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AT the station of Bingham Cross Roadsfour passengers got off the train.One, a woman with bundles, whowas evidently familiar with her surroundings,walked rapidly away through the hot Septembersunshine toward the little village in thedistance.

The other three stood on the platform andlooked about, as if taking their bearings. Theywere foreigners of an unfamiliar species. Theirfellow-passengers in the car had discussedthem with an interest not entirely free fromsuspicion, and their finally getting out at suchan unimportant station as Bingham CrossRoads caused a surprise which, although reasonablyunder control, was still too strong forconcealment. From the windows of the car at[2]least a dozen pairs of eyes were watchingthem. The two men and the little boy whocomposed this group were of dark complexion,with clean-cut, regular features. The oldest, aman of sixty years or more, had a militarybearing, and was, if one could judge from appearances,a person of authority in his owncountry, wherever that might be. Althoughthe younger man seemed to resemble him, itwas in such a general way that he might beeither his son or no relation whatever.

But the little boy had excited a yet greaterinterest than his companions. Although but sixor seven years old, he comported himself withas much dignity and reserve as the gentlemanwith the silver hair. This gave the impression,and without apparent intention on his part,that he also was an important personage. Hisdark eyes were strikingly beautiful and, likethose of his seniors, were distinctly foreign indesign.

[3]When the train moved away the three travellersapproached the man with one suspender,who filled the position of station agent, baggage-master,switchman, telegraph operatorand freight clerk, and inquired if there wasa conveyance to the village of Daleford. Hepointed to a wagon at the farther end of theplatform; that was the Daleford stage. In answerto further questions they learned that thenext train back again, toward New York, leftat six-thirty; that Daleford was seven milesaway; that they could spend an hour in thatvillage and catch the train without hurrying.

The only baggage on the platform consistedof two peculiar-looking trunks, or rather boxes,which the multifarious official knew to betheirs, as no similar articles had ever beenmanufactured in America. They were coveredwith designs laid on in metal, all elaboratelyengraved, and it was not suspected along theroute that these profuse and tarnished ornaments[4]were of solid silver. This luggagewas strapped behind the stage, two venerablehorses were awakened and the travellersstarted off. Joe, the driver, a youth with largeears and a long neck, soon gave his passengerssome excellent opportunities to explain themselves,which they neglected. Aside from afew simple questions about Daleford and Mr.Josiah Judd, to whose house they were going,the conversation was in a language of which hehad no knowledge. The first two miles of theirroute lay along the Connecticut valley, afterwhich they climbed to higher ground. The boyseemed interested in the size of the elms, thesmell of the tobacco fields, the wild grapes,and the various things that any boy mightnotice who had never seen their like before.

The day was warm, and the road dusty, andwhen they entered Daleford the boy, with theold gentleman’s arm about him, had beenasleep for several miles. Coming into the village[5]at one end, they drove down the mainstreet, beneath double rows of elms that metabove their heads in lofty arches, the widecommon on their right. The strangers expressedtheir admiration at the size and beautyof these trees. Moreover the cool shade wasrestful and refreshing. No signs of human lifewere visible either in the street or about thewhite houses that faced the common, and thiswith the unbroken silence gave an impressionthat the inhabitants, if they existed, wereeither absent or asleep.

The driver stopped for a moment at thepost-office which occupied a corner in the onlystore, and gave the mail-bag to the post-mistress,a pale young woman with eye-glassesand a wealth of artificial hair; then, after rumblingthrough the village for half a mile, theyfound themselves again in the country.

The last house on the right, with its massiveportico of Doric columns, seemingly of[6]white marble, had the appearance of a Greciantemple. But these appearances were deceptive,the building being a private residenceand the material of native pine.

As they approached this mendacious exteriorthe little boy said something in the foreignlanguage to his companions, whereuponthey told the driver to stop at the door, asMr. Judd was inside.

“That ain’t Mr. Judd’s house,” he answered.“His is nearly a mile farther on, around thathill,” and he gave the horses a gentle blow toemphasize the information. But the boy repeatedhis statement, whatever it was, andthe younger man said, with some decision:

But the remark made no visible impression.[7]They all got out, and while the two men approachedthe front door by an old-fashionedbrick walk, the boy strolled leisurely throughthe grassy yard beside the house. The driverwas speculating within himself as to whatkind of a pig-headed notion made them persistin stopping at Deacon Barlow’s, when, tohis surprise, Mr. Judd emerged from a doorwayat the side and advanced with long stridestoward the diminutive figure in his path.

Mr. Judd was a man about sixty years ofage, tall, thin and high-shouldered. His long,bony face bore no suggestions of beauty, butthere was honesty in every line. The blackclothes which hung loosely upon his figuremade him seem even taller and thinner thanhe really was. The boy looked him pleasantlyin the face and, when he had approached sufficientlynear, said, in a clear, childish voice,slowly and with laborious precision:

“Josiah Judd, the General Subahdàr Divodas[8]Gadi and the Prince Rájanya Kásim MirDewân Musnud desire to speak with you.”

Mr. Judd stopped short, the bushy eyebrowsrising high in astonishment. His mouthopened, but no sound came forth. The foreignappearance of the speaker, his familiar mannerof addressing one so much older than himself,together with a demeanor that showedno signs of disrespect, and above all, his allusionto the presence of titled strangers causedthe American to suspect, for a few seconds,that he was the victim of some mental irregularity.He pushed the straw hat from his forehead,and looked more carefully. The youthfulstranger observed this bewilderment, andhe was evidently surprised that such a simplestatement should be received in so peculiar amanner. But Mr. Judd recovered his composure,lowered the bushy eyebrows, and drawinghis hand across his mouth as if to get itinto shape again, asked:

A small hand was ceremoniously wavedtoward the two strangers who were nowapproaching along the Doric portico. Comingup to Mr. Judd they saluted him with astately deference that was seldom witnessedin Daleford, and the General handed hima letter, asking if he were not Mr. JosiahJudd.

“Yes, sir, that’s my name,” and as he tookthe letter, returned their salutations politely,but in a lesser degree. He was not yet surethat the scene was a real one. The letter,however, was not only real, but he recognizedat once the handwriting of his brother Morton,who had been in India the last dozenyears. Morton Judd was a successful merchantand had enjoyed for some years considerablefinancial and political importance in a certainportion of that country.

[11]These words threw a needed light on thesituation. He shook hands with the two visitorsand greeted them cordially, then, approachingthe boy who was absorbed in themovements of some turkeys that were strollingabout the yard, he bent over and held outhis hand, saying, with a pleasant smile:

“Mr. Judd wishes to take your hand,” saidthe General, then adding, by way of explanation,“He never shook hands before. But thesecustoms he will soon acquire.” The small handwas laid in the large one and moved up anddown after the manner of the country.

“Don’t they shake hands in India?” askedMr. Judd, as if it were something of a joke.“How do you let another man know you’reglad to see him?”

[12]“Oh, yes, we shake hands sometimes. TheEnglish taught us that. But it is not usual withpersons of his rank. It will be easily learned,however.”

After a word or two more they took theirseats in the wagon, the boy at his own requestgetting in front with the driver. They sooncame in sight of the Judd residence, a large,white, square, New England farmhouse of thebest type, standing on rising ground severalhundred feet from the road, at the end of along avenue of maples. Clustered about it weresome magnificent elms. As they entered theavenue the driver, whose curiosity could berestrained no longer, turned and said to theboy:

He looked down with a sharp glance, but the[13]boy’s expression was serious, even melancholy.

Joe laughed. “That’s sort of mixed, ain’t it?Mr. Judd was there to meet you when hedidn’t know you were comin’. Kinder met youby appointment when there wasn’t any.” Thiswas said in a sarcastic manner, and he added:

“You was pretty sot on stoppin’ and I’d like[14]to know how you come to be so pop sure hewas inside.”

The dark eyes looked up at him in gentleastonishment. This gave way to a gleam ofanger, as they detected a mocking expression,and the lips parted as if to speak. But thereseemed to be a change of mind, for he saidnothing, looking away toward the distant hillsin contemptuous silence. The driver, as a freeand independent American, was irritated bythis attempted superiority in a foreigner, andespecially in such a young one, but there wasno time to retaliate.

Mrs. Judd, a large, sandy-haired, strong-featuredwoman, gave the guests a cordial welcome.The outlandish trunks found their wayupstairs, instructions were given the driver tocall in an hour, and Mrs. Judd, with the servant,hastened preparations for a dinner, asthe travellers, she learned, had eaten nothingsince early morning.

[15]When these were going on Mr. Judd andthe three guests went into the parlor, which,like many others in New England, was a triumphof severity. Although fanatically clean,it possessed the usual stuffy smell that is inevitablewhere fresh air and sunlight are habituallyexcluded. There were four windows,none of which were open. All the blinds wereclosed. In this dim light, some hair ornaments,wax flowers, a marriage certificate and a fewfamily photographs of assiduous and unrelentingaspect seemed waiting, in hostile patience,until the next funeral or other congenial ceremonyshould disturb their sepulchral peace.While the men seated themselves about thetable, the boy climbed upon a long horse-hairsofa, whence he regarded them with a boredbut dignified patience. The General, beforeseating himself, had taken from his waist anold-fashioned money-belt, which he laid uponthe table. From this he extracted a surprising[16]number of gold and silver coins and arrangedthem in little stacks. Mr. Judd’s curiosity wasfurther increased when he took from otherportions of the belt a number of English bank-notes,which he smoothed out and also laidbefore his host.

“There are twelve thousand pounds in thesenotes,” he said, “and about two thousand insovereigns, with a few hundred in Americanmoney.”

“Fourteen thousand pounds,” said Mr. Judd,making a rough calculation, “that’s about seventythousand dollars.”

The General nodded toward the boy. “Itbelongs to him. Your brother, Mr. MortonJudd, perhaps told you we left in great haste,and this is all of the available property wehad time to convert into money. The rest willbe sent you later. That is, whatever we cansecure of it.”

Now Mr. Judd had never been fond of responsibility.[17]It was in fact his chief reasonfor remaining on the farm while his youngerbrother went out into the world for largergame. Moreover, seventy thousand dollars, toone brought up as he had been, seemed anabsurdly large amount of money to feed andclothe a single boy.

While Mr. Judd was drawing his hand acrosshis forehead to smooth out the wrinkles hefelt were coming, the General brought forthfrom an inner pocket a small silk bag. Untyingthe cord he carefully emptied upon thetable a handful of precious stones. Mr. Juddwas no expert in such things, but they werecertainly very pretty to look at and, moreover,they seemed very large.

“These,” continued the General, “are of[18]considerable value, the rubies particularly,which, as you will see, are of unusual size.”

He spoke with enthusiasm, and held up oneor two of them to the light. Mr. Judd sadlyacknowledged that they were very handsome,and threw a hostile glance at the gleaming,many-colored, fiery-eyed mass before him.“How much do they represent, the wholelot?”

The General looked inquiringly at his companion.The Prince shook his head. “It isimpossible to say, but we can give a roughestimate.”

Then taking them one by one, rubies, diamonds,emeralds, pearls, and sapphires, theymade a list, putting the value of each in thecurrency of their own country, and figured upthe total amount in English pounds.

“As near as it is possible to estimate,” saidthe Prince, “their value is about one hundredand sixty thousand pounds.”

[19]“One hundred and sixty thousand pounds!”exclaimed Mr. Judd. “Eight hundred thousanddollars!” and with a frown he pushed hischair from the table. The General misunderstoodthe movement, and said: “But, sir, thereare few finer jewels in India, or even in theworld!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Judd. “I’mnot doubting their worth. It’s only kind ofsudden,” and he drew his hands across hiseyes, as if to shut out the dazzling mass thatflashed balefully up at him from the table.For a New England farmer, Josiah Judd wasa prosperous man. In fact he was the richestman in Daleford. But if all his earthly possessionswere converted into cash they wouldnever realize a tenth part of the unwelcometreasure that now lay before him. He was,therefore, somewhat startled at being deluged,as it were, out of a clear sky, with the responsibilityof nearly a million dollars. The guests[20]also mentioned some pearls of extraordinaryvalue in one of the trunks.

“Well,” he said, with an air of resignation,“I s’pose there’s no dodgin’ it, and I’ll haveto do the best I can till I hear from Morton.After the boy goes back to India of course Isha’n’t have the care of it.”

The General glanced toward the sofa to besure he was not overheard, then answered, ina low voice: “It will be better for him andwill save the shedding of blood if he neverreturns.”

But the boy heard nothing in that room.He was slumbering peacefully, with his headagainst the high back of the sofa, and hisspirit, if one could judge from the smileupon his lips, was once more in his own land,among his own people. Perhaps playing withanother little boy in an Oriental garden, agarden of fountains and gorgeous flowers, ofqueer-shaped plants with heavy foliage, a[21]quiet, dreamy garden, where the white wallsof the palace beside it were supported by innumerablecolumns, with elephants’ heads forcapitals: where, below a marble terrace, thebroad Ganges shimmered beneath a goldensun.

Maybe the drowsy air of this ancestral gardenwith its perfume of familiar flowers madehis sleep more heavy, or was it the thrum ofgentle fingers upon a mandolin in a distantcorner of the garden, mingling with a woman’svoice?

Whatever the cause, it produced a shock,this being summoned back to America, toexile, and to the hair-cloth sofa by the voiceof Mrs. Judd announcing dinner; for the stepwas long and the change was sudden from theprincely pleasure garden to the Puritan parlor,and every nerve and fibre of his Oriental heartrevolted at the outrage. There was a war-likegleam in the melancholy eyes as he joined[22]the little procession that moved toward thedining-room. As they sat at table, the threeguests with Mrs. Judd, who poured the tea,he frowned with hostile eyes upon the steak,the boiled potatoes, the large wedge-shapedpiece of yellow cheese, the pickles, and theapple-pie. He was empty and very hungry, buthe did not eat. He ignored the example ofthe General and the Prince, who drank thestrong, green tea, and swallowed the saleratusbiscuits as if their hearts’ desires at last weregratified. He scowled upon Mrs. Judd whenshe tried to learn what he disliked the least.But her husband, swaying to and fro in a rocking-chairnear the window, had no perceptionof the gathering cloud, and persisted in questioninghis visitors in regard to India, the customsof the people, and finally of their ownhome life. Mrs. Judd had noticed the blackeyebrows and restless lips were becoming morethreatening as the many questions were answered;[23]that the two-pronged fork of horn andsteel was used solely as an offensive weapon tostab his potatoes and his pie.

At last the tempest came. The glass ofwater he had raised with a trembling hand tohis lips was hurled upon the platter of steak,and smashed into a dozen pieces. With a swiftmovement of his arms, as if to clear the deck,he pushed the pickles among the potatoes andswept his pie upon the floor. Then, after afutile effort to push his chair from the table,he swung his legs about and let himself downfrom the side. With a face flushed with passion,he spoke rapidly in a language of whichno word was familiar to his host or hostess,and ended by pointing dramatically at Mr.Judd, the little brown finger quivering withuncontrollable fury. It appeared to the astonishedoccupant of the rocking-chair that thecurse of Allah was being hurled upon thehouse of Judd. Standing for a moment in silence[24]and glowering upon them all in turn,the boy swung about with a defiant gesture,stalked through the open door and out of thehouse.

Josiah Judd, whose heart was already sinkingunder the responsibility of the crownjewels of a kingdom, experienced a sickeningcollapse in the presence of the Oriental thunderboltthat had just exploded on his peacefulNew England hearthstone. His jaw fell, heceased rocking, and turned his eyes in painfulinquiry upon his guests.

There was an awkward silence. The Generaland the Prince had risen to their feet as if inapology to the hostess, but she had acceptedthe outburst with unruffled calmness. Herkind, restful, homely face showed no annoyance.Rising quietly from the table she followedthe stormy guest and found him aroundin front of the house, sitting upon the granitedoorstep, his chin in his hands, frowning[25]fiercely upon the quaint old flower-garden beforehim. He got up as she approached andstood a few feet away, regarding her with ahostile scowl. Seating herself upon the stepshe said, with a pleasant smile:

“Of course you are tired, sonny, we allunderstand that, and you are unhappy to-day,but it won’t be for long.”

These assuring words failed of their purpose,and he eyed her sidewise, and with suspicion.He was too old a bird to be fooled so easily.A few sprigs were torn from the box borderwithin his reach as if the conversation boredhim.

“I had a boy once,” continued Mrs. Judd.“I understand boys, and know just how youfeel. We shall be good friends, I’m sure.”

[26]He came nearer and stood in front of her.Then, slowly and with the precision withwhich he always delivered himself whenspeaking English, he said:

“My mother was different from you, andher clothes were more beautiful, but if oneboy liked you another might. I might. Wouldyou like to see my mother’s portrait?”

Mrs. Judd said she would like very muchto see it, and he began fumbling about andseemed to be tickling himself near the buckleof his belt. But, as it proved, he was ascertainingthe whereabouts of a locket, whichhe finally fished up by means of a gold chainabout his neck. The chain was of such alength that the locket, instead of reposingnear the heart of the wearer, hung a littlebelow the centre of the stomach. When itfinally emerged above his collar, he placedthe warm miniature in her hand, saying:

[27]It was a dark face, surmounted by a jewelledhead-dress of a style that Mrs. Juddhad never seen, even in pictures. After lookingmore carefully at the miniature and thenup into the eyes that were watching hers, shefound the same square forehead and sensitivemouth, and the same dark melancholy, heavilyfringed eyes, by far the most beautiful shehad ever seen. The picture in her hand wasa truthful portrait of himself. As she lookedfrom the portrait into the face before her shefelt it was perhaps fortunate this mother wasignorant of the changes that already hadturned the current of his life. With a brownhand on each of her knees he was lookinginto her eyes with the anxious gaze of a hungrysoul, seeking for sympathy, and too proudto ask it. But Mrs. Judd understood. She laida hand upon his shoulder with an expressionupon her honest face that rendered words unnecessary.He blinked and swallowed in a[28]mighty effort to suppress what he evidentlyconsidered an undignified and compromisingsentiment. But in vain. Sinking upon hisknees he buried his face in her lap and gaveway to the most vehement, uncontrollablegrief. The small frame shook with sobs, whileher apron grew wet with tears. He took hissorrow with the same passionate recklessnessthat characterized his anger at the dinner-table.Mrs. Judd rested her hand upon theshort black hair and tried to summon wordsof solace for a grief that seemed to threatenthe integrity of his earthly body. She couldonly stroke his head and tell him not to beunhappy; that all would end well; that heshould soon return home.

In the midst of these efforts the voice ofMr. Judd came around the corner calling outthat the wagon was here. The boy jumped tohis feet as if he had received a shock. Drawingthe sleeve of his jacket across his tear-stained[29] face, he summoned an expression ofseverity and indifference that under othercircumstances would have forced a smile fromhis newly acquired friend. The soldier washimself again; the warrior was on parade. Asthey walked together around the house to thedining-room, he beside her with a resolutestep and chin in the air, she wondered whatmanner of training could have taught him atthe age of seven to suppress all boyish emotions,and put on at will the dignity of a RomanSenator.

The General and the Prince were awaitingthem. With many compliments they thankedthe host and hostess for their hospitality, andregretted the necessity that took them awayin such unfortunate haste; it was a flying tripand their absence must not be lengthened byan hour, as these were troublous times intheir part of India. As they moved towardthe wagon Mrs. Judd held her husband back,[30]believing there might be a parting at whichstrangers would not be welcome. But the parting,like all else, was dignified and ceremonious.She could not see the boy’s face, for hestood with his back toward her, but as far asshe could judge he also was calm and self-possessed.She noticed, however, that the Generalhad to swallow, with a sudden gulp, alarge portion of what appeared to be a carefullyconstructed sentence.

They drove in silence down the long avenuebeneath the maples, and the driver, perhapsto put them at their ease, said somethingabout getting along faster in this light wagonthan with the stage, but both his passengersseemed in a silent mood and made no answer.As they turned into the main road the General,who was on the side nearest the house,looked back. At the farther end of the avenuestood the boy in the same position, still watchingthem. The old soldier brought his hand to[31]his hat and down again in a military salutethat was evidently familiar to the little personat the farther end of the driveway, for it waspromptly acknowledged, and although a farewellto the last ties between himself and hiscountry, was returned with head erect, as fromone veteran to another.

The corner mansion of the Van Kooversis ablaze with light. Long rows of carriagessurmounted by sleepy coachmen extend alongMadison Avenue and into the neighboringstreet. The temporary awning from the frontdoor to the curbstone serves only to shieldthe coming and departing guest from the gazeof heaven, for the moon and stars are shiningbrightly, as if they also would like to enter.But when the front door opens, which is frequent,it emits a blast of music, taunting anddefiant, reminding the outside universe of itsplebeian origin.

Inside there is a scene of festivity and splendor,of dazzling gayety, of youth and mirth anddecorous joy. The opulence of the Van Kooversis of sanctifying solidity, and when they give aball they do it in a style to be remembered.[33]The house itself, with its sumptuous furniture,its magnificent ceilings and stately dimensionsis sufficiently impressive in every-day attire,but to-night it reminds you of the ArabianTales. The family portraits, the gracious dignityof the host and hostess, the bearing of theservants, all speak of pedigree and hereditaryhonors.

Roses and violets, in lavish profusion, fillevery corner, are festooned around doors andwindows, even along the walls and up thestairs, their perfume mingling with the music.And the music, dreamy yet voluminous, swayshither and thither a sea of maidens with snowynecks and shimmering jewels, floating gracefullyabout in the arms of anxious youths.These youths, although unspeakably happy,wear upon their faces, as is usual upon suchoccasions, an expression of corroding care.

As a waltz came to an end, a tall, light-hairedgirl with crimson roses in her dress,[34]dropped into a seat. She fanned herself rapidlyas if to drive away a most becoming color thathad taken possession of her cheeks. Herbreath came quickly, the string of pearls uponher neck rising and falling as if sharing in thegeneral joy. With her long throat, her well-poisedhead, and a certain dignity of unconsciouspride she might be described as old-fashionedfrom her resemblance to a favoritetype in the portraits of a century ago. Perhapsher prettiest feature was the low, wide foreheadabout which the hair seemed to advanceand recede in exceptionally graceful lines. Hercharm to those who know her but superficiallywas in her voice and manner, in the franknessof her eyes, and, above all perhaps, in that all-conqueringcharm, a total absence of self-consciousness.But whatever the reason, no girlin the room received more attention.

Her partner, a sculptor with a bald headand a reputation, took the chair beside her.[35]As her eyes wandered carelessly about theroom she inquired, in an indifferent tone:“Who is that swarthy youth talking with JuliaBancroft?”

“I don’t know. He looks like a foreigner.”Then he added, with more interest, “But isn’the a beauty!”

“He is an Oriental of some sort, and doesn’tquite harmonize with a claw-hammer coat. Heshould wear an emerald-green nightcap witha ruby in the centre, about the size of a hen’segg, a yellow dressing-gown and white satintrousers, all copiously sprinkled with diamonds.”

She smiled. “Yes, and he might be interestingif he were not quite so handsome; but herehe comes!”

The youth in question, as he came down theroom and passed them, seemed to be having ajolly time with his companion and he failed tonotice the two people who were discussing[36]him. It was a boyish face notwithstanding theregular features and square jaw, and at thepresent moment it wore a smile that betrayedthe most intense amusement. When he waswell out of hearing, the sculptor exclaimed:“He is the most artistic thing I ever saw! Thelines of his eyes and nose are superb! Andwhat a chin! I should like to own him!”

“No, but I could put him on exhibition atfive dollars a ticket. Every girl in New Yorkwould be there; you among them.”

Miss Cabot appeared to consider. “I am notso sure. He probably is much less interestingthan he looks. Handsome males over threeyears of age are the deadliest bores in life;sculptors of course excepted.”

“It does seem to be a kind of prosperity thehuman male is unable to support without impairment.”Then addressing a blasé young manlounging wearily by:

Horace, a round-shouldered blond whosehigh collar seemed to force his chin, not upward,but outward horizontally, fingered theends of a frail mustache and asked:

Miss Cabot could not help laughing.“There’s a summing up of your beauty,” sheexclaimed, turning to the sculptor.

He smiled as he answered: “It is evidentyou are an admirer. But do you know whohe is?”

“Well, what is it? A Hindu prince, aPersian poet, or a simple corsair of the Adriatic?”

[38]“Oh, dear!” sighed Miss Cabot. “What acome down! We hoped he was somethingmore unusual than that.”

“Well, heis more unusual than that. He isa paralyzer of the female heart. I knew himin college. At dances and parties we weregenerally sure to find him tucked away onthe stairs or out on a porch with the prettiestgirl of the ball, and he looked so muchlike an Oriental prince we used to call himthe Bellehugger of Spoonmore.”

“But that is a trifling and unimportant detailof his character, Miss Cabot, and conveysa cold impression of Mr. Judd’s experiences.Don Giovanni was a puritanical prig in comparison.Then at college he had the bad tasteto murder a classmate.”

“But then he had his virtues. He coulddrink more without showing it than any fellow[39]in college, and he was the richest man inhis class.”

“Oh, come now, Horace,” said the sculptor,“you are evidently a good friend of his, butyour desire to do him a good turn may becarrying you beyond the limits of—how shallI say it?”

Horace smiled. “No, I am not lying. It isall true,” and he passed wearily on.

It was not many minutes before Molly Cabotwas again moving over the floor, this time withthe son of the house. Stephen Van Kooverwas one of those unfortunates whose mentaloutfit qualified him for something better thanthe career of clothes and conversation to whichhe was doomed by the family wealth.

“This recalls old times. Isn’t it three orfour years since we have danced together?”he asked. “Or is it three or four hundred?”

“You do dance like an angel, Miss Molly,and it’s a sin to squander such talent on me.I wish you would try it with Judd; my sisterssay his dancing is a revelation.”

“I might have guessed it. Truth and Horacewere never chums. Judd bears the same relationto Horace as sunshine to a damp cellar.”

“He did kill a man, a classmate, but he hadthe sympathies of his entire class. It was partlyan accident, anyway.”

“This was a little of both. We were havinga supper, about twenty of us, just before class-day.[41] After the supper, when we were all atrifle hilarious, Slade came up behind Juddand poured some wine down his neck. Juddfaced about; then Slade made a mock apology,and added an insulting speech. He was amaster in that sort of thing, and while doingit he emptied his wineglass into Judd’s face.Now Judd is overweighted with a peculiarkind of Oriental pride, and also with an unfortunatetemper; not a bad temper, but asudden, unreliable, cyclonic affair, that carriesthe owner with it, generally faster than isnecessary, and sometimes a great deal farther.Now Slade knew all this, and as he was anall-around athlete and the heavier man, therewas no doubt in our minds that he meantJudd should strike out, and then he wouldhave some fun with him.

“Well, Judd grew as black as a thundercloud,but he kept his temper. His hand shookas he wiped his face with his handkerchief[42]and quietly turned his back upon him. Thenit was that the other man made the crowningerror of his life. He was just enough of a bullyto misunderstand Judd’s decent behavior, andhis contempt was so great for one who couldaccept such an indignity that he kicked him.Judd wheeled about, seized him by the throatand banged his head against the wall with aforce and fury that sobered every fellow inthe room. Close beside them was an open windowreaching to the floor, with a low iron railingoutside. Judd, half lifting him from thefloor, sent him flying through this window,and over the balcony.”

“No, but a blow awaited him outside thatwould have finished an ox. This window wasabout thirteen feet from the ground, and belowit stood a granite hitching post. WhenSlade came down like a diver from a boat and[43]struck head foremost against the top of thispost something was sure to suffer, and thegranite post is there to-day, with no signs ofinjury.”

“Well, I am afraid none of us had a deepaffection for the victim. And then Judd was sorefreshingly honest! He said he was glad Sladewas dead; that the world would be better ifall such men were out of it, and refused togo to the funeral or to wear the usual classmourning.”

“Possibly, but uncommonly honest. And thenit is hardly fair to judge him by our standards.He is built of foreign material, and he hadreceived something that it was simply not inhis nature to forgive.”

Their voices were drowned in the music thatagain filled the room. The dance over, theysauntered out into the large hall, where Flemish[44]and Italian tapestries formed an opulentharmony with Van Koover portraits. In the airof this apartment one breathed the ancestralrepose that speaks of princely origin. It wasnot intended, however, that this atmosphereshould recall the founder of the house who,but four generations ago, was peddling knick-knacksalong the Bowery.

As Miss Cabot was uncomfortably warm andsuggested a cooler air he led her to the fartherend of the long hall, beyond the stairs, andhalted at the entrance of a conservatory.

“Wait for me just a moment, and I willbring you the glass of water,” and he vanished.

An inviting obscurity pervaded this conservatory,which, like the rest of the Van Koovermansion, was spacious and impressive. At thefarther end, the gloom was picturesquelybroken by rays of moonlight slanting through[45]the lofty windows. The only living occupantsseemed to be one or two pairs of invisiblelovers, whose voices were faintly audible abovethe splashing of the little fountain in the centre.This busy fountain formed a discreet accompanimentto the flirtations in the surroundingshrubbery. Stepping to the side ofthe basin, she stood for a moment lookingdown into its diminutive depths. The fallingwater and the distant music formed a soothingmelody, and a welcome restfulness stole gentlyupon her senses as she inhaled, with the fragranceof the tropics, the peace and poetryof a summer night. She stood for a momentyielding to a gentle enchantment; it seemeda different world, apart from the great cityin which she lived, a world of flowers, and perfumes,of fountains and perpetual music; ofmoonlight and of whispering lovers.

At last, as if waking from a dream, the girlraised her head and looked toward the windows[46]beyond, where a flood of moonlight illumineddeep masses of exotic foliage, repeatingthem in fantastic shadows on the marble floor.Walking slowly from the fountain, she lingeredbetween the overhanging palms, then steppedinto the moonbeams, a radiant figure with herbare neck and arms and glistening jewels inthis full white light, against the gloom of theconservatory. The diamonds in the crescentabove her forehead flashed as if quivering intolife as she stopped and looked up at theplanet.

A figure close beside her, that had formedpart of the surrounding shadow, started backwith a suddenness that caused her, also, toretreat a step and press a hand to her heart.It was more from nervousness than fear, as shewas simply startled. She at once recovered herself,ashamed at being taken off her guard, buta glance at the man beside her, whose facewas now also in the light, filled her with a[47]fresh surprise. It was the Oriental beauty; themurderer, Judd, and the intensity of his expressionalmost frightened her. His eyes werefixed upon her own in speechless wonder, andas they moved to the crescent in her hair, thenback again to her face, they showed both terrorand astonishment. Yet it seemed a look ofrecognition, for he bent eagerly forward, as ifto make sure he were not mistaken.

It was all in an instant. Then, with a stepbackward and an inclination of the head, hestammered:

He gave an arm to his companion, a prettygirl in pink who, standing behind him, hadmissed the details of the little scene, and theywalked away among the plants and out of theconservatory.

Later in the evening, as Miss Cabot stoodnear the door of the ball-room, the girl with[48]whom she was speaking introduced a friend,and she found herself again in the presenceof the Connecticut farmer, the young man ofthe moonlight. But this time he wore a verydifferent expression from that of the conservatory.There was a pleasant smile on thedark and somewhat boyish face as he apologizedfor the scene among the plants. “I amsorry if it annoyed you, but I was startled byan unexpected resemblance.”

She looked into his eyes as he spoke, andunderstood why the sculptor should have beenenthusiastic over such a face. It was of an unfamiliartype, and bore a curious resemblanceto those she had attributed as a child to theheroes of her imagination. The eyes were long,dark, and seemed capable of any quantity ofexpression, either good or bad. Miss Cabot wasuncertain as to whether they pleased her. Atpresent they looked somewhat anxiously intoher own with a touch of misgiving. Nevertheless,she felt that he was telling her only aportion of the truth.

[49]“If it is my misfortune to startle unsuspectingguests when I come upon them withoutnotice, it is for me to apologize. No,” thencontinuing hastily, as he began a protestation:“You needn’t explain! Do not trouble yourselfto tell me that only the most disturbingtypes of beauty cause you just that kind of ashock.”

“But why not, if it is the truth? Besides,as you stepped out into the moonlight youwere a blinding apparition, all in white, againstthe darkness behind. I have no doubt themoon herself was a little startled.”

“You certainly were less happy in concealingyour agitation than the—other victim.”

Although his manner was deferential andgave indications of a positive but discreetlyrepressed admiration, she felt ill at ease withhim. It was impossible to forget his repulsive[50]title, and turning partly away she looked overthe room, and answered:

“Since you are completely recovered andmy apology is accepted, I suppose there isnothing more to be done.”

As the words were uttered the openingstrains of a waltz came floating across thehall, and he begged that she give him a dancein token of absolution. It was easier to grantit than to refuse, and in another moment theywere gliding over the floor. As they movedaway she experienced a new sensation. Thispartner, while adapting himself to her ownmovements, carried her with a gentle forcethat relieved her of all volition. While, in effect,borne up and along by the music, shewas governed by a pressure that was hardlyperceptible; yet, at a critical instant, when areckless dancer came plunging toward them,she felt herself swung lightly from his path,to relapse at once into a tranquil security and[51]float peacefully away. This floating with themusic was so easy, so very drowsy and relaxing,that her consciousness almost drifted withthe rhythm of the waltz. Once, as her eyeswere uplifted to the gorgeous frieze, the white-wingedCupids that a moment before were lollingidly against the blue and gold backgroundseemed now to be keeping time with the music,swaying and dancing in their irresponsiblenakedness.

Miss Cabot was surprised when the musicceased and at once regretted having dancedsuch a length of time with a stranger of unsavoryreputation. As they left the ball-roomand entered the ancestral hall she was flushedand out of breath, endeavoring with one handto replace a lock of hair that had fallen abouther neck.

[52]They looked about for a resting-place, butall were occupied. Girls in pink, in white, inpale blue, in delicate yellow, in every colorthat was becoming to their individual beauty,or to its absence, were clustered about thegreat hall, filling every seat. Around them,like bees in a flower-garden, hovered men inblack.

“There is our chance,” he said, pointing tothe stairs. Upon the first landing, but threesteps from the floor, there was a semicircularrecess along whose wall ran a cushioned seat.At the entrance, upon a pedestal of Siennamarble, sat a Cupid with a finger upon his lips;a bit of ancient sculpture from a Roman temple.Behind him, within, an inviting gloomsuggested repose and silence. As they steppedupon the tiger-skin that nearly covered thelanding, Miss Cabot was accosted by a manwhose thoughtful face brightened up at themeeting. When he glanced at her companion[53]there was a similar welcome, and they calledeach other John and Amos, and appeared tobe on intimate terms. After a short conversationhe left them and descended into the hall.She was puzzled at the friendship of these twomen, and wondered what there could possiblybe in common between a promising clergymanof exceptional purity of character and this dissolute,hot-headed Judd. As they seated themselvesin the alcove, she said, in a tone ofsurprise:

She blushed at her stupid betrayal of thethought, while he made no effort to concealhis amusement.

“It may be an unkind thing to say of him,but we have been good friends for severalyears.”

Laying her fan in her lap, she devoted both[54]hands to the wandering lock. “Is that whatdrove him to the church?”

“It depends on the man. In this case it certainlyseems a waste of good material.”

Now, it happened that Molly Cabot’s religiousconvictions were deeply rooted, and shefelt a thrill of indignation at this slur upon asacred calling. Of course, it was not surprisingthat a spoiled youth with a murderous tempershould prove an atheist and a scoffer, but shewas irritated, and instinctively took the fieldas the champion of a righteous cause.

“Then you consider it a waste of goodmaterial for an honest man to serve thechurch?”

Her energy surprised him, but he answered,pleasantly: “I do not say that. No one is too[55]good for any honest work. I only say that aman of John Harding’s originality and courageputs himself in a false position by so doing.”

“I do not see how,” and her eyes were fixedupon his own in open hostility. He still smiledserenely and met her glance with provokingcalmness.

“Well, at present he is young and full ofenthusiasm, believing everything, and morebesides; but he is only twenty-seven now andwill do a heap of thinking before he is forty.The pathetic part of it is that he binds himselfto a creed, and the man who can think forthirteen years on any subject without modifyinghis faith ought to be in a museum.”

“If it is the true faith, there is danger inthinking, as he may think away from it; sowhy waste a brain like Harding’s?”

In spite of a certain deference and gentlenessof tone with which he uttered these positive[56]sentiments there was evident enjoymentin the shock they created. While he wasspeaking she noticed in the centre of his foreheada faint scar about the size of a thimbleend. It seemed an evanescent mark, only visiblewhen he turned his face at certain angleswith the light, and suggested the thought thatif all young men of such opinions were markedin a similar manner it might serve as a wholesomewarning to unbelievers.

“So all clergymen over forty are either hypocritesor fools. It must be very satisfying toentertain a thorough contempt for so large aprofession.”

“Oh, don’t say contempt. Rather an excessof sympathy for the unfortunate.”

At that moment Horace Bennett, in ascendingthe stairs, stopped for an instant upon thelanding and stood facing them. His eyes rested[57]upon herself and Mr. Judd, then she saw himglance at the marble Cupid who, with his fingerto his lips, seemed acting as a sentinel forwhatever lovers were within. Then he pulledthe ends of his miserable little mustache, andwith a half-suppressed smile muttered somethingto his companion, and they passed upthe stairs. The hot blood flew to her cheeks asshe recalled what he had said earlier in theevening of this man beside her: “We weresure to find him tucked away on the stairs orout on the porch with a girl. So we called himthe Bellehugger of Spoonmore.”

Never in her life had she felt so degraded,so cheapened in her own esteem. Hot, cold,with burning cheeks, and tears of mortificationin her eyes she rose from her seat, pressinga handkerchief against her lips, and steppedswiftly out upon the landing and down intothe hall. Mr. Judd followed and inquired anxiouslyif she were ill; could he do anything?[58]His solicitude, which was genuine, caused herto realize how extraordinary her behavior mustappear to him. The close air in the alcove, sheanswered coldly, must have affected her. Itwas only a little dizziness.

A formal nod to Mr. Judd, and she movedaway with an unuttered prayer that theirpaths in future might be far apart. Her wishwas granted, at least for that night, for shesaw him no more at the Van Koovers’.

When she reached home and entered herown chamber, the moonlight was streaminginto the room, and before turning up thelights she had the curiosity to stand nearthe window with a hand-glass and study herown reflection. Only the usual face was there,and as usual, the nose was too short, the chin[59]too long, and all the other defects were present;but even in the moonlight they seemedhardly sufficient to frighten a strong youngman.

A FIRST interview with the Hon. J. W.Cabot, senior member of the firm ofCabot, Hollingsworth & Perry, generally resultedin a belief that this distinguished lawyerwas a severe, unsympathetic man whosedignity, under ordinary pressure, was not likelyto abate. An abundant crop of short gray haircovered a square, well-shaped head; a headthat seemed hard and strong. His forehead,his jaw, and his shoulders were also square,and they also seemed hard and strong.

His manner was cold, his voice firm andeven, and he was never ruffled. The cool grayeyes rested calmly upon you as if screening,out of consideration for your own fallaciousknowledge, the profundity of wisdom that reposedbehind them. His memory seemed infallible.The extent and accuracy of his legalknowledge was a perpetual surprise, even to[61]his partners. For simplifying complex entanglementshis clearness and rapidity amountedto a genius. His fees were colossal. In short,he seemed just the man who would neverwrite such a note as this:

This document was sent to his daughter,who since her mother’s death, three yearsago, had managed the household. When achild of five she overheard a friend addresshim frequently as Jim, whereupon she adjusteda final syllable to render it less formal,and ever after continued to use it.

It was an afternoon in March that this notearrived, nearly four months after the ball at[62]the Van Koovers’, and when, an hour or twolater, her father presented his old friend, Mr.Samuel Fettiplace, she was struck by his enormousframe and by the extraordinary color ofhis face. This color, a blazing, resplendent red,not only occupied his nose and cheeks, butextended, in quieter tones, over his foreheadand neck, even to the bald spot upon the topof his head. It had every appearance of beingthat expensive decoration that can only beprocured by a prolonged and conscientious indulgencein the choicest Burgundies.

His large, round, light-blue eyes were all thebluer from their crimson setting. A more honestpair she had never seen. These, with his silverhair and benevolent forehead, gave the impressionof a pleasantly intemperate bishop. MollyCabot well knew that her father, and especiallyher mother, could never have achieved a warmand lasting friendship for one whose habitswere honestly represented by such compromisingcolors.

[63]With old-fashioned courtesy he gave her hisarm into the dining-room, and as they seatedthemselves at table he said: “You look likeyour mother, Miss Molly, and I am glad of it;the same forehead and eyes, and the same kindexpression. I was afraid when I saw you lastyou were going to look like your father. Heisn’t so bad looking, considering the life hehas led, but it would be a calamitous thing fora well-meaning girl to resemble any lawyer.”

“Yes, he is; I have known him longer thanyou have. But there seem to be honors in dishonor.During these years that I have beentrotting about the globe he has been climbinghigher and higher, until now his legs are danglingfrom the topmost round. Why, I understandthat none but the solidest billionaires andthe fattest monopolies presume to retain him.”

“I am afraid someone took you for a hay-seed,[64] Sam, and has been stuffing you.”

“No, they have not!” exclaimed the daughter.“Everybody says he is the best lawyer inNew York. He has refused to be a judge severaltimes!”

“Go ahead, Miss Molly,” cried Mr. Fettiplace.“Don’t mind him! I know you are right.But I suppose he pays the customary penaltyfor his greatness; slaves day and night, bothsummer and winter, eh?”

“Yes, he does, and if you have any influencewith him, Mr. Fettiplace, I wish youwould bring it to bear.”

“Now, Molly,” said Mr. Cabot, “be just.Have I not promised to take a three months’vacation this summer?”

[65]“I don’t know yet. We gave up our placeat the shore two years ago. The salt air doesnot agree with me any too well; and neitherMolly nor I care for it particularly.”

There was a pause, and the guest felt thatthe wife’s death might have saddened thepleasant memories in the house by the sea.As if struck with an idea, he laid down hisfork and exclaimed:

“Why not come to Daleford? There is ahouse all furnished and ready for you! Mydaughter and her husband are going abroad,and you could have it until November if youwished.”

“Well,” said Mr. Fettiplace, closing his eyesin a profound calculation, “I am weak at figures,but on the map it is north of Hartfordand about a quarter of an inch below theMassachusetts border.”

Mr. Cabot laughed. “I remember you were[66]always weak at figures. What is it, a fashionableresort?”

“But it is not what we are after,” saidMolly. “We want a quiet place to rest andread in.”

“With just enough walking and driving,”put in the father, “to induce us to eat andsleep a little more than is necessary.”

“Then Daleford is your place,” and thehuge guest, with his head to one side, rolledhis light-blue eyes toward Molly.

“Well, in the first place Daleford itself isa forgotten little village, where nothing wasever known to happen. Of course births, marriages,and deaths have occurred there, buteven those things have always been more uneventfulthan anywhere else. Nothing cantake place without the whole village knowing[67]it, and knowing it at once: yet the inhabitantsare always asleep. No one is ever in sight. Ifyou should lock yourself in your own room,pull down the curtains and sneeze, say yourprayers or change a garment at an unaccustomedhour, all Daleford would be commentingon it before you could unlock the doorand get downstairs again.”

“I only tell you this so there shall be no deception.But all that does not really concernyou, as our house is a mile from the village.”Then he went on to describe its real advantages:the pure air, the hills, the beautifulscenery, the restful country life, and when hehad finished his hearers were much interestedand thought seriously of going to see it.

“I notice, Sam, that you make no mentionof the malaria, rheumatism, or organized bandsof mosquitoes, drunk with your own blood,[68]who haul you from your bed at dead of night.Or do you take it for granted we should bedisappointed without those things?”

“No, sir. I take it for granted that everyNew Yorker brings those things with him,”and again a large china-blue eye was obscuredby a laborious wink as its mate beamed triumphantlyupon the daughter.

There were further questions regarding thehouse, the means of getting there, and finallyMolly asked if there were any neighbors.

“Yes, in a way. He raises horses and pupsand costly cattle.” Then, turning to Mr. Cabot.“It is the young man I brought into youroffice this morning, Jim.”

[69]“Well, he is too beautiful for the country!If I could spend a summer near a face likethat I shouldn’t care what the scenery was.”

“I think I met him early this winter. Hisreputation is not the best in the world, is it?”

“Perhaps not. There have been stories abouthim, but,” and he continued with more thanhis habitual earnestness, “I have a higheropinion of him and would trust him fartherthan any young man I know!”

She felt, nevertheless, that Mr. Judd’s reputationmight not be a proper subject for ayoung lady to discuss, and she remained silent.But her father was not a young lady, andhe had heard nothing of the improprieties ofthe young man’s career. “What is his particularline of sin?” he inquired.

[70]“He has none. At present he is all right;but at college, and that was five years ago, Iam afraid he took a livelier interest in petticoatsthan in the advertised course of study.”

“Of course he did,” said Mr. Cabot. “Thatbeauty was given him for the delectation ofother mortals. To conceal it behind a bookwould be opposing the will of his Creator.”

“Poor Amos,” said Mr. Fettiplace witha smile, as he slowly shook his head. “Hisbeauty is his curse. He regards it as a blight,is ashamed of it, and would give a good dealto look like other people. Everybody wonderswho he is and where he came from. As for thewomen, they simply cannot keep their eyesaway from him.”

“If I were a woman,” said Mr. Cabot, ina slow, judicial manner, “I should throw myarms about his neck and insist upon remainingthere.”

Mr. Fettiplace chuckled, not only at the[71]solemnity of his friend’s face during the deliveryof the speech, but at the contemptuoussilence with which this and similar utteranceswere received by the daughter. There hadalways been a gentler and more lovable sideto James Cabot, and he was glad to see thatsuccess and honors had not destroyed themental friskiness and love of nonsense thathad been an irresistible charm in former years.He was also glad to witness the affection andperfect understanding between father anddaughter. It was evident that from long experienceshe was always able to sift the wheatfrom the chaff, and was never deceived orunnecessarily shocked by anything he mightchoose to say.

“Well, he will be here soon,” said Mr. Fettiplace,“but as you are only a man, you mayhave to content yourself with sitting in hislap.”

“Is Mr. Judd coming here this evening?”[72]inquired Molly, in a tone that betrayed anabsence of pleasure at the news.

Her father looked over in mild surprise.“Yes, did I forget to tell you? I asked himto dine, but he had another engagement. Heis to drop in later. And, by the way, Sam,where did the young man get that face? Noline of Connecticut farmers bequeathed suchan inheritance.”

“No, they did not. Judd’s little mystery hasnever been cleared up. I can only repeat thecommon knowledge of Daleford, that the boywas brought to this country when he wasabout six years old, and that a few handfulsof diamonds and rubies came with him. Thevalue of this treasure has been exaggerated,probably, but with all allowances made itmust have amounted to more than a milliondollars.”

[73]“Yes, and the mystery is still agoing. JosiahJudd, in whose hands he was placed, happenedto be the only person who knew theboy’s history, and he died without telling it.Who the child was or why he was sent hereno one knows and no one seems likely to discover.Josiah died about twelve years ago, andever since that time stray clusters of emeralds,pearls, and diamonds have been turning upin unexpected places about the house. Someare hidden away in secretary drawers, othersfolded in bits of paper behind books. Theyhave tumbled from the pockets of Josiah’s oldclothes, and a few years ago his widow discoveredin one of his ancient slippers an envelopecontaining something that felt like seeds.On the outside was written ‘Amos’s things.’She tore it open and found a dozen or moremagnificent rubies, rubies such as one neversees in this country. They were sold for overtwo hundred thousand dollars.”

[74]“Gracious!” exclaimed Molly, “what possessedhim to leave them in such places? Washe crazy?”

“On the contrary, he was too wise. Notwishing to dispose of them in a lump, he didit gradually, and concealed them for greatersafety in different places, so that no one thiefcould steal them all. Whenever he sold themhe invested the proceeds in solid securities. Noone knows to what extent the old farmhouseis still a jewel casket. It is more than likelythat cracks and corners to-day are hiding theirprecious stones.”

“How mysterious and exciting!” exclaimedMolly. “It seems too romantic for practicalNew England.”

“That is just the trouble with it,” said herfather. He leaned back in his chair and continued,with a smile, “I suspect our guest hasbeen reading his ‘Monte Cristo’ lately, whichmay account for a pardonable exaggeration in[75]a historian who means to be honest. Who toldyou all this, Sam? The Judds’ family cat?”

Mr. Fettiplace drew his hand slowly acrosshis forehead and closed his blue eyes, as ifhesitating for a reply. “There is so much that ishard to believe connected with Amos that oneought to prepare his audience before talkingabout him. I will tell you one little thing thathappened to myself, an occurrence not dependentupon other people’s credulity. Oneday last autumn, late in the afternoon, I waswalking along an untravelled road through thewoods, when I met two little children whowere playing horse. The front one, the horse,wore a garment that looked like a white silkovercoat without sleeves. Otherwise the childrenwere roughly clad, with battered strawhats and bare feet. The overcoat had a curious,Oriental cut, and there was a good deal of styleto it; so much, in fact, and of such a foreignflavor, that I stopped to get a better look at[76]it. The wearer, a boy of eight or ten, I recognizedas the son of an unprosperous farmerwho lived in a dilapidated old house not faraway. When I asked him where he got hisjacket he said he wore it at the children’stableaux: that he was the prince who awokethe sleeping beauty in the town hall lastnight. Then I remembered there had been aperformance to raise money for the library.

“While talking with him I noticed therewere four rows of little pearl-shaped buttonsaround the neck and down the front. Theyformed part of an elaborate design, beautifullyembroidered in gold and silver thread, old andsomewhat tarnished, but in excellent preservation.I asked him what those ornamentswere, and he answered they were beads.‘But who owns the jacket?’ I asked: ‘Doesit belong to you?’ No, it belonged to Mrs.Judd, who had lent it for the performance.‘Then why don’t you return it to Mrs. Judd?’[77]Oh, they were going to return it to-morrowmorning. I offered to take it, as I was goingthat way, and the jacket was handed over.

“The more I examined the article, themore interested I became, and finally I satdown on a rock and made a study of it. Ifound the garment was of white silk andcompletely covered with a most elaboratestitching of gold and silver thread. I am noexpert in precious stones, but I knew thosebeads were either pearls or tremendouslyclever imitations, and when I rememberedthere was a good old-fashioned mystery connectedwith Amos’s arrival in these parts, Ibegan to feel that the beads stood a fairchance of being more than they pretended.I counted a hundred and twenty of them.

“When I took the garment to Mrs. Juddand told her what I thought, she didn’t seemat all surprised; simply told me it had beenlying in a bureau-drawer ever since Amos[78]came, about twenty years ago. She is overeighty and her memory has gone rapidly thelast few years, but she closed her eyes, strokedher hair, and said she remembered now thather husband had told her this jacket wasworth a good many dollars. And so theyalways kept it locked away in an upstairsdrawer, but she had forgotten all about thatwhen she offered it to the Faxons for theirperformance. Down the front of the jacketwere large splashes of a dark reddish-browncolor which she said had always been there,and she remembered thinking, as she first laidthe coat away, that Amos had been in somemischief with currant jelly. Amos was awayjust then, but when he returned we took allthe beads off, and a few days later I showeda dozen of them to a New York jeweller whosaid they were not only real pearls, but forsize and quality he had seldom seen theirequal.”

“Gracious!” she exclaimed. “And therewere a hundred and twenty of them?”

“It all harmonizes with Judd’s appearance,”said Mr. Cabot; “I should not expecthim to subsist on every-day American dividends.But it’s a good jacket, even for fairyland.”

“Yes, it certainly is, and yet there was theusual touch of economy in it,” Mr. Fettiplacecontinued. “When we came to remove thepearls, we found a little gold loop or ring inthe setting behind each one of them. Thoseloops passed through a sort of circular button-holein the garment, and a gold wire, runningalong beneath the silk, held the jewels in[80]place, so that by drawing out the wire theywere all detached.”

“By being adjusted and removed so easilythey probably served, when occasion required,as necklace, belt, bracelets, earrings, diadems,or the Lord knows what.”

“Of course,” assented Mr. Cabot. “A frugaldevice that might be of service to other farmers.And you began, Sam, by describing Dalefordas an uneventful place. It seems to methat Bagdad is nothing to it.”

Mr. Fettiplace sipped his coffee without replying.After a short silence, however, withhis eyes upon the coffee which he stirred inan absent-minded way, he continued:

“There are one or two other things connectedwith Judd which are much more difficultto explain. Daleford is full of mysterioustales of supernatural happenings in which heis the hero of prophecies and extraordinary[81]fulfilments; always incredible, but told in honestfaith by practical, hard-headed people. Anynative will give them to you by the yard, butthe hero, under no conditions, ever alludes tothem himself.”

“Which probably proves,” said Mr. Cabot,“that the hero is the only one to be reliedon. It is such fun to believe in the incredible!That is the charm of miracles, that they areimpossible.”

The rosy guest turned to the daughter witha smile, saying: “And there is nothing like ahard-headed old lawyer to drag you back toearth.”

But Mr. Fettiplace evidently felt that hehad said enough, possibly because a portionof his audience was not of encouraging material,for he only answered in a generalway that the stories related to impossible[82]experiences, and were probably only villagegossip.

After dinner they sat around the fire in thenext room, the two men with their cigars andMolly at work over a bit of tapestry representingthe Maid of Orleans on a fat, white horse.This horse, according to her father, must havebelonged to a Liverpool circus, and was loanedto Joanna for tapestry only. When Mr. Juddappeared Molly felt an augmented interest inthis hero of the white jacket, but it was againstboth conscience and judgment and in spite ofa pious resolve to consider him simply as alibertine with a murderous temper. That herfather and Mr. Fettiplace had no such abhorrencewas evident from their cordial greeting.

The conversation became general, althoughthe burden of it was borne by Mr. Fettiplace,who seemed to possess upon every subjecteither some interesting facts or a novel theory.Once, when he was telling them something[83]so amusing that it seemed safe to count upona strict attention from all his hearers, shelooked over at Mr. Judd and found his eyesfixed earnestly upon her face. It was a lookso serious, of such infinite melancholy that,in surprise, her own glance involuntarily lingeredfor a second. He at once turned his eyesin another direction, and she felt angry withherself for having given him even so slight atestimonial of her interest. Although a trivialepisode, it served to increase the existing hostilityand to strengthen an heroic resolve. Thisresolve was to impress upon him, kindly butclearly, the impossibility of a serious respect onher part for a person of such unenviable repute.Later, when the two older men went up intothe library to settle some dispute concerninga date, he came over and seated himself in achair nearer her own, but also facing the fire.

“Indeed he is, but it might require an exceedinglyskilful friend to throw a favorablelight on such a subject.”

She turned and saw upon his face anamused smile, half triumphant yet good-humored.She lowered her eyes to the bronzeornament on the table that was slowly revolvingbetween her fingers. “Am I so incapableof believing good of others?”

“Certainly not! But when I saw you last Isuffered from an unpleasant belief that neitherthe Devil nor myself were objects of youradoration. So I took the liberty of putting one[85]or two things together, and decided that thefaithful Bennett might have honored me by amention.”

“Well, partly because he is a vindictive andunscrupulous liar, and partly because he is theonly enemy I saw there.”

This was said gently, in his usual lowvoice, with perfect calmness, and it was saidamiably, as if sympathizing with an unfortunatefriend.

She looked toward him interrogatively, butwith an expression that plainly indicated a differenceof opinion. He continued in the sametone, with no sign of animosity: “The differenceis this, that he tells others what he nevertells me. I tell others his mind is filthy and his[86]spirit is mean; that he is without honor andthat he is a liar, but I also tellhim.”

There was a barbaric simplicity in all thisthat she could not help respecting, particularlyas she felt he was telling the truth: and shesympathized with him heartily in this opinionof Horace Bennett. While openly unforgivingand vindictive, he appeared to regard hisenemy with the half-serious contempt of agentle but experienced philosopher. But sheremembered her resolution.

“Mr. Fettiplace has been telling us aboutthat white jacket. What an interestingstory!”

[87]“Yes, everything he tells is interesting. Hehas a rare faculty in that direction.”

“But in this case he had an unusual subject.It is like a fairy story. I suppose you wore itsome time or other?”

“Vaguely. I was only seven years old whenI came to this country and I never wore ithere.”

“Currant jelly?” he repeated, and lookedinquiringly toward her. “I have not heard thattheory.”

“You were the culprit and ought to know.But strawberry is just as bad, I suppose.”

Turning toward him for further information,she could not help thinking how much more[88]he was in harmony with a tale of pearls andmystery and human blood than with jam orcurrant jelly. As he made no answer but satgazing absently at the fire, she expressed ahope that his youthful nose had not collidedwith the stairs or with the fist of some largerboy.

“No, not that exactly,” he replied, with hiseyes still upon the fire. “It is a long story andwould not interest you.” Then looking up, hecontinued, with more animation, “I am gladthere is a possibility of your coming to Daleford.It is an ideal place to be quiet in.”

“So Mr. Fettiplace tells us, but you aremistaken about the history of the jacket. Itwould interest me, and I should like extremelyto hear it; unless of course you prefer not totell it.”

“If you wish to hear it that is reason enoughfor the telling, but—isn’t it rather cruel toforce a man to talk only about himself?”

[89]“No; not in this case. It gives an opportunityto prove, by the perfection of your boyhood,that you are less vile than you believeHorace Bennett to have painted you.”

“That would be impossible. No human recordcould wipe out an effect once laid in bysuch a hand. Besides, there is nothing in thejacket to repair a damaged reputation.”

“In that case I will make an effort.” Herested an elbow on the arm of his chair, slowlystroking the back of his head as if uncertainwhere to begin. “It is really a foolish thing todo,” he said at last, “but if you are relentlessI suppose there is no escape. In the first place,to begin at the very beginning, there was alittle court with arches all around it, withgrass in the centre and a fountain at eachcorner. On the marble steps, at one end, wewere all sitting, a dozen or more children,[90]watching a man with a bear and two monkeys.These monkeys had sham fights. Onewas dressed like an English soldier with ared jacket, and he always got the worst of it.It was great fun and we all laughed.”

“In India. At the very beginning of theshow, when the English monkey for a momentwas on top, a servant rushed into thecourt and dragged me away. It was a barbarousdeed, and I was ugly; as disagreeable probablyas Horace Bennett could have wished.So I only lose ground, you see, by telling thisstory.”

“Well, looking back as I was dragged along,the last thing I saw was the red monkey beingchased and beaten by the white one, and theyscrambled right up the bear’s back. In thechamber where we went that white jacket was[91]brought out and I made another row, for Iknew it meant a long and tiresome performancein which I had to keep still and behavemyself.”

“No; in a large room, with lots of peoplestanding about. As our procession started forthe big hall, which was several rooms away onanother side of the house, I noticed that myuncle and one or two others kept closer to methan usual. There was a tremendous haste andconfusion, and everybody seemed excited.”

In telling his story Mr. Judd spoke in a lowvoice, pronouncing his words clearly and witha certain precision. His only gesture consistedin occasionally drawing a hand slowly up theback of his head, as if finding solace in rubbingthe short thick hair in the wrong direction.Although his voice and manner suggestedan indolent repose, she noticed that the brownhands, with their long fingers, were hard and[92]muscular, and were the hands of a nervoustemperament.

“When we entered the large hall therewere lots of people, mostly soldiers, and inuniforms I had not seen before. The principalperson seemed to be a short, thick-set manwith a round face and big eyes, who stood inthe centre of the room, and his wide sashand odd-looking turban with gold scales interestedme tremendously. We all stood therea few minutes and there was a good deal oftalk about something, when all of a suddenthis man with the handsome turban seizedme under the arms with both hands, lifted meup, and handed me to a big chap behind him.

“Then came a free fight, a general commotion,with shouting and rushing about, andsword-blades in the air. A friend tried to pullme away, but the big man who held me laidhis head open with a blow. A second later thebig man himself received a cut from my uncle[93]at the base of his neck, where it joins theshoulder, that made him stagger and turn halfabout: then he tumbled to the floor and heldme all the tighter as he fell. As we landedI came on top, but he rolled over and layacross me with his head on my stomach. Hewas so heavy that he held me down and theblood poured from his neck over my whiteclothes.”

Molly had stopped working. With herhands in her lap and her eyes fixed eagerlyon his face, she uttered an exclamation ofhorror. He said, with a smile:

“Well, as I struggled to get from underI saw my uncle turn upon the first man, theleader, but he was too late. Someone gavehim a thrust, and he staggered and camedown beside us. I remember he lay so nearthat I reached out and touched his cheek[94]with my finger. I spoke to him, but he neveranswered.”

There was a silence, she watching him,waiting for the rest of the story, while hegazed silently into the fire.

“Oh, excuse me! That is about all. Duringthe hubbub and slaughter my peoplehauled me from beneath the big chap andI was hurried away. I remember, as we ranthrough the chambers near the little court,I heard my friends still laughing at themonkeys.”

He seemed to consider the story finished.“May I fool with that fire?” he asked.

As the fire was encouraged into a fresherlife he answered: “I never knew distinctly.That night a few others and myself wentdown to the river, through the gardens, were[95]rowed to a little steamer and taken aboard.We sailed down a long river, and afterwarda big steamer brought three of us to America.And then to Daleford.”

“Because it was desirable to land me insome amusing metropolis, and I suppose thechoice lay between Paris and Daleford. Daleford,of course, won.”

“I beg your pardon,” she hastened tosay. “My curiosity seems to be running awaywith me.”

“Oh, please do not apologize. There is nosecret about Daleford. I only answered inthat way as I suddenly realized how refreshingit must be to hear a stranger tell patheticstories about himself. It is I who apologize.They brought me to Daleford through Mr.Judd’s brother, who was a good friend andwas with us at that row.”

He stood before the fire with the poker in[96]his hand, and looked down with a smile as hecontinued: “I believe you have never been toDaleford, but if you were a field-mouse thatcould sleep all winter, and didn’t care to bedisturbed in summer, you would find it anideal spot. If you were a field-mouse of averagesocial instincts you would never pullthrough.”

From Daleford they went to other subjects,but to her his own career proved of fargreater interest, and the usual topics seemedcommonplace and uneventful by comparison.Delicately and with subtle tact, she made oneor two efforts to get further informationregarding his childhood and the fabulousjewels, but her endeavors were vain. Ofhimself he talked no more. In a sense, however,[97]she was rewarded by a somewhat surprisingdiscovery in relation to his mentalfurniture. When the conversation turned incidentallyupon literature she found him inthe enjoyment of an ignorance so vast andso comprehensive that it caused her, at first,to doubt the sincerity of his own self-conviction.Of her favorite books he had notread one. To him the standard novelists werebut names. Of their works he knew nothing.This ignorance he confessed cheerfully andwithout shame.

“But what do you do with yourself?”she demanded. “Do you never read anything?”

“Oh, yes; I have not forgotten my letters.For modern facts I read the papers, and forthe other side of life I take poetry. But themodern novel is too severe a punishment. Itis neither poetry nor wisdom.”

Until the two other men came down from[98]the library she had no idea of the latenessof the hour. Mr. Fettiplace laid a hand onthe young man’s shoulder and, with a roseatesmile, explained the situation.

“This fellow is from the country, Miss Molly,and you must excuse him for expecting, wheninvited out to dinner, that he is to remain tobreakfast.”

A moment or two later, as the three menwere standing before the fire, she was astonishedby a bit of unexpected wisdom. He wasregarding with apparent interest a little etchingthat hung near the mantel, when Mr.Cabot explained that it was a very old one hehad purchased in Germany, and representedthe battle of Hennersdorf. Mr. Judd thoughtit must be the battle of Mollwitz, and gave asreasons for his belief the position of the Prussiansin relation to a certain hill and the retreatof the Austrian cavalry at that stage ofthe fight. Mr. Cabot, obviously surprised at[99]these details, replied, jokingly, that he wasnot in a position to contradict a soldier whowas present at the battle.

“You might as well back right down, Jim!Amos is simply a walking cyclopædia of militaryfacts; and not a condensed one either! He cangive you more reliable details of that battlethan Frederick himself, and of every otherbattle that has ever been fought, from Ramesesto U. S. Grant. He remembers everything;why the victors were victorious and how thedefeated might have won. I believe he sleepsand eats with the great conquerors. You oughtto see his library. It is a gallery of slaughter,containing nothing but records of carnage—andpoetry. Nothing interests him like bloodand verses. Just think,” he continued, turningto Molly, “just think of wasting your life inthe nineteenth century when you feel that[100]you possess a magnificent genius for wholesalemurder that can never have a show!”

There was more bantering, especially betweenthe older men, a promise to visit Daleford,and the two guests departed.

IN April the Cabots took their trip to Dalefordand found it even more inviting thanMr. Fettiplace had promised. The spacioushouse among the elms, with its quaint oldflower-garden, the air, the hills, the restfulbeauty of the country, were temptations not tobe resisted, and within another month theywere comfortably adjusted and felt at home.

The house, which had formerly belonged toMr. Morton Judd, stood several hundred feetfrom the road at the end of an avenue of wide-spreadingmaples. This avenue was the continuationof another and a similar avenue extendingto the house of Josiah Judd, directlyopposite, and the same distance from the highway.As you stood at either end it was an unbrokenarch from one residence to the other.When Mr. Morton Judd was married, some fiftyyears ago, his father had erected this abode[102]for him, but the young man soon after wentto India, where as a merchant and a financierhe achieved success, and where both he andhis wife now lay at rest. Although coveringas much ground, the house was less imposingthan the more venerable mansion at the otherend of the avenue.

The journey beneath the maples provedsuch a pleasant one and was so easily madeas to invite a certain familiarity of intercoursethat the Cabots saw no good reason to discourage.Mrs. Judd, a strong-framed woman with aheavy chin, whose failing memory seemed heronly weakness, was now about eighty years ofage, and generally sat by a sunny window inthe big dining-room, where she rocked andknitted from morning till night, paying littleattention to what went on about her. If Amoshad been her own son she could not haveloved him more, and this affection was returnedin full with an unceasing thoughtfulness[103]and care. Both Molly and her father weregratified at finding in this young man a neighborwhose society it seemed safe to encourage.He proved a sensible, unpretending person,fond of fun and pleasure, but with plenty ofconvictions; these convictions, however, whilea source of amusement to Mr. Cabot, were notalways accepted by the daughter. They wereoften startling departures from his educationand environment, and showed little respect forconventionalities. He never attended church,but owned a pew in each of the five templesat Daleford, and to each of these societies hewas a constant and liberal contributor. Forthree of them he had given parsonages thatwere ornaments to the village, and as the sectarianspirit in that locality was alive and hotthese generous gifts had produced alternatingoutbursts of thankfulness and rage, all ofwhich apparently caused neither surprise norannoyance to the young philosopher. When[104]Molly Cabot told him, after learning this, thatit would indicate a more serious Christianspirit if he paid for but a single pew and satin it, he answered:

“But that spirit is just the evil I try to escape,for your good Christian is a hot sectarian.It is the one thing in his religion he will fightand die for, and it seems to me the one thinghe ought to be ashamed of. If any one sect isright and the others wrong it is all a hideousjoke on the majority, and a proper respect forthe Creator prevents my believing in any suchfavoritism.”

Occasionally the memory of his offensivetitle obtruded itself as a bar to that confidencewhich is the foundation of friendship,but as she knew him better it became moredifficult to believe that he could ever havebeen, in its coarser sense, what that title signified.As regarded herself, there was neveron his part the faintest suggestion of anything[105]that could be interpreted as love-making, oreven as the mildest attempt at a flirtation.She found him under all conditions simpleand unassuming, and, she was forced to admit,with no visible tokens of that personalvanity with which she had so lavishly endowedhim. His serious business in life wasthe management of the Judd farm, and althoughthe care and development of his animalswas more of a recreation than a rigidnecessity he wasted little money in unsuccessfulexperiments. Mr. Cabot soon discoveredthat he was far more practical and business-likethan his leisurely manners seemedto indicate. The fondness for animals thatseemed one of his strongest characteristicswas more an innate affection than a breeder’sfancy. Every animal on his place, from thethoroughbred horses to the last litter of pups,he regarded more as personal friends than asobjects of commercial value.

[106]When Mr. Cabot and Molly made their firstvisit to the farm, they noticed in the cornerof a field a number of dejected horses huddledsolemnly together. Most of them were wellbeyond middle age and bore the clearest indicationsof a future that was devoid of promise.They gazed at the visitors with listlesseyes, and as a congregation seemed burdenedwith most of the physical imperfections of extremeantiquity.

“What on earth are those?” asked Mr.Cabot. “Revolutionary relics? They are toofat for invalids.”

“I should think from the number youhave here that you never disposed of yourold friends,” said Mr. Cabot.

“Well, I am glad to see them,” said Molly,as she patted one or two of the noses thatwere thrust toward her. “It does you credit.[107]I think it is horrid to sell a horse that hasused himself up in your service.”

As the father and daughter walked homewardalong the avenue of maples, Mr. Cabotspoke of the pleasure the young man derivedfrom his animals, and the good sense he displayedin the management of his farm.

“Yes,” said Molly, “and he seems too boyishand full of fun for anything very weirdor uncanny. But Mr. Fettiplace certainly believedin something of that kind, didn’t he?”

“Of course, or he wouldn’t be Fettiplace.That sort of thing is always interesting, andthe world is full of people who can believeanything if they once put their minds on it.Who is that in our yard?”

“Deacon White, I think. He has come totrain up some plants for me.” A moment latershe took her father’s arm and asked, with affectedhumility: “Jimsey, will you do something?”

“Well, you are right, but you can do it somuch better than I. Deacon White has probablyknown Mr. Judd ever since he was a littleboy, and he would be glad of an opportunityto tell what he knows and give us all thetown talk besides. I do wish you would juststart him off.”

“Start him off! On what? Judd’s privatehistory? On the delicate matters he doesn’twish advertised?”

“No, no! Of course not, papa! How unpleasantyou are! I only want him to throwsome light on the mysterious things Mr. Fettiplacealluded to.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind. If youreally have a thirst for that sort of knowledge,get a copy of Hans Andersen. He hasa better style than Deacon White.”

A few moments later, when Molly and theDeacon were alone in the old garden, her desire[109]for information was gratified to an unhoped-forextent, and the information wasof a more detailed and astonishing characterthan she would have presumed to ask for.The Deacon, a little, round-shouldered, narrow-chestedman of seventy, with a sun-driedface, an enormous nose, and a long recedingchin with a white beard beneath, possesseda pair of wide-awake eyes that seemed manyyears younger than himself.

“I never have anything to do with roseswithout thinkin’ of Amos. Did you ever noticehis?”

“Ain’t they! Well, one mornin’, when hewas a little boy, I was helpin’ him set outroses along the side of the house where thebig trellis is, and he said he wanted red ones,not yellow ones. I said: ‘These are red ones.They are cut from the same slip as the others,and they’ve got to be red whether they want[110]to or not.’ Pretty soon Josiah came out, andAmos said to him that he could see ’em nextspring and they would all be yellow. Andwhat took me all aback was that Josiah believedit, and tried to persuade him that hemight like yellow ones for a change. And Itell you,” said the Deacon, as he fixed hislittle young eyes on her face to watch hiseffect, “I just stood with my mouth open onemornin’, a year after, when I saw those roses,that oughter been red, just come out into ayeller. Of course it was a mistake in thebushes, but how did he know?”

“Yes, it might have been a coincidence.But when a boy’s life is made up of just thosethings you begin to suspect after a while thatperhaps they are too everlastingly reliable forcoincidences. You can’t always bet on coincidences,but you can bet every time on Amos.My daughter Phœbe kept school down in the[111]village for a spell when Amos was about tenyears old. There was another boy, Billy Hines,who never missed a lesson. Phœbe knew hewas a dull boy and that he always tried togive larnin’ the whole road whenever he sawit comin’, and it kinder surprised her to havehim stand at the head of his class all the timeand make better recitations than smarter boyswho worked hard. But he always knew everythingand never missed a question. He andAmos were great friends, more because Amosfelt sorry for him, I guess, than anything else.Billy used to stand up and shine every day,when she knew mighty well he was the slowestchap in the whole school and hadn’t studiedhis lessons neither. Well, one day Amosgot hove about twenty feet by a colt he wastryin’ to ride and he stayed in bed a fewweeks. Durin’ that time Billy Hines couldn’tanswer a question. Not a question. He andarithmetic were strangers. Also geography,[112]history, and everything else that he’d beenintimate with. He jest stopped shinin’, like acandle with a stopper on it. The amount of itwas she found that Amos had always told himahead the questions he was goin’ to be asked,and Billy learned the answers just before hestood up to recite.”

“I guess ’twas just a series of coincidencesthat happened to last all winter.”

Molly laughed. “How unforgiving you are,Mr. White! But did Amos Judd explain it?”

“He didn’t. He was too young then to do itto anybody’s satisfaction, and now that he’solder he won’t.”

“Well, he’s kind of sensitive about it. Nevertalks of those things, and don’t like to haveother folks.”

Molly stood looking over toward the Judd[113]house, wondering how much of the Deacon’stale was truth, and how much was village gossipexaggerated by repetition.

“’Twas to him that Amos was fetched fromIndia. One mornin’ Josiah and I were standin’in the doorway of his barn talkin’. The oldbarn used to be closer to the house, but Amostore it down after he built that big new one.Josiah and I stood in the doorway talkin’ abouta new yoke of oxen; nothin’ excitin’, for therewasn’t any cause for it. We stood in the doorway,both facin’ out, when Josiah, withoutgivin’ any notice, sort of pitched forward andfell face down in the snow. I turned him overand tried to lift him up, but when I saw hisface I was scared. Just at that particular minutethe doctor, with Amos sittin’ in the sleighbeside him, drove into the avenue and hurriedalong as if he knew there was trouble. We[114]carried Josiah into the house, but ’twa’n’t anyuse. He was dead before we got him there.It was heart disease. At the funeral I said tothe doctor it was lucky he happened alongjust then, even if he couldn’t save him, andI found there was no happen about it; thatAmos had run to his house just as he was startingoff somewheres else, and told him Josiahwas dyin’ and to get there as fast as he could.”

“That’s very strange,” Molly said, in a lowvoice. She had listened to this story with afeeling of awe, for she believed the Deacon tobe a truthful man, and this was an experienceof his own. “This mysterious faculty,” she said,“whatever it was, did he realize it fully himself?”

“I guess he did!” and the Deacon chuckledas he went on with his work. “And he used toplay tricks with it. I tell you he was a handful.”

The Deacon turned about and answered, in[115]a serious tone: “No. But he wants folks tothink so. All the same, there’s something betweenAmos and the Almighty that the restof us ain’t into.”

One Monday morning, toward the last ofJune, Molly left Daleford for a two weeks’visit at the seashore. Her absence caused avoid that extended from the Cabot householdover to the big white mansion at the furtherend of the maples. This emptiness and desolationdrove the young man to frequent visitsupon Mr. Cabot, who, in his turn, found apleasant relief in the companionship of hisneighbor, and he had no suspicion of the solacethis visitor derived from sitting upon thepiazza so lately honored by the absent girl.The eminent lawyer was not aware that hehimself, apart from all personal merit, was theobject of an ardent affection from his relationshipto his own daughter. For the first twenty-fourhours the two disconsolates kept in their[116]own preserves to a reasonable extent, but onTuesday they took a fishing trip, followed inthe evening by a long talk on the Cabot piazza.During this conversation the lawyer realizedmore fully than ever the courageous ignoranceof his neighbor in all matters that had failedto interest him. On the other hand, he wasimpressed by the young man’s clear, comprehensive,and detailed knowledge upon certainunfamiliar subjects. In spite of his college educationand a very considerable knowledge ofthe world he was, mentally, something of aspoiled child; yet from his good sense, originality,and moral courage he was always interesting.

Wednesday, the third day, brought a northeastgale that swept the hills and valleys ofDaleford with a drenching rain. Trees, bushes,flowers, and blades of grass dripping withwater, bent and quivered before the wind. Mr.Cabot spent the morning among his books[117]and papers, writing letters and doing somework which the pleasant weather had causedhim to defer. For such labors this day seemedespecially designed. In the afternoon, about twoo’clock, he stood looking out upon the stormfrom his library window, which was at the cornerof the house and commanded the longavenue toward the road. The tempest seemedto rage more viciously than ever. Boundingacross the country in sheets of blinding rain,it beat savagely against the glass, then pouredin unceasing torrents down the window-panes.The ground was soaked and spongy with tempestuouslittle puddles in every hollow of thesurface. In the distance, under the tossingmaples, he espied a figure coming along thedriveway in a waterproof and rubber boots.He recognized Amos, his head to one side tokeep his hat on, gently trotting before thegale, as the mighty force against his back rendereda certain degree of speed perfunctory.[118]Mr. Cabot had begun to weary of solitude, andsaw with satisfaction that Amos crossed theroad and continued along the avenue. Beneathhis waterproof was something large and bulging,of which he seemed very careful. With asmiling salutation he splashed by the windowtoward the side door, laid off his outer coat andwiped his ponderous boots in the hall, thencame into the library bearing an enormousbunch of magnificent yellow roses. Mr. Cabotrecognized them as coming from a bush inwhich its owner took the greatest pride, andin a moment their fragrance filled the room.

“Neither. They belong to the lady who isnow absent; whose soul is the Flower of Truth,and whose beauty is the Glory of the Morning.”Then he added, with a gesture of humility,[119]“That is, of course, if she will deignto accept them.”

“But, my well-meaning young friend, wereyou gifted with less poetry and more experienceyou would know that these roses will befaded and decaying memories long before therecipient returns. And you a farmer!”

Amos looked at the clock. “You seem tohave precious little confidence in my flowers,sir. They are good for three hours, I think.”

“Three hours! Yes, but to-day is Wednesdayand it is many times three hours beforenext Monday afternoon.”

A look of such complete surprise cameinto Amos’s face that Mr. Cabot smiled as heasked, “Didn’t you know her visit was to lasta fortnight?”

The young man made no answer to this,but looked first at his questioner and then athis roses with an air that struck Mr. Cabot atthe moment as one of embarrassment. As he[120]recalled it afterward, however, he gave it a differentsignificance. With his eyes still on theflowers Amos, in a lower voice, said, “Don’tyou know that she is coming to-day?”

The idea of a secret correspondence betweenthese two was not a pleasant surprise; and thefact that he had been successfully kept in ignoranceof an event of such importance irritatedhim more than he cared to show. He asked,somewhat dryly: “Have you heard from her?”

“No, sir, not a word,” and as their eyesmet Mr. Cabot felt it was a truthful answer.

Amos looked at the clock and then at hiswatch. “Has no one gone to the station forher?”

“No one,” replied Mr. Cabot, as he turnedaway and seated himself at his desk. “Whyshould they?”

Then, in a tone which struck its hearer as[121]being somewhat more melancholy than the situationdemanded, the young man replied: “Iwill explain all this to-morrow, or wheneveryou wish, Mr. Cabot. It is a long story, but ifshe does come to-day she will be at the stationin about fifty minutes. You know what sort of avehicle the stage is. May I drive over for her?”

The young man lingered a moment as ifthere was something more he wished to add,but left the room without saying it. A minutelater he was running as fast as the galewould let him along the avenue toward hisown house, and in a very short time Mr. Cabotsaw a pair of horses with a covered buggy, itsleather apron well up in front, come dashingdown the avenue from the opposite house.Amid fountains of mud the little horseswheeled into the road, trotted swiftly towardthe village and out of sight.

An hour and a half later the same horses,[122]bespattered and dripping, drew up at the door.Amos got out first, and holding the reins withone hand, assisted Molly with the other. Fromthe expression on the two faces it was evidenttheir cheerfulness was more than a match forthe fiercest weather. Mr. Cabot might perhapshave been ashamed to confess it, but his wasa state of mind in which this excess of felicityannoyed him. He felt a touch of resentmentthat another, however youthful and attractive,should have been taken into her confidence,while he was not even notified of her arrival.But she received a hearty welcome, and herimpulsive, joyful embrace almost restored himto a normal condition.

A few minutes later they were sitting inthe library, she upon his lap recounting theevents that caused her unexpected return.Ned Elliott was quite ill when she got there,and last night the doctor pronounced it typhoidfever; that of course upset the whole[123]house, and she, knowing her room was needed,decided during the night to come home thismorning. Such was the substance of the narrative,but told in many words, with everydetail that occurred to her, and with frequentramifications; for the busy lawyer had alwaysmade a point of taking a very serious interestin whatever his only child saw fit to tell him.And this had resulted in an intimacy and areliance upon each other which was very dearto both. As Molly was telling her story Maggiecame in from the kitchen and handed her fathera telegram, saying Joe had just broughtit from the post-office. Mr. Cabot felt for hisglasses and then remembered they were overon his desk. So Molly tore it open and readthe message aloud.

“I gave it to Sam Elliott about nine o’clockthis morning, and it wouldn’t be like him toforget it.”

“No, and probably he did not forget it. Itonly waited at the Bingham station a fewhours to get its breath before starting on asix-mile walk.”

But he was glad to know she had sent themessage. Suddenly she wheeled about on hisknee and inserted her fingers between his collarand his neck, an old trick of her childhoodand still employed when the closest attentionwas required. “But how did you know I wascoming?”

“Of course I didn’t send him word. Whatan idea! Why don’t you tell me how youknew?” and the honest eyes were fixed uponhis own in stern disapproval. He smiled andsaid it was evidently a mysterious case; thatshe must cross-examine the prophet. He thentold her of the roses and of his interview withAmos. She was mystified, and also a little excitedas she recalled the stories of DeaconWhite, but knowing her father would onlylaugh at them, contented herself with exactingthe promise of an immediate explanationfrom Mr. Judd.

EARLY in the evening the young man appeared.He found Mr. Cabot and Mollysitting before a cheerful fire, an agreeable contrastto the howling elements without. Shethanked him for the roses, expressing her admirationfor their uncommon beauty.

With a grave salutation he answered, “Itold them, one morning, when they were littlebuds, that if they surpassed all previous rosesthere was a chance of being accepted by theDispenser of Sunshine who dwells across theway; and this is the result of their efforts.”

“There is no question of their beauty,” saidMr. Cabot, “and they appear to possess aknowledge of coming events that must be ofvalue at times.”

“It was not from the roses I got my information,[127]sir. But I will tell you about that now,if you wish.”

It seemed a winter’s evening, as the threesat before the fire, the older man in the centre,the younger people on either side, facingeach other. Mr. Cabot crossed his legs, andlaying his magazine face downward upon hislap, said, “I confess I shall be glad to have thepuzzle solved, as it is a little deep for me excepton the theory that you are skilful liars.Molly I know to be unpractised in that art,but as for you, Amos, I can only guess whatyou may conceal under a truthful exterior.”

Amos smiled. “It is something to look honest,and I am glad you can say even that.”Then, after a pause, he leaned back in hischair and, in a voice at first a little constrained,thus began:

“As long ago as I can remember I used to[128]imagine things that were to happen, all sortsof scenes and events that might possibly occur,as most children do, I suppose. But thesescenes, or imaginings, were of two kinds: thosethat required a little effort of my own, andanother kind that came with no effort whatever.These last were the most usual, and weresometimes of use as they always came true.That is, they never failed to occur just as Ihad seen them. While a child this did not surpriseme, as I supposed all the rest of theworld were just like myself.”

At this point Amos looked over towardMolly and added, with a faint smile, “I knowjust what your father is thinking. He is regrettingthat an otherwise healthy young manshould develop such lamentable symptoms.”

She felt annoyed by her father’s calmness.Here was the most extraordinary, the most[129]marvellous thing she had ever encountered,and yet he behaved as if it were a commonplaceexperience of every-day life. And hemust know that Amos was telling the truth!But Amos himself showed no signs of annoyance.

“As I grew older and discovered graduallythat none of my friends had this faculty, andthat people looked upon it as something uncannyand supernatural, I learned to keep it tomyself. I became almost ashamed of the peculiarityand tried by disuse to outgrow it, butsuch a power is too useful a thing to ignore altogether,and there are times when the temptationis hard to resist. That was the case thisafternoon. I expected a friend who was to telegraphme if unable to come, and at half-pasttwo no message had arrived: but being familiarwith the customs of the Daleford office I knewthere might be a dozen telegrams and I getnone the wiser. So, not wishing to drive twelve[130]miles for nothing in such a storm, I yieldedto the old temptation and put myself ahead—inspirit of course—and saw the train as itarrived. You can imagine my surprise whenthe first person to get off was Miss MollyCabot.”

Her eyes were glowing with excitement. Repressingan exclamation of wonder, she turnedtoward her father and was astonished, andgently indignant, to find him in the placidenjoyment of his cigar, showing no surprise.Then she asked of Amos, almost in a whisper,for her throat seemed very dry, “What timewas it when you saw this?”

“You saw what occurred on the platform asif you were there in person?” Mr. Cabot inquired.

“Yes, sir. The conductor helped her out and[131]she started to run into the station to get outof the rain.”

“But the wind twisted you about and blewyou against him. And you both stuck there fora second.”

“But I am surprised, Amos,” put in Mr.Cabot, “that you should have had so littlesympathy for a tempest-tossed lady as to failto observe there was no carriage.”

“Yes, sir, in a way, for I could only see as if[132]I were there in person, and I did not movearound to the other side of the station.”

Amos drew a hand up the back of his headand hesitated before answering. “I closed myeyes at home with a wish to be at the stationas the train came in, and I found myself therewithout approaching it from any particulardirection.”

“And if you had looked down the road,”Mr. Cabot continued, after a pause, “youwould have seen yourself approaching in abuggy?”

“And from the buggy you might almosthave seen what you have just described.” Thiswas said so calmly and pleasantly that Molly,for an instant, did not catch its full meaning;then her eyes, in disappointment, turned toAmos. She thought there was a flush on thedark face, and something resembling anger as[133]the eyes turned toward her father. But Mr.Cabot was watching the smoke as it curledfrom his lips. After a very short pause Amossaid, quietly, “It had not occurred to me thatmy statement could place me in such an unfortunateposition.”

“Not at all unfortunate,” and Mr. Cabotraised a hand in protest. “I know you too well,Amos, to doubt your sincerity. The worst I canpossibly believe is that you yourself are misled:that you are perhaps attaching a false significanceto a series of events that might beexplained in another way.”

Amos arose and stood facing them with hisback against the mantel. “You are much tooclever for me, Mr. Cabot. I hardly thought youcould accept this explanation, but I have toldyou nothing but the truth.”

“My dear boy, do not think for a momentthat I doubt your honesty. Older men thanyou, and harder-headed ones, have digested[134]more incredible things. In telling your storyyou ask me to believe what I consider impossible.There is no well-authenticated case onrecord of such a faculty. It would interferewith the workings of nature. Future eventscould not arrange themselves with any confidencein your vicinity, and all history that isto come, and even the elements, would be compelledto adjust themselves according to yourpredictions.”

“But, papa, you yourself had positive evidencethat he knew of my coming two hoursbefore I came. How do you explain that?”

“I do not pretend to explain it, and I willnot infuriate Amos by calling it a good guess,or a startling coincidence.”

Amos smiled. “Oh, call it what you please,Mr. Cabot. But it seems to me that the factof these things invariably coming true oughtto count for something, even with the legalmind.”

[135]“You say there has never been a single casein which your prophecy has failed?”

“Suppose, just for illustration, that youshould look ahead and see yourself in churchnext Sunday standing on your head in theaisle, and suppose you had a serious unwillingnessto perform the act. Would you still go tochurch and do it?”

There was a short silence during whichMolly kept her eyes on her work, while Amosstood silently beside the fire as if there was[136]nothing more to be said. Finally Mr. Cabotknocked the ashes from his cigar and asked,with his pleasantest smile, “Do you think ifone of these scenes involved the actions ofanother person than yourself, that personwould also carry it out?”

“That if you told me, for instance, of somethingI should do to-morrow at twelve o’clock,I should do it?”

“Well, what am I going to do to-morrow atnoon, as the clock strikes twelve?”

“Give me five minutes,” and with closedeyes and head slightly inclined, the youngman remained leaning against the mantelwithout changing his position. It seemed along five minutes. Outside, the tempest beatviciously against the windows, then with mockingshrieks whirled away into the night. ToMolly’s excited fancy the echoing chimney[137]was alive with the mutterings of unearthlyvoices. Although in her father’s judgment sheplaced a perfect trust, there still remained alingering faith in this supernatural power,whatever it was; but she knew it to be a faithher reason might not support. As for Amos, hewas certainly an interesting figure as he stoodbefore them, and nothing could be easier atsuch a moment than for an imaginative girl toinvest him with mystic attributes. Althoughoutwardly American so far as raiment, the cutof his hair, and his own efforts could producethat impression, he remained, nevertheless,distinctly Oriental. The dark skin, the long,black, clearly marked eyebrows, the singularbeauty of his features, almost feminine in theirrefinement, betrayed a race whose origin andtraditions were far removed from his presentsurroundings. She was struck by the little scarupon his forehead, which seemed, of a sudden,to glow and be alive, as if catching some reflection[138]from the firelight. While her eyes wereupon it, the fire blazed up in a dying effort,and went out; but the little scar remained aluminous spot with a faint light of its own.She drew her hand across her brow to brushaway the illusion, and as she again looked towardhim he opened his eyes and raised hishead. Then he said to her father, slowly, as iffrom a desire to make no mistake:

“To-morrow you will be standing in front ofthe Unitarian Church, looking up at the clockon the steeple as it strikes twelve. Then youwill walk along by the Common until you areopposite Caleb Farnum’s, cross the street, andknock at his door. Mrs. Farnum will open it.She will show you into the parlor, the room onthe right, where you will sit down in a rocking-chairand wait. I left you there, but can tellyou the rest if you choose to give the time.”

Molly glanced at her father and was surprisedby his expression. Bending forward, his[139]eyes fixed upon Amos with a look of the deepestinterest, he made no effort to conceal hisastonishment. He leaned back in the chair,however, and resuming his old attitude, said,quietly:

“That is precisely what I intended to do to-morrow,and at twelve o’clock, as I knew hewould be at home for his dinner. Is it possiblethat a wholesome, out-of-doors young chap likeyou can be something of a mind-reader and notknow it?”

“Absolutely sure. It happens that you alreadyintended to do the thing mentioned,but that was merely a coincidence.”

For a moment or two there was a silence,during which Mr. Cabot seemed more interestedin the appearance of his cigar than inthe previous conversation. At last he said:

“I understand you to say these scenes, or[140]prophecies, or whatever you call them, havenever failed of coming true. Now, if I wilfullyrefrain from calling on Mr. Farnum to-morrowit will have a tendency to prove, will it not,that your system is fallible?”

“And if you can catch it in several sucherrors you might in time lose confidence init?”

“Very likely, but I think it will never happen.At least, not in such a way.”

“Just leave that to me,” and Mr. Cabot rosefrom his seat and stood beside him in front ofthe fire. “The only mystery, in my opinion, isa vivid imagination that sometimes gets thebetter of your facts; or rather combines withyour facts and gets the better of yourself.These visions, however real, are such as comenot only to hosts of children, but to manyolder people who are highstrung and imaginative.As for the prophetic faculty, don’t let[141]that worry you. It is a bump that has notsprouted yet on your head, or on any other.Daniel and Elijah are the only experts of permanentstanding in that line, and even theirreputations are not what they used to be.”

Amos smiled and said something about notpretending to compete with professionals, andthe conversation turned to other matters. Afterhis departure, as they went upstairs, Molly lingeredin her father’s chamber a moment andasked if he really thought Mr. Judd had seenfrom his buggy the little incident at the stationwhich he thought had appeared to him inhis vision.

“It seems safe to suppose so,” he answered.“And he could easily be misled by a little sequenceof facts, fancies, and coincidences thathappened to form a harmonious whole.”

“But in other matters he seems so sensible,and he certainly is not easily deceived.”

“Yes, I know, but those are often the very[142]people who become the readiest victims. NowAmos, with all his practical common-sense, Iknow to be unusually romantic and imaginative.He loves the mystic and the fabulous. Theother day while we were fishing together—thankyou, Maggie does love a fresh place formy slippers every night—the other day I discovered,from several things he said, that hewas an out-and-out fatalist. But I think wecan weaken his faith in all that. He is tooyoung and healthy and has too free a mind toremain a permanent dupe.”

THE next morning was clear and bright.Mr. Cabot, absorbed in his work, spentnearly the whole forenoon among his papers,and when he saw Molly in her little cart driveup to the door with a seamstress from the village,he knew the day was getting on. Seeinghim still at his desk as she entered, she bentover him and put a hand before his eyes. “Oh,crazy man! You have no idea what a day it is,and to waste it over an ink-pot! Why, it ishalf-past eleven, and I believe you have beenhere ever since I left. Stop that work thisminute and go out of doors.” A cool cheek waslaid against his face and the pen removed fromhis fingers. “Now mind.”

“I wish I could, but Imust start Mrs. Turneron her sewing. Please go yourself. It is a heavenlyday.”

[144]As he stepped off the piazza a few minuteslater, she called out from her chamber window,“Which way are you going, papa?”

“I promise,” and with a smile he walkedaway. Her enthusiasm over the quality of theday he found was not misplaced. The pure,fresh air brought a new life. Gigantic snowyclouds, like the floating mountains of fairyland, moved majestically across the heavens,and the distant hills stood clear and sharpagainst the dazzling blue. The road was muddy,but that was a detail to a lover of nature, andMr. Cabot, as he strode rapidly toward the village,experienced an elasticity and exhilarationthat recalled his younger days. He feltmore like dancing or climbing trees than ploddingsedately along a turnpike. With a quick,youthful step he ascended the gentle inclinethat led to the Common, and if a stranger had[145]been called upon to guess at the gentleman’sage as he walked jauntily into the village withhead erect, swinging his cane, he would morelikely have said thirty years than sixty. Andif the stranger had watched him for anotherthree minutes he would have modified hisguess, and not only have given him credit forhis full age, but might have suspected eitheran excessive fatigue or a mild intemperance.For Mr. Cabot, during his short walk throughDaleford Village, experienced a series of sensationsso novel and so crushing that he never,in his inner self, recovered completely fromthe shock.

Instead of keeping along the sidewalk tothe right and going to the post-office accordingto his custom, he crossed the muddy roadand took the gravel walk that skirted theCommon. It seemed a natural course, and hefailed to realize, until he had done it, that hewas going out of his way. Now he must cross[146]the road again when opposite the store. Whenopposite the store, however, instead of crossingover he kept along as he had started. Then hestopped, as if to turn, but his hesitation wasfor a second only. Again he went ahead, alongthe same path, by the side of the Common. Itwas then that Mr. Cabot felt a mild but unpleasantthrill creep upward along his spineand through his hair. This was caused by astartling suspicion that his movements werenot in obedience to his own will. A momentlater it became a conviction. This consciousnessbrought the cold sweat to his brow, buthe was too strong a man, too clear-headed anddetermined, to lose his bearings without astruggle or without a definite reason. With allthe force of his nature he stopped once moreto decide it, then and there: and again hestarted forward. An indefinable, all-pervadingforce, gentle but immeasurably stronger thanhimself, was exerting an intangible pressure,[147]and never in his recollection had he felt sopowerless, so weak, so completely at the mercyof something that was no part of himself; yet,while amazed and impressed beyond his ownbelief, he suffered no obscurity of intellect.The first surprise over, he was more puzzledthan terrified, more irritated than resigned.

For nearly a hundred yards he walked on,impelled by he knew not what; then, with deliberateresolution, he stopped, clutched thewooden railing at his side, and held it with aniron grip. As he did so, the clock in the belfryof the Unitarian Church across the road beganstriking twelve. He raised his eyes, and, recallingthe prophecy of Amos, he bit his lip,and his head reeled as in a dream. “To-morrow,as the clock strikes twelve, you willbe standing in front of the Unitarian Church,looking up at it.” Each stroke of the bell—andno bell ever sounded so loud—vibratedthrough every nerve of his being. It was harsh,[148]exultant, almost threatening, and his brain ina numb, dull way seemed to quiver beneaththe blows. Yet, up there, about the white belfry,pigeons strutted along the moulding, cooing,quarrelsome, and important, like any otherpigeons. And the sunlight was even brighterthan usual; the sky bluer and more dazzling.The tall spire, from the moving clouds behindit, seemed like a huge ship, sailing forwardand upward as if he and it were floating to adifferent world.

Still holding fast to the fence, he drew theother hand sharply across his eyes to rally hiswavering senses. The big elms towered serenelyabove him, their leaves rustling like acountless chorus in the summer breeze. Opposite,the row of old-fashioned New Englandhouses stood calmly in their places, self-possessed,with no signs of agitation. The world,to their knowledge, had undergone no suddenchanges within the last five minutes. It must[149]have been a delusion: a little collapse of hisnerves, perhaps. So many things can affect thebrain: any doctor could easily explain it. Hewould rest a minute, then return.

As he made this resolve his left hand, likea treacherous servant, quietly relaxed its holdand he started off, not toward his home, butforward, continuing his journey. He now realizedthat the force which impelled him, althoughgentle and seemingly not hostile inpurpose, was so much stronger than himselfthat resistance was useless. During the nextthree minutes, as he walked mechanically alongthe sidewalk by the Common, his brain wasnervously active in an effort to arrive at somesolution of this erratic business; some sensiblesolution that was based either on science or oncommon-sense. But that solace was denied him.The more he thought the less he knew. Noprevious experience of his own, and no authenticatedexperience of anyone else, at least of[150]which he had ever heard, could he summon toassist him. When opposite the house of SilasFarnum he turned and left the sidewalk, andnoticed, with an irresponsible interest as hecrossed the road, that with no care of his ownhe avoided the puddles and selected for hisfeet the drier places. This was another surprise,for he took no thought of his steps; andthe discovery added to the overwhelming senseof helplessness that was taking possession ofhim. With no volition of his own he alsoavoided the wet grass between the road andthe gravel walk. He next found himself infront of Silas Farnum’s gate and his handreached forth to open it. It was another mildsurprise when this hand, like a conscious thing,tried the wrong side of the little gate, thenfelt about for the latch. The legs over whichhe had ceased to have direction, carried himalong the narrow brick walk, and one of themlifted him upon the granite doorstep.

[151]Once more he resolved, calmly and with aserious determination, that this humiliatingcomedy should go no farther. He would turnabout and go home without entering thehouse. It would be well for Amos to knowthat an old lawyer of sixty was composed ofdifferent material from the impressionable enthusiastof twenty-seven. While making thisresolve the soles of his shoes were drawingthemselves across the iron scraper; then hesaw his hand rise slowly toward the old-fashionedknocker and, with three taps, announcehis presence. A huge fly dozing on the knockerflew off and lit again upon the panel of thedoor. As it readjusted its wings and drew apair of front legs over the top of its head Mr.Cabot wondered, if at the creation of theworld, it was fore-ordained that this insectshould occupy that identical spot at a specifiedmoment of a certain day, and executethis trivial performance. If so, what a rôle[152]humanity was playing! The door opened andMrs. Farnum, with a smiling face, stood beforehim.

As he opened his lips to decline, he enteredthe little hallway, was shown into the parlorand sat in a horse-hair rocking-chair, in whichhe waited for Mrs. Farnum to call her husband.When the husband came Mr. Cabotstated his business and found that he wasonce more dependent upon his own volition.He could rise, walk to the window, say whathe wished, and sit down again when he desired.

Upon reaching home he went directly tohis chamber, and was glad to enter it withoutmeeting his daughter. His reflection in themirror surprised him, as he expected to finda face thirty years older than when it startedfor the village. But there were no outward[153]traces of the recent struggle. It was the sameface, calm, firm, and as self-reliant as ever.This was reassuring and did much toward a returnof confidence. He threw himself upon thebed, and as he lay there he heard through theopen window the voices of Molly and Amosin the old-fashioned garden. They seemed veryjolly and happy, and Molly’s laughter camelike music to his ears; but her companion,although amusing and full of fun, seemed todo none of the laughing; and then it cameupon him that in all his intercourse with Amoshe had never heard him laugh. Ever ready tosmile, and often irresistible in his high spirits,yet he never laughed aloud. And the deepmelancholy of his face when in repose—wasthat a result of fulfilling prophecies? Werethere solemn secrets behind that boyish face?

The perfume of the flowers stole in throughthe closed blinds, and he could hear the buzzingof a bee outside the window, mingling[154]with the voices in the garden. These voicesbecame lower, the subject of conversation havingchanged—perhaps to something more serious—andMr. Cabot took a nap.

“DID you go to Silas Farnum’s?” wasMolly’s first question, and her fatherconfessed having done precisely as Amos hadpredicted; but while giving a truthful accountof his experience, he told the story in a half-jestingmanner, attributing his compulsoryvisit to some hypnotic influence, and to a temporaryirresponsibility of his own. His daughter,however, was not deceived. Her belief ina supernatural agency renewed its strength.

As for her father, he had never been moreat sea in the solution of a problem. In his ownmind the only explanation was by the dominanceof another mind over his own, by a forcepresumably mesmeric. The fact that Amoshimself was also a victim rendered that theorydifficult to accept, unless both were dupes ofsome third person. If at the time of his visit toSilas Farnum he had been ill, or weak, or in a[156]nervous condition, or had it occurred at nightwhen the imagination might get the betterof one’s judgment, there would have beenthe possibility of an explanation on physicalgrounds. But that he, James Cabot, of goodhealth and strength, should, in the sunlightof a summer noon, be the powerless victim ofsuch an influence, was a theory so mortifyingand preposterous as to upset his usual processesof reason.

It was not until the next afternoon that anopportunity was given for a word with Amos.Out on the grass, beneath a huge elm at theeasterly corner of the house, Mr. Cabot, in abamboo chair, was reclining with his paper,when he noticed his young friend canteringbriskly along the road on a chestnut horse.Amos saw him, turned his animal toward thelow stone wall that separated the Cabots’ fieldfrom the highway, cleared it with an easyjump and came cantering over the grass.

“Oh, yes. She has a record.” Dismounting,he faced her about and, with a tap on theflank, told her to go home. She returned, however,and showed a desire to rub noses withhim. “Well, have your way, old lady,” andleaving her to a feast of clover he threw himselfon the ground at Mr. Cabot’s feet.

“You are a kind man to your animals, Amos,although you may be somewhat offensive as aprophet.”

Amos looked up with a smile that couldhave a dozen meanings. His wily companion,from a sense of professional caution, wished tofeel his way before committing himself.

“Do you know of my resolve not to do it?Of my ineffectual resistance and the sensationsI experienced?”

For a minute or two neither spoke. Amos,resting upon an elbow, his cheek against thepalm of one hand, was, with the other, deceivinga very small caterpillar into uselessmarches from one end of a blade of grass tothe other. Mr. Cabot, in a more serious tone,continued: “Can you tell me, Amos, on your[159]honor, that as far as you know there was no attempton your part, or on the part of any otherperson, to influence me upon that occasion?”

Amos tossed aside the blade of grass andsat up. “I give you my word, sir, that so far asI know there is nothing in it of that nature. Iam just as helpless as you when it comes toany attempt at resistance.”

Amos had plucked a longer blade of grass,and was winding it about his fingers. “Myexplanation may seem childish to you, but Ihave no better one to offer. It is simply thatcertain events are destined to occur at appointedtimes, and that my knowing it in advanceis not allowed to interfere with thenatural order of things.”

“The evidence may seem to point that way,judging from my own experience, but can youbelieve that the whole human race are carryingout such a cut-and-dried scheme? According[160]to that theory we are merely mechanicaldummies, irresponsible and helpless, like cogsin a wheel.”

“No, sir, we are at liberty to do just as weplease. It was your own idea going to SilasFarnum’s. That you happened to be told ofit in advance created an artificial condition,otherwise you would have gone there in peaceand happiness. In other words, it was ordainedthat you should desire to do that thing, andyou were to do as you desired.”

The lawyer remained silent a moment, hisface giving no indication either of belief ordenial.

“Have you never been able to prevent oreven modify the fulfilment of an act afterhaving seen it in advance?”

“Then these scenes as presented to youare invariably correct, without the slightestchange?”

Mr. Cabot looked down at his friend with afeeling that was not without a touch of awe.Of the young man’s honesty he had not theslightest doubt, and his own recent experienceseemed but one more proof of the correctnessof his facts. He looked with a curious interestupon this mysterious yet simple Oriental squattingidly on the grass, his straw hat tilted backon his head, the dark face bent forward, as withcareful fingers he gathered a bunch of clover.

“If this faculty never fails you your knowledgeof future events is simply without limit.You can tell about the weather, the crops, thestock market, the result of wars, marriages,births, and deaths, and who the next presidentis to be.”

Mr. Cabot straightened up in his chair andrubbed his chin. His credulity had reached its[162]limit, yet, if he could judge by the evidencealready presented, the young man was adheringstrictly to the truth. There followed asilence during which Betty, who in nibblingabout had approached within a few feet ofthem, held out her head, and took the cloverfrom Amos. Mr. Cabot brought a pencil andpiece of paper from his pockets. “I would liketo try one more experiment, with your permission.Will you write on that paper what Iam to do at—well, say ten o’clock to-night?”

Amos took the paper and closed his eyes,but in a moment looked up and said, “Youare in the dark and I can see nothing.”

“No, sir; only of things that I can see. Ifthere is any light at all I can see as if I werethere in person, but no better. To-night at teno’clock you are in your own chamber, and it isabsolutely black.”

As Mr. Cabot, a moment later, turned asidelong glance toward his friend, sitting withclosed eyes before him, he thought the littlemark upon his forehead had never been sodistinct. He regarded it with a mild surpriseas it seemed almost aglow; but the sky wasbecoming rosy in the west, and there might bea reflection from the setting sun. Amos wrotesomething on a slip of paper, folded it up andreturned it to Mr. Cabot, who carefully tuckedit away in a pocket saying, “I shall not read ituntil six-thirty. I will tell you to-morrow ifyou are correct.”

As he spoke there passed slowly along theroad a cart containing two men, and behindthe cart, securely fastened, walked a heavy,vicious-looking bull.

“Yes; it is Barnard’s bull. Yesterday he gotloose and so mutilated a horse that it had tobe shot; and within an hour he tried his bestto kill old Barnard himself, which was a goodundertaking and showed public spirit. He issure to have a victim sooner or later, and itcertainly ought to be old Barnard if anybody.”

“He is the oyster-eyed, malignant old liarand skinflint who lives in that red house abouta mile below here.”

“Nothing; but he bullies his wife, starveshis cattle, and cheats his neighbors. Even asa small boy I knew enough to dislike him,and whenever he went by the house I used tostone him.”

Amos tried to smile, but his anger was evidentlytoo serious a matter to be treated withdisrespect. Mr. Cabot, after regarding for amoment the wrathful eyes that still followedthe bull, continued:

“You are more than half barbarian, my war-likefarmer. Must you do physical damage toeveryone you dislike?”

“No, sir; but as a rule I should like to.As for loving your enemies—count me out.I love my friends. The man who pretends tolove his enemies is either a hypocrite or apoor hater.”

The older man smiled at the earnestnesswith which this sentence was uttered. “I amafraid, Mr. Amos Judd, you are not a Christian.Take my advice and join a bible-classbefore the devil gets his other hand uponyou.”

As the hour of six drew near, Mr. Cabotmade a point of realizing that he was a freeagent and could do whatever he wished, andhe resolved that no guess, based on a probability,should prove correct. To assure himselfthat there was no compulsion or outside influenceof any nature, he started first for the barnto execute a fantastic resolve, then as an additionalproof that he was absolutely his ownmaster, suddenly changed his mind, turnedabout, and went upstairs.

Going along a back passage with no definiteintention, he paused at a half-open door, lookedin, and entered. The blinds were closed, butbetween the slats came bars of light from thewestern sun, illumining the little room, an unusedchamber, now serving as a storehouse forsuch trunks and sundry relics as had failed toreach the attic. Mr. Cabot noticed a rocking-horse[167] in one corner and his eyes sparkled witha new idea. After closing the door he draggedthe steed from its resting-place, planted it inthe middle of the floor, and looked at hiswatch. It lacked four minutes of six. As heprepared to mount he saw the legs of a rag-babyprojecting over a shelf, and pulling herdown, could not restrain a smile as he held herin his arms. A large, round, flat, and very palebut dirty face was emphasized by fiery cheeks,whose color, from a want of harmony with thecoarse material of her visage, had only lingeredin erratic blotches. With this lady in his armshe mounted the horse, and, while gently rockingwith both feet on the ground, he againtook out his watch and found he was just onthe minute of six o’clock. But he kept his seatfor a moment longer, judging the situation toogood to be trifled with, and too unusual forany ordinary guess. Carelessly he rocked a littlefaster, when a front foot of his overladen[168]steed slipped from its rocker and Mr. Cabotnearly lost his balance. The damage, however,he easily repaired; the rag-baby was replacedupon her shelf, and when he left the littleroom and returned to his own chamber therewas an expression upon his face that seemedindicative of an amiable triumph. Some minuteslater, with a similar expression, he took fromhis pocket the slip of paper on which Amoshad written, read it once with some haste,then a second time and more carefully.

For several minutes he stood looking downat the paper between his fingers, occasionallydrawing a hand across his forehead. Then he[169]refolded the paper and placing it in his pocket,took his hat and went out into the orchard, tothink, and to be alone.

On questioning Amos he found no morelight was to be expected from that quarter,as the young man had already expounded hisonly theory, which was that these visions werebut optional warnings of the inevitable: thatall was fore-ordained: that there could be novariations in the course of Fate. His mind wasnot philosophical; his processes of reason weresimple and direct, and he listened with profoundinterest to Mr. Cabot’s deeper and morescientific attempts at reaching a consistent explanation.Little progress, however, was madein this direction, and the lawyer admitted thatthe evidence, so far, contradicted in no detailhis friend’s belief. He also found that Amos,although deeply concerned in the subject whenonce opened, rarely introduced it himself orreferred to it in any way; and that he never[170]employed his power except in the rarest emergencies.

Moreover, the lawyer understood how sucha faculty, although of value in certain cases,would, in the great majority, be worse thanuseless, while it could not fail of an overpoweringinfluence on the being who employed it.He respected the strength of purpose thatenabled the young man to keep it in the background,and he felt that he had discovered atleast one reason for the restless pleasures ofhis youth. Now, happily, he was securing acalmer and a healthier diversion from a life inthe open air. As his neighbor became the objectof a deeper study it was evident the conflictingqualities that seemed to give such varyingcolors to his character were the result ofthese extraordinary conditions. His occasionalrecklessness and indifference were now easilyexplained. His disregard for religious observanceswas in perfect harmony with an insight[171]into the workings of a stupendous fate, immeasurablyabove the burning of candles andthe laws of ecclesiastical etiquette. His loveof exercise, of sunshine, of every form of pleasureand excitement, were but the means ofescape from the pursuing dread of an awfulknowledge. And the lavish generosity thatoften startled his friends and bewildered Dalefordwas a trivial matter to one who, if he caredto peruse in advance the bulletins of the stockexchange, could double his fortune in a day.

Off and on through July and a part of Augustan unwonted animation prevailed at theCabots’, extending at times along the maplesto the other house. Certain visitors of Molly’swere the cause of this gayety, and in their entertainmentshe found Amos a helpful friend.His horses, his fields, his groves, his fruits, hisflowers, and himself, were all at her disposal,absolutely and at any time. A few friends ofhis own coming at the same period proved a[172]welcome reinforcement, and the leaves of theold maples rustled with a new surprise at thelife and laughter, the movement, the color,and the music that enlivened their restfulshades. And also at night, during the warmevenings when farmers were abed, the air wasawake with melodies which floated off in thesummer air, dying away among the voices ofthe frogs and turtles along the borders of themeadow.

One warm afternoon in August, when therewere visitors at neither house, Amos and Mollyclimbed over a wall into a pasture, for ashorter cut toward home. The pasture was extensive,and their course lay diagonally acrossa long hill, beyond whose brow they could seenothing. A crimson sunshade and white dresswere in dazzling contrast to the dull greensof the pasture, whose prevailing colors werefrom rocks and withered grass. Patches of wildbushes where the huckleberries were in overwhelming[173]majority necessitated either widedetours or careful navigating among thorns andbriars. Her companion seemed indifferent tothe painful fact that knickerbockers are noprotection against these enemies. But pricksin the leg at the present moment were tootrivial for notice. He was speaking with unusualearnestness, keeping close at her side,and now and then looking anxiously into herface. It may have been the heat and the exercisethat drove the color to her cheeks, andthere were also signs of annoyance as if shedesired to escape him; but the ground wasuneven, and the stones and bushes renderedhaste impossible. She also appeared tired, andwhen they stopped at intervals always turnedaway her face, until finally, when half acrossthe field, she sank upon a rock. “I really mustrest. I am dreadfully warm.”

He stood beside her, facing in the samedirection, both looking over the peaceful valley[174]from which an occasional cow-bell was theonly sound.

“It is really a little unfair that my oldrecord should come between us. I was onlytwenty then, with no end of money and noparents or guardian to look after me. Mr. Juddwould let me do whatever I wished, and ofcourse I sailed ahead and did everything. Insteadof having an allowance like other fellowsI just asked for what I wanted, and always gotit. And that is death to a boy.”

He pulled a twig from a bush and began tobite the end of it. If at that instant he hadglanced down at the face beside him, he mighthave detected an expression that was not unjustlysevere. There was a distinct ray of sympathyin the eyes that were fixed thoughtfullyupon the valley.

“And then all the girls met me more thanhalf-way, as if they, too, had conspired againstme.”

[175]This was said in a half-resentful, half-plaintivetone, and so delightfully free from anyboastfulness that Molly, to conceal somethingvery near a smile, bent her head and pickednettles from her skirt.

“Of course I liked a good time, there is nodenying that, and I struck the wrong gang atcollege. I suppose I was weak—everlastinglyand disgustingly weak; but really you mightmake allowances, and anyway—”

He stopped abruptly and turned about.Looking up she saw an expression in his eyes,as they gazed at something behind her, thatcaused her to spring to her feet and also turnabout. As she did so the color left her face andher knees gave way beneath her. Instinctivelyshe clutched his arm. Within twenty yards ofthem stood Barnard’s bull, and in his broadblack head and cruel horns, in the distendednostrils and bloodshot eye, she read the furyof an unreasoning brute; and with it her own[176]death and mutilation. Helpless they stood inthe open pasture with no tree or refuge near.Amos cast a swift glance to the right, to theleft, and behind them. The bull lowered hishead just a very little, and as he steppedslowly forward she could hear his breath inimpatient puffs. Her brain began to swim andshe closed her eyes, but a sharp word and arough shake brought her back with a start.

“Do just as I tell you. Turn and walk slowlyoff to the wall at the right. Then climb over.Don’t run till I say so. Give me your parasol.”

Gasping, faint, and so weak from terror thatshe could hardly direct her steps, she did asshe was told. In her dazed mind there was noconception of time or distance, but, a momentafter, hearing a snort from the bull and thequick pounding of his feet, she stopped andturned. She expected to see Amos on the creature’s[177]horns, but Amos was running in theother direction, so far safe, although scarcelyhis own length ahead. In an instant she saw toher horror that, although a nimble runner, hewas losing distance with every spring of thebull. But with a presence of mind that didmuch toward renewing her own courage, hekept looking over his shoulder, and when furtherrunning was hopeless, he jumped swiftlyto one side, the side up the hill, and the ponderousbrute plunged on for several feet beforehe could come to a stop. Amos looked at oncein her direction, and when he saw her heshook his hand and cried, in an angry voice:

There was no time to say more, for the bullhad wheeled and was again coming towardhim. Molly turned and ran as she never ranbefore, and never before did so many thoughtsflash through her mind. Above all came thetorturing regret that she could be of no possible[178]service to the man who, at that momentperhaps, was giving up his life for hers. Leapingrocks, stumbling over hillocks, tearingthrough bushes, she finally reached the wall,scrambled up and over as best she could, then,with a throbbing heart and pallid face, lookedback into the field.

They were farther up the hill, and Amoshad evidently just jumped aside, for again thebull and he were facing each other. The animalwas advancing slowly toward him, headdown, with an angry lashing of the tail andoccasional snorts that drove the blood from thespectator’s heart. As Amos retreated slowly,his face to the animal, she saw him look swiftlyin her direction, then back at the bull. Fasterand faster the animal came toward him, andwhen finally he bounded forward on a runAmos turned and ran for his life. He was nowmaking for this side of the pasture, but shesaw with the keenest anguish that all his elasticity[179]had departed, that he was losing groundmuch faster than at first. That he should showsigns of exhaustion caused her no surprise, forthe ground was rough, low briars and bushesconcealing rocks of treacherous shapes andvarying sizes, and the race was harder for theman than for the bull. The distance betweenthem was being lessened with a rapidity thatmight end the struggle without a second’swarning, and the horns were now within ayard of his heels. Again he jumped to one side,but this time it brought a cry of agony frombeyond the wall. His foot slipped, and insteadof landing a yard or more from the creature’spath, he measured his length upon the ground.The bull lowered his head and plunged savagelyupon him. The horns grazed the prostratebody, and the heavy brute, by his ownimpetus, dashed a dozen yards beyond. Amosraised first his head and shoulders, thenclimbed to his feet, slowly, like one bewildered[180]or in pain. He stood cautiously upon his legs asif uncertain of their allegiance, but he stillclutched the crimson sunshade. The bull, withfiery nostrils and bloodshot eyes, once morecame on, and Amos started for the wall. Itwas evident to the one spectator that hisstrength was gone. With every jump of thething behind him he was losing ground, andthe awful end was near, and coming swiftly.She sank against the wall and clutched it, forthe sky and pasture were beginning to revolvebefore her straining eyes. But Amos, insteadof coming straight for the wall, bore down thehill. With the hot breath close upon his heels,he opened the crimson sunshade, jumped aside,and thrust it upon the pursuing horns: thenwithout looking back he made a bee-line forthe wall. It was skilfully done, and for oneprecious moment the seeming victor was delayedby goring the infuriating color; but onlyfor a moment. He saw his enemy escaping and[181]bounded in pursuit. This time, however, hemissed him by a dozen feet and saw him vaultthe barrier into safety. The wall he acceptedas a conclusion, but he stood close against it,looking over in sullen anger, frothing, hot-eyed,and out of breath.

Then he witnessed a scene, to him of littleinterest, but which signified much to anotherperson. He saw the girl, anxious, pale, with disorderedhair, eagerly approach the exhaustedrunner; then, nervously pressing a hand toher cheek, she bent forward and asked a question.The young man, who was leaning againsta tree and seemed to have trouble withhis breathing, suddenly, with a joyful face,stretched forth his hands, and with even moreeagerness than her own, asked in his turn aquestion, whereupon the color rushed to herface. Looking down, then up at him, thendown again, she smiled and muttered something,and he, without waiting for further[182]words, seized her in his arms, and with onehand holding her chin, kissed her mouth andcheeks, not once but many times. But shepushed away from him, flushed and possiblyangry. However, it could not have been adeep-seated or lasting anger, for she createdno disturbance when he took one of her handsin both of his and made a little speech. It appearedan interesting discourse, although shelooked down and off, and all about, at everythingexcept at him, smiling and changingcolor all the while. He seemed foolishly happy,and when a moment later he wished to assistin rearranging her hair, he was not depressedbecause the offer was declined with contempt.

Then the young man took a few steps towardthe wall, and stood facing the huge headwhose bloodshot eyes were still upon him. Ashe lifted his hand there was a hitch in themotion, and a spasm of pain drew down a cornerof his mouth, but the girl behind himcould not see this. He raised his cap andsaluted his adversary.

ACCORDING to habit, Mr. Cabot composedhimself by the library table that eveningfor an hour’s reading before going to bed,but the book was soon lifted from his graspand Molly seated herself in his lap. Althoughfingers were inserted between his collar andneck as a warning that the closest attentionwas expected, there followed a short silencebefore any words were uttered. Then she toldhim all: of being face to face with Barnard’sbull; of the narrow escape; of how Amos remainedalone in the open field, and lastly, shegave the substance of what the rescuer hadsaid to her, and that she had promised to behis wife. But on condition that her fathershould consent.

He received the news gravely; confessed hewas not so very much surprised, although hehad hoped it would come a little later. And[185]she was very happy to find he made no objectionto Amos as a son-in-law, and to hear himpraise his character and pronounce him anhonest, manly fellow. His behavior with thebull was heroic, but did not she think thereward he demanded was exorbitant? Wasit not a little greedy to ask as a price forhis services the entire value of the rescuedproperty? It certainly was not customary tosnatch away the object before placing it inthe owner’s hands. “But he risked his lifeto save yours, and for that he shall haveanything I own.”

The following morning, as she stepped uponthe piazza, the doctor’s buggy came down theopposite avenue and turned toward the village.Could old Mrs. Judd be ill? or was it one ofthe servants?

An hour later, as there were still no signsof her bull-fighter she began to feel a slightannoyance. Perhaps after sleeping upon the[186]events of yesterday his enthusiasm had cooled.Perhaps his exceptionally wide experience inthis field had taught him that the most delicateway out of such dilemmas was to give thegirl the initiative, and perhaps, now that hewas sure she loved him, all the fun had departed.Perhaps, in short, he was now realizingthat he had committed himself. Although noneof these suspicions took a serious hold therewas a biting of the nether lip and a slightflush upon the cheeks as she re-entered thehouse: and in order that he might not suspect,when he did come, that his delay had causedthe slightest feeling, or that anyone hadwatched for him, she returned to her room.A few moments later a note was brought inwhich was received with indifference, butwhich, after Maggie’s departure she openedwith nervous fingers.

She went, and although their conversationthat morning touched upon ribs and anatomy,it would, if taken as a whole, have been oflittle value to a scientist. It was distinctly personal.The one sentiment which appeared tohave an irresistible fascination for the bull-fighterand his fiancée colored all remarks,and the fact that the dialogue would havecaused them the most intense mortification ifmade public, tended in no degree to lessentheir enjoyment. To a middle-aged person who[188]had never been in love it would have beenunendurable.

Later in the day she intercepted the doctorand learned as much as possible of the patient’scondition. Two ribs were badly broken,he said; had been pressed inward to a seriousextent, but so far there were no indicationsof internal injuries. Of this, however, he couldnot at present be absolutely sure, but hethought there was no great cause for alarm.The patient, of course, must keep quiet for aweek or two.

Fortunately for Amos there proved to be noinjury save the damaged ribs, but three longweeks elapsed before he was allowed to go upand down stairs and move about the house.

It was bright and warm, yet invigorating,the perfection of terrestrial weather, and Mr.Cabot and Molly, early in the afternoon, were[189]sitting upon the piazza discussing the date oftheir departure, Amos occupying his favoriteplace upon the floor in front of them, his backagainst a column. When she informed herfather that additional trunks or boxes of somekind would be needed, Amos said that sucharticles were going to waste in the Judd residence,and if she would but step across theway and select a few, it would be a lastingbenefit to an overcrowded attic. This offer wasaccepted and they started off. After climbingthe final stairs, which were steep and narrow,Molly seated herself upon an old-fashionedsettle, the back of which could be lowered andused as an ironing table. “How I do love thissmell of an attic! Is it the sap from the hotpine? And isn’t there sage in the air, or summersavory?”

“Whatever it is, I love it. The days of my[190]childhood come galloping back,” and withupturned face she closed her eyes and drewa longer breath. He bent silently over andtouched her lips.

“When a visitor insults a host by sleeping inhis presence, it is etiquette to awaken her. Andwhen lips with those particular undulationslook one pleasantly in the eye and say ‘Amos,kiss us,’ what do you expect to happen?”

In opening a window he disturbed an enormousfly, whose buzzing filled every corner ofthe roof. “To me,” he said, “this atmosphererecalls long marches and battles, with splendidvictories and awful defeats.”

[191]From an ancient horse-hair trunk he broughtforth a box, and seating himself at her feet,emptied its contents upon the floor.

“This is why,” and he arranged in parallellines the little leaden soldiers, diminutive cannons,some with wheels and some without,and a quantity of dominos, two by two. “Theseare troops, and if you care to know how Ipassed the rainy days of boyhood this willshow you.”

“They are the enemy. These lead soldiersare mine, and they are all veterans, and allbrave. This is myself,” and he held up a bentand battered relic on a three-legged horse.

“Napoleon, generally; often Cæsar andFrederick, and sometimes George Washingtonand General Lee.”

She looked down upon him with a wish thatshe also might have been one of those absurdlittle soldiers and shared his victories.

“The cracks between the floor-boards,” hecontinued, “are railroads, rivers, canals, stonewalls, or mountain ranges, according to thecampaign.”

“They must have been a nuisance, though.Could not a soldier disappear and not return?”

“I should say he could! Why, those ravinesare gorged with heroes, and that recalls themost humiliating event of my career. I wasleading the charge of the Light Brigade, sixof these cavalrymen, each representing a hundredmen. I of course was in front, and it wasa supreme moment. As we dashed across theopen field—the cracks, mind you, didn’t countthis time—I, the leader, suddenly disappeared,head downward, feet up, in an open field! Of[193]course the charge could not stop, and theothers rushed on to a magnificent death.”

With a sigh he gathered the motley companytogether again, and laid them away intheir box. She got up and moved about. “Ishould like to live in an attic. It is mysteriousand poetic, and so crammed with history. Eachof these things has its little story for somebody,”and she stopped before a curious femininegarment in India silk, of a long-ago fashion.

Pointing to a quaint old cap with ear-laps,she exclaimed, “What a funny rig that is! Putit on.” And she took it from its peg and placedit upon his head, then laughed and led him toa broken mirror that was hanging from arafter. “Unless you wear it in New York nextwinter, I shall never marry you!”

As he removed it a letter slipped from thelining and fell to the floor. She picked it up[194]and turned it over in her fingers. “Why, ithas never been opened! It is directed to Mr.Josiah Judd.”

Amos examined it, studied the date, thenlooked at the old cap. “He wore this at thetime of his death, when he had just come fromthe post-office, and the Daleford postmark saysDecember fifth, the very day before. That isvery curious.” And he stood looking down atthe letter, deep in thought.

[195]As they stood by the open window, leaningagainst the sill, he tore open the envelope andbegan reading aloud, she looking idly out uponsome haymakers in a neighboring field. Theirvoices came faintly to her ears, and they madea pleasant picture in the afternoon sunlightwith the village spires, the tall elms, and thepurple hills for a background. She wondered ifIndia was at all like New England.

Amos stood looking down at the letter andremained silent. She laid a hand upon his arm[197]and said, “What does it mean, Amos, aboutnot letting you know who you are? Who areyou?”

“Why should I? Your father would onlyhave hastened my departure if I had tried topass myself off as a fairy prince; and you wouldhave laughed in my face.”

“No. I am not so sure. But that was longago, and to-day I should believe anything youtold me.”

[198]“Well, I believe you would,” and there, atthe open window, he put his arm about herwaist and did that unnecessary thing truelovers seem unable to resist. She jumped awayto turn with an anxious face and look cautiouslythrough the window. But the distanthaymakers gave no signs of having received ashock.

But Molly moved away and seated herselfupon a venerable little horse-hair trunk whosebald spots were numerous and of considerableextent. Brass-headed nails, now black withage, studded all its edges and formed at eachend the initials of Josiah Judd.

“Tell me, little Amos, what happened toyou as a child, that you should consider yourselfa fairy prince.”

The trunk was short for two, but Amos, by[199]a little pushing and crowding, managed to sitbeside her.

“Well, in the first place, I was always toowise and too amiable for an ordinary mor—”

“Well, almost everything I remember seemsto point in that direction. For instance, therewas a separate seat for me on swell occasions;a sort of throne, I should say, and all the otherpeople stood up. In the big hall I told youabout where the fight took place, I used to sitin an ivory chair with gold ornaments on it,cocked up on a platform apart from other people.And that afternoon I was walking acrossthe hall toward it when the fierce-lookingchap with the beard caught me up and passedme along.”

“I could give you this sort of stuff by theyard if the conditions were favorable. Theconditions now are unfavorable.”

[200]Their eyes met, but experience had taughther caution. “Go on. There are no rajahs inAmerica, and you will do as I tell you.”

“Yes, but at the same time I am holdingyou on. Do you see that old rocking-chairover there with one arm that is beckoning tous?”

There followed a brief, illogical discussion,then finally a gentle force was used by thestronger party, and a moment later the oldchair groaned beneath a heavier burden thanit had borne for thirty years.

After persistent urging the reminiscenceswere continued. “They always helped me firstat table, no matter how old the other guestswere, or how many or how swell. The bowingand saluting was much more elaborate toward[201]me than toward anyone else, and in processionsthey always stuck me in front. Shortlyafter my father died there was a grand ceremonyin a sort of courtyard with awnings overus, and I remember what an everlasting affairit was, and how my uncle and an old generalstood behind my chair, while all the swells andpanjandrums came up and saluted me, thenpassed along. I should say there might havebeen a million. I know I went to sleep andmy uncle kept tapping me on the shoulder tokeep me awake.”

“You poor little thing! But you must reallyhave been something tremendously important,mustn’t you?”

“After that there were some big reviews,and I sat on a white pony with officers in asemicircle behind me, while the troops marchedby, and the generals and colonels all saluted.[202]That was great fun. And I shall never forgetmy saddle of crimson leather with the goldtrimmings.”

There was a pause, during which the oldchair rocked gently to and fro, but noisily, asif in protest against its double burden, whilethe voices from the neighboring field camedrifting in the window and with them theoccasional tinkling of a cow-bell.

“Thank heaven I am!” and there followedone of those foolish but apparently enjoyablescenes which no dignified historian is expectedto describe. Stepping away from the rocking-chair[203] Molly turned with a frown upon its remainingoccupant as she pressed an escapinglock into position. Through the open windowthe setting sun sent a bar of light across theattic that illumined her hair with a goldentouch.

“We must find that book,” she exclaimed,with an impatient gesture. “It will tell us thevery things we wish to know. Come, get up,and hunt!”

Slowly rocking, with his head resting againstthe chair, he regarded her with admiring eyes,but showed no signs of haste. “There is butone book I care to study, and that is a poem inpink, about five feet six in length, with giltedges at the top.”

She smiled sadly. “No, not a poem, but veryordinary prose, and you will get precious littlewisdom from studying it.”

“On the contrary, every page is a revelation.Why, the binding alone is a poem! Merely[204]to hold it in one’s lap and look at the coveris a gentle intoxication.”

“I wonder if all rajahs are such transparentflatterers. But come! Find the book! It mustbe downstairs in the library.”

“Could it be in that?” and she pointed toan old cherry-wood desk just behind him. Heturned and regarded it.

Molly opened the slanting top and foundan array of pigeonholes filled with old papers.There were some very small drawers, all ofwhich she opened, but they contained no[205]book, so she closed the top and opened thelong upper drawer. It was almost empty, theonly contents being a few envelopes of seeds,some tools, scattered cards, and a couple ofmarbles that ran about as the drawer wasopened.

“I rather think you know this place,” andshe lifted up a bladeless jackknife. “Only aboy could treat a knife in such a way.”

“Yes, I remember all those things. Thatwooden pistol has killed lots of Indians.”

The second drawer held among other thingsa camel’s-hair shawl, a bed-cover, a pair of woman’sslippers, a huge shell-comb elaboratelycarved, some black mits, and a package of letters;almost everything except a book. Thethird drawer and the fourth were equally disappointing.The lowest drawer was deeper andheavier, and it stuck. Amos sprang to help her,and together they pulled it open, then satdown upon the floor in front of it. The character[206]of its contents was much like the others,but Molly delved thoroughly among its treasuresand she received her reward. As herhand was exploring a farther corner she lookedup into his face with a look of excitement.

It was a handsome little book, with a bluemorocco cover and gilt edges, published inCalcutta. Turning over the leaves with eagerfingers she came to a bookmark opposite aportrait, a steel engraving, showing the headand shoulders of a bejewelled prince.

“Why, it might be you! It is exactly likeyou! Look!” and she held it before him.

“So it is, but perhaps they all are. Let’shear about him if you are sure he is our man.”

“Oh, I am sure of it! He is the image ofyou and the others are not;” and she beganto read.

She paused for a moment, then with tremblingfingers turned back to the title-page.The book was printed twenty-eight years ago,the year before Amos was born.

For a long time they sat on the floor talking;she asking many questions and he answering,until the listening objects in the atticbegan to lose their outline and become a partof the gloom. The sunlight along the raftersdwindled to a narrow strip, then disappeared;and the voices of the haymakers were longsince gone when Amos and Molly finallyclimbed to their feet and descended thestairs.

SEPTEMBER brought other guests, andwith their arrival Amos Judd and MollyCabot found the easy, irresponsible routine oftheir happy summer again disturbed. To hisown fierce regret Amos could invent no decentpretext for escaping a visit he had promisedearly in the summer, and a more unwillingvictim never resigned himself to a week ofpleasure. To the girl he was to leave behindhim, he bewailed the unreasonable cruelty ofhis friends. “This leaving you, Soul of mySoul, is worse than death. I shall not eat whileI am gone, and nights I shall sit up and curse.”

But at the end of a week he returned,promptly on the minute. His moments of depression,however, seemed rather to increasethan diminish, and, although carefully repressed,were visible to a pair of watchfuleyes. Upon his face when in repose there had[212]always been a melancholy look, which nowseemed deepening as from an inward sorrow,too strong to conquer. This was betrayed occasionallyby a careless speech, but to herquestioning he always returned a cheerful answer.In spite of these heroic efforts to maintaina joyful front, Molly was not deceived,and it was evident, even to Mr. Cabot, that theyoung man was either ill in body or the victimof a mental disturbance that might be disastrousin its results. Of this he was destined tohave a closer knowledge than his daughter. Itcame about one Sunday morning, when thetwo men had climbed a neighboring hill for aview which Mr. Cabot had postponed fromweek to week since early June. This was hislast Sunday in Daleford and his final opportunity.

The view was well worth the climb. Theday itself, such a day as comes oftenest inSeptember, when the clear air is tempered to[213]the exact degree for human comfort by therays of a summer sun, was one in which themost indifferent view could shine without aneffort. Below them, at the foot of the hill, laythe village of Daleford with its single street.Except the white spires of the churches, littleof it could be seen, however, beneath the fourrows of overhanging elms. Off to their left,a mile or two away, the broad Connecticut,through its valley of elms, flowed serenely tothe sea; and beyond, the changing hills tookon every color from the deepest purple to agolden yellow. A green valley on their rightwandered off among the woods and hills, andin it the stately avenue of maples they bothknew so well. A silence so absolute and so far-reachingrested upon the scene that, after aword or two of praise, the two men, from acommon impulse, remained without speaking.As thus they sat under the gentle influence ofa spell which neither cared to break, the notes[214]of an organ came floating upward from thetrees below them, and mingled with the voicesof a choir. Mr. Cabot’s thoughts turned at onceto the friend at his side, whom he felt mustexperience a yet deeper impression from thesefamiliar scenes of his childhood. Turning toexpress this thought, he was so struck by thelook upon Amos’s face, an expression of suchdespairing melancholy, that he stopped in themiddle of his sentence. While well aware thatthese tragic eyes were always most patheticobjects in repose, he had never seen upon ahuman face a clearer token of a hopelessgrief.

“What is it, my boy?” he asked, laying ahand upon the knee beside him. “Tell me. Imay be able to help you.”

There was a slight hesitation and a longbreath before the answer came. “I am ashamedto tell you, Mr. Cabot. I value your good opinionso very much that it comes hard to let you[215]know what a weak and cowardly thing I havebeen, and am.”

“Cowardly—that I do not believe. You maybe weak; all of us are that; in fact, it seems tobe the distinguishing attribute of the humanfamily. But out with it, whatever it is. You cantrust me.”

“Oh, I know that, sir! If you were only lessof a man and more like myself, it would beeasier to do it. But I will tell you the wholestory. By the fourth of November I shall notbe alive, and I have known it for a year.”

“I knew it when I asked Molly to be mywife; and all the time that she has gone onloving me more and more, I have known it,and done all I could to make things worse.And now, as the time approaches and I realize[216]that in a few weeks she will be a broken-heartedwoman—for I have learned what heraffection is and how much I am to her—now Ibegin to see what I have done. God knows itis hard enough to die and leave her, but to dieonly to have played a practical joke on the girlfor whom I would joyfully give a thousand livesif I had them, is too much.”

He arose, and standing before her father,made a slight gesture as of surrender and resignation.The older man looked away toward thedistant river, but said nothing.

“Listen, sir, and try to believe me.” Mr.Cabot raised his glance to the dark face andsaw truth and an open heart in the eyes fixedsolemnly upon his own; and he recognized abeing transformed by a passion immeasurablystronger than himself.

“When I found she loved me I could thinkof nothing else. Why should I not be happyfor the short time I had to live? Her love was[217]more to me than any earthly thing, than anypossible hereafter. Better one summer with herthan to live forever and not have known her.Oh! I thought of her side of it, often andoften; many a night I have done nothing else,but I could no more give her up than I couldlift this hill.” He paused, drew a long breath,as if at the hopelessness of words to convey hismeaning, then added, very calmly:

“Now I am soberer, as the end approaches,and I love her more than ever: but I willdo whatever you say; anything that will makeher happier. No sacrifice can be too great, andI promise you I will make it. I have oftenwished the bull had killed me that day, then Ishould have her love and respect forever; andyours too, perhaps.”

“You have both now, Amos. But tell mewhy you think you are to die by Novemberfourth?”

Amos resumed his seat upon the rock and[218]answered: “Because I have seen myself lyingdead on that day.”

“I have sometimes wondered,” said Mr.Cabot, “if that temptation would not prove toostrong for you.”

“No, sir, it was not too strong for me underordinary circumstances, but it happened whenI was not myself, when I came out of that feverlast October, and as I lay in bed, weak andhalf-conscious, I felt sure my day had come. Ithought the doctor was not telling me thetruth, so, by looking ahead for myself, I learnedmore than I cared to know, and saw myselflying on a sofa in a strange room, a place I hadnever been into; a public building, I shouldthink.”

“Because I looked about and saw near awindow a little day calendar, and that was thedate it bore. Then on a table lay a daily paper[219]of the day before, and two magazines of thesame month, all of this year.”

“But is it not possible the room is unoccupiedand that these things have been lyingthere indefinitely?”

Amos shook his head. “No, sir, it is a roomthat is lived in. There are other papers lyingabout: books, and a letter on the desk waitingto be mailed. And in the fireplace the embersare still glowing.”

Mr. Cabot looked with the profoundest sympathytoward his friend, who was scaling bitsof moss from the rock beside him; then heturned again to the view and its tranquilbeauty seemed a mockery. In the village belowthem he could see the congregation pouringout from a little white church like antsfrom a loaf of sugar. Mr. Cabot was not a religiousman, and at present there was nothingin his heart that could be mistaken for resignation.His spirit was in revolt, his pugnacity[220]aroused, and with this quality he was freelyendowed. Rising to his feet he stood for amoment in silence, with folded arms, frowningupon the distant hills.

“Amos,” he said, finally, “in spite of bygonedefeats I am inclined to resist this prophecy ofyours. You were not absolutely master of yourown mind at the time, and under such conditionsnothing would be easier than to confuseyour own imagining with a vision of anothercharacter. At least it is not impossible, and ifby good luck you did happen to confound onewith the other we are having our panic fornothing. Moreover, even if this vision is correct,it need not necessarily signify an undeviatingfulfilment in every detail. It may indicatethe result to be expected in the naturalorder of events; that is, if things are allowedto take their course without obstruction or interveninginfluences. But it is difficult for meto believe this faculty is to continue infallible[221]through all your mental and physical developmentsand fluctuations of faith, and never,under any possible conditions, vary a hair’s-breadthfrom the truth. It is a law of naturethat a disused faculty shall weaken and loseits power, and for years you have done yourbest to repress and forget it.”

“That may be, and its day of failure stillremain a probability. In this present case theprophecy, aside from its uncertain origin, isone whose fulfilment is more easy to avert thansome of the others. You say the room in whichyou saw yourself is one you are unfamiliar with,and consequently is not in Daleford.”

“Well, suppose you were to remain in Dalefordduring the critical period with two men,nominally visitors at your house, to watch you[222]day and night and see that you do not escape?Or, better still, let me send you to an institutionin which I am a director, where you willbe confined as a dangerous patient, and whereescape, even if you attempted it, would be ashopeless as from a prison.”

Amos doubted the success of any attempt atfoiling fate, or, in other words, giving the lieto a revelation once received, but he was willingto do whatever his friend desired. As theywalked home they discussed the plan in detailand decided to act upon it; also to take everyprecaution that Molly should be kept in ignorance.

The first week in October the house at thenorth end of the avenue was empty and theCabots were in New York. As the end of themonth approached a little tale was inventedto explain the cessation for a time of Amos’svisits, and early one afternoon the two mengot into a cab and were driven to the outskirts[223]of the city. They entered the groundsof a well-known institution, were received bythe superintendent and one or two other officials,then, at the request of the elder visitor,were shown over the entire building and intoevery room of any size or importance. Whenthis inspection was over Mr. Cabot took hiscompanion aside and asked if he had seenthe room they sought. Amos shook his headand replied that no such room could be withinthe grounds. A few minutes later the youngman was shown to a chamber where his trunkhad preceded him. The two friends were alonefor a moment, and as they separated Amosgave the hand in his own a final pressure,saying: “Don’t think I am weakening, Mr.Cabot, but I cannot help feeling that I haveseen Molly for the last time. And if you andI never meet again, you may be sure my lastthoughts were with you both.”

In a cheerful tone the lawyer answered: “I[224]shall listen to no such sentiments. If yourprophecy is correct you are to be lying in aroom outside these grounds on Novemberfourth. No such prophecy can be carried out.And if the prophecy is incorrect we shall meetfor several years yet. So good-by, my boy. Ishall be here the third.”

During ten days Amos was to remain underthe strictest watch, to be guarded by two menat night and by two others in the day-time,and to be permitted under no conditions toleave that wing of the building. By the subordinatein charge and by the four guardians hewas believed to be the victim of a suicidalmania. As the fourth of November approachedMr. Cabot’s thoughts were less upon his businessthan with his imprisoned friend. Heremembered with what inexorable force hehimself had been held to the fulfilment of aprediction. He had felt the hand of an unswervingfate; and he had not forgotten.

[225]But the fourth of November came and wentwith no serious results, and when the five succeedingdays had safely passed he experienceda relief which he was very careful to conceal.With friendly hypocrisy he assumed a perfectconfidence in the result of their course, and hewas glad to see that Amos himself began torealize that anything like a literal fulfilment ofhis vision was now improbable.

One week later, the last day of durance, theprisoner and Mr. Cabot had an interview withDr. Chapin in the latter’s private office. Dr.Chapin, the physician in charge, an expert ofdistinction in mental disorders, was a manabout sixty years of age, short, slight, and pale,with small eyes, a very large nose, and a narrow,clean-shaven face. His physical peculiaritieswere emphasized by a complete indifferenceas to the shape or quality of his raiment;his coat was a consummate misfit, and histrousers were baggy at the knees. Even the[226]spectacles, which also fitted badly, were neverparallel with his eyes and constantly requiredan upward shove along his nose. But a professionalintercourse with this gentleman led to aconviction that his mental outfit bore no relationto his apparel. Mr. Cabot had known himfor years, and Amos felt at once that he was inthe presence of a man of unusual insight. Dr.Chapin spoke calmly and without pretension,but as one careful of his speech and who knewhis facts.

“That you should have made that visitagainst your will,” he said to Mr. Cabot in answeringa question, “is not difficult to explain asMr. Judd unconsciously brought to bear uponyour movements a force to which he himselfhas repeatedly yielded. If he happens to remember,I think he will find that his thoughtswere with you at that time,” and he smiledpleasantly on Amos.

“Yes, sir, but only as a matter of interest in[227]the novel experience I knew Mr. Cabot wasgoing through.”

“Certainly, but if you had forgotten thevisit and if you believed at that moment thathe was to go in another direction, Mr. Cabotwould have followed the other thought withequal obedience. This unconscious control ofone intelligence over another is well establishedand within certain limits can be explained, butin these affairs science is compelled to accepta barrier beyond which we can only speculate.In this case the unusual and the most interestingfeature is the unvarying accuracy of yourvisions. You have inherited something fromyour Eastern ancestors to which a hypothesiscan be adjusted, but which is in fact beyond ascientific explanation. I should not be at allsurprised to find somewhere in the city theroom in which you saw yourself lying; and itis more than probable that, if unrestrained,you would have discovered it and fulfilled your[228]prophecy, unconsciously obedient to that irresistibleforce. A blow, a fall, a stroke of apoplexyor heart disease; the sudden yielding ofyour weakest part under a nervous pressure,could easily bring about the completion ofyour picture. Some of the authenticated reportsof corresponding cases are almost incredible.But before you are forty, Mr. Judd,you will find in these visions a gradual diminutionof accuracy and also, as in this case, thattheir fulfilment is by no means imperative.”

For Amos there was immense relief in hearingthis, especially from such a source, and heleft the building with a lighter heart than hehad known for months. Now that the dangerwas over, he wished the wedding to take placeat once, but Molly would consent to no undignifiedhaste. He found, however, an unexpectedand influential ally in her grandmother Jouvenal,just arrived from her home in Marylandfor a month’s visit, and who insisted upon the[229]wedding taking place while she was with them.Mrs. Jouvenal was a slender person of sprightlymanners, whose long life had been sweetlytempered by an exaggerated estimate of theimportance of her own family; but in othermatters she was reasonable and clear-headed,endowed with quick perceptions, a ready wit,and one of those youthful spirits that nevergrow old. She was interested in all that wenton about her, was never bored and never dull.It was of course a little disappointing that agirl with such an ancestry as Molly’s, on hermother’s side, should give herself to an unknownJudd from an obscure New Englandvillage; but her fondness for Amos soon consoledher for the mésalliance. Molly had astrong desire to acquaint her grandmotherwith the ancestral facts of the case, but Amosrefused to give his consent. Those discoveriesin the attic he insisted they must keep tothemselves, at least while he was alive. “When[230]I am transplanted I shall be beyond the reachof terrestrial snobs, and you can do as youplease.”

The first week in December Mrs. Jouvenalwas to visit her son in Boston. “And really,my child,” she said to Molly, “it is the lastwedding in the family I shall be alive to see,and with such an exotic specimen as you haveselected, I shall not be sure of a Christianceremony unless I see it myself.”

As her father remained neutral Molly finallyyielded, and there was a wedding the firstWednesday in December.

“DO I look tired and dragged out?”asked the bride of an hour as theydrove to the train.

“You look a little tired, a little flushed, alittle ashamed, and tremendously interesting.But you may hold my hand.”

“Iam ashamed,” and she pushed the upturnedhand from her lap and looked out thewindow.

“But, Light of my Soul, you give us awayby those imbecile blushes. You might just aswell thrust your head out of the carriage andcry, ‘Behold the bride and groom!’”

She smiled and leaned back, but still lookedout. “That’s the horrid feature of a honeymoon.Everybody knows it and everybodylooks at you. Is it too late to go back andundo it?”

“Of course it rains. These are the tears ofcountless lovers who lived before the days ofMolly Cabot.”

But they left the rain behind them, andfarther South, away down in Carolina, theyfound plenty of sunshine, with green grassand flowers and piny woods.

One of their first diversions on reaching thissouthern country was to go out with a driverand a pair of horses, but the harvest of pleasurewas insufficient. “The conversation of ahoneymoon,” observed the bridegroom, “is tooexalted for other ears. If we talk as the spiritmoves us, the coachman, unless in love himself,may collapse from nausea: so let us bemerciful and drive ourselves.”

Thereupon he secured a buggy with an oldgray horse, and from this combination theirfelicity was much increased. The old horse[233]they called Browser, because of the only thinghe would do without being urged; and it requiredbut a single drive to develop his goodpoints, which happened to be the very qualitiesrequired. He was dreamy, inattentive,never hasty, and not easily disgusted. His influencewas distinctly restful, and his capacityfor ignoring a foolish conversation phenomenal.It was decided by his present associates thatthese virtues were either hereditary, or hadbeen developed to the highest perfection bya long and tender experience.

“It’s my opinion,” remarked the groom,“that being so extensively used as a nuptialhorse has resulted in his regarding honeymoonfoolishness as the usual form of conversation.He probably thinks they talk that way in thecourts and on the Stock Exchange.”

But accustomed as Browser was to cloyingrepetitions, there were times when his endurancewas sorely tried. On one occasion the[234]bride alighted from the buggy, and going alittle ahead, gathered wild flowers by the roadside;and as she returned, Amos, who was givingBrowser a handful of grass, raised his hatin a ceremonious manner and advanced towardher with extended hand, exclaiming:

“Why, Miss Cabot! How do you do? I hadno idea you were here. My name is Judd.”

“I beg your pardon,” she replied, drawingstiffly back, “your name is not Judd, and youdon’t know what it is. I can never marry aman who—”

“Wait till you are asked,” he interrupted,then threw both arms about her, and so theystood for a moment, she making no effort toescape.

In secluded corners of the vast and ramifyinghotel piazza they spent long evenings andwatched the moon, the other people, and thedistant ocean, and talked, and talked, and[235]talked. Of this talk no serious pen could write.The very ink would laugh or turn to sugar andrun away in shame. And when these conversationswere finished, two well-dressed andseemingly intelligent people would arise, andwith brazen faces enter the grand rotunda ofthe hotel, where other guests would see thementer the elevator, float heavenward and disappearfrom human eyes. But the vexatiouscolor still came and went in Molly’s face, andseemed ever ready to give the lie to the gentledignity and composure which rarely desertedher. Strolling through the gardens ofthe hotel one afternoon, they met a statelymatron with her two daughters, whom Mollyknew, and as they separated after the usualconversation, Amos jeered at the bride, saying:“Really, old Girl, it is mortifying the way youblush upon this trip. I don’t blame the blushesfor selecting such a face, but you only giveyourself away. It is merely another manner of[236]saying ‘I know I am guilty, and just see howashamed I am!’”

“Oh, don’t talk about it! It’s hideous, but Ican’t help it. Are all brides such fools?”

“I don’t know, I never travelled with onebefore, but I shall leave you behind if you keepit up. Try and think you have been marriedfor twenty years. Do you suppose the daisiesgiggle and the sun winks at the other planetsevery time we look out the window? Or that itis because Molly and Amos are spliced thatthe carnations blush and the violets hide theirfaces? But I will say this for you, Spirit ofOld-fashioned Roses, that all this blushingand unblushing is tremendously becoming.”

“Thank you; but I must paint or wear aveil, or only come out at night. There is noother way.”

The days went by, all much alike, in thesunny atmosphere of an overwhelming content.In the woods they found a distant spot which[237]laid no claim to publicity, and here upon thepine carpet with the drowsy rustling of theleaves above, they passed many hours in a sereneindifference to the flight of time. Sometimesthey brought a book, not a page of whichwas ever read, but no deceit was necessary, asthe only witnesses were occasional birds andsquirrels whose ideas of decorum were primitiveand none too strict. One bird, who seemedto wear a dress-suit with an orange shirt-front,considered his household in danger and acquiredan insolent habit of perching himselfupon a bough within a dozen feet, and doinghis best to scare them off. But as they reappearedday after day and respected his rightshis anger gradually diminished, until at lasthe varied his vituperations by a peculiar song,both joyous and triumphant, which amused theinterlopers.

“I should like to know what his little feelingsreally are,” said the bride, as with a pine-needle[238] she annoyed the sensitive portions ofthe head reposing in her lap. The upturnedeyes lingered for a moment upon the patch ofblue between the pine-tops, then with a lookof mild surprise turned lazily to her own.

“Do you really mean to confess, GentleRoses, that you don’t know what he says?”

As this speech was uttered the instrumentof torture was cleverly inserted between theparted lips. “No; and perhaps I don’t care to.”

“But listen. There! Don’t you get it? Heknows we are on a honeymoon and keeps repeating,in that victorious way:

The bride laughed; her face bent over tothe one beneath, but the bird upon the boughwas not disgusted. He stood his ground andsang his song as if Love and Folly were thingsto be respected.

[239]When the day of departure came they turnedtheir backs with sorrow upon a resting-placewhose cosey corners they knew so well andwhose groves no grateful lovers could forget.These tender memories were a soothing recompensefor descending to an earthly life. As thetrain moved away she whispered, “Good-by,honeymoon!”

“Don’t say that!” exclaimed Amos. “Let ushold on to it forever. I shall die a lover and Iexpect the same of you.”

The promise to Grandmother Jouvenal wasnot forgotten, and when they left the train ata little station in Maryland a carriage wasawaiting them. As they entered the avenueand came in sight of the old house, Molly regardedher companion with eager eyes to besure that he was properly impressed.

“It’s fine!” he exclaimed. “An ideal mansionof the period. And you say it is over twohundred years old?”

[240]“Yes, the main house is, but just wait tillyou see the inside! It’s crammed full of colonialfurniture and family portraits.”

“What on earth is the circular part at theend of that wing? Is it a circus or only a gymnasiumfor your grandmother?”

Molly laughed. “That’s the library. Grandpa’sfather was an astronomer and started tobuild an observatory, but died when it washalf-way up; so grandpa, who was not an astronomer,finished it as a library. But it makesa beautiful room.”

From her grandmother they received a cordialwelcome. It was dark when they arrived,and as Mrs. Jouvenal had accepted for theman invitation to a dance that evening at thehouse of a neighbor, whose daughters were oldplaymates of Molly’s, there was little time forseeing the house. But Molly did not like towait and proposed a hasty tour, wishing toshow Amos at once the old portraits and furniture[241]and the treasures of family silver. Tothis her grandmother objected. “Do wait tillto-morrow, child. Your Amos can sleep withoutit, and besides the rooms are not in orderyet. Remember I only came back myself thismorning, after a two months’ absence.”

And so that pleasure was delayed. Theyarrived early at the ball, and as she joinedhim at the head of the stairs he glanced atthe jewels in her hair and asked, after a moment’shesitation, if she would do him a littlefavor.

“Of course I will. Only name it, duskyRajah,” and looking up at him with admiringeyes she smiled as she remembered for thehundredth time how seriously he was annoyedby any compliment upon his appearance.

“If I were it should make no difference.You don’t like it, and that’s enough,” and she[242]raised her hand to remove the ornament. Buthe interrupted the motion. “Don’t take it offnow, for you have nothing to replace it; butthat is the smallest part of the request. Thereal favor is that you shall not ask me why Ido it.”

“That is asking a good deal, but I consent.And now tell me, how do I look? There is awretched light in there.”

“You look like what you are, the joy ofto-day and the rainbow of a happy morrow.”

He regarded her gravely and with care.“Your hair is just right, and for general effectyou are far and away the prettiest, the daintiest,the most highbred-looking girl within athousand miles of this or of any other spot;and if we were alone and unobserved, I shouldgather you in as—” Voices close at handcaused them to turn and descend the stairs[243]with the solemnity of an ancient couple whofind dignity a restful substitute for the frivolitiesof youth. Once in the ball-room, with thewild Hungarian music at their heels, there waslittle repose for two such dancers. When thefirst notes of the waltz that Molly loved aboveall others, came floating through the hall,Amos cut in before a youth who was hasteningtoward the bride and swung her out across thefloor. As they glided away with the music thatwas stirring in her heart old memories of whatseemed a previous existence, she heard at herear “Do you remember when first we waltzed?How you did snub me! But life began thatnight.”

Instead of returning at eleven o’clock, theyreturned at two in the morning. By Amos’srequest it had been arranged that no servantshould sit up for them, but when they enteredthe hall and found it dark Molly expressedsurprise that not a single light should have[244]been left burning. They easily found thematches, however, and lighted a candle. Amoshad just learned from the coachman that a letterready at six in the morning would go byan early train, so Molly showed him a littledesk of her grandmother’s in the dining-room,and then left him to his writing. Passingthrough the hall toward the stairs she happenedto look into a sitting-room, and beyondit, through a corridor, saw a portion of the biglibrary where the moonlight fell upon a marblebust. She paused, then returning to the doorof the dining-room, asked,

“Then come into the library and see it inthe moonlight. You will find a girl there whois interested in you.”

Although familiar with the old library,[245]Molly was impressed anew by its stately proportionsas she entered from the little corridor.The spacious room was now flooded by themoonlight that streamed through the highwindows at the farther end and brought out,in ghostly relief, the white Ionic columnsagainst the encircling wall. Between them, invarying shapes and sizes, hung the family portraits,and in front of every column stood apedestal with its marble bust. At the presentmoment the pallid face of Dante caught themoonbeams, and seemed to follow her withsolemn eyes. As she swept with a rustle of silkalong the huge, round, crimson carpet, she rememberedhow deeply she had been impressedin former years by the knowledge that it wasmade in England expressly for this room. Theperfect stillness was broken only by herself asshe moved out into the wide circle of mysteriousfaces.

At her right, between two of the columns,[246]in a lofty mirror that filled the space from floorto cornice, marched her own reflection. Shestopped, and regarded it. With her white dressand the moonlight upon her head and shoulders,it was a striking figure and recalled thenight, a year ago, when she stood at the windowof her chamber, and tried in vain to discoverwhy such a vision should have startledMr. Amos Judd. Mr. Amos Judd! How shehated him that night! Hated him! the dear,lovely, old, perfect Amos! She smiled, andbeat time with a foot, humming a fragment ofthat bewitching waltz. And the crescent thathe had asked her not to wear again, flashedback at her from the mirror. She would removeit now, upon the instant, and never more, noteven to-night, should the dear boy be troubledby it. As her fingers touched the jewels shesaw something in the mirror that sent theblood from her heart, and caused the hand todrop convulsively to her breast. Behind her,[247]across the room, in the shadow of a pedestal,were glistening two other things that movedlike a pair of human eyes. With an involuntarycry she wheeled about, and before she couldturn again at a sudden movement behind her,an arm was thrown about her waist, strongfingers clutched her throat and in her ear camea muttered warning: “Be quiet, lady, or it’sup with yer!”

But the cry had reached Amos in the distantdining-room, and she heard his footstepshurrying across the hall. The fingers tightenedat her throat; she was pushed with violenceinto the shadow of the nearest column, andheld there. Gasping, strangling, she seized instinctivelywith both hands the wrist that wassqueezing the life from her body, but herfeeble fingers against such a strength were asnothing. Pressing close upon her she saw thedim outline of a cap upon the back of a head,a big neck, and a heavy chin. With bursting[248]throbs the blood beat through her head andeyes, and she would have sunk to the floor butfor the hands that held her with an iron force.

In this torture of suffocation came a blur,but through it she saw Amos spring into theroom, then stop for a second as if to find hisbearings.

There was no answer. Fainting, powerlesseven to make an effort, she saw the man beforeher raise a revolver with his other hand,and take deliberate aim at the broad, whiteshirt-front, an easy target in the surroundinggloom. In an agony of despair she made afrenzied effort, struck up the weapon as theshot was fired, and sent the bullet high aboveits mark, through the waistcoat of a colonialgovernor.

The next instant the fingers were torn fromher throat, and as she sank half-fainting toher knees, the two men in a savage tussle[249]swayed out into the room, then back with suchforce against a pedestal that it tottered, andwith its heavy bust came crashing to the floor.

The struggling figures also fell. The burglarwas beneath, and as he landed, his weaponwas knocked from his hand. With a blow anda sudden twist Amos wrenched away, pickedup the pistol, turned upon his swiftly risingfoe, and sent a bullet through his skull. Withouta sound the man sank back again to thefloor.

“Are you hurt, Moll?” was the first questionas Amos took a step toward the white,crouching figure. Her bare arm shot out intothe moonlight and a finger pointed across thelibrary. “There’s another! look out!”

The second man, in his stocking feet likehis comrade, had crept from his hiding place,and as she pointed he swung up his pistol andpulled the trigger. But Amos was quicker.Shots in rapid succession echoed through the[250]house, two, three, perhaps half a dozen, shenever knew; but she saw to her joy, that Amosat the end of it all was still standing, whilethe burglar, with a smothered malediction,tumbled heavily into an easy chair behind him,slid out of it to his knees, and pitched forwardon his face. There was a convulsive twitchingof the legs, and all was still again. Beneathhim lay a bag into which, a few moments before,had been stuffed the ancestral silver.

As she climbed painfully to her feet, graspingwith tremulous fingers a chair at her side,she saw Amos turn about, and with waveringsteps, approach the column between the windowswhere, in the full light of the moon,hung a little calendar, and on it

He uttered no sound, but his head droopedand he staggered back. Reeling against a lowdivan he fell his length upon it, and lay withupturned face, motionless as the two men uponthe floor.

[251]Molly hastened to his side and bent overhim with an anxious question. In the full raysof the moon her head and neck with the whitedress were almost luminous against the dimrecesses of the room behind; and his eyesrested with a dazed, half-frightened look onthe diamond crescent, then fell to her face,and up again to the jewels in her hair. Withan effort he laid a hand upon her shoulder andanswered, with a feeble smile, “The end hascome, my Moll.”

“No, no. Don’t say that! I’ll send for thedoctor and have him here at once!”

But the hand restrained her. “It’s of no use.The ball went here, through the chest.”

“Yes—I do know. My own death, with youbending over me in the moonlight—in this[252]room—I saw before we ever met. The samevision again—when you stood before me inthe conservatory, was what—startled me—thatnight, a year ago.”

He spoke with difficulty, in a failing tone.There followed broken words; from the faceagainst his own tears fell upon his cheek, andshe murmured, “Take me with you, Amos.”

“No—not that;” then slowly, in a voicegrowing fainter with each word, “but there isno Heaven without you, Spirit—of Old-fashioned—Roses.”

A gentle pressure from the fingers that heldher own, and in the moonlight lay a peacefulface where a smile still lingered on the lips.

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Vignette	Title-Page
“How much do they represent, the whole lot”	Facing page 18
“I beg your pardon, I—I was startled”	48
It seemed a long five minutes	136
Gently rocking with both feet on the ground	168
“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart”	182
“He is the image of you”	206
“The end has come, my Moll”	250

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