Sanctuary

ByEdithWharton

SanctuaryPARTI

Itisnotoftenthatyouthallowsitselftofeelundividedlyhappy:thesensationis toomuch the resultof selectionandelimination tobewithin reachof theawakening clutch on life. But Kate Orme, for once, had yielded herself tohappiness; letting it permeate every faculty as a spring rain soaks into agerminatingmeadow.Therewasnothing toaccount for this suddensenseofbeatitude; but was it not this precisely which made it so irresistible, sooverwhelming? There had been, within the last two monthssince herengagementtoDenisPeytonnodistinctadditiontothesumofherhappiness,andnopossibility, shewouldhaveaffirmed,ofaddingperceptibly toa totalalready incalculable. Inwardly andoutwardly the conditionsofher lifewereunchanged;butwhereas, before, the air hadbeen full of flittingwings, nowtheyseemedtopauseoverherandshecouldtrustherselftotheirshelter.

Many influences had combined to build up the centre of brooding peace inwhichshefoundherself.Hernatureansweredto thefinestvibrations,andatfirst her joy in loving had been too great not to bring with it a certainconfusion, a readjustingof thewhole sceneryof life.She foundherself in anewcountry,whereinhewhohadledhertherewasleastabletobeherguide.Thereweremomentswhen she felt that the first stranger in the street couldhave interpreted her happiness for hermore easily thanDenis.Then, as hereye adapted itself, as the lines flowed into each other, opening deep vistas

upon new horizons, she began to enter into possession of her kingdom, toentertaintheactualsenseofitsbelongingtoher.Butshehadneverbeforefeltthat she also belonged to it; and this was the feeling which now came tocompleteherhappiness,togiveitthehallowingsenseofpermanence.

Sherosefromthewriting-tablewhere, list inhand,shehadbeengoingoverthe wedding-invitations, and walked toward the drawing-room window.Everything about her seemed to contribute to that rare harmony of feelingwhich levied a tax on every sense. The large coolness of the room, its finetraditionalairofspacious living, itsoutlookoverfieldandwoodlandtowardthelakelyingunderthesilverbloomofSeptember;theveryscentofthelatevioletsinaglassonthewriting-table;therosy-mauvemassesofhydrangeaintubsalongtheterrace;thefall,nowandthen,ofaleafthroughthestillairall,somehow, were mingled in the suffusion of well-being that yet made themseembutsomuchdrossuponitscurrent.

Thegirl'ssmileprolongeditselfatthesightofafigureapproachingfromthelowerslopesabovethelake.ThepathwasashortcutfromthePeytonplace,andshehadknownthatDeniswouldappearinitataboutthathour.Hersmile,however,wasprolongednotsomuchbyhisapproachasbyhersenseof theimpossibilityofcommunicatinghermoodtohim.Thefeelingdidnotdisturbher.Shecouldnot imaginesharingherdeepestmoodswithanyone,andtheworldinwhichshelivedwithDeniswastoobrightandspacioustoadmitofany sense of constraint. Her smile was in truth a tribute to that clear-eyeddirectnessofhiswhichwassooftenarefugefromherowncomplexities.

Denis Peyton was used to being met with a smile. He might have beenpardonedforthinkingsmilesthehabitualwearofthehumancountenance;andhisestimateoflifeandofhimselfwasnecessarilytingedbythecordialtermsonwhichtheyhadalwaysmeteachother.Hehadinfactfoundlife,fromthestart, an uncommonly agreeable business, culminating fitly enough in hisengagementtotheonlygirlhehadeverwishedtomarry,andtheinheritance,from his unhappy step-brother, of a fortune which agreeably widened hishorizon.Suchacombinationofcircumstancesmightwelljustifyayoungmanin thinkinghimselfof someaccount in theuniverse;and it seemed the finaltouch of fitness that the mourning which Denis still wore for poor Arthurshouldlendanewdistinctiontohissomewhatfloridgoodlooks.

Kate Orme was not without an amused perception of her future husband'spointofview;butshecouldenterintoitwiththetolerancewhichallowsfortheinconscientelementinallourjudgments.Therewas,forinstance,noonemore sentimentally humane thanDenis'smother, the secondMrs. Peyton, ascented silvery person whose lavender silks and neutral-tinted mannerexpressedamindwithitsblindsdrawndowntowardalltheunpleasantnessof

life;yetitwasclearthatMrs.Peytonsawa"dispensation"inthefactthatherstep-sonhadnevermarried,andthathisdeathhadenabledDenis,attherightmoment, to step gracefully into affluence. Was it not, after all, a sign ofhealthy-mindedness to take the gifts of the gods in this religious spirit,discoveringfreshevidenceof"design"inwhathadonceseemedthesadfactofArthur'sinaccessibilitytocorrection?Mrs.Peyton,beautifullyconsciousofhavingdoneher"best"forArthur,wouldhavethoughtitunchristiantorepineattheprovidentialfailureofherefforts.Denis'sdeductionswere,ofcourse,alittle lessdirect thanhismother's.Hehad,besides,beenfondofArthur,andhis efforts to keep the poor fellow straight had been less didactic andmorespontaneous.Theirresultreaditself,ifnotinanychangeinArthur'scharacter,at least in the revised wording of his will; and Denis's moral sense waspleasantlyfortifiedbythediscoverythatitverysubstantiallypaidtobeagoodfellow.

The senseof general providentialnessonwhichMrs.Peyton reposedhad infact been confirmed by events which reduced Denis's mourning to a meretribute of respectsince it would have been a mockery to deplore thedisappearanceofanyonewhohadleftbehindhimsuchanunsavorywakeaspoorArthur.Katedidnotquiteknowwhathadhappened:her fatherwasasfirmly convinced asMrs. Peyton that younggirls should not be admitted toany open discussion of life. She could only gather, from the silences andevasionsamidwhich shemoved, that awomanhad turnedupawomanwhowasofcourse"dreadful,"andwhosedreadfulnessappearedtoincludeasortofshadowy claim upon Arthur. But the claim, whatever it was, had beenpromptlydiscredited.Thewholequestionhadvanishedand thewomanwithit. The blinds were drawn again on the ugly side of things, and life wasresumedon theusual assumption that no such side existed.Kateknewonlythatadarknesshadcrossedherskyandleftitasuncloudedasbefore.

Was it, perhaps, she now asked herself, the very lifting of the cloudremote,unthreatening as it hadbeenwhichgave suchnew serenity toherheaven? Itwas horrible to think that one's deepest security was a mere sense ofescapethat happiness was no more than a reprieve. The perversity of suchideas was emphasized by Peyton's approach. He had the gift of restoringthings to their normal relations, of carrying one over the chasms of lifethrough the closed tunnel of an incurious cheerfulness.All thatwas restlessandquestioning in thegirl subsided inhis presence, and shewas content totakeher loveasagiftofgrace,whichbegan justwhere theofficeof reasonended. Shewasmore than ever, to-day, in thismood of charmed surrender.Morethaneverheseemedthekeynoteoftheaccordbetweenherselfandlife,thecentreofadelightfulcomplicity ineverysurroundingcircumstance.Onecouldnotlookathimwithoutseeingthattherewasalwaysafairwindinhis

sails.

It was carrying him toward her, as usual, at a quick confident pace, whichneverthelesslaggedalittle,shenoticed,asheemergedfromthebeech-groveandstruckacrossthelawn.Hewalkedasthoughheweretired.Shehadmeanttowaitforhimontheterrace,heldincheckbyherusualinclinationtolingeron the thresholdof her pleasures; but now somethingdrewher towardhim,andshewentquicklydownthestepsandacrossthelawn.

"Denis,youlooktired.Iwasafraidsomethinghadhappened."

She had slipped her hand through his arm, and as theymoved forward sheglancedupathim,strucknotsomuchbyanynewlookinhisfaceasbythefactthatherapproachhadmadenochangeinit.

"Iamrathertired.Isyourfatherin?"

"Papa?" She looked up in surprise. "Hewent to town yesterday. Don't youremember?"

"OfcourseI'd forgotten.You'realone, then?"Shedroppedhisarmandstoodbeforehim.Hewasverypalenow,withthefurrowedlookofextremephysicalweariness.

"Denisareyouill?Hasanythinghappened?"

Heforcedasmile."Yesbutyouneedn'tlooksofrightened."

Shedrewadeepbreathofreassurance.Hewassafe,afterall!Andallelse,foramoment,seemedtoswingbelowtherimofherworld.

"Yourmother?"shethensaid,withafreshstartoffear.

"It'snotmymother."Theyhadreachedtheterrace,andhemovedtowardthehouse."Letusgoindoors.There'ssuchabeastlyglareouthere."

He seemed to find relief in the cool obscurity of the drawing-room,where,after the brightness of the afternoon light, their faces were almostindistinguishabletoeachother.Shesatdown,andhemovedafewpacesaway.Before the writing-table he paused to look at the neatly sorted heaps ofwedding-cards.

"Theyaretobesentoutto-morrow?"

"Yes."

Heturnedbackandstoodbeforeher.

"It's about thewoman," he began abruptly"thewomanwho pretended to beArthur'swife."

Katestartedasattheclutchofanunacknowledgedfear.

"Shewashiswife,then?"

Peytonmadeanimpatientmovementofnegation."Ifshewas,whydidn'tsheproveit?Shehadn'tashredofevidence.Thecourtsrejectedherappeal."

"Well,then?"

"Well,she'sdead."Hepaused,andthenextwordscamewithdifficulty."Sheandthechild."

"Thechild?Therewasachild?"

"Yes."

Katestartedupandthensankdown.Thesewerenotthingsaboutwhichyounggirlswere told. The confused sense of horror had been nothing to this firstsharpedgeoffact.

"Andbotharedead?"

"Yes."

"Howdoyouknow?MyfathersaidshehadgoneawaygonebacktotheWest"

"Sowethought.Butthismorningwefoundher."

"Foundher?"

Hemotionedtowardthewindow."Outthereinthelake."

"Both?"

"Both."

Shedroopedbeforehimshudderingly,hereyeshidden,as thoughtoexcludethevision."Shehaddrownedherself?"

"Yes."

"Oh,poorthingpoorthing!"

Theypausedawhile,theminutesdelvinganabyssbetweenthemtillhethrewafewirrelevantwordsacrossthesilence.

"Oneofthegardenersfoundthem."

"Poorthing!"

"Itwassufficientlyhorrible."

"Horribleoh!"Shehadswungroundagaintoherpole."PoorDenis!Youwerenotthereyoudidn'thaveto?"

"Ihadtoseeher."Shefelt the instantrelief inhisvoice.Hecould talknow,coulddistendhisnerves in thewarmairofher sympathy. "Ihad to identifyher."He rosenervouslyandbegan topace the room."It'sknocked thewindoutofme.ImyGod!Icouldn'tforeseeit,couldI?"Hehaltedbeforeherwithoutstretchedhandsofargument."IdidallIcouldit'snotmyfault,isit?"

"Yourfault?Denis!"

"She wouldn't take the money" He broke off, checked by her awakenedglance.

"The money? What money?" Her face changed, hardening as his relaxed."Hadyouofferedhermoneytogiveupthecase?"

Hestaredamoment,andthendismissedtheimplicationwithalaugh.

"Nono;afterthecasewasdecidedagainsther.Sheseemedhardup,andIsentHintontoherwithacheque."

"Andsherefusedit?"

"Yes."

"Whatdidshesay?"

"Oh,Idon'tknowtheusualthing.Thatshe'donlywantedtoproveshewashiswifeon the child's account. That she'd neverwanted hismoney.Hinton saidshewasveryquietnotintheleastexcitedbutshesentbackthecheque."

Katesatmotionless,herheadbent,herhandsclaspedaboutherknees.ShenolongerlookedatPeyton.

"Couldtherehavebeenamistake?"sheaskedslowly.

"Amistake?"

Sheraisedherheadnow,andfixedhereyesonhis,withastrangeinsistenceofobservation."Couldtheyhavebeenmarried?"

"Thecourtsdidn'tthinkso."

"Couldthecourtshavebeenmistaken?"

Hestartedupagain,andthrewhimself intoanotherchair."GoodGod,Kate!Wegaveher every chance toproveher casewhydidn't shedo it?Youdon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingaboutsuchthingsarekeptfromgirls.Why,wheneveramanofArthur'skinddies,suchsuchwomenturnup.Therearelawyerswholiveonsuchjobsaskyourfatheraboutit.Ofcourse,thiswomanexpectedtobeboughtoff"

"Butifshewouldn'ttakeyourmoney?"

"Sheexpectedabigsum,Imean,todropthecase.Whenshefoundwemeanttofightit,shesawthegamewasup.Isupposeitwasherlastthrow,andshewasdesperate;wedon'tknowhowmanytimesshemayhavebeenthroughthesamethingbefore.Thatkindofwomanisalwaystryingtomakemoneyoutoftheheirsofanymanwhowhohasbeenaboutwiththem."

Katereceivedthisinsilence.Shehadasenseofwalkingalonganarrowledgeofconsciousnessaboveasheerhallucinatingdepth intowhichshedarednotlook.Butthedepthdrewher,andsheplungedoneterrifiedglanceintoit.

"ButthechildthechildwasArthur's?"

Peyton shrugged his shoulders. "There againhow can we tell?Why, I don'tsupposethewomanherselfIwishtoheavenyourfatherwereheretoexplain!"

She rose and crossed over to him, laying her hands on his shoulderswith agesturealmostmaternal.

"Don'tletustalkofit,"shesaid."Youdidallyoucould.ThinkwhatacomfortyouweretopoorArthur."

He let her hands lie where she had placed them, without response orresistance.

"ItriedItriedhardtokeephimstraight!"

"Weallknowthateveryoneknowsit.Andweknowhowgratefulhewaswhatadifferenceitmadetohimintheend.Itwouldhavebeendreadfultothinkofhisdyingouttherealone."

Shedrewhimdownonasofaandseatedherselfbyhisside.Adeeplassitudewasuponhim,andthehandshehadpossessedherselfoflayinherholdinert.

"It was splendid of you to travel day and night as you did. And then that

dreadfulweekbeforehedied!But foryouhewouldhavediedaloneamongstrangers."

Hesat silent,hisheaddroppingforward,hiseyes fixed."Amongstrangers,"herepeatedabsently.

She lookedup, as if struckby a sudden thought. "That poorwomandidyoueverseeherwhileyouwereoutthere?"

Hedrewhishandawayandgatheredhisbrows togetheras if inaneffortofremembrance.

"Isawheroh,yes,Isawher."Hepushedthetumbledhairfromhisforeheadandstoodup."Letusgoout,"hesaid."Myheadisinafog.Iwanttogetawayfromitall."

Awaveofcompunctiondrewhertoherfeet.

"Itwasmy fault! I oughtnot tohaveasked somanyquestions."She turnedand rang thebell. "I'llorder theponiesweshallhave time foradrivebeforesunset."

II

Withthesunsetintheirfacestheysweptthroughthekeen-scentedautumnairattheswiftestpaceofKate'sponies.ShehadgiventhereinstoPeyton,andhehadturnedthehorses'headsawayfromthelake,risingbywoodyuplandlanesto the high pastures which still held the sunlight. The horses were freshenoughtoclaimhisundividedattention,andhedrove insilence,hissmoothfairprofileturnedtohiscompanion,whosatsilentalso.

KateOrmewasengagedinoneofthoserapidmentalexcursionswhichwereforever sweeping her from the straight path of the actual into unchartedregions of conjecture. Her survey of life had always been marked by thetendencytoseekoutultimaterelations,toextendherresearchestothelimitofherimaginativeexperience.Buthithertoshehadbeenlikesomeyoungcaptivebrought up in a windowless palace whose painted walls she takes for theactualworld.Nowthepalacehadbeenshakentoitsbase,andthroughacleftin the walls she looked out upon life. For the first moment all wasindistinguishable blackness; then she began to detect vague shapes andconfused gestures in the depths. There were people below there, men like

Denis,girlslikeherselfforundertheunlikenessshefeltthestrangeaffinityallstrugglinginthatawfulcoilofmoraldarkness,withagonizedhandsreachingupforrescue.Herheartshrankfromthehorrorofit,andthen,inapassionofpity, drew back to the edge of the abyss. Suddenly her eyes turned towardDenis. His face was grave, but less disturbed. And men knew about thesethings!Theycarriedthisabyss in theirbosoms,andwentaboutsmiling,andsat at the feet of innocence. Could it be that DenisDenis evenAh, no! SherememberedwhathehadbeentopoorArthur;sheunderstood,now,thevagueallusionstowhathehadtriedtodoforhisbrother.HehadseenArthurdownthere,inthatcoilingblackness,andhadleanedoverandtriedtodraghimout.But Arthur was too deep down, and his arms were interlocked with otherarmsthey had dragged each other deeper, poor souls, like drowning peoplewho fight together in the waves! Kate's visualizing habit gave a hatefulprecisionandpersistencytotheimageshehadevokedshecouldnotridherselfofthevisionofanguishedshapesstrivingtogetherinthedarkness.Thehorrorofittookherbythethroatshedrewachokingbreath,andfeltthetearsonherface.

Peyton turned toher.Thehorseswere climbingahill, andhis attentionhadstrayedfromthem.

"This has done me good," he began; but as he looked his voice changed."Kate!Whatisit?Whyareyoucrying?Oh,forGod'ssake,don't!"heended,hishandclosingonherwrist.

Shesteadiedherselfandraisedhereyestohis.

"II couldn't help it," she stammered, struggling in the sudden release of herpent compassion. "It seems so awful that we should stand so close to thishorrorthatitmighthavebeenyouwho"

"Iwhowhatonearthdoyoumean?"hebrokeinstridently.

"Oh,don'tyousee?I foundmyselfexulting thatyouandIweresofar fromitabove itsafe inourselves andeachotherand then theother feelingcamethesenseofselfishness,ofgoingbyontheotherside;andItriedtorealizethatitmight have been you and I whowho were down there in the night and theflood"

Peytonletthewhipfallontheponies'flanks."Uponmysoul,"hesaidwithalaugh,"youmusthaveaniceopinionofbothofus."

Thewordsfellchillinglyontheblazeofherself-immolation.Wouldsheneverlearn to remember that Denis was incapable ofmounting such hypotheticalpyres?Hemightbeasaliveasherselftothedirectdemandsofduty,butofits

imaginative claims he was robustly unconscious. The thought brought awholesomereactionofthankfulness.

"Ah,well,"shesaid,thesunsetdilatingthroughhertears,"don'tyouseethatIcanbeartothinksuchthingsonlybecausethey'reimpossibilities?It'seasytolookover into thedepths if onehas a rampart to leanon.What Imost pitypoorArthurforisthat,insteadofthatwomanlyingthere,sodreadfullydead,theremighthavebeenagirllikeme,soexquisitelyalivebecauseofhim;butitseemscruel,doesn'tit,toletwhathewasnotaddeversolittletothevalueofwhat you are? To let him contribute ever so little to my happiness by thedifferencethereisbetweenyou?"

Shewasconscious,asshespoke,ofstrayingagainbeyondhisreach,throughintricacies of sensation new even to her exploring susceptibilities. A happyliteralnessusually enabledhim to strike a short cut through such labyrinths,and rejoin her smiling on the other side; but now she becamewonderinglyawarethathehadbeencaughtinthethickofherhypothesis.

"It's the difference thatmakes you care forme, then?" he broke out,with akindofviolencewhichseemedtorenewhisclutchonherwrist.

"Thedifference?"

Helashedtheponiesagain,sosharplythatamurmurescapedher,andhedrewthemup,quivering,withaninconsequent"Steady,boys,"atwhichtheirback-laidearsprotested.

"It'sbecauseI'mmoralandrespectable,andallthat,thatyou'refondofme,"he went on; "you'reyou're simply in love with my virtues. You couldn'timaginecaringifIweredownthereintheditch,asyousay,withArthur?"

The question fell on a silence which seemed to deepen suddenly withinherself.Every thoughthungbatedon the sense that somethingwas coming:herwholeconsciousnessbecameavoidtoreceiveit.

"Denis!"shecried.

Heturnedonheralmostsavagely."Idon'twantyourpity,youknow,"heburstout. "You can keep that for Arthur. I had an idea women loved men forthemselvesthrough everything, Imean.But Iwouldn't steal your loveI don'twantitonfalsepretenses,youunderstand.Goandlookintoothermen'slives,that'sallIaskofyou.Islippedintoititwasjustacaseofholdingmytonguewhen I ought to have spokenbut IIfor God's sake, don't sit there staring! Isupposeyou'veseenallalongthatIknewhewasmarriedtothewoman."

III

Thehousekeeper's remindingher thatMr.Ormewould be at home the nextdayfordinner,anddidshethinkhewouldlikethevenisonwithclaretsauceorjelly, rousedKate to the first consciousness of her surroundings.Her fatherwouldreturnonthemorrow:hewouldgivetothedressingofthevenisonsuchminuteconsiderationas, inhisopinion,everydetail affectinghiscomfortorconveniencequiteobviouslymerited.Andifitwerenotthevenisonitwouldbe something else; if it were not the housekeeper it would be Mr. Orme,chargedwiththeresultsofaconferencewithhisagent,acommittee-meetingat his club, or any of the other incidents which, by happening to himself,becameevents.Katefoundherselfcaughtintheinexorablecontinuityoflife,foundherselfgazingoverasceneofruinlitupbythepunctualrecurrenceofhabitasnature'scalmstarelightsthemorrowofawhirlwind.

Life was going on, then, and dragging her at its wheels. She could neithercheck its rush nor wrench loose from it and drop outoh, how blessedlyintodarknessandcessation.Shemustgoboundingon,racked,broken,butaliveineveryfibre.Themostshecouldhopewasa fewhours' respite,not fromherownterrors,butfromthepressureofoutwardclaims:themiddayhalt,duringwhichthevictimisunboundwhilehistorturersrestfromtheirefforts.Tillherfather's return shewouldhave the house to herself, and, the questionof thevenison despatched, could give herself to long lonely pacings of the emptyrooms,andshudderingsubsidencesuponherpillow.

Herfirstimpulse,asthemistclearedfromherbrain,wasthehabitualoneofreachingoutforultimaterelations.Shewantedtoknowtheworst;andforher,as she saw in a flash, the worst of it was the core of fatality in what hadhappened. She shrank from her own way of putting itnor was it evenfigurativelytruethatshehadeverfelt,underfaithinDenis,anysuchdoubtasthe perception implied. But that was merely because her imagination hadnever put him to the test. Shewas fond of exposing herself to hypotheticalordeals, but somehow she had never carried Denis with her on theseadventures. What she saw now was that, in a world of strangeness, heremainedtheobjectleaststrangetoher.Shewasnotinthetragiccaseofthegirl who suddenly sees her lover unmasked. No mask had dropped fromDenis'sface:thepinkshadeshadsimplybeenliftedfromthelamps,andshesawhimforthefirsttimeinanunmitigatedglare.

Suchexposuredoesnotalterthefeatures,butitlaysanuglyemphasisonthemostcharminglines,pushingthesmiletoagrin,thecurveofgood-natureto

thedroopofslackness.AnditwaspreciselyintotheflagginglinesofextremeweaknessthatDenis'sgracefulcontourflowed.Intheterribletalkwhichhadfollowed his avowal, and wherein every word flashed a light on his moralprocesses,shehadbeenlessstartledbywhathehaddonethanbythewayinwhichhisconsciencehadalreadybecomeapassivesurfaceforthechannellingofconsequences.Hewaslikeachildwhohadputamatchtothecurtains,andstandsagapeattheblaze.Itwashorriblynaughtytoputthematchbutbeyondthat the child's responsibility did not extend. In this business of Arthur's,where all hadbeenwrong from thebeginningwhere self-defencemightwellfindapleaforitscasuistriesintheabsenceofadefiniterighttobemeasuredbyithadbeeneasy,afterthefirstslip,todropalittlelowerwitheachstruggle.The womanoh, the woman waswell, of the kind who prey on such men.Arthur,outthere,athislowestebb,haddriftedintolivingwithherasamandriftsintodrinkoropium.Heknewwhatshewasheknewwhereshehadcomefrom.Buthehadfallen ill,andshehadnursedhimnursedhimdevotedly,ofcourse.Thatwasherchance,andsheknewit.Beforehewasoutofthefevershe had the noose around himhe came to and found himself married. Suchcaseswerecommonenoughifthemanrecoveredheboughtoffthewomanandgot a divorce. It was all a part of the businessthe marriage, the bribe, thedivorce.Someofthosewomenmadeabigincomeoutofittheyweremarriedand divorced once a year. IfArthur had only gotwellbut, instead, he had arelapseanddied.Andtherewasthewoman,madehiswidowbymischanceasitwere,withherchildonherarmwhosechild?andascoundrellyblack-mailinglawyer toworkup her case for her.Her claimwas clear enoughthe right ofdower,athirdofhisestate.Butifhehadnevermeanttomarryher?Ifhehadbeentrappedaspatentlyasarusticfleecedinagambling-hell?Arthur,inhislasthours,hadconfessedtothemarriage,buthadalsoacknowledgeditsfolly.Andafterhisdeath,whenDeniscametolookabouthimandmakeinquiries,he found that the witnesses, if there had been any, were dispersed andundiscoverable. The whole question hinged on Arthur's statement to hisbrother. Suppress that statement, and the claim vanished, and with it thescandal,thehumiliation,thelife-longburdenofthewomanandchilddraggingthenameofPeytonthroughheavenknewwhatdepths.Hehadthoughtofthatfirst,Denisswore,ratherthanofthemoney.Themoney,ofcourse,hadmadeadifference,he was too honest not to own itbut not till afterward, hedeclaredwouldhavedeclaredonhishonour,butthatthewordtrippedhimup,andsentaflushtohisforehead.

Thus, in broken phrases, he flung his defence at her: a defence improvised,piecedtogetherashewentalong,tomaskthecrudeinstinctivenessofhisact.ForwithincreasingclearnessKatesaw,asshelistened,thattherehadbeennorealstruggleinhismind;that,butforthegrimlogicofchance,hemightneverhavefelttheneedofanyjustification.Ifthewoman,afterthemannerofsuch

baffledhuntresses,hadwanderedoff insearchof freshprey,hemight,quitesincerely,havecongratulatedhimselfonhavingsavedadecentnameandanhonestfortunefromher talons.Itwas thepriceshehadpaid toestablishherclaimthatforthefirst timebroughthimtoastartledsenseofits justice.Hisconsciencerespondedonlytotheconcretepressureoffacts.

ItwaswiththeanguishofthisdiscoverythatKateOrmelockedherselfinattheendoftheirtalk.Howthetalkhadended,howatlengthshehadgothimfromtheroomandthehouse,sherecalledbutconfusedly.Thetragedyofthewoman'sdeath,andofhisownshareinit,wereasnothinginthedisasterofhisbrightirreclaimableness.Once,whenshehadcriedout,"Youwouldhavemarriedmeandsaidnothing,"andhegroanedback,"ButIhavetoldyou,"shefeltlikeatrainerwithalashabovesomebewilderedanimal.

But she persisted savagely. "You toldme because you had to; because yournervesgaveway;becauseyouknewitcouldn'thurtyoutotell."Theperplexedappeal of his gaze had almost checked her. "You toldme because it was arelief; but nothingwill really relieveyounothingwill reallyhelpyoutill youhavetoldsomeonewhowhowillhurtyou."

"Whowillhurtme?"

"Tillyouhavetoldthetruthasasopenlyasyoulied."

Hestartedup,ghastlywithfear."Idon'tunderstandyou."

"Youmustconfess,thenpubliclyopenlyyoumustgotothejudge.Idon'tknowhowit'sdone."

"Tothejudge?Whenthey'rebothdead?Wheneverythingisatanend?Whatgoodcouldthatdo?"hegroaned.

"Everything is not at an end for youeverything is just beginning.Youmustclearyourself of this guilt; and there is onlyonewayto confess it.Andyoumustgivebackthemoney."

Thisseemedtostrikehimasconclusiveproofofherirrelevance."IwishIhadneverheardofthemoney!Buttowhomwouldyouhavemegiveitback?Itellyou shewas awaif out of the gutter. I don't believe any one knewher realnameIdon'tbelieveshehadone."

"Shemusthavehadamotherandfather."

"AmItodevotemylifetohuntingforthemthroughtheslumsofCalifornia?AndhowshallIknowwhenIhavefoundthem?It'simpossibletomakeyouunderstand. IdidwrongIdidhorriblywrongbut that isnot theway to repair

it."

"Whatis,then?"

He paused, a little askance at the question. "To do betterto domy best," hesaid,withasuddenflourishoffirmness."Totakewarningbythisdreadful"

"Oh,besilent,"shecriedout,andhidherface.Helookedatherhopelessly.

Atlasthesaid:"Idon'tknowwhatgooditcandotogoontalking.Ihaveonlyonemorethingtosay.Ofcourseyouknowthatyouarefree."

Hespokesimply,withasuddenreturn tohisoldvoiceandaccent,atwhichsheweakenedasunderacaress.Sheliftedherheadandgazedathim."AmI?"shesaidmusingly.

"Kate!"burstfromhim;butsheraisedasilencinghand.

"Itseemstome,"shesaid,"thatIamimprisonedimprisonedwithyouinthisdreadfulthing.FirstImusthelpyoutogetoutthenitwillbetimeenoughtothinkofmyself."

Hisfacefellandhestammered:"Idon'tunderstandyou."

"Ican'tsaywhatIshalldoorhowIshallfeeltillIknowwhatyouaregoingtodoandfeel."

"YoumustseehowIfeelthatI'mhalfdeadwithit."

"Yesbutthatisonlyhalf."

Heturnedthisoverforaperceptiblespaceoftimebeforeaskingslowly:"Youmeanthatyou'llgivemeup,ifIdon'tdothiscrazythingyoupropose?"

Shepausedinturn."No,"shesaid;"Idon'twanttobribeyou.Youmustfeeltheneedofityourself."

"Theneedofproclaimingthisthingpublicly?"

"Yes."

He sat staring before him. "Of course you realizewhat itwouldmean?" hebeganatlength.

"Toyou?"shereturned.

"Iputthataside.Tootherstoyou.Ishouldgotoprison."

"Isupposeso,"shesaidsimply.

"YouseemtotakeitveryeasilyI'mafraidmymotherwouldn't."

"Yourmother?"Thisproducedtheeffecthehadexpected.

"Youhadn'tthoughtofher,Isuppose?Itwouldprobablykillher."

"Itwouldhavekilledhertothinkthatyoucoulddowhatyouhavedone!"

"Itwouldhavemadeherveryunhappy;butthere'sadifference."

Yes:therewasadifference;adifferencewhichnorhetoriccoulddisguise.Thesecret sin would have made Mrs. Peyton wretched, but it would not havekilledher.AndshewouldhavetakenpreciselyDenis'sviewoftheelasticityofatonement:shewouldhaveacceptedprivateregretsasthegenteelequivalentofopenexpiation.Katecouldevenimagineherextractinga"lesson"fromtheprovidentialfactthathersonhadnotbeenfoundout.

"Youseeit'snotsosimple,"hebrokeout,withatingeofdolefultriumph.

"No:it'snotsimple,"sheassented.

"Onemustthinkofothers,"hecontinued,gatheringfaithinhisargumentashesawherreducedtoacquiescence.

Shemadenoanswer,andafteramomentherosetogo.Sofar,inretrospect,she could follow the course of their talk; but when, in the act of parting,argument lapsed intoentreaty,and renunciation into thepassionateappeal togivehimatleastonemorehearing,hermemorylostitselfinatumultofpain,andsherecalledonlythat,whenthedoorclosedonhim,hetookwithhimherpromisetoseehimonceagain.

IV

Shehadpromisedtoseehimagain;butthepromisedidnotimplythatshehadrejected his offer of freedom. In the first rush of misery she had not fullyrepossessedherself,hadfeltherselfentangledinhisfatebyahundredmeshesofassociationandhabit;butafterasleeplessnightspentwith thethoughtofhimthatdreadfulbridaloftheirsoulsshewoketoamorrowinwhichhehadnopart.Shehadnot soughther freedom,norhadhegiven it; but a chasmhadopenedattheirfeet,andtheyfoundthemselvesondifferentsides.

Now shewas able to scan the disaster from themelancholy vantage of her

independence.ShecouldevendrawasolacefromthefactthatshehadceasedtoloveDenis.Itwasinconceivablethatanemotionsointerwovenwitheveryfibre of consciousness should cease as suddenly as the flow of sap in anuprootedplant;butshehadneverallowedherselftobetrickedbythecurrentphraseologyofsentiment,andtherewerenostockaxiomstoprotectherfromthetruth.

It was probably because she had ceased to love him that she could lookforward with a kind of ghastly composure to seeing him again. She hadstipulated,ofcourse,thattheweddingshouldbeputoff,butshehadnamednootherconditionbeyondaskingfor twodays toherselftwodaysduringwhichhewas not even towrite. Shewished to shut herself inwith hermisery, toaccustomherselftoitasshehadaccustomedherselftohappiness.Butactualseclusionwasimpossible:thesubtlereactionsoflifealmostatoncebegantobreakdownherdefences.Shecouldnomorehaveherwretchednesstoherselfthan any other emotion: all the lives about her were so many unconsciousfactorsinhersensations.Shetriedtoconcentrateherselfonthethoughtastohow she could best help poor Denis; for love, in ebbing, had laid bare anunsuspecteddepthofpity.Butshefounditmoreandmoredifficulttoconsiderhis situation in the abstract light of right and wrong. Open expiation stillseemedtohertheonlypossiblewayofhealing;butshetriedvainlytothinkofMrs. Peyton as taking such a view.YetMrs. Peyton ought at least to knowwhathadhappened:wasitnot,inthelastresort,shewhoshouldpronounceonher son's course? For a moment Kate was fascinated by this evasion ofresponsibility; she had nearly decided to tell Denis that he must begin byconfessingeverything tohismother.Butalmostatonce shebegan to shrinkfromtheconsequences.Therewasnothingshesodreadedforhimasthatanyoneshouldtakealightviewofhisact:shouldturnitsirremediablenessintoanexcuse.Andthis,sheforesaw,waswhatMrs.Peytonwoulddo.Thefirstburstofmiseryover,shewouldenvelopthewholesituationinamistofexpediency.BroughttothebarofKate'sjudgment,sheatoncerevealedherselfincapableofhigheraction.

Kate's conception of her was still under arraignment when the actual Mrs.Peytonflutteredin.Itwastheafternoonofthesecondday,asthegirlphraseditinthedismalre-creationofheruniverse.ShehadbeenthinkingsohardofMrs.Peytonthatthelady'ssilveryinsubstantialpresenceseemedhardlymorethan a projectionof the thought; but asKate collectedherself, and regainedcontact with the outer world, her preoccupation yielded to surprise. It wasunusualforMrs.Peytontopayvisits.Foryearsshehadremainedenthronedinasemi-invalidismwhichprohibitedeffortwhileitdidnotprecludediversion;andthegirlatoncedivinedaspecialpurposeinhercoming.

Mrs.Peyton'straditionswouldnothavepermittedanydirectmethodofattack;and Kate had to sit through the usual prelude of ejaculation and anecdote.Presently,however,theelderlady'svoicegatheredsignificance,andlayingherhandonKate'sshemurmured:"Ihavecometotalktoyouofthissadaffair."

Kate began to tremble.Was it possible that Denis had after all spoken? Arisinghopecheckedherutterance,andshesawinaflashthatitstilllaywithhimtoregainhisholdonher.ButMrs.Peytonwentondelicately:"Ithasbeenagreatshocktomypoorboy.TobebroughtincontactwithArthur'spastwasin itself inexpressibly painful; but this last dreadful businessthat woman'swickedact"

"Wicked?"Kateexclaimed.

Mrs.Peyton'sgentlestarereprovedher."Surelyreligionteachesusthatsuicideisasin?Andtomurderherchild!Ioughtnottospeaktoyouofsuchthings,mydear.Noonehasevermentionedanythingsodreadfulinmypresence:mydear husband used to screen me so carefully from the painful side of life.Wherethereissomuchthatisbeautifultodwellupon,weshouldtrytoignoretheexistenceofsuchhorrors.Butnowadayseverythingis in thepapers;andDenis toldme he thought it better that you should hear the news first fromhim."

Katenoddedwithoutspeaking.

"He felt how dreadful it was to have to tell you. But I tell him he takes amorbidviewofthecase.Ofcourseoneisshockedatthewoman'scrimebut,ifone looks a little deeper, how can one help seeing that it may have beendesigned as the means of rescuing that poor child from a life of vice andmisery?ThatistheviewIwantDenistotake:Iwanthimtoseehowallthedifficultiesoflifedisappearwhenonehaslearnedtolookforadivinepurposeinhumansufferings."

Mrs.Peytonrestedamomentonthisperiod,asanexperiencedclimberpausesto be overtaken by a less agile companion; but presently she became awarethatKatewasstill farbelowher,andperhapsneededastronger incentive totheascent.

"Mydearchild,"shesaidadroitly,"Isaid justnowthat Iwassorryyouhadbeenobligedtohearofthissadaffair;butafterallitisonlyyouwhocanavertitsconsequences."

Katedrewaneagerbreath."Itsconsequences?"shefaltered.

Mrs. Peyton's voice dropped solemnly. "Denis has toldme everything," she

said.

"Everything?"

"Thatyouinsistonputtingoffthemarriage.Oh,mydear,Idoimploreyoutoreconsiderthat!"

Katesankbackwiththesenseofhavingpassedagainintoaregionofleadenshadow."Isthatallhetoldyou?"

Mrs.Peytongazedatherwitharchraillery."All?Isn'titeverythingtohim?"

"Didhegiveyoumyreason,Imean?"

"Hesaidyoufeltthat,afterthisshockingtragedy,thereought,indecency,tobe a delay; and I quite understand the feeling. It does seem too unfortunatethatthewomanshouldhavechosenthisparticulartime!Butyouwillfindasyougrowolderthatlifeisfullofsuchsadcontrasts."

Kate felt herself slowly petrifying under the warm drip of Mrs. Peyton'splatitudes.

"Itseemstome,"theelderladycontinued,"thatthereisonlyonepointfromwhichweoughttoconsiderthequestionandthatis,itseffectonDenis.Butforthatweoughttorefusetoknowanythingaboutit.Butithasmademyboysounhappy. The law-suit was a cruel ordeal to himthe dreadful notoriety, therevelationofpoorArthur'sinfirmities.Denisisassensitiveasawoman;itishisunusualrefinementoffeelingthatmakeshimsoworthyofbeinglovedbyyou.Butsuchsensitivenessmaybecarriedtoexcess.Heoughtnottoletthisunhappyincidentpreyonhim:itshowsalackoftrustinthedivineorderingofthings. That iswhat troublesme: his faith in life has been shaken.Andyoumust forgive me, dear childyou will forgive me, I knowbut I can't helpblamingyoualittle"

Mrs.Peyton'saccentconvertedtheaccusationintoacaress,whichprolongeditselfinatremulouspressureofKate'shand.

Thegirlgazedatherblankly."Youblameme?"

"Don'tbeoffended,mychild. Ionly fear thatyourexcessivesympathywithDenis, your own delicacy of feeling, may have led you to encourage hismorbidideas.HetellsmeyouwereverymuchshockedasyounaturallywouldbeasanygirlmustbeIwouldnothaveyouotherwise,dearKate!Itisbeautifulthatyoushouldbothfeelso;mostbeautiful;butyouknowreligionteachesusnottoyieldtoomuchtoourgrief.Letthedeadburytheirdead;thelivingowethemselvestoeachother.Andwhathadthiswretchedwomantodowitheither

ofyou?ItisamisfortuneforDenistohavebeenconnectedinanywaywithamanofArthurPeyton'scharacter;butafterall,poorArthurdidallhecouldtoatoneforthedisgracehebroughtonus,bymakingDenishisheirandIamsureI have nowish to question the decrees of Providence."Mrs. Peyton pausedagain, and then softly absorbed both of Kate's hands. "For my part," shecontinued,"Iseeinitanotherinstanceofthebeautifulorderingofevents.JustafterdearDenis'sinheritancehasremovedthelastobstacletoyourmarriage,thissad incidentcomes toshowhowdesperatelyheneedsyou,howcruel itwouldbetoaskhimtodeferhishappiness."

Shebrokeoff,shakenoutofherhabitualplaciditybytheabruptwithdrawalofthegirl'shands.Katesatinertlystaring,butnoanswerrosetoherlips.

At length Mrs. Peyton resumed, gathering her draperies about her with atentativehintof leave-taking:"Imaygohomeandtellhimthatyouwillnotputoffthewedding?"

Katewasstillsilent,andhervisitorlookedatherwiththemildsurpriseofanadvocateunaccustomedtopleadinvain.

"If your silence means refusal, my dear, I think you ought to realize theresponsibility you assume." Mrs. Peyton's voice had acquired an edge ofrighteousasperity."IfDenishasafaultitisthatheistoogentle,tooyielding,tooreadilyinfluencedbythosehecaresfor.Yourinfluenceisparamountwithhimnowbutifyouturnfromhimjustwhenheneedsyourhelp,whocansaywhattheresultwillbe?"

Theargument,thoughimpressivelydelivered,washardlyofanaturetocarryconviction to its hearer; but it was perhaps for that very reason that shesuddenlyandunexpectedly replied to itbysinkingback intoher seatwithaburst of tears. ToMrs. Peyton, however, tearswere the signal of surrender,and, at Kate's side in an instant she hastened to temper her triumph withmagnanimity.

"Don't thinkIdon't feelwithyou;butwemustbothforgetourselvesforourboy'ssake.ItoldhimIshouldcomebackwithyourpromise."

ThearmshehadslippedaboutKate'sshoulder fellbackwith thegirl'sstart.Katehadseeninaflashwhatcapitalwouldbemadeofheremotion.

"No,no,youmisunderstandme.Icanmakenopromise,"shedeclared.

The older lady sat a moment irresolute; then she restored her arm to theshoulderfromwhichithadbeensoabruptlydisplaced.

"My dear child," she said, in a tone of tender confidence, "if I have

misunderstoodyou,oughtyounottoenlightenme?YouaskedmejustnowifDenishadgivenmeyour reason for this strangepostponement.Hegavemeonereason,but itseemshardlysufficient toexplainyourconduct.If thereisanyother,andIknowyouwellenoughtofeelsurethereis,willyounot trustmewithit?Ifmyboyhasbeenunhappyenoughtodispleaseyou,willyounotgivehismother thechancetopleadhiscause?Remember,nooneshouldbecondemned unheard. As Denis's mother, I have the right to ask for yourreason."

"Myreason?Myreason?"Katestammered,pantingwiththeexhaustionofthestruggle.Oh,ifonlyMrs.Peytonwouldreleaseher!"Ifyouhavetherighttoknowit,whydoesn'thetellyou?"shecried.

Mrs.Peytonstoodup,quivering. "Iwillgohomeandaskhim,"shesaid. "Iwilltellhimhehadyourpermissiontospeak."

Shemovedtowardthedoor,withthenervoushasteofapersonunaccustomedtodecisiveaction.ButKatesprangbeforeher.

"No,no;don'taskhim!Iimploreyounottoaskhim,"shecried.

Mrs.Peytonturnedonherwithsuddenauthorityofvoiceandgesture."DoIunderstandyou?"shesaid."Youadmitthatyouhaveareasonforputtingoffyourmarriage,andyetyouforbidmeme,Denis'smothertoaskhimwhatitis?Mypoorchild,Ineedn'task,forIknowalready.Ifhehasoffendedyou,andyou refusehim thechance todefendhimself, Ineedn't look farther foryourreason:itissimplythatyouhaveceasedtolovehim."

Katefellbackfromthedoorwhichshehadinstinctivelybarricaded.

"Perhapsthatisit,"shemurmured,lettingMrs.Peytonpass.

Mr.Orme's returningcarriage-wheelscrossedMrs.Peyton's indignant flight;and an hour later Kate, in the bland candle-light of the dinner-hour, satlisteningwithpractisedfortitudetoherfather'scommentsonthevenison.

She had wondered, as she awaited him in the drawing-room, if he wouldnoticeanychangeinherappearance.Itseemedtoherthattheflagellationofher thoughtsmust have left visible traces.ButMr.Ormewas not aman ofsubtleperceptions,savewherehispersonalcomfortwasaffected: thoughhisegoismwasclothedinthefinestfeelers,hedidnotsuspectasimilarsurfaceinothers.Hisdaughter,aspartofhimself,camewithinthenormalrangeofhissolicitude;butshewasanoutlyingregion,asubjectprovince;andMr.Orme'swasahighlycentralizedpolity.

News of the painful incidenthe often used Mrs. Peyton's vocabularyhad

reached him at his club, and to some extent disturbed the assimilation of acarefullyorderedbreakfast;butsincethentwodayshadpassed,anditdidnottakeMr.Ormeforty-eighthourstoresignhimselftothemisfortunesofothers.Itwasallverynasty,ofcourse,andhewishedtoheavenithadn'thappenedtoanyoneabout tobeconnectedwithhim;butheviewed itwith the transientannoyance of a gentleman who has been splashed by the mud of a fatalrunaway.

Mr.Ormeaffected,under suchcircumstances,abluffandhearty stoicismasremoteaspossible fromMrs.Peyton'sdeprecatingevasionof facts. Itwasabadbusiness;hewassorryKateshouldhavebeenmixedupwith it;butshewouldbemarriedsoonnow,andthenshewouldseethatlifewasn'texactlyaSunday-schoolstory.Everybodywasexposedtosuchdisagreeableaccidents:he remembered a case in their own familyoh, a distant cousin whom Katewouldn'thaveheardofapoorfellowwhohadgotentangledwith justsuchawoman, and having (most properly) been sent packing by his father, hadjustified the latter's course by promptly forging his namea very nasty affairaltogether;butluckilythescandalhadbeenhushedup,thewomanboughtoff,andtheprodigal,afteraseasonofprobation,safelymarriedtoanicegirlwithagoodincome,whowastoldbythefamilythatthedoctorsrecommendedhissettlinginCalifornia.

Luckily the scandal was hushed up: the phrase blazed out against the darkbackground of Kate's misery. That was doubtless what most people feltthewords represented the consensus of respectable opinion. The best way ofrepairingafaultwastohideit:totearupthefloorandburythevictimatnight.Aboveall,nocoronerandnoautopsy!

Shebegantofeelastrangeinterestinherdistantcousin."Andhiswifedidsheknowwhathehaddone?"

Mr.Ormestared.Hismoralpointed,hehadreturnedtothecontemplationofhisownaffairs.

"Hiswife?Oh,of coursenot.The secrethasbeenmost admirablykept;butherpropertywasputintrust,soshe'squitesafewithhim."

Herproperty!Katewonderedifherfaithinherhusbandhadalsobeenputintrust,ifhersensibilitieshadbeenprotectedfromhispossibleinroads.

"Doyouthinkitquitefairtohavedeceivedherinthatway?"

Mr.Ormegaveherapuzzledglance:hehadnotastefortheby-pathsofethicalconjecture.

"Hispeoplewantedtogivethepoorfellowanotherchance;theydidthebesttheycouldforhim."

"Andhehasdonenothingdishonourablesince?"

"NotthatIknowof:thelastIheardwasthattheyhadalittleboy,andthathewasquitehappy.Atthatdistancehe'snotlikelytobotherus,atallevents."

Long after Mr. Orme had left the topic, Kate remained lost in itscontemplation. She had begun to perceive that the fair surface of life washoneycombedbyavastsystemofmoralsewage.Everyrespectablehouseholdhaditsspecialarrangementsfortheprivatedisposaloffamilyscandals;itwasonlyamongtherecklessandimprovidentthatsuchhygienicprecautionswereneglected.Whowasshetopassjudgmentonthemeritsofsuchasystem?Thesocial healthmust be preserved: themeans devised were the result of longexperience and the collective instinct of self-preservation. She hadmeant totell her father that evening that hermarriage had been put off; but she nowabstained fromdoing so, not from any doubt ofMr.Orme's acquiescencehecouldalwaysbemadetofeeltheforceofconventionalscruplesbutbecausethewhole question sank into insignificance beside the larger issue which hiswordshadraised.

In her own room, that night, she passed through that travail of the soul ofwhichthedeeperlifeisborn.Herfirstsensewasofagreatmorallonelinessanisolationmorecomplete,moreimpenetrable,thanthatinwhichthediscoveryof Denis's act had plunged her. For she had vaguely leaned, then, on acollective senseof justice that should respond toherown ideasof right andwrong:shestillbelievedinthelogicalcorrespondenceoftheoryandpractice.Nowshesawthat,amongthosenearesther,therewasnoonewhorecognizedthemoral needof expiation.She saw that to takeher father orMrs.PeytonintoherconfidencewouldbebuttowidenthecircleofsterilemiseryinwhichsheandDenismoved.At first theaspectof life thusrevealed toherseemedsimplymean and baseaworldwhere honourwas a pact of silence betweenadroitaccomplices.Thenetworkofcircumstancehadtightenedroundher,andeveryefforttoescapedrewitsmeshescloser.Butasherstrugglessubsidedshefelt the spiritual release which comes with acceptance: not connivance indishonour,butrecognitionofevil.Outofthatdarkvisionlightwastocome,theshaftofcloudturningtothepillaroffire.Forhere,atlast,lifelaybeforeheras itwas:notbrave,garlandedandvictorious,butnaked,grovellinganddiseased,draggingitsmaimedlimbsthroughthemud,yetliftingpiteoushandstothestars.Loveitself,oncethronedaloftonanaltarofdreams,howitstoletoher now, storm-beaten and scarred, pleading for the shelter of her breast!Love,indeed,notintheoldsenseinwhichshehadconceivedit,butagraver,austererpresencethecharityofthemysticthree.Shethoughtshehadceasedto

loveDenisbutwhat had she loved in him but her happiness and his? Theiraffectionhadbeen thegardenenclosedof theCanticles,where theywere towalkforeverinadelicateisolationofbliss.Butnowloveappearedtoherassomething more than thissomething wider, deeper, more enduring than theselfishpassionofamanandawoman.Shesawitinallitsfar-reachingissues,tillthefirstmeetingoftwopairsofyoungeyeskindledalightwhichmightbeahigh-liftedbeaconacrossdarkwatersofhumanity.

All thisdidnotcome toherclearly,consecutively,but ina seriesofblurredandshiftingimages.Marriagehadmeanttoher,asitmeanstogirlsbroughtupin ignoranceof life, simply theexquisiteprolongationofwooing. If shehadlookedbeyond, to thevisionofwider ties, itwasasa travellergazesoveralandveiled in goldenhaze, and so far distant that the imaginationdelays toexplore it. But now through the blur of sensations one image strangelypersistedthe image of Denis's child. Had she ever before thought of theirhavingachild?Shecouldnotremember.Shewaslikeonewhowakensfromalongfever:sherecallednothingofher formerselforofher formerfeelings.Sheknewonly that thevisionpersistedthevisionof thechildwhosemothershewasnot tobe. Itwas impossible that she shouldmarryDenisher inmostsoul rejected him ... but it was just because she was not to be the child'smother that its image followed her so pleadingly. For she sawwith perfectclearnesstheinevitablecourseofevents.Deniswouldmarrysomeoneelsehewasoneofthemenwhoarefatedtomarry,andsheneedednothismother'sreminderthatherabandonmentofhimatanemotionalcrisiswouldflinghimupon the first sympathy within reach. He would marry a girl who knewnothingofhissecretforKatewas intenselyaware thathewouldneveragainwillinglyconfesshimselfhewouldmarryagirlwhotrustedhimandleanedonhim, as she, KateOrmethe earlier KateOrmehad done but two days since!Andwith thisdeceptionbetweenthemtheirchildwouldbeborn:born toaninheritanceofsecretweakness,aviceof themoralfibre,as itmightbebornwith some hidden physical taint which would destroy it before the causeshould be detected.... Well, and what of it? Was she to hold herselfresponsible?Werenotthousandsofchildrenbornwithsomesuchunsuspectedtaint?...Ah,butifherewasonethatshecouldsave?Whatifshe,whohadhadsoexquisiteavisionofwifehood,shouldreconstructfromitsruinsthisvisionof protecting maternityif her love for her lover should be, not lost, buttransformed, enlarged, into thispassionof charity forhis race? If shemightexpiate and redeem his fault by becoming a refuge from its consequences?Beforethisstrangeextensionofherlovealltheoldlimitationsseemedtofall.Something had cleft the surface of self, and therewelled up themysteriousprimal influences, the sacrificial instinct of her sex, a passion of spiritualmotherhoodthatmadeherlongtoflingherselfbetweentheunbornchildanditsfate....

She never knew, then or after, how she reached this mystic climax ofeffacement; shewas only conscious, through her anguish, of that lift of theheartwhichmade one of the saints declare that joywas the inmost core ofsorrow.For itwas indeedakindof joyshefelt, ifoldnamesmustserveforsuch new meanings; a surge of liberating faith in life, the old credo quiaabsurdumwhichisthesecretcryofallsupremeendeavour.

PARTII

I

"Doesitlooknice,mother?"

DickPeytonmetherwiththequestiononthethreshold,drawinghergailyintothelittlesquareroom,andadding,withalaughwithablushinit:"Youknowshe'sanuncommonlynoticingperson,andlittlethingstellwithher."

Heswungroundonhisheel tofollowhismother'ssmiling inspectionof theapartment.

"She seems to have all the qualities," Mrs. Denis Peyton remarked, as hercircuitfinallybroughthertotheprettilyappointedtea-table.

"All,"hedeclared,takingthestingfromheremphasisbyhispromptadoptionofit.Dickhadalwayshadawholesomewayofthusappropriatingtohisownusesuchsmallshaftsofmaternalironyaswerenowandthenaimedathim.

Kate Peyton laughed and loosened her furs. "It looks charmingly," shepronounced,endinghersurveybyanapproachtothewindow,whichgave,farbelow,theobliqueperspectiveofalongside-streetleadingtoFifthAvenue.

Thehigh-perchedroomwasDickPeyton'sprivateoffice,aretreatpartitionedofffromthelargerenclosureinwhich,underanorthlightandonarangeofdeal tables, three or four young draughtsmen were busily engaged inelaborating his architectural projects. The outer door of the office bore thesign: Peyton and Gill, Architects; but Gill was an utilitarian person, asunobtrusiveashisname,whocontentedhimselfwithadeskintheworkroom,and left Dick to lord it alone in the small apartment to which clients wereintroduced,andwherethesocialpartofthebusinesswascarriedon.

Itwastoserve,onthisoccasion,asthesceneofateadesigned,asKatePeytonwasvividlyaware,tointroduceacertainyoungladytothesceneofherson's

labours. Mrs. Peyton had been hearing a great deal lately about ClemenceVerney. Dick was naturally expansive, and his close intimacy with hismotheran intimacyfosteredbyhis father'searlydeathif ithadsufferedsomenaturalimpairmentinhisschoolandcollegedays,hadoflatebeenrevivedbyfouryearsofcomradeshipinParis,whereMrs.Peyton,inatinyapartmentoftheRuedeVarennes,hadkepthouseforhimduringhiscourseofstudiesattheBeauxArts.TherewereindeednotlackingcriticsofherownsexwhoaccusedKatePeytonofhavingfiguredtoolargelyinherson'slife;ofhavingfailedtoeffaceherselfataperiodwhenitisagreedthatyoungmenarebestleftfreetotryconclusionswiththeworld.Mrs.Peyton,hadshecaredtodefendherself,mighthavesaidthatDick,ifcommunicative,wasnotimpressionable,andthatthe closeness of texture which enabled him to throw off her sarcasmspreservedhimalsofromtheinfiltrationofherprejudices.Hewascertainlynoknightoftheapron-string,butaseeminglyresoluteandself-sufficientyoungman,whoseromanticfriendshipwithhismotherhadmerelyservedtothrowaveilofsuavityoverthehardanglesofyouth.

ButMrs.Peyton's realexcusewasafterallonewhichshewouldneverhavegiven.Itwasbecauseherintimacywithhersonwastheoneneedofherlifethatshehad,withinfinitetactanddiscretion,butwithequalpersistency,clungtoeverystepofhisgrowth,dissemblingherself,adaptingherself,rejuvenatingherselfinthepassionateefforttobealwayswithinreach,butneverintheway.

DenisPeytonhaddiedaftersevenyearsofmarriage,whenhisboywasbarelysix.Duringthosesevenyearshehadmanagedtosquanderthebestpartofthefortunehehadinheritedfromhisstep-brother;sothat,athisdeath,hiswidowandsonwereleftwithascantcompetence.Mrs.Peyton,duringherhusband'slife,hadapparentlymadenoeffort to restrainhisexpenditure.Shehadevenbeen accused by those judicious persons who are always ready with anestimate of their neighbours' motives, of having encouraged poor Denis'simprovidenceforthegratificationofherownambition.Shehadinfact,intheearlydaysof theirmarriage, tried to launchhiminpolitics,andhadperhapsdrawnsomewhatheavilyonhisfundsinthefirstheatof thecontest;but theexperimentendinginfailure,asDenisPeyton'sexperimentswereapttoend,shehadmadenofartherdemandsonhisexchequer.Herpersonaltasteswereinfactunusuallysimple,butheroutspokenindifferencetomoneywasnot,intheopinionofhercritics,designedtoactasacheckuponherhusband;anditresultedinleavingher,athisdeath,instraitsfromwhichitwasimpossiblenottodeduceamoral.

Hersmallmeans,andthecareoftheboy'seducation,servedthewidowasapretextforsecludingherselfinasociallyremotesuburb,whereitwasinferredthat she was expiating, on queer food and in ready-made boots, her rash

defianceoffortune.WhetherornotMrs.Peyton'spenancetookthisform,shehoardedhersubstancetosuchgoodpurposethatshewasnotonlyabletogiveDick the best of schooling, but to propose, on his leavingHarvard, that heshouldprolonghisstudiesbyanotherfouryearsattheBeauxArts.Ithadbeenthejoyofherlifethatherboyhadearlyshownamarkedbentforaspeciallineofwork.Shecouldnothavebornetoseehimreducedtoameremoney-getter,yet she was not sorry that their small means forbade the cultivation of anornamental leisure. In his college days Dick had troubled her by asuperabundance of tastes, a restless flitting from one form of artisticexpressiontoanother.Whateverartheenjoyedhewishedtopractise,andhepassed from music to painting, from painting to architecture, with an easewhichseemedtohismothertoindicatelackofpurposeratherthanexcessoftalent. She had observed that these changes were usually due, not to self-criticism,buttosomeexternaldiscouragement.Anydepreciationofhisworkwasenoughtoconvincehimoftheuselessnessofpursuingthatspecialformofart,andthereactionproducedtheimmediateconvictionthathewasreallydestined to shine in some other line ofwork.He had thus swung from onecalling to another till, at the end of his college career, his mother took thedecisivestepoftransplantinghimtotheBeauxArts,inthehopethatadefinitecourse of study, combined with the stimulus of competition, might fix hiswaveringaptitudes.Theresultjustifiedherexpectation,andtheirfouryearsintheRuedeVarennesyielded thehappiest confirmationof her belief in him.Dick'sabilitywasrecognizednotonlybyhismother,butbyhisprofessors.Hewasengrossedinhiswork,andhisfirstsuccessesdevelopedhiscapacityforapplication.Hismother'sonly fearwas thatpraisewas still toonecessary tohim.Shewasuncertainhowlonghisambitionwouldsustainhiminthefaceoffailure.Hegavelavishlywherehewassureofareturn;butitremainedtobeseenifhewerecapableofproductionwithoutrecognition.Shehadbroughthimupinawholesomescornofmaterialrewards,andnatureseemed,inthisdirection, to have seconded her training. He was genuinely indifferent tomoney, and his enjoyment of beautywas of that happy sortwhich does notgenerate the wish for possession. As long as the inner eye had food forcontemplation,hecaredverylittleforthedeficienciesinhissurroundings;or,it might rather be said, he felt, in the sum-total of beauty about him, anownershipofappreciation that lefthimfree from the fretofpersonaldesire.Mrs.Peytonhadcultivatedtoexcessthisdisregardofmaterialconditions;butshenowbegantoaskherselfwhether,insodoing,shehadnotlaidtoogreatastrainonatemperamentnaturallyexalted.Inguardingagainstothertendenciesshe had perhaps fostered in him too exclusively those qualities whichcircumstances had brought to an unusual development in herself. Hisenthusiasmsandhisdisdainswerealiketoounqualifiedforthathappymeanofcharacterwhichisthebestdefenceagainstthesurprisesoffortune.Ifshehad

taught him to set an exaggerated value on ideal rewards,was not that but ashiftingofthedanger-pointonwhichherfearshadalwayshung?Shetrembledsometimestothinkhowlittleloveandalifelongvigilancehadavailedinthedeflectingofinheritedtendencies.

Her fearswere inameasureconfirmedby the first twoyearsof their life inNewYork,andtheopeningofhiscareerasaprofessionalarchitect.Closeontheeasytriumphsofhisstudentshipstherecamethechillingreactionofpublicindifference.Dick,onhisreturnfromParis,hadformedapartnershipwithanarchitectwhohadhadseveralyearsofpracticaltraininginaNewYorkoffice;but thequietand industriousGill, thoughheattracted to thenewfirmafewsmall jobswhichoverflowed from thebusinessofhis formeremployer,wasnotabletoinfectthepublicwithhisownfaithinPeyton'stalents,anditwastrying to a genius who felt himself capable of creating palaces to have torestrict his efforts to the building of suburban cottages or the planning ofcheapalterationsinprivatehouses.

Mrs.Peytonexpendedalltheingenuitiesoftendernessinkeepingupherson'scourage; and shewas seconded in the task by a friendwhose acquaintanceDickhadmadeattheBeauxArts,andwho,twoyearsbeforethePeytons,hadreturnedtoNewYorktostartonhisowncareerasanarchitect.PaulDarrowwasayoungman fullofcrude seriousness,who,afterayouthof strugglingworkandstudyinhisnativenorthwesternstate,hadwonascholarshipwhichsenthimabroadforacourseattheBeauxArts.HistwoyearstherecoincidedwiththefirstpartofDick'sresidence,andDarrow'sgiftshadatonceattractedtheyoungerstudent.Dickwasunstintedinhisadmirationofrivaltalent,andMrs. Peyton, who was romantically given to the cultivation of suchgenerosities,hadsecondedhisenthusiasmbythekindestoffersofhospitalitytotheyoungstudent.Darrowthusbecamethegratefulfrequenteroftheirlittlesalon;andaftertheirreturntoNewYorktheintimacybetweentheyoungmenwasrenewed,thoughMrs.PeytonfounditmoredifficulttocoaxDick'sfriendtoherNewYorkdrawing-roomthantotheinformalsurroundingsoftheRuedeVarennes.There,nodoubt, secludedandabsorbed inher son'swork, shehad seemed to Darrow almost a fellow-student; but seen among her ownassociatesshebecameoncemorethewomanoffashion,dividedfromhimbythewholebreadthofhereaseandhisawkwardness.Mrs.Peyton,whosetacthaddivinedthecauseofhisestrangement,wouldnotforaninstantletitaffectthe friendship of the two young men. She encouraged Dick to frequentDarrow, in whom she divined a persistency of effort, an artistic self-confidence, in curious contrast to his social hesitancies.The example of hisobstinate capacity for work was just the influence her son needed, and ifDarrowwould not come to them she insisted thatDickmust seek him out,mustneverlethimthinkthatanysocialdiscrepancycouldaffectafriendship

based on deeper things. Dick, who had all the loyalties, and who took anhonestprideinhisfriend'sgrowingsuccess,needednourgingtomaintaintheintimacy;andhiscopiousreportsofmidnightcolloquiesinDarrow'slodgingsshowedMrs.Peytonthatshehadastrongallyinherinvisiblefriend.

Ithadbeen,therefore,somewhatofashocktolearninthecourseoftimethatDarrow's influencewasbeingshared, ifnotcounteracted,bythatofayounglady in whose honour Dick was now giving his first professional tea.Mrs.Peyton had heard a great deal aboutMiss Clemence Verney, first from theusual purveyors of such information, andmore recently from her son,who,probablydiviningthatrumourhadbeenbeforehim,adoptedhisusualmethodofdisarminghismotherbytakingherintohisconfidence.But,ampleasherinformationwas,itremainedperplexingandcontradictory,andevenherownfew meetings with the girl had not helped her to a definite opinion. MissVerney, in conduct and ideas, was patently of the "new school": a youngwomanoffeverishactivitiesandbroad-castjudgments,whoseveryversatilitymade her hard to define.Mrs. Peyton was shrewd enough to allow for theaccidents of environment; what she wished to get at was the residuum ofcharacterbeneathMissVerney'sshiftingsurface.

"It lookscharmingly,"Mrs.Peytonrepeated,givinga loosening touch to thechrysanthemumsinatallvaseonherson'sdesk.

Dicklaughed,andglancedathiswatch.

"Theywon'tbehereforanotherquarterofanhour.IthinkI'lltellGilltocleanoutthework-roombeforetheycome."

"Arewetoseethedrawingsforthecompetition?"hismotherasked.

Heshookhisheadsmilingly. "Can'tI'veaskedoneor twoof theBeauxArtsfellows,youknow;andbesides,oldDarrow'sactuallycoming."

"Impossible!"Mrs.Peytonexclaimed.

"He swore he would last night." Dick laughed again, with a tinge of self-satisfaction."I'veanideahewantstoseeMissVerney."

"Ah," his mother murmured. There was a pause before she added: "HasDarrowreallygoneinforthiscompetition?"

"Rather!Ishouldsayso!He'ssimplyworkinghimselftothebone."

Mrs.Peytonsatrevolvinghermuffonameditativehand;at lengthshesaid:"I'mnotsureIthinkitquiteniceofhim."

Hersonhaltedbeforeherwithanincredulousstare."Mother!"heexclaimed.

Therebukesentablushtoherforehead."Wellconsideringyourfriendshipandeverything."

"Everything?What do youmean by everything? The fact that he hadmoreability than Ihaveand is thereforemore likely to succeed?The fact thatheneedsthemoneyandthesuccessadeucedsightmorethananyofus?Isthatthereasonyouthinkheoughtn't tohaveentered?Mother!Ineverheardyousayanungenerousthingbefore."

The blush deepened to crimson, and she rosewith a nervous laugh. "Itwasungenerous," she conceded. "I suppose I'm jealous for you. I hate thesecompetitions!"

Hersonsmiledreassuringly."Youneedn't.I'mnotafraid:IthinkIshallpullitoff this time. In fact, Paul's the onlyman I'm afraid ofI'm always afraid ofPaulbutthemerefactthathe'sinthethingisatremendousstimulus."

His mother continued to study himwith an anxious tenderness. "Have youworkedoutthewholescheme?Doyouseeityet?"

"Oh,broadly,yes.There'sagaphereandthereahazybit,ratherit'sthehardestproblemI'veeverhadtotackle;butthenit'smybiggestopportunity,andI'vesimplygottopullitoff!"

Mrs.Peytonsatsilent,consideringhisflushedfaceandilluminedeye,whichwere rather those of the victor nearing the goal than of the runner justbeginningtherace.SherememberedsomethingthatDarrowhadoncesaidofhim:"Dickalwaysseestheendtoosoon."

"Youhaven'ttoomuchtimeleft,"shemurmured.

"Justaweek.ButIshan'tgoanywhereafterthis.Ishallrenouncetheworld."Heglancedsmilinglyatthefestaltea-tableandtheembowereddesk."WhenInextappear,itwilleitherbewithmyheelonPaul'sneckpooroldPaulorelseorelsebeingdraggedlifelessfromthearena!"

His mother nervously took up the laugh with which he ended. "Oh, notlifeless,"shesaid.

Hisfaceclouded."Well,maimedforlife,then,"hemuttered.

Mrs.Peytonmadenoanswer.Sheknewhowmuchhungonthepossibilityofhiswhiningthecompetitionwhichforweekspasthadengrossedhim.Itwasadesignforthenewmuseumofsculpture,forwhichthecityhadrecentlyvoted

halfamillion.Dick's tasterannaturallytothegrandiose,andtheerectionofpublic buildings had always been the object of his ambition. Here was anunmatched opportunity, and he knew that, in a competition of the kind, thenewestman had asmuch chance of success as the firmofmost establishedreputation, since every competitor entered on his own merits, the designsbeing submitted to a juryof architectswhovotedon themwithoutknowingthe names of the contestants. Dick, characteristically, was not afraid of theolderfirms;indeed,ashehadtoldhismother,PaulDarrowwastheonlyrivalhe feared.Mrs. Peyton knew that, to a certain point, self-confidence was agood sign; but somehow her son's did not strike her as being of the rightsubstanceit seemed to have no dimension but extent. Her fears werecomplicatedbyasuspicionthat,underhisprofessionaleagernessforsuccess,laytheknowledgethatMissVerney'sfavourhungonthevictory.Itwasthat,perhaps, which gave a feverish touch to his ambition; and Mrs. Peyton,surveying the future from the height of hermaterial apprehensions, divinedthat the situation dependedmainly on the girl's view of it. Shewould havegivenagreatdealtoknowClemenceVerney'sconceptionofsuccess.

II

MissVerney,whenshepresentlyappeared,inthewakeoftheimpersonalandexclamatoryyoungmarriedwomanwhoservedasabackgroundtohervividoutline,seemedcompetenttoimpartatshortnoticeanyinformationrequiredofher.ShehadneverstruckMrs.Peytonasmorealertandefficient.Ameltinggraceoflineandcolourtemperedheredgeswiththecharminghazeofyouth;butitoccurredtohercriticthatshemightemergefromthismorningmistasadryandmetallicoldwoman.

IfMissVerneysuspectedapersonalapplicationinDick'shospitality,itdidnotcallforthinhertheusualtokensofself-consciousness.Hermannermayhavebeenashademorevividthanusual,butshepreservedallherbrightcomposureofglanceandspeech,sothatoneguessed,undertherapiddispersalofwords,an undisturbed steadiness of perception. She was lavishly but notindiscriminately interested in theevidencesofherhost's industry,andas theotherguestsassembled,strayingwithvagueejaculationsthroughthelabyrinthofscaledrawingsandblueprints,Mrs.PeytonnotedthatMissVerneyaloneknewwhatthesesymbolsstoodfor.

Tohisvisitors'requeststobeshownhisplansforthecompetition,Peytonhadopposedalaughingrefusal,enforcedbythepresenceoftwofellow-architects,

young men with lingering traces of the Beaux Arts in their costume andvocabulary,who stood about inGavarni attitudes and dazzled the ladies byallusionstofenestrationandentasis.Thepartyhadalreadydriftedbacktothetea-tablewhenahesitatingknockannouncedDarrow'sapproach.Heenteredwithhisusualairofhavingblunderedinbymistake,embarrassedbyhishatand great-coat, and thrown into deeper confusion by the necessity of beingintroduced to the ladiesgroupedabout theurn.To themenhe threwagruffnod of fellowship, and Dick having relieved him of his encumbrances, heretreatedbehind theshelterofMrs.Peyton'swelcome.The latter judiciouslygavehim time to recover, andwhen she turned tohimhewasengaged in asurreptitious inspection of Miss Verney, whose dusky slenderness, relievedagainst thebarewalls of theoffice,madeher look like a youngSt. JohnofDonatello's.Thegirlreturnedhis lookwithoneofherclearglances,andthegrouphavingpresentlybrokenupagain,Mrs.PeytonsawthatshehaddriftedtoDarrow'sside.Thevisitorsatlengthwanderedbacktothework-roomtoseeaportfolioofDick'swater-colours; butMrs.Peyton remained seatedbehindtheurn, listening to the interchangeof talk through theopendoorwhile shetriedtocoordinateherimpressions.

ShesawthatMissVerneywassincerelyinterestedinDick'swork:itwasthenatureofherinterestthatremainedindoubt.Asiftosolvethisdoubt,thegirlpresently reappeared alone on the threshold, and discovering Mrs. Peyton,advancedtowardherwithasmile.

"AreyoutiredofhearinguspraiseMr.Peyton'sthings?"sheasked,droppingintoalowchairbesideherhostess."Unintelligentadmirationmustbeaboretopeoplewhoknow, andMr.Darrow tellsmeyou are almost as learned asyourson."

Mrs.Peytonreturnedthesmile,butevadedthequestion."Ishouldbesorrytothink your admiration unintelligent," she said. "I like to feel that my boy'sworkisappreciatedbypeoplewhounderstandit."

"Oh,Ihavetheusualsmattering,"saidMissVerneycarelessly."IthinkIknowwhyIadmirehiswork;butthenIamsureIseemoreinitwhensomeonelikeMr.Darrowtellsmehowremarkableitis."

"DoesMr.Darrowsaythat?"themotherexclaimed,losingsightofherobjectintherushofmaternalpleasure.

"Hehassaidnothingelse: it seems tobe theonlysubjectwhich loosenshistongue.Ibelieveheismoreanxioustohaveyoursonwinthecompetitionthantowinithimself."

"Heisaverygoodfriend,"Mrs.Peytonassented.Shewasstruckbytheway

in which the girl led the topic back to the special application of it whichinterestedher.Shehadnoneoftheartificesofprudery.

"HefeelssurethatMr.Peytonwillwin,"MissVerneycontinued."Itwasveryinterestingtohearhisreasons.Heisanextraordinarilyinterestingman.Itmustbeatremendousincentivetohavesuchafriend."

Mrs.Peytonhesitated."Thefriendshipisdelightful;butIdon'tknowthatmysonneedstheincentive.Heisalmosttooambitious."

Miss Verney looked up brightly. "Can one be?" she said. "Ambition is sosplendid! It must be so glorious to be a man and go crashing throughobstacles,straightuptothethingoneisafter.I'mafraidIdon'tcareforpeoplewho are superior to success. I likemarriage by capture!" She rosewith herwandering laugh, and stood flushed and sparkling aboveMrs. Peyton, whocontinuedtogazeathergravely.

"What do you call success?" the latter asked. "It means so many differentthings."

"Oh,yes, Iknowthe inwardapproval,andall that.Well, I'mafraidI like theotherkind:thedrumsandwreathsandacclamations.IfIwereMr.Peyton,forinstance, I'dmuchratherwin thecompetition thanthanbeasdisinterestedasMr.Darrow."

Mrs. Peyton smiled. "I hope youwon't tell him so," she said half seriously."He is over-stimulated already; and he is so easily influenced by any onewhowhoseopinionhevalues."

Shestoppedabruptly,hearingherself,withastrangeinwardshock,re-echothewordswhichanotherman'smotherhadoncespokentoher.MissVerneydidnot seem to take the allusion to herself, for she continued to fix on Mrs.Peytonagazeofimpartialsympathy.

"Butwecan'thelpbeinginterested!"shedeclared.

"It's very kind of you; but I wish you would all help him to feel that hiscompetition is after all of very little account comparedwith other thingshishealthandhispeaceofmind,forinstance.Heislookinghorriblyusedup."

ThegirlglancedoverhershoulderatDick,whowasjustreenteringtheroomatDarrow'sside.

"Oh,doyouthinkso?"shesaid."Ishouldhavethoughtitwashisfriendwhowasusedup."

Mrs.Peytonfollowedtheglancewithsurprise.ShehadbeentoopreoccupiedtonoticeDarrow,whosecrudelymodelledfacewasalwaysofadullpallour,towhichhis slow-movinggreyeye lentno reliefexcept in raremomentsofexpansion.Nowthefacehad thefallen linesofadeath-mask, inwhichonlythe smile he turned on Dick remained alive; and the sight smote her withcompunction.PoorDarrow!Hedidlookhorriblyfaggedout:asifheneededcare and petting and good food. No one knew exactly how he lived. Hisrooms, according toDick's report,were fireless and ill kept, buthe stuck tothembecausehislandlady,whomhehadfishedoutofsomefinancialplight,had difficulty in obtaining other lodgers. He belonged to no clubs, andwanderedoutaloneforhismeals,mysteriouslyrefusingthehospitalitywhichhis friends pressed on him. It was plain that he was very poor, and Dickconjecturedthathesentwhatheearnedtoanauntinhisnativevillage;buthewassosilentaboutsuchmattersthat,outsideofhisprofession,heseemedtohavenopersonallife.

MissVerney's companionhavingpresently advisedher of the lapseof time,thereensuedageneral leave-taking,at thecloseofwhichDickaccompaniedthe ladies to their carriage. Darrow was meanwhile blundering into hisgreatcoat, a process which always threw him into a state of perspiringembarrassment;butMrs.Peyton,surprisinghimintheact,suggestedthatheshoulddeferitandgiveherafewmoments'talk.

"Letmemakeyousomefresh tea," shesaid,asDarrowblushinglyshed thegarment, "andwhenDickcomesbackwe'll allwalkhome together. I'venothadachancetosaytwowordstoyouthiswinter."

Darrow sank into a chair at her side and nervously contemplated his boots."I'vebeentremendouslyhardatwork,"hesaid.

"Iknow: toohardatwork, I'mafraid.Dick tellsmeyouhavebeenwearingyourselfoutoveryourcompetitionplans."

"Oh,well,Ishallhavetimetorestnow,"hereturned."Iputthelaststroketothemthismorning."

Mrs.Peytongavehimaquicklook."You'reaheadofDick,then."

"Inpointoftimeonly,"hesaidsmiling.

"Thatisinitselfanadvantage,"sheansweredwithatingeofasperity.Inspiteof an honest effort for impartiality she could not, at the moment, helpregardingDarrowasanobstacleinherson'spath.

"Iwish thecompetitionwereover!"sheexclaimed,conscious thathervoice

hadbetrayedher."Ihatetoseeyoubothlookingsofagged."

Darrowsmiledagain,perhapsatherstudiedinclusionofhimself.

"Oh,Dick'sallright,"hesaid."He'llpullhimselftogetherinnotime."

He spokewith an emphasiswhichmight have struck her, if her sympathieshadnotagainbeendeflectedbytheallusiontoherson.

"Notifhedoesn'twin,"sheexclaimed.

Darrowtooktheteashehadpouredforhim,knockingthespoontothefloorinhiseagerness toperformthefeatgracefully. Inbendingtorecover thespoonhe struck the tea-table with his shoulder, and set the cups dancing. Havingregainedameasureofcomposure,hetookaswallowofthehotteaandsetitdownwith a gasp, precariously near the edge of the tea-table.Mrs. Peytonrescued the cup, and Darrow, apparently forgetting its existence, rose andbegantopacetheroom.Itwasalwayshardforhimtositstillwhenhetalked.

"Youmeanhe'ssotremendouslysetonit?"hebrokeout.

Mrs.Peytonhesitated."YouknowhimalmostaswellasIdo,"shesaid."He'scapable of anything where there is a possibility of success; but I'm alwaysafraidofthereaction."

"Oh, well, Dick's a man," said Darrow bluntly. "Besides, he's going tosucceed."

"Iwishhedidn'tfeelsosureofit.Youmustn'tthinkI'mafraidforhim.He'saman,andIwanthimtotakehischanceswithothermen;butIwishhedidn'tcaresomuchaboutwhatpeoplethink."

"People?"

"MissVerney,then:Isupposeyouknow."

Darrowpaused in frontof her. "Yes: he's talked agooddeal abouther.Youthinkshewantshimtosucceed?"

"Atanyprice!"

Hedrewhisbrowstogether."Whatdoyoucallanyprice?"

"Wellherself,inthiscase,Ibelieve."

Darrowbentapuzzled stareonher. "Youmeansheattached thatamountofimportancetothiscompetition?"

"Sheseemstoregarditassymbolical:that'swhatIgather.AndI'mafraidshe'sgivenhimthesameimpression."

Darrow'ssunkenfacewassuffusedbyhisraresmile."Oh,well,he'llpullitoffthen!"hesaid.

Mrs. Peyton rose with a distracted sigh. "I half hope he won't, for such amotive,"sheexclaimed.

"Themotivewon't show inhiswork," saidDarrow.Headded,afterapauseprobablydevotedtothesearchfortherightword:"Heseemstothinkagreatdealofher."

Mrs.Peytonfixedhimthoughtfully."IwishIknewwhatyouthinkofher."

"Why,Ineversawherbefore."

"No;but you talkedwithher to-day.You've formedanopinion: I thinkyoucamehereonpurpose."

Hechuckledjoyouslyatherdiscernment:shehadalwaysseemedtohimgiftedwithsupernaturalinsight."Well,Ididwanttoseeher,"heowned.

"Andwhatdoyouthink?"

Hetookafewvaguestepsand thenhaltedbeforeMrs.Peyton."I think,"hesaid,smiling,"thatshelikestobehelpedfirst,andtohaveeverythingonherplateatonce."

III

At dinner, with a rush of contrition,Mrs. Peyton remembered that she hadafter all not spoken to Darrow about his health. He had distracted her bybeginningtotalkofDick;andbesides,muchasDarrow'sopinionsinterestedher, his personality had never fixed her attention.He always seemed to hersimplyavehicleforthetransmissionofideas.

ItwasDickwhorecalledhertoasenseofheromissionbyaskingifshehadn'tthoughtthatoldPaullookedrathermoreraggedthanusual.

"Hedidlooktired,"Mrs.Peytonconceded."Imeanttotellhimtotakecareofhimself."

Dick laughedat the futilityof themeasure. "OldPaul isnever tired:he canwork twenty-five hours out of the twenty-four.The troublewith him is thathe'sill.Somethingwrongwiththemachinery,I'mafraid."

"Oh,I'msorry.Hasheseenadoctor?"

"Hewouldn'tlistentomewhenIsuggestedittheotherday;buthe'ssodeucedmysteriousthatIdon'tknowwhathemayhavedonesince."Dickrose,puttingdownhiscoffee-cupandhalf-smokedcigarette."I'vehalfamindtopopinonhimtonightandseehowhe'sgettingon."

"Buthelivesattheotherendoftheearth;andyou'retiredyourself."

"I'mnottired;onlyalittlestrung-up,"hereturned,smiling."Andbesides,I'mgoingtomeetGillattheofficebyandbyandputinanight'swork.Itwon'thurtmetotakealookatPaulfirst."

Mrs.Peytonwassilent.Sheknewitwasuselesstocontendwithhersonabouthiswork, and she tried to fortify herselfwith the remembrance of her ownwordstoDarrow:Dickwasamanandmusttakehischancewithothermen.

ButDick,glancingathiswatch,utteredanexclamationofannoyance."Oh,byJove, I shan't have timeafter all.Gill iswaiting formenow;wemusthavedawdled over dinner." He went to give his mother a caressing tap on thecheek."Nowdon'tworry,"headjuredher;andasshesmiledbackathimheaddedwith a sudden happy blush: "She doesn't, you know: she's so sure ofme."

Mrs.Peyton'ssmile faded,and layingadetaininghandonhis,shesaidwithsuddendirectness:"Sureofyou,orofyoursuccess?"

Hehesitated."Oh,sheregardsthemassynonymous.ShethinksI'mboundtogeton."

"Butifyoudon't?"

Heshruggedlaughingly,butwithaslightcontractionofhisconfidentbrows."Why,Ishallhavetomakewayforsomeoneelse,Isuppose.That'sthelawoflife."

Mrs.Peytonsatupright,gazingathimwithakindofsolemnity."Isitthelawoflove?"sheasked.

Helookeddownonherwithasmilethattrembledalittle."Mydearromanticmother,Idon'twantherpity,youknow!"

Dick, cominghome thenextmorning shortlybeforedaylight, left thehouse

again after a hurried breakfast, and Mrs. Peyton heard nothing of him tillnightfall.Hehadpromised tobeback fordinner,buta fewmomentsbeforeeight,asshewascomingdowntothedrawing-room,theparlour-maidhandedherahastilypencillednote.

"Don'twaitforme,"itran."DarrowisillandIcan'tleavehim.I'llsendalinewhenthedoctorhasseenhim."

Mrs.Peyton,whowasawomanofrapidreactions,readthewordswithapang.ShewasashamedofthejealousthoughtsshehadharbouredofDarrow,andofthe selfishness which had made her lose sight of his troubles in theconsideration ofDick'swelfare. EvenClemenceVerney,whom she secretlyaccusedofawantofheart,hadbeenstruckbyDarrow's ill looks,whileshehadhadeyesonlyforherson.PoorDarrow!Howcoldandself-engrossedhemusthavethoughther!Inthefirstrushofpenitenceherimpulsewastodriveat once to his lodgings; but the infection of his own shyness restrained her.Dick's note gave no details; the illness was evidently grave, but might notDarrow regard her coming as an intrusion? To repair her negligence ofyesterdaybyasuddeninvasionofhisprivacymightbeonlyagreaterfailureintact;andafteramomentofdeliberationsheresolvedonsendingtoaskDickifhewishedhertogotohim.

Thereply,whichcamelate,waswhatshehadexpected."No,wehaveallthehelpweneed.Thedoctorhassentagoodnurse,andiscomingagainlater.It'spneumonia,butof coursehedoesn't saymuchyet.Letmehave somebeef-juiceassoonasthecookcanmakeit."

Thebeef-juiceorderedanddispatched, shewas left toavigil inmelancholycontrast to that of the previous evening.Then she had been enclosed in thenarrow limitsofhermaternal interests;now thebarriersofselfwerebrokendown,andherpersonalpreoccupationssweptawayonthecurrentofawidersympathy. As she sat there in the radius of lamp-light which, for so manyevenings,hadheldDickandherselfinacharmedcircleoftenderness,shesawthatherloveforherboyhadcometobemerelyakindofextendedegotism.Lovehadnarrowed insteadofwideningher,had rebuiltbetweenherselfandlife the very walls which, years and years before, she had laid low withbleedingfingers.Itwashorrible,howshehadcometosacrificeeverythingtotheonepassionofambitionforherboy....

Atdaylightshesentanothermessenger,oneofherownservants,whoreturnedwithouthavingseenDick.Mr.Peytonhadsentwordthattherewasnochange.Hewouldwritelater;hewantednothing.Thedayworeondrearily.OnceKatefoundherselfcomputingtheprecioushourslosttoDick'sunfinishedtask.Sheblushed at her ineradicable selfishness, and tried to turn her mind to poor

Darrow.But shecouldnotmasterher impulses; andnowshecaughtherselfindulging the thought that his illness would at least exclude him from thecompetition.Butnoshe remembered thathehad saidhisworkwas finished.Comewhatmight,hestoodinthepathofherboy'ssuccess.Shehatedherselfforthethought,butitwouldnotdown.

Eveningdrewon,buttherewasnonotefromDick.Atlength,intheshamedreactionfromherfears,sherangforacarriageandwentupstairstodress.Shecouldstandaloofnolonger:shemustgotoDarrow,ifonlytoescapefromherwickedthoughtsofhim.AsshecamedownagainsheheardDick'skeyinthedoor.Shehastenedhersteps,andasshereachedthehallhestoodbeforeherwithoutspeaking.

Shelookedathimandthequestiondiedonherlips.Henodded,andwalkedslowlypasther.

"Therewasnohopefromthefirst,"hesaid.

The next dayDickwas taken upwith the preparations for the funeral. Thedistant aunt, who appeared to be Darrow's only relation, had been dulynotifiedofhisdeath;butnoanswerhavingbeenreceivedfromher,itwaslefttohis friend to fulfil thecustomaryduties.Hewasagainabsent for thebestpartof theday;andwhenhereturnedatduskMrs.Peyton, lookingupfromthe tea-table behind which she awaited him, was startled by the deep-linedmiseryofhisface.

Her own thoughtswere too painful for ready expression, and they sat for awhileinamutecommunityofwretchedness.

"Iseverythingarranged?"sheaskedatlength.

"Yes.Everything."

"Andyouhavenotheardfromtheaunt?"

Heshookhishead.

"Canyoufindnotraceofanyotherrelations?"

"None.Iwentoverallhispapers.Therewereveryfew,andIfoundnoaddressbuttheaunt's."Hesatthrownbackinhischair,disregardingthecupofteashehadmechanically poured for him. "I found this, though," he added, after apause,drawingaletterfromhispocketandholdingitouttoher.

Shetookitdoubtfully."OughtItoreadit?"

"Yes."

Shesawthenthat theenvelope, inDarrow'shand,wasaddressedtoherson.Withinwere a fewpencilledwords,datedon the first dayofhis illness, themorrowofthedayonwhichshehadlastseenhim.

"DearDick,"sheread,"Iwantyoutousemyplansforthemuseumifyoucangetanygoodoutofthem.EvenifIpulloutofthisIwantyouto.Ishallhaveotherchances,andIhaveanideathisonemeansalottoyou."

Mrs. Peyton sat speechless, gazing at the date of the letter, which she hadinstantly connected with her last talk with Darrow. She saw that he hadunderstoodher,andthethoughtscorchedhertothesoul.

"Wasn'titgloriousofhim?"Dicksaid.

Shedroppedtheletter,andhidherfaceinherhands.

IV

Thefuneraltookplacethenextmorning,andonthereturnfromthecemeteryDicktoldhismotherthathemustgoandlookoverthingsatDarrow'soffice.Hehadheardthedaybeforefromhisfriend'saunt,ahelplesspersontowhomtelegraphywasdifficultandtravel inconceivable,andwho, ineightpagesofunpunctuated eloquence,madeover toDickwhat she called themelancholyprivilegeofwindinguphernephew'saffairs.

Mrs.Peytonlookedanxiouslyatherson."Istherenoonewhocandothisforyou?Hemusthavehadaclerkorsomeonewhoknowsabouthiswork."

Dick shookhishead. "Not lately.Hehasn'thadmuch todo thiswinter, andtheselastmonthshehadchuckedeverythingtoworkaloneoverhisplans."

The word brought a faint colour to Mrs. Peyton's cheek. It was the firstallusionthateitherofthemhadmadetoDarrow'sbequest.

"Oh,ofcourseyoumustdoallyoucan,"shemurmured,turningaloneintothehouse.

The emotions of the morning had stirred her deeply, and she sat at homeduringtheday,lettingherminddwell,inakindofretrospectivepiety,onthethoughtofpoorDarrow'sdevotion.Shehadgivenhimtoolittletimewhilehelived,hadacquiescedtooeasilyinhisgrowinghabitsofseclusion;andshefeltitasaproofofinsensibilitythatshehadnotbeenmorecloselydrawntothe

onepersonwhohadlovedDickasshelovedhim.Theevidenceofthatlove,as shown in Darrow's letter, filled her with a vain compunction. The veryextravaganceofhisofferlentitadeeperpathos.Itwaswonderfulthat,eveninthe urgency of affection, aman of his almostmorbid rectitude should haveoverlooked the restrictions of professional honour, should have implied thepossibilityofhisfriend'soverlookingthem.Itseemedtomakehissacrificethemore complete that it had, unconsciously, taken the form of a subtletemptation.

ThelastwordarrestedMrs.Peyton'sthoughts.Atemptation?Towhom?Not,surely, toonecapable, asher sonwascapable,of rising to theheightofhisfriend'sdevotion.Theoffer, toDick,wouldmeansimply,as itmeant toher,thelasttouchingexpressionofaninarticulatefidelity:theutteranceofalovewhich at last had found its formula. Mrs. Peyton dismissed as morbid anyotherviewofthecase.ShewasannoyedwithherselfforsupposingthatDickcouldbeeversoremotelyaffectedbythepossibilityatwhichpoorDarrow'srenunciationhinted.Thenatureoftheofferremoveditfrompracticalissuestotheidealizingregionofsentiment.

Mrs.Peytonhadbeensittingalonewiththesethoughtsforthegreaterpartoftheafternoon,andduskwasfallingwhenDickenteredthedrawing-room.Inthe dim light, with his pallour heightened by the sombre effect of hismourning,hecameuponheralmoststartlingly,witharevivalofsomelong-effaced impression which, for a moment, gave her the sense of strugglingamongshadows.Shedidnot,atfirst,knowwhathadproducedtheeffect;thenshesawthatitwashislikenesstohisfather.

"Wellisitover?"sheasked,ashethrewhimselfintoachairwithoutspeaking.

"Yes: I've looked through everything." He leaned back, crossing his handsbehindhishead,andgazingpastherwithalookofutterlassitude.

Shepausedamoment,andthensaidtentatively:"Tomorrowyouwillbeabletogobacktoyourwork."

"Ohmywork,"heexclaimed,asiftobrushasideanill-timedpleasantry.

"Areyoutootired?"

"No."Heroseandbegantowanderupanddowntheroom."I'mnottired.Givemesometea,willyou?"Hepausedbeforeherwhileshepouredthecup,andthen,withouttakingit,turnedawaytolightacigarette.

"Surelythereisstilltime?"shesuggested,withhereyesonhim.

"Time?Tofinishmyplans?Oh,yesthere'stime.Butthey'renotworthit."

"Notworthit?"Shestartedup,andthendroppedbackintoherseat,ashamedof having betrayed her anxiety. "They areworth asmuch as theywere lastweek,"shesaidwithanattemptatcheerfulness.

"Nottome,"hereturned."Ihadn'tseenDarrow'sthen."

Therewasalongsilence.Mrs.Peytonsatwithhereyesfixedonherclaspedhands,andhersonpacedtheroomrestlessly.

"Aretheysowonderful?"sheaskedatlength.

"Yes."

Shepausedagain,andthensaid,liftingatremulousglancetohisface:"Thatmakeshisofferallthemorebeautiful."

Dickwas lightinganothercigarette,andhis facewas turned fromher. "YesIsupposeso,"hesaidinalowtone.

"They were quite finished, he told me," she continued, unconsciouslydroppinghervoicetothepitchofhis.

"Yes."

"Thentheywillbeentered,Isuppose?"

"Ofcoursewhynot?"heansweredalmostsharply.

"Shallyouhavetimetoattendtoallthatandtofinishyourstoo?"

"Oh,Isupposeso.I'vetoldyouitisn'taquestionoftune.Iseenowthatminearenotworthbotheringwith."

She rose and approached him, laying her hands on his shoulders. "You aretiredandunstrung;howcanyoujudge?Whynotletmelookatbothdesignsto-morrow?"

Under her gaze he flushed abruptly and drew back with a half-impatientgesture.

"Oh, I'mafraid thatwouldn'thelpme;you'dbe sure to thinkminebest,"hesaidwithalaugh.

"ButifIcouldgiveyougoodreasons?"shepressedhim.

Hetookherhand,asifashamedofhisimpatience."Dearmother,ifyouhadanyreasonstheirmereexistencewouldprovethattheywerebad."

Hismother did not return his smile. "Youwon't letme see the two designsthen?"shesaidwithafainttingeofinsistence.

"Oh,ofcourseifyouwanttoifyouonlywon'ttalkaboutitnow!Can'tyouseethatI'mprettynearlydead-beat?"heburstoutuncontrollably;andasshestoodsilent,headdedwithawearyfallinhisvoice,"IthinkI'llgoupstairsandseeifIcan'tgetanapbeforedinner."

Though they had separated upon the assurance that she should see the twodesigns ifshewished it,Mrs.Peytonknewtheywouldnotbeshowntoher.Dick, indeed,wouldnotagaindenyher request;buthadhenot reckonedonthe improbability of her renewing it? All night she lay confronted by thatquestion. The situation shaped itself before her with that hallucinatingdistinctnesswhichbelongs to themidnightvision.SheknewnowwhyDickhad suddenly reminded her of his father: had she not once before seen thesamethoughtmovingbehindthesameeyes?ShewassureithadoccurredtoDick touseDarrow'sdrawings.As she layawake in thedarkness shecouldhearhim,longaftermidnight,pacingtheflooroverhead:sheheldherbreath,listeningtotherecurringbeatofhisfoot,whichseemedthatofanimprisonedspiritrevolvingwearilyinthecageofthesamethought.Shefeltineveryfibrethat a crisis in her son's life had been reached, that the act nowbefore himwouldhaveadeterminingeffectonhiswholefuture.Thecircumstancesofherpast had raised to clairvoyance her natural insight into human motive, hadmade of her a moral barometer responding to the faintest fluctuations ofatmosphere, and years of anxious meditation had familiarized her with theformwhichherson's temptationswerelikelytotake.Thepeculiarmiseryofher situationwas that shecouldnot,except indirectly,put this intuition, thisforesight,athisservice.Itwasapartofherdiscernmenttobeawarethatlifeistheonly real counsellor, thatwisdomunfiltered throughpersonal experiencedoes not become a part of themoral tissues. Love such as hers had a greatoffice,theofficeofpreparationanddirection;butitmustknowhowtoholditshand and keep its counsel, how to attend upon its object as an invisibleinfluenceratherthanasanactiveinterference.

All thisKatePeytonhad toldherself againandagain,during thosehoursofanxiouscalculationinwhichshehadtriedtocastDick'shoroscope;butnotinhermomentsofmostfantasticforebodinghadshefiguredsocruelatestofhercourage.Ifherprayersforhimhadtakenpreciseshape,shemighthaveaskedthatheshouldbesparedthespectacular,thedramaticappealtohiswill-power:thathistemptationsshouldslipbyhiminadulldisguise.Shehadsecuredhimagainstallordinaryformsofbaseness;thevulnerablepointlayhigher,inthatregionofidealizingegotismwhichistheseatoflifeinsuchnatures.

Yearsofsolitaryforesightgavehermindasingularalertness indealingwith

such possibilities. She saw at once that the peril of the situation lay in theminimumof risk it involved.Darrowhad employedno assistant inworkingouthisplansforthecompetition,andhissecludedlifemadeitalmostcertainthat he had not shown them to any one, and that she andDick alone knewthem to have been completed. Moreover, it was a part of Dick's duty toexaminethecontentsofhisfriend'soffice,andindoingthisnothingwouldbeeasier than to possess himself of the drawings andmake use of any part ofthem thatmight serve his purpose.He hadDarrow's authority for doing so;andthoughtheactinvolvedaslightbreachofprofessionalprobity,mightnothis friend's wishes be invoked as a secret justification?Mrs. Peyton foundherselfalmosthatingpoorDarrowforhavingbeentheunconsciousinstrumentofher son's temptation.Butwhat righthad she, after all, to suspectDickofconsidering,evenforamoment,theactofwhichshewassoreadytoaccusehim? His unwillingness to let her see the drawings might have been theaccidentalresultoflassitudeanddiscouragement.Hewastiredandtroubled,and she had chosen the wrong moment to make the request. His want ofreadinessmightevenbeduetothewishtoconcealfromherhowfarhisfriendhadsurpassedhim.Sheknewhissensitivenessonthispoint,andreproachedherself fornothaving foreseen it.Butherownarguments failed toconvinceher. Deep beneath her love for her boy and her faith in him there lurked anameless doubt. She could hardly now, in looking back, define the impulseuponwhichshehadmarriedDenisPeyton:sheknewonlythatthedeepsofhernaturehadbeenloosened,andthatshehadbeenborneforwardontheircurrenttotheveryfatefromwhichherheartrecoiled.Butifinonesensehermarriageremained a problem, therewas another inwhich hermotherhood seemed tosolveit.Shehadneverlostthesenseofhavingsnatchedherchildfromsomedim perilwhich still lurked and hovered; and he becamemore closely herswith every effort of her vigilant love. For the act of rescue had not beenaccomplishedonceandforall in themomentof immolation: ithadnotbeenbyasuddenstrokeofheroism,butbyever-renewedandindefatigableeffort,thatshehadbuiltupforhimthemiraculousshelterofherlove.Andnowthatitstoodthere,ahallowedrefugeagainstfailure,shecouldnotevensetalightinthepane,butmustlethimgropehiswaytoitunaided.

V

Mrs.Peyton'smidnightmusingssummedthemselvesupintheconclusionthatthenextfewhourswouldendheruncertainty.Shefeltthedaytobedecisive.If Dick offered to show her the drawings, her fears would be proved

groundless;ifheavoidedthesubject,theywerejustified.

Shedressedearlyinordernottomisshimatbreakfast;butassheenteredthedining-roomtheparlour-maidtoldherthatMr.Peytonhadoverslepthimself,andhadrungtohavehisbreakfastsentupstairs.Wasitapretexttoavoidher?Shewasvexedatherownreadinesstoseeaportentinthesimplestincident;but while she blushed at her doubts she let them govern her. She left thedining-room door open, determined not to miss him if he came downstairswhile shewasatbreakfast; thenshewentback to thedrawing-roomandsatdownatherwriting-table,tryingtobusyherselfwithsomeaccountswhileshelistenedforhisstep.Here tooshehad left thedooropen;butpresentlyeventhisslightdeparturefromherdailyusageseemedadeviationfromthepassiveattitude shehadadopted, and she roseand shut thedoor.Sheknew that shecouldstillhearhissteponthestairshehadhisfather'squickswinginggaitbutas she sat listening, and vainly trying to write, the closed door seemed tosymbolizearefusaltoshareinhistrial,ahardeningofherselfagainsthisneedofher.Whatifheshouldcomedownintendingtospeak,andshouldbeturnedfrom his purpose? Slighter obstacles have deflected the course of events inthose indeterminate moments when the soul floats between two tides. Shesprangupquickly,andasherhandtouchedthelatchsheheardhissteponthestairs.

When he entered the drawing-room she had regained the writing-table andcould lift a composed face to his.He came in hurriedly, yetwith a kind ofreluctance beneath his haste: again it was his father's step. She smiled, butlookedawayfromhimasheapproachedher;sheseemed tobere-livingherownpastasonere-livesthingsinthedistortionoffever.

"Areyouoffalready?"sheasked,glancingatthehatinhishand.

"Yes;I'mlateasitis.Ioversleptmyself."Hepausedandlookedvaguelyabouttheroom."Don'texpectmetilllatedon'twaitdinnerforme."

Shestirredimpulsively."Dick,you'reoverworkingyou'llmakeyourselfill."

"Nonsense.I'masfitaseverthismorning.Don'tbeimaginingthings."

He dropped his habitual kiss on her forehead, and turned to go. On thethresholdhepaused,andshe felt that something inhimsoughtherand thendrewback."Good-bye,"hecalledtoherasthedoorclosedonhim.

Shesatdownandtriedtosurveythesituationdivestedofhermidnightfears.Hehadnotreferredtoherwishtoseethedrawings:butwhatdidtheomissionsignify?Might he not have forgotten her request?Was she not forcing themosttrivialdetailstofitinwithherapprehensions?Unfortunatelyforherown

reassurance,sheknewthatherfamiliaritywithDick'sprocesseswasbasedonsuchminuteobservation, and that, to such intimacyas theirs, no indicationsweretrivial.Shewasascertainasifhehadspoken,thatwhenhehadleftthehouse that morning he was weighing the possibility of using Darrow'sdrawings,ofsupplementinghisownincompletedesignfromthefulnessofhisfriend'sinvention.AndwithabitterpangshedivinedthathewassorryhehadshownherDarrow'sletter.

Itwasimpossibletoremainfacetofacewithsuchconjectures,andthoughshehadgivenupallherengagementsduring thefewdayssinceDarrow'sdeath,shenowtookrefugeinthethoughtofaconcertwhichwastotakeplaceatafriend'shousethatmorning.Themusic-room,whensheentered,wasthrongedwithacquaintances,andshefoundtransientreliefinthatdispersalofattentionwhichmakes societyananesthetic for some formsofwretchedness.Contactwith thepressureofbusy indifferent lifeoftengivesremoteness toquestionswhichhaveclungascloseasthefleshtothebone;andifMrs.Peytondidnotfind such complete release, she at least interposed between herself and heranxietytheobligationtodissembleit.Butthereliefwasonlymomentary,andwhen the firstbarsof theoverture turnedfromher thesmilesof recognitionamongwhichshehadtriedtoloseherself,shefeltadeepersenseofisolation.Themusic,whichat another timewouldhave sweptherawayonsome richcurrentofemotion,nowseemedtoislandherinherownthoughts,tocreateanartificial solitude inwhich she found herselfmore immitigably face to facewithherfears.Thesilence,therecueillement,abouthergaveresonancetotheinner voices, lucidity to the inner vision, till she seemed enclosed in aluminousemptyhorizonagainstwhicheverypossibilitytookthesharpedgeofaccomplishedfact.Withrelentlessprecisionthecourseofeventswasunrolledbeforeher: shesawDickyielding tohisopportunity, snatchingvictory fromdishonour,winning love, happiness and success in the act bywhich he losthimself.Itwasallsosimple,soeasy,soinevitable,thatshefeltthefutilityofstrugglingorhopingagainst it.Hewouldwin thecompetition,wouldmarryMissVerney,wouldpresson toachievement through theopeningwhich thefirstsuccesshadmadeforhim.

AsMrs.Peytonreachedthispointinherforecast,shefoundheroutwardgazearrested by the face of the young lady who so dominated her inner vision.MissVerney,afewrowsdistant,satintentuponthemusic,inthatattitudeofpoisedmotionwhichwashernearestapproachtorepose.Herslenderbrownprofilewithitsbreezyhair,herquickeye,andthelipswhichseemedtolistenas well as speak, all betokened toMrs. Peyton a nature through which theobvious energies blew free, a bare open stretch of consciousness withoutshelter for tenderer growths. She shivered to think of Dick's frail scruplesexposedto thoserustlingairs.Andthen,suddenly,anewthoughtstruckher.

Whatifshemightturnthisforcetoherownuse,makeitserve,unconsciouslytoDick,as themeansofhisdeliverance?Hithertoshehadassumed thatherson's worst danger lay in the chance of his confiding his difficulty toClemenceVerney;andshehad,inherownpast,aprecedentwhichmadeherthinksuchaconfidencenotunlikely.Ifhedidcarryhisscruplestothegirl,sheargued, the latter's imperviousness, her frank inability to understand them,wouldhavetheeffectofdispellingthemlikemist;andhewasacuteenoughtoknow this and profit by it. So she had hitherto reasoned; but now the girl'spresenceseemedtoclarifyherperceptions,andshetoldherselfthatsomethinginDick'snature,somethingwhichsheherselfhadputthere,wouldresistthisshort cut to safety,wouldmakehim take themore tortuousway to his goalrather than gain it through the privacies of the heart he loved. For she hadliftedhimthusfarabovehisfather,thatitwouldbeadisenchantmenttohimto find that ClemenceVerney did not share his scruples.On thismuch, hismother now exultingly felt, she could count in her passive struggle forsupremacy.No,hewouldnever,nevertellClemenceVerneyandhisonehope,hissuresalvation,thereforelayinsomeoneelse'stellingher.

The excitement of this discovery had nearly, in mid-concert, swept Mrs.Peytonfromherseattothegirl'sside.Fearingtomissthelatterinthethrongat the entrance, she slipped out during the last number and, lingering in thefarther drawing-room, let the dispersing audience drift her inMissVerney'sdirection.Thegirl shone sympatheticallyonher approach, and in amomentthey had detached themselves from the crowd and taken refuge in theperfumedemptinessoftheconservatory.

Thegirl,whosesensationswerealwayseasilysetinmotion,hadatfirstagooddealtosayofthemusic,forwhichsheclaimed,onherhearer'spart,anactiveshowofapprovalordissent;butthisdismissed,sheturnedameltingfaceonMrs. Peyton and saidwith one of her rapidmodulations of tone: "Iwas sosorryaboutpoorMr.Darrow."

Mrs.Peytonutteredanassentingsigh."Itwasagreatgrieftousagreatlosstomyson."

"YesI know. I can imagine what you must have felt. And then it was sounluckythatitshouldhavehappenedjustnow."

Mrs.Peytonshotareconnoitringglanceatherprofile."Hisdying,youmean,ontheeveofsuccess?"

Miss Verney turned a frank smile upon her. "One ought to feel that, ofcoursebutI'mafraidIamveryselfishwheremyfriendsareconcerned,andIwas thinking ofMr. Peyton's having to give up his work at such a critical

moment." She spoke without a note of deprecation: there was a paganfreshnessinheropportunism.

Mrs.Peytonwassilent,andthegirlcontinuedafterapause:"Isupposenowitwillbealmostimpossibleforhimtofinishhisdrawingsintime.It'sapityhehadn'tworked out thewhole scheme a little sooner. Then the detailswouldhavecomeofthemselves."

Mrs.Peytonfeltacontemptstrangelymingledwithexultation.IfonlythegirlwouldtalkinthatwaytoDick!

"Hehashardlyhadtimetothinkofhimselflately,"shesaid,tryingtokeepthecoldnessoutofhervoice.

"No,ofcoursenot,"MissVerneyassented;"butisn'tthatallthemorereasonforhisfriendstothinkofhim?ItwasverydearofhimtogiveupeverythingtonurseMr.Darrowbut,afterall,ifamanisgoingtogetoninhiscareertherearetimeswhenhemustthinkfirstofhimself."

Mrs.Peytonpaused,tryingtochooseherwordswithdeliberation.Itwasquiteclear now that Dick had not spoken, and she felt the responsibility thatdevolveduponher.

"Getting on in a careeris that always the first thing to be considered?" sheasked,lettinghereyesrestmusinglyonthegirl's.

TheglancedidnotdisconcertMissVerney,whoreturneditwithoneofequalcomprehensiveness."Yes,"shesaidquickly,andwithaslightblush."Withatemperament like Mr. Peyton's I believe it is. Some people can pickthemselves up after any number of bad falls: I am not sure that he could. Ithinkdiscouragementwouldweakeninsteadofstrengtheninghim."

Both women had forgotten external conditions in the quick reach for eachother'smeanings.Mrs. Peyton flushed, hermaternal pride in revolt; but theanswerwascheckedonherlipsbythesenseofthegirl'sunexpectedinsight.HerewassomeonewhoknewDickaswellasshedidshouldshesayapartisanor an accomplice? A dim jealousy stirred beneath Mrs. Peyton's otheremotions: shewas undergoing the agonywhich themother feels at the firstintrusiononherprivilegeofjudgingherchild;andhervoicehadaflutterofresentment.

"Youmusthaveapooropinionofhischaracter,"shesaid.

MissVerneydidnot removehereyes,butherblushdeepenedbeautifully."Ihave, at any rate," sheSaid, "ahighoneofhis talent. I don't supposemanymenhaveanequalamountofmoralandintellectualenergy."

"Andyouwouldcultivatetheoneattheexpenseoftheother?"

"Incertaincasesanduptoacertainpoint."Sheshookoutthelongfurofhermuff,oneofthosesilveryflexiblefurswhichclotheawomanwithadelicatesumptuousness. Everything about her, at the moment, seemed rich andcoldeverything, asMrs. Peyton quickly noted, but the blush lingering underher dark skin; and so complete was the girl's self-command that the blushseemedtobethereonlybecauseithadbeenforgotten.

"Idaresayyouthinkmestrange,"shecontinued."Mostpeopledo,becauseIspeak the truth. It's the easiest way of concealing one's feelings. I can, forinstance, talkquite openly aboutMr.Peytonunder shelter of your inferencethatIshouldn'tdosoifIwerewhatiscalled'interested'inhim.AndasIaminterestedinhim,mymethodhasitsadvantages!"Sheendedwithoneofthefluttering laughswhich seemed to flit from point to point of her expressiveperson.

Mrs.Peytonleanedtowardher."Ibelieveyouareinterested,"shesaidquietly;"andsinceIsupposeyouallowothers theprivilegeyouclaimforyourself, Iamgoing to confess that I followedyouhere in thehopeof findingout thenatureofyourinterest."

Miss Verney shot a glance at her, and drew away in a soft subsidence ofundulatingfurs.

"Isthisanembassy?"sheaskedsmiling.

"No:notinanysense."

Thegirl leanedbackwithanairof relief. "I'mglad; I shouldhavedisliked"ShelookedagainatMrs.Peyton."YouwanttoknowwhatImeantodo?"

"Yes."

"ThenIcanonlyanswerthatImeantowaitandseewhathedoes."

"Youmeanthateverythingiscontingentonhissuccess?"

"IamifI'meverything,"sheadmittedgaily.

Themother'sheartwasbeating inher throat,andherwordsseemedtoforcethemselvesoutthroughthethrobs.

"IIdon'tquiteseewhyyouattachsuchimportancetothisspecialsuccess."

"Becausehedoes," thegirl returned instantly."Because tohimit is thefinalanswertohisself-questioningthequestioningwhetherheisevertoamountto

anythingornot.Hesaysifhehasanythinginhimitoughttocomeoutnow.Alltheconditionsarefavourableitisthechancehehasalwaysprayedfor.Yousee," she continued, almost confidentially, but without the least loss ofcomposure"youseehehastoldmeagreatdealabouthimselfandhisvariousexperimentshis phrases of indecision and disgust.There are lots of tentativetalentsintheworld,andthesoonertheyarecrushedoutbycircumstancesthebetter. But it seems as though he really had it in him to do somethingdistinguishedas though the uncertainty lay in his character and not in histalent.Thatiswhatinterests,whatattractsme.Onecan'tteachamantohavegenius,butifhehasitonemayshowhimhowtouseit.ThatiswhatIshouldbegoodfor,youseetokeephimuptohisopportunities."

Mrs. Peyton had listened with an intensity of attention that left her replyunprepared.Therewassomethingstartlingandyethalfattractiveinthegirl'savowalofprincipleswhichareoftenerlivedbythanprofessed.

"Andyouthink,"shebeganatlength,"thatinthiscasehehasfallenbelowhisopportunity?"

"Noonecan tell,ofcourse;buthisdiscouragement,hisabattement, isabadsign.Idon'tthinkhehasanyhopeofsucceeding."

Themotheragainwaveredamoment."Sinceyouaresofrank,"shethensaid,"willyouletmebeequallyso,andaskhowlatelyyouhaveseenhim?"

Thegirlsmiledatthecircumlocution."Yesterdayafternoon,"shesaidsimply.

"Andyouthoughthim"

"Horriblydownonhisluck.Hesaidhimselfthathisbrainwasempty."

AgainMrs.Peyton felt the throb inher throat, and a slowblush rose tohercheek."Wasthatallhesaid?"

"Abouthimselfwasthereanythingelse?"saidthegirlquickly.

"Hedidn'ttellyouofofanopportunitytomakeupforthetimehehaslost?"

"Anopportunity?Idon'tunderstand."

"Hedidn'tspeaktoyou,then,ofMr.Darrow'sletter?"

"Hesaidnothingofanyletter."

"There was one, which was found after poor Darrow's death. In it he gaveDick leave to use his design for the competition. Dick says the design iswonderfulitwouldgivehimjustwhatheneeds."

MissVerney sat listening raptly,witha rushof colour that suffusedher likelight.

"Butwhenwasthis?Wherewastheletterfound?Heneversaidawordofit!"sheexclaimed.

"TheletterwasfoundonthedayofDarrow'sdeath."

"ButIdon'tunderstand!Whyhashenevertoldme?Whyshouldheseemsohopeless?" She turned an ignorant appealing face on Mrs. Peyton. It wasprodigious,butitwastrueshefeltnothing,sawnothing,butthecrudefactoftheopportunity.

Mrs.Peyton'svoicetrembledwiththecompletenessofhertriumph."Isupposehisreasonfornotspeakingisthathehasscruples."

"Scruples?"

"Hefeelsthattousethedesignwouldbedishonest."

Miss Verney's eyes fixed themselves on her in a commiserating stare."Dishonest? When the poor man wished it himself? When it was his lastrequest?Whentheletteristheretoproveit?Why,thedesignbelongstoyourson!Nooneelsehadanyrighttoit."

"ButDick'srightdoesnotextendtopassingitoffashisownatleastthatishisfeeling,Ibelieve.Ifhewonthecompetitionhewouldbewinningitonfalsepretenses."

"Whyshouldyoucallthemfalsepretenses?Hisdesignmighthavebeenbetterthan Darrow's if he had had time to carry it out. It seems to me that Mr.Darrow must have felt thismust have felt that he owed his friend somecompensation for the time he took from him. I can imagine nothing morenaturalthanhiswishingtomakethisreturnforyourson'ssacrifice."

Shepositivelyglowedwiththeforceofherconviction,andMrs.Peyton,forastrange instant, felt her own resistance wavering. She herself had neverconsideredthequestioninthatlightthelightofDarrow'sviewinghisgiftasajustifiable compensation. But the glimpse she caught of it drove hershudderingbehindherretrenchments.

"That argument," she said coldly, "would naturally be more convincing toDarrowthantomyson."

MissVerneyglancedup,struckbythechangeinMrs.Peyton'svoice.

"Ah,thenyouagreewithhim?Youthinkitwouldbedishonest?"

Mrs.Peytonsawthatshehadslipped intoself-betrayal."MysonandIhavenotspokenofthematter,"shesaidevasively.ShecaughttheflashofreliefinMissVerney'sface.

"Youhaven'tspoken?Thenhowdoyouknowhowhefeelsaboutit?"

"Ionlyjudgefromwell,perhapsfromhisnotspeaking."

Thegirldrewadeepbreath."Isee,"shemurmured."Thatistheveryreasonthatpreventshisspeaking."

"Thereason?"

"Yourknowingwhathethinksandhisknowingthatyouknow."

Mrs.Peytonwasstartledathersubtlety."Iassureyou,"shesaid,rising,"thatIhavedonenothingtoinfluencehim."

The girl gazed at hermusingly. "No," she saidwith a faint smile, "nothingexcepttoreadhisthoughts."

VI

Mrs. Peyton reached home in the state of exhaustion which follows on aphysicalstruggle.Itseemedtoheras thoughher talkwithClemenceVerneyhadbeenanactualcombat,ameasuringofwristandeye.Foramomentshewas frightenedatwhat shehaddoneshe felt as though shehadbetrayedherson to the enemy.But before long she regainedhermoral balance, and sawthatshehadmerelyshiftedtheconflicttothegroundonwhichitcouldbestbefoughtoutsince theprize fought forwas thenaturalbattlefield.The reactionbroughtwithitasenseofhelplessness,arealizationthatshehadlettheissuepass out of her hold; but since, in the last analysis, it had never lain there,sinceitwasaboveallneedful that thedeterminingtouchshouldbegivenbyanyhandbuthers,shepresently foundcourage tosubside into inaction.Shehaddoneall shecouldevenmore,perhaps, thanprudencewarrantedandnowshecouldbutawaitpassivelytheworkingoftheforcesshehadsetinmotion.

FortwodaysafterhertalkwithMissVerneyshesawlittleofDick.Hewentearly to his office and came back late. He seemed less tired, more self-possessed,thanduringthefirstdaysafterDarrow'sdeath;buttherewasanewinscrutableness in his manner, a note of reserve, of resistance almost, asthoughhehadbarricadedhimselfagainstherconjectures.Shehadbeenstruck

byMissVerney'sreplytotheanxiousasseverationthatshehaddonenothingto influence Dick"Nothing," the girl had answered, "except to read histhoughts."Mrs.Peytonshrankfromthisdetectionofatacitinterferencewithher son's liberty of action. She longedhow passionately he would neverknowtostandapartfromhiminthisstrugglebetweenhistwodestinies,anditwasalmostareliefthatheonhissideshouldholdaloof,should,forthefirsttimeintheirrelation,seemtofeelhertendernessasanintrusion.

Only four days remained before the date fixed for the sending in of thedesigns,andstillDickhadnotreferredtohiswork.OfDarrow,also,hehadmadenomention.HismotherlongedtoknowifhehadspokentoClemenceVerneyorratherifthegirlhadforcedhisconfidence.Mrs.PeytonwasalmostcertainthatMissVerneywouldnotremainsilentthereweretimeswhenDick'srenewedapplicationtohisworkseemedanearnestofherhavingspoken,andspoken convincingly. At the thought Kate's heart grew chill. What if herexperimentshouldsucceedinasenseshehadnotintended?IfthegirlshouldreconcileDicktohisweakness,shouldpluckthestingfromhistemptation?Inthisroundofuncertaintiesthemotherrevolvedfortwointerminabledays;butthesecondeveningbroughtananswertoherquestion.

Dick,returningearlierthanusualfromtheoffice,hadfound,onthehall-table,a notewhich, sincemorning, had been under hismother's observation. Theenvelope, fashionable in tint and texture, was addressed in a rapid staccatohandwhichseemedtheveryimprintofMissVerney'sutterance.Mrs.Peytondidnotknowthegirl'swriting;butsuchnoteshadoflatelainoftenenoughonthehall-tabletomaketheirattributioneasy.ThiscommunicationDick,ashismother poured his tea, looked over with a face of shifting lights; then hefolded it into his note-case, and said, with a glance at his watch: "If youhaven'taskedanyoneforthiseveningIthinkI'lldineout."

"Do,dear;thechangewillbegoodforyou,"hismotherassented.

Hemadenoanswer,butsatleaningback,hishandsclaspedbehindhishead,his eyes fixed on the fire. Every line of his body expressed a profoundphysical lassitude, but the face remained alert and guarded.Mrs. Peyton, insilence,wasbusyingherselfwiththedetailsofthetea-making,whensuddenly,inexplicably,aquestionforceditselftoherlips.

"Andyourwork?"shesaid,strangelyhearingherselfspeak.

"Mywork?"Hesatup,on thedefensivealmost,butwithouta tremorof theguardedface.

"You'regettingonwell?You'vemadeupforlosttime?"

"Oh,yes:thingsaregoingbetter."Herose,withanotherglanceathiswatch."Timetodress,"hesaid,noddingtoherasheturnedtothedoor.

Itwasanhourlater,duringherownsolitarydinner,thataringatthedoorwasfollowedbytheparlour-maid'sannouncementthatMr.Gillwastherefromtheoffice. In the hall, in fact, Kate found her son's partner, who explainedapologetically that he had understood Peyton was dining at home, and hadcometoconsulthimaboutadifficultywhichhadarisensincehehadlefttheoffice.OnhearingthatDickwasout,andthathismotherdidnotknowwherehehadgone,Mr.Gill'sperplexitybecamesomanifestthatMrs.Peyton,afteramoment,saidhesitatingly:"Hemaybeatafriend'shouse;Icouldgiveyoutheaddress."

Thearchitectcaughtuphishat."Thankyou;I'llhaveatryforhim."

Mrs.Peytonhesitatedagain."Perhaps,"shesuggested,"itwouldbebetter totelephone."

She led the way into the little study behind the drawing-room, where atelephone stood on the writing-table. The folding doors between the tworoomswereopen:shouldsheclosethemasshepassedbackintothedrawing-room?Onthethresholdshewaveredaninstant;thenshewalkedonandtookherusualseatbythefire.

Gill, meanwhile, at the telephone, had "rung up" the Verney house, andinquiredifhispartnerwerediningthere.Thereplywasevidentlyaffirmative;and amoment laterKate knew that hewas in communicationwith her son.Shesatmotionless,herhandsclaspedonthearmsofherchair,herheaderect,in an attitude of avowed attention. If she listened she would listen openly:thereshouldbenosuspicionofeavesdropping.Gill,engrossedinhismessage,wasprobablyhardlyconsciousofherpresence;but ifhe turnedhisheadheshould at least have nodifficulty in seeing her, and in being aware that shecouldhearwhat he said.Gill, however, as shewasquick to remember,wasdoubtlessignorantofanyneedforsecrecyinhiscommunicationtoDick.HehadoftenheardtheaffairsoftheofficediscussedopenlybeforeMrs.Peyton,hadbeenledtoregardherasfamiliarwithallthedetailsofherson'swork.Hetalkedonunconcernedly,andshelistened.

Tenminuteslater,whenherosetogo,sheknewallthatshehadwantedtofindout. Long familiarity with the technicalities of her son's professionmade iteasy for her to translate the stenographic jargon of the office. She couldlengthenoutallGill'sabbreviations,interpretallhisallusions,andreconstructDick's answers from the questions addressed to him. And when the doorclosed on the architect shewas left face to face with the fact that her son,

unknowntoanyonebutherself,wasusingDarrow'sdrawingstocompletehiswork.

Mrs.Peyton, leftalone, found iteasier tocontinuehervigilby thedrawing-room fire than to carry up to the darkness and silenceof her own room thetruthshehadbeenatsuchpainstoacquire.ShehadnothoughtofsittingupforDick.Doubtless, his dinner over, hewould rejoinGill at the office, andprolongthrough,thenightthetaskinwhichshenowknewhimtobeengaged.Butitwaslesslonelybythefirethaninthewide-eyeddarknesswhichawaitedher upstairs. Amortal loneliness enveloped her. She felt as though she hadfallenbytheway,spentandbrokeninastruggleofwhichevenitsobjecthadbeen unconscious. She had tried to deflect the natural course of events, shehad sacrificedherpersonalhappiness to a fantastic idealofduty, and itwasherpunishmenttobeleftalonewithherfailure,outsidethenormalcurrentofhumanstrivingsandregrets.

Shehadnowishtoseehersonjustthen:shewouldhavepreferredtolettheinnertumultsubside,torepossessherselfinthisnewadjustmenttolife,beforemeetinghiseyesagain.Butasshesatthere,faradriftonhermisery,shewasaroused by the turning of his key in the latch. She started up, her heartsounding a retreat, but her faculties too dispersed to obey it; andwhile shestoodwavering,thedooropenedandhewasintheroom.

Intheroom,andwithfaceillumined:aDickshehadnotseensincethestrainof the contest had cast its shade on him. Now he shone as in a sunrise ofvictory,holdingoutexultanthandsfromwhichshehungbackinstinctively.

"Mother!Iknewyou'dbewaitingforme!"Hehadheronhisbreastnow,andhis kisseswere in her hair. "I've always said you knew everything thatwashappeningtome,andnowyou'veguessedthatIwantedyouto-night."

She was struggling faintly against the dear endearments. "What hashappened?"shemurmured,drawingbackforadazzledlookathim.

Hehaddrawnher to thesofa,haddroppedbesideher, regaininghisholdofherintheboyishneedthathishappinessshouldbetouchedandhandled.

"Myengagementhashappened!"hecriedouttoher."Youstupiddear,doyouneedtobetold?"

VII

She had indeed needed to be told: the surprise was complete andoverwhelming.Shesatsilentunderit,herhandstremblinginhis,tillthebloodmountedtohisfaceandshefelthisconfidentgrasprelax.

"Youdidn'tguessit,then?"heexclaimed,startingupandmovingawayfromher.

"No;Ididn'tguessit,"sheconfessedinadead-levelvoice.

Hestoodaboveher,halfchallenging,halfdefensive."Andyouhaven'tawordtosaytome?Mother!"headjuredher.

Sherosetoo,puttingherarmsabouthimwithakiss."Dick!DearDick!"shemurmured.

"She imagines you don't like her; she says she's always felt it.And yet sheownsyou'vebeendelightful,thatyou'vetriedtomakefriendswithher.AndIthought you knew howmuch it would mean to me, just now, to have thisuncertainty over, and that you'd actually been trying to helpme, to put in agoodwordforme.Ithoughtitwasyouwhohadmadeherdecide."

"I?"

"Byyourtalkwithhertheotherday.Shetoldmeofyourtalkwithher."

Hismother'shandsslippedfromhisshouldersandshesankbackintoherseat.She felt the cruelty of her silence, but only an inarticulatemurmur found awaytoherlips.Beforespeakingshemustclearaspaceinthesuffocatingrushof her sensations. For the moment she could only repeat inwardly thatClemenceVerneyhad yielded before the final test, and that she herselfwassomehow responsible for this fresh entanglement of fate. For she saw in aflashhowthecoilsofcircumstancehadtightened;andashermindcleareditwasfilledwiththeperceptionthatthis,precisely,waswhatthegirlintended,thatthiswaswhyshehadconferredthecrownbeforethevictory.BypledgingherselftoDickshehadsecuredhispledgeinreturn:hadputhimonhishonourinacynical inversionof the term.Kate saw the successionofevents spreadoutbeforeherlikeamap,andtheastutenessofthegirl'spolicyfrightenedher.Miss Verney had conducted the campaign like a strategist. She had franklyownedthatherinterestinDick'sfuturedependedonhiscapacityforsuccess,and in order to key him up to his first achievement she had given him aforetasteofitsresults.

Somuchwasalmost immediatelycleartoMrs.Peyton;but inamomentherinferenceshadcarriedherapointfarther.ForitwasnowplaintoherthatMissVerney had not risked somuchwithout first trying to gain her point at less

cost:thatifshehadhadtogiveherselfasaprize,itwasbecausenootherbribehadbeensufficient.Thisthen,asthemothersawwithathrobofhope,meantthatDick,who sinceDarrow's death had held to his purpose unwaveringly,hadbeendeflectedfromitbythefirsthintofClemenceVerney'sconnivance.Katehadnotmiscalculated: thingshadhappenedasshehadforeseen. In thelightof thegirl'sapprovalhisacthad takenanodious look.Hehadrecoiledfromit,anditwastorevivehisflaggingcouragethatshehadhadtopromiseherself,totakehiminthemeshesofhersurrender.

Kate, lookingup, sawaboveher theyoungperplexityof her boy's face, thesuspendedhappinesswaiting tobrimover.Witha fresh touchofmisery shesaidtoherself that thiswashishour,hisoneirrecoverablemoment,andthatshewasdarkeningitbyhersilence.Hermemorywentbacktothesamehourinherownlife:shecouldfeelitsheatinherpulsesstill.WhatrighthadshetostandinDick'slight?Whowasshetodecidebetweenhiscodeandhers?Sheputoutherhandanddrewhimdowntoher.

"She'll be the making of me, you know, mother," he said, as they leanedtogether."She'llputnewlifeinmeshe'llhelpmegetmysecondwind.Hertalkislikeafreshbreezeblowingawaythefoginmyhead.Ineverknewanyonewhosawsostraighttotheheartofthings,whohadsuchagriponvalues.Shegoesstraightuptolifeandcatchesholdofit,andyousimplycan'tmakeherletgo."

Hegotupandwalked the lengthof the room; thenhecamebackandstoodsmilingabovehismother.

"YouknowyouandIarerathercomplicatedpeople,"hesaid."We'realwayswalkingaroundthingstogetnewviewsofthemwe'realwaysrearrangingthefurniture. And somehow she simplifies life so tremendously." He droppeddownbesideherwithadeprecatinglaugh."NotthatImean,dear,thatithasn'tbeengoodformetoarguethingsoutwithmyself,asyou'vetaughtmetoonlythemanwho stops to talk is apt to get shoved aside nowadays, and I don'tbelieveMilton'sarchangelswouldhavehadmuchsuccessinactivebusiness."

Hehadbeguninastrainofeasyconfidence,butashewentonshedetectedanefforttoholdthenote,shefeltthathiswordswerebeingpouredoutinavainattempttofillthesilencewhichwasdeepeningbetweenthem.Shelonged,inher turn, to pour something into that menacing void, to bridge it with areconcilingwordorlook;buthersoulhungback,andshehadtotakerefugeinavaguemurmuroftenderness.

"Myboy!Myboy!"sherepeated;andhesatbesideherwithoutspeaking,theirhand-clasp alone spanning the distance which had widened between their

thoughts.

Theengagement,asKatesubsequentlylearned,wasnottobemadeknowntilllater.MissVerneyhadevenstipulatedthatforthepresentthereshouldbenorecognitionofitinherownfamilyorinDick's.Shedidnotwishtointerferewith his final work for the competition, and had made him promise, as helaughinglyowned,thathewouldnotseeheragaintillthedrawingsweresentin.Hismothernoticedthathemadenootherallusiontohiswork;butwhenhebadehergood-nightheaddedthathemightnotseeherthenextmorning,ashehadtogototheofficeearly.Shetookthisasahintthathewishedtobeleftalone,andkeptherroomthenextdaytilltheclosingdoortoldherthathewasoutofthehouse.

Sheherselfhadwakedearly,anditseemedtoherthatthedaywasalreadyoldwhenshecamedownstairs.Neverhadthehouseappearedsoempty.EveninDick'slongestabsencessomethingofhispresencehadalwayshungabouttherooms: a fine dust of memories and associations, which wanted only theevocationofherthoughttofloatintoapalpablesemblanceofhim.Butnowheseemedtohavetakenhimselfquiteaway,tohavebrokeneveryfibrebywhichtheirliveshadhungtogether.Wherethesenseofhimhadbeentherewasonlyadeeperemptiness:shefeltasifastrangemanhadgoneoutofherhouse.

Shewanderedfromroomtoroom,aimlessly, trying toadjustherself to theirsolitude. She had known such loneliness before, in the years when mostwomen'sheartsarefullest;butthatwaslongago,andthesolitudehadafterallbeenlesscomplete,becauseof thesense that itmightstillbefilled.Hersonhadcome:herlifehadbrimmedover;butnowthetideebbedagain,andshewas left gazing over a bare stretch ofwasted years.Wasted! Therewas themortalpang,thestrokefromwhichtherewasnohealing.Herfaithandhopehad been marsh-lights luring her to the wilderness, her love a vain edificerearedonshiftingground.

InherroundoftheroomsshecameatlasttoDick'sstudyupstairs.Itwasfullofhisboyhood:shecouldtracethehistoryofhispastinitsquaintrelicsandsurvivals, in the school-books lingering on his crowded shelves, the school-photographs and college-trophies hung among his later treasures. All hissuccesses and failures, his exaltations and inconsistencies,were recorded inthewarmhuddledheterogeneousroom.Everywhereshesawthetouchofherownhand,thevestigesofherownsteps.Itwasshealonewhoheldthecluetothe labyrinth, who could thread a way through the confusions andcontradictions of his past; and her soul rejected the thought that his futurecould ever escape from her. She dropped down into his shabby collegearmchairandhidherfaceinthepapersonhisdesk.

VIII

Thedaydweltinhermemoryasalongstretchofaimlesshours:blindalleysoftimethatleduptoadeadwallofinaction.

Towardafternoonsherememberedthatshehadpromisedtodineoutandgototheopera.Atfirstshefeltthatthecontactoflifewouldbeunendurable;thensheshrankfromshuttingherselfupwithhermisery.Intheendsheletherselfdriftpassivelyonthecurrentofevents,goingthroughthemechanicalroutineofthedaywithoutmuchconsciousnessofwhatwashappening.

Attwilight,asshesatinthedrawing-room,theeveningpaperwasbroughtin,and inglancingover ither eye fellonaparagraphwhich seemedprinted inmorevividtypethantherest.Itwasheaded,TheNewMuseumofSculpture,and underneath she read: "The artists and architects selected to pass on thecompetitivedesignsforthenewMuseumwillbegintheirsittingsonMonday,and tomorrow is the last day on which designs may be sent in to thecommittee. Great interest is felt in the competition, as the conspicuous sitechosenforthenewbuilding,andtheexceptionallylargesumvotedbythecityforitserection,offeranunusualfieldforthedisplayofarchitecturalability."

She leanedback,closinghereyes. Itwasas thoughaclockhadstruck, loudand inexorably, marking off some irrecoverable hour. She was seized by asudden longing toseekDickout, to fallonherkneesandpleadwithhim: itwasoneofthosephysicalobsessionsagainstwhichthebodyhastostiffenitsmusclesaswellastheminditsthoughts.Oncesheevenspranguptoringforacab;butshesankbackagain,breathingasifafterastruggle,andgrippingthearmsofherchairtokeepherselfdown.

"I can only wait for himonly wait for him" she heard herself say; and thewordsloosenedthesobsinherthroat.

Atlengthshewentupstairstodressfordinner.Aghostlikeselflookedbackatherfromhertoilet-glass:shewatcheditperformingthemechanicalgesturesofthetoilet,dressingher,asitappeared,withouthelpfromheractualself.Eachlittleactstoodoutsharplyagainsttheblurredbackgroundofherbrain:whenshespoketohermaidhervoicesoundedextraordinarilyloud.Neverhadthehouse been so silent; or, stayyes, once she had felt the same silence, oncewhenDick,inhisschool-days,hadbeenillofafever,andshehadsatupwithhimonthedecisivenight.Thesilencehadbeenasdeepandasterriblethen;

and as she dressed she had before her the vision of his room, of the cot inwhich he lay, of his restless headworking a hole in the pillow, his face sopinchedandalienunderthefamiliarfreckles.Itmightbehisdeath-watchshewaskeeping: thedoctorshadwarnedher tobeready.Andin thesilencehersoul had fought for her boy, her love had hung over him like wings, herabundantuselesshatefullifehadstruggledtoforceitselfintohisemptyveins.Andshehadsucceeded,shehadsavedhim,shehadpouredherlifeintohim;andinplaceofthestrangechildshehadwatchedallnight,atdaylightsheheldherownboytoherbreast.

Thatnighthadonceseemedtoherthemostdreadfulofherlife;butsheknewnowthat itwasoneof theagonieswhichenrich, that thepassion thusspentgrowsfourfoldfromitsashes.Shecouldnothavebornetokeepthisnewvigilalone.Shemustescapefromitssterilemisery,musttakerefugeinotherlivestillsheregainedcouragetofaceherown.Attheopera,intheilluminationofthefirstentr'acte,asshegazedaboutthehouse,wonderingthroughthenumbacheofherwretchednesshowotherscouldtalkandsmileandbeindifferent,itseemedtoherthatall thejarringanimationaboutherwassuddenlyfocussedin the face ofClemenceVerney.MissVerney sat opposite, in the front of acrowdedbox,aboxinwhich,continually,theblack-coatedbackgroundshiftedandreneweditself.Mrs.Peytonfeltathrobofangeratthegirl'sbrightairofunconcern.Sheforgotthatshetoowastalking,smiling,holdingoutherhandtonewcomers, inastudiedmimicryof life,whileherrealselfplayedout itstragedybehindthescenes.Thenitoccurredtoher that, toClemenceVerney,therewasnotragedyinthesituation.Accordingtothegirl'scalculations,Dickwasvirtuallycertainofsuccess;andunsuccesswastohertheonlyconceivabledisaster.

All through the opera the sense of that opposing force, that negation of herown beliefs, burned itself into Mrs. Peyton's consciousness. The spacebetween herself and the girl seemed to vanish, the throng about them todisperse,tilltheywerefacetofaceandalone,enclosedintheirmortalenmity.At length the feeling of humiliation and defeat grew unbearable to Mrs.Peyton.Thegirlseemedtofloutherintheinsolenceofvictory,tositthereasthe visible symbol of her failure. Itwas better after all to be at home alonewithherthoughts.

Asshedroveawayfromtheoperashethoughtofthatothervigilwhich,onlyafew streets away,Dickwasperhaps still keeping.Shewondered if hisworkwereover,ifthefinalstrokehadbeendrawn.Andasshepicturedhimthere,signing his pact with evil in the loneliness of the conniving night, anuncontrollableimpulsepossessedher.Shemustdrivebyhiswindowsandsee

iftheywerestillalight.Shewouldnotgouptohim,shedarednot,butatleastshewouldpassneartohim,wouldinvisiblysharehiswatchandhoverontheedgeofhisthoughts.Sheloweredthewindowandcalledouttheaddresstothecoachman.

The tall office-building loomed silent and dark as she approached it; butpresently,highup,shecaughtalightinthefamiliarwindows.Herheartgavealeap,andthelightswamonherthroughtears.Thecarriagedrewup,andforamoment she satmotionless. Then the coachman bent down toward her, andshesawthathewasaskingifheshoulddriveon.Shetriedtoshapeayes,buther lips refused it, and she shook her head. He continued to lean downperplexedly, and at length, under the interrogation of his attitude, it becameimpossibletositstill,andsheopenedthedoorandsteppedout.Itwasequallyimpossibletostandonthesidewalk,andhernextstepscarriedhertothedoorof the building. She groped for the bell and rang it, feeling still dimlyaccountable to thecoachmanforsomeconsecutivenessofaction,andafteramoment the night watchman opened the door, drawing back amazed at theshiningapparitionwhichconfrontedhim.RecognizingMrs.Peyton,whomhehadseenaboutthebuildingbyday,hetriedtoadapthimselftothesituationbyavaguestammerofapology.

"Icametoseeifmysonisstillhere,"shefaltered.

"Yes,ma'am,he'shere.He'sbeenheremostnightslatelytillaftertwelve."

"AndisMr.Gillwithhim?"

"No:Mr.GillhewentawayjustafterIcomeonthisevening."

Sheglancedupintothecavernousdarknessofthestairs.

"Ishealoneupthere,doyouthink?"

"Yes,ma'am,Iknowhe'salone,becauseIseenhismenleavingsoonafterMr.Gill."

Kateliftedherheadquickly."ThenIwillgouptohim,"shesaid.

Thewatchmanapparentlydidnotthinkitpropertoofferanycommentonthisunusual proceeding, and a moment later she was fluttering and rustling upthroughthedarkness,likeanight-birdhoveringamongrafters.Thereweretenflights toclimb:ateveryoneherbreathfailedher,andshehadtostandstillandpressherhandsagainstherheart.Thentheweightonherbreastlifted,andshewentonagain,upwardandupward,thegreatdarkbuildingdroppingawayfromher,intieraftertierofmutedoorsandmysteriouscorridors.Atlastshereached Dick's floor, and saw the light shining down the passage from his

door. She leaned against the wall, her breath coming short, the silencethrobbinginherears.Evennowitwasnottoolatetoturnback.Shebentoverthe stairs, letting her eyes plunge into the nether blackness, with the singleglimmer of the watchman's lights in its depths; then she turned and stoletowardherson'sdoor.

Thereagainshepausedandlistened, tryingtocatch, throughthehumofherpulses, any noise that might come to her from within. But the silence wasunbrokenitseemedasthoughtheofficemustbeempty.Shepressedhereartothedoor,strainingforasound.Sheknewheneversatlongathiswork,anditseemed unaccountable that she should not hear him moving about thedrawing-board.Foramomentshefanciedhemightbesleeping;butsleepdidnotcometohimreadilyafterprolongedmentaleffortsherecalledtherestlessstrayingofhisfeetaboveherheadforhoursafterhereturnedfromhisnightworkintheoffice.

Shebegantofearthathemightbeill.Anervoustremblingseizedher,andshelaidherhandonthelatch,whispering"Dick!"

Herwhispersoundedloudlythroughthesilence,buttherewasnoanswer,andafter apause shecalledagain.Witheachcall thehush seemed todeepen: itclosedinonher,mysteriousandimpenetrable.Herheartwasbeatinginshortfrightened leaps: amomentmoreand shewouldhavecriedout.Shedrewaquickbreathandturnedthedoor-handle.

The outer room, Dick's private office, with its red carpet and easy-chairs,stoodinpleasantlamp-litemptiness.Thelasttimeshehadenteredit,Darrowand Clemence Verney had been there, and she had sat behind the urnobserving them. She paused a moment, struck now by a fault sound frombeyond; then she slipped noiselessly across the carpet, pushed open theswinging door, and stood on the threshold of thework-room.Here the gas-lightshungagreen-shadedcircleofbrightnessoverthegreatdraughting-tablein themiddle of the floor. Table and floorwere strewnwith a confusion ofpaperstorn blue-prints and tracings, crumpled sheets of tracing-paperwrenchedfromthedraughting-boardsinasuddenfuryofdestruction;andinthecentreofthehavoc,hisarmsstretchedacrossthetableandhisfacehiddeninthem,satDickPeyton.

Hedidnotseemtohearhismother'sapproach,andshestoodlookingathim,herbreasttighteningwithanewfear.

"Dick!" she said, "Dick!" and he sprang up, staring with dazed eyes. Butgradually, as his gaze cleared, a light spread in it, amounting brightness ofrecognition.

"You'vecomeyou'vecome"hesaid,stretchinghishandstoher;andallatonceshehadhiminherbreastasinashelter.

"Youwantedme?"shewhisperedassheheldhim.

He lookedup at her, tired, breathless,with thewhite radiance of the runnernearthegoal.

"Ihadyou,dear!"hesaid,smilingstrangelyonher;andherheartgaveagreatleapofunderstanding.

Her arms had slipped from his neck, and she stood leaning on him, deep-suffused in theshynessofherdiscovery.For itmightstillbe thathedidnotwishhertoknowwhatshehaddoneforhim.

Butheputhisarmabouther,boyishly,anddrewher towardoneof thehardseatsbetweenthetables;andthere,onthebarefloor,hekneltbeforeher,andhidhisfaceinherlap.Shesatmotionless,feelingthedearwarmthofhisheadagainstherknees,lettingherhandsstrayinfaintcaressesthroughhishair.

Neitherspokeforawhile;thenheraisedhisheadandlookedather."Isupposeyouknowwhathasbeenhappeningtome,"hesaid.

Sheshrankfromseemingtopressintohislifeahair's-breadthfartherthanhewaspreparedtohavehergo.Hereyes turnedfromhimtowardthescattereddrawingsonthetable.

"Youhavegivenupthecompetition?"shesaid.

"Yesand a lotmore."He stoodup, thewaveof emotion ebbing, yet leavinghimnearer,inhisrecoveredcalmness,thanintheshockoftheirfirstmoment.

"I didn't know, at first, howmuchyouguessed,"hewentonquietly. "Iwassorry I'd shown youDarrow's letter; but it didn'tworrymemuch because Ididn'tsupposeyou'dthinkitpossiblethatIshouldtakeadvantageofit.It'sonlylatelythatI'veunderstoodthatyoukneweverything."Helookedatherwithasmile. "I don't know yet how I found it out, for you're wonderful aboutkeepingthingstoyourself,andyounevermadeasign.Isimplyfeltitinakindof nearnessas if I couldn't get away from you.Oh, therewere timeswhen Ishouldhavepreferrednothavingyouaboutwhen I tried to turnmybackonyou, to see things from other people's standpoint. But you were alwaysthereyouwouldn'tbediscouraged.AndIgottiredoftryingtoexplainthingstoyou, of trying to bring you round tomyway of thinking.Youwouldn't goaway and you wouldn't come any neareryou just stood there and watchedeverythingthatIwasdoing."

Hebrokeoff, takingoneof his restless turns down the long room.Thenhedrewupachairbesideher,anddroppedintoitwithagreatsigh.

"At first, youknow, Ihated itmost awfully. Iwanted tobe let aloneand towork out my own theory of things. If you'd said a wordif you'd tried toinfluencemethespellwouldhavebeenbroken.Butjustbecausetheactualyoukeptapartanddidn'tmeddleorpry,theother,theyouinmyheart,seemedtogetatighterholdonme.Idon'tknowhowtotellyou,it'sallmixedupinmyheadbut old things you'd said and done kept coming back tome, crowdingbetweenmeandwhat Iwas trying for, lookingatmewithout speaking, likeoldfriendsI'dgonebackon,tillIsimplycouldn'tstanditanylonger.Ifoughtit off till to-night, butwhen I came back to finish thework there youwereagainandsuddenly,Idon'tknowhow,youweren'tanobstacleanylonger,butarefugeandIcrawledintoyourarmsasIusedtowhenthingswentagainstmeatschool."

Hishandsstolebackintohers,andheleanedhisheadagainsthershoulderlikeaboy.

"I'manabysmallyweakfool,youknow,"heended;"I'mnotworth thefightyou'veputupforme.ButIwantyoutoknowthat it'syourdoingthat ifyouhad let go an instant I should have gone underand that if I'd gone under Ishouldneverhavecomeupagainalive."

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