The Story of an Untold Love

XXIII.

March 14. After dinner this evening I went to see Mrs. Blodgett; for, miserable as I felt, my mental suffering was greater than my physical. The footman told me she had just gone upstairs to dress for a ball, but I sent her a message begging for a moment’s interview; and when he returned, it was to take me to her boudoir, — a privilege which would in itself have shown me how thoroughly I was forgiven, even if her greeting had been less warm.

In a few halting and broken sentences I told her of my love for you. She was so amazed that at first she seemed unable to believe me serious ; and when I had persuaded her that I was in earnest, her perplexity and curiosity were unbounded.

Why had I behaved so ? For what reason had I never called on Maizie ? Such and many more were the questions she indignantly poured out, and she only grew more angry when I answered each by “I cannot tell you.” Finally, in her irritation, she demanded, “ What have you bothered me for, then ? ”

“ I want you to tell me, if you have the right, whether Miss Walton is engaged to Mr. Whitely,” I answered.

“ Practically,” she snapped.

“ She has told you so ? ”

“ I cannot tell you,” she replied ; adding, “ How do you like your own medicine ? ”

“ Mrs. Blodgett,”I pleaded, “if you understood what it means to me to know the truth, you would not use this to punish me for what I cannot help. If I could tell any one the story of my life,

I should tell you; for next to — to one other, you are dearer to me than any living person. If you love me at all, do not torture me with suspense.”

She came and sat down by me on the lounge, and took my hand, saying, “ Mr. Whitely asked Maizie to marry him four years ago, but she said she woidd not marry a business man. He would n’t give up trying, however, though he made no apparent headway. Indeed, Maizie told me herself, last spring, just before she sailed, that she could never love him, and she was convinced that loveless marriages were wrong, being sure to end in unhappiness or sacrifice of one or the other. So I thought it would come to nothing. But he persisted, and he’s succeeded, for she told me last week that she had changed her mind, and was going to marry him.”

“ Do you know why she has done so ? ” I asked drearily.

“ I think it is that book of his. Not merely is she pleased by the position it’s given him as a writer, but she says it has convinced her that he is different from what he appears in society ; that no man bnt one of noble character and fine mind could write from such a standpoint.”

I sat there dumb and stolid, yet knowing that all my past suffering had been as nothing to this new grief. Oh, my blindness and wickedness ! To think, my darling, that it was I who had aided him to win you, that my hand had made and set the trap ! Why had I not ended my wretched existence three years ago, and so, at least, saved myself from this second wrong, tenfold worse than that I had endeavored to mend? For my own selfish pride and honor, I had juggled, deceived you, Maizie, the woman dearer to me than all else, and had myself doomed you to such a fate.

I suppose I must have shown some of the agony I felt, for Mrs. Blodgett put her hand on my shoulder. “ Don’t take it so to heart, Rudolph,” she begged, giving me that name for the first time. " There can still be much true happiness in your life.”

I only kissed her hand in response, but she instantly pressed her lips on my forehead. “ I am so sorry,” she sighed, " for I had hoped for something very different.”

“ Mr. Blodgett told me,” I answered ; and then I spoke of the resolution I had come to last night.

When I had finished, she said, " We won’t talk of it any more at present, Rudolph, for Agnes’ sake as well as yours, but perhaps by and by, when the suffering is over, you will come and talk to me again ; for if you ever feel that you can be a good husband to my girl, I shall not be afraid to trust her to you, if you can gain her consent.”

I rose to go, and she remarked, " Yes. You mustn’t stay, for as it is, my dressing will make us very late. If the carriage is at the door, tell Maxwell to drive you home, and then return for us. You mustn’t walk in the slush with that horrid cough of yours. Does your landlady give you blankets enough? Well, tell her to make a steaming glass of whiskey toddy. Wrap some woolen round your throat and chest, and go straight to bed. Why, Rudolph, you are not going without kissing me good-night?” she continued, as if that had been my habit, adding, " Some day I shall make you tell me all about it.”

I went downstairs, intending to follow her directions ; but as I passed the drawing-room door I heard the piano, and thought I recognized, from the touch, whose fingers were straying at random over the keys.

“ Is n’t tfiat Miss Walton ? ” I asked of the servant, as he brought me my hat and coat.

“ Yes, Dr. Hartzmann. Miss Walton is to go to the ball with the ladies, and is waiting for them to come downstairs,” he told me.

I left him holding my coat, and passed noiselessly between the curtains of the portière. Your back was turned to me as you sat at the instrument, and I stood in silence watching you as you played, till suddenly — was it sympathy, or only the consciousness of something alien ? — you looked around. 1 should almost think it was the former, for you expressed no surprise at seeing me standing there, even though you rose.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” I begged.

“I was only beguiling the time I have to wait,” you replied.

“ It will be a favor to me if you will go on,” I said, and without another word, with that simple grace and sweetness natural to you, you resumed your seat and went on playing, while I sat down on the divan.

Your bent, like mine, was for some reason a sad one, and what you played reflected your mood, stirring me deeply and making me almost forget my misery. Presently, however, I was seized with a paroxysm of coughing ; and when I had recovered enough to be conscious of anything, I found you standing by me, looking both startled and compassionate.

“You are ill,Dr. Hartzmann,” you said.

“ It is nothing,” I managed to articulate.

“ Can I do anything for you ? ” you asked.

“ Nothing,” I replied, rising, more wretched than ever, because knowing how little I deserved your sympathy.

“ It would be a pleasure to help you, Dr. Hartzmann, for I have never been able to show any gratefulness for your kindness over my book,” you went on, with a touch of timidity in your manner, as if you were asking a favor rather than conferring one.

Won by your manner, before I knew what I was doing, I spoke. " Miss Walton,” I burst out, " you see before you the most miserable being conceivable, and you can save me from the worst anguish I am suffering ! ”

Your eyes enlarged in surprise, both at my vehemence and at what I had uttered, while you stood looking at me, with slightly parted lips; then you said sweetly, “ Tell me what I can do.”

I had spoken without thought, only conscious that I must try in some way to save you. For a moment I hesitated, and then exclaimed, “ I beg of you not to marry Mr. Whitely! ”

Like a goddess you drew yourself up, even before you could have perceived the full import of my foolish speech, and never have I seen you look more beautiful or queenly than as you faced me. After a brief silence you answered, “ You can hardly realize what you are saying, Dr. Hartzmann.”

“ I am indeed mad in my unhappiness,” I groaned.

“You owe me an explanation for your extraordinary words,” you continued.

“ Miss Walton.” I said, “ Mr. Whitely is not a man to make you happy, and in hopes of saving you from him I spoke as I did. I had no right, as none can know better than myself, but perhaps you will forgive the impertinence when I say that my motive was only to save you from future misery.”

“ Why should I not be happy in marrying Mr. Whitely? ”

“ Because you are deceiving yourself about him.”

“ In what respect ? ”

“ His character is other than you think it.”

“ Be more specific.”

“ That I cannot be.”

“ Why not ? ”

“ It would be dishonorable in me.”

“ Not more so than to stop where you have.”

“ I cannot say more.”

“ I do not recognize your right to be silent. You have said too much or too little.”

“ Maizie,” called Mrs. Blodgett from the hall, “ come quickly, for we are very late.”

“ I shall insist, at some future time, upon your speaking more clearly, Dr.

Hartzmann, you said, as a queen would speak, and picking up your wrap, without a parting word, you left me standing in the middle of the drawing-room.

I came home through the cold, and have sat here regretting my foolishness and groping for the right course to pursue. Oh, my darling, if only my honor were at stake, I would sacrifice it. I would gladly tell you the whole story of my deception, even though I disgraced myself in your eyes. But try as I may to prove to myself that I have the right, I cannot, for I feel that more than my own honor is concerned. I shall speak to you of Mr. Whitely’s hardness, and beg you to ask Mr. Blodgett if he would give Agnes to Mr. Whitely or advise you to marry him. My heart yearns to aid you in your peril, but I can think of nothing more that I can do. May God do what I cannot, my dearest. Good-night.

XXIV.

March 15. I was so miserable with my cough to-day that I could not summon the energy to drag myself to Mr. Blodgett’s office, and did not leave my room till after eight, when your note came.

“ Miss Walton,” it read, “ feels that she has the right to request Dr. Hartzmann to call this evening, in relation to the conversation uncompleted last night.”

I understood the implied command, and thought that I owed what you claimed, while feeling that in obeying I could for this once forego my scruple of entering your door. The footman showed me into the library, and left me there. It was the first time I had seen it since my thirteenth year, and I cannot tell you the moment’s surprise and joy I felt on finding it absolutely unchanged. Even the books were arranged as formerly, and my eye searched and found, as quickly as of yore, all the old volumes full of plates which had once given us such horror and pleasure. For the instant I forgot my physical suffering and the coming ordeal.

When you entered the room, you welcomed me only with a bow. Then seeing my paleness, you said kindly, “ I forgot your cough, Dr. Hartzmann, or I would not have brought you out in such weather. Sit here by the fire.” After a short pause you went on : “ I hope that a day’s thought has convinced you that common justice requires you to say more than you did last night ? ”

“Miss Walton,” I replied, “to you, who know nothing of the difficult and hopeless position in which I stand, my conduct, I presume, seems most dishonorable and cowardly ; yet I cannot say more than I said last night.”

“ You must.”

“ I can hardly hope that what I then said will influence you, but if you will go to Mr. Blodgett and ” —

“ Does Mr. Blodgett know what you object to in Mr. Whitely ? ” you interrupted.

“Yes.”

“ I went to Mr. Blodgett this morning, and he told me that he knew of no reason why I should not marry Mr. Whitely.”

“Then, Miss Walton,” I answered, rising, “I cannot expect that you will be influenced by my opinion. I will withdraw what I said last night. Think of me as leniently as you can, for my purpose was honorable.”

“ But you ought to say more. You ” —

“ I cannot,” I replied.

“ You have no right to ” — But here a servant entered, with a card.

“ Dr. Hartzmann.” you announced, when the man had gone, “ I wrote Mr. Whitely yesterday afternoon, asking him to call this evening, with the intention of accepting his offer of marriage. He is now in the drawing-room, and unless you will have the fairness, the honesty, to explain what you meant, I shall tell him all that has occurred, and give him the opportunity to force you to speak.”

“ I shall only repeat to him, Miss Walton, what I have said to you.”

You stood a moment looking at me, with a face blazing with indignation ; then you exclaimed, “ You at least owe it to him not to run away while I am gone ! ” and passed into the drawing-room.

You returned very soon, followed by Mr. Whitely.

“Dr. Hartzmann,” you asked, “ will you repeat what you said last night to me ? ”

“ I advised you not to marry Mr. AYliitely, Miss Walton.”

“ And you will not say why ? ” you demanded.

“ I cannot.”

“Mr. Whitely,” you cried, “cannot you force him to speak ? ”

“ Miss Walton,” he replied suavely, and his very coolness in the strange condition made me feel that he was master of the situation, “ I am as perplexed as you are at this extraordinary conduct in one who even now is eating bread from my hand. I have long since ceased to expect gratitude for benefits, but such malevolence surprises and grieves me, since I have never done Dr. Hartzmann any wrong, but, on the contrary, I have always befriended him.”

“ I have been in the employ of Mr. Whitely,” I answered, “but every dollar he has paid me has been earned by my labor. I owe him no debt of gratitude that he does not owe me.”

“You owe him the justice that every man owes another,” you asserted indignantly. “ To make vague charges behind one’s back, and then refuse to be explicit, is a coward’s and a slanderer’s way of waging war.”

“Miss Walton,” I cried, “I should not have spoken, though God knows that my motive was only a wish to do you a service, and I would give my life to do as you ask! ”

For an instant my earnestness seemed to sway you ; indeed, I am convinced that this was so, since Mr. Whitely apparently had the same feeling, and spoke as if to neutralize my influence, saying to you, “ Miss Walton, I firmly believe that Dr. Hartzmann’s plea of honorable conduct is nothing but the ambush of a coward. But as he has been for two years in the most intimate and confidential position of private secretary to me, he may, through some error, have deluded himself into a conviction that gives a basis for his indefinite charges. I will not take advantage of the implied secrecy, and I say to him in your presence that if he has discovered any thing which indicates that I have been either impure or criminal, I give him permission to speak.”

Even in that moment of entanglement I could not but admire and marvel at the skill with which he had phrased his speech, so as to seem absolutely open, to slur me by innuendo and yet avoid the risk of exposure. It left me helpless, and I could only say, “ I have not charged Mr.Whitely with either impurity or criminality.”

You turned to him and said, “This conduct is perfectly inexplicable.”

“ Except on one ground,” he replied.

“Which is?” you questioned.

“That Dr. Hartzmann loves you,” he answered.

“ That is impossible ! ” you exclaimed.

“ Not as impossible as for a man not to love you, Miss Walton,” he averred.

“ Tell Mr. Whitely how mistaken he is,” you said to me.

I could only stand silent, and after waiting a little Mr. Whitely remarked, “ You see ! ”

“ It is incredible ! ” you protested. “ You must deny it, Dr. Hartzmann ! ”

“I cannot. Miss Walton,” I murmured, with bowed head.

“ You love me ? ” you cried incredulously.

“ I love you,” I assented, and in spite of the circumstances it was happiness to say it to you.

You stood gazing at me in amazement, large-eyed as a startled deer. I wonder what your first words would have been to me if Mr. Whitely had not turned your mind into another channel by saying, “ I do not think that we need search further for Dr. Hartzmann’s motives in making his innuendoes.”

“ Miss Walton,” I urged, “ my love for you, far from making your faith in me less or my motive that of a rival, should convince you that I spoke only for your sake, since you yourself know that my love has been neither hopeful nor self-seeking.”

I think you pitied me, for you answered gently, and all traces of the scorn you had shown just before were gone from your face and manner.

“ Dr. Hartzmann,” you said, “ I cannot allow myself to listen to or weigh such indefinite imputations against Mr. Whitely. I will give you one week to explain or substantiate what you have implied ; and unless within that time you do so, I shall accept the offer of marriage which he has honored me by making. Do not let me detain you further. Good-evening.”

I passed out of the room a brokenhearted man, without strength enough to hold up my head, and hardly able in my weakness to crawl back to my study. As I sit and write, every breath brings with it the feeling that a knife is being thrust into my breast, and I am faint with the pain. But for this racking cough and burning fever I might have made a better fight, and have been able to think of some way of saving you. Oh, my dearest love, the sacrifice of life, of honor, the meeting ignominy or death for your sake, would be nothing to me but hap—

XXV.

January 10, 1895. This evening I have for the first time re-read this — I know not what to call it, for it is neither diary nor letter — the story of my love; and as I read, the singular sensation came over me that I was following, not my own thoughts and experiences, but those of another man. Five years ago, half mad with grief, and physically and nervously exhausted to the brink of a breakdown. I spent my evenings writing my thoughts, in the hope that the fatigue of the task would bring the sleep I sought in vain. Little I then wrote seems to me now, in my new life, what I could ever possibly have confided to paper, much less have felt. Yet here is my own handwriting to vouch for every word, and to tell me that the morbid chronicle is no other than my own. I cannot believe that mere years have brought so startling a mental change, and I therefore think that much of it is an expression, not of myself, but of the illness which put an end to my writing. If proof were needed of the many kinds of men each man contains, this manuscript of mine would furnish it; for the being I have read about this evening is no more the Donald Maitland of to-night than — Ah, well, to my task of telling what has wrought this change, since it must be written.

For four weeks I was confined to my bed with pneumonia, and the attack so weakened me that 1 did not leave my room for five weeks more. During that time Mrs. Blodgett’s kindness was constant, and her face is the only memory that stands out from the hours of my acute torture. While I was convalescing, she came once, and sometimes twice, each day, bringing me flowers, fruit, jellies, wines, and whatever else her love could suggest. It was amusing to see her domineer over the doctor, trained nurse, and landlady, and I soon learned to whom to make my pleas for extra liberty or special privileges. No request, however whimsical, seemed too much for her affection, though my demands were unceasing, in the selfishness of my invalidism. Only one thing I dared not ask her, and that was not from fear that it would be refused, but from cowardice. I longed to have her speak of you. but during those weeks she never mentioned your name.

The day before Mrs. Blodgett left town she took me for my first airing in her carriage, and told me that she was leaving a man and horses in town for a month longer in order that I should have a daily drive. “ Mr. Blodgett really needs a carriage more in the summer than he does in the winter, but he never will consent to let me leave one for him, so I ’ve used you as an excuse,” was the way she explained her kindness. “ By the end of the month I hope you will be well enough to come up and make us a visit in the Berkshires, for the change will be the very best thing for you.”

“ I hope to be at work again by that time,” I said.

“ You are not to see pen or paper till the 1st of October! ” she ordered; and when I only shook my head, she continued, “ For three years you’ve been overworking yourself, and now the doctor says you must take a long rest, and I’m going to see that you have it.”

“ You mean to be good to me, Mrs. Blodgett,”I sighed, “but if you knew my situation, you would understand that I must get to work again as soon as possible.”

“ I don’t care about your situation,” she sniffed contemptuously, “ and I do care about your health. I shall insist that you come up to My Fancy, if I have to come back to the city to bring you ; and when I once get you there, I shan’t let you go away till I choose.”

Loving my tyrant, I did not protest further, though firm in my own mind as to my duty. As it turned out, I need not have denied her, for the end of the month found me with but little added strength ; and though I tried to work two or three times, I was forced to abandon the attempts without accomplishing anything. My wonder is that I gained strength at all, in my discouragement over the loss of Mr. Whitely’s work, my three months’ idleness, the heavy doctor’s bills, and the steadily accruing interest on the debt.

On the 21st of June Mr. Blodgett came to see me, as indeed he had done daily since Mrs. Blodgett left town.

“ The boss writes,” he announced, “ ordering me to come up to-day, and directing that before I leave New York I am to do forty-seven things, ranging in importance from buying her the last novels to matching some white ” — he looked at his letter, and spelled out — “ ' f-l-o-s-s ’ as per sample inclosed. I have n’t time to do more than forty-five, and I ’m afraid I ’ll never hear the last of the remaining two unless you ’ll save me.”

“ How ? ”

“ Well, three times in her letter she tells me that I 've got to bring you, the last time as good as saying that my life won’t be an insurable risk if I don’t. Since she puts so much stress on your presence, it’s just possible that if I fill that order she ’ll forget the rest.”

“ I would go, Mr. Blodgett, but ” —

“ Oh, I understand all that,” he interrupted. “ Of course, if you stay in the cool fresh air of the city, you won’t run any risk of the malaria the Berkshires are full of ; I know the New York markets have peas as large and firm as bullets, while those in our garden are poor little shriveled affairs hardly worth the trouble of eating; our roads are not Belgian blocks, but only soft dirt, and we haven’t got a decent flagged sidewalk within ten miles of My Fancy. I understand perfectly that you ’ll get well faster here, and so get to work sooner; but all the same, just as a favor, you might pull me out of this scrape.”

I need not say I had to yield, and together we took the afternoon express. On the train we found Mr. Whitely, — as great a surprise, apparently, to Mr. Blodgett as it was to me.

“ Hello ! ” exclaimed the banker.

“ Where are you bound for ? ” “ I presume for the same destination you are,” Mr. Whitely replied. " I am going up to see Miss Walton, and if Mrs. Blodgett cannot give me a night’s hospitality, I shall go to the hotel.”

“ Plenty of room at My Fancy, and I ‘11 guarantee your welcome,” promised Mr. Blodgett pleasantly. “ Here ’s the doctor going up for a bit of nursing.”

Much to my surprise, my former employer entered the compartment, and, offering me his hand, sat down by the lounge I was stretched upon. “ You’ve had a serious illness,” he remarked, with a bland attempt at sympathy.

I only nodded my head.

“ I hope you will recover quickly, for you are needed in the office,” he went on.

I could not have been more surprised if he had struck me, though I did not let it appear in my face.

“Whitely’s been trying to go it alone on his editorials, and the papers have all been laughing at him,” chuckled Mr. Blodgett. “Just read us your famous one, Whitely, — that one about The Tendency of Modern Art, with the original Hebrew from Solomon you put in.”

I saw my employer redden, and in pity for his embarrassment I said, “ I do not think I shall ever come back to the office, Mr. Whitely.”

“ Why not ? ” he exclaimed. “ You committed an unwise action, but business is business, and I see no cause why we need let a single mistake terminate a relation mutually profitable.”

“ I have learned that one cannot sell one’s honesty without wronging other people, and I shall never do it again.”

“ This is purely sentimental,” he began.

Mr. Blodgett, however, interrupted by saying, “ Now don’t go to exciting the doctor, for he’s to sleep on the trip. Besides, I’ve got something in mind better than the job he’s had under you, Whitely. Come and have a smoke, and leave him to nap a bit.”

They left me, and I set to puzzling over many questions : how you would greet me at My Fancy ; how you would welcome Mr. Whitely; what was the meaning of his friendliness towards me ; and what new kindness Mr. Blodgett had in store for me. Finally I fell asleep, to be awakened only when we reached our destination.

Agnes met us at the station, and at the house Mrs. Blodgett gave me the warmest of welcomes, but not till I came downstairs before dinner did you and I meet. Your greeting was formal, yet courteous and gracious as of old, almost making me question if our last two interviews could be realities.

Before the dinner was finished Mrs. Blodgett ordered me to the divan on the veranda, and sent dessert and fruit out to me. You all joined me when the moment came for coffee and cigars ; but the evening was cloudy and rather breezy, and presently Mrs. Blodgett said it was too cold for her, and suggested a game of whist indoors. “ You must stay out here,” she told me, “but if you feel cool be sure to use the shawl.”

You turned and said to Mr. Whitely, “ You will play, I hope ? ” and he assented so eagerly that it was all I could do to keep from laughing outright when you continued, “ Agnes and Mr. Whitely will make your table, Mrs. Blodgett, so I will stay here and watch the clouds.” The whole thing was so palpably with an object that I felt at once that you wished to see me alone, to learn if I had anything more to say concerning Mr. Whitely ; and as I realized this, I braced myself for the coming ordeal.

For a few moments you stood watching the gathering storm, and then took a chair by the divan on which I lay.

“ Are you too honorable,” you began, — and though I could not see your face in the darkness, your voice told me you were excited, — “ to pardon dishonorable conduct in others ? For I have come to beg of you forgiveness for a wrong.”

“ Of me, Miss Walton ? ” “ Last April,” you went on, “ Mrs. Blodgett brought me a book and asked me to read it. A few pages revealed to me that it was a journal kept by an old friend of mine. After reading a little further, I realized for the first time that I was violating a confidence. Yet though I knew this, and struggled to close the book, I could not, but read it to the end. Can you forgive me ? ”

“ Oh, Miss Walton ! ” I protested.

“ Why ask forgiveness of me ? What is your act compared to the wrong ” —

“ Hush, Don,” you said gently, and your use of my name, so long unheard, told me in a word that the feeling of our childhood days was come again. “ Tell me you forgive me ! ” you entreated.

“ I am not the one to forgive, Maizie.” “ I did wrong, and I ask your pardon,” you begged humbly. “Yet I’m not sorry in the least, and I should do it again,” you instantly added, laughing merrily at your own perverseness. Then in a moment you were serious again, saying, “ I never received the letters or the photograph, Donald. My uncle confesses that he put them in the fire.” And before I could speak, a new thought seized you, for you continued sadly, “ I shall never forgive myself for iny harshness and cruelty when you were so ill.”

“That is nothing,” I replied, “since all our misunderstandings are gone. Why, even my debt, Maizie, ceases now to be a burden ; in the future it will be only a joy to work.”

“ Donald ! ” you exclaimed. “ You don’t suppose I shall let you pay me another cent! ”

“ I must.”

“ But I am rich,” you protested. “ The money is nothing to me. You shall not ruin your career to pay it. I scorn myself when I think that I refused to see you that night, and so lost my only chance of saving you from what followed. My pride, my wicked pride ! It drove you to death’s door by overwork, to give me wealth I do not know how to spend. You parted with your library that I might let money lie idle in bank. I forced you to sell your book — your fame — to that thief. Oh, Donald, think of the wrong it has done already, and don’t make it do greater !

“ Maizie, you do not understand —

“ I understand it all,” you interrupted. “You must not —you shall not—I won’t take it— I ” —

“ For his sake !”

“ But I love him, too ! ” you pleaded. “ Don’t you see, Donald, that it was never the money, — that was nothing ; but they told me his love — and yours, for they said you had known all the time

— was only pretense, a method by which you might continue to rob me. And I came to believe it,—though I should have known better, —because, since you never wrote, it seemed to me you had both dropped me out of your thoughts as soon as you could no longer plunder me. Even then, scorning you, — like you in your feeling over my neglect of your letters, — I could not help loving you, for those Paris and Tyrol days were the happiest I have ever known ; and though I knew, Don, that I ought to forget you, as I believed you had forgotten me, I could not do so. That I turned you away from my house was because I did not dare to meet you, — I knew I could not control myself. After the servant took the message, I sobbed over having to send it by a servant. I have never dared to speak in public of either of you, for fear I should break down. Try as I might, I could not help loving you both as I have never loved any one else. If I had only understood, as your journal has made me,

— had only known that my name was on his lips when he died ! No money could pay for what he gave to me. Could he ask me now for twice the sum, it would be my pleasure to give it to him, for I love him dearly, and ”—

“ If you love him, Maizie, you will let me clear his name so far as lies within my power.”

For an instant you were silent, and then said softly, “ You are right, Donald, we will clear his name.”

I took your hand and touched it to my lips. “ To hear you speak of him " — I could go no further, in my emotion.

There was a pause before you asked, “ Donald, do you remember our talk here last autumn?”

“ Every word.”

You laughed gayly. “ I want you to know, sir,” you asserted, with a pretense of defiance, “ that I don’t believe in love, because I have never found any that was wholly free from self-indulgence or selfinterest. And I still think ” —

Just then Mrs. Blodgett joined us, and inquired, " Have you told Rudolph, Maizie ? ”

“ Yes.”

“ I went to see how you were the moment I heard of your illness,” she said, with a certain challenge in her voice, “ and I found that book lying on your desk just where you stopped writing from weakness. I read it, and I took it to Maizie.”

“ It was kismet, I suppose,” was all I could say, too happy to think of criticism, and instantly her manner changed and she wiped her eyes.

“ I had to do it.” she sobbed.

“ You have been too good to me,” I answered, rising and taking her hand.

“ There, there,” she continued, steadying herself. “ I did n’t come out to behave like this, but to tell you to go to bed at once. I’m going to your room to see that everything is right, but don’t you delay a minute after I’m gone,” and she disappeared through the doorway.

I turned to you and held out my hand, bidding you, “ Good-night, Maizie,” and you took it, and replied, “ Goodnight, Don.” Then suddenly you leaned forward, and, kissing my forehead, added, “ God keep you safe for me, my darling.”

I took you in my arms, and gave you back your kiss twofold, while saying, “ Good-night, my love.”

XXVI.

A man does not willingly spread on paper the sweetest and tenderest moments of his life. When half crazed with grief and illness I might express my suffering, much as, in physical pain, some groan aloud ; but the deepest happiness is silent, for it is too great to be expressed. And lest, my dears, you think me even less manly than I am, I choose to add here the reason for my writing the last few pages of this story of my love, that if you ever read it you may know the motive which made me tell what till to-night I have kept locked in my heart.

This evening the dearest woman in the world came to me, as I sat at my desk in the old library, and asked, “ Are you busy, Donald ? ”

“ I am reading the one hundred and forty-seventh complimentary review of my History of the Moors, and I am so sick of sweets that your interruption comes as an unalloyed pleasure.”

“Am I bitter or acid?” she asked, leaning over my shoulder and arranging my hair, which is one of her ways of pleasing me.

“ You are my exact opposite,” I said gravely.

“ How uncomplimentary you are ! ” she cried, with a pretense of anger in her voice.

“ An historian must tell the truth now and then, for variety’s sake.”

“ Then tell me if you are too engaged to spare me a minute. Any other time will do.”

“ You are seriously mistaken, because no other time will do. And nothing about me is ever engaged, as regards you, except my affections, and they are permanently so.”

“ I 've come to ask a favor of you.”

“ Out of the question; but you may tell me what it is.”

“ Oh, Donald, say you will grant it before I tell you ! ”

“ Concealment bespeaks a guilty conscience.”

“ But sometimes you are so funny and obstinate about things ! ”

“ That is what Mr. Whitely used to say.”

“ Don’t mention that wretch’s name to me ! To think of that miserable little Western college making him an LL. D. because of your book ! ”

“ Never mind, Maizie ; here’s a letter I received an hour ago from Jastrow, which tells me the University of Leipzig is going to give me a degree.”

“ That he should steal your fame ! ”

“ My Moor is five times the chap my Turk was.”

“ But you might have had both ! ”

“ And gone without you ? Don’t fret over it, my darling.”

“ I can’t help ” —

She always ends this vein by abusing herself, which I would n’t allow another human being to do, and which I don’t like to hear, so I interrupted : “ Jastrow says he 'll come over in March to visit us, and threatens to bring the manuscript of his whole seventeen volumes, for me to take a final look at it before he sends it to press.”

“ The dear old thing ! ” she said tenderly. “ I love him so for what he was to you that I believe I shall welcome him with a kiss.”

“ Why make the rest of his life unhappy ? ”

“ Is that the way it affects you ? ”

“ Woman is born illogical, and even the cleverest of her sex cannot entirely overcome the taint. After you give me a kiss I bear in mind that I am to have another, and that makes me very happy. But if you kiss Jastrow, the poor fellow will go back to Germany and pine away into his grave. Even his fifty-two dialects will not satisfy him after your labial.”

“ Oh, you silly ! ” she exclaimed ; but, my dears, I think she is really, in her secret heart, fond of silliness, for she leaned over and — There, I 'll stop being what she called me.

“ We ’ll give him a great reception,” she continued, “ and have every one worth knowing to meet him.”

“ He is the shyest of beings.”

“ How books and learning do refine men ! ” she said.

“ I am afraid they do make weaklings of us.”

“ Will you never get over the idea that you are weak ? ” she cried ; for it is one of her pet superstitions that I am not.

“ You ’ll frighten me out of it if you speak like that.”

“ You are — well — that is really what I came to ask for. You will, Donald, won’t you ? ”

“The distinction between ‘will’ and ‘ won’t ’ is clearly set forth in a somewhat well-known song concerning a spider and a fly.”

“ Oh, you bad boy ! ”

“ Adsum.”

“ I’m really serious.”

“ I never was less so.”

“ I should not have become your wife if I had dreamed you would be such a brute ! ”

“ You ’ll please remember that I never asked you to marry me.”

She laughed deliciously over the insult, and after that I could not resist her.

“You have,” I said, “a bundle in your left hand, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a blue ribbon, which you sedulously keep from my sight, but which I can see in the mirror.”

“ And you’ve known it all this time ! Perhaps you know too what I want ? ”

“ Last spring,” I told her, “ I knocked at the door of your morning-room twice, and receiving no answer, I went in, to find you reading something that you instantly hid from sight. There were on the lounge, I remember, a sheet of tissue paper and a blue ribbon. I suspect a connection.”

“ Well ? ”

“ My theory is that you have some really improper book wrapped in the paper, and that is why you so guiltily hide it from me.”

“ Oh, Donald, it gives me such happiness to read it! ”

“ That was the reason I asked you why you had tears in your eyes, when I surprised you that day. Your happiness was most enviable !”

“ Men never understand women ! ”

“ Deo gratias.”

“ But I love it.”

“ I don’t like to hear you express such sentiments for so erotic a book.”

“ Oh, don’t apply such a word to it! ” she cried, in a pained voice.

“ A word,” I explained, “ taken from the Greek erotikos, which is derived from erao, meaning 'I love passionately.’ It is singularly descriptive, Maizie.”

“ If it means that, I like it, but I thought you were insulting iny book.”

“ Almost five years ago,” I remarked, “ a volume was stolen from my room, which I have never since been able to recover. Now a woman of excessive honesty calmly calls it hers.”

“ You know you don’t want it.”

“ I want it very much.”

“ Really ? ”

“To put it in the fire.”

“ Don ! ”

“ Once upon a time a most bewitching woman wrote a story, and in a vain moment her husband asked her to give it to him. She ” —

“ But, my darling, it was so foolish that I had to burn it up. Think of my making the heroine marry that creature ! ”

“ Since you married the poor chap to the other girl, there was no other ending possible. If the book were only in existence, I think Agnes and her husband would enjoy reading it almost as much as I should.”

“ How silly I was ! But at least the book made you write the ending which prevented me from accepting him that winter. What a lot of trouble I gave my poor dear! ”

“ I met the ‘ poor dear ’ yesterday, looking very old and unhappy despite his LL. D.”

“ Oh, you idiot! ” she laughed. And she must like imbeciles, too, for — well, I ’m not going to tell even you how I know that she’s fond of idiots.

“ Why do you suppose he ’s unhappy ? ” she asked.

“ My theory is that he ‘s miserable because he lost — lost me.”

“ I 'm so glad he is ! ” joyously asserted the tenderest of women,

“ Nevertheless,” I resumed, “ it was a book I should have valued as much as you do that one in tissue paper, and you ought not to have burned it.”

“ I am very sorry I did, Donald, since you would really have liked it,” she said, wistfully and sorrowfully. “ I should have thought of your feelings, and not of mine.”

This is a mood I cannot withstand. “ Dear heart,” I responded,“ I have you, and all the books in the world are not worth a breath in comparison. What favor do you want me to do ? ”

“To write a sort of last chapter — an ending, you know — telling about — about the rest.”

“ Have you forgotten it ? ”

“ I ? Never! I could n’t. But I want to have it all in the book, so that when Foster and Mai are older they can read it.”

“ I have no intention of sharing, even with our children, my under-the-rose idyl with the loveliest of girls. And when the children are older, they ’ll be far more interested in their own heart secrets than they are in ours.”

“ Still, dear,” she pleaded, “ they may hear from others some unkind and perverted allusions to our story ; for you know what foolish things were said at the time of our marriage.”

“ If I remember rightly, some one — was it my mother or Mr. Whitely ? ” —

“ Both,” she answered.

“ — spread it abroad that I had trapped an heiress into marriage by means of an alias.”

“ Was n’t it a delicious version ! ” she laughed merrily. “ But no matter what’s ever tattled in the future, if Foster and Mai have your journal, they will always understand it.”

“ Maizie,” I urged, “ if you let those imps of mischief read of our childish doings in this old library, they ’ll either finish painting the plates in Kingsborough or burn the house down in trying to realize an Inca of Peru at the stake.”

“ But I won’t read them those parts,” she promised ; “ especially if you write a nice ending, which they ’ll like.”

“ Won’t it do to add just a paragraph, saying that our fairy godmamma found and gave you the journal, and that then we ‘ lived happily ever after ’ ? ”

“ No, Donald.” she begged. “ I want the whole story, to match the rest.”

“ Five years ago I knew the saddest and most dejected of fellows, whose misery was so great that he wailed it out on paper. But now I know only the happiest of mortals, and he cannot write in the lugubrious tone of yore — unless a lady of his acquaintance will banish him from her presence or do something else equally joy-destroying.”

“ Are you trying to bribe me into giving you a rest from my presence for a time ? ”

“ Undoubtedly,” I assented. “ It’s a fearful strain to live up to you, and it is beginning to tell on me.”

“If I didn’t know you were teasing. I should really be hurt. But I should like to ask you one thing.”

“ And that is ? ”

“ In your journal — well — of course I know that you were — that I am not — that your love made you think me what i never was in the least, Donald,” she faltered, “but still, perhaps— Do you remember what Mr. Blodgett said ?

I hope you like my reality as much as your ideal.”

“Haven’t you changed your idea of me, Maizie ? ”

“ Oh yes.”

“ And therefore you don’t love me as much ? ”

“ But that’s different, Donald,” she observed seriously.

“ How ? ”

“ Why, you treated me so strangely that, inevitably, I did n’t know what you were like; and though you interested me very much, and though your journal brought back my old love for you, still, what I did was more in pity and admiration and reparation than — and so T could fall deeper in love. While you, being so much in love already, and with such a totally different woman ” —

“ Only went from bad to worse,” I groaned. “ Yes, I own up. I have done the worst thing a man can do. I have fallen in love with a married woman. And the strange thing about it is that you are not jealous of her! Indeed, I really believe that you are magnanimous enough to love her, too, though it’s natural you should not like her as much as you do some others. But next August I ’ll leave her and go to India to study for my new book.”

“ The married woman will go too,” she said calmly.

“I should n’t dare risk her among those hill tribes.”

“ And she won’t risk you where it is n’t safe for her to go.”

“ I was only thinking of your lovely complexion,” I explained.

“ Old mahogany is very fashionable,” she laughed.

“ Can nothing make you stay at home ? ”

I asked beseechingly.

“ I wonder if there ever was a husband who did not love to tease his wife ? ” “ The divorce courts have records of many such unloving wretches.”

“ What I want,” she told me, returning to her wish, “ is to have you take it up just where you left off. Tell about your pneumonia, and how Mrs. Blodgett found your journal, but did n’t dare give it to me till the doctor said you would recover ; and then tell of my sending you flowers and jellies and everything I could think of, by her, to help you get well. How ” —

“ I should have eaten twice as much and recovered much more quickly if she had only let me know from whom they really came,” I interjected.

“And tell how I wouldn’t listen to that scoundrel till you should have a chance to justify yourself ; how, the moment I had read your diary, I wrote and rejected him, and would not see him when he called ; how he would not accept his dismissal, but followed me to the country ; tell how dreadfully in the way he was that evening, till Mrs. Blodgett and Agnes and I trapped him into a game of whist ” —

“You Machiavellis ! ”

“ Tell all about my confession, and how we all spoiled you for those months at My Fancy. Oh, were n’t they lovely, Donald ? ”

“I thought so then.”

“But not now? ”

“A gooseberry is good till you taste a strawberry. There was a good deal too much gooseberry, as I remember.”

“ Then tell how the papers and people chattered about your assuming your true name ; and how they gabbled when we were married; and how, on our wedding day, we endowed the hospital ward ” —

“ Have n’t you made a slip in the pronoun ? ”

“ I 'll box your ears if you even suggest it again ; half of the money was what you earned — endowed the hospital ward in memory of our dear father, and how happy we’ve been since.”

“You’ve made a mistake in the last pronoun, I’m certain.”

“ You will write it to please me ? ”

“ Oh, Maizie, I can’t. It’s all too dear to me.”

“ Please, Don, try.”

“ But ” —

She interrupted my protest. “ Donald,” she said, the tenderness in her face and voice softening her words, “before knowing that I loved you, you insisted that debt must be paid. Won’t you pay me now, dear ? ”

“ I don’t owe you money, Maizie! ” I cried. “ I owe you everything, and I’m a brute to the most generous of women. Give me the book, dear heart.”

“You’ll make it nice, like the rest, won’t you ? ” she begged.

“ I ’ll try.” And then I laughingly added, “ Maizie, you still have the technical part of story-telling to learn.”

“ How ? ”

“ I can’t write all you wish and make it symmetrical. In the first place, we don’t, want to spend so much time on Whitely as to give him a fictitious value; and next, to be artistic, we must end with our good-night that evening.”

“ Well, that will do, if you ’ll only tell it nicely.”

And that, my dears, is why I write again of those old days, so distant NOW in time and mood. What is told here is shared with you only to please my love, and I ask of you that it shall be a confidence. And of Another I ask that each of you in time may find a love as strong as that told here; that each may be as true and noble as your mother, and as happy as your father.

Good-night, my children ; good-night, my love. May God be as good to you as he has been to me.

Paul Leicester Ford.