. IfhestayedlonginAvonlea,oneoftwothingswasboundtohappen.Hewouldhear the story I had told about him and deny it, and Iwould be held up toshameandderisionfortherestofmynaturallife;orelsehewouldsimplygoaway in ignorance, and everybodywould suppose he had forgottenme andwould pity me maddeningly. The latter possibility was bad enough, but itwasn'ttobecomparedtotheformer;andoh,howIprayed—yes,IDIDprayaboutit—thathewouldgorightaway.ButProvidencehadotherviewsforme.

Cecil Fenwick didn't go away. He stayed right on in Avonlea, and theMaxwells blossomedout socially in his honor and tried to give hima goodtime.Mrs.Maxwellgaveapartyforhim.Igotacard—butyoumaybeverysureIdidn'tgo,althoughNancythoughtIwascrazynot to.TheneveryoneelsegavepartiesinhonorofMr.FenwickandIwasinvitedandneverwent.WilhelminaMercer came and pleaded and scolded and toldme if I avoidedMr.Fenwicklike thathewouldthinkIstillcherishedbitternessagainsthim,and he wouldn't make any advances towards a reconciliation. Wilhelminameanswell,butshehasn'tagreatdealofsense.

CecilFenwickseemedtobeagreatfavoritewitheverybody,youngandold.Hewasveryrich, too,andWilhelminadeclaredthathalf thegirlswereafterhim.

"Ifitwasn'tforyou,MissHolmes,IbelieveI'dhaveatryforhimmyself,inspiteofhisgrayhairandquicktemper—forMrs.Maxwellsayshehasaprettyquick temper,but it'sallover inaminute,"saidWilhelmina,half in jestandwhollyinearnest.

Asforme,Igaveupgoingoutatall,eventochurch.Ifrettedandpinedandlostmy appetite and neverwrote a line inmy blank book.Nancywas halffrantic and insisted ondosingmewith her favorite patent pills. I took themmeekly, because it is a waste of time and energy to oppose Nancy, but, ofcourse,theydidn'tdomeanygood.Mytroublewastoodeep-seatedforpillstocure. If everawomanwaspunished for tellinga lie Iwas thatwoman. Istoppedmy subscription to theWeeklyAdvocate because it still carried thatwretchedporousplasteradvertisement,andIcouldn'tbeartoseeit.Ifithadn'tbeenforthatIwouldneverhavethoughtofFenwickforaname,andallthistroublewouldhavebeenaverted.

Oneevening,whenIwasmopinginmyroom,Nancycameup.

"There'sagentlemanintheparloraskingforyou,MissCharlotte."

Myheartgavejustonehorriblebounce.

"What—sortofagentleman,Nancy?"Ifaltered.

"Ithinkit'sthatFenwickmanthatthere'sbeensuchatimeabout,"saidNancy,whodidn'tknowanythingaboutmyimaginaryescapades,"andhelookstobemadcleanthroughaboutsomething,forsuchascowlIneverseen."

"TellhimI'llbedowndirectly,Nancy,"Isaidquitecalmly.

AssoonasNancyhadclumpeddownstairsagainIputonmylacefichuandput two hankies inmy belt, for I thought I'd probably needmore than one.ThenIhuntedupanoldAdvocateforproof,anddownIwenttotheparlor.Iknowexactlyhowacriminalfeelsgoingtoexecution,andI'vebeenopposedtocapitalpunishmenteversince.

Iopenedtheparlordoorandwentin,carefullyclosingitbehindme,forNancyhas a deplorable habit of listening in the hall. Then my legs gave outcompletely, and I couldn't have walked another step to savemy life. I juststoodthere,myhandontheknob,tremblinglikealeaf.

Amanwasstandingbythesouthwindowlookingout;hewheeledaroundasIwent in, and, as Nancy said, he had a scowl on and looked angry clearthrough. He was very handsome, and his gray hair gave him such adistinguishedlook.Irecalledthisafterward,butjustat themomentyoumaybequitesureIwasn'tthinkingaboutitatall.

Thenallatonceastrangethinghappened.Thescowlwentrightoffhisfaceandtheangeroutofhiseyes.Helookedastonished,andthenfoolish.Isawthecolorcreepingupintohischeeks.Asforme,Istillstoodtherestaringathim,notabletosayasingleword.

"MissHolmes,Ipresume,"hesaidatlast,inadeep,thrillingvoice."I—I—oh,confoundit!Ihavecalled—IheardsomefoolishstoriesandIcamehereinarage.I'vebeenafool—Iknownowtheyweren'ttrue.JustexcusemeandI'llgoawayandkickmyself."

"No,"Isaid,findingmyvoicewithagasp,"youmustn'tgountilyou'veheardthe truth. It's dreadful enough, but not as dreadful as you might otherwisethink.Those—thosestories—Ihaveaconfessiontomake.Ididtellthem,butIdidn'tknowtherewassuchapersonasCecilFenwickinexistence."

Helookedpuzzled,aswellhemight.Thenhesmiled,tookmyhandandledmeawayfromthedoor—totheknobofwhichIwasstillholdingwithallmymight—tothesofa.

"Let'ssitdownandtalkitover'comfy,'"hesaid.

Ijustconfessedthewholeshamefulbusiness.Itwasterriblyhumiliating,butitservedme right. I told him how people were always twittingme for neverhavinghadabeau,andhowIhadtoldthemIhad;andthenIshowedhimtheporousplasteradvertisement.

Heheardme right throughwithout aword, and thenhe threwbackhis big,curly,grayheadandlaughed.

"ThisclearsupagreatmanymysterioushintsI'vebeenreceivingeversinceIcametoAvonlea,"hesaid,"andfinallyaMrs.GilbertcametomysisterthisafternoonwithalongfarragoofnonsenseabouttheloveaffairIhadoncehadwith some Charlotte Holmes here. She declared you had told her about ityourself.IconfessIflamedup.I'mapepperychap,andIthought—Ithought—oh,confoundit,itmightaswellout:Ithoughtyouweresomelankoldmaidwhowasamusingherselftellingridiculousstoriesaboutme.WhenyoucameintotheroomIknewthat,whoeverwastoblame,youwerenot."

"ButIwas,"Isaidruefully."Itwasn'trightofmetotellsuchastory—andit

wasverysilly, too.Butwhowouldeverhavesupposedthattherecouldbeareal Cecil Fenwick who had lived in Blakely? I never heard of such acoincidence."

"It's more than a coincidence," said Mr. Fenwick decidedly. "It'spredestination;thatiswhatitis.Andnowlet'sforgetitandtalkofsomethingelse."

We talked of something else—or at least Mr. Fenwick did, for I was tooashamed to saymuch—so long thatNancygot restive andclumped throughthe hall every fiveminutes; butMr. Fenwick never took the hint.When hefinallywentawayheaskedifhemightcomeagain.

"It'stimewemadeupthatoldquarrel,youknow,"hesaid,laughing.

AndI,anoldmaidofforty,caughtmyselfblushinglikeagirl.ButIfeltlikeagirl, for itwassucharelief tohavethatexplanationallover.Icouldn'tevenfeelangrywithAdellaGilbert.Shewasalwaysamischiefmaker,andwhenawomanisbornthatwaysheismoretobepitiedthanblamed.IwroteapoemintheblankbookbeforeIwenttosleep;Ihadn'twrittenanythingforamonth,anditwaslovelytobeatitoncemore.

Mr.Fenwickdidcomeagain—theverynextevening,butone.AndhecamesooftenafterthatthatevenNancygotresignedtohim.OnedayIhadtotellhersomething.Ishrankfromdoingit,forIfeareditwouldmakeherfeelbadly.

"Oh, I've been expecting to hear it," she said grimly. "I felt theminute thatmancameintothehousehebroughttroublewithhim.Well,MissCharlotte,Iwish you happiness. I don't know how the climate of California will agreewithme,butIsupposeI'llhavetoputupwithit."

"But,Nancy,"Isaid,"Ican'texpectyoutogoawayouttherewithme.It'stoomuchtoaskofyou."

"And where else would I be going?" demanded Nancy in genuineastonishment."Howunderthecanopycouldyoukeephousewithoutme?I'mnotgoingtotrustyoutothemerciesofayellowChineewithapig-tail.WhereyougoIgo,MissCharlotte,andthere'sanendofit."

Iwasveryglad, for I hated to thinkofpartingwithNancy even togowithCecil. As for the blank book, I haven't toldmy husband about it yet, but Imeantosomeday.AndI'vesubscribedfortheWeeklyAdvocateagain.

III. HERFATHER'SDAUGHTER

"WemustinviteyourAuntJane,ofcourse,"saidMrs.Spencer.

Rachelmade a protestingmovementwith her large,white, shapely hands—handswhichweresodifferentfromthethin,dark,twistedonesfoldedonthetableoppositeher.Thedifferencewasnotcausedbyhardworkorthelackofit; Rachel had worked hard all her life. It was a difference inherent intemperament. The Spencers, no matter what they did, or how hard theylabored, all had plump, smooth, white hands, with firm, supple fingers; theChiswicks,eventhosewhotoilednot,neitherdidtheyspin,hadhard,knotted,twistedones.Moreover, the contrastwentdeeper thanexternals, and twineditselfwiththeinnermostfibersoflife,andthought,andaction.

"I don't see why we must invite Aunt Jane," said Rachel, with as muchimpatience as her soft, throaty voice could express. "Aunt Jane doesn't likeme,andIdon'tlikeAuntJane."

"I'msureIdon'tseewhyyoudon'tlikeher,"saidMrs.Spencer."It'sungratefulofyou.Shehasalwaysbeenverykindtoyou."

"Shehasalwaysbeenverykindwithonehand,"smiledRachel."IrememberthefirsttimeIeversawAuntJane.Iwassixyearsold.Sheheldouttomeasmallvelvetpincushionwithbeadsonit.Andthen,becauseIdidnot,inmyshyness, thank her quite as promptly as I should have done, she rappedmyheadwithherbethimbledfingerto 'teachmebettermanners.'Ithurthorribly—I've always had a tender head. And that has been Aunt Jane's way eversince.When I grew too big for the thimble treatment she used her tongueinstead—and that hurtworse.And you know,mother, how she used to talkabout my engagement. She is able to spoil the whole atmosphere if shehappenstocomeinabadhumor.Idon'twanther."

"Shemustbeinvited.Peoplewouldtalksoifshewasn't."

"Idon'tseewhytheyshould.She'sonlymygreat-auntbymarriage.Iwouldn'tmind in the least if people did talk. They'll talk anyway—you know that,mother."

"Oh,wemusthaveher," saidMrs.Spencer,with the indifferent finality thatmarkedallherwordsanddecisions—afinalityagainstwhichitwasseldomofany avail to struggle. People, who knew, rarely attempted it; strangersoccasionallydid,misledbythedeceitofappearances.

IsabellaSpencerwasawispofawoman,withapale,prettyface,uncertainly-

colored,long-lashedgrayisheyes,andgreatmassesofdull,soft,silkybrownhair.Shehaddelicate aquiline features anda small, babyish redmouth.Shelooked as if a breath would sway her. The truth was that a tornado wouldhardlyhavecausedhertoswerveaninchfromherchosenpath.

ForamomentRachellookedrebellious;thensheyielded,asshegenerallydidinalldifferencesofopinionwithhermother.ItwasnotworthwhiletoquarreloverthecomparativelyunimportantmatterofAuntJane'sinvitation.Aquarrelmightbeinevitablelateron;Rachelwantedtosaveallherresourcesforthat.She gave her shoulders a shrug, and wrote Aunt Jane's name down on theweddinglistinherlarge,somewhatuntidyhandwriting—ahandwritingwhichalways seemed to irritate her mother. Rachel never could understand thisirritation. She could never guess that it was because her writing looked somuchlikethatinacertainpacketoffadedletterswhichMrs.Spencerkeptatthebottomofanoldhorsehair trunkinherbedroom.Theywerepostmarkedfromseaportsallover theworld.Mrs.Spencerneverread themor lookedatthem;butsherememberedeverydashandcurveofthehandwriting.

IsabellaSpencerhadovercomemanythingsinherlifebythesheerforceandpersistencyofherwill.Butshecouldnotgetthebetterofheredity.Rachelwasherfather'sdaughteratallpoints,andIsabellaSpencerescapedhatingherforitonlybylovingherthemorefiercelybecauseofit.Evenso,thereweremanytimeswhenshehadtoaverthereyesfromRachel'sfacebecauseofthepangofthemoresubtleremembrances;andnever,sinceherchildwasborn,couldIsabellaSpencerbeartogazeonthatchild'sfaceinsleep.

RachelwastobemarriedtoFrankBellinafortnight'stime.Mrs.Spencerwaspleasedwiththematch.ShewasveryfondofFrank,andhisfarmwassoneartoherownthatshewouldnotloseRachelaltogether.Rachelfondlybelievedthathermotherwouldnotloseheratall;butIsabellaSpencer,wiserbyoldenexperience,knewwhatherdaughter'smarriagemustmeantoher,andsteeledherhearttobearitwithwhatfortitudeshemight.

They were in the sitting-room, deciding on the wedding guests and otherdetails.TheSeptembersunshinewascominginthroughthewavingboughsoftheappletreethatgrewcloseuptothelowwindow.TheglintswaveredoverRachel'sface,aswhiteasawoodlily,withonlyafaintdreamofroseinthecheeks. She wore her sleek, golden hair in a quaint arch around it. Herforeheadwasverybroadandwhite.Shewasfreshandyoungandhopeful.Themother'sheartcontractedinaspasmofpainasshelookedather.Howlikethegirlwas to—to—to the Spencers! Those easy, curving outlines, those large,mirthful blue eyes, that finely molded chin! Isabella Spencer shut her lipsfirmlyandcrusheddownsomeunbidden,unwelcomememories.

"Therewillbeaboutsixtyguests,alltold,"shesaid,asifshewerethinkingofnothingelse."Wemustmovethefurnitureoutofthisroomandsetthesupper-tablehere.Thedining-room is too small.WemustborrowMrs.Bell's forksandspoons.Sheofferedtolendthem.I'dneverhavebeenwillingtoaskher.Thedamasktableclothswiththeribbonpatternmustbebleachedto-morrow.Nobodyelse inAvonleahassuchtablecloths.Andwe'llput the littledining-roomtableonthehalllanding,upstairs,forthepresents."

Rachelwasnotthinkingaboutthepresents,orthehousewifelydetailsofthewedding.Herbreathwascomingquicker,and the faintblushonhersmoothcheeks had deepened to crimson. She knew that a critical moment wasapproaching.Withasteadyhandshewrotethelastnameonherlistanddrewalineunderit.

"Well,haveyoufinished?"askedhermotherimpatiently."Handithereandletmelookoverittomakesurethatyouhaven'tleftanybodyoutthatshouldbein."

Rachelpassedthepaperacrossthetableinsilence.Theroomseemedtohertohavegrownverystill.Shecouldhearthefliesbuzzingonthepanes,thesoftpurrofthewindabouttheloweavesandthroughtheappleboughs,thejerkybeatingofherownheart.Shefeltfrightenedandnervous,butresolute.

Mrs.Spencerglanceddownthelist,murmuringthenamesaloudandnoddingapprovalateach.Butwhenshecametothelastname,shedidnotutterit.ShecastablackglanceatRachel,andasparkleapedupinthedepthsofthepaleeyes.Onherfacewereanger,amazement,incredulity,thelastpredominating.

ThefinalnameonthelistofweddingguestswasthenameofDavidSpencer.DavidSpencerlivedaloneinalittlecottagedownattheCove.Hewasacombinationofsailorandfisherman.HewasalsoIsabellaSpencer'shusbandandRachel'sfather.

"RachelSpencer,haveyoutakenleaveofyoursenses?Whatdoyoumeanbysuchnonsenseasthis?"

"IsimplymeanthatIamgoingtoinvitemyfathertomywedding,"answeredRachelquietly.

"Not inmyhouse,"criedMrs.Spencer,her lipsaswhiteas ifher fiery tonehadscathedthem.

Rachel leaned forward, folded her large, capable hands deliberately on thetable, and gazed unflinchingly into her mother's bitter face. Her fright andnervousness were gone. Now that the conflict was actually on she found

herselfratherenjoyingit.Shewonderedalittleatherself,andthoughtthatshemust be wicked. She was not given to self-analysis, or she might haveconcluded that it was the sudden assertion of her own personality, so longdominatedbyhermother's,whichshewasfindingsoagreeable.

"Thentherewillbenowedding,mother,"shesaid."FrankandIwillsimplygotothemanse,bemarried,andgohome.IfIcannotinvitemyfathertoseememarried,nooneelseshallbeinvited."

Herlipsnarrowedtightly.ForthefirsttimeinherlifeIsabellaSpencersawareflectionofherself lookingbackatherfromherdaughter'sface—astrange,indefinable resemblance that was more of soul and spirit than of flesh andblood. In spite of her anger her heart thrilled to it. As never before, sherealized that this girl was her own and her husband's child, a living bondbetweenthemwhereintheirconflictingnaturesmingledandwerereconciled.She realized too, thatRachel, so long sweetlymeek and obedient,meant tohaveherownwayinthiscase—andwouldhaveit.

"ImustsaythatIcan'tseewhyyouaresosetonhavingyourfatherseeyoumarried," she saidwith abitter sneer. "HEhasnever remembered that he isyourfather.Hecaresnothingaboutyou—neverdidcare."

Rachel took no notice of this taunt. It had no power to hurt her, its venombeingneutralizedbyasecretknowledgeofherowninwhichhermotherhadnoshare.

"EitherIshallinvitemyfathertomywedding,orIshallnothaveawedding,"sherepeatedsteadily,adoptinghermother'sowneffectivetacticsofrepetitionundistractedbyargument.

"Invite him then," snapped Mrs. Spencer, with the ungraceful anger of awoman,longaccustomedtohavingherownway,compelledforoncetoyield."It'll be like chips in porridge anyhow—neither good nor harm. He won'tcome."

Rachelmadenoresponse.Nowthatthebattlewasover,andthevictorywon,shefoundherselftremulouslyonthevergeoftears.Sherosequicklyandwentupstairs to her own room, a dim little place shadowed by thewhite birchesgrowing thickly outside—a virginal room, where everything bespoke themaiden.Shelaydownontheblueandwhitepatchworkquiltonherbed,andcriedsoftlyandbitterly.

Herheart, at thiscrisis inher life,yearned forher father,whowasalmostastrangertoher.Sheknewthathermotherhadprobablyspokenthetruthwhenshesaidthathewouldnotcome.Rachelfeltthathermarriagevowswouldbe

lackinginsomeindefinablesacrednessifherfatherwerenotbytohearthemspoken.

Twenty-fiveyearsbeforethis,DavidSpencerandIsabellaChiswickhadbeenmarried.SpitefulpeoplesaidtherecouldbenodoubtthatIsabellahadmarriedDavidforlove,sincehehadneitherlandsnormoneytotemptherintoamatchof bargain and sale. David was a handsome fellow, with the blood of aseafaringraceinhisveins.

Hehadbeenasailor,likehisfatherandgrandfatherbeforehim;but,whenhemarriedIsabella,sheinducedhimtogiveuptheseaandsettledownwithherona snug farmher fatherhad lefther. Isabella liked farming,and lovedherfertileacresandopulentorchards.Sheabhorredtheseaandallthatpertainedto it, less fromanydreadof itsdangers than froman inbredconviction thatsailorswere"low" in the social scale—aspeciesofnecessaryvagabonds. Inher eyes there was a taint of disgrace in such a calling. David must betransformedintoarespectable,home-abidingtillerofbroadlands.

For fiveyearsallwentwellenough. If,at times,David's longingfor theseatroubledhim,hestifledit,andlistenednottoitsluringvoice.HeandIsabellawereveryhappy;theonlydrawbacktotheirhappinesslayintheregrettedfactthattheywerechildless.

Then, in the sixth year, came a crisis and a change.CaptainBarrett, an oldcrony of David's, wanted him to gowith him on a voyage asmate. At thesuggestionallDavid'slong-repressedcravingforthewidebluewastesoftheocean, and the wind whistling through the spars with the salt foam in itsbreath,brokeforthwithapassionallthemoreintenseforthatveryrepression.He must go on that voyage with James Barrett—heMUST! That over, hewouldbecontentedagain;butgohemust.Hissoulstruggledwithinhimlikeafetteredthing.

Isabellaopposedtheschemevehementlyandunwisely,withmordantsarcasmandunjust reproaches.The latentobstinacyofDavid'scharactercame to thesupport of his longing—a longing which Isabella, with five generations ofland-lovingancestrybehindher,couldnotunderstandatall.

Hewasdeterminedtogo,andhetoldIsabellaso.

"I'msickofplowingandmilkingcows,"hesaidhotly.

"Youmeanthatyouaresickofarespectablelife,"sneeredIsabella.

"Perhaps,"saidDavid,withacontemptuousshrugofhisshoulders."Anyway,

I'mgoing."

"Ifyougoon thisvoyage,DavidSpencer,youneednevercomebackhere,"saidIsabellaresolutely.

Davidhadgone;hedidnotbelievethatshemeantit.Isabellabelievedthathedid not care whether shemeant it or not. David Spencer left behind him awoman,calmoutwardly,inwardlyaseethingvolcanoofanger,woundedpride,andthwartedwill.

He found precisely the same woman when he came home, tanned, joyous,tamedforawhileofhiswanderlust,ready,withsomethingofrealaffection,togobacktothefarmfieldsandthestock-yard.

Isabellamethimatthedoor,smileless,cold-eyed,set-lipped.

"Whatdoyouwanthere?"shesaid,inthetoneshewasaccustomedtousetotrampsandSyrianpeddlers.

"Want!"David'ssurpriselefthimatalossforwords."Want!Why,I—I—wantmywife.I'vecomehome."

"Thisisnotyourhome.I'mnowifeofyours.Youmadeyourchoicewhenyouwent away," Isabella had replied. Then she had gone in, shut the door, andlockeditinhisface.

David had stood there for a fewminutes like aman stunned. Then he hadturnedandwalkedawayupthelaneunderthebirches.Hesaidnothing—thenoratanyother time.Fromthatdaynoreference tohiswifeorherconcernsevercrossedhislips.

Hewentdirectly to theharbor,andshippedwithCaptainBarrett foranothervoyage.Whenhecamebackfromthat inamonth's time,heboughtasmallhouse and had it hauled to the "Cove," a lonely inlet fromwhich no otherhumanhabitationwasvisible.Betweenhisseavoyageshelivedtherethelifeof a recluse; fishing and playing his violinwere his only employments.Hewentnowhereandencouragednovisitors.

IsabellaSpenceralsohadadoptedthetacticsofsilence.WhenthescandalizedChiswicks,AuntJaneattheirhead,triedtopatchupthematterwithargumentand entreaty, Isabellamet them stonily, seeming not to hearwhat they said,and making no response. She worsted them totally. As Aunt Jane said indisgust,"Whatcanyoudowithawomanwhowon'tevenTALK?"

FivemonthsafterDavidSpencerhadbeenturnedfromhiswife'sdoor,Rachelwasborn.Perhaps, ifDavidhadcome to themthen,withduepenitenceand

humility,Isabella'sheart,softenedbythepainandjoyofherlongandardentlydesiredmotherhoodmighthavecastouttheranklingvenomofresentmentthathadpoisoneditandtakenhimbackintoit.ButDavidhadnotcome;hegavenosignofknowingorcaringthathisoncelonged-forchildhadbeenborn.

WhenIsabellawasabletobeaboutagain,herpalefacewasharderthanever;and,hadtherebeenaboutheranyonediscerningenoughtonoticeit,therewasa subtle change in her bearing andmanner.A certain nervous expectancy, aflutteringrestlessnesswasgone.Isabellahadceasedtohopesecretlythatherhusbandwouldyetcomeback.Shehadinhersecretsoul thoughthewould;andshehadmeanttoforgivehimwhenshehadhumbledhimsufficiently,andwhenhehadabasedhimselfassheconsideredheshould.Butnowsheknewthathedidnotmeantosueforherforgiveness;andthehatethatsprangoutofheroldlovewasarankandspeedyandpersistentgrowth.

Rachel, from her earliest recollection, had been vaguely conscious of adifferencebetweenherownlifeandthelivesofherplaymates.Foralongtimeit puzzled her childish brain. Finally, she reasoned it out that the differenceconsistedinthefactthattheyhadfathersandshe,RachelSpencer,hadnone—not even in the graveyard, asCarrieBell and LilianBoulter had.Whywasthis? Rachel went straight to her mother, put one little dimpled hand onIsabella Spencer's knee, looked upwith great searching blue eyes, and saidgravely,

"Mother,whyhaven'tIgotafatherliketheotherlittlegirls?"

IsabellaSpencerlaidasideherwork,tookthesevenyearoldchildonherlap,and toldher thewhole story in a fewdirect andbitterwords that imprintedthemselves indelibly on Rachel's remembrance. She understood clearly andhopelesslythatshecouldneverhaveafather—that, in thisrespect,shemustalwaysbeunlikeotherpeople.

"Yourfathercaresnothingforyou,"saidIsabellaSpencerinconclusion."Heneverdidcare.Youmustneverspeakofhimtoanybodyagain."

Rachelslippedsilentlyfromhermother'skneeandranouttotheSpringtimegardenwith a full heart.There she cried passionately over hermother's lastwords.Itseemedtoheraterriblethingthatherfathershouldnotloveher,andacruelthingthatshemustnevertalkofhim.

Oddlyenough,Rachel's sympathieswereallwithher father, inas farasshecouldunderstandtheoldquarrel.Shedidnotdreamofdisobeyinghermotherandshedidnotdisobeyher.Neveragaindidthechildspeakofherfather;butIsabellahadnotforbiddenhertothinkofhim,andthenceforthRachelthoughtof him constantly—so constantly that, in some strange way, he seemed to

become an unguessed-of part of her inner life—the unseen, ever-presentcompanioninallherexperiences.

Shewasanimaginativechild,andinfancyshemadetheacquaintanceofherfather.Shehadneverseenhim,buthewasmorerealtoherthanmostofthepeopleshehadseen.Heplayedandtalkedwithherashermotherneverdid;hewalkedwithherintheorchardandfieldandgarden;hesatbyherpillowinthetwilight;tohimshewhisperedsecretsshetoldtononeother.

Oncehermotheraskedherimpatientlywhyshetalkedsomuchtoherself.

"Iamnottalkingtomyself.Iamtalkingtoaverydearfriendofmine,"Rachelansweredgravely.

"Sillychild,"laughedhermother,halftolerantly,halfdisapprovingly.

Twoyears later somethingwonderfulhadhappened toRachel.One summerafternoonshehadgonetotheharborwithseveralofherlittleplaymates.Suchajauntwasararetreattothechild,forIsabellaSpencerseldomallowedhertogofromhomewithanybodybutherself.AndIsabellawasnotanentertainingcompanion.Rachelneverparticularlyenjoyedanoutingwithhermother.

Thechildrenwandered far along the shore; at last theycame toaplace thatRachelhadneverseenbefore.Itwasashallowcovewherethewaterspurredon the yellow sands. Beyond it, the sea was laughing and flashing andpreeningandalluring, likeabeautiful, coquettishwoman.Outside, thewindwasboisterousandrollicking;here, itwasreverentandgentle.Awhiteboatwashauledupontheskids,andtherewasaqueerlittlehouseclosedowntothesands,likeabigshelltossedupbythewaves.Rachellookedonitallwithsecretdelight;she,too,lovedthelonelyplacesofseaandshore,asherfatherhaddone.Shewantedtolingerawhileinthisdearspotandrevelinit.

"I'mtired,girls,"sheannounced."I'mgoingtostayhereandrestforaspell.Idon'twanttogotoGullPoint.Yougoonyourselves;I'llwaitforyouhere."

"Allalone?"askedCarrieBell,wonderingly.

"I'mnotsoafraidofbeingaloneassomepeopleare,"saidRachel,withdignity.

Theothergirlswenton,leavingRachelsittingontheskids,intheshadowofthebigwhiteboat.She sat there for a timedreaminghappily,withherblueeyesonthefar,pearlyhorizon,andhergoldenheadleaningagainsttheboat.

Suddenlysheheardastepbehindher.Whenshe turnedherheadamanwasstandingbesideher, lookingdownat herwithbig,merry, blue eyes.Rachel

wasquitesure thatshehadneverseenhimbefore;yet thoseeyesseemedtohertohaveastrangelyfamiliar look.Shelikedhim.Shefeltnoshynessnortimidity,suchasusuallyafflictedherinthepresenceofstrangers.

He was a tall, stout man, dressed in a rough fishing suit, and wearing anoilskincaponhishead.Hishairwasverythickandcurlyandfair;hischeekswere tanned and red; his teeth,when he smiled,were very even andwhite.Rachel thoughthemustbequiteold,because therewasagooddealofgraymixedwithhisfairhair.

"Areyouwatchingforthemermaids?"hesaid.

Rachel nodded gravely. From any one else she would have scrupulouslyhiddensuchathought.

"Yes,Iam,"shesaid."Mothersaysthereisnosuchthingasamermaid,butIliketothinkthereis.Haveyoueverseenone?"

Thebigmansatdownonableachedlogofdriftwoodandsmiledather.

"No, I'm sorry to say that I haven't. But I have seen many other verywonderful things. Imight tell you about some of them, if youwould comeoverhereandsitbyme."

Rachelwentunhesitatingly.Whenshereachedhimhepulledherdownonhisknee,andshelikedit.

"What a nice little craft you are," he said. "Do you suppose, now, that youcouldgivemeakiss?"

Asa rule,Rachelhatedkissing.Shecouldseldombeprevailedupon tokisseven her uncles—who knew it and liked to tease her for kisses until theyaggravatedhersoterriblythatshetoldthemshecouldn'tbearmen.Butnowshepromptlyputherarmsaboutthisstrangeman'sneckandgavehimaheartysmack.

"Ilikeyou,"shesaidfrankly.

Shefelthisarmstightensuddenlyabouther.Theblueeyeslookingintohersgrewmistyandverytender.Then,allatonce,Rachelknewwhohewas.Hewasherfather.Shedidnotsayanything,butshelaidhercurlyheaddownonhis shoulder and felt a great happiness, as of onewho had come into somelonged-forhaven.

If David Spencer realized that she understood he said nothing. Instead, hebegan to tell her fascinating stories of far lands he had visited, and strange

thingshehadseen.Rachellistenedentranced,asifshewerehearkeningtoafairytale.Yes,hewasjustasshehaddreamedhim.Shehadalwaysbeensurehecouldtellbeautifulstories.

"ComeuptothehouseandI'llshowyousomeprettythings,"hesaidfinally.

Thenfollowedawonderfulhour.Thelittlelow-ceilingedroom,withitssquarewindow,intowhichhetookher,wasfilledwiththeflotsamandjetsamofhisroving life—things beautiful and odd and strange beyond all telling. ThethingsthatpleasedRachelmostweretwohugeshellsonthechimneypiece—palepinkshellswithbigcrimsonandpurplespots.

"Oh, I didn't know there could be such pretty things in the world," sheexclaimed.

"If youwould like," began the bigman; then he paused for amoment. "I'llshowyousomethingprettierstill."

Rachel feltvaguely thathemeant tosaysomethingelsewhenhebegan;butsheforgottowonderwhatitwaswhenshesawwhathebroughtoutofalittlecornercupboard.Itwasa teapotofsomefine,glisteningpurpleware,coiledover by golden dragonswith gilded claws and scales.The lid looked like abeautifulgoldenflowerandthehandlewasacoilofadragon'stail.Rachelsatandlookedatitrapt-eyed.

"That'stheonlythingofanyvalueIhaveintheworld—now,"hesaid.

Rachelknewtherewassomethingverysadinhiseyesandvoice.Shelongedtokisshimagainandcomforthim.Butsuddenlyhebegantolaugh,andthenherummagedoutsomegoodiesforhertoeat,sweetmeatsmoredeliciousthanshehad ever imagined.While shenibbled themhe tookdownanoldviolinandplayedmusicthatmadeherwanttodanceandsing.Rachelwasperfectlyhappy.Shewished shemight stay forever in that low,dim roomwithall itstreasures.

"Iseeyourlittlefriendscomingaroundthepoint,"hesaid,finally."Isupposeyoumustgo.Puttherestofthegoodiesinyourpocket."

Hetookherupinhisarmsandheldhertightlyagainsthisbreastforasinglemoment.Shefelthimkissingherhair.

"There,runalong,littlegirl.Good-by,"hesaidgently.

"Why don't you askme to come and see you again?" cried Rachel, half intears."I'mcomingANYHOW."

"If you can come, COME," he said. "If you don't come, I shall know it isbecauseyoucan't—andthatismuchtoknow.I'mvery,very,VERYglad,littlewoman,thatyouhavecomeonce."

Rachelwas sitting demurely on the skidswhen her companions cameback.Theyhadnotseenherleavingthehouse,andshesaidnotawordtothemofherexperiences.Sheonlysmiledmysteriouslywhentheyaskedherifshehadbeenlonesome.

Thatnight,forthefirsttime,shementionedherfather'snameinherprayers.She never forgot to do so afterwards. She always said, "blessmother—andfather," with an instinctive pause between the two names—a pause whichindicated new realization of the tragedywhich had sundered them.And thetoneinwhichshesaid"father"wassofterandmoretenderthantheonewhichvoiced"mother."

Rachel never visited the Cove again. Isabella Spencer discovered that thechildrenhadbeenthere,and,althoughsheknewnothingofRachel'sinterviewwithherfather,shetoldthechildthatshemustneveragaingotothatpartoftheshore.

Rachelshedmanyabittertearinsecretoverthiscommand;butsheobeyedit.Thenceforth there had been no communication between her and her father,savetheunwordedmessagesofsoultosoulacrosswhatevermaydividethem.

DavidSpencer'sinvitationtohisdaughter'sweddingwassentwiththeothers,and the remaining days ofRachel'smaidenhood slipped away in awhirl ofpreparation and excitement in which her mother reveled, but which wasdistastefultothegirl.

Theweddingdaycameatlast,breakingsoftlyandfairlyoverthegreatseainasheenofsilverandpearlandrose,aSeptemberday,asmildandbeautifulasJune.

Theceremonywastobeperformedateighto'clockintheevening.AtsevenRachelstoodinherroom,fullydressedandalone.Shehadnobridesmaid,andshehadaskedhercousins to leaveher toherself in this last solemnhourofgirlhood. She looked very fair and sweet in the sunset-light that showeredthroughthebirches.Herweddinggownwasafine,sheerorgandie,simplyanddaintilymade.Intheloosewavesofherbrighthairsheworeherbridegroom'sflowers, roses as white as a virgin's dream. She was very happy; but herhappinesswasfaintlythreadedwiththesorrowinseparablefromallchange.

Presentlyhermothercamein,carryingasmallbasket.

"Hereissomethingforyou,Rachel.Oneoftheboysfromtheharborbroughtitup.Hewasboundtogiveitintoyourownhands—saidthatwashisorders.Ijusttookitandsenthimtotheright-about—toldhimI'dgiveittoyouatonce,andthatthatwasallthatwasnecessary."

She spoke coldly. She knew quite well who had sent the basket, and sheresented it;buther resentmentwasnotquitestrongenough toovercomehercuriosity.ShestoodsilentlybywhileRachelunpackedthebasket.

Rachel's hands trembled as she took off the cover. Two huge pink-spottedshells came first.Howwell she remembered them!Beneath them, carefullywrapped up in a square of foreign-looking, strangely scented silk, was thedragon teapot. She held it in her hands and gazed at itwith tears gatheringthicklyinhereyes.

"Yourfathersentthat,"saidIsabellaSpencerwithanoddsoundinhervoice."Irememberitwell.ItwasamongthethingsIpackedupandsentafterhim.His father hadbrought it home fromChina fifty years ago, andheprized itbeyondanything.Theyusedtosayitwasworthalotofmoney."

"Mother, please leaveme alone for a littlewhile," saidRachel, imploringly.Shehadcaughtsightofa littlenoteat thebottomof thebasket,andshefeltthatshecouldnotreaditunderhermother'seyes.

Mrs. Spencer went out with unaccustomed acquiescence, and Rachel wentquickly to the window, where she read her letter by the fading gleams oftwilight.Itwasverybrief,andthewritingwasthatofamanwhoholdsapenbutseldom.

"Mydearlittlegirl,"itran,"I'msorryIcan'tgotoyourwedding.Itwaslikeyoutoaskme—forIknowitwasyourdoing.IwishIcouldseeyoumarried,but Ican'tgo to thehouse Iwas turnedoutof.Ihopeyouwillbeveryhappy.Iamsendingyoutheshellsandteapotyoulikedsomuch.Doyourememberthatdaywehadsuchagood time? Iwould liked tohaveseenyouagainbeforeyouweremarried,butitcan'tbe.

Rachelresolutelyblinkedawaythetearsthatfilledhereyes.Afiercedesireforher father sprang up in her heart—an insistent hunger that would not bedenied.SheMUST see her father; sheMUSThavehis blessingonher newlife. A sudden determination took possession of her whole being—adetermination to sweep aside all conventionalities and objections as if theyhadnotbeen.

Itwasnowalmostdark.Theguestswouldnotbecomingforhalfanhouryet.

It was only fifteenminutes' walk over the hill to the Cove. Hastily Rachelshroudedherself inhernewraincoat,anddrewadark,protectinghoodoverhergayhead.Sheopened thedoor and slippednoiselesslydownstairs.Mrs.Spencer and her assistantswere all busy in the back part of the house. In amomentRachelwasout in thedewygarden.Shewouldgostraightover thefields.Nobodywouldseeher.

ItwasquitedarkwhenshereachedtheCove.Inthecrystalcupoftheskyoverherthestarswereblinking.Flyingflakesoffoamwerescurryingoverthesandlikeelfin things.Asoft littlewindwascrooningabout theeavesof the littlegrayhousewhereDavidSpencerwassitting,aloneinthetwilight,hisviolinonhisknee.Hehadbeentryingtoplay,butcouldnot.Hisheartyearnedafterhisdaughter—yes,andaftera long-estrangedbrideofhisyouth.His loveofthe seawas sated forever; his love forwife and child still cried for its ownunderallhisoldangerandstubbornness.

The door opened suddenly and the very Rachel ofwhom hewas dreamingcame suddenly in, flinging off her wraps and standing forth in her youngbeauty and bridal adornments, a splendid creature, almost lighting up thegloomwithherradiance.

"Father,"shecried,brokenly,andherfather'seagerarmsclosedaroundher.

Backinthehouseshehadleft,theguestswerecomingtothewedding.Therewere jests and laughter and friendly greeting. The bridegroom came, too, aslim, dark-eyed lad who tiptoed bashfully upstairs to the spare room, fromwhichhepresentlyemergedtoconfrontMrs.Spenceronthelanding.

"IwanttoseeRachelbeforewegodown,"hesaid,blushing.

Mrs. Spencer deposited a wedding present of linen on the table whichwasalready ladenwith gifts, opening the door ofRachel's room, and called her.Therewas no reply; the roomwas dark and still. In sudden alarm, IsabellaSpencersnatchedthelampfromthehalltableandhelditup.Thelittlewhiteroom was empty. No blushing, white-clad bride tenanted it. But DavidSpencer'sletterwaslyingonthestand.Shecaughtitupandreadit.

"Rachel isgone,"shegasped.Aflashof intuitionhad revealed toherwhereandwhythegirlhadgone.

"Gone!" echoed Frank, his face blanching. His pallid dismay recalledMrs.Spencertoherself.Shegaveabitter,uglylittlelaugh.

"Oh,youneedn'tlooksoscared,Frank.Shehasn'trunawayfromyou.Hush;comeinhere—shutthedoor.Nobodymustknowofthis.Nicegossipitwould

make!ThatlittlefoolhasgonetotheCovetoseeher—herfather.Iknowshehas. It's just likewhatshewoulddo.Hesenther thosepresents—look—andthisletter.Readit.Shehasgonetocoaxhimtocomeandseehermarried.Shewas crazy about it.And theminister is here and it is half-past seven.She'llruinherdressandshoesinthedustanddew.Andwhatifsomeonehasseenher!Wasthereeversuchalittlefool?"

Frank'spresenceofmindhadreturnedtohim.HeknewallaboutRachelandherfather.Shehadtoldhimeverything.

"I'llgoafterher,"hesaidgently."Getmemyhatandcoat.I'llslipdownthebackstairsandovertotheCove."

"You must get out of the pantry window, then," said Mrs. Spencer firmly,minglingcomedyandtragedyafterhercharacteristicfashion."Thekitchenisfullofwomen.Iwon'thavethisknownandtalkedaboutifitcanpossiblybehelped."

Thebridegroom,wisebeyondhisyears in theknowledge that itwaswell toyieldtowomeninlittlethings,crawledobedientlyoutofthepantrywindowand darted through the birch wood. Mrs. Spencer had stood quakingly onguarduntilhehaddisappeared.

SoRachelhadgonetoherfather!Likehadbrokenthefettersofyearsandfledtolike.

"It isn'tmuchuse fighting against nature, I guess," she thought grimly. "I'mbeat.Hemusthavethoughtsomethingofher,afterall,whenhesentherthatteapotandletter.Andwhatdoeshemeanaboutthe'daytheyhadsuchagoodtime'? Well, it just means that she's been to see him before, sometime, Isuppose,andkeptmeinignoranceofitall."

Mrs.Spencershutdownthepantrywindowwithaviciousthud.

"If only she'll come quietly back with Frank in time to prevent gossip I'llforgiveher,"shesaid,assheturnedtothekitchen.

Rachelwassittingonherfather'sknee,withbothherwhitearmsaroundhisneck,whenFrankcamein.Shesprangup,herfaceflushedandappealing,hereyesbrightanddewywithtears.Frankthoughthehadneverseenherlooksolovely.

"Oh,Frank,isitverylate?Oh,areyouangry?"sheexclaimedtimidly.

"No,no,dear.OfcourseI'mnotangry.Butdon'tyouthinkyou'dbettercomebacknow?It'snearlyeightandeverybodyiswaiting."

"I'vebeentryingtocoaxfathertocomeupandseememarried,"saidRachel."Helpme,Frank."

"You'd better come, sir," said Frank, heartily, "I'd like it asmuch asRachelwould."

DavidSpencershookhisheadstubbornly.

"No,Ican'tgotothathouse.Iwaslockedoutofit.Nevermindme.I'vehadmyhappinessinthishalfhourwithmylittlegirl.I'dliketoseehermarried,butitisn'ttobe."

"Yes, it is to be—it shall be," said Rachel resolutely. "You SHALL seememarried.Frank,I'mgoingtobemarriedhereinmyfather'shouse!Thatistherightplaceforagirltobemarried.Gobackandtelltheguestsso,andbringthemalldown."

Franklookedratherdismayed.DavidSpencersaiddeprecatingly:"Littlegirl,don'tyouthinkitwouldbe—"

"I'mgoing to havemyownway in this," saidRachel,with a sort of tenderfinality."Go,Frank.I'llobeyyouallmylifeafter,butyoumustdothisforme.Trytounderstand,"sheaddedbeseechingly.

"Oh,Iunderstand,"Frankreassuredher."Besides,Ithinkyouareright.ButIwasthinkingofyourmother.Shewon'tcome."

"Then you tell her that if she doesn't come I shan't bemarried at all," saidRachel. Shewas betraying unsuspected ability tomanage people. She knewthatultimatumwouldurgeFranktohisbestendeavors.

Frank,much toMrs. Spencer's dismay,marched boldly in at the front dooruponhis return.Shepouncedonhimandwhiskedhimoutof sight into thesupperroom.

"Where'sRachel?Whatmadeyoucomethatway?Everybodysawyou!"

"Itmakesnodifference.Theywillallhavetoknow,anyway.Rachelsayssheisgoingtobemarriedfromherfather'shouse,ornotatall.I'vecomebacktotellyouso."

Isabella'sfaceturnedcrimson.

"Rachelhasgonecrazy.Iwashmyhandsofthisaffair.Doasyouplease.Taketheguests—thesupper,too,ifyoucancarryit."

"We'll all come back here for supper," said Frank, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Come,Mrs.Spencer,let'smakethebestofit."

"DoyousupposethatIamgoingtoDavidSpencer'shouse?"saidIsabellaSpencerviolently.

"OhyouMUSTcome,Mrs.Spencer,"criedpoorFrankdesperately.Hebeganto fear that he would lose his bride past all finding in this maze of triplestubbornness. "Rachel says shewon't bemarried at all if you don't go, too.Thinkwhatatalkitwillmake.Youknowshewillkeepherword."

IsabellaSpencerknewit.Amidalltheconflictofangerandrevoltinhersoulwas a strong desire not tomake aworse scandal thanmust of necessity bemade.Thedesiresubduedandtamedher,asnothingelsecouldhavedone.

"I will go, since I have to," she said icily. "What can't be cured must beendured.Goandtellthem."

FiveminuteslaterthesixtyweddingguestswereallwalkingoverthefieldstotheCove,withtheministerandthebridegroominthefrontoftheprocession.They were too amazed even to talk about the strange happening. IsabellaSpencerwalkedbehind,fiercelyalone.

TheyallcrowdedintothelittleroomofthehouseattheCove,andasolemnhush fell over it, brokenonly by the purr of the sea-wind around it and thecroonofthewavesontheshore.DavidSpencergavehisdaughteraway;but,whentheceremonywasconcluded,Isabellawasthefirsttotakethegirlinherarms.Sheclaspedherandkissedher,withtearsstreamingdownherpaleface,allhernaturemeltedinamother'stenderness.

"Rachel!Rachel!Mychild,Ihopeandpraythatyoumaybehappy,"shesaidbrokenly.

Inthesurgeofthesuddenlymerrycrowdofwell-wishersaroundthebrideandgroom,Isabellawaspushedbackintoashadowycornerbehindaheapofsailsandropes.Lookingup,shefoundherselfcrushedagainstDavidSpencer.Forthefirsttimeintwentyyearstheeyesofhusbandandwifemet.AstrangethrillshottoIsabella'sheart;shefeltherselftrembling.

"Isabella." It was David's voice in her ear—a voice full of tenderness andpleading—thevoiceoftheyoungwooerofhergirlhood—"Isittoolatetoaskyoutoforgiveme?I'vebeenastubbornfool—buttherehasn'tbeenanhourinall theseyears that Ihaven't thoughtaboutyouandourbabyand longedforyou."

Isabella Spencer had hated this man; yet her hate had been but a parasitegrowthonanoblerstem,withnoabidingrootsofitsown.Itwitheredunder

hiswords,andlo,therewastheoldlove,fairandstrongandbeautifulasever.

"Oh—David—I—was—all—to—blame,"shemurmuredbrokenly.

Furtherwordswerelostonherhusband'slips.

When the hubbub of handshaking and congratulating had subsided, IsabellaSpencersteppedoutbeforethecompany.Shelookedalmostgirlishandbridalherself,withherflushedcheeksandbrighteyes.

"Let's go back now and have supper, and be sensible," she said crisply."Rachel,yourfatheriscoming,too.HeiscomingtoSTAY,"—withadefiantglancearoundthecircle."Come,everybody."

Theywentbackwithlaughterandrailleryoverthequietautumnfields,faintlysilverednowbythemoonthatwasrisingoverthehills.Theyoungbrideandgroomlaggedbehind;theywereveryhappy,buttheywerenotsohappy,afterall, as the old bride andgroomwhowalked swiftly in front. Isabella's handwasinherhusband'sandsometimesshecouldnotseethemoonlithillsforamistofglorifiedtears.

"David,"shewhispered,ashehelpedherover thefence,"howcanyoueverforgiveme?"

"There'snothingtoforgive,"hesaid."We'reonlyjustmarried.Whoeverheardofabridegroomtalkingofforgiveness?Everythingisbeginningovernewforus,mygirl."

IV. JANE'SBABY

MissRosettaEllis,withherfronthairincurl-papers,andherbackhairboundwithacheckedapron,wasoutinherbreezysideyardunderthefirs,shakingherparlor rugs,whenMr.NathanPattersondrove in.MissRosettahadseenhim coming down the long red hill, but she had not supposed hewould becallingat that timeofthemorning.Soshehadnotrun.MissRosettaalwaysran if anybodycalled andher front hairwas in curl-papers; and, though theerrandofthesaidcallermightbelifeordeath,heorshehadtowaituntilMissRosetta had taken her hair out. Everybody in Avonlea knew this, becauseeverybodyinAvonleakneweverythingabouteverybodyelse.

ButMr.PattersonhadwheeledintothelanesoquicklyandunexpectedlythatMissRosettahadhadnotimetorun;so,twitchingoffthecheckedapron,she

stoodhergroundascalmlyasmightbeunderthedisagreeableconsciousnessofcurl-papers.

"Goodmorning,MissEllis,"saidMr.Patterson,sosomberlythatMissRosettainstantlyfeltthathewasthebearerofbadnews.UsuallyMr.Patterson'sfacewasasbroadandbeamingasaharvestmoon.Nowhisexpressionwasverymelancholyandhisvoicepositivelysepulchral.

"Goodmorning," returnedMiss Rosetta, crisply and cheerfully. She, at anyrate,wouldnotgointoeclipseuntilsheknewthereasontherefor."Itisafineday."

"Avery fineday,"assentedMr.Patterson, solemnly. "Ihave just come fromtheWheelerplace,MissEllis,andIregrettosay—"

"Charlotte is sick!" cried Miss Rosetta, rapidly. "Charlotte has got anotherspellwithherheart!Iknewit!I'vebeenexpectingtohearit!Anywomanthatdrivesaboutthecountryasmuchasshedoesisliabletoheartdiseaseatanymoment.InevergooutsideofmygatebutImeethergaddingoffsomewhere.Goodnessknowswholooksafterherplace.Ishouldn'tliketotrustasmuchtoa hiredman as she does.Well, it is very kind of you,Mr. Patterson, to putyourselfouttotheextentofcallingtotellmethatCharlotteissick,butIdon'treally see why you should take so much trouble—I really don't. It doesn'tmatter tomewhetherCharlotte is sickorwhether she isn't.YOUknow thatperfectlywell,Mr.Patterson, ifanybodydoes.WhenCharlottewentandgotmarried,onthesly,tothatgood-for-nothingJacobWheeler—"

"Mrs. Wheeler is quite well," interrupted Mr. Patterson desperately. "Quitewell.Nothingatallthematterwithher,infact.Ionly—"

"Then what do you mean by coming here and telling me she wasn't, andfrighteningmehalftodeath?"demandedMissRosetta,indignantly."Myownheart isn't very strong—it runs inour family—andmydoctorwarnedme toavoidall shocksandexcitement. Idon'twant tobeexcited,Mr.Patterson. Iwon'tbeexcited,notevenifCharlottehasanotherspell.It'sperfectlyuselessforyoutotrytoexciteme,Mr.Patterson."

"Blessthewoman,I'mnottryingtoexciteanybody!"declaredMr.Pattersoninexasperation."Imerelycalledtotellyou—"

"TotellmeWHAT?"saidMissRosetta."Howmuchlongerdoyoumeantokeepme in suspense,Mr.Patterson.Nodoubtyouhaveabundanceof sparetime,but—I—haveNOT."

"—thatyoursister,Mrs.Wheeler,hashadaletterfromacousinofyours,and

she'sinCharlottetown.Mrs.Roberts,Ithinkhernameis—"

"JaneRoberts," broke inMiss Rosetta. "Jane Ellis shewas, before shewasmarried.WhatwasshewritingtoCharlotteabout?NotthatIwanttoknow,ofcourse.I'mnotinterestedinCharlotte'scorrespondence,goodnessknows.Butif Jane had anything in particular towrite about she should havewritten toME. I am the oldest. Charlotte had no business to get a letter from JaneRobertswithout consultingme. It's just like her underhandedways.Shegotmarriedthesameway.Neversaidawordtomeaboutit,butjustsneakedoffwiththatunprincipledJacobWheeler—"

"Mrs. Roberts is very ill. I understand," persisted Mr. Patterson, noblyresolvedtodowhathehadcometodo,"dying,infact,and—"

"Janeill!Janedying!"exclaimedMissRosetta."Why,shewasthehealthiestgirl Ieverknew!But thenI'veneverseenher,norheardfromher,sinceshegot married fifteen years ago. I dare say her husband was a brute andneglectedher,andshe'spinedawaybyslowdegrees.I'venofaithinhusbands.LookatCharlotte!EverybodyknowshowJacobWheelerusedher.Tobesure,shedeservedit,but—"

"Mrs.Roberts'husbandisdead,"saidMr.Patterson."Diedabouttwomonthsago, Iunderstand, and shehasa littlebaby sixmonthsold, and she thoughtperhapsMrs.Wheelerwouldtakeitforoldtimes'sake—"

"DidCharlotteaskyoutocallandtellmethis?"demandedMissRosettaeagerly.

"No; she just toldmewhatwas in the letter. She didn'tmention you; but Ithought,perhaps,yououghttobetold—"

"Iknewit,"saidMissRosettainatoneofbitterassurance."Icouldhavetoldyouso.Charlottewouldn'tevenletmeknowthatJanewasill.Charlottewouldbe afraid I would want to get the baby, seeing that Jane and I were suchintimatefriends longago.Andwhohasabetterright to it thanme,Ishouldliketoknow?Ain'tItheoldest?Andhaven'tIhadexperienceinbringingupbabies?Charlotteneedn'tthinksheisgoingtoruntheaffairsofourfamilyjustbecauseshehappenedtogetmarried.JacobWheeler—"

"Imustbegoing,"saidMr.Patterson,gatheringuphisreinsthankfully.

"I am much obliged to you for coming to tell me about Jane," said MissRosetta,"eventhoughyouhavewastedalotofprecioustimegettingitout.Ifithadn'tbeenforyouIsupposeIshouldneverhaveknownitatall.Asitis,IshallstartfortownjustassoonasIcangetready."

"You'llhavetohurryifyouwanttogetaheadofMrs.Wheeler,"advisedMr.Patterson."She'spackinghertrunkandgoingonthemorningtrain."

"I'llpackavaliseandgoontheafternoontrain,"retortedMissRosettatriumphantly."I'llshowCharlottesheisn'trunningtheEllisaffairs.ShemarriedoutofthemintotheWheelers.Shecanattendtothem.JacobWheelerwasthemost—"

ButMr.Pattersonhaddrivenaway.He felt thathehaddonehisduty in thefaceoffearfulodds,andhedidnotwant tohearanythingmoreaboutJacobWheeler.

RosettaEllisandCharlotteWheelerhadnotexchangedawordfortenyears.Before that time theyhadbeendevoted to eachother, living together in thelittleElliscottageontheWhiteSandsroad,astheyhaddoneeversincetheirparents'death.ThetroublebeganwhenJacobWheelerhadcommencedtopayattention toCharlotte, theyoungerandprettierof twowomenwhohadbothceased to be either very young or very pretty. Rosetta had been bitterlyopposed to the match from the first. She vowed she had no use for JacobWheeler. There were not lacking malicious people to hint that this wasbecausetheaforesaidJacobWheelerhadselectedthewrongsisteruponwhomtobestowhisaffections.Bethatasitmight,MissRosettacertainlycontinuedto render the course of Jacob Wheeler's true love exceedingly rough andtumultuous. The end of it was that Charlotte had gone quietly away onemorningandmarriedJacobWheelerwithoutMissRosetta'sknowinganythingabout it.MissRosettahadneverforgivenherfor it,andCharlottehadneverforgiventhethingsRosettahadsaidtoherwhensheandJacobreturnedtotheElliscottage.Sincethenthesistershadbeenavowedandopenfoes,theonlydifferencebeingthatMissRosettaairedhergrievancespublicly,inseasonandout of season, while Charlotte was never heard to mention Rosetta's name.EventhedeathofJacobWheeler,fiveyearsafterthemarriage,hadnothealedthebreach.

MissRosetta tookouthercurl-papers,packedhervalise,andcaught the lateafternoontrainforCharlottetown,asshehadthreatened.AllthewaythereshesatrigidlyuprightinherseatandheldimaginarydialogueswithCharlotteinhermind,runningsomethinglikethisonherpart:—

"No,CharlotteWheeler,youarenotgoingtohaveJane'sbaby,andyou'reverymuch mistaken if you think so. Oh, all right—we'll see! You don't knowanything about babies, even if you aremarried. I do.Didn't I takeWilliamEllis'sbaby,whenhiswifedied?Tellmethat,CharlotteWheeler!Anddidn'tthe little thing thrivewithme, and grow strong and healthy?Yes, even youhave to admit that it did, Charlotte Wheeler. And yet you have the

presumption to think that you ought to have Jane's baby! Yes, it ispresumption,CharlotteWheeler.AndwhenWilliamEllisgotmarriedagain,and took the baby, didn't the child cling tome and cry as if I was its realmother?Youknowitdid,CharlotteWheeler.I'mgoingtogetandkeepJane'sbabyinspiteofyou,CharlotteWheeler,andI'dliketoseeyoutrytopreventme—youthatwentandgotmarriedandneversomuchasletyourownsisterknowof it! If Ihadgotmarried insucha fashion,CharlotteWheeler, I'dbeashamedtolookanybodyinthefacefortherestofmynaturallife!"

MissRosettawassointerestedinthuslayingdownthelawtoCharlotte,andinplanningout thefuture lifeofJane'sbaby, thatshedidn't find the journey toCharlottetownsolongortediousasmighthavebeenexpected,consideringherhaste.Shesoonfoundherwaytothehousewherehercousinlived.There,toher dismay and real sorrow, she learned thatMrs. Roberts had died at fouro'clockthatafternoon.

"SheseemeddreadfulanxioustoliveuntilsheheardfromsomeofherfolksoutinAvonlea,"saidthewomanwhogaveMissRosettatheinformation."Shehadwritten to them about her little girl. Shewasmy sister-in-law, and shelivedwithmeeversinceherhusbanddied.I'vedonemybestforher;butI'veabig family ofmy own and I can't see how I'm to keep the child. Poor JanelookedandlongedforsomeonetocomefromAvonlea,butshecouldn'tholdout.Apatient,sufferingcreatureshewas!"

"I'mhercousin,"saidMissRosetta,wipinghereyes,"andIhavecomeforthebaby. I'll take it home with me after the funeral; and, if you please, Mrs.Gordon,letmeseeitrightaway,soitcangetaccustomedtome.PoorJane!IwishIcouldhavegothereintimetoseeher,sheandIweresuchfriendslongago.Wewerefarmoreintimateandconfidential thaneverherandCharlottewas.Charlotteknowsthat,too!"

ThevimwithwhichMissRosettasnappedthisoutratheramazedMrs.Gordon,whocouldn'tunderstanditatall.ButshetookMissRosettaupstairstotheroomwherethebabywassleeping.

"Oh,thelittledarling,"criedMissRosetta,allheroldmaidishnessandoddityfalling away from her like a garment, and all her innate and deniedmotherhoodshiningoutinherfacelikeatransformingillumination."Oh,thesweet,dear,prettylittlething!"

Thebabywasadarling—asix-months'oldbeautywith littlegoldenringletscurlingandglisteningalloverits tinyhead.AsMissRosettahungoverit, itopened its eyes and then held out its tiny hands to her with a gurgle ofconfidence.

"Oh,yousweetest!"saidMissRosettarapturously,gatheringitupinherarms."You belong to me, darling—never, never, to that under-handed Charlotte!Whatisitsname,Mrs.Gordon?"

"Itwasn'tnamed,"saidMrs.Gordon."Guessyou'llhavetonameityourself,MissEllis."

"CamillaJane,"saidMissRosettawithoutamoment'shesitation."Janeafteritsmother,ofcourse;andIhavealwaysthoughtCamillatheprettiestnameintheworld.Charlottewouldbesuretogiveitsomeperfectlyheathenishname.Iwouldn'tputitpasthercallingthepoorinnocentMehitable."

Miss Rosetta decided to stay in Charlottetown until after the funeral. Thatnight she lay with the baby on her arm, listening with joy to its soft littlebreathing.Shedidnotsleeporwishtosleep.Herwakingfanciesweremorealluringthananyvisionsofdreamland.Moreover,shegaveaspicetothembyoccasionallysnappingsomevicioussentencesoutloudatCharlotte.

Miss Rosetta fully expected Charlotte along on the following morning andgirded herself for the fray; but no Charlotte appeared. Night came; noCharlotte. Another morning and no Charlotte.Miss Rosetta was hopelesslypuzzled. What had happened? Dear, dear, had Charlotte taken a bad heartspell, on hearing that she, Rosetta, had stolen a march on her toCharlottetown?Itwasquitelikely.YouneverknewwhattoexpectofawomanwhohadmarriedJacobWheeler!

Thetruthwas,thattheveryeveningMissRosettahadleftAvonleaMrs.JacobWheeler's hiredman had broken his leg and had had to be conveyed to hisdistanthomeona featherbed inanexpresswagon.Mrs.Wheelercouldnotleavehomeuntilshehadobtainedanotherhiredman.Consequently,itwastheevening after the funeral when Mrs. Wheeler whisked up the steps of theGordonhouseandmetMissRosettacomingoutwithabigwhitebundleinherarms.

Theeyesofthetwowomenmetdefiantly.MissRosetta'sfaceworeanairoftriumph, chastened by a remembrance of the funeral that afternoon. Mrs.Wheeler's face, except for eyes, was as expressionless as it usually was.Unlike the tall, fair, fatMissRosetta,Mrs.Wheelerwassmallanddarkandthin,withaneager,carewornface.

"HowisJane?"shesaidabruptly,breakingthesilenceoftenyearsinsayingit.

"Janeisdeadandburied,poorthing,"saidMissRosettacalmly."Iamtakingherbaby,littleCamillaJane,homewithme."

"Thebabybelongstome,"criedMrs.Wheelerpassionately."Janewrotetomeabouther.JanemeantthatIshouldhaveher.I'vecomeforher."

"You'llgobackwithoutherthen,"saidMissRosetta,sereneinthepossessionthatisninepointsofthelaw."Thechildismine,andsheisgoingtostaymine.Youcanmakeupyourmindtothat,CharlotteWheeler.Awomanwhoelopedtogetmarriedisn'tfittobetrustedwithababy,anyhow.JacobWheeler—"

ButMrs.Wheelerhad rushedpast into thehouse.MissRosetta composedlysteppedintothecabanddrovetothestation.Shefairlybridledwithtriumph;andunderneath the triumphranaqueerundercurrentofsatisfactionover thefact thatCharlottehadspoken toherat last.MissRosettawouldnot lookatthissatisfaction,orgiveitaname,butitwasthere.

MissRosettaarrivedsafelybackinAvonleawithCamillaJaneandwithintenhours everybody in the settlement knew thewhole story, and everywomanwhocouldstandonherfeethadbeenuptotheElliscottagetoseethebaby.Mrs.Wheelerarrivedhometwenty-fourhourslater,andsilentlybetookherselfto her farm. When her Avonlea neighbors sympathized with her in herdisappointment,shesaidnothing,butlookedall themoredarklydetermined.Also,aweeklater,Mr.WilliamJ.Blair,theCarmodystorekeeper,hadanoddtaletotell.Mrs.Wheelerhadcometothestoreandboughtalotoffineflanneland muslin and valenciennes. Now, what in the name of time, did Mrs.Wheelerwantwithsuchstuff?Mr.WilliamJ.Blaircouldn'tmakeheadortailof it, and it worried him. Mr. Blair was so accustomed to know whateverybodyboughtanythingforthatsuchamysteryquiteupsethim.

MissRosettahadexultedinthepossessionoflittleCamillaJaneforamonth,and had been so happy that she had almost given up inveighing againstCharlotte.Herconversations,insteadoftendingalwaystoJacobWheeler,nowranCamillaJaneward;andthis,folksthought,wasanimprovement.

One afternoon, Miss Rosetta, leaving Camilla Jane snugly sleeping in hercradleinthekitchen,hadslippeddowntothebottomofthegardentopickhercurrants.Thehousewashiddenfromhersightbythecopseofcherrytrees,butshe had left the kitchenwindow open, so that she could hear the baby if itawakenedandcried.MissRosettasanghappilyasshepickedhercurrants.Forthe first time since Charlotte had married JacobWheelerMiss Rosetta feltreallyhappy—sohappythattherewasnoroominherheartforbitterness.Infancyshelookedforwardtothecomingyears,andsawCamillaJanegrowingupintogirlhood,fairandlovable.

"She'll be a beauty," reflected Miss Rosetta complacently. "Jane was ahandsomegirl.SheshallalwaysbedressedasniceasIcanmanageit,andI'll

getheranorgan,andhaveher takepaintingandmusic lessons.Parties, too!I'llgiveherarealcoming-outpartywhenshe'seighteenandtheveryprettiestdressthat'stobehad.Dearme,Icanhardlywaitforhertogrowup,thoughshe'ssweetenoughnowtomakeonewishshecouldstayababyforever."

WhenMissRosettareturnedtothekitchen,hereyesfellonanemptycradle.CamillaJanewasgone!

Miss Rosetta promptly screamed. She understood at a glance what hadhappened.Sixmonths'oldbabiesdonotgetoutoftheircradlesanddisappearthroughcloseddoorswithoutanyassistance.

"Charlottehasbeenhere,"gaspedMissRosetta."CharlottehasstolenCamillaJane! Imighthaveexpected it. Imighthaveknownwhen Iheard that storyabout her buying muslin and flannel. It's just like Charlotte to do such anunderhandtrick.ButI'llgoafterher!I'llshowher!She'llfindoutshehasgotRosettaEllistodealwithandnoWheeler!"

Likeafranticcreatureandwhollyforgettingthatherhairwasincurl-papers,MissRosettahurriedupthehillanddowntheshoreroadtotheWheelerFarm—aplaceshehadnevervisitedinherlifebefore.

The wind was off-shore and only broke the bay's surface into long silveryripples, and sent sheeny shadows flying out across it from every point andheadland,liketransparentwings.

Thelittlegrayhouse,soclosetothepurringwavesthatinstormstheirspraysplashedoveritsverydoorstep,seemeddeserted.MissRosettapoundedlustilyon the frontdoor.Thisproducingno result, shemarchedaround to thebackdoorandknocked.Noanswer.MissRosettatriedthedoor.Itwaslocked.

"Guiltyconscience,"sniffedMissRosetta."Well, Ishallstayhereuntil IseethatperfidiousCharlotte,ifIhavetocampintheyardallnight."

MissRosettawasquitecapableofdoingthis,butshewassparedthenecessity;walkingboldlyuptothekitchenwindow,andpeeringthroughit,shefeltherheartswellwithangerasshebeheldCharlottesittingcalmlybythetablewithCamillaJaneonherknee.Besideherwasabefrilledandbemuslinedcradle,andonachairlaythegarmentsinwhichMissRosettahaddressedthebaby.Itwas clad in an entirely new outfit, and seemed quite at homewith its newpossessor. Itwas laughingandcooing,andmaking littledabsatherwith itsdimpledhands.

"CharlotteWheeler,"criedMissRosetta,rappingsharplyonthewindow-pane."I'vecomefor thatchild!Bringherout tomeatonce—atonce, I say!How

dareyoucometomyhouseandstealababy?You'renobetterthanacommonburglar.GivemeCamillaJane,Isay!"

Charlotte came over to thewindowwith the baby in her arms and triumphglitteringinhereyes.

"ThereisnosuchchildasCamillaJanehere,"shesaid."ThisisBarbaraJane.Shebelongstome."

WiththatMrs.Wheelerpulleddowntheshade.

MissRosettahad togohome.Therewasnothingelse forher todo.OnherwayshemetMr.Pattersonandtoldhiminfullthestoryofherwrongs.ItwasalloverAvonleabynight,andcreatedquiteasensation.Avonleahadnothadsuchatoothsomebitofgossipforalongtime.

Mrs.WheelerexultedinthepossessionofBarbaraJaneforsixweeks,duringwhichMissRosettabrokeherheartwithlonelinessandlonging,andmeditatedfutileplotsfortherecoveryofthebaby.Itwashopelesstothinkofstealingitbackorshewouldhavetriedto.ThehiredmanattheWheelerplacereportedthatMrs.Wheeler never left it night or day for a singlemoment. She evencarrieditwithherwhenshewenttomilkthecows.

"Butmyturnwillcome,"saidMissRosettagrimly."CamillaJaneismine,andif she was called Barbara for a century it wouldn't alter that fact! Barbara,indeed!WhynothavecalledherMethusalehandhavedonewithit?"

One afternoon in October, when Miss Rosetta was picking her apples andthinkingdrearilyaboutlostCamillaJane,awomancamerunningbreathlesslydown the hill and into the yard. Miss Rosetta gave an exclamation ofamazement and dropped her basket of apples. Of all incredible things! ThewomanwasCharlotte—CharlottewhohadneversetfootonthegroundsoftheEllis cottage sincehermarriage tenyears ago,Charlotte, bare-headed,wild-eyed,distraught,wringingherhandsandsobbing.

MissRosettaflewtomeether.

"You'vescaldedCamilla Jane todeath!" sheexclaimed. "Ialwaysknewyouwould—alwaysexpectedit!"

"Oh,forheaven'ssake,comequick,Rosetta!"gaspedCharlotte."BarbaraJaneisinconvulsionsandIdon'tknowwhattodo.Thehiredmanhasgoneforthedoctor.Youwerethenearest,soIcametoyou.JennyWhitewastherewhentheycameon, so I leftherand ran.Oh,Rosetta,come,come, ifyouhaveasparkofhumanityinyou!Youknowwhattodoforconvulsions—yousavedtheEllisbabywhenithadthem.Oh,comeandsaveBarbaraJane!"

"YoumeanCamillaJane,Ipresume?"saidMissRosettafirmly,inspiteofheragitation.

For a secondCharlotteWheeler hesitated.Then she saidpassionately: "Yes,yes,CamillaJane—anynameyoulike!Onlycome."

MissRosettawent,andnotamomenttoosoon,either.Thedoctorlivedeightmiles away and the baby was very bad. The two women and JennyWhiteworkedoverherforhours.Itwasnotuntildark,whenthebabywassleepingsoundlyandthedoctorhadgone,aftertellingMissRosettathatshehadsavedthechild'slife,thatarealizationofthesituationcamehometothem.

"Well," said Miss Rosetta, dropping into an armchair with a long sigh ofweariness,"Iguessyou'lladmitnow,CharlotteWheeler,thatyouarehardlyafitpersontohavechargeofababy,evenifyouhadtogoandstealitfromme.I should think your consciencewould reproach you—that is, if anywomanwhowouldmarryJacobWheelerinsuchanunderhandedfashionhasa—"

"I—Iwantedthebaby,"sobbedCharlotte,tremulously."Iwassolonelyhere.Ididn't think itwasanyharmto takeher,becauseJanegaveher tome inherletter.Butyouhavesavedherlife,Rosetta,andyou—youcanhaveherback,althoughitwillbreakmyhearttogiveherup.But,oh,Rosetta,won'tyouletme come and see her sometimes? I love her so I can't bear to give her upentirely."

"Charlotte,"saidMissRosettafirmly,"themostsensiblethingforyoutodoisjust tocomebackwith thebaby.Youareworried todeath trying to run thisfarmwith thedebtJacobWheeler lefton it foryou.Sell it,andcomehomewithme.Andwe'llbothhavethebabythen."

"Oh,Rosetta, I'd love to," falteredCharlotte. "I've—I'vewanted to be goodfriendswith you again somuch.But I thought youwere so hard and bitteryou'dnevermakeup."

"Maybe I've talked too much," conceded Miss Rosetta, "but you ought toknowmewellenoughtoknowIdidn'tmeanawordofit.Itwasyourneversayinganything,nomatterwhatIsaid,thatriledmeupsobad.Letbygonesbebygones,andcomehome,Charlotte."

"Iwill," saidCharlotte resolutely,wipingawayher tears. "I'm sickof livinghereandputtingupwithhiredmen.I'llberealgladtogohome,Rosetta,andthat's thetruth.I'vehadahardenoughtime.Is'poseyou'llsayIdeservedit;butIwasfondofJacob,and—"

"Ofcourse,ofcourse.Whyshouldn'tyoube?"saidMissRosettabriskly."I'm

sureJacobWheelerwasagoodenoughsoul, ifhewasa littleslack-twisted.I'dliketohearanybodysayawordagainsthiminmypresence.Lookatthatblessedchild,Charlotte. Isn't she the sweetest thing? I'mdesperategladyouarecomingbackhome,Charlotte.I'veneverbeenabletoputupadecentmessofmustard pickles since youwent away, and youwere always such a handwiththem!We'llberealsnugandcozyagain—youandmeandlittleCamillaBarbaraJane."

V. THEDREAM-CHILD

Aman'sheart—aye,andawoman's, too—shouldbe light in thespring.Thespiritof resurrection isabroad,calling the lifeof theworldoutof itswintrygrave,knockingwithradiantfingersatthegatesofitstomb.Itstirsinhumanhearts, and makes them glad with the old primal gladness they felt inchildhood.Itquickenshumansouls,andbringsthem,ifsotheywill,socloseto God that they may clasp hands with Him. It is a time of wonder andrenewed life, and a great outward and inward rapture, as of a young angelsoftlyclappinghishandsforcreation'sjoy.Atleast,soitshouldbe;andsoitalwayshadbeenwithmeuntilthespringwhenthedream-childfirstcameintoourlives.

That year I hated the spring—I,who had always loved it so.As boy I hadloved it, andasman.All thehappiness thathadeverbeenmine, and itwasmuch, had come to blossom in the springtime. It was in the spring thatJosephineandIhadfirstlovedeachother,or,atleast,hadfirstcomeintothefullknowledgethatweloved.I thinkthatwemusthavelovedeachotherallourlives,andthateachsucceedingspringwasawordintherevelationofthatlove, not to be understood until, in the fullness of time, thewhole sentencewaswrittenoutinthatmostbeautifulofallbeautifulsprings.

How beautiful it was! And how beautiful she was! I suppose every loverthinksthatofhislass;otherwiseheisapoorsortoflover.Butitwasnotonlymyeyesoflovethatmademydearlovely.Shewasslimandlitheasayoung,white-stemmedbirchtree;herhairwaslikeasoft,duskycloud;andhereyeswereasblueasAvonleaharboronafairtwilight,whenalltheskyisabloomoverit.Shehaddarklashes,andalittleredmouththatquiveredwhenshewasvery sad or very happy, or when she loved very much—quivered like acrimsonrosetoorudelyshakenbythewind.Atsuchtimeswhatwasamantodosavekissit?

The next spring we were married, and I brought her home to my gray oldhomesteadonthegrayoldharborshore.Alonelyplaceforayoungbride,saidAvonleapeople.Nay,itwasnotso.Shewashappyhere,eveninmyabsences.Shelovedthegreat,restlessharborandthevast,mistyseabeyond;shelovedthe tides,keeping theirworld-old trystwith theshore,and thegulls,and thecroon of thewaves, and the call of thewinds in the firwoods at noon andeven;shelovedthemoonrisesandthesunsets,andtheclear,calmnightswhenthestarsseemedtohavefallenintothewaterandtobealittledizzyfromsucha fall. She loved these things, even as I did.No, shewas never lonely herethen.

Thethirdspringcame,andourboywasborn.Wethoughtwehadbeenhappybefore; now we knew that we had only dreamed a pleasant dream ofhappiness, and had awakened to this exquisite reality. We thought we hadlovedeachotherbefore;now,asI lookedintomywife'spaleface,blanchedwith its baptism of pain, andmet the uplifted gaze of her blue eyes, aglowwiththeholypassionofmotherhood,Iknewwehadonlyimaginedwhatlovemightbe.Theimaginationhadbeensweet,asthethoughtoftheroseissweetbefore the bud is open; but as the rose to the thought, so was love to theimaginationofit.

"Allmythoughtsarepoetrysincebabycame,"mywifesaidonce,rapturously.

Ourboylivedfortwentymonths.Hewasasturdy,toddlingrogue,sofulloflifeandlaughterandmischiefthat,whenhedied,oneday,aftertheillnessofanhour,itseemedamostabsurdthingthatheshouldbedead—athingIcouldhavelaughedat,untilbeliefforceditselfintomysoullikeaburning,searingiron.

IthinkIgrievedovermylittleson'sdeathasdeeplyandsincerelyasevermandid,orcould.Buttheheartofthefatherisnotastheheartofthemother.Timebroughtnohealing to Josephine; she frettedandpined;hercheeks lost theirprettyoval,andherredmouthgrewpaleanddrooping.

Ihopedthatspringmightworkitsmiracleuponher.Whenthebudsswelled,andtheoldearthgrewgreeninthesun,andthegullscamebacktothegrayharbor,whoseverygraynessgrewgoldenandmellow,IthoughtIshouldseeher smile again.But,when the spring came, came the dream-child, and thefear that was to be my companion, at bed and board, from sunsetting tosunsetting.

OnenightIawakenedfromsleep,realizinginthemomentofawakeningthatIwasalone.Ilistenedtohearwhethermywifeweremovingaboutthehouse.Iheardnothingbut the little splashofwaveson the shorebelowand the low

moanofthedistantocean.

Iroseandsearchedthehouse.Shewasnotinit.Ididnotknowwheretoseekher;but,ataventure,Istartedalongtheshore.

Itwaspale,faintingmoonlight.Theharborlookedlikeaphantomharbor,andthenightwasasstillandcoldandcalmasthefaceofadeadman.AtlastIsawmywifecoming tomealong theshore.When I sawher, Iknewwhat Ihadfearedandhowgreatmyfearhadbeen.

Asshedrewnear, Isawthatshehadbeencrying;herfacewasstainedwithtears,andherdarkhairhunglooseoverhershouldersinlittle,glossyringletslikeachild's.Sheseemedtobeverytired,andatintervalsshewrunghersmallhandstogether.

Sheshowednosurprisewhenshemetme,butonlyheldoutherhandstomeasifgladtoseeme.

"Ifollowedhim—butIcouldnotovertakehim,"shesaidwithasob."Ididmybest—Ihurriedso;buthewasalwaysalittlewayahead.AndthenIlosthim—andsoIcameback.ButIdidmybest—indeedIdid.Andoh,Iamsotired!"

"Josie,dearest,whatdoyoumean,andwherehaveyoubeen?"Isaid,drawingherclosetome."Whydidyougooutso—aloneinthenight?"

Shelookedatmewonderingly.

"HowcouldIhelpit,David?Hecalledme.Ihadtogo."

"WHOcalledyou?"

"Thechild,"sheansweredinawhisper."Ourchild,David—ourprettyboy.Iawakened in the darkness and heard him calling tome down on the shore.Suchasad,littlewailingcry,David,asifhewerecoldandlonelyandwantedhismother.Ihurriedouttohim,butIcouldnotfindhim.Icouldonlyhearthecall, and I followed it onandon, fardown the shore.Oh, I tried sohard toovertakeit,butIcouldnot.OnceIsawalittlewhitehandbeckoningtomefaraheadinthemoonlight.ButstillIcouldnotgofastenough.Andthenthecryceased, and Iwas there all aloneon that terrible, cold, gray shore. Iwas sotiredandIcamehome.ButIwishIcouldhavefoundhim.PerhapshedoesnotknowthatItriedto.Perhapshethinkshismotherneverlistenedtohiscall.Oh,Iwouldnothavehimthinkthat."

"Youhavehadabaddream,dear," Isaid. I tried tosay itnaturally;but it ishardforamantospeaknaturallywhenhefeelsamortaldreadstrikingintohisveryvitalswithitsdeadlychill.

"Itwasnodream,"sheansweredreproachfully."ItellyouIheardhimcallingme—me,hismother.WhatcouldIdobutgotohim?Youcannotunderstand—youareonlyhisfather.Itwasnotyouwhogavehimbirth.Itwasnotyouwhopaidthepriceofhisdearlifeinpain.Hewouldnotcalltoyou—hewantedhismother."

I got her back to the house and to her bed, whither she went obedientlyenough, and soon fell into the sleep of exhaustion. But there was nomoresleepformethatnight.Ikeptagrimvigilwithdread.

WhenIhadmarriedJosephine,oneofthoseofficiousrelativesthatareapttobuzzaboutaman'smarriagetoldmethathergrandmotherhadbeeninsaneallthe latter part ofher life.Shehadgrievedover thedeathof a favorite childuntil she lost hermind, and, as the first indication of it, she had sought bynightsawhitedream-childwhichalwayscalledher,soshesaid,and ledherafarwithalittle,pale,beckoninghand.

I had smiled at the story then.What had that grim old bygone to do withspringtimeandloveandJosephine?Butitcamebacktomenow,handinhandwithmyfear.Wasthisfatecomingonmydearwife?Itwas toohorribleforbelief.Shewassoyoung,sofair,sosweet,thisgirl-wifeofmine.Ithadbeenonlyabaddream,withafrightened,bewilderedwaking.SoItriedtocomfortmyself.

WhensheawakenedinthemorningshedidnotspeakofwhathadhappenedandIdidnotdareto.Sheseemedmorecheerful thatdaythanshehadbeen,andwent about her household duties briskly and skillfully.My fear lifted. Iwassurenowthatshehadonlydreamed.AndIwasconfirmedinmyhopefulbeliefwhentwonightshadpassedawayuneventfully.

Then,onthethirdnight,thedream-childcalledtoheragain.Iwakenedfromatroubleddozetofindherdressingherselfwithfeverishhaste.

"Heiscallingme,"shecried."Oh,don'tyouhearhim?Can'tyouhearhim?Listen—listen—thelittle,lonelycry!Yes,yes,myprecious,motheriscoming.Waitforme.Motheriscomingtoherprettyboy!"

I caught her hand and let her leadmewhere she would. Hand in hand wefollowed the dream-child down the harbor shore in that ghostly, cloudedmoonlight.Ever,shesaid,thelittlecrysoundedbeforeher.Sheentreatedthedream-childtowaitforher;shecriedandimploredandutteredtendermother-talk.But,at last,sheceasedtohearthecry;andthen,weeping,wearied,sheletmeleadherhomeagain.

Whatahorrorbroodedoverthatspring—thatsobeautifulspring!Itwasatime

ofwonderandmarvel;ofthesofttouchofsilverrainongreeningfields;oftheincredibledelicacyofyoungleaves;ofblossomonthelandandblossominthesunset.Thewholeworldbloomedinaflushandtremorofmaidenloveliness,instinctwithalltheevasive,fleetingcharmofspringandgirlhoodandyoungmorning. And almost every night of this wonderful time the dream-childcalledhismother,andwerovedthegrayshoreinquestofhim.

In the day she was herself; but, when the night fell, she was restless anduneasyuntilsheheardthecall.Thenfollowitshewould,eventhroughstormanddarkness.Itwasthen,shesaid,thatthecrysoundedloudestandnearest,asifherprettyboywerefrightenedby the tempest.Whatwild, terriblerovingswe had, she straining forward, eager to overtake the dream-child; I, sick atheart, following,guiding,protecting,asbest Icould; thenafterwards leadinghergentlyhome,heart-brokenbecauseshecouldnotreachthechild.

Iboremyburdeninsecret,determiningthatgossipshouldnotbusyitselfwithmywife'sconditionsolongasIcouldkeepitfrombecomingknown.Wehadno near relatives—none with any right to share any trouble—and whosoacceptethhumanlovemustbindittohissoulwithpain.

I thought, however, that I should have medical advice, and I took our olddoctorintomyconfidence.Helookedgravewhenheheardmystory.Ididnotlikehisexpressionnorhisfewguardedremarks.Hesaidhethoughthumanaidwould avail little; she might come all right in time; humor her, as far aspossible,watchoverher,protecther.HeneedednottotellmeTHAT.

The spring went out and summer came in—and the horror deepened anddarkened.Iknewthatsuspicionswerebeingwhisperedfromliptolip.Wehadbeenseenonournightlyquests.Menandwomenbegantolookatuspityinglywhenwewentabroad.

Oneday,onadull,drowsyafternoon,thedream-childcalled.Iknewthenthattheendwasnear; theendhadbeennear in theoldgrandmother's case sixtyyearsbeforewhenthedream-childcalledintheday.ThedoctorlookedgraverthaneverwhenItoldhim,andsaidthatthetimehadcomewhenImusthavehelpinmytask.Icouldnotwatchbydayandnight.UnlessIhadassistanceIwouldbreakdown.

IdidnotthinkthatIshould.Loveisstrongerthanthat.AndononethingIwasdetermined—they should never takemywife fromme. No restraint sternerthanahusband'slovinghandshouldeverbeputuponher,mypretty,piteousdarling.

I never spoke of the dream-child to her. The doctor advised against it. Itwould, he said, only serve to deepen the delusion. When he hinted at an

asylumIgavehimalookthatwouldhavebeenafiercewordforanotherman.Heneverspokeofitagain.

Onenight inAugust therewas adull,murky sunset after a dead, breathlessdayofheat,withnotawindstirring.Theseawasnotblueasaseashouldbe,butpink—allpink—aghastly,staring,paintedpink. I lingeredon theharborshorebelowthehouseuntildark.Theeveningbellswereringingfaintlyandmournfully inachurchacross theharbor.Behindme, in thekitchen, Iheardmywifesinging.Sometimesnowherspiritswerefitfullyhigh,and thenshewould sing the old songs of her girlhood. But even in her singing wassomething strange, as if a wailing, unearthly cry rang through it. Nothingaboutherwassadderthanthatstrangesinging.

WhenIwentbacktothehousetherainwasbeginningtofall;buttherewasnowind or sound in the air—only that dismal stillness, as if the world wereholdingitsbreathinexpectationofacalamity.

Josiewasstandingbythewindow,lookingoutandlistening.Itriedtoinducehertogotobed,butsheonlyshookherhead.

"Imightfallasleepandnothearhimwhenhecalled,"shesaid."Iamalwaysafraidtosleepnow,forfearheshouldcallandhismotherfailtohearhim."

Knowingitwasofnousetoentreat,Isatdownbythetableandtriedtoread.Threehourspassedon.When theclockstruckmidnightshestartedup,withthewildlightinhersunkenblueeyes.

"Heiscalling,"shecried,"callingoutthereinthestorm.Yes,yes,sweet,Iamcoming!"

Sheopenedthedoorandfleddownthepathtotheshore.Isnatchedalanternfromthewall,lightedit,andfollowed.ItwastheblackestnightIwaseveroutin,darkwith theverydarknessofdeath.The rain fell thickly andheavily. IovertookJosie,caughtherhand,andstumbledalonginherwake,forshewentwiththespeedandrecklessnessofadistraughtwoman.Wemovedinthelittleflittingcircleof lightshedby the lantern.Allaroundusandaboveuswasahorrible,voicelessdarkness,held,asitwere,atbaybythefriendlylight.

"If I couldonlyovertakehimonce,"moanedJosie. "If I could justkisshimonce,andholdhimcloseagainstmyachingheart.Thispain,thatneverleavesme,wouldleavemethan.Oh,myprettyboy,waitformother!Iamcomingtoyou.Listen,David;hecries—hecriessopitifully;listen!Can'tyouhearit?"

IDIDhear it!Clear and distinct, out of the deadly still darkness before us,cameafaint,wailingcry.Whatwasit?WasI,too,goingmad,orWASthere

somethingout there—something that criedandmoaned—longing forhumanlove,yeteverretreatingfromhumanfootsteps?Iamnotasuperstitiousman;but my nerve had been shaken by my long trial, and I was weaker than Ithought.Terrortookpossessionofme—terrorunnameable.Itrembledineverylimb;clammyperspirationoozedfrommyforehead;Iwaspossessedbyawildimpulse to turn and flee—anywhere, away from that unearthly cry. ButJosephine's cold handgrippedmine firmly, and ledmeon.That strange crystillranginmyears.Butitdidnotrecede;itsoundedclearerandstronger;itwas a wail; but a loud, insistent wail; it was nearer—nearer; it was in thedarknessjustbeyondus.

Thenwe came to it; a little dory had been beached on the pebbles and lefttherebytherecedingtide.Therewasachildinit—aboy,ofperhapstwoyearsold,whocrouchedinthebottomofthedoryinwatertohiswaist,hisbig,blueeyes wild and wide with terror, his face white and tear-stained. He wailedagainwhenhesawus,andheldouthislittlehands.

Myhorrorfellawayfrommelikeadiscardedgarment.THISchildwasliving.Howhehadcomethere,whenceandwhy,Ididnotknowand,inmystateofmind,didnot question. Itwasno cryofparted spirit I hadheard—thatwasenoughforme.

"Oh,thepoordarling!"criedmywife.

Shestoopedoverthedoryandliftedthebabyinherarms.Hislong,faircurlsfell on her shoulder; she laid her face against his and wrapped her shawlaroundhim.

"Letmecarryhim,dear,"Isaid."Heisverywet,andtooheavyforyou."

"No,no,Imustcarryhim.Myarmshavebeensoempty—theyarefullnow.Oh,David,thepainatmyhearthasgone.Hehascometometotaketheplaceofmyown.Godhas senthim tomeoutof the sea.He iswet andcoldandtired.Hush,sweetone,wewillgohome."

SilentlyIfollowedherhome.Thewindwasrising,cominginsudden,angrygusts;thestormwasathand,butwereachedshelterbeforeitbroke.JustasIshutourdoorbehindusitsmotethehousewiththeroarofabaffledbeast.IthankedGodthatwewerenotoutinit,followingthedream-child.

"Youareverywet,Josie,"Isaid."Goandputondryclothesatonce."

"The child must be looked to first," she said firmly. "See how chilled andexhaustedhe is, the pretty dear.Light a fire quickly,David,while I get drythingsforhim."

Iletherhaveherway.Shebroughtouttheclothesourownchildhadwornanddressed the waif in them, rubbing his chilled limbs, brushing his wet hair,laughingoverhim,motheringhim.Sheseemedlikeheroldself.

Formyownpart,Iwasbewildered.AllthequestionsIhadnotaskedbeforecame crowding to my mind how. Whose child was this? Whence had hecome?Whatwasthemeaningofitall?

Hewasaprettybaby,fairandplumpandrosy.Whenhewasdriedandfed,hefellasleepinJosie'sarms.Shehungoverhiminapassionofdelight. Itwaswith difficulty I persuaded her to leave him long enough to change herwetclothes. She never askedwhose hemight be or fromwhere hemight havecome.Hehadbeen sent toher from the sea; thedream-childhad ledher tohim; that was what she believed, and I dared not throw any doubt on thatbelief.Shesleptthatnightwiththebabyonherarm,andinhersleepherfacewasthefaceofagirlinheryouth,untroubledandunworn.

I expected that the morrowwould bring some one seeking the baby. I hadcometo theconclusion thathemustbelongto the"Cove"across theharbor,wherethefishinghamletwas;andallday,whileJosielaughedandplayedwithhim,Iwaitedandlistenedforthefootstepsofthosewhowouldcomeseekinghim.Buttheydidnotcome.Dayafterdaypassed,andstilltheydidnotcome.

Iwasinamazeofperplexity.WhatshouldIdo?Ishrankfromthethoughtoftheboybeing takenawayfromus.Sincewehadfoundhimthedream-childhad never called. My wife seemed to have turned back from the darkborderland, where her feet had strayed to walk again with me in our ownhomelypaths.Dayandnightshewasherold,brightself,happyandsereneinthenewmotherhoodthathadcometoher.Theonlythingstrangeinherwashercalmacceptanceoftheevent.Sheneverwonderedwhoorwhosethechildmightbe—neverseemedtofearthathewouldbetakenfromher;andshegavehimourdream-child'sname.

Atlast,whenafullweekhadpassed,Iwent,inmybewilderment,toourolddoctor.

"A most extraordinary thing," he said thoughtfully. "The child, as you say,mustbelongtotheSpruceCovepeople.Yetitisanalmostunbelievablethingthat there has been no search or inquiry after him. Probably there is somesimple explanation of themystery, however. I advise you to go over to theCove and inquire.When you find the parents or guardians of the child, askthemtoallowyoutokeepitforatime.Itmayproveyourwife'ssalvation.Ihave known such cases. Evidently on that night the crisis of her mentaldisorderwasreached.Alittlethingmighthavesufficedtoturnherfeeteither

way—backtoreasonandsanity,or intodeeperdarkness. It ismybelief thatthe formerhasoccurred, and that, if she is left inundisturbedpossessionofthischildforatime,shewillrecovercompletely."

IdrovearoundtheharborthatdaywithalighterheartthanIhadhopedevertopossess again.When I reached Spruce Cove the first person Imet was oldAbel Blair. I asked him if any child were missing from the Cove or alongshore.Helookedatmeinsurprise,shookhishead,andsaidhehadnotheardofany.Itoldhimasmuchofthetaleaswasnecessary,leavinghimtothinkthat my wife and I had found the dory and its small passenger during anordinarywalkalongtheshore.

"Agreendory!"heexclaimed."BenForbes'oldgreendoryhasbeenmissingforaweek,butitwassorottenandleakyhedidn'tbotherlookingforit.Butthischild,sir—itbeatsme.Whatmighthebelike?"

Idescribedthechildascloselyaspossible.

"ThatfitslittleHarryMartintoahair,"saidoldAbel,perplexedly,"but,sir,itcan'tbe.Or, if it is, there'sbeen foulwork somewhere. JamesMartin'swifedied last winter, sir, and he died the nextmonth. They left a baby and notmuchelse.Thereweren'tnobodytotakethechildbutJim'shalf-sister,MaggieFleming.ShelivedhereattheCove,and,I'msorrytosay,sir,shehadn'ttoogoodaname.Shedidn'twanttobebotheredwiththebaby,andfolkssaysheneglectedhimscandalous.Well,lastspringshebeguntalkingofgoingawaytotheStates.ShesaidafriendofhershadgotheragoodplaceinBoston,andshewasgoing togoand take littleHarry.Wesupposed itwasall right.LastSaturdayshewent,sir.Shewasgoingtowalktothestation,andthelastseenof her she was trudging along the road, carrying the baby. It hasn't beenthoughtofsince.But,sir,d'yesupposeshesetthatinnocentchildadriftinthatoldleakydorytosendhimtohisdeath?IknewMaggiewasnobetterthansheshouldbe,butIcan'tbelieveshewasasbadasthat."

"Youmustcomeoverwithmeandseeifyoucanidentifythechild,"Isaid."IfheisHarryMartinIshallkeephim.Mywifehasbeenverylonelysinceourbabydied,andshehastakenafancytothislittlechap."

WhenwereachedmyhomeoldAbelrecognizedthechildasHarryMartin.

He is with us still. His baby hands led my dear wife back to health andhappiness.Otherchildrenhavecometous,shelovesthemalldearly;buttheboywhobearsherdeadson'snameis toher—aye,andtome—asdearas ifshehadgivenhimbirth.Hecamefromthesea,andathiscomingtheghostlydream-childfled,nevermoretoluremywifeawayfrommewithitsexciting

cry.ThereforeIlookuponhimandlovehimasmyfirst-born.

VI. THEBROTHERWHOFAILED

The Monroe family were holding a Christmas reunion at the old PrinceEdward Island homestead atWhite Sands. Itwas the first time they had allbeen together under one roof since the death of their mother, thirty yearsbefore.TheideaofthisChristmasreunionhadoriginatedwithEdithMonroethepreceding spring,duringher tedious convalescence fromabadattackofpneumoniaamongstrangersinanAmericancity,whereshehadnotbeenabletofillherconcertengagements,andhadmoresparetimeinwhichtofeelthetugofoldtiesandthehomesicklongingforherownpeoplethanshehadhadforyears.Asa result,when she recovered, shewrote toher secondbrother,JamesMonroe, who lived on the homestead; and the consequencewas thisgatheringoftheMonroesundertheoldroof-tree.RalphMonroeforoncelaidaside the cares of his railroads, and the deceitfulness of his millions, inToronto and took the long-promised, long-deferred trip to the homeland.MalcolmMonroejourneyedfromthefarwesternuniversityofwhichhewaspresident. Edith came, flushed with the triumph of her latest and mostsuccessful concert tour. Mrs. Woodburn, who had been Margaret Monroe,camefromtheNovaScotiatownwhereshelivedabusy,happylifeasthewifeofarisingyounglawyer.James,prosperousandhearty,greetedthemwarmlyat the old homestead whose fertile acres had well repaid his skillfulmanagement.

Theywereamerryparty,castingasidetheircaresandyears,andharkingbackto joyousboyhoodandgirlhoodoncemore.Jameshadafamilyofrosy ladsand lasses; Margaret brought her two blue-eyed little girls; Ralph's dark,clever-lookingsonaccompaniedhim,andMalcolmbroughthis,ayoungmanwitharesoluteface,inwhichtherewaslessofboyishnessthaninhisfather's,and the eyesof akeen, perhaps ahardbargainer.The twocousinswere thesameagetoaday,anditwasafamilyjokeamongtheMonroesthatthestorkmusthavemixedthebabies,sinceRalph'ssonwaslikeMalcolminfaceandbrain,whileMalcolm'sboywasasecondeditionofhisuncleRalph.

Tocrownall,AuntIsabelcame, too—atalkative,clever,shrewdoldlady,asyoungateighty-fiveasshehadbeenatthirty,thinkingtheMonroestockthebest intheworld,andbeaminglyproudofhernephewsandnieces,whohadgone out from this humble, little farm to destinies of such brilliance andinfluenceintheworldbeyond.

IhaveforgottenRobert.RobertMonroewasapttobeforgotten.Althoughhewastheoldestofthefamily,WhiteSandspeople,innamingoverthevariousmembersoftheMonroefamily,wouldadd,"andRobert,"inatoneofsurpriseovertheremembranceofhisexistence.

Helivedonapoor,sandylittlefarmdownbytheshore,buthehadcomeuptoJames'placeontheeveningwhentheguestsarrived;theyhadallgreetedhimwarmlyandjoyously,andthendidnotthinkabouthimagainintheirlaughterandconversation.Robertsatbackinacornerandlistenedwithasmile,butheneverspoke.Afterwardshehadslippednoiselesslyawayandgonehome,andnobody noticed his going. They were all gayly busy recalling what hadhappenedintheoldtimesandtellingwhathadhappenedinthenew.

Edith recounted the successes of her concert tours; Malcolm expatiatedproudlyonhisplansfordevelopinghisbelovedcollege;Ralphdescribedthecountrythroughwhichhisnewrailroadran,andthedifficultieshehadhadtoovercome in connectionwith it. James, aside, discussed his orchard and hiscropswithMargaret,whohadnotbeen longenoughaway from the farm tolose touchwith its interests.AuntIsabelknittedandsmiledcomplacentlyonall, talkingnowwithone,nowwiththeother,secretlyquiteproudofherselfthat she, an old woman of eighty-five, who had seldom been out ofWhiteSandsinherlife,coulddiscusshighfinancewithRalph,andhighereducationwithMalcolm,andholdherownwithJamesinanargumentondrainage.

TheWhiteSandsschoolteacher,anarch-eyed,red-mouthedbitagirl—aBellfromAvonlea—who boardedwith the JamesMonroes, amused herselfwiththeboys.Allwereenjoyingthemselveshugely,soitisnottobewonderedatthat they did not miss Robert, who had gone home early because his oldhousekeeperwasnervousifleftaloneatnight.

He came again the next afternoon.From James, in the barnyard, he learnedthat Malcolm and Ralph had driven to the harbor, that Margaret and Mrs.James had gone to call on friends in Avonlea, and that Edith was walkingsomewhere in thewoodson thehill.Therewasnobody in thehouse exceptAuntIsabelandtheteacher.

"You'dbetterwaitandstaytheevening,"saidJames,indifferently."They'llallbebacksoon."

Robertwentacrosstheyardandsatdownontherusticbenchintheangleofthefrontporch.ItwasafineDecemberevening,asmildasautumn;therehadbeen no snow, and the long fields, sloping down from the homestead,werebrownandmellow.Aweird,dreamystillnesshadfallenuponthepurpleearth,thewindlesswoods,therainofthevalleys,theseremeadows.Natureseemed

tohavefoldedsatisfiedhandstorest,knowingthather long,wintryslumberwas coming upon her. Out to sea, a dull, red sunset faded out into somberclouds,andtheceaselessvoiceofmanywaterscameupfromthetawnyshore.

Robertrestedhischinonhishandandlookedacrossthevalesandhills,wherethefeatherygrayofleaflesshardwoodswasmingledwiththesturdy,unfailinggreenoftheconebearers.Hewasatall,bentman,withthin,grayhair,alinedface, and deeply-set, gentle brown eyes—the eyes of one who, lookingthroughpain,seesrapturebeyond.

Hefeltveryhappy.He lovedhis familyclannishly,andhewasrejoiced thattheywereallagainneartohim.Hewasproudoftheirsuccessandfame.HewasgladthatJameshadprosperedsowelloflateyears.Therewasnocankerofenvyordiscontentinhissoul.

Heheardabsentlyindistinctvoicesattheopenhallwindowabovetheporch,whereAuntIsabelwastalkingtoKathleenBell.PresentlyAuntIsabelmovednearer to the window, and her words came down to Robert with startlingclearness.

"Yes, I can assure you,Miss Bell, that I'm real proud of my nephews andnieces.They'reasmartfamily.They'vealmostalldonewell,andtheyhadn'tanyofthemmuchtobeginwith.Ralphhadabsolutelynothingandto-dayheisamillionaire.Theirfathermetwithsomanylosses,whatwithhisill-healthandthebankfailing,thathecouldn'thelpthemany.Butthey'veallsucceeded,exceptpoorRobert—andImustadmitthathe'satotalfailure."

"Oh,no,no,"saidthelittleteacherdeprecatingly.

"A total failure!"Aunt Isabel repeated herwords emphatically. Shewas notgoingtobecontradictedbyanybody,leastofallaBellfromAvonlea."Hehasbeenafailuresincethetimehewasborn.HeisthefirstMonroetodisgracethe old stock that way. I'm sure his brothers and sistersmust be dreadfullyashamed of him.He has lived sixty years and he hasn't done a thingworthwhile.Hecan'tevenmakehisfarmpay.Ifhe'skeptoutofdebtit'sasmuchashe'severmanagedtodo."

"Somemencan't evendo that,"murmured the little school teacher.Shewasreally somuch in awe of this imperious, clever oldAunt Isabel that itwaspositiveheroismonherparttoventureeventhisfaintprotest.

"MoreisexpectedofaMonroe,"saidAuntIsabelmajestically."RobertMonroeisafailure,andthatistheonlynameforhim."

RobertMonroestoodupbelowthewindowinadizzy,uncertainfashion.Aunt

Isabelhadbeenspeakingofhim!He,Robert,wasafailure,adisgracetohisblood,ofwhomhisnearestanddearestwereashamed!Yes,itwastrue;hehadnever realized it before; he had known that he could never win power oraccumulateriches,buthehadnotthoughtthatmatteredmuch.Now,throughAunt Isabel's scornful eyes, he saw himself as the world saw him—as hisbrothers and sisters must see him. THERE lay the sting. What the worldthoughtofhimdidnotmatter;butthathisownshouldthinkhimafailureanddisgracewas agony.Hemoaned as he started towalk across the yard, onlyanxioustohidehispainandshameawayfromallhumansight,andinhiseyeswas the look of a gentle animal which had been stricken by a cruel andunexpectedblow.

EdithMonroe,who,unawareofRobert'sproximity,hadbeenstandingontheother side of the porch, saw that look, as he hurried past her, unseeing. Amoment before her dark eyes had been flashingwith anger atAunt Isabel'swords;nowtheangerwasdrownedinasuddenrushoftears.

She tookaquick stepafterRobert,but checked the impulse.Not then—andnotbyheralone—could thatdeadlyhurtbehealed.Nay,more,Robertmustneversuspectthatsheknewofanyhurt.Shestoodandwatchedhimthroughhertearsashewentawayacrossthelow-lyingshorefieldstohidehisbrokenheartunderhisownhumbleroof.Sheyearnedtohurryafterhimandcomforthim,butsheknewthatcomfortwasnotwhatRobertneedednow.Justice,andjustice only, could pluck out the sting, which otherwise must rankle to thedeath.

RalphandMalcolmweredrivingintotheyard.Edithwentovertothem.

"Boys,"shesaidresolutely,"Iwanttohaveatalkwithyou."

The Christmas dinner at the old homestead was a merry one. Mrs. JamesspreadafeastthatwasfitforthehallsofLucullus.Laughter,jest,andreparteeflew from lip to lip. Nobody appeared to notice that Robert ate little, saidnothing, and satwith his form shrinking in his shabby "best" suit, his grayhead bent even lower than usual, as if desirous of avoiding all observation.When the others spoke to him he answered deprecatingly, and shrank stillfurtherintohimself.

Finally all had eaten all they could, and the remainder of the plumpuddingwascarriedout.Robertgavealowsighofrelief.Itwasalmostover.Soonhewould be able to escape and hide himself and his shame away from themirthfuleyesof thesemenandwomenwhohadearned theright to laughattheworld inwhich their successgave thempower and influence.He—he—only—wasafailure.

Hewondered impatiently whyMrs. James did not rise.Mrs. Jamesmerelyleaned comfortably back in her chair, with the righteous expression of onewho has done her duty by her fellow creatures' palates, and looked atMalcolm.

Malcolm rose in his place. Silence fell on the company; everybody lookedsuddenly alert and expectant, except Robert. He still sat with bowed head,wrappedinhisownbitterness.

"IhavebeentoldthatImustleadoff,"saidMalcolm,"becauseIamsupposedto possess the gift of gab. But, if I do, I am not going to use it for anyrhetorical effect to-day. Simple, earnest words must express the deepestfeelingsoftheheartindoingjusticetoitsown.Brothersandsisters,wemeetto-day under our own roof-tree, surrounded by the benedictions of the pastyears.Perhapsinvisibleguestsarehere—thespiritsofthosewhofoundedthishomeandwhoseworkonearthhaslongbeenfinished.Itisnotamisstohopethatthisissoandourfamilycirclemadeindeedcomplete.Toeachoneofuswhoarehere invisiblebodilypresencesomemeasureofsuccesshas fallen;butonlyoneofushasbeensupremelysuccessfulintheonlythingsthatreallycount—the things that count for eternity as well as time—sympathy andunselfishnessandself-sacrifice.

"Ishalltellyoumyownstoryforthebenefitofthosewhohavenotheardit.WhenIwasaladofsixteenIstartedtoworkoutmyowneducation.Someofyouwill remember that oldMr. Blair ofAvonlea offeredme a place in hisstore for the summer, at wages which would go far towards paying myexpensesat thecountryacademy thenextwinter. Iwent towork, eager andhopeful. All summer I tried to do my faithful best for my employer. InSeptembertheblowfell.AsumofmoneywasmissingfromMr.Blair'still.Iwas suspected and discharged in disgrace. All my neighbors believed meguilty; even some of my own family looked upon me with suspicion—norcouldIblamethem,forthecircumstantialevidencewasstronglyagainstme."

RalphandJameslookedashamed;EdithandMargaret,whohadnotbeenbornat the time referred to, lifted their faces innocently.Robert did notmove orglanceup.Hehardlyseemedtobelistening.

"I was crushed in an agony of shame and despair," continuedMalcolm. "Ibelievedmycareerwasruined.Iwasbentoncastingallmyambitionsbehindme,andgoingwesttosomeplacewherenobodyknewmeormydisgrace.Buttherewas one personwho believed inmy innocence,who said tome, 'Youshall not give up—you shall not behave as if you were guilty. You areinnocent, and in time your innocence will be proved. Meanwhile showyourselfaman.Youhavenearlyenough topayyourwaynextwinterat the

Academy.IhavealittleIcangivetohelpyouout.Don'tgivein—nevergiveinwhenyouhavedonenowrong.'

"Ilistenedandtookhisadvice.IwenttotheAcademy.Mystorywasthereassoon as I was, and I foundmyself sneered at and shunned.Many a time Iwouldhavegivenupindespair,haditnotbeenfortheencouragementofmycounselor.Hefurnishedthebackboneforme.Iwasdeterminedthathisbeliefinmeshouldbejustified.Istudiedhardandcameoutattheheadofmyclass.Then there seemed to be no chance of my earning any more money thatsummer.ButafarmeratNewbridge,whocarednothingaboutthecharacterofhishelp,ifhecouldgettheworkoutofthem,offeredtohireme.Theprospectwasdistastefulbut,urgedbythemanwhobelievedinme,Itooktheplaceandenduredthehardships.AnotherwinteroflonelyworkpassedattheAcademy.Iwon theFarrellScholarship the lastyear itwasoffered,and thatmeantanArts course forme. I went to Redmond College.My story was not openlyknownthere,butsomethingofitgotabroad,enoughtotaintmylifetherealsowithitssuspicion.ButtheyearIgraduated,Mr.Blair'snephew,who,asyouknow,was the real culprit, confessedhis guilt, and Iwas clearedbefore theworld. Since thenmy career has beenwhat is called a brilliant one.But"—Malcolm turned and laid his hand on Robert's thin shoulder—"all of mysuccessIowetomybrotherRobert.Itishissuccess—notmine—andhereto-day,sincewehaveagreedtosaywhatistoooftenlefttobesaidoveracoffinlid,I thankhimforallhedidforme,andtellhimthat thereisnothingIammoreproudofandthankfulforthansuchabrother."

Robert had looked up at last, amazed, bewildered, incredulous. His facecrimsonedasMalcolmsatdown.ButnowRalphwasgettingup.

"IamnooratorasMalcolmis,"hequotedgayly,"butI'vegotastorytotell,too,whichonlyoneofyouknows.Fortyyearsago,whenIstartedinlifeasabusinessman,moneywasn'tsoplentifulwithmeas itmaybe to-day.AndIneededitbadly.Achancecamemywaytomakeapileofit.Itwasn'tacleanchance.Itwasadirtychance.Itlookedsquareonthesurface;but,underneath,itmeanttrickeryandroguery.Ihadn'tenoughperceptiontoseethat,though—Iwasfoolenoughtothinkitwasallright.I toldRobertwhatImeanttodo.And Robert saw clear through the outward sham to the real, hideous thingunderneath.HeshowedmewhatitmeantandhegavemeapreachmentaboutafewMonroeTraditionsoftruthandhonor.IsawwhatIhadbeenabouttodoashesawit—asallgoodmenandtruemustseeit.AndIvowedthenandtherethatI'dnevergointoanythingthatIwasn'tsurewasfairandsquareandcleanthroughandthrough.I'vekeptthatvow.Iamarichman,andnotadollarofmymoney is 'tainted'money.But Ididn'tmake it.Robert reallymadeeverycentofmymoney.Ifithadn'tbeenforhimI'dhavebeenapoormanto-day,or

behind prison bars, as are the other men who went into that deal when Ibackedout.I'vegotasonhere.Ihopehe'llbeascleverashisUncleMalcolm;butIhope,stillmoreearnestly, thathe'llbeasgoodandhonorableamanashisUncleRobert."

BythistimeRobert'sheadwasbentagain,andhisfaceburiedinhishands.

"Myturnnext,"saidJames."Ihaven'tmuchtosay—only this.AftermotherdiedItooktyphoidfever.HereIwaswithnoonetowaitonme.Robertcameandnursedme.Hewasthemostfaithful,tender,gentlenurseeveramanhad.ThedoctorsaidRobertsavedmylife.Idon'tsupposeanyoftherestofusherecansaywehavesavedalife."

Edithwipedawayhertearsandsprangupimpulsively.

"Yearsago,"shesaid,"therewasapoor,ambitiousgirlwhohadavoice.Shewantedamusicaleducationandheronlyapparentchanceofobtainingitwastogetateacher'scertificateandearnmoneyenoughtohavehervoicetrained.Shestudiedhard,butherbrains, inmathematicsat least,weren't asgoodashervoice,andthetimewasshort.Shefailed.Shewaslostindisappointmentand despair, for that was the last year in which it was possible to obtain ateacher's certificate without attending Queen's Academy, and she could notafford that.Thenheroldestbrothercame toher and toldherhecould spareenoughmoneytosendhertotheconservatoryofmusicinHalifaxforayear.Hemadehertakeit.Sheneverknewtilllongafterwardsthathehadsoldthebeautifulhorsewhichhe loved likeahumancreature, toget themoney.ShewenttotheHalifaxconservatory.Shewonamusicalscholarship.Shehashadahappylifeandasuccessfulcareer.AndsheowesitalltoherbrotherRobert—"

ButEdithcouldgonofurther.Hervoicefailedherandshesatdownintears.Margaretdidnottrytostandup.

"Iwasonlyfivewhenmymotherdied,"shesobbed."Robertwasbothfatherandmothertome.Neverhadchildorgirlsowiseandlovingaguardianashewastome.Ihaveneverforgottenthelessonshetaughtme.Whateverthereisof good in my life or character I owe to him. I was often headstrong andwillful,butheneverlostpatiencewithme.IoweeverythingtoRobert."

Suddenlythelittleteacherrosewithweteyesandcrimsoncheeks.

"I have something to say, too," she said resolutely. "You have spoken foryourselves. I speak for the people ofWhite Sands. There is a man in thissettlementwhomeverybodyloves. Ishall tellyousomeof the thingshehasdone."

"Last fall, inanOctoberstorm, theharbor lighthouseflewaflagofdistress.Onlyonemanwasbraveenoughtofacethedangerofsailingtothelighthouseto find out what the trouble was. That was Robert Monroe. He found thekeeperalonewithabrokenleg;andhesailedbackandmade—yes,MADEtheunwillingandterrifieddoctorgowithhimtothelighthouse.Isawhimwhenhetoldthedoctorhemustgo;andItellyouthatnomanlivingcouldhavesethiswillagainstRobertMonroe'satthatmoment.

"FouryearsagooldSarahCooperwastobetakentothepoorhouse.Shewasbroken-hearted.Oneman took thepoor, bed-ridden, fretfulold creature intohishome,paid formedical attendance, andwaitedonherhimself,whenhishousekeepercouldn'tendurehertantrumsandtemper.SarahCooperdiedtwoyearsafterwards,andherlatestbreathwasabenedictiononRobertMonroe—thebestmanGodevermade.

"Eight years ago Jack Blewitt wanted a place. Nobody would hire him,becausehisfatherwasinthepenitentiary,andsomepeoplethoughtJackoughtto be there, too. RobertMonroe hired him—and helped him, and kept himstraight, and got him started right—and Jack Blewitt is a hard-working,respected youngman to-day,with every prospect of a useful and honorablelife.Thereishardlyaman,woman,orchildinWhiteSandswhodoesn'towesomethingtoRobertMonroe!"

AsKathleenBellsatdown,Malcolmsprangupandheldouthishands.

"EveryoneofusstandupandsingAuldLangSyne,"hecried.

Everybody stoodupand joinedhands,butonedidnot sing.RobertMonroestooderect,withagreatradianceonhisfaceandinhiseyes.Hisreproachhadbeen taken away; he was crowned among his kindred with the beauty andblessingofsacredyesterdays.

When the singingceasedMalcolm's stern-faced son reachedoverand shookRobert'shands.

"UncleRob,"hesaidheartily,"IhopethatwhenI'msixtyI'llbeassuccessfulamanasyou."

"Iguess,"saidAuntIsabel,asidetothelittleschoolteacher,asshewipedthetears from her keen old eyes, "that there's a kind of failure that's the bestsuccess."

VII. THERETURNOFHESTER

Justatdusk,thatevening,Ihadgoneupstairsandputonmymuslingown.Ihad been busy all day attending to the strawberry preserving—for MarySloanecouldnotbetrustedwiththat—andIwasalittletired,andthoughtitwashardlyworthwhiletochangemydress,especiallysincetherewasnobodytoseeorcare,sinceHesterwasgone.MarySloanedidnotcount.

ButIdiditbecauseHesterwouldhavecaredifshehadbeenhere.Shealwayslikedtoseemeneatanddainty.So,althoughIwastiredandsickatheart,Iputonmypalebluemuslinanddressedmyhair.

Atfirst Ididmyhairup inawayIhadalways liked;buthadseldomworn,becauseHesterhaddisapprovedofit.Itbecameme;butIsuddenlyfeltasifitweredisloyaltoher,soItookthepuffsdownagainandarrangedmyhairinthe plain, old-fashioned way she had liked.My hair, though it had a goodmanygray threads in it,was thickand longandbrownstill;but thatdidnotmatter—nothingmattered sinceHesterwas dead and I had sentHughBlairawayforthesecondtime.

The Newbridge people all wondered why I had not put on mourning forHester.IdidnottellthemitwasbecauseHesterhadaskedmenotto.Hesterhadneverapprovedofmourning;shesaidthatiftheheartdidnotmourncrapewould not mend matters; and if it did there was no need of the externaltrappings of woe. She told me calmly, the night before she died, to go onwearingmypretty dresses just as I had alwaysworn them, and tomake nodifferenceinmyoutwardlifebecauseofhergoing.

"Iknowtherewillbeadifferenceinyourinwardlife,"shesaidwistfully.

And oh, there was! But sometimes I wondered uneasily, feeling almostconscience-stricken, whether it were wholly because Hester had left me—whether itwerenotpartlybecause,forasecondtime,Ihadshut thedoorofmyheartinthefaceofloveatherbidding.

When I had dressed I went downstairs to the front door, and sat on thesandstone steps under the arch of the Virginia creeper. I was all alone, forMarySloanehadgonetoAvonlea.

Itwasabeautifulnight; thefullmoonwasjustrisingover thewoodedhills,andher light fell throughthepoplars into thegardenbeforeme.ThroughanopencorneronthewesternsideIsawtheskyallsilveryblueintheafterlight.Thegardenwasverybeautifuljustthen,foritwasthetimeoftheroses,andours were all out—so many of them—great pink, and red, and white, andyellowroses.

Hester had loved roses and could never have enough of them.Her favoritebushwasgrowingby the steps, allgloriedoverwithblossoms—white,withpalepinkhearts.Igatheredaclusterandpinneditlooselyonmybreast.ButmyeyesfilledasIdidso—Ifeltsovery,verydesolate.

Iwasallalone,anditwasbitter.Theroses,muchasIlovedthem,couldnotgiveme sufficient companionship. Iwanted theclaspof ahumanhand, andthe love-light in human eyes.And then I fell to thinking ofHugh, though Itriednotto.

IhadalwayslivedalonewithHester.Ididnotrememberourparents,whohaddied in my babyhood. Hester was fifteen years older than I, and she hadalwaysseemedmorelikeamotherthanasister.ShehadbeenverygoodtomeandhadneverdeniedmeanythingIwanted,savetheonethingthatmattered.

Iwas twenty-fivebefore Ieverhada lover.Thiswasnot, I think,because Iwasmoreunattractivethanotherwomen.TheMeredithshadalwaysbeenthe"big"familyofNewbridge.Therestofthepeoplelookeduptous,becausewewerethegranddaughtersofoldSquireMeredith.TheNewbridgeyoungmenwouldhavethoughtitnousetotrytowooaMeredith.

I had not a great deal of family pride, as perhaps I should be ashamed toconfess. I found our exalted position very lonely, and cared more for thesimplejoysoffriendshipandcompanionshipwhichothergirlshad.ButHesterpossesseditinadoublemeasure;sheneverallowedmetoassociateonalevelof equalitywith theyoungpeopleofNewbridge.Wemustbeveryniceandkind and affable to them—noblesse oblige, as it were—but we must neverforgetthatwewereMerediths.

When I was twenty-five, Hugh Blair came to Newbridge, having bought afarmnearthevillage.Hewasastranger,fromLowerCarmody,andsowasnotimbuedwithanypreconceptionsofMeredithsuperiority.InhiseyesIwasjustagirl likeothers—agirl tobewooedandwonbyanymanofclean lifeandhonestheart.ImethimatalittleSunday-SchoolpicnicoveratAvonlea,whichIattendedbecauseofmyclass.Ithoughthimveryhandsomeandmanly.Hetalked tome a great deal, and at last he droveme home. The next Sundayeveninghewalkedupfromchurchwithme.

Hesterwasaway,or,ofcourse,thiswouldneverhavehappened.Shehadgoneforamonth'svisittodistantfriends.

In thatmonth I liveda lifetime.HughBlair courtedmeas theothergirls inNewbridgewerecourted.Hetookmeoutdrivingandcametoseemein theevenings,whichwe spent for themost part in thegarden. I didnot like thestately gloom and formality of our old Meredith parlor, and Hugh never

seemed to feel at ease there. His broad shoulders and hearty laughter wereoddlyoutofplaceamongourfaded,old-maidishfurnishings.

MarySloanewasverymuchpleasedatHugh'svisit.ShehadalwaysresentedthefactthatIhadneverhada"beau,"seemingtothinkitreflectedsomeslightordisparagementuponme.Shedidallshecouldtoencouragehim.

ButwhenHesterreturnedandfoundoutaboutHughshewasveryangry—andgrieved,whichhurtmefarmore.ShetoldmethatIhadforgottenmyselfandthatHugh'svisitsmustcease.

IhadneverbeenafraidofHesterbefore,butIwasafraidofherthen.Iyielded.Perhapsitwasveryweakofme,butthenIwasalwaysweak.Ithinkthatwaswhy Hugh's strength had appealed so to me. I needed love and protection.Hester, strong and self-sufficient, had never felt such a need. She could notunderstand.Oh,howcontemptuousshewas.

I toldHugh timidly thatHesterdidnotapproveofour friendshipand that itmustend.Hetookitquietlyenough,andwentaway.Ithoughthedidnotcaremuch, and the thought selfishlymademy own heartacheworse. Iwas veryunhappyforalongtime,butI triednot toletHesterseeit,andIdon't thinkshedid.Shewasnotverydiscerninginsomethings.

AfteratimeIgotoverit;thatis,theheartacheceasedtoacheallthetime.Butthingswereneverquitethesameagain.Lifealwaysseemedratherdrearyandempty,inspiteofHesterandmyrosesandmySunday-School.

IsupposedthatHughBlairwouldfindhimawifeelsewhere,buthedidnot.Theyearswentbyandwenevermet,althoughIsawhimoftenatchurch.AtsuchtimesHesteralwayswatchedmeveryclosely,buttherewasnoneedofher to do so. Hughmade no attempt to meet me, or speak withme, and Iwouldnothavepermitteditifhehad.Butmyheartalwaysyearnedafterhim.Iwas selfishly glad he had notmarried, because if he had I could not havethoughtanddreamedofhim—itwouldhavebeenwrong.Perhaps,asitwas,itwasfoolish;but it seemed tome that Imusthavesomething, ifonlyfoolishdreams,tofillmylife.

Atfirsttherewasonlypaininthethoughtofhim,butafterwardsafaint,mistylittlepleasurecreptin,likeamiragefromalandoflostdelight.

Ten years slipped away thus.And thenHester died.Her illnesswas suddenand short;but,before shedied, sheaskedme topromise that IwouldnevermarryHughBlair.

She had not mentioned his name for years. I thought she had forgotten all

abouthim.

"Oh, dear sister, is there any need of such a promise?" I asked, weeping."HughBlairdoesnotwanttomarrymenow.Heneverwillagain."

"Hehasnevermarried—hehasnotforgottenyou,"shesaidfiercely."IcouldnotrestinmygraveifIthoughtyouwoulddisgraceyourfamilybymarryingbeneathyou.Promiseme,Margaret."

Ipromised.Iwouldhavepromisedanythinginmypowertomakeherdyingpilloweasier.Besides,whatdiditmatter?IwassurethatHughwouldneverthinkofmeagain.

Shesmiledwhensheheardme,andpressedmyhand.

"Good little sister—that is right. You were always a good girl, Margaret—goodandobedient,thoughalittlesentimentalandfoolishinsomeways.Youare like our mother—she was always weak and loving. I took after theMerediths."

She did, indeed. Even in her coffin her dark, handsome features preservedtheir expression of pride and determination. Somehow, that last look of herdead face remained in my memory, blotting out the real affection andgentlenesswhichherlivingfacehadalmostalwaysshownme.Thisdistressedme,butIcouldnothelpit.Iwishedtothinkofheraskindandloving,butIcouldrememberonlytheprideandcoldnesswithwhichshehadcrushedoutmynew-bornhappiness.YetIfeltnoangerorresentmenttowardsherforwhatshehaddone.Iknewshehadmeantitforthebest—mybest.Itwasonlythatshewasmistaken.

Andthen,amonthaftershehaddied,HughBlaircametomeandaskedmetobehiswife.Hesaidhehadalwayslovedme,andcouldneverloveanyotherwoman.

Allmyoldloveforhimreawakened.Iwantedtosayyes—tofeelhisstrongarmsaboutme,andthewarmthofhisloveenfoldingandguardingme.InmyweaknessIyearnedforhisstrength.

But therewasmy promise toHester—that promise give by her deathbed. Icouldnotbreakit,andItoldhimso.ItwasthehardestthingIhadeverdone.

He did not go away quietly this time. He pleaded and reasoned andreproached. Every word of his hurt me like a knife-thrust. But I could notbreakmypromisetothedead.IfHesterhadbeenlivingIwouldhavebravedherwrathandherestrangementandgonetohim.ButshewasdeadandIcouldnotdoit.

Finallyhewentawayingriefandanger.Thatwasthreeweeksago—andnowIsataloneinthemoonlitrose-gardenandweptforhim.Butafteratimemytearsdriedandaverystrangefeelingcameoverme.Ifeltcalmandhappy,asifsomewonderfulloveandtendernesswereverynearme.

And now comes the strange part of my story—the part which will not, Isuppose, be believed. If it were not for one thing I think I should hardlybelieveitmyself.IshouldfeeltemptedtothinkIhaddreamedit.ButbecauseofthatonethingIknowitwasreal.Thenightwasverycalmandstill.Notabreathofwindstirred.ThemoonshinewasthebrightestIhadeverseen.Inthemiddle of the garden, where the shadow of the poplars did not fall, it wasalmostasbrightasday.Onecouldhavereadfineprint.Therewasstillalittleroseglowinthewest,andovertheairyboughsofthetallpoplarsoneortwolarge,brightstarswereshining.Theairwassweetwithahushofdreams,andtheworldwassolovelythatIheldmybreathoveritsbeauty.

Then,allatonce,downatthefarendofthegarden,Isawawomanwalking.IthoughtatfirstthatitmustbeMarySloane;but,asshecrossedamoonlitpath,Isawitwasnotouroldservant'sstout,homelyfigure.Thiswomanwas tallanderect.

Althoughnosuspicionofthetruthcametome,somethingaboutherremindedme of Hester. Even so had Hester liked to wander about the garden in thetwilight.Ihadseenherthusathousandtimes.

Iwonderedwhothewomancouldbe.Someneighbor,ofcourse.Butwhatastrangewayforher tocome!Shewalkedupthegardenslowlyinthepoplarshade.Now and then she stooped, as if to caress a flower, but she pluckednone.Halfwayupsheoutintothemoonlightandwalkedacrosstheplotofgrassinthecenterofthegarden.MyheartgaveagreatthrobandIstoodup.Shewasquiteneartomenow—andIsawthatitwasHester.

Icanhardlysayjustwhatmyfeelingswereatthismoment.IknowthatIwasnotsurprised.IwasfrightenedandyetIwasnotfrightened.Somethinginmeshrankbackinasickeningterror;butI,therealI,wasnotfrightened.Iknewthat this wasmy sister, and that there could be no reasonwhy I should befrightenedofher,becauseshelovedmestill,asshehadalwaysdone.Furtherthan this I was not conscious of any coherent thought, either of wonder orattemptatreasoning.

Hesterpausedwhenshecametowithinafewstepsofme.InthemoonlightIsawherfacequiteplainly.ItworeanexpressionIhadneverbeforeseenonit—a humble, wistful, tender look. Often in life Hester had looked lovingly,even tenderly,uponme;butalways,as itwere, throughamaskofprideand

sternness.Thiswasgonenow,andIfeltnearertoherthaneverbefore.Iknewsuddenlythatsheunderstoodme.Andthenthehalf-consciousaweandterrorsomepartofmehadfeltvanished,and Ionly realized thatHesterwashere,andthattherewasnoterriblegulfofchangebetweenus.

Hesterbeckonedtomeandsaid,

"Come."

Istoodupandfollowedheroutofthegarden.Wewalkedsidebysidedownourlane,underthewillowsandouttotheroad,whichlaylongandstillinthatbright,calmmoonshine.IfeltasifIwereinadream,movingatthebiddingofawillnotmyown,whichIcouldnothavedisputedevenifIhadwishedtodoso.ButIdidnotwishit;Ihadonlythefeelingofastrange,boundlesscontent.

Wewentdowntheroadbetweenthegrowthsofyoungfir thatbordered it. Ismelled theirbalsamaswepassed,andnoticedhowclearlyanddarkly theirpointed tops came out against the sky. I heard the tread ofmy own feet onlittletwigsandplantsinourway,andthetrailofmydressoverthegrass;butHestermovednoiselessly.

ThenwewentthroughtheAvenue—thatstretchofroadundertheappletreesthatAnneShirley,overatAvonlea,calls"TheWhiteWayofDelight."Itwasalmost dark here; and yet I could seeHester's face just as plainly as if themoonwereshiningonit;andwheneverIlookedathershewasalwayslookingatmewiththatstrangelygentlesmileonherlips.

Just as we passed out of the Avenue, James Trent overtook us, driving. Itseemstomethatourfeelingsatagivenmomentareseldomwhatwewouldexpectthemtobe.IsimplyfeltannoyedthatJamesTrent,themostnotoriousgossip inNewbridge, shouldhaveseenmewalkingwithHester. Ina flash Ianticipatedalltheannoyanceofit;hewouldtalkofthematterfarandwide.

ButJamesTrentmerelynoddedandcalledout,

"Howdy,MissMargaret.Takingamoonlightstrollbyyourself?Lovelynight,ain'tit?"

Just thenhishorsesuddenlyswerved,as if startled,andbroke intoagallop.Theywhirled around the curve of the road in an instant. I felt relieved, butpuzzled.JAMESTRENTHADNOTSEENHESTER.

DownoverthehillwasHughBlair'splace.Whenwecametoit,Hesterturnedinat thegate.Then,forthefirst time,Iunderstoodwhyshehadcomeback,andablindingflashof joybrokeovermysoul. Istoppedand lookedather.Herdeepeyesgazedintomine,butshedidnotspeak.

Wewenton.Hugh'shouse laybeforeus in themoonlight, grownoverbyatangle of vines. His garden was on our right, a quaint spot, full of old-fashionedflowersgrowinginasortofdisorderlysweetness.Itrodonabedofmint, and the spice of it floated up tome like the incense of some strange,sacred,solemnceremonial.Ifeltunspeakablyhappyandblessed.

WhenwecametothedoorHestersaid,

"Knock,Margaret."

Irappedgently.Inamoment,Hughopenedit.Thenthathappenedbywhich,inafterdays,Iwastoknowthatthisstrangethingwasnodreamorfancyofmine.Hughlookednotatme,butpastme.

"Hester!"heexclaimed,withhumanfearandhorrorinhisvoice.

Heleanedagainstthedoor-post,thebig,strongfellow,tremblingfromheadtofoot.

"I have learned," said Hester, "that nothing matters in all God's universe,exceptlove.ThereisnopridewhereIhavebeen,andnofalseideals."

HughandIlookedintoeachother'seyes,wondering,andthenweknewthatwewerealone.

VIII. THELITTLEBROWNBOOKOFMISSEMILY

ThefirstsummerMr.IrvingandMissLavendar—DianaandIcouldnevercallheranythingelse,evenaftershewasmarried—wereatEchoLodgeaftertheirmarriage,bothDianaandIspentagreatdealoftimewiththem.WebecameacquaintedwithmanyoftheGraftonpeoplewhomwehadnotknownbefore,and among others, the family ofMr.Mack Leith.We oftenwent up to theLeiths in the evening to play croquet.Millie andMargaret Leithwere verynice girls, and the boys were nice, too. Indeed, we liked every one in thefamily, exceptpooroldMissEmilyLeith.We triedhardenough to likeher,becausesheseemedtolikeDianaandmeverymuch,andalwayswantedtositwithusandtalktous,whenwewouldmuchratherhavebeensomewhereelse.Weoftenfeltagooddealofimpatienceatthesetimes,butIamverygladtothinknowthatwenevershowedit.

Inaway,wefeltsorryforMissEmily.ShewasMr.Leith'sold-maidsisterandshewasnotofmuchimportance in thehousehold.But, thoughwefeltsorry

forher,wecouldn'tlikeher.Shereallywasfussyandmeddlesome;shelikedtopokeafingerintoeveryone'spie,andshewasnotatalltactful.Then,too,she had a sarcastic tongue, and seemed to feel bitter towards all the youngfolks and their love affairs. Diana and I thought this was because she hadneverhadaloverofherown.

Somehow, it seemed impossible to think of lovers in connectionwithMissEmily.Shewasshortandstoutandpudgy,withafacesoroundandfatandredthatitseemedquitefeatureless;andherhairwasscantyandgray.Shewalkedwithawaddle,justlikeMrs.RachelLynde,andshewasalwaysrathershortofbreath. Itwashard tobelieveMissEmilyhadeverbeenyoung;yetoldMr.Murray,wholivednextdoortotheLeiths,notonlyexpectedustobelieveit,butassuredusthatshehadbeenverypretty.

"THAT,atleast,isimpossible,"saidDianatome.

Andthen,oneday,MissEmilydied.I'mafraidnoonewasverysorry.Itseemstomeamostdreadfulthingtogooutoftheworldandleavenotonepersonbehind tobesorrybecauseyouhavegone.MissEmilywasdeadandburiedbeforeDianaandIheardofitatall.ThefirstIknewofitwaswhenIcamehome from Orchard Slope one day and found a queer, shabby little blackhorsehairtrunk,allstuddedwithbrassnails,onthefloorofmyroomatGreenGables.MarillatoldmethatJackLeithhadbroughtitover,andsaidthatithadbelongedtoMissEmilyandthat,whenshewasdying,sheaskedthemtosendittome.

"Butwhatisinit?AndwhatamItodowithit?"Iaskedinbewilderment.

"Therewas nothing said aboutwhat youwere to dowith it. Jack said theydidn'tknowwhatwasinit,andhadn't lookedintoit,seeingthat itwasyourproperty.Itseemsaratherqueerproceeding—butyou'realwaysgettingmixedupinqueerproceedings,Anne.Asforwhatisinit,theeasiestwaytofindout,Ireckon,istoopenitandsee.Thekeyistiedtoit.JacksaidMissEmilysaidshewantedyou to have it because she lovedyou and sawher lost youth inyou.Iguessshewasabitdeliriousatthelastandwanderedagooddeal.Shesaidshewantedyou'tounderstandher.'"

I ranover toOrchardSlopeandaskedDiana tocomeoverandexamine thetrunkwithme. I hadn't received any instructions about keeping its contentssecret and I knew Miss Emily wouldn't mind Diana knowing about them,whatevertheywere.

Itwasacool,grayafternoonandwegotbacktoGreenGablesjustastherainwasbeginningtofall.Whenwewentuptomyroomthewindwasrisingandwhistling through the boughs of the big old Snow Queen outside of my

window.Dianawasexcited,and,Ireallybelieve,alittlebitfrightened.

Weopenedtheoldtrunk.Itwasverysmall,andtherewasnothinginitbutabigcardboardbox.Theboxwas tiedupand theknots sealedwithwax.Welifteditoutanduntiedit.ItouchedDiana'sfingersaswedidit,andbothofusexclaimedatonce,"Howcoldyourhandis!"

Intheboxwasaquaint,pretty,old-fashionedgown,notatallfaded,madeofbluemuslin,withalittledarkerblueflowerinit.Underitwefoundasash,ayellowedfeatherfan,andanenvelopefullofwitheredflowers.Atthebottomoftheboxwasalittlebrownbook.

Itwas small and thin, like a girl's exercise book,with leaves that had oncebeenblueandpink,butwerenowquitefaded,andstainedinplaces.Ontheflyleaf was written, in a very delicate hand, "EmilyMargaret Leith," and thesamewritingcoveredthefirstfewpagesofthebook.Therestwerenotwrittenon at all. We sat there on the floor, Diana and I, and read the little booktogether,whiletherainthuddedagainstthewindowpanes.

June19,18—

I came to-day to spend a while with Aunt Margaret inCharlottetown.Itissoprettyhere,whereshelives—andeversomuch nicer than on the farm at home. I have no cows tomilkhereorpigstofeed.AuntMargarethasgivenmesuchalovelybluemuslindress,andIamtohaveitmadetowearatagardenparty out at Brighton next week. I never had a muslin dressbefore—nothing but ugly prints and dark woolens. I wish wewere rich, like AuntMargaret. AuntMargaret laughed when Isaid this, and declared she would give all her wealth for myyouthandbeautyandlight-heartedness.IamonlyeighteenandIknowIamverymerrybutIwonderifIamreallypretty.ItseemstomethatIamwhenIlookinAuntMargaret'sbeautifulmirrors.Theymakeme lookverydifferent from theold crackedone inmyroomathomewhichalwaystwistedmyfaceandturnedmegreen.ButAuntMargaretspoiledhercomplimentbytellingmeIlookexactlyas shedidatmyage. If I thought I'd ever lookasAuntMargaretdoesnow,Idon'tknowwhatI'ddo.Sheissofatandred.

June29.

Last week I went to the garden party and I met a youngmancalledPaulOsborne.HeisayoungartistfromMontrealwhoisboardingoveratHeppoch.HeisthehandsomestmanIhaveever

seen—very tallandslender,withdreamy,darkeyesandapale,cleverface.Ihavenotbeenabletokeepfromthinkingabouthimeversince,andto-dayhecameoverhereandasked ifhecouldpaintme. I felt verymuch flattered and so pleasedwhenAuntMargaretgavehimpermission.Hesayshewantstopaintmeas"Spring," standing under the poplars where a fine rain ofsunshinefallsthrough.Iamtowearmybluemuslingownandawreathofflowersonmyhair.HesaysIhavesuchbeautifulhair.He has never seen any of such a real pale gold. Somehow itseemsevenprettierthanevertomesincehepraisedit.

Ihada letterfromhometo-day.Masaysthebluehenstolehernest and cameoffwith fourteen chickens, and that pa has soldthe little spotted calf. Somehow those things don't interest meliketheyoncedid.

July9.

Thepictureiscomingonverywell,Mr.Osbornesays.Iknowheis making me look far too pretty in it, although he persists insayinghecan'tdomejustice.Heisgoingtosendittosomegreatexhibitionwhenfinished,buthesayshewillmakealittlewater-colorcopyforme.

He comes every day to paint and we talk a great deal and hereadsmelovelythingsoutofhisbooks.Idon'tunderstandthemall,butItryto,andheexplainsthemsonicelyandissopatientwithmystupidity.Andhe saysanyonewithmyeyesandhairand coloring does not need to be clever. He says I have thesweetest,merriestlaughintheworld.ButIwillnotwritedownallthecomplimentshehaspaidme.Idaresayhedoesnotmeanthematall.

In the eveningwe stroll among the sprucesor sit on thebenchundertheacaciatree.Sometimeswedon'ttalkatall,butIneverfind the time long. Indeed, the minutes just seem to fly—andthenthemoonwillcomeup,roundandred,overtheharborandMr.Osbornewillsighandsayhesupposesit is timeforhimtogo.

July24.

I am so happy. I am frightened at my happiness. Oh, I didn'tthinklifecouldeverbesobeautifulformeasitis!

Paul loves me! He told me so to-night as we walked by theharborandwatchedthesunset,andheaskedmetobehiswife.IhavecaredforhimeversinceImethim,butIamafraidIamnotcleverandwell-educatedenoughforawifeforPaul.Because,ofcourse,I'monlyanignorantlittlecountrygirlandhavelivedallmylifeonafarm.Why,myhandsarequiteroughyetfromtheworkI'vedone.ButPaul just laughedwhenIsaidso,and tookmy hands and kissed them. Then he looked into my eyes andlaughed again, because I couldn't hide from him how much Ilovedhim.

WearetobemarriednextspringandPaulsayshewilltakemetoEurope.Thatwillbeverynice,butnothingmatterssolongasIamwithhim.

Paul's people are very wealthy and his mother and sisters areveryfashionable.Iamfrightenedofthem,butIdidnottellPaulsobecause I think itwouldhurthimandoh, Iwouldn'tdo thatfortheworld.

ThereisnothingIwouldn'tsufferifitwoulddohimanygood.Inever thought any one could feel so. I used to think if I lovedanybodyIwouldwanthimtodoeverythingformeandwaitonmeas if Iwereaprincess.But that isnot thewayat all.Lovemakesyouveryhumbleandyouwanttodoeverythingyourselffortheoneyoulove.

August10.

Paulwenthometo-day.Oh,itissoterrible!Idon'tknowhowIcanbear to live even for a littlewhilewithout him.But this issillyofme,becauseIknowhehastogoandhewillwriteoftenand come tomeoften.But, still, it is so lonesome. I didn't crywhenheleftmebecauseIwantedhimtoremembermesmilinginthewayhelikedbest,butIhavebeencryingeversinceandIcan'tstop,nomatterhowhardItry.Wehavehadsuchabeautifulfortnight.Everydayseemeddearerandhappierthanthelast,andnowitisendedandIfeelasifitcouldneverbethesameagain.Oh,Iamveryfoolish—butIlovehimsodearlyandifIweretolosehisloveIknowIwoulddie.

August17.

Ithinkmyheartisdead.Butno,itcan'tbe,foritachestoomuch.

Paul'smothercameheretoseemeto-day.Shewasnotangryordisagreeable.Iwouldn'thavebeensofrightenedofherifshehadbeen. As it was, I felt that I couldn't say a word. She is verybeautifulandstatelyandwonderful,witha low,coldvoiceandproud, dark eyes. Her face is like Paul's but without theloveablenessofhis.

She talked tome for a long timeand she said terrible things—terrible, because I knew they were all true. I seemed to seeeverything through her eyes. She said that Paulwas infatuatedwithmyyouthandbeautybutthatitwouldnotlastandwhatelsehadItogivehim?ShesaidPaulmustmarryawomanofhisownclass,whocoulddohonortohisfameandposition.Shesaidthathewasverytalentedandhadagreatcareerbeforehim,butthatifhemarriedmeitwouldruinhislife.

Isawitall,justassheexplaineditout,andItoldheratlastthatIwouldnotmarryPaul,andshemighttellhimso.Butshesmiledand said Imust tell himmyself, because hewould not believeany one else. I could have begged her to spare me that, but Iknew itwouldbeofnouse. Idonot think shehas anypityormercyforanyone.Besides,whatshesaidwasquitetrue.

WhenshethankedmeforbeingsoREASONABLEI toldherIwas not doing it to please her, but for Paul's sake, because Iwould not spoil his life, and that Iwould always hate her. Shesmiledagainandwentaway.

Oh,howcanIbearit?Ididnotknowanyonecouldsufferlikethis!

August18.

Ihavedoneit.IwrotetoPaulto-day.IknewImusttellhimbyletter,becauseIcouldnevermakehimbelieve it face to face. Iwas afraid I could not even do it by letter. I suppose a cleverwoman easily could, but I am so stupid. Iwrote a greatmanyletters and tore them up, because I felt sure they wouldn'tconvincePaul.AtlastIgotonethatIthoughtwoulddo.IknewImustmakeitseemasifIwereveryfrivolousandheartless,orhewould never believe. I spelled some words wrong and put insomemistakesofgrammaronpurpose.ItoldhimIhadjustbeenflirtingwithhim,and that Ihadanother fellowathome I likedbetter. I saidFELLOWbecause I knew itwoulddisgust him. I

said that itwasonlybecausehewas rich that Iwas tempted tomarryhim.

I thought my heart would break while I was writing thosedreadfulfalsehoods.But itwasforhissake,becauseImustnotspoilhislife.HismothertoldmeIwouldbeamillstonearoundhis neck. I love Paul somuch that Iwould do anything ratherthanbethat.Itwouldbeeasytodieforhim,butIdon'tseehowIcangoonliving.IthinkmyletterwillconvincePaul.

I suppose it convincedPaul, because therewas no further entry in the littlebrownbook.Whenwehadfinished it the tearswererunningdownbothourfaces.

"Oh,poor,dearMissEmily,"sobbedDiana."I'msosorryIever thoughtherfunnyandmeddlesome."

"She was good and strong and brave," I said. "I could never have been asunselfishasshewas."

IthoughtofWhittier'slines,

"Theoutward,waywardlifeweseeThehiddenspringswemaynotknow."

Atthebackofthelittlebrownbookwefoundafadedwater-colorsketchofayounggirl—suchaslim,prettylittlething,withbigblueeyesandlovely,long,ripplinggoldenhair.PaulOsborne'snamewaswritteninfadedinkacrossthecorner.

Weputeverythingbackinthebox.Thenwesatforalongtimebymywindowinsilenceandthoughtofmanythings,untiltherainytwilightcamedownandblottedouttheworld.

IX.SARA'SWAY

ThewarmJunesunshinewascomingdownthroughthetrees,whitewiththevirginal bloom of apple-blossoms, and through the shining panes,making atremulousmosaicuponMrs.EbenAndrews' spotlesskitchen floor.Throughtheopendoor,awind,fragrantfromlongwanderingsoverorchardsandclovermeadows, drifted in, and, from thewindow,Mrs. Eben and her guest couldlookdownoveralong,mistyvalleyslopingtoasparklingsea.

Mrs. JonasAndrewswas spending the afternoonwith her sister-in-law. Shewas a big, sonsy woman, with full-blown peony cheeks and large, dreamy,brown eyes.When she had been a slim, pink-and-white girl those eyes had

been very romantic. Now they were so out of keeping with the rest of herappearanceastobeludicrous.

Mrs.Eben, sitting at theother endof the small tea-table thatwasdrawnupagainstthewindow,wasathinlittlewoman,withaverysharpnoseandlight,fadedblueeyes.Shelookedlikeawomanwhoseopinionswerealwaysverydecidedandwarrantedtowear.

"How does Sara like teaching at Newbridge?" asked Mrs. Jonas, helpingherselfasecond time toMrs.Eben'smatchlessblack fruitcake,and therebybestowingasubtlecomplimentwhichMrs.Ebendidnotfailtoappreciate.

"Well, I guess she likes it pretty well—better than down at White Sands,anyway," answeredMrs.Eben. "Yes, Imay say it suits her.Of course it's alongwalkthereandback.IthinkitwouldhavebeenwiserforhertokeeponboardingatMorrison's,asshedidallwinter,butSaraisboundtobehomeallshecan.AndImustsaythewalkseemstoagreewithher."

"IwasdowntoseeJonas'auntatNewbridgelastnight,"saidMrs.Jonas,"andshe said she'dheard thatSarahadmadeuphermind to takeLigeBaxter atlast,andthattheyweretobemarriedinthefall.Sheaskedmeifitwastrue.IsaidIdidn'tknow,butIhopedtomercyitwas.Now,isit,Louisa?"

"Notawordofit,"saidMrs.Ebensorrowfully."Sarahasn'tanymorenotionof takingLige than ever shehad. I'm sure it's notMY fault. I've talked andarguedtillI'mtired.Ideclaretoyou,Amelia,Iamterriblydisappointed.I'dsetmyheartonSara'smarryingLige—andnowtothinkshewon't!"

"Sheisaveryfoolishgirl,"saidMrs.Jonas,judicially."IfLigeBaxterisn'tgoodenoughforher,whois?"

"Andhe'ssowelloff,"saidMrs.Eben,"anddoessuchagoodbusiness,andiswellspokenofbyeveryone.AndthatlovelynewhouseofhisatNewbridge,withbaywindowsandhardwoodfloors!I'vedreamedanddreamedofseeingSarathereasmistress."

"Maybeyou'llseeherthereyet,"saidMrs.Jonas,whoalwaystookahopefulviewofeverything,evenofSara'scontrariness.Butshefeltdiscouraged,too.Well,shehaddoneherbest.

IfLigeBaxter'sbrothwasspoileditwasnotforlackofcooks.EveryAndrewsinAvonleahadbeentryingfortwoyearstobringaboutamatchbetweenhimandSara,andMrs.Jonashadborneherpartvaliantly.

Mrs.Eben'sdespondentreplywascutshortbytheappearanceofSaraherself.Thegirlstoodforamomentinthedoorwayandlookedwithafaintlyamused

air at her aunts. She knewquitewell that they had been discussing her, forMrs. Jonas,who carried her conscience in her face, lookedguilty, andMrs.Ebenhadnotbeenablewhollytobanishheraggrievedexpression.

Saraputawayherbooks,kissedMrs.Jonas'rosycheek,andsatdownatthetable.Mrs.Ebenbroughthersomefreshtea,somehotrolls,andalittlejelly-potof theapricotpreservesSara liked,andshecutsomemorefruitcakeforher in moist plummy slices. She might be out of patience with Sara's"contrariness,"butshespoiledandpettedherforallthat,forthegirlwastheverycoreofherchildlessheart.

SaraAndrewswasnot,strictlyspeaking,pretty;but therewasthataboutherwhichmadepeople lookather twice.Shewasverydark,witharich,duskysortofdarkness,herdeepeyeswerevelvetybrown,andher lipsandcheekswerecrimson.

Sheateherrollsandpreserveswithahealthyappetite,sharpenedbyherlongwalk fromNewbridge, and told amusing little stories of her day'swork thatmadethetwoolderwomenshakewithlaughter,andexchangeshyglancesofprideoverhercleverness.

Whenteawasovershepouredtheremainingcontentsofthecreamjugintoasaucer.

"Imustfeedmypussy,"shesaidasshelefttheroom.

"Thatgirlbeatsme,"saidMrs.Ebenwithasighofperplexity."Youknowthatblackcatwe'vehadfortwoyears?EbenandIhavealwaysmadealotofhim,butSaraseemedtohaveadisliketohim.NeverapeacefulnapunderthestovecouldhehavewhenSarawashome—outhemustgo.Well,alittlespellagohegothislegbrokeaccidentallyandwethoughthe'dhavetobekilled.ButSarawouldn'thearofit.Shegotsplintsandsethislegjustasknacky,andbandageditup,andshehastendedhimlikeasickbabyeversince.He'sjustaboutwellnow,andhelivesinclover,thatcatdoes.It'sjustherway.There'sthemsickchickensshe'sbeendoctoringforaweek,givingthempillsandthings!

"And she thinksmore of that wretched-looking calf that got poisoned withparisgreenthanofalltheotherstockontheplace."

As the summer wore away, Mrs. Eben tried to reconcile herself to thedestructionofheraircastles.ButshescoldedSaraconsiderably.

"Sara,whydon'tyoulikeLige?I'msureheisamodelyoungman."

"I don't like model young men," answered Sara impatiently. "And I reallythinkIhateLigeBaxter.Hehasalwaysbeenhelduptomeassuchaparagon.

I'mtiredofhearingaboutallhisperfections.Iknowthemalloffbyheart.Hedoesn'tdrink,hedoesn'tsmoke,hedoesn'tsteal,hedoesn'ttellfibs,heneverloses his temper, he doesn't swear, and he goes to church regularly. Such afaultlesscreatureasthatwouldcertainlygetonmynerves.No,no,you'llhavetopickoutanothermistressforyournewhouseattheBridge,AuntLouisa."

Whentheapple trees, thathadbeenpinkandwhite inJune,wererussetandbronze in October,Mrs. Eben had a quilting. The quilt was of the "RisingStar" pattern, whichwas considered inAvonlea to be very handsome.Mrs.EbenhadintendeditforpartofSara's"settingout,"and,whileshesewedthered-and-whitediamondstogether,shehadregaledherfancybyimaginingshesaw it spread out on the spare-room bed of the house at Newbridge, withherself layingherbonnetandshawlon itwhenshewent to seeSara.Thosebrightvisionshadfadedwith theappleblossoms,andMrs.Ebenhardlyhadthehearttofinishthequiltatall.

ThequiltingcameoffonSaturdayafternoon,whenSaracouldbehomefromschool.AllMrs.Eben's particular friendswere ranged around the quilt, andtonguesandfingersflew.Saraflittedabout,helpingherauntwiththesupperpreparations. She was in the room, getting the custard dishes out of thecupboard,whenMrs.GeorgePyearrived.

Mrs.Georgehadageniusforbeinglate.Shewaslaterthanusualto-day,andshe looked excited. Every woman around the "Rising Star" felt that Mrs.Georgehadsomenewsworthlisteningto,andtherewasanexpectantsilencewhileshepulledoutherchairandsettledherselfatthequilt.

Shewasatall,thinwomanwithalongpalefaceandliquidgreeneyes.Asshelookedaroundthecircleshehadtheairofacatdaintilylickingitschopsoversometitbit.

"Isuppose,"shesaid,"thatyouhaveheardthenews?"

Sheknewperfectlywell that theyhadnot.Everyotherwomanat the framestoppedquilting.Mrs.Ebencametothedoorwithapanofpuffy,smoking-hotsodabiscuitsinherhand.Sarastoppedcountingthecustarddishes,andturnedher ripely-colored face over her shoulder. Even the black cat, at her feet,ceasedpreeninghis fur.Mrs.George felt that theundividedattentionofheraudiencewashers.

"BaxterBrothershavefailed,"shesaid,hergreeneyesshootingoutflashesoflight."FailedDISGRACEFULLY!"

Shepausedforamoment;but,sinceherhearerswereasyetspeechlessfromsurprise,shewenton.

"George camehome fromNewbridge, just before I left,with thenews.Youcouldhaveknockedmedownwithafeather.IshouldhavethoughtthatfirmwasassteadyastheRockofGibraltar!Butthey'reruined—absolutelyruined.Louisa,dear,canyoufindmeagoodneedle?"

"Louisa,dear,"hadsetherbiscuitsdownwithasharpthud,recklessofresults.Asharp,metallictinklesoundedattheclosetwhereSarahadstrucktheedgeofhertrayagainstashelf.Thesoundseemedtoloosentheparalyzedtongues,andeverybodybegan talkingandexclaimingatonce.Clearandshrill abovetheconfusionroseMrs.GeorgePye'svoice.

"Yes, indeed, you may well say so. It IS disgraceful. And to think howeverybody trusted them!Georgewill lose considerable by the crash, and sowillagoodmanyfolks.Everythingwillhavetogo—PeterBaxter'sfarmandLige'sgrandnewhouse.Mrs.Peterwon'tcarryherheadsohighafterthis,I'llbebound.GeorgesawLigeattheBridge,andhesaidhelookeddreadfulcutupandashamed."

"Who,orwhat'stoblameforthefailure?"askedMrs.RachelLyndesharply.ShedidnotlikeMrs.GeorgePye.

"There are a dozen different stories on the go," was the reply. "As far asGeorge couldmake out, PeterBaxter has been speculatingwith other folks'money, and this is the result. Everybody always suspected that Peter wascrooked;butyou'dhavethought thatLigewouldhavekepthimstraight.HEhadalwayssuchareputationforsaintliness."

"Idon'tsupposeLigeknewanythingaboutit,"saidMrs.Rachelindignantly.

"Well,he'dought to, then.Ifheisn'taknavehe'safool,"saidMrs.HarmonAndrews,who had formerly been among hiswarmest partisans. "He shouldhavekeptwatchonPeterandfoundouthowthebusinesswasbeingrun.Well,Sara,youwerethelevel-headestofusall—I'lladmitthatnow.AnicemessitwouldbeifyouweremarriedorengagedtoLige,andhimleftwithoutacent—evenifhecanclearhischaracter!"

"ThereisagooddealoftalkaboutPeter,andswindling,andalawsuit,"saidMrs.GeorgePye,quilting industriously."Mostof theNewbridgefolks thinkit'sallPeter'sfault,andthatLigeisn'ttoblame.Butyoucan'ttell.IdaresayLige is as deep in themire as Peter.Hewas always a little too good to bewholesome,Ithought."

Therewas a clink of glass at the cupboard, as Sara set the tray down. ShecameforwardandstoodbehindMrs.RachelLynde'schair,restinghershapelyhandsonthatlady'sbroadshoulders.Herfacewasverypale,butherflashing

eyes sought and faced defiantlyMrs. George Pye's cat-like orbs. Her voicequiveredwithpassionandcontempt.

"You'llallhaveaflingatLigeBaxter,nowthathe'sdown.Youcouldn'tsayenoughinhispraise,once.I'llnotstandbyandhearithintedthatLigeBaxterisaswindler.YouallknowperfectlywellthatLigeisashonestastheday,ifheISsounfortunateastohaveanunprincipledbrother.You,Mrs.Pye,knowitbetterthananyone,yetyoucomehereandrunhimdowntheminutehe'sintrouble. If there's another word said here against Lige Baxter I'll leave theroomandthehousetillyou'regone,everyoneofyou."

She flashed a glance around the quilt that cowed the gossips. Even Mrs.GeorgePye's eyes flickeredandwanedandquailed.Nothingmorewas saiduntilSarahadpickedupherglassesandmarchedfromtheroom.Even thenthey dared not speak above a whisper. Mrs. Pye, alone, smarting from thesnub,venturedtoejaculate,"Pitysaveus!"asSaraslammedthedoor.

For the next fortnight gossip and rumor held high carnival in Avonlea andNewbridge,andMrs.Ebengrewtodreadthesightofavisitor.

"They're bound to talk about the Baxter failure and criticize Lige," shedeploredtoMrs.Jonas."AnditrilesSaraupsoterrible.SheusedtodeclarethatshehatedLige,andnowshewon'tlistentoawordagainsthim.NotthatIsayany,myself.I'msorryforhim,andIbelievehe'sdonehisbest.ButIcan'tstopotherpeoplefromtalking."

OneeveningHarmonAndrewscameinwithafreshbudgetofnews.

"TheBaxterbusinessisprettynearwoundupatlast,"hesaid,ashelightedhispipe. "Peter has got his lawsuits settled and has hushed up the talk aboutswindling,somehow.Trusthimforslippingoutofascrapecleanandclever.He don't seem toworry any, but Lige looks like a walking skeleton. Somefolkspityhim,butIsayheshouldhavekepttherunofthingsbetterandnothave trustedeverything toPeter. Ihearhe'sgoingoutWest in theSpring, totakeup land inAlberta and tryhishandat farming.Best thinghecando, Iguess.FolkshereaboutshavehadenoughoftheBaxterbreed.Newbridgewillbewellridofthem."

Sara,whohadbeensittinginthedarkcornerbythestove,suddenlystoodup,letting theblackcat slip fromher lap to the floor.Mrs.Ebenglancedatherapprehensively,forshewasafraidthegirlwasgoingtobreakout inatiradeagainstthecomplacentHarmon.

ButSaraonlywalkedfiercelyoutofthekitchen,withasoundasifshewerestrugglingforbreath.Inthehallshesnatchedascarffromthewall,flungopen

the frontdoor,andrusheddownthe lane in thechill,pureairof theautumntwilight.Herheartwasthrobbingwiththepityshealwaysfeltforbruisedandbaitedcreatures.

On andon shewent heedlessly, intent only onwalking awayher pain, overgray, brooding fields and winding slopes, and along the skirts of ruinous,duskypinewoods,curtainedwithfinespunpurplegloom.Herdressbrushedagainst the brittle grasses and sere ferns, and the moist night wind, loosedfromwildplacesfaraway,blewherhairaboutherface.

Atlastshecametoalittlerusticgate,leadingintoashadowywood-lane.Thegatewasboundwithwillowwithes,and,asSarafumbledvainlyatthemwithher chilled hands, aman's firm step came up behind her, andLigeBaxter'shandclosedoverher's.

"Oh,Lige!"shesaid,withsomethinglikeasob.

He opened the gate and drewher through. She left her hand in his, as theywalked through the lane where lissome boughs of young saplings flickedagainsttheirheads,andtheairwaswildlysweetwiththewoodsyodors.

"It'salongwhilesinceI'veseenyou,Lige,"Sarasaidatlast.

Ligelookedwistfullydownatherthroughthegloom.

"Yes,itseemsverylongtome,Sara.ButIdidn'tthinkyou'dcaretoseeme,afterwhatyousaidlastspring.Andyouknowthingshavebeengoingagainstme.Peoplehavesaidhardthings.I'vebeenunfortunate,Sara,andmaybetooeasy-going,butI'vebeenhonest.Don'tbelievefolksiftheytellyouIwasn't."

"Indeed,Ineverdid—notforaminute!"firedSara.

"I'mgladofthat.I'mgoingaway,lateron.Ifeltbadenoughwhenyourefusedtomarryme,Sara;butit'swellthatyoudidn't.I'mmanenoughtobethankfulmytroublesdon'tfallonyou."

Sarastoppedandturnedtohim.Beyondthemthelaneopenedintoafieldandaclearlakeofcrocusskycastadimlightintotheshadowwheretheystood.Above itwas a newmoon, like a gleaming silver scimitar. Sara saw itwasoverherleftshoulder,andshesawLige'sfaceaboveher,tenderandtroubled.

"Lige,"shesaidsoftly,"doyoulovemestill?"

"YouknowIdo,"saidLigesadly.

ThatwasallSarawanted.Withaquickmovementshenestledintohisarms,andlaidherwarm,tear-wetcheekagainsthiscoldone.

When theamazing rumor thatSarawasgoing tomarryLigeBaxter, andgooutWestwithhim,circulatedthroughtheAndrewsclan,handswereliftedandheadswereshaken.Mrs.Jonaspuffedandpantedupthehilltolearnifitweretrue. She foundMrs. Eben stitching for dear life on an "Irish Chain" quilt,whileSarawassewingthediamondsonanother"RisingStar"withamartyr-likeexpressiononherface.Sarahatedpatchworkaboveeverythingelse,butMrs.Ebenwasmistressuptoacertainpoint.

"You'llhavetomakethatquilt,SaraAndrews.Ifyou'regoingto liveoutonthoseprairies,you'llneedpilesofquilts,andyoushallhavethemifIsewmyfingerstothebone.Butyou'llhavetohelpmakethem."

AndSarahadto.

WhenMrs.Jonascame,Mrs.EbensentSaraofftothepost-officetogetheroutoftheway.

"Isupposeit'strue,thistime?"saidMrs.Jonas.

"Yes,indeed,"saidMrs.Ebenbriskly."Saraissetonit.Thereisnousetryingtomoveher—youknowthat—soI'vejustconcludedtomakethebestofit.I'mno turn-coat. Lige Baxter is Lige Baxter still, neither more nor less. I'vealways saidhe's a fineyoungman, and I say so still.After all, he andSarawon'tbeanypoorerthanEbenandIwerewhenwestartedout."

Mrs.Jonasheavedasighofrelief.

"I'm real glad you take that view of it, Louisa. I'm not displeased, either,although Mrs. Harmon would take my head off if she heard me say so. IalwayslikedLige.ButImustsayI'mamazed,too,afterthewaySarausedtorailathim."

"Well, we might have expected it," said Mrs. Eben sagely. "It was alwaysSara'sway.Whenanycreaturegot sickorunfortunate she seemed to take itrightintoherheart.SoyoumaysayLigeBaxter'sfailurewasasuccessafterall."

IX. THESONOFHISMOTHER

Thyra Carewewaswaiting for Chester to come home. She sat by thewestwindowofthekitchen,lookingoutintothegatheringoftheshadowswiththeexpectantimmovabilitythatcharacterizedher.Shenevertwitchedorfidgeted.

Intowhatevershedidsheput thewholeforceofhernature. If itwassittingstill,shesatstill.

"AstoneimagewouldbetwitchedlybesideThyra,"saidMrs.CynthiaWhite,herneighbor across the lane. "It getsonmynerves, theway she sits at thatwindow sometimes, with no more motion than a statue and her great eyesburningdownthe lane.WhenI read thecommandment, 'Thoushalthavenoothergodsbeforeme,'IdeclareIalwaysthinkofThyra.SheworshipsthatsonofhersfaraheadofherCreator.She'llbepunishedforityet."

Mrs.WhitewaswatchingThyra now, knitting furiously, as shewatched, inordertolosenotime.Thyra'shandswerefoldedidlyinherlap.Shehadnotmovedamuscle since she satdown.Mrs.Whitecomplained itgaveher theweeps.

"Itdoesn'tseemnaturaltoseeawomansitsostill,"shesaid."Sometimesthethoughtcomestome, 'what ifshe'shadastroke, likeheroldUncleHoratio,andissittingtherestonedead!'"

The eveningwas cold and autumnal. Therewas a fiery red spot out at sea,wherethesunhadset,and,aboveit,overachill,clear,saffronsky,werereefsof purple-black clouds. The river, below the Carewe homestead, was livid.Beyond it, the seawas dark and brooding. Itwas an evening tomakemostpeopleshiverandforebodeanearlywinter;butThyralovedit,asshelovedallstern, harshlybeautiful things.Shewouldnot light a lampbecause itwouldblot out the savage grandeur of sea and sky. It was better to wait in thedarknessuntilChestercamehome.

He was late to-night. She thought he had been detained over-time at theharbor,butshewasnotanxious.Hewouldcomestraighthometoherassoonashisbusinesswascompleted—of that she felt sure.Her thoughtswentoutalong thebleakharbor road tomeethim.Shecouldseehimplainly,comingwithhisfreestridethroughthesandyhollowsandoverthewindyhills,intheharsh,coldlightofthatforbiddingsunset,strongandhandsomeinhiscomelyyouth, with her own deeply cleft chin and his father's dark gray,straightforward eyes.No otherwoman inAvonlea had a son like hers—heronlyone.Inhisbriefabsencessheyearnedafterhimwithamaternalpassionthat had in it something of physical pain, so intensewas it. She thought ofCynthiaWhite,knittingacrosstheroad,withcontemptuouspity.Thatwomanhadnoson—nothingbutpale-facedgirls.Thyrahadneverwantedadaughter,butshepitiedanddespisedallsonlesswomen.

Chester'sdogwhinedsuddenlyandpiercinglyonthedoorstepoutside.Hewastiredof the cold stone andwantedhiswarmcorner behind the stove.Thyra

smiledgrimlywhensheheardhim.Shehadnointentionoflettinghimin.Shesaidshehadalwaysdislikeddogs,butthetruth,althoughshewouldnotglanceatit,wasthatshehatedtheanimalbecauseChesterlovedhim.Shecouldnotshare his lovewith even a dumb brute. She loved no living creature in theworldbutherson,and fiercelydemandeda likeconcentratedaffection fromhim.Henceitpleasedhertohearhisdogwhine.

Itwasnowquitedark;thestarshadbeguntoshineoutovertheshornharvestfields,andChesterhadnotcome.Across the laneCynthiaWhitehadpulleddown her blind, in despair of out-watching Thyra, and had lighted a lamp.Livelyshadowsoflittlegirl-shapespassedandrepassedonthepaleoblongoflight.TheymadeThyra conscious of her exceeding loneliness. Shehad justdecidedthatshewouldwalkdownthelaneandwaitforChesteronthebridge,whenathunderousknockcameattheeastkitchendoor.

SherecognizedAugustVorst'sknockandlightedalampinnogreathaste,forshe did not like him. He was a gossip and Thyra hated gossip, in man orwoman.ButAugustwasprivileged.

Shecarriedthelampinherhand,whenshewenttothedoor,anditsupward-striking light gave her face a ghastly appearance. She did not mean to askAugustin,buthepushedpasthercheerfully,notwaitingtobeinvited.Hewasamidgetof aman, lameof foot andhunchedofback,with awhite, boyishface,despitehismiddleageanddeep-set,maliciousblackeyes.

HepulledacrumplednewspaperfromhispocketandhandedittoThyra.Hewas the unofficial mail-carrier of Avonlea. Most of the people gave him atrifle for bringing their letters and papers from the office. He earned smallsums in various otherways, and so contrived to keep the life in his stuntedbody.TherewasalwaysvenominAugust'sgossip. Itwassaid thathemademoremischief inAvonlea in a day thanwasmade otherwise in a year, butpeopletoleratedhimbyreasonofhisinfirmity.Tobesure,itwasthetolerancetheygavetoinferiorcreatures,andAugustfeltthis.Perhapsitaccountedforagooddealofhismalignity.Hehatedmostthosewhowerekindesttohim,and,of these,ThyraCareweaboveall.HehatedChester, too,ashehatedstrong,shapely creatures. His time had come at last to wound them both, and hisexultation shone through his crooked body and pinched features like anilluminatinglamp.Thyraperceiveditandvaguelyfeltsomethingantagonisticinit.Shepointedtotherocking-chair,asshemighthavepointedoutamattoadog.

Augustcrawledintoitandsmiled.Hewasgoingtomakeherwrithepresently,thiswomanwholookeddownuponhimassomevenomouscreepingthingshedisdainedtocrushwithherfoot.

"DidyouseeanythingofChesteron the road?"askedThyra,givingAugustthe very opening he desired. "He went to the harbor after tea to see JoeRaymondabouttheloanofhisboat,butit'sthetimeheshouldbeback.Ican'tthinkwhatkeepstheboy."

"Justwhatkeepsmostmen—leavingoutcreatures likeme—atsometimeorother in their lives.Agirl—aprettygirl,Thyra. Itpleasesmeto lookather.Evenahunchbackcanusehiseyes,eh?Oh,she'sarareone!"

"Whatisthemantalkingabout?"saidThyrawonderingly.

"DamarisGarland, tobesure.Chester'sdownatTomBlair'snow, talking toher—and lookingmore than his tongue says, too, of that youmay be sure.Well, well, we were all young once, Thyra—all young once, even crookedlittleAugustVorst.Eh,now?"

"Whatdoyoumean?"saidThyra.

Shehadsatdowninachairbeforehim,withherhandsfoldedinherlap.Herface,alwayspale,hadnotchanged;butherlipswerecuriouslywhite.AugustVorstsawthisanditpleasedhim.Also,hereyeswereworthlookingat,ifyouliked tohurtpeople—andthatwas theonlypleasureAugust tookin life.Hewould drink this delightful cup of revenge for her long years of disdainfulkindness—ah,hewoulddrinkitslowlytoprolongitssweetness.Sipbysip—he rubbed his long, thin, white hands together—sip by sip, tasting eachmouthful.

"Eh,now?Youknowwellenough,Thyra."

"Iknownothingofwhatyouwouldbeat,AugustVorst.Youspeakofmysonand Damaris—was that the name?—Damaris Garland as if they weresomethingtoeachother.Iaskyouwhatyoumeanbyit?"

"Tut,tut,Thyra,nothingveryterrible.There'snoneedtolooklikethataboutit.Youngmenwillbeyoungmento theendof time,and there'snoharminChester'slikingtolookatalass,eh,now?Orintalkingtohereither?Thelittlebaggage,withtheredlipsofher!SheandChesterwillmakeaprettypair.He'snotsoill-lookingforaman,Thyra."

"Iamnotaverypatientwoman,August,"saidThyracoldly."Ihaveaskedyouwhatyoumean,andIwantastraightanswer.IsChesterdownatTomBlair'swhileIhavebeensittinghere,alone,waitingforhim?"

Augustnodded.HesawthatitwouldnotbewisetotriflelongerwithThyra.

"Thatheis.IwastherebeforeIcamehere.HeandDamarisweresittingina

corner by themselves, and very well-satisfied they seemed to be with eachother.Tut,tut,Thyra,don'ttakethenewsso.Ithoughtyouknew.It'snosecretthatChesterhasbeengoingafterDamariseversinceshecamehere.Butwhatthen?Youcan'ttiehimtoyourapronstringsforever,woman.He'llbefindingamateforhimself,asheshould.Seeingthathe'sstraightandwell-shaped,nodoubtDamariswilllookwithfavoronhim.OldMarthaBlairdeclaresthegirlloveshimbetterthanhereyes."

ThyramadeasoundlikeastrangledmoaninthemiddleofAugust'sspeech.She heard the rest of it immovably.When it came to an end she stood andlookeddownuponhiminawaythatsilencedhim.

"You'vetoldthenewsyoucametotell,andgloatedoverit,andnowgetyougone,"shesaidslowly.

"Now,Thyra,"hebegan,butsheinterruptedhimthreateningly.

"Getyougone,Isay!Andyouneednotbringmymailhereanylonger.Iwantnomoreofyourmisshapenbodyandlyingtongue!"

Augustwent,butatthedoorheturnedforapartingstab.

"My tongue is not a lying one,Mrs. Carewe. I've told you the truth, as allAvonlea knows it. Chester ismad aboutDamarisGarland. It's nowonder Ithoughtyouknewwhatall thesettlementcansee.Butyou'resuchajealous,oddbody,Isupposetheboyhiditfromyouforfearyou'dgointoatantrum.As for me, I'll not forget that you've turned me from your door because Ichancedtobringyounewsyou'dnofancyfor."

Thyradidnotanswerhim.Whenthedoorclosedbehindhimshelockeditandblew out the light. Then she threw herself face downward on the sofa andburst into wild tears. Her very soul ached. She wept as tempestuously andunreasoninglyasyouthweeps,althoughshewasnotyoung.Itseemedasifshewasafraidtostopweepinglestsheshouldgomadthinking.But,afteratime,tearsfailedher,andshebeganbitterlytogoover,wordbyword,whatAugustVorsthadsaid.

Thathersonshouldevercasteyesof loveonanygirlwassomethingThyrahadneverthoughtabout.Shewouldnotbelieveitpossiblethatheshouldloveanyonebutherself,wholovedhimsomuch.Andnowthepossibilityinvadedher mind as subtly and coldly and remorselessly as a sea-fog stealinglandward.

Chester had been born to her at an agewhenmostwomen are letting theirchildrenslipfromthemintotheworld,withsomenaturaltearsandheartaches,

but content to let them go, after enjoying their sweetest years. Thyra's late-comemotherhoodwasallthemoreintenseandpassionatebecauseofitsverylateness.Shehadbeenveryillwhenhersonwasborn,andhadlainhelplessforlongweeks,duringwhichotherwomenhadtendedherbabyforher.Shehadneverbeenabletoforgivethemforthis.

HerhusbandhaddiedbeforeChesterwasayearold.Shehadlaidtheirsoninhisdyingarmsandreceivedhimbackagainwithalastbenediction.ToThyrathatmomenthadsomethingofasacramentinit.Itwasasifthechildhadbeendoublygiventoher,witharighttohimsolelythatnothingcouldtakeawayortranscend.

Marrying! She had never thought of it in connection with him. He did notcomeofamarryingrace.Hisfatherhadbeensixtywhenhehadmarriedher,ThyraLincoln, likewisewellonin life.Fewof theLincolnsorCareweshadmarriedyoung,manynot at all.And, to her,Chesterwasher baby still.Hebelongedsolelytoher.

And now another woman had dared to look upon him with eyes of love.DamarisGarland!Thyranowrememberedseeingher.Shewasanew-comerinAvonlea,havingcome to livewithheruncle andaunt after thedeathofhermother.Thyrahadmetheronthebridgeonedayamonthpreviously.Yes,amanmightthinkshewaspretty—alow-browedgirl,withawaveofreddish-goldhair,andcrimsonlipsblossomingoutagainstthestrange,milk-whitenessof her skin. Her eyes, too—Thyra recalled them—hazel in tint, deep, andlaughter-brimmed.

Thegirlhadgonepastherwithasmilethatbroughtoutmanydimples.Therewasacertain insolentquality inherbeauty, as if it flaunted itself somewhattoodefiantlyinthebeholder'seye.Thyrahadturnedandlookedafterthelithe,youngcreature,wonderingwhoshemightbe.

Andto-night,whileshe,hismother,waitedforhimindarknessandloneliness,hewasdownatBlair's,talkingtothisgirl!Helovedher;anditwaspastdoubtthatshelovedhim.ThethoughtwasmorebitterthandeathtoThyra.Thatsheshould dare!Her angerwas all against the girl. She had laid a snare to getChesterandhe,likeafool,wasentangledinit,thinking,man-fashion,onlyofhergreateyesandredlips.ThyrathoughtsavagelyofDamaris'beauty.

"Sheshallnothavehim,"shesaid,withslowemphasis."Iwillnevergivehimuptoanyotherwoman,and,leastofall,toher.Shewouldleavemenoplacein his heart at all—me, his mother, who almost died to give him life. Hebelongstome!Letherlookforthesonofsomeotherwoman—somewomanwhohasmanysons.Sheshallnothavemyonlyone!"

She got up, wrapped a shawl about her head, andwent out into the darklygoldenevening.Thecloudshadclearedaway,andthemoonwasshining.Theairwaschill,withabell-likeclearness.Thealdersbytheriverrustledeerilyasshewalkedby themandoutupon thebridge.Here shepacedupanddown,peering with troubled eyes along the road beyond, or leaning over the rail,lookingatthesparklingsilverribbonofmoonlightthatgarlandedthewaters.Latetravelerspassedher,andwonderedatherpresenceandmien.CarlWhitesawher,andtoldhiswifeaboutherwhenhegothome.

"Striding to and fro over the bridge likemad!At first I thought itwas old,crazyMayBlair.Whatdoyousupposeshewasdoingdownthereatthishourofthenight?"

"WatchingforChes,nodoubt,"saidCynthia."Heain'thomeyet.Likelyhe'ssnugatBlairs'.IdowonderifThyrasuspicionsthathegoesafterDamaris.I'veneverdaredtohintittoher.She'dbeasliabletoflyatme,toothandclaw,asnot."

"Well,shepicksoutapreciousqueernightformoon-gazing,"saidCarl,whowasajollysoulandtooklifeashefoundit."It'sbittercold—there'llbeahardfrost.It'sapityshecan'tgetitgrainedintoherthattheboyisgrownupandmusthavehisflingliketheotherlads.She'llgooutofhermindyet,likeheroldgrandmotherLincoln, ifshedoesn'teaseup. I'veanotion togodowntothebridgeandreasonabitwithher."

"Indeed, andyou'lldono such thing!"criedCynthia. "ThyraCarewe isbestleftalone,ifsheisinatantrum.She'slikenootherwomaninAvonlea—oroutofit.I'dassoonmeddlewithatigerasher,ifshe'srampagingaboutChester.Idon't envy Damaris Garland her life if she goes in there. Thyra'd soonerstrangleherthannot,Iguess."

"YouwomenareallterriblehardonThyra,"saidCarl,good-naturedly.HehadbeeninlovewithThyra,himself,longago,andhestilllikedherinafriendlyfashion.HealwaysstoodupforherwhentheAvonleawomenranherdown.Hefelttroubledaboutherallnight,recallingherasshepacedthebridge.Hewishedhehadgoneback,inspiteofCynthia.

WhenChestercamehomehemethismotheron thebridge. In the faint,yetpenetrating,moonlighttheylookedcuriouslyalike,butChesterhadthemilderface.Hewasveryhandsome.Even in the seethingof her pain and jealousyThyrayearnedoverhisbeauty.Shewouldhavelikedtoputupherhandsandcaresshisface,buthervoicewasveryhardwhensheaskedhimwherehehadbeensolate.

"Icalled inatTomBlair'sonmywayhome from theharbor,"heanswered,

tryingtowalkon.Butsheheldhimbackbyhisarm.

"DidyougotheretoseeDamaris?"shedemandedfiercely.

Chesterwasuncomfortable.Muchashelovedhismother,hefelt,andalwayshad felt, an awe of her and an impatient dislike of her dramatic ways ofspeaking and acting. He reflected, resentfully, that no other young man inAvonlea,whohadbeenpayingafriendlycall,wouldbemetbyhismotheratmidnightandheldup in such tragic fashion toaccount forhimself.He triedvainly to loosenherholduponhisarm,butheunderstoodquitewell thathemust give her an answer. Being strictly straight-forward by nature andupbringing,he told the truth, albeitwithmoreanger inhis tone thanhehadevershowntohismotherbefore.

"Yes,"hesaidshortly.

Thyrareleasedhisarm,andstruckherhandstogetherwithasharpcry.Therewasasavagenoteinit.ShecouldhaveslainDamarisGarlandatthatmoment.

"Don'tgoonso,mother,"saidChester,impatiently."Comeinoutofthecold.Itisn'tfitforyoutobehere.Whohasbeentamperingwithyou?WhatifIdidgotoseeDamaris?"

"Oh—oh—oh!" cried Thyra. "Iwaswaiting for you—alone—and youwerethinkingonlyofher!Chester,answerme—doyouloveher?"

Thebloodrolledrapidlyovertheboy'sface.Hemutteredsomethingandtriedtopasson,butshecaughthimagain.Heforcedhimselftospeakgently.

"WhatifIdo,mother?Itwouldn'tbesuchadreadfulthing,wouldit?"

"Andme?Andme?"criedThyra."WhatamItoyou,then?"

"You are my mother. I wouldn't love you any the less because I cared foranother,too."

"Iwon'thaveyouloveanother,"shecried."Iwantallyourlove—all!What'sthatbaby-facetoyou,comparedtoyourmother?Ihavethebestrighttoyou.Iwon'tgiveyouup."

Chesterrealizedthat therewasnoarguingwithsuchamood.Hewalkedon,resolvedtosetthematterasideuntilshemightbemorereasonable.ButThyrawouldnothaveitso.Shefollowedonafterhim,underthealdersthatcrowdedoverthelane.

"Promisemethatyou'llnotgothereagain,"sheentreated."Promisemethatyou'llgiveherup."

"Ican'tpromisesuchathing,"hecriedangrily.

Hisangerhurtherworsethanablow,butshedidnotflinch.

"You'renotengagedtoher?"shecriedout.

"Now,mother,bequiet.Allthesettlementwillhearyou.WhydoyouobjecttoDamaris?Youdon'tknowhowsweetsheis.Whenyouknowher—"

"Iwillneverknowher!"criedThyrafuriously."Andsheshallnothaveyou!Sheshallnot,Chester!"

Hemadenoanswer.Shesuddenlybrokeintotearsandloudsobs.Touchedwithremorse,hestoppedandputhisarmsabouther.

"Mother,mother, don't! I can't bear to see you cry so.But, indeed, you areunreasonable.Didn'tyoueverthinkthetimewouldcomewhenIwouldwanttomarry,likeothermen?"

"No,no!AndIwillnothaveit—Icannotbearit,Chester.Youmustpromisenottogotoseeheragain.Iwon'tgointothehousethisnightuntilyoudo.I'llstay out here in the bitter cold until you promise to put her out of yourthoughts."

"That'sbeyondmypower,mother.Oh,mother,you'remakingithardforme.Comein,comein!You'reshiveringwithcoldnow.You'llbesick."

"NotastepwillIstir tillyoupromise.Sayyouwon'tgotoseethatgirlanymore,andthere'snothingIwon'tdoforyou.Butifyouputherbeforeme,I'llnotgoin—Ineverwillgoin."

Withmostwomen thiswould have been an empty threat; but itwas not sowithThyra,andChesterknewit.Heknewshewouldkeepherword.Andhefearedmorethanthat.Inthisfrenzyofherswhatmightshenotdo?Shecameof a strange breed, as had been said disapprovingly when Luke Carewemarriedher.TherewasastrainofinsanityintheLincolns.ALincolnwomanhad drowned herself once.Chester thought of the river, and grew sickwithfright.ForamomentevenhispassionforDamarisweakenedbeforetheoldertie.

"Mother,calmyourself.Oh,surelythere'snoneedofallthis!Letuswaituntilto-morrow,andtalkitoverthen.I'llhearallyouhavetosay.Comein,dear."

Thyra loosened her arms from about him, and stepped back into amoon-litspace.Lookingathimtragically,sheextendedherarmsandspokeslowlyandsolemnly.

"Chester,choosebetweenus.Ifyouchooseher,Ishallgofromyouto-night,andyouwillneverseemeagain!"

"Mother!"

"Choose!"shereiterated,fiercely.

He felt her long ascendancy. Its influence was not to be shaken off in amoment. In all his life he had never disobeyed her. Besides, with it all, helovedhermoredeeplyandunderstandinglythanmostsonslovetheirmothers.Herealizedthat,sinceshewouldhaveitso,hischoicewasalreadymade—or,ratherthathehadnochoice.

"Haveyourway,"hesaidsullenly.

Sherantohimandcaughthimtoherheart.Inthereactionofherfeelingshewas half laughing, half crying. All waswell again—all would bewell; shenever doubted this, for she knew he would keep his ungracious promisesacredly.

"Oh,myson,myson,"shemurmured,"you'dhavesentmetomydeathifyouhadchosenotherwise.Butnowyouaremineagain!"

Shedidnotheedthathewassullen—thatheresentedherunjusticewithallherown intensity. She did not heed his silence as they went into the housetogether. Strangely enough, she sleptwell and soundly that night.Not untilmanydayshadpasseddidsheunderstandthat,thoughChestermightkeephispromiseintheletter,itwasbeyondhispowertokeepitinthespirit.ShehadtakenhimfromDamarisGarland;butshehadnotwonhimbacktoherself.Hecouldneverbewhollyhersonagain.Therewasabarrierbetweenthemwhichnotallherpassionatelovecouldbreakdown.Chesterwasgravelykindtoher,foritwasnotinhisnaturetoremainsullenlong,orvisithisownunhappinessuponanother'shead;besides,heunderstoodherexactingaffection,eveninitsinjustice, and it has been well-said that to understand is to forgive. But heavoidedher,andsheknewit.TheflameofherangerburnedbitterlytowardsDamaris.

"Hethinksofherallthetime,"shemoanedtoherself."He'llcometohatemeyet, I fear,because it's Iwhomadehimgiveherup.ButI'drathereven thatthansharehimwithanotherwoman.Oh,myson,myson!"

SheknewthatDamariswassuffering,too.Thegirl'swanfacetoldthatwhenshemet her. But this pleased Thyra. It eased the ache in her bitter heart toknowthatpainwasgnawingatDamaris'also.

Chesterwas absent fromhomeveryoften now.He spentmuchof his spare

timeat theharbor,consortingwithJoeRaymondandothersof that ilk,whowerebutsorryassociatesforhim,Avonleapeoplethought.

In lateNovemberhe and Joe started for a tripdown the coast in the latter'sboat.Thyraprotestedagainstit,butChesterlaughedatheralarm.

Thyra saw him gowith a heart sick from fear. She hated the sea, andwasafraid of it at any time; but,most of all, in this treacherousmonth,with itssudden,wildgales.

Chesterhadbeenfondoftheseafromboyhood.Shehadalwaystriedtostiflethis fondness and break off his associationswith the harbor fishermen,wholiked to lure thehigh-spiritedboyoutwith themon fishingexpeditions.Butherpoweroverhimwasgonenow.

After Chester's departure she was restless and miserable, wandering fromwindowtowindowtoscanthedour,unsmilingsky.CarlWhite,droppingintopaya call,was alarmedwhenheheard thatChesterhadgonewith Joe, andhadnottactenoughtoconcealhisalarmfromThyra.

"'T isn't safe this time of year," he said. "Folks expect no better from thatreckless,harum-scarumJoeRaymond.He'lldrownhimselfsomeday, there'snothingsurer.Thismadfreakofstartingoffdowntheshore inNovember isjustofapiecewithhisusualperformances.Butyoushouldn'thaveletChestergo,Thyra."

"I couldn'tpreventhim.Saywhat I could,hewouldgo.He laughedwhen Ispokeofdanger.Oh,he'schangedfromwhathewas!Iknowwhohaswroughtthechange,andIhateherforit!"

Carl shrugged his fat shoulders. He knew quite well that Thyra was at thebottomofthesuddencoldnessbetweenChesterCareweandDamarisGarland,aboutwhichAvonleagossipwasbusyingitself.HepitiedThyra,too.Shehadagedrapidlythepastmonth.

"You'retoohardonChester,Thyra.He'soutofleading-stringsnow,orshouldbe.Youmustjustletmetakeanoldfriend'sprivilege,andtellyouthatyou'retakingthewrongwaywithhim.You'retoojealousandexacting,Thyra."

"Youdon't know anything about it.Youhave never had a son," saidThyra,cruellyenough, for sheknew thatCarl's sonlessnesswasa rankling thorn inhismind. "You don't knowwhat it is to pour out your love on one humanbeing,andhaveitflungbackinyourface!"

CarlcouldnotcopewithThyra'smoods.Hehadneverunderstoodher,eveninhisyouth.Nowhewenthome,stillshrugginghisshoulders,andthinkingthat

itwasagoodthingThyrahadnotlookedonhimwithfavorintheolddays.Cynthiawasmucheasiertogetalongwith.

MorethanThyralookedanxiouslytoseaandskythatnightinAvonlea.DamarisGarlandlistenedtothesmotheredroaroftheAtlanticinthemurkynortheastwithaprescienceofcomingdisaster.FriendlylongshoremenshooktheirheadsandsaidthatChesandJoewouldbetterhavekepttogood,dryland.

"It'ssorryworkjokingwithaNovembergale,"saidAbelBlair.Hewasanoldmanand,inhislife,hadseensomesadthingsalongtheshore.

Thyracouldnotsleepthatnight.Whenthegalecameshriekinguptheriver,and struck the house, she got out of bed and dressed herself. The windscreamedlikearaveningbeastatherwindow.Allnightshewanderedtoandfrointhehouse,goingfromroomtoroom,nowwringingherhandswithloudoutcries,nowprayingbelowherbreathwithwhitelips,nowlisteningindumbmiserytothefuryofthestorm.

Thewindragedallthenextday;butspentitselfinthefollowingnight,andthesecondmorningwascalmandfair.Theeasternskywasagreatarcofcrystal,smitten through with auroral crimsonings. Thyra, looking from her kitchenwindow,sawagroupofmenonthebridge.TheyweretalkingtoCarlWhite,withlooksandgesturesdirectedtowardstheCarewehouse.

Shewentoutanddowntothem.Noneofthesewhosawherwhite,rigidfacethatdayeverforgotthesight.

"Youhavenewsforme,"shesaid.

Theylookedateachother,eachmanmutelyimploringhisneighbortospeak.

"You need not fear to tellme," said Thyra calmly. "I knowwhat you havecometosay.Mysonisdrowned."

"Wedon'tknowTHAT,Mrs.Carewe,"saidAbelBlairquickly."Wehaven'tgottheworsttotellyou—there'shopeyet.ButJoeRaymond'sboatwasfoundlastnight,strandedbottomup,ontheBluePointsandshore,fortymilesdownthecoast."

"Don't look like that, Thyra," said Carl White pityingly. "They may haveescaped—theymayhavebeenpickedup."

Thyralookedathimwithdulleyes.

"Youknowtheyhavenot.Notoneofyouhasanyhope.Ihavenoson.Thesea

hastakenhimfromme—mybonnybaby!"

Sheturnedandwentbacktoherdesolatehome.Nonedaredtofollowher.CarlWhitewenthomeandsenthiswifeovertoher.

Cynthia found Thyra sitting in her accustomed chair. Her hands lay, palmsupward, on her lap. Her eyes were dry and burning. She met Cynthia'scompassionatelookwithafearfulsmile.

"Long ago,CynthiaWhite," she said slowly, "youwere vexedwithme oneday,andyoutoldmethatGodwouldpunishmeyet,becauseImadeanidolofmyson,andsetitupinHisplace.Doyouremember?Yourwordwasatrueone.GodsawthatIlovedChestertoomuch,andHemeanttotakehimfromme.IthwartedonewaywhenImadehimgiveupDamaris.Butonecan'tfightagainsttheAlmighty.ItwasdecreedthatImustlosehim—ifnotinoneway,theninanother.Hehasbeentakenfrommeutterly.Ishallnotevenhavehisgravetotend,Cynthia."

"As near to amadwoman as anything you ever saw,with her awful eyes,"CynthiatoldCarl,afterwards.Butshedidnotsaysothere.Althoughshewasashallow,commonplacesoul,shehadhershareofwomanlysympathy,andherownlifehadnotbeenfree fromsuffering. It taughther theright thing todonow.Shesatdownbythestrickencreatureandputherarmsabouther,whileshegatheredthecoldhandsinherownwarmclasp.Thetearsfilledherbig,blueeyesandhervoicetrembledasshesaid:

"Thyra, I'msorry foryou. I—I—lost a childonce—my little first-born.AndChesterwasadear,goodlad."

For a moment Thyra strained her small, tense body away from Cynthia'sembrace.Thensheshudderedandcriedout.Thetearscame,andsheweptheragonyoutontheotherwoman'sbreast.

Astheillnewsspread,otherAvonleawomenkeptdroppinginallthroughthedaytocondolewithThyra.Manyofthemcameinrealsympathy,butsomeoutofmere curiosity to see how she took it. Thyra knew this, but she did notresent it, as shewould once have done. She listened very quietly to all thehaltingeffortsatconsolation,andthelittleplatitudeswithwhichtheystrovetocoverthenakednessofbereavement.

WhendarknesscameCynthiasaidshemustgohome,butwouldsendoneofhergirlsoverforthenight.

"Youwon'tfeellikestayingalone,"shesaid.

Thyralookedupsteadily.

"No.ButIwantyoutosendforDamarisGarland."

"Damaris Garland!" Cynthia repeated the name as if disbelieving her ownears.TherewasneveranyknowingwhatwhimThyramighttake,butCynthiahadnotexpectedthis.

"Yes.TellherIwanther—tellhershemustcome.Shemusthatemebitterly;butIampunishedenoughtosatisfyevenherhate.TellhertocometomeforChester'ssake."

Cynthiadidasshewasbid,shesentherdaughter,Jeanette,forDamaris.Thenshewaited.Nomatterwhatdutieswerecallingforherathomeshemustseethe interview between Thyra and Damaris. Her curiosity would be the lastthing tofailCynthiaWhite.Shehaddoneverywellallday;but itwouldbeaskingtoomuchofhertoexpectthatshewouldconsiderthemeetingofthesetwowomensacredfromhereyes.

She half believed that Damaris would refuse to come. But Damaris came.JeanettebroughtherinamidthefieryglowofaNovembersunset.Thyrastoodup,andforamomenttheylookedateachother.

The insolence ofDamaris' beautywas gone. Her eyeswere dull and heavywith weeping, her lips were pale, and her face had lost its laughter anddimples.Onlyherhair,escapingfromtheshawlshehadcastaroundit,gushedforth inwarmsplendor in thesunset light,and framedherwanface like theaureoleofaMadonna.Thyralookeduponherwithashockofremorse.Thiswasnottheradiantcreatureshehadmetonthebridgethatsummerafternoon.This—this—wasHERwork.Sheheldoutherarms.

"Oh,Damaris,forgiveme.Webothlovedhim—thatmustbeabondbetweenusforlife."

Damariscameforwardandthrewherarmsabouttheolderwoman,liftingherface.Astheir lipsmetevenCynthiaWhiterealizedthatshehadnobusinessthere.SheventedtheirritationofherembarrassmentontheinnocentJeanette.

"Comeaway,"shewhisperedcrossly."Can'tyouseewe'renotwantedhere?"

She drew Jeanette out, leaving Thyra rocking Damaris in her arms, andcrooningoverherlikeamotheroverherchild.

When December had grown old Damaris was still with Thyra. It wasunderstood that shewas to remain there for thewinter,at least.Thyracouldnot bear her to be out of her sight. They talked constantly about Chester;Thyraconfessedallherangerandhatred.Damarishadforgivenher;butThyracould never forgive herself. She was greatly changed, and had grown very

gentleandtender.SheevensentforAugustVorstandbeggedhimtopardonherforthewayshehadspokentohim.

Wintercamelatethatyear,andtheseasonwasaveryopenone.Therewasnosnowonthegroundand,amonthafterJoeRaymond'sboathadbeencastupon theBlue Point sand shore, Thyra,wandering about in her garden, foundsomepansiesbloomingundertheirtangledleaves.ShewaspickingthemforDamaris when she heard a buggy rumble over the bridge and drive up theWhitelane,hiddenfromhersightbythealdersandfirs.AfewminuteslaterCarl and Cynthia came hastily across their yard under the huge balm-of-gileads.Carl's facewas flushed, andhisbigbodyquiveredwithexcitement.Cynthiaranbehindhim,withtearsrollingdownherface.

Thyrafeltherselfgrowingsickwithfear.HadanythinghappenedtoDamaris?Aglimpseofthegirl,sewingbyanupperwindowofthehouse,reassuredher.

"Oh,Thyra,Thyra!"gaspedCynthia.

"Canyou stand somegoodnews,Thyra?" askedCarl, in a trembling voice."Very,verygoodnews!"

Thyralookedwildlyfromonetotheother.

"There'sbutonethingyouwoulddaretocallgoodnewstome,"shecried."Isitabout—about—"

"Chester!Yes, it's aboutChester!Thyra,he is alive—he's safe—heand Joe,bothofthem,thankGod!Cynthia,catchher!"

"No, I am not going to faint," said Thyra, steadying herself by Cynthia'sshoulder."Mysonalive!Howdidyouhear?Howdidithappen?Wherehashebeen?"

"Ihearditdownattheharbor,Thyra.MikeMcCready'svessel,theNoraLee,was just in from theMagdalens.Ches and Joegot capsized thenightof thestorm, but they hung on to their boat somehow, and at daybreak theywerepickedupbytheNoraLee,boundforQuebec.Butshewasdamagedby thestormandblownclearoutofher course.Had toput into theMagdalens forrepairs, and has been there ever since. The cable to the islands was out oforder,andnovesselscalltherethistimeofyearformails.Ifithadn'tbeenanextraopenseasontheNoraLeewouldn'thavegotaway,butwouldhavehadto stay there till spring. You never saw such rejoicing as there was thismorning at theharbor,when theNoraLee came in, flying flags at themasthead."

"AndChester—whereishe?"demandedThyra.

CarlandCynthialookedateachother.

"Well, Thyra," said the latter, "the fact is, he's over there in our yard thisblessedminute.Carlbroughthimhomefromtheharbor,butIwouldn'tlethimcomeoveruntilwehadpreparedyouforit.He'swaitingforyouthere."

Thyramadeaquickstepinthedirectionofthegate.Thensheturned,withalittleoftheglowdyingoutofherface.

"No,there'sonehasabetterrighttogotohimfirst.Icanatonetohim—thankGod,Icanatonetohim!"

ShewentintothehouseandcalledDamaris.AsthegirlcamedownthestairsThyraheldoutherhandswithawonderfullightofjoyandrenunciationonherface.

"Damaris," she said, "Chester has come back to us—the sea has given himback to us.He is over at CarlWhite's house.Go to him,my daughter, andbringhimtome!"

X. THEEDUCATIONOFBETTY

WhenSaraCurriemarriedJackChurchillIwasbroken-hearted…orbelievedmyself tobeso,which, inaboyof twenty-two,amounts toprettymuch thesamething.NotthatItooktheworldintomyconfidence;thatwasnevertheDouglas way, and I held myself in honor bound to live up to the familytraditions.Ithought,then,thatnobodybutSaraknew;butIdaresay,now,thatJackknewitalso, for Idon't thinkSaracouldhavehelped tellinghim.Ifhedidknow,however,hedidnotletmeseethathedid,andneverinsultedmebyanyimpliedsympathy;onthecontrary,heaskedmetobehisbestman.Jackwasalwaysathoroughbred.

Iwasbestman.JackandIhadalwaysbeenbosomfriends,and,althoughIhadlostmysweetheart, Ididnot intend to losemy friend into thebargain.Sarahadmadeawisechoice,forJackwastwicethemanIwas;hehadhadtoworkforhisliving,whichperhapsaccountsforit.

SoIdancedatSara'sweddingas ifmyheartwereas lightasmyheels;but,aftersheandJackhadsettleddownatGlenbyIclosedTheMaplesandwentabroad…being, as Ihavehinted,oneof thoseunfortunatemortalswhoneedconsultnothingbuttheirownwhimsinthematteroftimeandmoney.Istayed

away for ten years, duringwhichTheMapleswas given over tomoths andrust,while I enjoyed life elsewhere. I did enjoy it hugely, but always underprotest,forIfeltthatabroken-heartedmanoughtnottoenjoyhimselfasIdid.It jarred onmy sense of fitness, and I tried tomoderatemy zest, and thinkmore of the past than I did. It was no use; the present insisted on beingintrusiveandpleasant;asforthefuture…well,therewasnofuture.

Then JackChurchill, poor fellow, died.Ayear after his death, Iwent homeand again asked Sara to marry me, as in duty bound. Sara again declined,alleging that her heartwas buried in Jack's grave, orwords to that effect. Ifoundthatitdidnotmuchmatter…ofcourse,atthirty-twoonedoesnottakethesethings toheartasat twenty-two.IhadenoughtooccupymeingettingTheMaplesintoworkingorder,andbeginningtoeducateBetty.

BettywasSara'stenyear-olddaughter,andshehadbeenthoroughlyspoiled.That is tosay,shehadbeenallowedherownwayineverythingand,havinginheritedherfather'soutdoortastes,hadsimplyrunwild.Shewasathoroughtomboy, a thin, scrawny little thingwitha traceofSara'sbeauty.Betty tookafterherfather'sdark,tallraceand,ontheoccasionofmyfirstintroductiontoher, seemed to be all legs and neck. There were points about her, though,which I consideredpromising.Shehad fine, almond-shaped,hazel eyes, thesmallestandmostshapelyhandsandfeetIeversaw,andtwoenormousbraidsofthick,nut-brownhair.

ForJack'ssakeIdecidedtobringhisdaughterupproperly.Saracouldn'tdoit,anddidn't try. I saw that, if somebodydidn't takeBetty inhand,wisely andfirmly, she would certainly be ruined. There seemed to be nobody exceptmyself at all interested in the matter, so I determined to see what an oldbachelor could do as regards bringingup a girl in theway she shouldgo. Imighthavebeenherfather;asitwas,herfatherhadbeenmybestfriend.Whohadabetter right towatchoverhisdaughter? Idetermined tobea father toBetty,anddoall forher that themostdevotedparentcoulddo. Itwas, self-evidently,myduty.

ItoldSaraIwasgoingtotakeBettyinhand.Sarasighedoneoftheplaintivelittle sighswhich I had once thought so charming, but now, tomy surprise,found faintly irritating, and said that she would be very much obliged if Iwould.

"I feel that I am not able to cope with the problem of Betty's education,Stephen," she admitted, "Betty is a strange child…all Churchill. Her poorfatherindulgedherineverything,andshehasawillofherown,Iassureyou.Ihave really no control over her, whatever. She does as she pleases, and isruininghercomplexionbyrunningandgallopingoutofdoorsthewholetime.

Not that she hadmuch complexion to startwith. TheChurchills never had,youknow."…Saracastacomplacentglanceatherdelicatelytintedreflectionin themirror…."I tried tomakeBettyweara sunbonnet this summer,but Imightaswellhavetalkedtothewind."

AvisionofBettyinasunbonnetpresenteditselftomymind,andaffordedmeso much amusement that I was grateful to Sara for having furnished it. Irewardedherwithacompliment.

"ItistoberegrettedthatBettyhasnotinheritedhermother'scharmingcolor,"Isaid,"butwemustdothebestwecanforherunderherlimitations.Shemayhave improvedvastlyby the time shehasgrownup.And, at least,wemustmakealadyofher;sheisamostalarmingtomboyatpresent,butthereisgoodmaterialtoworkupon…theremustbe,intheChurchillandCurrieblend.Buteven the best material may be spoiled by unwise handling. I think I canpromiseyouthatIwillnotspoilit.IfeelthatBettyismyvocation;andIshallsetmyself up as a rival ofWordsworth's 'nature,' ofwhosemethods I havealwayshadadecideddistrust,inspiteofhisinsidiousverses."

Saradidnotunderstandmeintheleast;but,then,shedidnotpretendto.

"IconfideBetty'seducationentirely toyou,Stephen,"shesaid,withanotherplaintivesigh."IfeelsureIcouldnotputitintobetterhands.Youhavealwaysbeenapersonwhocouldbethoroughlydependedon."

Well,thatwassomethingbywayofrewardforalife-longdevotion.IfeltthatIwassatisfiedwithmypositionasunofficialadvisor-in-chieftoSaraandself-appointedguardianofBetty.Ialsofeltthat,forthefurtheranceofthecauseIhad taken toheart, itwasagood thing thatSarahadagain refused tomarryme.Ihadasixthsensewhichinformedmethatastaidoldfamilyfriendmightsucceed with Betty where a stepfather would have signally failed. Betty'sloyaltytoherfather'smemorywaspassionate,andvehement;shewouldviewhissupplanterwithresentmentanddistrust;buthisoldfamiliarcomradewasapersontobetakentoherheart.

Fortunatelyforthesuccessofmyenterprise,Bettylikedme.Shetoldmethiswiththesameengagingcandorshewouldhaveusedininformingmethatshehatedme,ifshehadhappenedtotakeabiasinthatdirection,sayingfrankly:

"You are one of the very nicest old folks I know, Stephen. Yes, you are arippinggoodfellow!"

Thismademy task a comparatively easyone; I sometimes shudder to thinkwhat it might have been if Betty had not thought I was a "ripping goodfellow." I should have stuck to it, because that ismyway; butBettywould

havemademylifeamiserytome.Shehadstartlingcapacitiesfortormentingpeoplewhenshechosetoexert them;IcertainlyshouldnothavelikedtobenumberedamongBetty'sfoes.

IrodeovertoGlenbythenextmorningaftermypaternalinterviewwithSara,intending to have a frank talkwithBetty and lay the foundationsof a goodunderstanding on both sides. Betty was a sharp child, with a disconcertingknackofseeingstraightthroughgrindstones;shewouldcertainlyperceiveandprobably resent any underhanded management. I thought it best to tell herplainlythatIwasgoingtolookafterher.

When, however, I encounteredBetty, tearingmadly down the beech avenuewithacoupleofdogs,herloosenedhairstreamingbehindherlikeabannerofindependence,andhadliftedher,hatlessandbreathless,upbeforemeonmymare,IfoundthatSarahadsavedmethetroubleofanexplanation.

"Mother says you are going to take charge ofmy education, Stephen," saidBetty,assoonasshecouldspeak."I'mglad,becauseI think that, foranoldperson,youhaveagooddealofsense.Isupposemyeducationhastobeseento,sometimeorother,andI'dratheryou'ddoitthananybodyelseIknow."

"Thankyou,Betty,"Isaidgravely."IhopeIshalldeserveyourgoodopinionofmysense.IshallexpectyoutodoasItellyou,andbeguidedbymyadviceineverything."

"Yes,Iwill,"saidBetty,"becauseI'msureyouwon'ttellmetodoanythingI'dreallyhatetodo.Youwon'tshutmeupinaroomandmakemesew,willyou?BecauseIwon'tdoit."

IassuredherIwouldnot.

"Nor send me to a boarding-school," pursued Betty. "Mother's alwaysthreateningtosendmetoone.Isupposeshewouldhavedoneitbeforethis,onlysheknewI'drunaway.Youwon'tsendmetoaboarding-school,willyou,Stephen?BecauseIwon'tgo."

"No,"Isaidobligingly."Iwon't.Ishouldneverdreamofcoopingawildlittlething,likeyou,upinaboarding-school.You'dfretyourheartoutlikeacagedskylark."

"IknowyouandIaregoing togetalongtogethersplendidly,Stephen,"saidBetty, rubbingherbrowncheekchummilyagainstmyshoulder. "Youare sogood at understanding. Very few people are. Even dad darling didn'tunderstand.He letme do just as Iwanted to, just because Iwanted to, notbecausehereallyunderstoodthatIcouldn'tbetameandplaywithdolls.Ihate

dolls!Real livebabiesare jolly;butdogsandhorsesareeversomuchnicerthandolls."

"Butyoumusthavelessons,Betty.Ishallselectyourteachersandsuperintendyourstudies,andIshallexpectyoutodomecreditalongthatline,aswellasalongallothers."

"I'lltry,honestandtrue,Stephen,"declaredBetty.Andshekeptherword.

AtfirstIlookeduponBetty'seducationasaduty;inaveryshorttimeithadbecomeapleasure…thedeepestandmostabidinginterestofmylife.AsIhadpremised, Betty was good material, and responded to my training withgratifying plasticity. Day by day, week by week, month by month, hercharacterandtemperamentunfoldednaturallyundermywatchfuleye.Itwaslikebeholdingthegradualdevelopmentofsomerareflowerinone'sgarden.Alittlecheckingandpruninghere,acarefultrainingofshootandtendrilthere,and,lo,therewardofgraceandsymmetry!

BettygrewupasIwouldhavewishedJackChurchill'sgirltogrow—spiritedandproud,with the finespiritandgraciousprideofpurewomanhood, loyalandloving,withtheloyaltyandloveofafrankandunspoilednature;truetoher heart's core, hating falsehood and sham—as crystal-clear a mirror ofmaidenhoodasevermanlookedintoandsawhimselfreflectedbackinsuchahalo asmade him ashamed of not beingmoreworthy of it. Bettywas kindenoughtosaythatIhadtaughthereverythingsheknew.Butwhathadshenottaughtme?Iftherewereadebtbetweenus,itwasonmyside.

Sarawas fairlywell satisfied. Itwas notmy fault thatBettywas not betterlooking,shesaid.Ihadcertainlydoneeverythingforhermindandcharacterthat couldbedone.Sara'smanner implied that theseunimportantdetailsdidnot count formuch, balanced against the lack of a pink-and-white skin anddimpledelbows;butshewasgenerousenoughnottoblameme.

"WhenBettyis twenty-five,"Isaidpatiently—Ihadgrownusedtospeakingpatiently to Sara—"she will be a magnificent woman—far handsomer thanyoueverwere,Sara,inyourpinkestandwhitestprime.Whereareyoureyes,mydearlady,thatyoucan'tseethepromiseoflovelinessinBetty?"

"Betty is seventeen,andshe isas lankyandbrownasevershewas,"sighedSara."WhenIwasseventeenIwas thebelleof thecountyandhadhadfiveproposals.Idon'tbelievethethoughtofaloverhaseverenteredBetty'shead."

"Ihopenot,"Isaidshortly.Somehow,Ididnotlikethesuggestion."Bettyisachild yet. For pity's sake, Sara, don't go putting nonsensical ideas into herhead."

"I'mafraidIcan't,"mournedSara,asifitweresomethingtoberegretted."Youhave filled it too full ofbooksand things like that. I've everyconfidence inyour judgment, Stephen—and really you've done wonders with Betty. Butdon'tyouthinkyou'vemadeherrathertooclever?Mendon'tlikewomenwhoaretooclever.Herpoorfather,now—healwayssaidthatawomanwholikedbooksbetterthanbeauxwasanunnaturalcreature."

Ididn'tbelieveJackhadeversaidanythingsofoolish.Saraimaginedthings.ButIresentedtheaspersionofblue-stockingnesscastonBetty.

"When the time comes forBetty to be interested in beaux," I said severely,"shewill probably give them all due attention. Just at present her head is agreat deal better filled with books than with silly premature fancies andsentimentalities.I'macriticaloldfellow—butI'msatisfiedwithBetty,Sara—perfectlysatisfied."

Sarasighed.

"Oh, Idare say she is all right,Stephen.And I'm reallygrateful toyou. I'msureIcouldhavedonenothingatallwithher.It'snotyourfault,ofcourse,—butIcan'thelpwishingshewerealittlemorelikeothergirls."

IgallopedawayfromGlenbyinarage.WhatablessingSarahadnotmarriedmeinmyabsurdyouth!Shewouldhavedrivenmewildwithhersighsandherobtusenessandhereverlastingpink-and-whiteness.Butthere—there—there—gently! She was a sweet, good-hearted little woman; she had made Jackhappy;andshehadcontrived,heavenonlyknewhow,tobringararecreaturelikeBettyintotheworld.Forthat,muchmightbeforgivenher.BythetimeIreachedTheMaplesandhadflungmyselfdowninanold,kinky,comfortablechairinmylibraryIhadforgivenherandwasevenpayingherthecomplimentofthinkingseriouslyoverwhatshehadsaid.

WasBettyreallyunlikeothergirls?Thatistosay,unliketheminanyrespectwhereinsheshouldresemblethem?Ididnotwishthis;althoughIwasacrustyold bachelor I approved of girls, holding them the sweetest things the goodGodhasmade.IwantedBettytohaveherfullcomplementofgirlhoodinallitsbestandhighestmanifestation.Wasthereanythinglacking?

I observed Betty very closely during the next week or so, riding over toGlenbyeverydayandridingbackatnight,meditatinguponmyobservations.Eventually I concluded to do what I had never thought myself in the leastlikely to do. I would send Betty to a boarding-school for a year. It wasnecessarythatsheshouldlearnhowtolivewithothergirls.

IwentovertoGlenbythenextdayandfoundBettyunderthebeechesonthe

lawn,justbackfromacanter.ShewassittingonthedappledmareIhadgivenheronher lastbirthday,andwaslaughingat theanticsofherrejoicingdogsaroundher. I lookedatherwithmuchpleasure; itgladdenedme toseehowmuch,nay,howtotallyachildshestillwas,despiteherChurchillheight.Herhair, under her velvet cap, still hung over her shoulders in the same thickplaits;herfacehadthefirmleannessofearlyyouth,butitscurveswereveryfineanddelicate.Thebrownskin, thatworriedSaraso,wasflushedthroughwith dusky color from her gallop; her long, dark eyes were filled with thebeautifulunconsciousnessofchildhood.Morethanall,thesoulinherwasstillthesoulofachild.Ifoundmyselfwishingthatitcouldalwaysremainso.ButIknewitcouldnot;thewomanmustblossomoutsomeday;itwasmydutytoseethattheflowerfulfilledthepromiseofthebud.

WhenItoldBettythatshemustgoawaytoaschoolforayear,sheshrugged,frowned and consented. Betty had learned that she must consent to what Idecreed,evenwhenmydecreeswereopposedtoherlikings,asshehadoncefondlybelievedtheyneverwouldbe.ButBettyhadacquiredconfidenceinmetothebeautifulextentofacquiescingineverythingIcommanded.

"I'llgo,ofcourse,sinceyouwishit,Stephen,"shesaid."Butwhydoyouwantme togo?Youmusthavea reason—youalwayshavea reason for anythingyoudo.Whatisit?"

"That isforyoutofindout,Betty,"Isaid."Bythe timeyoucomebackyouwill have discovered it, I think. If not, itwill not have proved itself a goodreasonandshallbeforgotten."

WhenBettywent away I bade her good-bywithout burdening herwith anyuselesswordsofadvice.

"Writetomeeveryweek,andrememberthatyouareBettyChurchill,"Isaid.

Bettywasstandingonthestepsabove,amongherdogs.Shecamedownastepandputherarmsaboutmyneck.

"I'llrememberthatyouaremyfriendandthatImustliveuptoyou,"shesaid."Good-by,Stephen."

Shekissedmetwoorthreetimes—good,heartysmacks!didInotsayshewasstillachild?—andstoodwavingherhandtomeasIrodeaway.Ilookedbackattheendoftheavenueandsawherstandingthere,short-skirtedandhatless,frontingtheloweringsunwiththosefearlesseyesofhers.SoIlookedmylastonthechildBetty.

Thatwasalonelyyear.MyoccupationwasgoneandIbegantofearthatIhadoutlived my usefulness. Life seemed flat, stale, and unprofitable. Betty'sweekly letters were all that lent it any savor. They were spicy and piquantenough. Betty was discovered to have unsuspected talents in the epistolaryline. At first she was dolefully homesick, and begged me to let her comehome.WhenIrefused—itwasamazinglyhardtorefuse—shesulkedthroughthreeletters,thencheeredupandbegantoenjoyherself.Butitwasnearlytheendoftheyearwhenshewrote:

"I'vefoundoutwhyyousentmehere,Stephen—andI'mgladyoudid."

IhadtobeawayfromhomeonunavoidablebusinessthedayBettyreturnedtoGlenby.ButthenextafternoonIwentover.IfoundBettyoutandSarain.Thelatterwasbeaming.Bettywassomuchimproved,shedeclareddelightedly.Iwouldhardlyknow"thedearchild."

Thisalarmedmeterribly.WhatonearthhadtheydonetoBetty?Ifoundthatshe had gone up to the pineland for a walk, and thither I betook myselfspeedily.WhenIsawhercomingdownalong,golden-brownalleyIsteppedbehindatreetowatchher—Iwishedtoseeher,myselfunseen.AsshedrewnearIgazedatherwithpride,andadmirationandamazement—and,underitall,astrange,dreadful,heart-sinking,whichIcouldnotunderstandandwhichI had never in allmy life experienced before—no, not evenwhenSara hadrefusedme.

Bettywasawoman!Notbyvirtueofthesimplewhitedressthatclungtohertall, slender figure, revealing lines of exquisite grace and litheness; not byvirtueof theglossymassesofdarkbrownhairheapedhighonherheadandheldthereinwonderfulshiningcoils;notbyvirtueofaddedsoftnessofcurveanddaintinessofoutline;notbecauseofall these,butbecauseof thedreamand wonder and seeking in her eyes. She was a woman, looking, allunconsciousofherquest,forlove.

Theunderstandingof thechange inhercamehome tomewitha shock thatmusthaveleftme,Ithink,somethingwhiteaboutthelips.Iwasglad.Shewaswhat I had wished her to become. But I wanted the child Betty back; thiswomanlyBettyseemedfarawayfromme.

Isteppedout into thepathandshesawme,withabrighteningofherwholeface.Shedidnot rush forward and flingherself intomy arms as shewouldhavedoneayearago;butshecametowardsmeswiftly,holdingoutherhand.IhadthoughtherslightlypalewhenIhadfirstseenher;butnowIconcludedIhadbeenmistaken, for therewasawonderful sunriseof color inher face. Itookherhand—therewerenokissesthistime.

"Welcomehome,Betty,"Isaid.

"Oh,Stephen,itissogoodtobeback,"shebreathed,hereyesshining.

Shedidnot say itwasgood to seemeagain, as Ihadhoped shewoulddo.Indeed,afterthefirstminuteofgreeting,sheseemedatriflecoolanddistant.Wewalkedforanhourinthepinewoodandtalked.Bettywasbrilliant,witty,self-possessed, altogether charming. I thought her perfect and yet my heartached.Whatagloriousyoung thingshewas, in that splendidyouthofhers!Whataprizeforsomeluckyman—confoundtheobtrusivethought!NodoubtweshouldsoonbeoverrunatGlenbywithlovers.Ishouldstumbleoversomeforlornyouthateverystep!Well,whatofit?Bettywouldmarry,ofcourse.Itwouldbemydutytoseethatshegotagoodhusband,worthyofherasmengo.IthoughtIpreferredtheolddutyofsuperintendingherstudies.Butthere,it was all the same thing—merely a post-graduate course in appliedknowledge.Whenshebegantolearnlife'sgreatestlessonoflove,I,thetriedandtrueoldfamilyfriendandmentor,mustbeonhandtoseethattheteacherwaswhatIwouldhavehimbe,evenasIhadformerlyselectedherinstructorin French and botany. Then, and not until then,wouldBetty's education becomplete.

I rodehomeverysoberly.When I reachedTheMaples Ididwhat Ihadnotdoneforyears…lookedcriticallyatmyselfinthemirror.TherealizationthatIhad grownolder camehome tomewith a new and unpleasant force.Thereweremarkedlinesonmyleanface,andsilverglintsinthedarkhairovermytemples.WhenBettywas ten she had thoughtme "an old person."Now, ateighteen,sheprobablythoughtmeaveritableancientofdays.Pshaw,whatdidit matter? And yet…I thought of her as I had seen her, standing under thepines,andsomethingcoldandpainfullaiditshandonmyheart.

Mypremonitionsas to loversprovedcorrect.Glenbywassooninfestedwiththem.Heavenknowswheretheyallcamefrom.Ihadnotsupposedtherewasaquarterasmanyyoungmeninthewholecounty;buttheretheywere.Sarawasintheseventhheavenofdelight.WasnotBettyatlastabelle?Asfortheproposals…well,Bettynevercountedherscalpsinpublic;buteveryonceinawhileavisitingyouthdroppedoutandwasseennomoreatGlenby.Onecouldguesswhatthatmeant.

Betty apparently enjoyed all this. I grieve to say that she was a bit of acoquette.I triedtocureherofthisseriousdefect,butforonceIfoundthatIhad undertaken something I could not accomplish. In vain I lectured, Bettyonly laughed; invain Igravely rebuked,Bettyonly flirtedmorevivaciouslythanbefore.Menmightcomeandmenmightgo,butBettywentonforever.Iendured this sort of thing for a year and then I decided that it was time to

interfereseriously.ImustfindahusbandforBetty…myfatherlydutywouldnotbefulfilleduntilIhad…nor,indeed,mydutytosociety.Shewasnotasafepersontohaverunningatlarge.

NoneofthemenwhohauntedGlenbywasgoodenoughforher.Idecidedthatmy nephew, Frank, would do very well. He was a capital young fellow,handsome,clean-souled,andwhole-hearted.FromaworldlypointofviewhewaswhatSarawouldhave termedanexcellentmatch;hehadmoney,socialstandingandarisingreputationasacleveryounglawyer.Yes,heshouldhaveBetty,confoundhim!

Theyhadnevermet. I set thewheelsgoingatonce.The sooner all the fusswasoverthebetter.Ihatedfussandtherewasboundtobeagooddealofit.But I went about the business like an accomplished matchmaker. I invitedFrank tovisitTheMaples and, beforehe came, I talkedmuch…butnot toomuch…of him to Betty, mingling judicious praise and still more judiciousblame together. Women never like a paragon. Betty heard me with moregravitythansheusuallyaccordedtomydissertationsonyoungmen.Sheevencondescendedtoaskseveralquestionsabouthim.ThisIthoughtagoodsign.

ToFrankIhadsaidnotawordaboutBetty;whenhecametoTheMaplesItookhimovertoGlenbyand,cominguponBettywanderingaboutamongthebeechesinthesunset,Iintroducedhimwithoutanywarning.

Hewouldhavebeenmore thanmortal if he hadnot fallen in lovewith heruponthespot.Itwasnotintheheartofmantoresisther…thatdainty,alluringbitofwomanhood.Shewasall inwhite,with flowers inherhair,and, foramoment,IcouldhavemurderedFrankoranyothermanwhodaredtocommitthesacrilegeoflovingher.

ThenIpulledmyself togetherandleft themalone.Imighthavegoneinandtalked to Sara…two old folks gently reviewing their youthwhile the youngfolkscourtedoutside…butIdidnot.Iprowledaboutthepinewood,andtriedto forget how blithe and handsome that curly-headed boy, Frank, was, andwhataflashhadsprungintohiseyeswhenhehadseenBetty.Well,whatofit?WasnotthatwhatIhadbroughthimtherefor?AndwasInotpleasedatthesuccessofmyscheme?CertainlyIwas!Delighted!

Next day Frank went to Glenby without even making the poor pretense ofaskingmetoaccompanyhim.Ispent the timeofhisabsenceoverseeingtheconstructionofanewgreenhouse Iwashavingbuilt. Iwasconscientious inmysupervision;butI feltnointerest in it.Theplacewasintendedforroses,androsesmademethinkofthepaleyellowonesBettyhadwornatherbreastoneeveningtheweekbefore,when,allloversbeingunaccountablyabsent,we

hadwanderedtogetherunderthepinesandtalkedasintheolddaysbeforeheryoung womanhood and my gray hairs had risen up to divide us. She haddroppedaroseonthebrownfloor,andIhadsneakedback,afterIhadleftherthe house, to get it, before I went home. I had it now in my pocket-book.Confound it, mightn't a future uncle cherish a family affection for hisprospectiveniece?

Frank'swooingseemedtoprosper.Theotheryoungsparks,whohadhauntedGlenby,fadedawayafterhisadvent.Bettytreatedhimwithmostencouragingsweetness;Sarasmiledonhim; I stood in thebackground, likeabenevolentgodofthemachine,andflatteredmyselfthatIpulledthestrings.

Attheendofamonthsomethingwentwrong.FrankcamehomefromGlenbyonedayinthedumps,andmopedfortwowholedays.Irodedownmyselfonthethird.IhadnotgonemuchtoGlenbythatmonth;but,ifthereweretroubleBettyward,itwasmydutytomakesmooththeroughplaces.

Asusual,IfoundBettyinthepineland.I thoughtshelookedratherpaleanddull…fretting about Frank no doubt. She brightened up when she sawme,evidently expecting that I had come to straighten matters out; but shepretendedtobehaughtyandindifferent.

"Iamgladyouhaven'tforgottenusaltogether,Stephen,"shesaidcoolly."Youhaven'tbeendownforaweek."

"I'm flattered that you noticed it," I said, sitting down on a fallen tree andlookingupatherasshestood,tallandlithe,againstanoldpine,withhereyesaverted."Ishouldn'thavesupposedyou'dwantanoldfogylikemyselfpokingaboutandspoilingtheidyllicmomentsoflove'syoungdream."

"Whydoyoualwaysspeakofyourselfasold?"saidBetty,crossly, ignoringmyreferencetoFrank.

"BecauseIamold,mydear.Witnessthesegrayhairs."

Ipushedupmyhattoshowthemthemorerecklessly.

Bettybarelyglancedatthem.

"Youhave justenoughtogiveyouadistinguished look,"shesaid,"andyouareonlyforty.Amanisinhisprimeatforty.Heneverhasanysenseuntilheisforty—andsometimeshedoesn'tseemtohaveanyeventhen,"sheconcludedimpertinently.

Myheartbeat.DidBettysuspect?Wasthatlastsentencemeanttoinformmethatshewasawareofmysecretfolly,andlaughedatit?

"I came over to see what has gone wrong between you and Frank," I saidgravely.

Bettybitherlips.

"Nothing,"shesaid.

"Betty,"Isaidreproachfully,"Ibroughtyouup…orendeavoredtobringyouup…tospeakthetruth,thewholetruth,andnothingbutthetruth.Don'ttellmeIhavefailed.I'llgiveyouanotherchance.HaveyouquarreledwithFrank?"

"No,"said themaddeningBetty,"HEquarreledwithme.HewentawayinatemperandIdonotcareifhenevercomesback!"

Ishookmyhead.

"Thiswon'tdo,Betty.AsyouroldfamilyfriendIstillclaimtherighttoscoldyouuntilyouhaveahusbandtodothescolding.Youmustn'ttormentFrank.Heistoofineafellow.Youmustmarryhim,Betty."

"Must I?" saidBetty, a dusky red flamingout on her cheek.She turnedhereyes on me in a most disconcerting fashion. "Do YOU wish me to marryFrank,Stephen?"

Bettyhadawretchedhabitofemphasizingpronounsinafashioncalculatedtorattleanybody.

"Yes,Idowishit,becauseI thinkitwillbebestforyou,"I replied,withoutlookingather."Youmustmarrysometime,Betty,andFrankistheonlymanIknowtowhomIcouldtrustyou.Asyourguardian,Ihaveaninterestinseeingyouwell andwisely settled for life.You have always takenmy advice andobeyedmywishes;andyou'vealwaysfoundmywaythebest,inthelongrun,haven'tyou,Betty?Youwon'tproverebelliousnow,I'msure.Youknowquitewell that I am advising you for your own good. Frank is a splendid youngfellow, who loves you with all his heart. Marry him, Betty. Mind, I don'tCOMMAND. I have no right to do that, and you are too old to be orderedabout,ifIhad.ButIwishandadviseit.Isn'tthatenough,Betty?"

I had been looking away from her all the time I was talking, gazingdeterminedlydowna sunlitvistaofpines.Everyword I said seemed to tearmyheart, and come frommy lips stainedwith life-blood.Yes,Betty shouldmarryFrank!But,goodGod,whatwouldbecomeofme!

Bettyleftherstationunderthepinetree,andwalkedaroundmeuntilshegotrightinfrontofmyface.Icouldn'thelplookingather,forifImovedmyeyesshemoved too. Therewas nothingmeek or submissive about her; her head

washeldhigh,hereyeswereblazing,andhercheekswerecrimson.Butherwordsweremeekenough.

"IwillmarryFrankifyouwish it,Stephen,"shesaid."Youaremyfriend. Ihavenevercrossedyourwishes,and,asyousay,Ihaveneverregrettedbeingguidedbythem.Iwilldoexactlyasyouwishinthiscasealso,Ipromiseyouthat.But,insosolemnaquestion,ImustbeverycertainwhatyouDOwish.Theremustbenodoubt inmymindorheart.Lookmesquarely in theeyes,Stephen—asyouhaven'tdoneonce to-day,no,noronce since I camehomefrom school—and, so looking, tell me that you wish me to marry FrankDouglasandIwilldoit!DOyou,Stephen?"

Ihadtolookherintheeyes,sincenothingelsewoulddoher;and,asIdidso,all themightofmanhoodinmeroseup inhot revoltagainst the lie Iwouldhavetoldher.Thatunfaltering,impellinggazeofhersdrewthetruthfrommylipsinspiteofmyself.

"No, Idon'twishyou tomarryFrankDouglas, a thousand timesno!" I saidpassionately."Idon'twishyoutomarryanymanonearthbutmyself.I loveyou—Iloveyou,Betty.Youaredearertomethanlife—dearertomethanmyown happiness. It was your happiness I thought of—and so I asked you tomarryFrankbecauseIbelievedhewouldmakeyouahappywoman.Thatisall!"

Betty'sdefiancewentfromher likeaflameblownout.Sheturnedawayanddroopedherproudhead.

"It could not have made me a happy woman to marry one man, lovinganother,"shesaid,inawhisper.

Igotupandwentovertoher.

"Betty,whomdoyoulove?"Iasked,alsoinawhisper.

"You,"shemurmuredmeekly—oh,someekly,myproudlittlegirl!

"Betty," I said brokenly, "I'm old—too old for you—I'm more than twentyyearsyoursenior—I'm—"

"Oh!"Bettywheeledaroundonmeandstampedherfoot."Don'tmentionyouragetomeagain.Idon'tcareifyou'reasoldasMethuselah.ButI'mnotgoingtocoaxyoutomarryme,sir!Ifyouwon't,I'llnevermarryanybody—I'llliveanddieanoldmaid.Youcanpleaseyourself,ofcourse!"

Sheturnedaway,half-laughing,half-crying;butIcaughtherinmyarmsandcrushedhersweetlipsagainstmine.

"Betty,I'mthehappiestmanintheworld—andIwasthemostmiserablewhenIcamehere."

"You deserved to be," said Betty cruelly. "I'm glad you were. Any man asstupidasyoudeservestobeunhappy.WhatdoyouthinkIfeltlike,lovingyouwithallmyheart,andseeingyousimplythrowingmeatanotherman'shead.Why,I'vealwayslovedyou,Stephen;butIdidn'tknowituntilIwenttothatdetestableschool.ThenIfoundout—andIthoughtthatwaswhyyouhadsentme. But, when I came home, you almost broke my heart. That was why Iflirted so with all those poor, nice boys—I wanted to hurt you but I neverthought I succeeded. You just went on being FATHERLY. Then, when youbroughtFrankhere,Ialmostgaveuphope;andItriedtomakeupmymindtomarryhim; I shouldhavedone it ifyouhad insisted.But Ihad tohaveonemore try for happiness first. I had just one little hope to inspire me withsufficient boldness. I saw you, that night, when you came back here andpickedupmyrose!Ihadcomeback,myself,tobealoneandunhappy."

"Itisthemostwonderfulthingthateverhappened—thatyoushouldloveme,"Isaid.

"It's not—I couldn't help it," said Betty, nestling her brown head on myshoulder."Youtaughtmeeverythingelse,Stephen,sonobodybutyoucouldteachmehowtolove.You'vemadeathoroughthingofeducatingme."

"Whenwillyoumarryme,Betty?"Iasked.

"As soonas I can fully forgiveyou for trying tomakememarry somebodyelse,"saidBetty.

ItwasratherhardlinesonFrank,whenyoucometothinkofit.But,suchisthe selfishnessofhumannature thatwedidn't thinkmuchaboutFrank.TheyoungfellowbehavedliketheDouglashewas.Wentalittlewhiteaboutthelips when I told him, wished me all happiness, and went quietly away,"gentlemanunafraid."

Hehassincemarriedandis,Iunderstand,veryhappy.NotashappyasIam,ofcourse;thatisimpossible,becausethereisonlyoneBettyintheworld,andsheismywife.

XI. INHERSELFLESSMOOD

TherawwindofanearlyMayeveningwaspuffinginandoutthecurtainsoftheroomwhereNaomiHollandlaydying.Theairwasmoistandchill,butthesickwomanwouldnothavethewindowclosed.

"Ican'tgetmybreathifyoushuteverythingupsotight,"shesaid."Whatevercomes,Iain'tgoingtobesmotheredtodeath,Car'lineHolland."

Outsideofthewindowgrewacherrytree,powderedwithmoistbudswiththepromiseofblossomsshewouldnotlivetosee.Betweenitsboughsshesawacrystalcupofskyoverhillsthatweregrowingdimandpurple.Theoutsideairwasfullofsweet,wholesomespringtimesoundsthatdriftedinfitfully.Therewerevoicesandwhistlesinthebarnyard,andnowandthenfaintlaughter.Abirdalightedforamomentonacherrybough,andtwitteredrestlessly.Naomiknewthatwhitemistswerehovering in thesilenthollows, that themapleatthegateworeamistyblossomred,andthatvioletstarswereshiningbluelyonthebrooklands.

The roomwas a small, plain one. The floorwas bare, save for a couple ofbraided rugs, the plaster discolored, thewalls dingy and glaring. There hadneverbeenmuchbeautyinNaomiHolland'senvironment,and,nowthatshewasdying,therewasevenless.

Attheopenwindowaboyofabouttenyearswasleaningoutoverthesillandwhistling.Hewastallforhisage,andbeautiful—thehairarichauburnwithaglistening curl in it, skin very white and warm-tinted, eyes small and of agreenishblue,withdilatedpupilsandlonglashes.Hehadaweakchin,andafull,sullenmouth.

Thebedwasinthecornerfarthestfromthewindow;onitthesickwoman,inspite of the pain that was her portion continually, was lying as quiet andmotionlessasshehaddoneeversinceshehadlaindownuponitfor thelasttime.NaomiHollandnevercomplained;whentheagonywasatitsworst,sheshut her teethmore firmly over her bloodless lip, and her great black eyesglared at the blankwall before in away that gave her attendantswhat theycalled"thecreeps,"butnowordormoanescapedher.

Betweentheparoxysmsshekeptupherkeeninterestinthelifethatwentonabouther.Nothingescapedhersharp,alerteyesandears.Thiseveningshelayspentonthecrumpledpillows;shehadhadabadspellintheafternoonandithadleftherveryweak.Inthedimlightherextremelylongfacelookedcorpse-likealready.Herblackhairlayinaheavybraidoverthepillowanddownthecounterpane.Itwasallthatwasleftofherbeauty,andshetookafiercejoyinit.Thoselong,glistening,sinuoustressesmustbecombedandbraidedeveryday,nomatterwhatcame.

Agirl of fourteenwascurledupona chair at theheadof thebed,withherheadrestingonthepillow.Theboyat thewindowwasherhalf-brother;but,betweenChristopherHollandandEuniceCarr,not the slightest resemblanceexisted.

Presentlythesibilantsilencewasbrokenbyalow,half-strangledsob.Thesickwoman, who had been watching a white evening star through the cherryboughs,turnedimpatientlyatthesound.

"Iwishyou'dgetover that,Eunice," shesaidsharply. "Idon'twantanyonecrying overme until I'm dead; and then you'll have plenty else to do,mostlikely. If it wasn't for Christopher I wouldn't be anyways unwilling to die.WhenonehashadsuchalifeasI'vehad,thereisn'tmuchindeathtobeafraidof.Only, abodywould like togo rightoff, andnotdieby inches, like this.'Tain'tfair!"

She snapped out the last sentence as if addressing some unseen, tyrannicalpresence;hervoice,atleast,hadnotweakened,butwasasclearandincisiveasever.Theboyatthewindowstoppedwhistling,andthegirlsilentlywipedhereyesonherfadedginghamapron.

Naomidrewherownhairoverherlips,andkissedit.

"You'll never have hair like that, Eunice," she said. "It does seemmost tooprettytobury,doesn'tit?MindyouseethatitisfixednicewhenI'mlaidout.Combitrightuponmyheadandbraiditthere."

Asound,suchasmightbewrungfromasufferinganimal,camefromthegirl,butatthesamemomentthedooropenedandawomanentered.

"Chris,"shesaidsharply,"yougetrightoffforthecows,youlazylittlescamp!Youknewrightwellyouhadtogoforthem,andhereyou'vebeenidling,andmelookinghighandlowforyou.Makehastenow;it'sridiculouslate."

Theboypulledinhisheadandscowledathisaunt,buthedarednotdisobey,andwentoutslowlywithasulkymutter.

Hisauntsubduedamovement,thatmighthavedevelopedintoasoundboxonhisears,witharatherfrightenedglanceatthebed.NaomiHollandwasspentanddying,buthertemperwasstillathingtoholdindread,andhersister-in-lawdidnotchoosetorouseitbyslappingChristopher.Toherandherco-nursethespasmsofrage,whichthesickwomansometimeshad,seemedtopartakeof the nature of devil possession. The last one, only three days before, hadbeen provoked by Christopher's complaint of some real or fancied ill-treatment fromhisaunt,and the latterhadnomind tobringonanother.She

wentovertothebed,andstraightenedtheclothes.

"SarahandIaregoingouttomilk,Naomi,Eunicewillstaywithyou.Shecanrunforusifyoufeelanotherspellcomingon."

NaomiHolland lookedupather sister-in-lawwith something likemaliciousenjoyment.

"Iain'tgoingtohaveanymorespells,Car'lineAnne.I'mgoingtodieto-night.Butyouneedn'thurrymilkingforthat,atall.I'lltakemytime."

Shelikedtoseethealarmthatcameovertheotherwoman'sface.ItwasrichlyworthwhiletoscareCarolineHollandlikethat.

"Areyoufeelingworse,Naomi?"askedthelattershakily."IfyouareI'llsendforCharlestogoforthedoctor."

"No,youwon't.Whatgoodcan thedoctordome?Idon'twanteitherhisorCharles'permissiontodie.Youcangoandmilkatyourease.Iwon'tdietillyou'redone—Iwon'tdepriveyouofthepleasureofseeingme."

Mrs. Holland shut her lips and went out of the room with a martyr-likeexpression.InsomewaysNaomiHollandwasnotanexactingpatient,butshetookhersatisfactionoutinthebiting,maliciousspeechessheneverfailedtomake.Evenonherdeath-bedherhostilitytohersister-in-lawhadtofindvent.

Outside,atthesteps,SarahSpencerwaswaiting,withthemilkpailsoverherarm.SarahSpencerhadno fixedabidingplace,butwasalways tobe foundwheretherewasillness.Herexperience,andanutterlackofnerves,madeheragoodnurse.Shewasa tall,homelywomanwith irongrayhairanda linedface.Besideher, thetrimlittleCarolineAnne,withherlightstepandround,apple-redface,lookedalmostgirlish.

The twowomenwalked to thebarnyard,discussingNaomi inundertonesastheywent.Thehousetheyhadleftbehindgrewverystill.

In NaomiHolland's room the shadowswere gathering. Eunice timidly bentoverhermother.

"Ma,doyouwantthelightlit?"

"No, I'm watching that star just below the big cherry bough. I'll see it setbehind thehill. I've seen it there, off andon, for twelveyears, andnow I'mtakingagood-bylookatit.Iwantyoutokeepstill,too.I'vegotafewthingstothinkover,andIdon'twanttobedisturbed."

The girl lifted herself about noiselessly and locked her hands over the bed-

post.Then she laid her face downon them, biting at them silently until themarksofherteethshowedwhiteagainsttheirredroughness.

NaomiHolland did not notice her. Shewas looking steadfastly at the great,pearl-likesparkleinthefaint-huedsky.Whenitfinallydisappearedfromhervisionshestruckherlong,thinhandstogethertwice,andaterribleexpressioncameoverherfaceforamoment.But,whenshespoke,hervoicewasquitecalm.

"Youcan light the candlenow,Eunice.Put it upon the shelfhere,where itwon'tshineinmyeyes.AndthensitdownonthefootofthebedwhereIcanseeyou.I'vegotsomethingtosaytoyou."

Euniceobeyedhernoiselessly.Asthepallidlightshotup,itrevealedthechildplainly.Shewasthinandill-formed—oneshoulderbeingslightlyhigherthantheother.Shewasdark, likehermother,butherfeatureswereirregular,andher hair fell in straggling, dim locks about her face. Her eyes were a darkbrown,andoveronewastheslantingredscarofabirthmark.

Naomi Holland looked at her with the contempt she had never made anypretenseofconcealing.Thegirlwasboneofherboneandfleshofherflesh,butshehadneverlovedher;all themotherloveinherhadbeenlavishedonherson.

WhenEunicehadplacedthecandleontheshelfanddrawndowntheuglybluepaperblinds,shuttingoutthestripsofvioletskywhereascoreofglimmeringpoints were now visible, she sat down on the foot of the bed, facing hermother.

"Thedoorisshut,isit,Eunice?"

Eunicenodded.

"Because I don'twantCar'lineor anyone elsepeeking andharking towhatI'vegottosay.She'soutmilkingnow,andImustmakethemostofthechance.Eunice,I'mgoingtodie,and…"

"Ma!"

"Therenow,notakingon!Youknewithadtocomesometimesoon.Ihaven'tthe strength to talk much, so I want you just to be quiet and listen. I ain'tfeelinganypainnow,so Ican thinkand talkprettyclear.Areyou listening,Eunice?"

"Yes,ma."

"Mindyouare. It's aboutChristopher. Ithasn'tbeenoutofmymind since Ilaiddownhere.I'vefoughtforayeartolive,onhisaccount,anditain'tanyuse.Imustjustdieandleavehim,andIdon'tknowwhathe'lldo.It'sdreadfultothinkof."

Shepaused,andstruckhershrunkenhandsharplyagainstthetable.

"Ifhewasbiggerandcouldlookoutforhimselfitwouldn'tbesobad.Butheisonlyalittlefellow,andCar'linehateshim.You'llbothhavetolivewithheruntilyou'regrownup.She'llputonhimandabusehim.He'slikehisfatherinsome ways; he's got a temper and he is stubborn. He'll never get on withCar'line.Now,Eunice,I'mgoingtogetyoutopromisetotakemyplacewithChristopherwhenI'mdead,asfarasyoucan.You'vegotto;it'syourduty.ButIwantyoutopromise."

"Iwill,ma,"whisperedthegirlsolemnly.

"Youhaven'tmuchforce—youneverhad.Ifyouwassmart,youcoulddoalotforhim.Butyou'llhavetodoyourbest.Iwantyoutopromisemefaithfullythatyou'llstandbyhimandprotecthim—thatyouwon'tletpeopleimposeonhim; that you'll never desert him as long as he needs you, no matter whatcomes.Eunice,promisemethis!"

Inherexcitement the sickwoman raisedherselfup in thebed,andclutchedthegirl'sthinarm.Hereyeswereblazingandtwoscarletspotsglowedinherthincheeks.

Eunice'sfacewaswhiteandtense.Sheclaspedherhandsasoneinprayer.

"Mother,Ipromiseit!"

Naomi relaxed her grip on the girl's arm and sank back exhausted on thepillow.Adeath-likelookcameoverherfaceastheexcitementfaded.

"Mymindiseasiernow.But if Icouldonlyhavelivedanotheryearor two!AndIhateCar'line—hateher!Eunice,don'tyoueverletherabusemyboy!Ifshedid,orifyouneglectedhim,I'dcomebackfrommygravetoyou!Asforthe property, things will be pretty straight. I've seen to that. There'll be nosquabblinganddoingChristopheroutofhis rights.He's tohave the farmassoonashe'soldenoughtoworkit,andhe'stoprovideforyou.And,Eunice,rememberwhatyou'vepromised!"

Outside, in the thickly gathering dusk,CarolineHolland and Sarah Spencerwereatthedairy,strainingthemilkintocreamers,forwhichChristopherwassullenlypumpingwater.Thehousewasfarfromtheroad,uptowhichalongred lane led;across thefieldwas theoldHollandhomesteadwhereCaroline

lived;herunmarriedsister-in-law,ElectaHolland,kepthouseforherwhileshewaitedonNaomi.

It was her night to go home and sleep, but Naomi's words haunted her,althoughshebelievedtheywerebornofpure"cantankerousness."

"You'dbettergoinandlookather,Sarah,"shesaid,assherinsedoutthepails."If you think I'd better stay here to-night, I will. If the woman was likeanybody else a bodywould knowwhat to do; but, if she thought she couldscareusbysayingshewasgoingtodie,she'dsayit."

WhenSarahwentin,thesickroomwasveryquiet.Inheropinion,Naomiwasno worse than usual, and she told Caroline so; but the latter felt vaguelyuneasyandconcludedtostay.

Naomi was as cool and defiant as customary. She made them bringChristopherintosaygood-nightandhadhimlifteduponthebedtokissher.Thensheheldhimbackandlookedathimadmiringly—atthebrightcurlsandrosycheeksandround,firmlimbs.Theboywasuncomfortableunderhergazeandsquirmedhastilydown.Hereyes followedhimgreedily,ashewentout.When thedoorclosedbehindhim, shegroaned.SarahSpencerwas startled.ShehadneverheardNaomiHollandgroansinceshehadcometowaitonher.

"Areyoufeelinganyworse,Naomi?Isthepaincomingback?"

"No.GoandtellCar'line togiveChristophersomeof thatgrapejellyonhisbreadbeforehegoestobed.She'llfinditinthecupboardunderthestairs."

Presentlythehousegrewverystill.Carolinehaddroppedasleeponthesitting-roomlounge,across thehall.SarahSpencernoddedoverherknittingby thetableinthesickroom.ShehadtoldEunicetogotobed,butthechildrefused.She still sat huddled up on the foot of the bed,watching hermother's faceintently.Naomiappearedtosleep.Thecandleburnedlong,andthewickwascrowned by a little cap of fiery red that seemed towatchEunice like someimpishgoblin.ThewaveringlightcastgrotesqueshadowsofSarahSpencer'sheadon thewall.The thin curtains at thewindowwavered to and fro, as ifshakenbyghostlyhands.

AtmidnightNaomiHollandopenedhereyes.ThechildshehadneverlovedwastheonlyonetogowithhertothebrinkoftheUnseen.

"Eunice—remember!"

Itwasthefaintestwhisper.Thesoul,passingoverthethresholdofanotherlife,strainedbacktoitsonlyearthlytie.Aquiverpassedoverthelong,pallidface.

Ahorriblescreamrangthroughthesilenthouse.SarahSpencersprangoutofherdoze inconsternation,andgazedblanklyat theshriekingchild.Carolinecamehurryinginwithdistendedeyes.OnthebedNaomiHollandlaydead.

IntheroomwhereshehaddiedNaomiHollandlayinhercoffin.Itwasdimandhushed;but,intherestofthehouse,thepreparationsforthefuneralwerebeinghurriedon.ThroughitallEunicemoved,calmandsilent.Sinceheronewild spasm of screaming by her mother's death-bed she had shed no tear,givennosignofgrief.Perhaps,ashermotherhadsaid,shehadnotime.Therewas Christopher to be looked after. The boy's grief was stormy anduncontrolled.Hehadcrieduntilhewasutterlyexhausted.ItwasEunicewhosoothedhim,coaxedhimtoeat,kepthimconstantlybyher.Atnightshetookhimtoherownroomandwatchedoverhimwhileheslept.

Whenthefuneralwasoverthehouseholdfurniturewaspackedawayorsold.The house was locked up and the farm rented. There was nowhere for thechildrentogo,savetotheiruncle's.CarolineHollanddidnotwantthem,but,havingtotakethem,shegrimlymadeuphermindtodowhatsheconsideredher duty by them. She had five children of her own and between them andChristopherastandingfeudhadexistedfromthetimehecouldwalk.

She had never liked Naomi. Few people did. Benjamin Holland had notmarrieduntillateinlife,andhiswifehaddeclaredwaronhisfamilyatsight.Shewas a stranger in Avonlea,—awidow,with a three year-old child. Shemadefewfriends,assomepeoplealwaysassertedthatshewasnotinherrightmind.

WithinayearofhersecondmarriageChristopherwasborn,andfromthehourofhisbirthhismotherhadworshipedhimblindly.Hewasheronlysolace.Forhimshetoiledandpinchedandsaved.BenjaminHollandhadnotbeen"fore-handed" when she married him; but, when he died, six years after hismarriage,hewasawell-to-doman.

Naomimadenopretenseofmourningforhim.Itwasanopensecretthattheyhadquarreled like theproverbial cat anddog.CharlesHolland andhiswifehad naturally sided with Benjamin, and Naomi fought her battles single-handed.After her husband's death, shemanaged to farm alone, andmade itpay.Whenthemysteriousmaladywhichwastoendherlifefirstseizedonhershefoughtagainstitwithallthestrengthandstubbornnessofherstrongandstubbornnature.Herwillwonforheranaddedyearoflife,andthenshehadtoyield.Shetastedallthebitternessofdeaththedayonwhichshelaydownonherbed,andsawherenemycomeintoruleherhouse.

ButCarolineHollandwasnotabadorunkindwoman.True,shedidnotlove

Naomiorherchildren;butthewomanwasdyingandmustbelookedafterforthe sake of common humanity. Caroline thought she had done well by hersister-in-law.

When the red clay was heaped over Naomi's grave in the Avonlea buryingground,CarolinetookEuniceandChristopherhomewithher.Christopherdidnotwant togo; itwasEunicewho reconciledhim.Heclung toherwith anexactingaffectionbornoflonelinessandgrief.

In thedays that followedCarolineHollandwasobliged toconfess toherselfthattherewouldhavebeennodoinganythingwithChristopherhaditnotbeenforEunice.Theboywassullenandobstinate,buthissisterhadanunfailinginfluenceoverhim.

In Charles Holland's household no one was allowed to eat the bread ofidleness.Hisownchildrenwereallgirls,andChristophercameinhandyasachoreboy.Hewasmadetowork—perhapstoohard.ButEunicehelpedhim,anddidhalfhisworkforhimwhennobodyknew.Whenhequarreledwithhiscousins, she tookhis part;whenever possible she tookon herself the blameandpunishmentofhismisdeeds.

Electa Holland was Charles' unmarried sister. She had kept house forBenjaminuntilhemarried;thenNaomihadbundledherout.Electahadneverforgiven her for it.Her hatred passed on toNaomi's children. In a hundredpettywayssherevengedherselfonthem.Forherself,Euniceboreitpatiently;butitwasadifferentmatterwhenittouchedChristopher.

OnceElectaboxedChristopher'sears.Eunice,whowasknittingbythetable,stoodup.Aresemblancetohermother,neverbeforevisible,cameoutinherfacelikeabrand.SheliftedherhandandslappedElecta'scheekdeliberatelytwice,leavingadullredmarkwhereshestruck.

"Ifyoueverstrikemybrotheragain,"shesaid,slowlyandvindictively,"Iwillslapyourfaceeverytimeyoudo.Youhavenorighttotouchhim."

"Mypatience,whatafury!"saidElecta."NaomiHolland'llneverbedeadaslongasyou'realive!"

ShetoldCharlesoftheaffairandEunicewasseverelypunished.ButElectaneverinterferedwithChristopheragain.

All the discordant elements in theHolland household could not prevent thechildren from growing up. It was a consummation which the harrassedCarolinedevoutlywished.WhenChristopherHollandwasseventeenhewasamangrown—abig,strappingfellow.Hischildishbeautyhadcoarsened,buthe

wasthoughthandsomebymany.

He took charge of hismother's farm then, and the brother and sister begantheirnewlifetogetherinthelong-unoccupiedhouse.TherewerefewregretsoneithersidewhentheyleftCharlesHolland'sroof.InhersecretheartEunicefeltanunspeakablerelief.

Christopherhadbeen"hardtomanage,"ashisunclesaid,inthelastyear.Hewasgetting into thehabitofkeeping latehoursanddoubtful company.Thisalways provoked an explosion of wrath from Charles Holland, and theconflictsbetweenhimandhisnephewwerefrequentandbitter.

For four years after their return home Eunice had a hard and anxious life.Christopherwasidleanddissipated.Mostpeopleregardedhimasaworthlessfellow, and his uncle washed his hands of him utterly. Only Eunice neverfailed him; she never reproached or railed; sheworked like a slave to keepthings together. Eventually her patience prevailed. Christopher, to a greatextent,reformedandworkedharder.HewasneverunkindtoEunice,eveninhis rages. It was not in him to appreciate or return her devotion; but histolerantacceptanceofitwashersolace.

WhenEunicewastwenty-eight,EdwardBellwantedtomarryher.Hewasaplain,middle-agedwidowerwithfourchildren;but,asCarolinedidnotfailtoremindher,Euniceherselfwasnot foreverymarket,and the formerdidherbest to make the match. She might have succeeded had it not been forChristopher. When he, in spite of Caroline's skillful management, got aninkling of what was going on, he flew into a true Holland rage. If Eunicemarriedandlefthim—hewouldsell thefarmandgototheDevilbywayoftheKlondike.Hecouldnot,andwouldnot,dowithouther.NoarrangementsuggestedbyCarolineavailedtopacifyhim,and,intheend,EunicerefusedtomarryEdwardBell.ShecouldnotleaveChristopher,shesaidsimply,andinthisshestoodrock-firm.Carolinecouldnotbudgeheraninch.

"You'reafool,Eunice,"shesaid,whenshewasobligedtogiveupindespair."It'snotlikelyyou'lleverhaveanotherchance.AsforChris,inayearortwohe'llbemarryinghimself,andwherewillyoubethen?You'llfindyournosenicelyoutofjointwhenhebringsawifeinhere."

The shaftwenthome.Eunice's lips turnedwhite.But she said, faintly, "Thehouseisbigenoughforusboth,ifhedoes."

Carolinesniffed.

"Maybeso.You'll findout.However, there'snouse talking.You'reassetasyourmotherwas,andnothingwouldeverbudgeheraninch.Ionlyhopeyou

won'tbesorryforit."

When threemoreyearshadpassedChristopherbegan tocourtVictoriaPye.TheaffairwentonforsometimebeforeeitherEuniceortheHollandsgowindof it.When they did therewas an explosion.Between theHollands and thePyes, root and branch, existed a feud that dated back for three generations.That theoriginalcauseof thequarrelwas totally forgottendidnotmatter; itwasmatteroffamilypridethataHollandshouldhavenodealingswithaPye.

WhenChristopher flew so openly in the face of this cherished hatred, therecouldbenothing less thanconsternation.CharlesHollandbroke throughhisdeterminationtohavenothingtodowithChristopher,toremonstrate.Carolinewent toEunice in asmuchof a splutter as ifChristopherhadbeenherownbrother.

EunicedidnotcarearowofpinsfortheHolland-Pyefeud.Victoriawastoherwhat any other girl, uponwhomChristopher cast eyes of love,would havebeen—asupplanter.Forthefirsttimeinherlifeshewastornwithpassionatejealousy;existencebecameanightmaretoher.UrgedonbyCaroline,andherown pain, she ventured to remonstrate with Christopher, also. She hadexpected a burst of rage, but he was surprisingly good-natured. He seemedevenamused.

"WhathaveyougotagainstVictoria?"heasked,tolerantly.

Eunicehadnoanswerready.Itwastruethatnothingcouldbesaidagainstthegirl.Shefelthelplessandbaffled.Christopherlaughedathersilence.

"Iguessyou'realittlejealous,"hesaid."YoumusthaveexpectedIwouldgetmarriedsometime.Thishouseisbigenoughforusall.You'dbetterlookatthemattersensibly,Eunice.Don'tletCharlesandCarolineputnonsenseintoyourhead.Amanmustmarrytopleasehimself."

Christopherwasout late thatnight.Eunicewaitedupforhim,asshealwaysdid.Itwasachillyspringevening,remindingherofthenighthermotherhaddied.The kitchenwas in spotless order, and she sat down on a stiff-backedchairbythewindowtowaitforherbrother.

She did not want a light. The moonlight fell in with faint illumination.Outside,thewindwasblowingoverabedofnew-sprungmintinthegarden,and was suggestively fragrant. It was a very old-fashioned garden, full ofperennialsNaomiHollandhadplantedlongago.Eunicealwayskeptitprimlyneat.Shehadbeenworkinginitthatday,andfelttired.

Shewasallaloneinthehouseandthelonelinessfilledherwithafaintdread.

Shehad triedall thatday to reconcileherself toChristopher'smarriage, andhadpartially succeeded.She toldherself that shecould stillwatchoverhimandcareforhiscomfort.ShewouldeventrytoloveVictoria;afterall,itmightbepleasanttohaveanotherwomaninthehouse.So,sittingthere,shefedherhungrysoulwiththesehusksofcomfort.

WhensheheardChristopher'sstepshemovedaboutquicklytogetalight.Hefrownedwhenhesawher;hehadalwaysresentedhersittingupforhim.Hesatdownbythestoveandtookoffhisboots,whileEunicegotalunchforhim.After he had eaten it in silence he made no move to go to bed. A chill,premonitory fear crept over Eunice. It did not surprise her at all whenChristopher finally said, abruptly, "Eunice, I've a notion to getmarried thisspring."

Euniceclaspedherhandstogetherunder the table.Itwaswhatshehadbeenexpecting.Shesaidso,inamonotonousvoice.

"Wemustmake some arrangement for—for you,Eunice,"Christopherwenton,inahurried,hesitantway,keepinghiseyesriveteddoggedlyonhisplate."Victoria doesn't exactly like—well, she thinks it's better for youngmarriedfolkstobeginlifebythemselves,andIguessshe'saboutright.Youwouldn'tfind itcomfortable,anyhow,having tostepback tosecondplaceafterbeingmistressheresolong."

Eunicetriedtospeak,butonlyanindistinctmurmurcamefromherbloodlesslips.ThesoundmadeChristopherlookup.Somethinginherfaceirritatedhim.Hepushedbackhischairimpatiently.

"Now,Eunice,don'tgotakingon.Itwon'tbeanyuse.Lookatthisbusinessinasensibleway.I'mfondofyou,andallthat,butamanisboundtoconsiderhiswifefirst.I'llprovideforyoucomfortably."

"Doyoumeantosaythatyourwifeisgoingtoturnmeout?"Eunicegasped,ratherthanspoke,thewords.

Christopherdrewhisreddishbrowstogether.

"IjustmeanthatVictoriasaysshewon'tmarrymeifshehastolivewithyou.She'safraidofyou.I toldheryouwouldn't interferewithher,butshewasn'tsatisfied. It'syourownfault,Eunice.You'vealwaysbeensoqueerandclosethatpeople thinkyou'reanawfulcrank.Victoria'syoungandlively,andyouandshewouldn'tgetonatall.Thereisn'tanyquestionofturningyouout.I'llbuild a little house for you somewhere, andyou'll be a great deal better offtherethanyouwouldbehere.Sodon'tmakeafuss."

Eunicedidnotlookasifsheweregoingtomakeafuss.Shesatasifturnedtostone, her hands lying palm upward in her lap. Christopher got up, hugelyrelievedthatthedreadedexplanationwasover.

"GuessI'llgotobed.You'dbetterhavegonelongago.It'sallnonsense, thiswaitingupforme."

WhenhehadgoneEunicedrewalong,sobbingbreathandlookedaboutherlikeadazedsoul.All thesorrowofher lifewasasnothingtothedesolationthatassailedhernow.

Sheroseand,withuncertainfootsteps,passedoutthroughthehallandintotheroomwherehermotherdied.Shehadalwayskeptitlockedandundisturbed;itwasarrangedjustasNaomiHollandhadleftit.Eunicetotteredtothebedandsatdownonit.

Sherecalledthepromiseshehadmadetohermotherinthatveryroom.Wasthepower tokeep it tobewrestedfromher?Wasshe tobedrivenfromherhomeandpartedfromtheonlycreatureshehadonearthtolove?AndwouldChristopherallowit,afterallhersacrificesforhim?Aye, thathewould!Hecaredmoreforthatblack-eyed,waxen-facedgirlattheoldPyeplacethanforhis own kin. Eunice put her hands over her dry, burning eyes and groanedaloud.

CarolineHollandhadherhouroftriumphoverEunicewhenshehearditall.Tooneofhernaturetherewasnopleasuresosweetasthatofsaying,"Itoldyouso."Havingsaidit,however,sheofferedEuniceahome.ElectaHollandwasdead,andEunicemightfillherplaceveryacceptably,ifshewould.

"Youcan'tgooffandlivebyyourself,"Carolinetoldher."It'sallnonsensetotalkofsuchathing.Wewillgiveyouahome,ifChristopherisgoingtoturnyou out.Youwere always a fool, Eunice, to pet and pamper him as you'vedone.Thisisthethanksyougetforit—turnedoutlikeadogforhisfinewife'swhim!Ionlywishyourmotherwasalive!"

ItwasprobablythefirsttimeCarolinehadeverwishedthis.ShehadflownatChristopherlikeafuryaboutthematter,andhadbeenrudelyinsultedforherpains.Christopherhadtoldhertomindherownbusiness.

WhenCarolinecooleddownshemadesomearrangementswithhim,toallofwhichEunicelistlesslyassented.Shedidnotcarewhatbecameofher.WhenChristopher Holland brought Victoria as mistress to the house where hismother had toiled, and suffered, and ruledwith her rodof iron,Eunicewasgone. In Charles Holland's household she took Electa's place—an unpaidupperservant.

CharlesandCarolinewerekindenoughtoher,andtherewasplentytodo.Forfiveyearsherdull,colorlesslifewenton,duringwhichtimeshenevercrossedthe threshold of the house where Victoria Holland ruled with a sway asabsoluteasNaomi'shadbeen.Caroline'scuriosityledher,afterherfirstangerhadcooled,tomakeoccasionalcalls,theobservationsofwhichshefaithfullyreportedtoEunice.Thelatterneverbetrayedanyinterestinthem,saveonce.ThiswaswhenCarolinecamehomefullofthenewsthatVictoriahadhadtheroomwhereNaomidiedopenedup,andshowilyfurnishedasaparlor.ThenEunice's sallow face crimsoned, and her eyes flashed, over the desecration.Butnowordofcommentorcomplaintevercrossedherlips.

Sheknew,aseveryoneelseknew,thattheglamorsoonwentfromChristopherHolland'smarriedlife.Themarriageprovedanunhappyone.Notunnaturally,althoughunjustly,EuniceblamedVictoriaforthis,andhatedhermorethaneverforit.

ChristopherseldomcametoCharles'house.Possiblyhefeltashamed.Hehadgrownintoamorose,silentman,athomeandabroad.Itwassaidhehadgonebacktohisolddrinkinghabits.

One fallVictoriaHollandwent to town to visit hermarried sister. She tooktheironlychildwithher.InherabsenceChristopherkepthouseforhimself.

ItwasafalllongrememberedinAvonlea.Withthedroppingoftheleaves,andthe shortening of the dreary days, the shadow of a fear fell over the land.CharlesHollandbroughtthefatefulnewshomeonenight.

"There's smallpox in Charlottetown—five or six cases. Came in one of thevessels.Therewasaconcert,andasailorfromoneoftheshipswasthere,andtooksickthenextday."

This was alarming enough. Charlottetown was not so very far away andconsiderabletrafficwentonbetweenitandthenorthshoredistricts.

WhenCaroline recounted the concert story toChristopher the nextmorninghisruddyfaceturnedquitepale.Heopenedhislipsasiftospeak,thenclosedthemagain.Theyweresittinginthekitchen;Carolinehadrunovertoreturnsome tea she had borrowed, and, incidentally, to see what she could ofVictoria's housekeeping in her absence. Her eyes had been busy while hertongueranon,soshedidnotnoticetheman'spallorandsilence.

"Howlongdoesittakeforsmallpoxtodevelopafteronehasbeenexposedtoit?"heaskedabruptly,whenCarolinerosetogo.

"Tentofourteendays, Icalc'late,"washeranswer."Imustseeabouthaving

thegirlsvaccinatedrightoff.It'lllikelyspread.WhendoyouexpectVictoriahome?"

"Whenshe'sreadytocome,wheneverthatwillbe,"wasthegruffresponse.

AweeklaterCarolinesaidtoEunice,"Whatever'sgotChristopher?Hehasn'tbeen out anywhere for ages—just hangs round home the whole time. It'ssomethingnewforhim.Is'posetheplaceissoquiet,nowMadamVictoria'saway, that he can find some rest for his soul. I believe I'll run over aftermilkingandseehowhe'sgettingon.Youmightaswellcome,too,Eunice."

Eunice shook her head. She had all her mother's obstinacy, and darkenVictoria'sdoorshewouldnot.Shewentonpatientlydarningsocks,sittingatthewestwindow,whichwasherfavoriteposition—perhapsbecauseshecouldlookfromitacrosstheslopingfieldandpastthecrescentcurveofmaplegrovetoherlosthome.

Aftermilking,Carolinethrewashawloverherheadandranacrossthefield.Thehouselookedlonelyanddeserted.Asshefumbledatthelatchofthegatethekitchendooropened,andChristopherHollandappearedonthethreshold.

"Don'tcomeanyfarther,"hecalled.

Carolinefellbackinblankastonishment.WasthissomemoreofVictoria'swork?

"Iain'tanagentforthesmallpox,"shecalledbackviciously.

Christopherdidnotheedher.

"Willyougohomeandaskuncleifhe'llgo,orsendforDoctorSpencer?He'sthesmallpoxdoctor.I'msick."

Carolinefeltathrillofdismayandfear.Shefalteredafewstepsbackward.

"Sick?What'sthematterwithyou?"

"Iwas in Charlottetown that night, andwent to the concert. That sailor satrightbesideme.Ithoughtatthetimehelookedsick.Itwasjusttwelvedaysago.I'vefeltbadalldayyesterdayandto-day.Sendforthedoctor.Don'tcomenearthehouse,orletanyoneelsecomenear."

Hewentinandshutthedoor.Carolinestoodforafewmomentsinanalmostludicrouspanic.Then she turned and ran, as if for her life, across the field.Eunicesawhercomingandmetheratthedoor.

"Mercyonus!"gaspedCaroline."Christopher'ssickandhethinkshe'sgotthe

smallpox.Where'sCharles?"

Eunicetotteredbackagainstthedoor.Herhandwentuptohersideinawaythathadbeengettingverycommonwithheroflate.EveninthemidstofherexcitementCarolinenoticedit.

"Eunice,whatmakesyoudothateverytimeanythingstartlesyou?"sheaskedsharply."Isitanythingaboutyourheart?"

"Idon't—know.Alittlepain—it'sgonenow.DidyousaythatChristopherhas—thesmallpox?"

"Well, he says so himself, and it's more than likely, considering thecircumstances. I declare, I never got such a turn in my life. It's a dreadfulthing.ImustfindCharlesatonce—there'llbeahundredthingstodo."

Eunicehardlyheardher.Hermindwascentereduponone idea.Christopherwas ill—alone—shemustgo tohim. Itdidnotmatterwhathisdiseasewas.WhenCarolinecameinfromherbreathlessexpeditiontothebarn,shefoundEunicestandingbythetable,withherhatandshawlon,tyingupaparcel.

"Eunice!Whereonearthareyougoing?"

"Overhome,"saidEunice."IfChristopherisgoingtobeillhemustbenursed,andI'mtheonetodoit.Heoughttobeseentorightaway."

"EuniceCarr!Haveyougonecleanoutofyoursenses?It'sthesmallpox—thesmallpox!Ifhe'sgotithe'llhavetobetakentothesmallpoxhospitalintown.Youshan'tstirasteptogotothathouse!"

"Iwill." Eunice faced her excited aunt quietly. The odd resemblance to hermother,whichonlycameoutinmomentsofgreattension,wasplainlyvisible."He shan't go to the hospital—they never get proper attention there. Youneedn'ttrytostopme.Itwon'tputyouoryourfamilyinanydanger."

Carolinefellhelplesslyintoachair.Shefeltthatitwouldbeofnousetoarguewithawomansodetermined.ShewishedCharleswasthere.ButCharleshadalreadygone,post-haste,forthedoctor.

Witha firmstep,Eunicewentacross thefield foot-pathshehadnot troddenforsolong.Shefeltnofear—ratherasortofelation.Christopherneededheroncemore;theinterloperwhohadcomebetweenthemwasnotthere.AsshewalkedthroughthefrostytwilightshethoughtofthepromisemadetoNaomiHolland,yearsago.

Christophersawhercomingandwavedherback.

"Don't come any nearer, Eunice. Didn't Caroline tell you? I'm takingsmallpox."

Eunice did not pause. She went boldly through the yard and up the porchsteps.Heretreatedbeforeherandheldthedoor.

"Eunice,you'recrazy,girl!Gohome,beforeit'stoolate."

Eunicepushedopenthedoorresolutelyandwentin.

"It's too late now. I'm here, and I mean to stay and nurse you, if it's thesmallpox you've got.Maybe it's not. Just now,when a person has a finger-ache,hethinksit'ssmallpox.Anyhow,whateveritis,yououghttobeinbedandlookedafter.You'llcatchcold.Letmegetalightandhavealookatyou."

Christopherhadsunkintoachair.Hisnaturalselfishnessreasserteditself,andhemadenofurtherefforttodissuadeEunice.Shegotalampandsetitonthetablebyhim,whileshescrutinizedhisfaceclosely.

"Youlookfeverish.Whatdoyoufeellike?Whendidyoutakesick?"

"Yesterday afternoon. I have chills and hot spells and pains in my back.Eunice,doyouthinkit'sreallysmallpox?AndwillIdie?"

Hecaughtherhands,andlookedimploringlyupather,asachildmighthavedone. Eunice felt a wave of love and tenderness sweep warmly over herstarvedheart.

"Don'tworry.Lotsofpeoplerecoverfromsmallpoxifthey'reproperlynursed,andyou'llbethat,forI'llseetoit.Charleshasgoneforthedoctor,andwe'llknowwhenhecomes.Youmustgostraighttobed."

Shetookoffherhatandshawl,andhungthemup.Shefeltasmuchathomeasifshehadneverbeenaway.Shehadgotbacktoherkingdom,andtherewasnonetodisputeitwithher.WhenDr.SpencerandoldGilesBlewett,whohadhadsmallpoxinhisyouth,came,twohourslater,theyfoundEuniceinserenecharge. The housewas in order and reeking of disinfectants. Victoria's finefurniture and fixings were being bundled out of the parlor. There was nobedroom downstairs, and, if Christopher was going to be ill, he must beinstalledthere.

Thedoctorlookedgrave.

"I don't like it," he said, "but I'm not quite sure yet. If it is smallpox theeruptionwill probably be out bymorning. Imust admit he hasmost of thesymptoms.Willyouhavehimtakentothehospital?"

"No," saidEunice, decisively. "I'll nurse himmyself. I'm not afraid and I'mwellandstrong."

"Verywell.You'vebeenvaccinatedlately?"

"Yes."

"Well,nothingmorecanbedoneatpresent.Youmayaswell liedownforawhileandsaveyourstrength."

ButEunicecouldnotdothat.Therewastoomuchtoattendto.Shewentouttothe hall and threw up thewindow.Down below, at a safe distance,CharlesHolland was waiting. The cold wind blew up to Eunice the odor of thedisinfectantswithwhichhehadsteepedhimself.

"Whatdoesthedoctorsay?"heshouted.

"Hethinksit'sthesmallpox.HaveyousentwordtoVictoria?"

"Yes,JimBlewettdroveintotownandtoldher.She'llstaywithhersistertillitisover.Ofcourseit'sthebestthingforhertodo.She'sterriblyfrightened."

Eunice's lip curled contemptuously. To her, a wife who could desert herhusband, nomatterwhat disease he had,was an incomprehensible creature.Butitwasbetterso;shewouldhaveChristopheralltoherself.

Thenightwaslongandwearisome,butthemorningcamealltoosoonforthedreadcertainty itbrought.Thedoctorpronounced thecasesmallpox.Eunicehadhopedagainsthope,butnow,knowingtheworst,shewasverycalmandresolute.

By noon the fateful yellow flag was flying over the house, and allarrangementshadbeenmade.Carolinewastodothenecessarycooking,andCharleswastobringthefoodandleaveitintheyard.OldGilesBlewettwastocomeeverydayandattendtothestock,aswellashelpEunicewiththesickman;andthelong,hardfightwithdeathbegan.

It was a hard fight, indeed. Christopher Holland, in the clutches of theloathsome disease,was an object fromwhich his nearest and dearestmighthave been pardoned for shrinking.ButEunice never faltered; she never leftherpost.Sometimesshedozedinachairbythebed,butsheneverlaydown.Herendurancewassomethingwonderful,herpatienceandtendernessalmostsuperhuman.Toandfroshewent,innoiselessministry,asthelong,dreadfuldaysworeaway,withaquietsmileonherlips,andinherdark,sorrowfuleyestheraptlookofapicturedsaintinsomedimcathedralniche.Forhertherewasnoworldoutsidethebareroomwherelaytherepulsiveobjectsheloved.

Onedaythedoctorlookedverygrave.Hehadgrownwell-hardenedtopitifulscenes in his life-time; but he shrunk from telling Eunice that her brothercouldnot live.Hehadneverseensuchdevotionashers. It seemedbrutal totellherthatithadbeeninvain.

ButEunicehadseenitforherself.Shetookitverycalmly,thedoctorthought.And she had her reward at last—such as it was. She thought it amplysufficient.

OnenightChristopherHollandopenedhisswolleneyesasshebentoverhim.Theywerealoneintheoldhouse.Itwasrainingoutside,andthedropsrattlednoisilyonthepanes.

Christopher smiledathis sisterwithparched lips, andputout a feeblehandtowardher.

"Eunice,"hesaidfaintly,"you'vebeenthebestsistereveramanhad.Ihaven'ttreatedyouright;butyou'vestoodbymetothelast.TellVictoria—tellher—tobegoodtoyou—"

Hisvoicediedawayintoaninarticulatemurmur.EuniceCarrwasalonewithherdead.

TheyburiedChristopherHollandinhasteandprivacythenextday.Thedoctordisinfectedthehouse,andEunicewastostaytherealoneuntilitmightbesafetomakeotherarrangements.Shehadnotsheda tear; thedoctor thoughtshewasaratheroddperson,buthehadagreatadmirationforher.Hetoldhershewas the best nurse he had ever seen. To Eunice, praise or blame matterednothing.Somethinginherlifehadsnapped—somevitalinteresthaddeparted.Shewonderedhowshecouldlivethroughthedreary,comingyears.

Latethatnightshewentintotheroomwherehermotherandbrotherhaddied.Thewindowwasopenandthecold,pureairwasgratefultoherafterthedrug-laden atmosphere shehadbreathed so long.Sheknelt downby the strippedbed.

"Mother,"shesaidaloud,"Ihavekeptmypromise."

Whenshetriedtorise,longafter,shestaggeredandfellacrossthebed,withher hand pressed on her heart. Old Giles Blewett found her there in themorning.Therewasasmileonherface.

XII. THECONSCIENCECASEOFDAVIDBELL

EbenBellcameinwithanarmfulofwoodandbangeditcheerfullydownintheboxbehind theglowingWaterloostove,whichwascoloring theheartofthelittlekitchen'sgloomwithtremulous,rose-redwhirlsoflight.

"There,sis,that'sthelastchoreonmylist.Bob'smilking.Nothingmoreformetodobutputonmywhitecollarformeeting.Avonleaismorethanlivelysincetheevangelistcame,ain'tit,though!"

MollieBellnodded.Shewascurlingherhairbeforethetinymirrorthathungon thewhitewashedwallanddistortedher round,pink-and-white face intoagrotesquecaricature.

"Wonderwho'llstandupto-night,"saidEbenreflectively,sittingdownontheedgeofthewood-box."Thereain'tmanysinnersleftinAvonlea—onlyafewhardenedchapslikemyself."

"You shouldn't talk like that," saidMollie rebukingly. "What if father heardyou?"

"Fatherwouldn'thearmeifIshouteditinhisear,"returnedEben."Hegoesaround,thesedays,likeamaninadreamandamightybaddreamatthat.Fatherhasalwaysbeenagoodman.What'sthematterwithhim?"

"Idon'tknow,"saidMollie,droppinghervoice."Motherisdreadfullyworriedoverhim.Andeverybodyistalking,Eb.Itjustmakesmesquirm.FloraJaneFletcher askedme last nightwhy father never testified, and him one of theelders.Shesaidtheministerwasperplexedaboutit.Ifeltmyfacegettingred."

"Whydidn'tyoutellheritwasnobusinessofhers?"saidEbenangrily."OldFloraJanehadbettermindherownbusiness."

"Butallthefolksaretalkingaboutit,Eb.Andmotherisfrettingherheartoutoverit.Fatherhasneveractedlikehimselfsincethesemeetingsbegan.Hejustgoestherenightafternight,andsitslikeamummy,withhisheaddown.AndalmosteverybodyelseinAvonleahastestified."

"Oh, no, there's lots haven't," said Eben. "MatthewCuthbert never has, norUncleElisha,noranyoftheWhites."

"But everybody knows they don't believe in getting up and testifying, sonobodywonderswhentheydon't.Besides,"Mollielaughed—"Matthewcouldnevergetawordout inpublic, ifhedidbelievein it.He'dbetooshy.But,"

sheaddedwithasigh,"itisn'tthatwaywithfather.Hebelievesintestimony,sopeoplewonderwhyhedoesn'tgetup.Why,evenoldJosiahSloanegetsupeverynight."

"With his whiskers sticking out every which way, and his hair ditto,"interjectedthegracelessEben.

"Whentheministercallsfor testimonialsandall thefolks lookatourpew,Ifeelreadytosinkthroughthefloorforshame,"sighedMollie."Iffatherwouldgetupjustonce!"

Miriam Bell entered the kitchen. She was ready for the meeting, to whichMajorSpencerwas to takeher.Shewasa tall,palegirl,withaseriousface,and dark, thoughtful eyes, totally unlike Mollie. She had "come underconviction"during themeetings, andhad stoodup for prayer and testimonyseveral times. The evangelist thought her very spiritual. She heardMollie'sconcludingsentenceandspokereprovingly.

"Youshouldn'tcriticizeyourfather,Mollie.Itisn'tforyoutojudgehim."

Eben had hastily slipped out. He was afraid Miriam would begin talkingreligion to him if he stayed. He had with difficulty escaped from anexhortationbyRobert in thecow-stable.Therewasnopeace inAvonlea fortheunregenerate,he reflected.RobertandMiriamhadboth"comeout,"andMolliewashoveringonthebrink.

"DadandIaretheblacksheepofthefamily,"hesaid,withalaugh,forwhichheatoncefeltguilty.Ebenhadbeenbroughtupwithastrictreverenceforallreligiousmatters.On thesurfacehemight sometimes laughat them,but thedeepstroubledhimwheneverhedidso.

Indoors, Miriam touched her younger sister's shoulder and looked at heraffectionately.

"Won't you decide to-night, Mollie?" she asked, in a voice tremulous withemotion.

Molliecrimsonedandturnedherfaceawayuncomfortably.Shedidnotknowwhatanswertomake,andwasgladthatajingleofbellsoutsidesavedherthenecessityofreplying.

"There'syourbeau,Miriam,"shesaid,asshedartedintothesittingroom.

Soonafter,EbenbroughtthefamilypungandhischubbyredmaretothedoorforMollie.Hehadnot as yet attained to the dignity of a cutter of his own.Thatwasforhiselderbrother,Robert,whopresentlycameoutinhisnewfur

coatanddrovedashinglyawaywithbellsandglitter.

"Thinkshe'sthepeople,"remarkedEben,withafraternalgrin.

Therichwintertwilightwaspurplingoverthewhiteworldastheydrovedownthe lane under the over-archingwild cherry trees that glitteredwith gemmyhoar-frost.Thesnowcreakedandcrispedundertherunners.Ashrillwindwaskeeningintheleaflessdogwoods.Overthetreestheskywasadomeofsilver,withalucentstarortwoontheslopeofthewest.Earth-starsgleamedwarmlyout here and there, where homesteads were tucked snugly away in theirorchardsorgrovesofbirch.

"Thechurchwillbejammedto-night,"saidEben."It'ssofinethatfolkswillcomefromnearandfar.Guessit'llbeexciting."

"If only fatherwould testify!" sighedMollie, from the bottom of the pung,whereshewassnuggledamidfursandstraw."Miriamcansaywhatshelikes,butIdofeelasifwewerealldisgraced.ItsendsacreepallovermetohearMr.Bentleysay,'Now,isn'tthereonemoretosayawordforJesus?'andlookrightoveratfather."

Ebenflickedhismarewithhiswhip,andshebrokeintoatrot.Thesilencewasfilledwithafaint,fairy-likemelodyfromafardowntheroadwhereapungfulof young folks from White Sands were singing hymns on their way tomeeting.

"Lookhere,Mollie,"saidEbenawkwardlyatlast,"areyougoingtostandupforprayersto-night?"

"I—I can't as long as father acts this way," answered Mollie, in a chokedvoice."I—Iwantto,Eb,andMirryandBobwantmeto,butIcan't.Idohopethattheevangelistwon'tcomeandtalktomespecialto-night.IalwaysfeelsasifIwasbeingpulledtwodifferentways,whenhedoes."

Back in thekitchenathomeMrs.Bellwaswaitingforherhusband tobringthe horse to the door. She was a slight, dark-eyed little woman, with thin,vivid-red cheeks. From out of the swathings inwhich she hadwrapped herbonnet,herfacegleamedsadandtroubled.Nowandthenshesighedheavily.

The cat came to her fromunder the stove, languidly stretchinghimself, andyawninguntilalltheredcavernofhismouthandthroatwasrevealed.Atthemoment he had an uncanny resemblance to Elder Joseph Blewett ofWhiteSands—Roaring Joe, the irreverent boys called him—when he grew excitedandshouted.Mrs.Bellsawit—andthenreproachedherselfforthesacrilege.

"Butit'snowonderI'vewickedthoughts,"shesaid,wearily."I'mthatworried

I ain't rightlymyself. If hewouldonly tellmewhat the trouble is,maybe Icouldhelphim.Atanyrate,I'dKNOW.Ithurtsmesotoseehimgoingabout,day after day,withhis headhanging and that lookonhis face, as if hehadsomething fearful on his conscience—him that never harmed a living soul.Andthenthewayhegroansandmutters inhissleep!Hehasalwayslivedajust,uprightlife.Hehasn'tnorighttogoonlikethis,disgracinghisfamily."

Mrs. Bell's angry sobwas cut short by the sleigh at the door. Her husbandpokedinhisbusy,iron-grayheadandsaid,"Now,mother."Hehelpedherintothesleigh,tuckedtherugswarmlyaroundher,andputahotbrickatherfeet.Hissolicitudehurther.Itwasallforhermaterialcomfort.Itdidnotmattertohimwhatmentalagonyshemightsufferoverhisstrangeattitude.ForthefirsttimeintheirmarriedlifeMaryBellfeltresentmentagainstherhusband.

Theydrove along in silence, past the snow-powderedhedgesof spruce, andunderthearchesoftheforestroadways.Theywerelate,andagreatstillnesswas over all the land. David Bell never spoke. All his usual cheerfultalkativeness had disappeared since the revival meetings had begun inAvonlea.Fromthefirsthehadgoneaboutasamanoverwhomsomestrangedoomisimpending,seeminglyoblivioustoallthatmightbesaidorthoughtofhiminhisownfamilyorinthechurch.MaryBellthoughtshewouldgooutofher mind if her husband continued to act in this way. Her reflections werebitter and rebellious as they sped along through the glittering night of thewinter'sprime.

"I don't get one bit of good out of the meetings," she thought resentfully."There ain't any peace or joy for me, not even in testifying myself, whenDavid sits there like a stick or stone. If he'd been opposed to the revivalistcominghere,likeoldUncleJerry,orifhedidn'tbelieveinpublictestimony,Iwouldn'tmind.I'dunderstand.But,asitis,Ifeeldreadfulhumiliated."

Revival meetings had never been held in Avonlea before. "Uncle" JerryMacPherson,whowas the supreme local authority in churchmatters, takingprecedence of even the minister, had been uncompromisingly opposed tothem. He was a stern, deeply religious Scotchman, with a horror of theemotional formof religion.As longasUncle Jerry's spare,ascetic formanddeeply-graved square-jawed face filled his accustomed corner by thenorthwest window of Avonlea church no revivalist might venture therein,althoughthemajorityofthecongregation,includingtheminister,wouldhavewelcomedonewarmly.

But nowUncle Jerrywas sleeping peacefully under the tangled grasses andwhitesnowsof theburyingground,and, ifdeadpeopleeverdoturnin theirgraves,UncleJerrymightwellhaveturnedinhiswhentherevivalistcameto

Avonleachurch,andtherefollowedtheemotionalservices,publictestimonies,andreligiousexcitementwhichtheoldman'ssturdysoulhadalwaysabhorred.

Avonleawasagoodfieldforanevangelist.TheRev.GeoffreyMountain,whocametoassisttheAvonleaministerinrevivifyingthedrybonesthereof,knewthisand reveled in theknowledge. Itwasnotoften that suchavirginparishcouldbefoundnowadays,withscoresof impressionable,unspoiledsoulsonwhichfervidoratorycouldplayskillfully,asamasteronamightyorgan,untileverynoteinthemthrilledtolifeandutterance.TheRev.GeoffreyMountainwasagoodman;of theearth,earthy, tobesure,butwithanunquestionablesincerity of belief and purpose which went far to counterbalance thesensationalismofsomeofhismethods.

Hewaslargeandhandsome,withamarvelouslysweetandwinningvoice—avoicethatcouldmeltintoirresistibletenderness,orswellintosonorousappealandcondemnation,orringlikeatrumpetcallingtobattle.

Hisfrequentgrammaticalerrors,andlapsesintovulgarity,countedfornothingagainstitscharm,andthemostcommonplacewordsintheworldwouldhaveborrowedmuchofthepowerofrealoratoryfromitsmagic.Heknewitsvalueandusediteffectively—perhapsevenostentatiously.

GeoffreyMountain'sreligionandmethods,likethemanhimself,wereshowy,but,oftheirkind,sincere,and,thoughthegoodheaccomplishedmightnotbeunmixed,itwasaquantitytobereckonedwith.

SotheRev.GeoffreyMountaincametoAvonlea,conqueringandtoconquer.Night after night the church was crowded with eager listeners, who hungbreathlesslyonhiswordsandweptandthrilledandexultedashewilled.Intomanyyoungsoulshisappealsandwarningsburnedtheirway,andeachnighttheyroseforprayerinresponsetohisinvitation.OlderChristians,too,tookonanew leaseof intensity, andeven theunregenerateand the scoffers foundacertain fascination in the meetings. Threading through it all, for old andyoung, converted and unconverted, was an unacknowledged feeling forreligious dissipation. Avonlea was a quiet place,—and the revival meetingswerelively.

WhenDavidandMaryBell reached thechurch the serviceshadbegun, andthey heard the refrain of a hallelujah hymn as they were crossing HarmonAndrews'field.DavidBelllefthiswifeattheplatformanddrovetothehorse-shed.

Mrs.Bellunwoundthescarffromherbonnetandshookthefrostcrystalsfromit.IntheporchFloraJaneFletcherandhersister,Mrs.HarmonAndrews,weretalking in low whispers. Presently Flora Jane put out her lank, cashmere-

glovedhandandpluckedMrs.Bell'sshawl.

"Mary,istheeldergoingtotestifyto-night?"sheasked,inashrillwhisper.

Mrs.Bellwinced.Shewouldhavegivenmuchtobeabletoanswer"Yes,"butshehadtosaystiffly,

"Idon'tknow."

FloraJaneliftedherchin.

"Well,Mrs.Bell,Ionlyaskedbecauseeveryonethinksitisstrangehedoesn't—andanelder,ofallpeople.Itlooksasifhedidn'tthinkhimselfaChristian,youknow.Ofcourse,weallknowbetter,butitLOOKSthatway.IfIwasyou,I'dtellhimfolkswastalkingaboutit.Mr.Bentleysaysitishinderingthefullsuccessofthemeetings."

Mrs. Bell turned on her tormentor in swift anger. She might resent herhusband's strange behavior herself, but nobody else should dare to criticizehimtoher.

"Idon'tthinkyouneedtoworryyourselfabouttheelder,FloraJane,"shesaidbitingly. "Maybe 'tisn't the best Christians that do themost talking about italways. I guess, as far as living up to his profession goes, the elder willcomparepretty favorablywithLeviBoulter,whogetsupand testifies everynight,andcheatstheveryeye-teethoutofpeopleinthedaytime."

Levi Boulter was a middle-aged widower, with a large family, who wassupposedtohavecastamatrimonialeyeFloraJaneward.TheuseofhisnamewasaneffectivethrustonMrs.Bell'spart,andsilencedFloraJane.Tooangryforspeechsheseizedhersister'sarmandhurriedherintochurch.

Buthervictorycouldnot remove fromMaryBell's soul the sting implantedtherebyFloraJane'swords.Whenherhusbandcameup to theplatformsheputherhandonhissnowyarmappealingly.

"Oh,David,won't yougetup to-night? I do feel sodreadfulbad—folks aretalkingso—Ijustfeelhumiliated."

DavidBellhunghisheadlikeashamedschoolboy.

"Ican't,Mary,"hesaidhuskily."'Tain'tnousetopesterme."

"You don't care for my feelings," said his wife bitterly. "AndMollie won'tcomeout because you're acting so.You're keeping her back from salvation.Andyou'rehinderingthesuccessoftherevival—Mr.Bentleysaysso."

DavidBellgroaned.Thissignofsufferingwrunghiswife'sheart.Withquickcontritionshewhispered,

"There,nevermind,David.Ioughtn'ttohavespokentoyouso.Youknowyourdutybest.Let'sgoin."

"Wait."Hisvoicewasimploring.

"Mary,isittruethatMolliewon'tcomeoutbecauseofme?AmIstandinginmychild'slight?"

"I—don't—know. I guess not. Mollie's just a foolish young girl yet. Nevermind—comein."

Hefollowedherdejectedlyin,anduptheaisletotheirpewinthecenterofthechurch. The building was warm and crowded. The pastor was reading theBiblelessonfortheevening.Inthechoir,behindhim,DavidBellsawMollie'sgirlishface,tingedwithatroubledseriousness.Hisownwind-ruddyfaceandbushygrayeyebrowsworkedconvulsivelywithhisinwardthroes.Asighthatwasalmostagroanburstfromhim.

"I'llhavetodoit,"hesaidtohimselfinagony.

Whenseveralmorehymnshadbeensung,andlatearrivalsbegantopacktheaisles, the evangelist arose. His style for the evening was the tender, thepleading, the solemn. He modulated his tones to marvelous sweetness, andsentthemthrillinglyoverthebreathlesspews,entanglingtheheartsandsoulsofhislistenersinameshofsubtleemotion.Manyofthewomenbegantocrysoftly.Ferventamensbrokefromsomeofthemembers.Whentheevangelistsat down, after a closing appeal which, in its way, was a masterpiece, anaudiblesighofrelievedtensionpassedlikeawaveovertheaudience.

After prayer the pastormade the usual request that, if any of those presentwishedtocomeoutonthesideofChrist,theywouldsignifythewishbyrisingfor a moment in their places. After a brief interval, a pale boy under thegallery rose, followedbyanoldmanat the topof thechurch.A frightened,sweet-facedchildoftwelvegottremblinglyuponherfeet,andadramaticthrillpassedoverthecongregationwhenhermothersuddenlystoodupbesideher.Theevangelist's"ThankGod"washeartyandinsistent.

DavidBell looked almost imploringly atMollie; but shekept her seat,withdowncast eyes. Over in the big square "stone pew" he saw Eben bendingforward,withhiselbowsonhisknees,gazingfrowninglyatthefloor.

"I'mastumblingblocktothemboth,"hethoughtbitterly.

A hymn was sung and prayer offered for those under conviction. Thentestimonies were called for. The evangelist asked for them in tones whichmadeitseemapersonalrequesttoeveryoneinthatbuilding.

Many testimonies followed, each infused with the personality of the giver.Most of them were brief and stereotyped. Finally a pause ensued. Theevangelistsweptthepewswithhiskindlingeyesandexclaimed,appealingly,

"HasEVERYChristianinthischurchto-nightspokenawordforhisMaster?"

Thereweremanywhohadnottestified,buteveryeyeinthebuildingfollowedthe pastor's accusing glance to theBell pew.Mollie crimsonedwith shame.Mrs.Bellcoweredvisibly.

AlthougheverybodylookedthusatDavidBell,nobodynowexpectedhimtotestify. When he rose to his feet, a murmur of surprise passed over theaudience,followedbyasilencesocompleteastobeterrible.ToDavidBellitseemedtopossesstheaweoffinaljudgment.

Twice he opened his lips, and tried vainly to speak. The third time hesucceeded; but his voice sounded strangely in his own ears.He gripped theback of the pew before him with his knotty hands, and fixed his eyesunseeinglyontheChristianEndeavorpledgethathungovertheheadsofthechoir.

"Brethrenandsisters,"hesaidhoarsely,"beforeIcansayawordofChristiantestimonyhereto-nightI'vegotsomethingtoconfess.It'sbeenlyinghardandheavyonmyconscienceeversince thesemeetingsbegun.As longas Ikeptsilence about it I couldn't get up and bearwitness for Christ.Many of youhaveexpectedmetodoit.MaybeI'vebeenastumblingblocktosomeofyou.Thisseasonofrevivalhasbroughtnoblessingtomebecauseofmysin,whichIrepentedof,buttriedtoconceal.Therehasbeenaspiritualdarknessoverme.

"Friendsandneighbors,Ihavealwaysbeenheldbyyouasanhonestman.Itwas theshameofhavingyouknowIwasnotwhichhaskeptmebackfromopenconfessionandtestimony.JustaforethesemeetingscommencedIcomehomefromtownonenightandfoundthatsomebodyhadpassedacounterfeitten-dollar bill onme.ThenSatan entered intome and possessedme.WhenMrs.RachelLyndecomenextday,collectingforforeignmissions,Igiveherthattendollarbill.Sheneverknowedthedifference,andsentitawaywiththerest.ButIknewI'ddoneameanandsinfulthing.Icouldn'tdriveitoutofmythoughts.AfewdaysafterwardsIwentdowntoMrs.Rachel'sandgivehertengooddollars for thefund. I toldherIhadcometo theconclusionIought togivemorethantendollars,outofmyabundance,totheLord.Thatwasalie.Mrs.LyndethoughtIwasagenerousman,andIfeltashamedtolookherin

theface.ButI'ddonewhatIcouldtorightthewrong,andIthoughtitwouldbe all right. But it wasn't. I've never known a minute's peace of mind orconscience since. I tried to cheat the Lord, and then tried to patch it up bydoing something that redounded tomyworldly credit.When thesemeetingsbegun,andeverybodyexpectedme to testify, Icouldn'tdo it. Itwouldhaveseemedlikeblasphemy.AndIcouldn'tendurethethoughtoftellingwhatI'ddone, either. I argued it all out a thousand times that I hadn't done any realharmafterall,butitwasnouse.I'vebeensowrappedupinmyownbroodingandmiserythatIdidn'trealizeIwasinflictingsufferingonthosedeartomebymy conduct, and,maybe, holding some of them back from the paths ofsalvation.Butmy eyes have been opened to this to-night, and theLord hasgivenmestrengthtoconfessmysinandglorifyHisholyname."

Thebrokentonesceased,andDavidBellsatdown,wipingthegreatdropsofperspirationfromhisbrow.Toamanofhis training,andcastof thought,noordealcouldbemoreterriblethanthatthroughwhichhehadjustpassed.Butunderneaththeturmoilofhisemotionhefeltagreatcalmandpeace,threadedwiththeexultationofahard-wonspiritualvictory.

Overthechurchwasasolemnhush.Theevangelist's"amen"wasnotspokenwithhisusualunctuousfervor,butverygentlyandreverently.Inspiteofhiscoarsefiber,hecouldappreciatethenobilitybehindsuchaconfessionasthis,andthedeepsofsternsufferingitsounded.

Beforethelastprayerthepastorpausedandlookedaround.

"Isthereyetone,"heaskedgently,"whowishestobeespeciallyrememberedinourconcludingprayer?"

For amoment nobodymoved. ThenMollieBell stood up in the choir seat,and,downbythestove,Eben,hisflushed,boyishfaceheldhigh,rosesturdilytohisfeetinthemidstofhiscompanions.

"ThankGod,"whisperedMaryBell.

"Amen,"saidherhusbandhuskily.

"Letuspray,"saidMr.Bentley.

XIII. ONLYACOMMONFELLOW

Onmydearie'sweddingmorningIwakenedearlyandwenttoherroom.Long

andlongagoshehadmademepromisethatIwouldbetheonetowakeheronthemorningofherweddingday.

"YouwerethefirsttotakemeinyourarmswhenIcameintotheworld,AuntRachel," she had said, "and I want you to be the first to greet me on thatwonderfulday."

But thatwas longago, andnowmyheart foreboded that therewouldbenoneed ofwakening her.And therewas not. Shewas lying there awake, veryquiet, with her hand under her cheek, and her big blue eyes fixed on thewindow, throughwhich a pale, dull lightwas creeping in—a joyless light itwas, and enough to make a body shiver. I felt more like weeping thanrejoicing, and my heart took to aching when I saw her there so white andpatient,morelikeagirlwhowaswaitingforawinding-sheetthanforabridalveil.Butshesmiledbrave-like,whenIsatdownonherbedandtookherhand.

"Youlookasifyouhaven'tsleptallnight,dearie,"Isaid.

"Ididn't—notagreatdeal,"sheansweredme."Butthenightdidn'tseemlong;no,itseemedtooshort.Iwasthinkingofagreatmanythings.Whattimeisit,AuntRachel?"

"Fiveo'clock."

"Theninsixhoursmore—"

Shesuddenlysatupinherbed,hergreat,thickropeofbrownhairfallingoverherwhiteshoulders,andflungherarmsaboutme,andburstintotearsonmyoldbreast. Ipettedandsoothedher,andsaidnotaword;and,afterawhile,she stopped crying; but she still satwith her head so that I couldn't see herface.

"Wedidn'tthinkitwouldbelikethisonce,didwe,AuntRachel?"shesaid,verysoftly.

"Itshouldn'tbe like this,now,"Isaid. Ihad tosay it. Inevercouldhide thethoughtofthatmarriage,andIcouldn'tpretendto.Itwasallherstepmother'sdoings—right well I knew that. My dearie would never have taken MarkFosterelse.

"Don'tletustalkofthat,"shesaid,softandbeseeching,justthesamewaysheused to speak when she was a baby-child and wanted to coax me intosomething."Letustalkabouttheolddays—andHIM."

"I don't seemuchuse in talkingofHIM,whenyou're going tomarryMarkFosterto-day,"Isaid.

Butsheputherhandonmymouth.

"It's for the last time,AuntRachel.After to-day I cannever talkof him,oreventhinkofhim.It'sfouryearssincehewentaway.Doyourememberhowhelooked,AuntRachel?"

"Imindwellenough,Ireckon,"Isaid,kindofcurt-like.AndIdid.OwenBlairhadn'tafaceabodycouldforget—thatlongfaceofhiswithitscleancoloranditseyesmadeto lookloveintoawoman's.WhenI thoughtofMarkFoster'ssallowskinandlankjawsIfeltsick-like.NotthatMarkwasugly—hewasjustacommon-lookingfellow.

"Hewas sohandsome,wasn'the,AuntRachel?"mydeariewenton, in thatpatient voice of hers. "So tall and strong and handsome. I wish we hadn'tpartedinanger.Itwassofoolishofustoquarrel.Butitwouldhavebeenallrightifhehadlivedtocomeback.Iknowitwouldhavebeenallright.Iknowhe didn't carry any bitterness againstme to his death. I thought once,AuntRachel, that Iwouldgo throughlife true tohim,and then,overon theotherside,I'dmeethimjustasbefore,allhisandhisonly.Butitisn'ttobe."

"Thankstoyourstepma'swheedlingandMarkFoster'sscheming,"saidI.

"No,Markdidn'tscheme,"shesaidpatiently."Don'tbeunjusttoMark,AuntRachel.Hehasbeenverygoodandkind."

"He'sasstupidasanowletandasstubbornasSolomon'smule,"Isaid,forIWOULD say it. "He's just a common fellow, and yet he thinks he's goodenoughformybeauty."

"Don'ttalkaboutMark,"shepleadedagain."Imeantobeagood,faithfulwifetohim.ButI'mmyownwomanyet—YET—forjustafewmoresweethours,andIwanttogivethemtoHIM.Thelasthoursofmymaidenhood—theymustbelongtoHIM."

So she talkedof him,me sitting there andholdingher,with her lovely hairhangingdownovermyarm,andmyheartachingsoforherthatithurtbitter.Shedidn'tfeelasbadasIdid,becauseshe'dmadeuphermindwhattodoandwas resigned. She was going to marry Mark Foster, but her heart was inFrance,inthatgravenobodyknewof,wheretheHunshadburiedOwenBlair—iftheyhadburiedhimatall.Andshewentoveralltheyhadbeentoeachother,sincetheyweremitesofbabies,goingtoschooltogetherandmeaning,eventhen,tobemarriedwhentheygrewup;andthefirstwordsoflovehe'dsaidtoher,andwhatshe'ddreamedandhopedfor.Theonlythingshedidn'tbringupwas the timehe thrashedMarkFoster forbringingher apples.ShenevermentionedMark'sname;itwasallOwen—Owen—andhowhelooked,

andwhatmighthavebeen,ifhehadn'tgoneofftotheawfulwarandgotshot.Andtherewasme,holdingherandlisteningtoitall,andherstepmasleepingsoundandtriumphantinthenextroom.

Whenshehadtalkeditalloutshelaydownonherpillowagain.Igotupandwentdownstairstolightthefire.Ifeltterribleoldandtired.Myfeetseemedtodrag,andthetearskeptcomingtomyeyes,thoughItriedtokeepthemaway,forwellIknewitwasabadomentobeweepingonaweddingday.

Before long Isabella Clark came down; bright and pleased-looking enough,SHEwas.I'dneverlikedIsabella,fromthedayPhillippa'sfatherbroughtherhere;andIlikedherlessthaneverthismorning.Shewasoneofyoursly,deepwomen,alwayssmilingsmooth,andschemingunderneathit.I'llsayitforher,though,shehadbeengoodtoPhillippa;butitwasherdoingsthatmydeariewastomarryMarkFosterthatday.

"Upbetimes,Rachel,"shesaid,smilingandspeakingmefair,asshealwaysdid,andhatingmeinherheart,asIwellknew."Thatisright,forwe'llhaveplentytodoto-day.Aweddingmakeslotsofwork."

"Notthissortofawedding,"Isaid,sour-like."Idon'tcallitaweddingwhentwopeoplegetmarriedandsneakoffasiftheywereashamedofit—aswelltheymightbeinthiscase."

"ItwasPhillippa's ownwish that all shouldbeveryquiet," said Isabella, assmoothascream."YouknowI'dhavegivenherabigwedding,ifshe'dwantedit."

"Oh, it's better quiet," I said. "The fewer to see Phillippamarry aman likeMarkFosterthebetter."

"MarkFosterisagoodman,Rachel."

"Nogoodmanwouldbecontenttobuyagirlashe'sboughtPhillippa,"Isaid,determinedtogiveitintoher."He'sacommonfellow,notfitformydearietowipeherfeeton.It'swell thathermotherdidn't livetoseethisday;but thisdaywouldneverhavecome,ifshe'dlived."

"IdaresayPhillippa'smotherwouldhaverememberedthatMarkFosterisverywelloff,quiteasreadilyasworsepeople,"saidIsabella,alittlespitefully.

I likedherbetterwhen shewas spiteful thanwhen shewas smooth. Ididn'tfeelsoscaredofherthen.

The marriage was to be at eleven o'clock, and, at nine, I went up to help

Phillippadress.Shewasnofussybride,caringmuchwhatshelookedlike.IfOwenhadbeenthebridegroomitwouldhavebeendifferent.Nothingwouldhavepleasedherthen;butnowitwasonlyjust"Thatwilldoverywell,AuntRachel,"withoutevenglancingatit.

Still, nothing could prevent her from looking lovelywhen shewas dressed.Mydeariewouldhavebeenabeautyinabeggarmaid'srags.Inherwhitedressandveilshewasasfairasaqueen.Andshewasasgoodasshewaspretty.Itwastherightsortofgoodness,too,withjustenoughspiceoforiginalsininittokeepitfromspoilingbyreasonofover-sweetness.

Thenshesentmeout.

"Iwanttobealonemylasthour,"shesaid."Kissme,AuntRachel—MOTHERRachel."

WhenI'dgonedown,cryingliketheoldfoolIwas,Iheardarapatthedoor.Myfirst thoughtwas togooutandsendIsabella to it, for Isupposed itwasMarkFoster,comeaheadoftime,andsmallstomachIhadforseeinghim.Ifall trembling, even yet, when I think, "What if I had sent Isabella to thatdoor?"

ButgoIdid,andopenedit,defiant-like,kindofhopingitwasMarkFostertoseethetearsonmyface.Iopenedit—andstaggeredbacklikeI'dgotablow.

"Owen! Lord ha'mercy on us!Owen!" I said, just like that, going cold allover,forit'sthetruththatIthoughtitwashisspiritcomebacktoforbidthatunholymarriage.

Buthesprangrightin,andcaughtmywrinkledoldhandsinagraspthatwasoffleshandblood.

"AuntRachel,I'mnottoolate?"hesaid,savage-like."TellmeI'mintime."

I lookedupathim,standingovermethere, tallandhandsome,nochangeinhimexcepthewassobrownandhadalittlewhitescaronhisforehead;and,though I couldn't understand at all, being all bewildered-like, I felt a greatdeepthankfulness.

"No,you'renottoolate,"Isaid.

"ThankGod,"saidhe,underhisbreath.Andthenhepulledmeintotheparlorandshutthedoor.

"Theytoldmeat thestationthatPhillippawastobemarriedtoMarkFoster

to-day.Icouldn'tbelieveit,butIcamehereasfastashorse-fleshcouldbringme.AuntRachel,itcan'tbetrue!Shecan'tcareforMarkFoster,evenifshehadforgottenme!"

"It'strueenoughthatsheistomarryMark,"Isaid,half-laughing,half-crying,"but shedoesn't care for him.Everybeat of herheart is for you. It's all herstepma'sdoings.Markhasgotamortgageon theplace,andhe told IsabellaClarkthat, ifPhillippawouldmarryhim,he'dburnthemortgage,and,ifshewouldn't,he'dforeclose.Phillippaissacrificingherselftosaveherstepmaforher dead father's sake. It's all your fault," I cried, getting over mybewilderment."Wethoughtyouweredead.Whydidn'tyoucomehomewhenyouwerealive?Whydidn'tyouwrite?"

"IDIDwrite,afterIgotoutofthehospital,severaltimes,"hesaid,"andneverawordinanswer,AuntRachel.WhatwasItothinkwhenPhillippawouldn'tanswermyletters?"

"She never got one," I cried. "She wept her sweet eyes out over you.SOMEBODYmusthavegotthoseletters."

AndIknewthen,andIknownow,thoughneverashadowofproofhaveI,thatIsabella Clark had got them—and kept them. That woman would stick atnothing.

"Well,we'llsift thatmattersomeother time,"saidOwenimpatiently."Thereareotherthingstothinkofnow.ImustseePhillippa."

"I'llmanage it foryou," I saideagerly;but, justas I spoke, thedooropenedandIsabellaandMarkcamein.NevershallIforgetthelookonIsabella'sface.Ialmost felt sorryforher.She turnedsicklyyellowandhereyeswentwild;theywerelookingatthedownfallofallherschemesandhopes.Ididn'tlookatMarkFoster, at first, and,when Idid, therewasn't anything to see.His facewas just as sallow andwooden as ever; he looked undersized and commonbesideOwen.Nobody'deverhavepickedhimoutforabridegroom.

Owenspokefirst.

"IwanttoseePhillippa,"hesaid,asifitwerebutyesterdaythathehadgoneaway.

AllIsabella'ssmoothnessandpolicyhaddroppedawayfromher,andtherealwomanstoodthere,plottingandunscrupulous,asI'dalwaysknowher.

"Youcan'tseeher,"shesaiddesperate-like."Shedoesn'twanttoseeyou.Youwent and left her andneverwrote, and sheknewyouweren'tworth frettingover,andshehaslearnedtocareforabetterman."

"IDIDwrite and I thinkyouknow thatbetter thanmost folks," saidOwen,tryinghard to speakquiet. "As for the rest, I'mnot going to discuss itwithyou.WhenIhearfromPhillippa'sownlipsthatshecaresforanothermanI'llbelieveit—andnotbefore."

"You'llneverhearitfromherlips,"saidI.

Isabellagavemeavenomouslook.

"You'llnotseePhillippauntilsheisabetterman'swife,"shesaidstubbornly,"andIorderyoutoleavemyhouse,OwenBlair!"

"No!"

ItwasMarkFosterwhospoke.Hehadn't saidaword;buthecameforwardnow,andstoodbeforeOwen.Suchadifferenceas therewasbetween them!But he lookedOwen right in the face, quiet-like, andOwen glared back infury.

"Willitsatisfyyou,Owen,ifPhillippacomesdownhereandchoosesbetweenus?"

"Yes,itwill,"saidOwen.

MarkFosterturnedtome.

"Goandbringherdown,"saidhe.

Isabella,judgingPhillippabyherself,gavealittlemoanofdespair,andOwen,blindedbyloveandhope,thoughthiscausewaswon.ButIknewmydearietoowelltobeglad,andMarkFosterdid,too,andIhatedhimforit.

Iwentuptomydearie'sroom,allpaleandshaking.WhenIwentinshecametomeetme,likeagirlgoingtomeetdeath.

"Is—it—time?"shesaid,withherhandslockedtighttogether.

I said not aword, hoping that the unlooked-for sight ofOwenwould breakdownher resolution. I justheldoutmyhand toher, and ledherdownstairs.She clung to me and her hands were as cold as snow.When I opened theparlordoorIstoodback,andpushedherinbeforeme.

Shejustcried,"Owen!"andshooksothatIputmyarmsabouthertosteadyher.

Owenmadeasteptowardsher,hisfaceandeyesallaflamewithhisloveandlonging,butMarkbarredhisway.

"Waittillshehasmadeherchoice,"hesaid,andthenheturnedtoPhillippa.Icouldn'tseemydearie'sface,butIcouldseeMark's,andtherewasn'tasparkoffeelinginit.BehinditwasIsabella's,allpinchedandgray.

"Phillippa," saidMark, "Owen Blair has come back. He says he has neverforgottenyou,andthathewrotetoyouseveraltimes.Ihavetoldhimthatyouhavepromisedme,butI leaveyoufreedomofchoice.Whichofuswillyoumarry,Phillippa?"

Mydeariestoodstraightupandthetremblinglefther.Shesteppedback,andIcouldseeherface,whiteasthedead,butcalmandresolved.

"Ihavepromisedtomarryyou,Mark,andIwillkeepmyword,"shesaid.

ThecolorcamebacktoIsabellaClark'sface;butMark'sdidnotchange.

"Phillippa," said Owen, and the pain in his voice made my old heart achebittererthanever,"haveyouceasedtoloveme?"

Mydeariewouldhavebeenmorethanhuman,ifshecouldhaveresistedthepleadinginhistone.Shesaidnoword,butjustlookedathimforamoment.Weallsawthelook;herwholesoul,fullofloveforOwen,showedoutinit.ThensheturnedandstoodbyMark.

Owenneversaidaword.Hewentaswhiteasdeath,andstartedforthedoor.ButagainMarkFosterputhimselfintheway.

"Wait,"hesaid."Shehasmadeherchoice,asIknewshewould;butIhaveyetto make mine. And I choose to marry no woman whose love belongs toanotherlivingman.Phillippa,IthoughtOwenBlairwasdead,andIbelievedthat,whenyouweremywife,Icouldwinyourlove.ButIloveyoutoowelltomakeyoumiserable.Gotothemanyoulove—youarefree!"

"Andwhatistobecomeofme?"wailedIsabella.

"Oh, you!—I had forgotten about you," saidMark, kind of weary-like. Hetook a paper from his pocket, and dropped it in the grate. "There is themortgage.Thatisallyoucareabout,Ithink.Good-morning."

He went out. He was only a common fellow, but, somehow, just then helooked every inch the gentleman. I would have gone after him and saidsomethingbut—the lookonhis face—no, itwasno time formyfoolisholdwords!

Phillippawascrying,withherheadonOwen'sshoulder.IsabellaClarkwaited

toseethemortgageburnedup,andthenshecametomeinthehall,allsmoothandsmilingagain.

"Really, it'sallvery romantic, isn't it? I suppose it'sbetteras it is,all thingsconsidered.Markbehaved splendidly, didn't he?Notmanymenwouldhavedoneashedid."

Foronce inmy life Iagreedwith Isabella.But I felt likehavingagoodcryoveritall—andIhadit.Iwasgladformydearie'ssakeandOwen's;butMarkFoster had paid the price of their joy, and I knew it had beggared him ofhappinessforlife.

XIV. TANNISOFTHEFLATS

FewpeopleinAvonleacouldunderstandwhyElinorBlairhadnevermarried.ShehadbeenoneofthemostbeautifulgirlsinourpartoftheIslandand,asawomanoffifty,shewasstillveryattractive.Inheryouthshehadhadeversomanybeaux,asweofourgenerationwell remembered;but,afterher returnfromvisitingherbrotherTomintheCanadianNorthwest,morethantwenty-fiveyearsago,shehadseemedtowithdrawwithinherself,keepingallmenatasafe,thoughfriendly,distance.Shehadbeenagay,laughinggirlwhenshewentWest;shecamebackquietandserious,withashadowedlookinhereyeswhichtimecouldnotquitesucceedinblottingout.

Elinorhadnever talkedmuchabouthervisit, except todescribe thesceneryand the life,which in thatdaywas rough indeed.Not even tome,whohadgrownupnextdoor toherandwhohadalwaysseemedmoreasister thanafriend,didshespeakofotherthanthemerestcommonplaces.ButwhenTomBlairmade a flying tripbackhome, some tenyears later, therewereoneortwoofus towhomhe related the storyof JeromeCarey,—astory revealingonly too well the reason for Elinor's sad eyes and utter indifference tomasculineattentions.Icanrecallalmosthisexactwordsandtheinflectionsofhisvoice,andIremember,too,thatitseemedtomeafarcryfromthetranquil,pleasantscenebeforeus,on that lovelysummerday, to theelemental lifeoftheFlats.

The Flatswas a forlorn little trading station fifteenmiles up the river fromPrinceAlbert,with a scanty population of half-breeds and threewhitemen.WhenJeromeCareywassent totakechargeof thetelegraphofficethere,hecursedhisfateinthepicturesquelanguagepermissibleinthefarNorthwest.

Not thatCareywasaprofaneman, evenasmengo in theWest.HewasanEnglishgentleman,andhekeptbothhislifeandhisvocabularyprettyclean.But—theFlats!

Outsideof theraggedclusterof logshacks,whichcomprised thesettlement,therewasalwaysa shifting fringeof teepeeswhere the Indians,whodrifteddownfromtheReservation,campedwiththeirdogsandsquawsandpapooses.Therearestandpoints fromwhichIndiansare interesting,but theycannotbesaidtooffercongenialsocialattractions.ForthreeweeksafterCareywenttotheFlatshewaslonelierthanhehadeverimagineditpossibletobe,eveninthe Great Lone Land. If it had not been for teaching Paul Dumont thetelegraphiccode,Careybelievedhewouldhavebeendriventosuicideinself-defense.

The telegraphic importance of the Flats consisted in the fact that itwas thestarting point of three telegraph lines to remote trading posts upNorth.Notmany messages came therefrom, but the few that did come generallyamountedtosomethingworthwhile.DaysandevenweekswouldpasswithoutasingleonebeingclickedtotheFlats.CareywasdebarredfromtalkingoverthewirestothePrinceAlbertmanforthereasonthattheywereonofficiallybadterms.HeblamedthelatterforhistransfertotheFlats.

Careysleptinaloftovertheoffice,andgothismealsatJoeEsquint's,acrossthe "street." Joe Esquint's wife was a good cook, as cooks go among thebreeds, and Carey soon became a great pet of hers. Carey had a habit ofbecomingapetwithwomen.Hehadthe"way"thathastobeborninamanandcanneverbeacquired.Besides,hewasashandsomeasclean-cutfeatures,deep-set, dark-blue eyes, fair curls and six feet ofmuscle couldmake him.Mrs. Joe Esquint thought that his mustache was the most wonderfullybeautifulthing,initsline,thatshehadeverseen.

Fortunately,Mrs.Joewassooldandfatanduglythateventhemaliciousandinveterategossipof skulkingbreedsand Indians, squattingover teepee fires,couldnothintatanythingquestionableintherelationsbetweenherandCarey.ButitwasadifferentmatterwithTannisDumont.

Tannis came home from the academy at Prince Albert early in July, whenCareyhadbeenattheFlatsamonthandhadexhaustedallthefewnoveltiesofhisposition.PaulDumonthadalreadybecomesoexpertat thecode thathismistakes no longer afforded Carey any fun, and the latter was gettingdesperate.He had serious intentions of throwing up the business altogether,andbetakinghimself toanAlbertaranch,whereat leastonewouldhavetheexcitement of roping horses. When he saw Tannis Dumont he thought hewouldhangonawhilelonger,anyway.

TanniswasthedaughterofoldAugusteDumont,whokepttheonesmallstoreat the Flats, lived in the one frame house that the place boasted, and wasreputed to be worth an amount of money which, in half-breed eyes, was acolossal fortune. Old Auguste was black and ugly and notoriously bad-tempered.ButTanniswasabeauty.

Tannis' great-grandmother had been a Cree squaw who married a Frenchtrapper. The son of this union became in due time the father of AugusteDumont.Augustemarried awomanwhosemotherwas a French half-breedand whose father was a pure-bred Highland Scotchman. The result of thisatrociousmixturewasitsjustification—TannisoftheFlats—wholookedasifallthebloodofalltheHowardsmightberunninginherveins.

But,afterall, thedominantcurrentinthosesameveinswasfromtheraceofplain and prairie. The practiced eye detected it in the slender stateliness ofcarriage, in the graceful, yet voluptuous, curves of the lithe body, in thesmallnessanddelicacyofhandandfoot,inthepurplesheenonstraight-fallingmassesofblue-blackhair,and,more thanallelse, in the long,darkeye, fulland soft, yet alightwith a slumbering fire. France, too,was responsible forsomewhatinTannis.Itgaveheralightstepinplaceofthestealthyhalf-breedshuffle,itarchedherredupperlipintoamoretremulousbow,itlentanoteoflaughtertohervoiceandasprightlierwittohertongue.Asforherred-headedScotchgrandfather,hehadbequeathedherasomewhatwhiterskinandruddierbloomthanisusuallyfoundinthebreeds.

Old Auguste was mightily proud of Tannis. He sent her to school for fouryearsinPrinceAlbert,boundthathisgirlshouldhavethebest.AHighSchoolcourse and considerable mingling in the social life of the town—for oldAugustewasamantobeconciliatedbyastutepoliticians,sincehecontrolledsome two or three hundred half-breed votes—sentTannis home to theFlatswith a very thin, but very deceptive, veneer of culture and civilizationoverlyingtheprimitivepassionsandideasofhernature.

Careysawonly thebeautyand theveneer.Hemade themistakeof thinkingthat Tannis was what she seemed to be—a fairly well-educated, up-to-dateyoungwomanwithwhomafriendlyflirtationwasjustwhatitwaswithwhitewomankind—thepleasantamusementofanhourorseason.Itwasamistake—averybigmistake.Tannisunderstoodsomethingofpianoplaying,somethingless of grammar andLatin, and something less still of social prevarications.But she understood absolutely nothing of flirtation. You can never get anIndiantoseethesenseofPlatonics.

CareyfoundtheFlatsquitetolerableafterthehomecomingofTannis.Hesoonfell into the habit of dropping into theDumont house to spend the evening,

talkingwithTannisintheparlor—whichapartmentwasamazinglywelldonefor aplace like theFlats—Tannishadnot studiedPrinceAlbertparlors fouryears for nothing—or playing violin and piano duetswith her.Whenmusicandconversationpalled,theywentforlonggallopsovertheprairiestogether.Tannisrodetoperfection,andmanagedherbad-temperedbruteofaponywithaskillandgracethatmadeCareyapplaudher.Shewasgloriousonhorseback.

Sometimes he grew tired of the prairies and then he and Tannis paddledthemselvesovertheriverinNitchieJoe'sdug-out,andlandedontheoldtrailthat struckstraight into thewoodedbeltof theSaskatchewanvalley, leadingnorthtotradingpostsonthefrontierofcivilization.Theretheyrambledunderhugepines,hoarywiththeageofcenturies,andCareytalkedtoTannisaboutEngland andquotedpoetry toher.Tannis likedpoetry; shehad studied it atschool,andunderstooditfairlywell.ButonceshetoldCareythatshethoughtitalong,round-aboutwayofsayingwhatyoucouldsayjustaswellinaboutadozenplainwords.Careylaughed.Helikedtoevokethoselittlespeechesofhers.Theysoundedveryclever,droppingfromsucharched,ripely-tintedlips.

IfyouhadtoldCareythathewasplayingwithfirehewouldhavelaughedatyou.InthefirstplacehewasnotintheslightestdegreeinlovewithTannis—hemerelyadmiredandlikedher.Inthesecondplace,itneveroccurredtohimthatTannismightbeinlovewithhim.Why,hehadneverattemptedanylove-makingwith her!And, above all, hewas obsessedwith that aforesaid fatalidea that Tannis was like the women he had associated with all his life, inreality as well as in appearance. He did not know enough of the racialcharacteristicstounderstand.

But, if Carey thought his relationship with Tannis was that of friendshipmerely,hewastheonlyoneattheFlatswhodidthinkso.Allthehalf-breedsandquarter-breeds andany-fractionalbreeds therebelieved thathemeant tomarryTannis.Therewouldhavebeennothingsurprisingtotheminthat.Theydidnotknow thatCarey's secondcousinwasabaronet, and theywouldnothaveunderstood that itneedmakeanydifference, if theyhad.They thoughtthatricholdAuguste'sheiress,whohadbeentoschoolforfouryearsinPrinceAlbert,wasacatchforanybody.

Old Auguste himself shrugged his shoulders over it and was well-pleasedenough.AnEnglishmanwasaprizebywayofahusbandforahalf-breedgirl,even if hewere only a telegraph operator.Young PaulDumontworshippedCarey,andthehalf-Scotchmother,whomighthaveunderstood,wasdead.Inall the Flats therewere but two peoplewho disapproved of thematch theythoughtanassuredthing.Oneofthesewasthelittlepriest,FatherGabriel.HelikedTannis, andhe likedCarey; but he shookhis headdubiouslywhenheheard the gossip of the shacks and teepees.Religionsmightmingle, but the

differentbloods—ah,itwasnottherightthing!Tanniswasagoodgirl,andabeautifulone;butshewasnofitmateforthefair,thorough-bredEnglishman.FatherGabrielwishedferventlythatJeromeCareymightsoonbetransferredelsewhere.HeevenwenttoPrinceAlbertanddidalittlewire-pullingonhisownaccount,butnothingcameofit.Hewasonthewrongsideofpolitics.

The other malcontent was Lazarre Mérimée, a lazy, besotted French half-breed,whowas, afterhis fashion, in lovewithTannis.Hecouldneverhavegot her, and he knew it—old Auguste and young Paul would haveincontinently riddled him with bullets had he ventured near the house as asuitor,—buthehatedCareynonetheless,andwatchedforachancetodohimanill-turn.Thereisnoworseenemyinall theworldthanahalf-breed.YourtrueIndianisbadenough,buthisdiluteddescendantistentimesworse.

AsforTannis,shelovedCareywithallherheart,andthatwasall therewasaboutit.

IfElinorBlairhadnevergonetoPrinceAlbertthereisnoknowingwhatmighthavehappened,afterall.Carey,sopowerfulinpropinquity,mightevenhaveended by learning to love Tannis and marrying her, to his own worldlyundoing.ButElinordidgotoPrinceAlbert,andhergoingendedallthingsforTannisoftheFlats.

Careymet her one evening in September,when he had ridden into town toattendadance,leavingPaulDumontinchargeofthetelegraphoffice.Elinorhad just arrived in PrinceAlbert on a visit to Tom, towhich she had beenlooking forward during the five years since he hadmarried andmoved outWestfromAvonlea.AsIhavealreadysaid,shewasverybeautifulatthattime,andCareyfellinlovewithheratthefirstmomentoftheirmeeting.

During the next three weeks he went to town nine times and called at theDumonts'onlyonce.Therewerenomore ridesandwalkswithTannis.Thiswasnotintentionalneglectonhispart.Hehadsimplyforgottenallabouther.The breeds surmised a lover's quarrel, but Tannis understood. There wasanotherwomanbackthereintown.

Itwouldbequiteimpossibletoputonpaperanyadequateideaofheremotionsat this stage.Onenight, she followedCareywhenhewent toPrinceAlbert,ridingoutofearshot,behindhimonherplainspony,butkeepinghiminsight.Lazarre, in a fit of jealousy, had followed Tannis, spying on her until shestarted back to the Flats. After that he watched both Carey and Tannisincessantly,andmonthslaterhadtoldTomallhehadlearnedthroughhislowsneaking.

TannistrailedCareytotheBlairhouse,onthebluffsabovethetown,andsaw

him tie his horse at the gate and enter. She, too, tied her pony to a poplar,lower down, and then crept stealthily through thewillows at the side of thehouseuntilshewasclosetothewindows.ThroughoneofthemshecouldseeCareyandElinor.Thehalf-breedgirlcroucheddownintheshadowandglaredather rival.She saw thepretty, fair-tinted face, the fluffy coronalofgoldenhair,theblue,laughingeyesofthewomanwhomJeromeCareyloved,andsherealizedveryplainlythattherewasnothinglefttohopefor.She,TannisoftheFlats, couldnevercompetewith thatother. Itwaswell toknowsomuch,atleast.

After a time, she crept softly away, loosed her pony, and lashed himmercilesslywith herwhip through the streets of the town and out the long,dustyrivertrail.AmanturnedandlookedafterherasshetorepastabrightlylightedstoreonWaterStreet.

"ThatwasTannisoftheFlats,"hesaidtoacompanion."Shewasintownlastwinter,going toschool—abeautyandabitof thedevil, likeall thosebreedgirls.Whatinthunderissheridinglikethatfor?"

Oneday,afortnightlater,Careywentovertheriveraloneforarambleupthenortherntrail,andanundisturbeddreamofElinor.WhenhecamebackTanniswasstandingatthecanoelanding,underapinetree,inarainoffinelysiftedsunlight.Shewaswaitingforhimandshesaid,withoutanypreface:

"Mr.Carey,whydoyounevercometoseeme,now?"

Carey flushed like any girl. Her tone and look made him feel veryuncomfortable.Heremembered,self-reproachfully,thathemusthaveseemedveryneglectful,andhestammeredsomethingabouthavingbeenbusy.

"Notverybusy,"saidTannis,withherterribledirectness."It isnot that.It isbecauseyouaregoingtoPrinceAlberttoseeawhitewoman!"

EveninhisembarrassmentCareynotedthatthiswasthefirsttimehehadeverheardTannis use the expression, "awhitewoman," or any other thatwouldindicatehersenseofadifferencebetweenherselfandthedominantrace.Heunderstood,atthesamemoment,thatthisgirlwasnottobetrifledwith—thatshewould have the truth out of him, first or last. But he felt indescribablyfoolish.

"Isupposeso,"heansweredlamely.

"Andwhataboutme?"askedTannis.

Whenyoucometo thinkof it, thiswasanembarrassingquestion,especiallyforCarey,whohadbelievedthatTannisunderstoodthegame,andplayeditfor

itsownsake,ashedid.

"Idon'tunderstandyou,Tannis,"hesaidhurriedly.

"Youhavemademeloveyou,"saidTannis.

Thewords sound flat enough on paper. They did not sound flat to Tom, asrepeated byLazarre, and they sounded anything but flat toCarey, hurled athimas theywerebyawoman tremblingwithall thepassionsofher savageancestry. Tannis had justified her criticism of poetry. She had said her half-dozenwords,instinctwithallthedespairandpainandwildappealthatallthepoetryintheworldhadeverexpressed.

TheymadeCareyfeellikeascoundrel.AllatonceherealizedhowimpossibleitwouldbetoexplainmatterstoTannis,andthathewouldmakeastillbiggerfoolofhimself,ifhetried.

"Iamverysorry,"hestammered,likeawhippedschoolboy.

"It isnomatter," interruptedTannisviolently."Whatdifferencedoes itmakeaboutme—ahalf-breedgirl?Webreedgirlsareonlyborntoamusethewhitemen.Thatisso—isitnot?Then,whentheyaretiredofus,theypushusasideandgobacktotheirownkind.Oh,itisverywell.ButIwillnotforget—myfatherandbrotherwillnotforget.Theywillmakeyousorrytosomepurpose!"

Sheturned,andstalkedawaytohercanoe.Hewaitedunderthepinesuntilshecrossed the river; then he, too, went miserably home.What a mess he hadcontrivedtomakeof things!PoorTannis!Howhandsomeshehadlookedinher fury—and howmuch like a squaw! The racial marks always come outplainlyunderthestressofemotion,asTomnotedlater.

Her threat did not disturb him. If youngPaul and oldAugustemade thingsunpleasantforhim,hethoughthimselfmorethanamatchforthem.ItwasthethoughtofthesufferinghehadbroughtuponTannisthatworriedhim.Hehadnot,tobesure,beenavillain;buthehadbeenafool,andthatisalmostasbad,undersomecircumstances.

TheDumonts, however, didnot trouble him.After all,Tannis' four years inPrinceAlberthadnotbeenaltogetherwasted.Sheknew thatwhitegirlsdidnotmix theirmale relatives up in a vendettawhen aman ceased callingonthem—and she had nothing else to complain of that could be put inwords.After some reflection she concluded to hold her tongue. She even laughedwhenoldAugusteaskedherwhatwasupbetweenherandherfellow,andsaidshehadgrowntiredofhim.OldAugusteshruggedhisshouldersresignedly.Itwas just as well, maybe. Those English sons-in-law sometimes gave

themselvestoomanyairs.

So Carey rode often to town and Tannis bided her time, and plotted futileschemesof revenge, andLazarreMérimée scowled andgot drunk—and lifewentonattheFlatsasusual,untilthelastweekinOctober,whenabigwindandrainstormsweptoverthenorthland.

Itwasabadnight.ThewiresweredownbetweentheFlatsandPrinceAlbertand all communication with the outside world was cut off. Over at JoeEsquint's the breedswere having a carouse in honor of Joe's birthday. PaulDumonthadgoneover,andCareywasaloneintheoffice,smokinglazilyanddreamingofElinor.

Suddenly,abovetheplashofrainandwhistleofwind,heheardoutcriesinthestreet.RunningtothedoorhewasmetbyMrs.JoeEsquint,whograspedhimbreathlessly.

"MeestairCarey—comequick!Lazarre,hekillPaul—theyfight!"

Carey,withasmotheredoath,rushedacrossthestreet.Hehadbeenafraidofsomething of the sort, and had advised Paul not to go, for those half-breedcarousesalmostalwaysendedinafreefight.HeburstintothekitchenatJoeEsquint's,tofindacircleofmutespectatorsrangedaroundtheroomandPaulandLazarreinaclinchinthecenter.Careywasrelievedtofinditwasonlyanaffairoffists.HepromptlyhurledhimselfatthecombatantsanddraggedPaulaway,whileMrs. Joe Esquint—Joe himself being dead-drunk in a corner—flungherfatarmsaboutLazarreandheldhimback.

"Stopthis,"saidCareysternly.

"Letmegetathim,"foamedPaul."Heinsultedmysister.Hesaidthatyou—letmegetathim!"

Hecouldnotwrithe free fromCarey's irongrip.Lazarre,witha snarl likeawolf,sentMrs.Joespinning,andrushedatPaul.Careystruckoutasbesthecould, and Lazarrewent reeling back against the table. It went overwith acrashandthelightwentout!

Mrs. Joe's shrieksmight have brought the roof down. In the confusion thatensued, twopistol shots rangout sharply.Therewasacry,agroan,a fall—thenarushforthedoor.WhenMrs.JoeEsquint'ssister-in-law,Marie,dashedinwithanotherlamp,Mrs.Joewasstillshrieking,PaulDumontwasleaningsicklyagainstthewallwithadanglingarm,andCareylayfacedownwardonthefloor,withbloodtricklingfromunderhim.

MarieEsquintwasawomanofnerve.ShetoldMrs.Joe toshutup,andshe

turnedCareyover.Hewas conscious, but seemeddazed and couldnot helphimself.Marieputacoatunderhishead,toldPaultoliedownonthebench,orderedMrs.Joetogetabedready,andwentforthedoctor.IthappenedthattherewasadoctorattheFlatsthatnight—aPrinceAlbertmanwhohadbeenupattheReservation,fixingupsomesickIndians,andhadbeenstormstaidatoldAuguste'sonhiswayback.

Marie soon returned with the doctor, old Auguste, and Tannis. Carey wascarried in and laid on Mrs. Esquint's bed. The doctor made a briefexamination, whileMrs. Joe sat on the floor and howled at the top of herlungs.Thenheshookhishead.

"Shotintheback,"hesaidbriefly.

"Howlong?"askedCarey,understanding.

"Perhapstillmorning,"answeredthedoctor.Mrs.Joegavealouderhowlthaneveratthis,andTanniscameandstoodbythebed.Thedoctor,knowingthathecoulddonothingforCarey,hurriedintothekitchentoattendtoPaul,whohadabadlyshatteredarm,andMariewentwithhim.

CareylookedstupidlyatTannis.

"Sendforher,"hesaid.

Tannissmiledcruelly.

"Thereisnoway.Thewiresaredown,andthereisnomanattheFlatswhowillgototownto-night,"sheanswered.

"MyGod,IMUSTseeherbeforeIdie,"burstoutCareypleadingly."WhereisFatherGabriel?HEwillgo."

"Thepriestwenttotownlastnightandhasnotcomeback,"saidTannis.

Careygroanedandshuthiseyes.IfFatherGabrielwasaway,therewasindeednoonetogo.OldAugusteandthedoctorcouldnot leavePaulandheknewwellthatnobreedofthemallattheFlatswouldturnoutonsuchanight,eveniftheywerenot,oneandall,mortallyscaredofbeingmixedupinthelawandjustice that would be sure to follow the affair. Hemust die without seeingElinor.

Tannis looked inscrutablydownon thepale faceonMrs. JoeEsquint'sdirtypillows.Herimmobilefeaturesgavenosignoftheconflictragingwithinher.After a short space she turned andwent out, shutting thedoor softly on the

woundedmanandMrs.Joe,whosehowlshadnowsimmereddowntowhines.Inthenextroom,Paulwascryingoutwithpainasthedoctorworkedonhisarm,butTannisdidnotgotohim.Instead,sheslippedoutandhurrieddownthestormystreettooldAuguste'sstable.Fiveminuteslatershewasgallopingdown theblack,wind-lashed river trail, onherway to town, tobringElinorBlairtoherlover'sdeathbed.

I hold that no woman ever did anything more unselfish than this deed ofTannis!Forthesakeoflovesheputunderherfeetthejealousyandhatredthathadclamoredatherheart.Sheheld,notonly revenge,but thedearer joyofwatching byCarey to the last, in the hollowof her hand, and she cast bothawaythatthemanshelovedmightdrawhisdyingbreathsomewhateasier.Inawhitewomanthedeedwouldhavebeenmerelycommendable.InTannisoftheFlats,withherancestryandtradition,itwasloftyself-sacrifice.

Itwaseighto'clockwhenTannislefttheFlats;itwastenwhenshedrewbridlebefore the house on the bluff. Elinor was regaling Tom and his wife withAvonleagossipwhenthemaidcametothedoor.

"Pleas'm, there's a breed girl out on the verandah and she's asking forMissBlair."

Elinorwentoutwonderingly, followedbyTom.Tannis,whip inhand, stoodbytheopendoor,withthestormynightbehindher,andthewarmrubylightofthehalllampshoweringoverherwhitefaceandthelongropeofdrenchedhairthatfellfromherbarehead.Shelookedwildenough.

"JeromeCareywasshotinaquarrelatJoeEsquint'sto-night,"shesaid."Heisdying—hewantsyou—Ihavecomeforyou."

Elinorgavea littlecry,andsteadiedherselfonTom'sshoulder.Tomsaidheknewhemadesomeexclamationofhorror.HehadneverapprovedofCarey'sattentions to Elinor, but such news was enough to shock anybody. He wasdetermined,however,thatElinorshouldnotgooutinsuchanightandtosuchascene,andtoldTannissoinnouncertainterms.

"Icame through thestorm,"saidTannis,contemptuously."CannotshedoasmuchforhimasIcan?"

Thegood,oldIslandbloodinElinor'sveinsshowedtosomepurpose."Yes,"sheansweredfirmly."No,Tom,don'tobject—Imustgo.Getmyhorse—andyourown."

Tenminuteslaterthreeridersgallopeddownthebluffroadandtooktherivertrail.Fortunatelythewindwasat theirbacksandtheworstof thestormwas

over.Still,itwasawild,blackrideenough.Tomrode,cursingsoftlyunderhisbreath. He did not like thewhole thing—Carey done to death in some lowhalf-breed shack, this handsome, sullen girl coming as his messenger, thisnightmareride,throughwindandrain.Itallsavoredtoomuchofmelodrama,even for theNorthland,wherepeople stilldid things inaprimitiveway.HeheartilywishedElinorhadneverleftAvonlea.

ItwaspasttwelvewhentheyreachedtheFlats.Tanniswastheonlyonewhoseemedtobeabletothinkcoherently.ItwasshewhotoldTomwheretotakethehorsesandthenledElinortotheroomwhereCareywasdying.ThedoctorwassittingbythebedsideandMrs.Joewascurledupinacorner,snifflingtoherself.Tannistookherbytheshoulderandturnedher,nonetoogently,outoftheroom.Thedoctor,understanding,leftatonce.AsTannisshutthedoorshesawElinorsinkonherkneesbythebed,andCarey'stremblinghandgoouttoherhead.

TannissatdownontheflooroutsideofthedoorandwrappedherselfupinashawlMarieEsquint had dropped. In that attitude she looked exactly like asquaw,andallcomersandgoers,evenoldAuguste,whowashuntingforher,thoughtshewasone,andleftherundisturbed.ShewatchedthereuntildawncamewhitelyupovertheprairiesandJeromeCareydied.SheknewwhenithappenedbyElinor'scry.

Tannissprangupandrushedin.Shewastoolateforevenapartinglook.

ThegirltookCarey'shandinhers,andturnedtotheweepingElinorwithacolddignity.

"Nowgo,"shesaid."Youhadhiminlifetotheverylast.Heisminenow."

"Theremustbesomearrangementsmade,"falteredElinor.

"My father and brotherwillmake all arrangements, as you call them," saidTannissteadily."Hehadnonearrelativesintheworld—noneatallinCanada—he toldme so.Youmay sendout aProtestantminister from town, if youlike; but hewill beburiedhere at theFlats andhis gravewill bemine—allmine!Go!"

AndElinor,reluctant,sorrowful,yetswayedbyawillandanemotionstrongerthanherown,wentslowlyout,leavingTannisoftheFlatsalonewithherdead.

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