His Daughter First

XXIV.

MR. HEALD had chosen the Carleton as a place of residence because he objected to the inhospitable atmosphere of the apartment house whose entrance is distinguished by a self-acting elevator and a pneumatic tube. The Carleton possessed a generous hall with an obliging clerk behind its desk and a boy in buttons at the elevator. There was also a newspaper and flower stand in the corner, a quiet billiard-room and bar adjacent, and, beside the ticker, a mahogany inclosure, in which a young woman with a rose in her hair attended to telephone calls. Of most of these adjuncts Mr. Heald made no use, but he liked to have them around. He liked the greeting which awaited him when he entered the Carleton door. He liked the smile of the telephone girl and the bit of color in her hair. He liked the “Good-day, Mr. Heald,” from behind the desk, the folded paper when he came down to breakfast, and the extra energy born of hope in the legs of the bell-boy. All these indicated appreciation of his fees rather than of himself, but they imparted a home atmosphere to the place, and gave him a sense of proprietorship. They were his “comforts of home.”

He responded to none of these signs of affection, however, on returning from his interview with Jack. This was no unusual occurrence. He paid for civility in cash, and would certainly have lost consideration had he paid only in kind.

The clerk handed him some letters as he came in, and said that a gentleman had called twice that afternoon, leaving no name, and received a nod in reply. Going up to his room Mr. Heald threw open the window, and without even taking off his hat sat down before it, his hands in his pockets, his head thrown back, plunged in thought. The roar of the street came in from the window with the winter fog. It was a dark, dismal afternoon, and the lights of the city were beginning to tinge the heavy overhanging mist with a dull red glare. The events of the day filed before him as gloomy as the drifting fog. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred he would have succeeded. It was sheer hard luck, coupled with his own sentimental folly. Why could n’t he keep to business principles ? He ought to have sent Mrs. Kensett a check for five hundred dollars and interest, with a fitting acknowledgment of her husband’s loan. Instead of which he had chosen to pose in the rôle of benefactor, with the result that just at the turning of the tide Temple sent his damned expert to Arizona. It was always the way, — the incredible, the unexpected, the little stray fox that ate the vines.

Of the future he refused to think. What was the good of figuring up assets ? It all depended on Temple. If he set a decently fair price on the stock he was all right. If he was bound to exact the pound of flesh he was ruined. There was nothing to be gained by worrying over that now. He preferred to think of Mabel. He had made a fool of himself there too. The bitter kernel in these reflections was that though he had himself only to blame, the effects were out of all proportion to the causes. His transaction with Mrs. Kensett was founded on a generous impulse, and it was hounding him now like a cur! There were no words to express the folly of his entanglement with Helen, but he had really loved Mabel all the time! Perhaps he had not known it. He knew it now. He might have been a little more civil to her father in parting; he had nearly lost his temper —

Then he was conscious that some one was in the room. In the noise from the street he had not heard the door open, and he turned expecting to see his man. Instead he saw a slight figure standing in the middle of the floor, a white, haggard face, and a hand with something in it. In the failing light he could not distinguish what the hand held, but he recognized the boyish face of the day before, and knew instantly what was coming.

Simultaneously with the words “Take that, damn you! ” came a flash and a stinging sensation which was not pain, but which brought an “Ah! ” from his lips. Then he sprang forward and wrenched the smoking weapon from his assailant’s grasp.

He could have thrown the boy out of the window, but there was no need to do that. The desperate hate which had supplied the courage died with the act.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Heald? ”

The voice was the voice of a man bordering on collapse.

“ I have n’t you to thank if I am not! What the devil ” —

“You ’ve ruined me ” — the words ended in a hoarse whisper, and the eyes tried in vain to get away from the dripping hand.

Mr. Heald did not do what he thought he would have done under the circumstances.

“Pick up your hat,” he said.

The boy obeyed tremblingly.

“How much have you lost? ” There was no answer, and the question was repeated angrily. “Do you want me to give you a dose of your own medicine? If you don’t, do as I tell you. Open that drawer. Now bring that checkbook here.” He sat down at the desk by the window and took a pen in his unwounded hand. “Spread it open — that’s it. Now, will five thousand dollars make you whole ? will ten ? Why didn’t you say so at once,” he said, leaning on the open book and filling out the check. “You can fill in the name yourself. Now mind what I say. You get out of here quietly and cash that check the first thing in the morning, — and mind you don’t come sneaking around here to find out if I’m alive. If you do, I ’ll have you arrested for murder — see ? Leave your toy here, ” — his visitor made an effort to speak,— “and clear out, quick,” continued Mr. Heald; “I’m going to ring the bell and tell the doctor what an awkward hand I am with pistols. It ’s lucky for you the door was shut and the window open. Brace up now, ” he said, pushing the trembling figure before him with his steady gaze and following him up to the door.

He watched him down the corridor till he disappeared on the stairs, then closing the door went into his bedroom and rang the bell.

A few moments later he was explaining to the doctor how the accident happened. Fortunately he had shielded himself with his left hand, and his explanation was fairly plausible.

“I don’t quite see, Mr. Heald, how ” — the doctor was saying as he fastened the bandage after dressing the wound, when there was a knock at the door and a policeman entered, followed by the clerk.

“He’s given himself up, sir. The Inspector ’ll be here in a minute.”

The doctor looked at his patient and smiled.

“The damned idiot!” said Mr. Heald. “I thought he was only crazy, but he ’s a fool.”

It was thus that the evening “Extras ” contained a full account of the attempted murder of the well-known Wall Street operator, Mr. Reginald Heald, said to be a heavy loser by the recent fall in Argonaut shares, with lurid details of an imaginary character and as much of the hitherto unpublished family history of the interested parties as could readily be supplied at such short notice.

XXV.

Mrs. Frazer was greatly relieved to see Mabel come down to breakfast, the morning after their midnight conversation, with all the evidences of a refreshing sleep and a tranquil mind. She had enjoyed neither herself, and had surprised Dolly by marching into the breakfast-room with the assurance of an habitual early riser. Dolly’s second surprise came in the form of a kiss from Mabel, who was as usual the last to appear, and who, after stopping at Margaret’s chair to say good-morning, stooped to touch her lips to Dolly’s hair on her way to the vacant place beside Mrs. Frazer,— a place which the latter had managed to reserve for her. She had a way of coming into a room as the sun comes into the world, with a word and smile of general greeting, which each could accept as a personal communication. She seemed aware of the relief and approval depicted on Mrs. Frazer’s face, and still further increased that lady’s satisfaction by announcing that she was desperately hungry, adding in a low tone that she had been very silly the night before. Then she proposed to Margaret that they should ride over to the farm to see how the patient was getting on.

She came down in her riding-habit after breakfast was over, and went out to the stables with Margaret in seemingly high spirits. She won the respect of the groom by disdaining the chair which he brought and springing lightly from his hand to her seat. Margaret agreed with her that they needed no one to accompany them.

It was a beautiful day; the snow was melting in the warm sun, and there were people on the piazza as they rode down the avenue. Mabel waved her whip to them as she disappeared under the trees.

“Do you like people?” she asked Margaret.

“ Why yes, some people, ” said Margaret; “don’t you? ”

“ I mean most people, the people like the blocks of houses in New York, with eyes and noses like the doors and windows,— the people that only have numbers to distinguish them.”

Margaret laughed. “Perhaps it is well we do not all like the same ones, ” she said.

“ Shall we have a gallop ? Come ! ” cried Mabel.

But the snow was softening, and they reined in their horses before reaching the wood.

“ I love to ride, ” said Mabel, patting her horse’s neck; “I feel so free. People tie you hand and foot. I should like to ride on and on and on, —and never come back. We have lived so long in cages, though, I suppose we should tire even of freedom. Do we turn in here ? ”

They rode on side by side down the lane so dear to Margaret, where she had lost her lonely liberty for a sweeter bondage. The doctor’s sleigh was at the door, and the blanketed mare whinnied at their approach. Mr. Pearson came out at once, and called to Jim to take the horses. But Mabel refused to dismount.

“How is he? ” she asked.

“Waal,” said Mr. Pearson, “he’s doin’ well enough. I reckon he won’t chop no more trees. Trampin’ round the country won’t be no easy job neither.”

The doctor appeared in his shaggy fur coat, and confirmed Mr. Pearson’s statements.

“ I was thinking we might get up a subscription for a wooden leg, ” he said to Margaret.

Margaret promised to speak to Mrs. Kensett about it, and asked if there was anything needed.

While she was speaking Mrs. Pearson came to the door, bareheaded, in a checked apron, and after exchanging a word with Margaret stared at Mabel as if she had a load upon her mind which must be relieved.

“ Be you the young lady what helped the doctor ? My ! You don’t look like you ’d hurt a fly. Won’t you come in? He’d be dreadful glad to see you.”

“You go,” said Mabel to Margaret.

Margaret did not wish to, but yielded, thinking it would give pleasure.

“What would a leg cost?” asked Mabel of the doctor, who was turning his sleigh with Mr. Pearson’s help. He told her what he thought the expense would be.

“ Order him one, ” she said, as if she were ordering a box of her favorite chocolates at Maillard’s. “ I will see it is paid for,”

When Margaret rejoined her she proposed they should return through the village.

“It ’s nice not to have some one tagging at your heels,” she said, as they cantered up the lane to the main road.

“I thought you would be just the person to insist upon a groom.”

“Did you? One has to in town. Do you know all these people ? Every one we meet bows to you. ”

“Not all. But they all know me.”

“ I might live here a hundred years and not know one of them.”

“You know the Pearsons and one tramp already. ”

“So I do,” laughed Mabel. “I wonder if they really enjoy life, puttering about on their farms. ”

“It’s much less tiresome than some of the puttering about we have to do in society.”

“Oh, of course. But the life is so narrow, their interests so small. Still, I presume their babies and new dresses are of as much importance to them as ours are to us. Helen, you know, is ray baby,” she added.

“ I like Miss Gaunt very much, ” said Margaret warmly.

“ So do I. We all have a tender feeling for people that cannot walk alone. ”

“She seems to be making her own way in life.”

“I wonder if she could,” said Mabel meditatively, “if all the props were knocked away. ”

Margaret thought the remark a strange one, and, not understanding it, made no reply. She could not make out whether she liked Mabel or not. She could not refuse her a kind of admiration, but when ready to give more Mabel’s indifference chilled her. The moment she won a little affection she seemed to throw it deliberately away.

They rode home almost in silence. Mabel’s spirits had flagged perceptibly. At the gate they met Dorothy on her pony and a groom, who told them that every one had gone up to the sugar camp for luncheon, and that Mrs. Kensett had said that they were to join her there. She had left word to this effect in case they failed to meet on the way. Mabel made the excuse of letters to write and declined to go. Margaret knew the rule of the house, that one was to do as one pleased, and after a little polite insistence rode off with Dorothy. Ever since her mother’s remark that she saw nothing of what was going on about her she had endeavored to cultivate her powers of observation, with the result that she did not know whether it was observation or imagination that was at work. She concluded in this case that it was imagination. She had her own secret happiness and was not disposed to see trouble, and Dorothy’s gleeful mood matched her own better than Mabel’s did.

The latter had luncheon alone with Mrs. Frazer, whom she won anew by evincing great interest in solitaire and by extreme amiability toward Professor Fisher, who made a long call with his sister in the afternoon.

Helen had resolved to have her explanation with Mabel that morning. She went directly to Mabel’s room after dressing, relying upon Mabel’s late hours ; but the windows were wide open and Marie, who was struggling with the chaos of her mistress’s toilet, said she had gone down. She was not at the breakfast-table, but came in later from the piazza where Helen had certainly never dreamed of looking for her at that hour. After breakfast she had ridden off with Margaret to the farm, and did not put in an appearance at the sugar camp at all. There were the quiet hours after tea when every one was resting before dressing for dinner, and upon these Helen counted. When tea was brought to her room she said she would take hers with Miss Temple, and followed the servant with the tray to Mabel’s door.

Mabel was holding a reception. There were three or four girls with her, including Constance, and the furniture was strewn with costumes for the evening’s charades. Constance was pinning the drapery of the Foolish Virgin when Helen came in.

“You are a perfect genius, Constance,” Mabel was saying. “You ought to be a dressmaker.”

“I will if you will be my model,” said Constance, who was kneeling beside her before the pier-glass ; “ everything fits on you.”

“What do you think, Helen? ” asked Mabel, looking at herself in the mirror; “will that do? I must convert the Bishop.” She wore a gold band about her forehead, clasped under her hair, and had pressed a plain, old-fashioned bracelet of Mrs. Frazer’s into service as an armlet. “ Just enough jewelry to show my folly,” she said. Constance, still kneeling, surveyed her work critically.

“ You will make the wisest Wise Virgin imaginable, ” said Mabel, looking down upon her. “You are a perfect image of prudence and demureness. You must not look too sweet to-night or I shall kiss you. I should lose my case with the Bishop.”

Constance laughed, and the time slipped by in discussion and chatter which grated on Helen’s nerves. When the clock struck seven there was a hurried gathering up of costumes and accessories, a quarter of an hour of last words and suggestions, and then Mabel rang the bell for Marie.

“I want to speak to you,” began Helen, who had lingered behind.

“Well — speak,” said Mabel, ringing the bell again impatiently.

“ Will you let Marie wait a few minutes, Mabel? There is time enough.”

Mabel turned.

“ Do you mean you have something — particular — to say ? ”

“Yes.”

“Can’t you wait till to-morrow? You know I am the Foolish Virgin tonight. You couldn’t get a drop of wisdom out of me.”

Helen summoned up all her resolution.

“ I am not going to be treated in this way. I don’t know what I have done, but if I cannot have either your love or your courtesy you cannot have my society.”

She had gone too far. She had intended to soothe, not aggravate. Indignation at what she considered Mabel’s flippancy had carried her away.

Mabel looked at her in astonishment. “It has got to come,” she thought. But she was not ready. Would she ever be ready ?

“Cannot you wait till to-morrow? ” — herself waiting for the sound of Marie’s footsteps. “ We will have our breakfast here together. It will be quiet, and there will be plenty of time, — there ’s hardly enough to dress now. I have something to say to you too. ”

She saw instantly the effect produced by this last declaration, and in this she was not mistaken. Helen had expected one of Mabel’s sudden alternations of mood, —an explanation, she hardly knew in what form, — ending in reconciliation. She had resolved it should not be too easy, and had had a vision of a penitent Mabel, confessing that she was too old and too reasonable to act like a petulant child. The Mabel she saw was calmer and more in earnest than she was herself, and her quiet announcement that she also had something to say frightened her. Her father used to send for her as a little girl with the same message of mysterious import, and she felt now as she did then when she went trembling to his door wondering what that awful “ something ” could be.

“How many times must I ring, Marie, before you deign to answer the bell? ”

Marie had run all the way upstairs, but knew the laws of mechanics too well to attempt the repression of escaping steam. Experience had taught her that a fit of generosity generally followed an explosion of this sort, and that meekness was better than explanations. She had also observed the signs of an unusual storm, and had the wit to see that her insignificant self was not the cause of it. She therefore closed the door softly after Helen and went about her duties in silence.

The evening’s entertainment was a great success. There was an amusing French monologue by the attaché, with charades and tableaux, the audience being increased by a large delegation from Lemington. Paul came up from New York by the last train, and entered just as Margaret sat down before the piano at Mabel’s request for an impromptu closing dance, — the Virginia reel. Mabel caught the secret glance of intelligence which passed between Paul aud Margaret and interpreted it correctly. She was in her best mood, sensitive as the most delicate instrument in a physical laboratory to everything about her; but the Bishop touched the wrong chord when, bidding her good-night, he said, with a playful smile and admonishing shake of the head, “You made sin very attractive.”

She blazed up at once.

“There isn’t enough blood in my veins for two,” she replied, “but I would give the last drop — for one I loved.” The sentence began in deadly earnest, and ended in such an uncertain mixture of seriousness and mockery that the Bishop could not choose between them.

After a function of any description Mrs. Frazer liked to talk things over, and with Paul and Margaret was waiting for Dolly to finish her last words with her scattering guests, when Mabel joined them as though she were one of the family and privileged to remain.

“Did you see Mr. Heald to-day? ” asked Dolly, coming up. “ He said he would write.”

Helen was saying good-night, but the question made her linger, ostensibly for Mabel, as was natural.

“Yes,” said Paul. “I met him by chance down town.”

“When is he coming back? ”

“I don’t think he will come back at all.”

Helen listened intently.

“I am glad of it! ” exclaimed Mrs. Frazer, “I cannot tolerate him.”

“ Why Laurinda! ” said Dolly reproachfully; “you should not speak so of my guests.”

“You need not defend him,” interposed Mabel. “I am responsible for him. I asked you to invite him.”

“ He needs no defense here, ” said Dolly, with dignity. “ Mrs. Frazer does not mean what she says.”

“ I should be willing to put my opinion to vote,” persisted Mrs. Frazer.

Paul set his foot on the threatening blaze by saying that the weather in New York was detestable, and that he was glad to get back from fog to sunshine. Then Helen withdrew and was presently followed by Mabel, and Paul had at last the opportunity to tell his news.

“ No one knows, ” he said in finishing, “what Jack has made out of this, — millions, perhaps. As for Heald, Mrs. Frazer, I rather agreed with you this morning. But he’s not such a bad fellow after all. He’s in luck to have Jack Temple instead of you to deal with at any rate.”

He did not feel at liberty to relate his conversation with Mr. Heald, but to Margaret, after the others were gone, he told the whole story.

Helen went to her room with bitterness in her heart. He was not coming back at all. And he had not said or written a single word.

In the happiness of his first approaches she had felt that new joy of being sought for, which came into her lonely life, telling her that it had been lonelier than she knew, lifting her out of nothingness into the consciousness that she was worth seeking. Happiness had almost passed her by. It were a thousand times better it had never found her if it were to forsake her now. She tried hard not to doubt it, to silence her misgivings, but she kept stealing back to it in thought, as a mother steals to the cradle of her sick child to search its face for reassuring signs, and when she went to bed she held it in the shelter of her arms.

Was it doomed to die? What, after all, had he said or done ? He did not love Mabel, — that he had said. And Mabel had said she would be delighted if he asked her — Helen — to marry him. At the time this had given her unfeigned happiness. It gave her none now. He had not asked her. The thought that Mabel should ever know that choked her. Why had she allowed Mabel to get even a glimpse of her heart so soon ? And why had she trifled with fortune when it looked her way? Because she was not sure of herself, because it was so sudden, because the infinite greatness of Love when she looked into its face frightened her, and, worst of all, because she was not sure of him. No one seemed to like him thoroughly. Would that make any difference if she really loved him ? She remembered one of her school friends who had been years making up her mind, who declared she never had made it up herself, that it had been made up for her when her lover caught her in his arms. All became clear then, and the marriage had been a very happy one. Was that the story of all women ? It was not the picture she had drawn. It was the right and glory of a woman to love as wholly, as consciously, as the man who wooed her. Why then had she run away that day in the picture-gallery ? She had told him she hated him. She tried to feel that had been a grievous fault. Why had she said so? It was not true. Why had she put him off afterwards ? Every barrier between them she had set up herself. Yet in the depth of her heart she knew all this was miserable subterfuge. If he really loved her he would have broken every barrier down. She had wanted nothing less than to feel the arms about her, even when she turned her back and walked away. And they had not come.

A hundred times before she fell asleep she was on the point of lighting her candle and writing him a letter. She wrote it and re-wrote it in thought, always the same, a single word: Come. But he had left her without a word, without a sign a waiting woman might read; and as she went over and over all that had passed between them since their meeting in the Academy, the foolish raillery which had been so sweet in the anticipation of what was to come seemed foolish indeed, and her poor little romance grew more and more threadbare and insincere.

The truth was, and she knew it, she was afraid — afraid of him. She was willing to be a little afraid of the man she loved, but her fear was the fear of mistrust, — a fatal fear for love. Perhaps it was not love of him, but of independence ; the longing to escape from the single-handed struggle with the world and the dread of falling back from ease and luxury into the little miseries of life. How willingly she would have undergone the supreme test, the embrace of the loving arms that should wake her out of this nightmare of doubt with their final Yes or No.

Then, not knowing whether she had been dreaming or asleep, she heard a voice calling: —

“Helen, Helen, are you awake? ”

XXVI.

There was a portion of the daily mail of Cedar Hill which did not commonly penetrate beyond the precincts of the servants’ dining-room, for which Dolly had generously provided a sum devoted to the gratification of its literary tastes. It consisted chiefly of publications given up to the record of social events, descriptions of the mode of life and manner of dressing of sovereigns and other distinguished personages, rules for correct behavior in polite society, reproductions of the physical attractions of the stage, and advice suited to a variety of delicate or difficult situations in life.

On this particular morning, however, interest in these things was overshadowed by the lurid account in an evening paper of the tragedy at the Carleton. It was not an altogether correct version. Had it been so it would have failed of its mission, which was, incidentally, to produce the greatest possible effect upon the appetite for news, and thus, ultimately, upon the office receipts. The butler read it aloud in solemn tones to an awestruck audience before the house was astir, and Marie had placed it on the tray with other less interesting mail matter to await the signal for which, for once in her life, she impatiently listened. To her relief it came earlier than usual.

“Something dreadful’s happened, Miss Mabel,” she said, while yet feeling her way to the table in the darkened room. “They’ve shot Mr. Heald.”

Mabel sat up in bed, scarcely comprehending what she heard.

When she fell asleep she was as far as ever from being ready. She had slept soundly, without a dream, as men will on the eve of execution, and had waked suddenly, every sense wide open, as far from being ready as when she dropped into her leaden sleep. She had had moments of self-delusion, as men will have who are doomed to die, when she could almost persuade herself that it was all a nightmare, that Helen had really nothing important to say, and that when she rang her bell Marie would come and open the shutters to the light and happiness of her old, every-day life. Then she fell back into the darkness of reality, groping feverishly for the door which she could not find, lying very still the while, as a man bound fast hand and foot must lie, though he wrestles in mind with the suffocation and oppression of his helplessness. Then, as men will do who must move forward into the unknown whether they wish to or not, she rang the bell in sheer exhaustion — to end it all.

“They ’ve shot Mr. Heald! ” It was not the door she had been groping for. It was the unexpected, undreamed of door. Marie’s announcement was a lightning flash, but its import came slowly, gathering force little by little, as the following thunder does.

“ Open the blinds, Marie, ” — she said it from force of habit, — “and put the tray here, on the bed. Now you may go.” She saw the paper, but she would not touch it till she was alone. “Is Helen awake?”

Marie said no one was up yet. It was only seven o’clock. Should she get the bath ready ?

“No.”

It was the no of dismissal, and Marie reluctantly withdrew.

“Awful tragedy at the Carleton. Mr. Reginald Heald, the well-known Wall Street operator, assaulted by a victim of the Argonaut deal. Condition serious, but not desperate. The would-be assassin surrenders himself. Revenge said to be the motive. Suspicious check found on his person. The mystery being probed by our special reporter, ” — and so it went on in leaded type for several columns.

The details were nothing to Mabel. There was only one fact for her, — this was the man she loved. And all the rights and privileges of love became instantly hers. There was no other love besides hers in the world. She got up, holding the paper tightly in her hand, slipped into her dressing-gown, and went to Helen’s door: —

“ Helen, Helen, are you awake ? ”

Without waiting for an answer she drew back the curtain from the window and let in the gray morning light.

“ Is that you, Mabel ? What is the matter? ”

For answer Mabel put the paper into Helen’s hand and sat down on the edge of the bed, possessed by one thought only, — this was the woman in the way. She had stood so long between the two impossibilities of self-effacement and self-assertion that any door, though it opened upon another agony, was a relief.

She watched Helen’s face breathlessly. There was a scared look in her eyes. Was it possible they saw no opportunity ? Were they blind, or dead ? And instantly, out of the night in her heart, something, which was not yet hope, shone like a light glimmering far away in the darkness. It was all she could do to keep it out of sight, out of her own eyes, hidden, where it burned in the depth of her heart.

“Helen, Helen,” she said, “do you love him enough to go to him ? ”

All her soul was in the question and all her fate in its answer.

“ Helen, dear, ” she repeated, bending over the head buried in the pillow, and laying her hand on the shoulders shaken with sobs, “ that is your place.”

“ My place, ” cried Helen, — her face was hidden from sight, — “oh no — no — it was never mine. ”

“ Do you mean ” — The words died on her lips.

“ He never loved me — it was all a lie, a cruel lie ” — the words came fast with her tears — “a cruel, cruel lie.”

There was silence.

“And you? ” It was almost a whisper.

Helen raised herself with a sudden energy. The question almost stopped the tears.

“I should hate him if he were not dying.”

“He is not dying,” said Mabel gently. Not all the newspapers in the world could make her believe that. She was growing calmer. The light in her heart burned stronger and steadier. But she made one more effort to put it out.

“Helen dear, Helen, you may be wrong. It would be terrible now — when he is in trouble — is there no pity, no forgiveness, in your heart ? ” She took the swaying figure to her breast and hid the light in her own eyes in Helen’s hair.

“ It might have been once — it is too late — it is dead — he has killed it — killed it! Oh, why was it ever born! ” She held her stricken Love in her arms as a mother holds her dead child.

“ But Helen, nothing is too late for love ” — she was speaking wildly, but she went steadily on. “It costs nothing to forgive the man you love — it’s joy ” —

Helen freed herself from the encircling arms and looked into Mabel’s eyes. Her own were dry now.

“ Do you mean you would throw yourself into the arms of a man who had mocked you — insulted you ? ”

“Yes.”

“ Who had — I don’t know what he has done — but who has done enough to drive his victim to murder ? ”

“Yes.”

“Mabel, you love him.”

“ I refused him — once.”

“And now ? ”

“If you do not go to him, I shall.”

“Does he love you? ”

“Yes.”

“He has told you so — again? ”

“Yes.”

“ Here, since we came ? ” The last poor remnant of her romance was shriveling up like a bit of paper in the flames.

“Yes, I refused him again.”

“ For my sake ? ”

“No, for my own.”

“ Then he has always loved you, ” she said slowly.

“ I do not ask, ” said Mabel in a low voice. She was thinking of what might have happened if she had never invited him to Cedar Hill, or warned him in the train not to play with Helen.

“And you think I could love a man who played fast and loose with two women, who ” —

“Take care, Helen! ” But she repressed the rush of feeling and humbled herself again. “ Remember, I have been loyal to him and to you.”

“ Go — go ” — It was the cry of the heart that wants to be alone.

Mabel rose from the bedside and went slowly to the door. Her fingers were on the handle before she turned.

“If I go out of your room now — so, ” — her voice began to quiver, then steadied again, — “I go out of your life. Is that what you wish? ”

Helen sprang from the bed and caught her in her arms.

“ No, oh no ! but go — go. ” And then the door was shut and Mabel was alone.

She knew it was better so, that she had no words of healing to give. Her mind was fixed already on other things. She went down the long hall resolutely till she came to Mrs. Frazer’s door, knocked, and without waiting for an answer went in.

Mrs. Frazer was still in bed; her breakfast, untouched, was on the table beside her. The open paper which fell from her hand as Mabel entered explained why. One glance at her visitor’s white face was sufficient to tell her that the shot fired in New York had struck two.

“Will you do something for me?” said Mabel.

“What is it, dear? ” said Mrs. Frazer, forgetting even that her wig was on the dressing-table.

“ I want you to go to New York with me.”

“To New York! ” gasped Mrs. Frazer.

“There is a train at nine o’clock.”

“ But my dear child ” —

“ If you will not come with me I shall go alone.”

Mrs. Frazer glanced at the clock ticking on the table. Questions were needless and expostulations vain — that was clear.

“ I do not want to see any one. You can tell Mrs. Kensett,” said Mabel.

“ You realize that every one will know ? ”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Frazer took one of the cold white hands and pressed it gently.

“Ring my bell,” she said quietly. “ I will meet you on the piazza in half an hour.”

“ I shall be at the gate, ” said Mabel simply. Her gratitude was in her eyes.

Three quarters of an hour later they were driving through the morning mist to the Westford station.

There was one item in Mabel’s account with Mrs. Frazer for services rendered which was never set down, and whose magnitude she never appreciated : the work accomplished in the half hour before they started for New York. “I did not dress,” Mrs. Frazer used to say in relating the events of the day, “I was harnessed. I hope the Lord will forgive me for the things left undone. It worries me now to think of them. But dear me! nothing is important in itself, not even the getting on of one’s wig straight.”

She had sent for Dolly at once, and in such gaps as her toilet allowed had explained the situation, and made some suggestions. They were suggestions in form, but in fact were decrees of law. Dolly was overpowered by the rush of events and the number of her instructions. She was to order the sleigh at once. She was to get from Paul the receipt Jack had signed for Mr. Heald, — it might prove useful. She was to say anything she pleased in explanation of Mabel’s departure, — it did not matter much what she said, — and she was to accept the slightest intimation on the part of her guests that the house party should come to an end, — she was to intimate it herself if necessary. She was to see that Marie packed Mabel’s trunks and went to New York that afternoon, — for Mabel, of course, could not return. Above all, she was to keep out of the way. In addition to all this she was constantly called upon to assist Mrs. Frazer’s maid, a silent, middleaged woman, incapable of doing in the half of one hour what had always required two. The purse was in the back corner of the upper drawer; the flask of whiskey was vaguely indicated as “ somewhere in the closet; ” there were her smelling salts, and handkerchief, and spectacles, — the lorgnette could not be found, being on the bed under the newspaper,— and at last Mrs. Frazer, wrapped in her cloak, marched down the stairs. As she got into the sleigh waiting for her she laid her hand impressively on Dolly’s arm, and said: —

“To think that of all this we saw nothing! ”

There was a slim figure in a dark gray dress at the gate. Not a word was said as they drove down the Westford road, except once when Mabel asked if there was plenty of time. The night express was an hour late. It was the long weary hour with which Fate sometimes mocks us, when the wheels of Time stand still at the wrong moment. Mrs. Frazer said it was the longest hour of her life. She looked up the track to where it curved out of sight, as if looking would bring the belated train; and then they walked up and down, up and down the platform, white with the night’s frost, till the cold drove them into the dismal room again and its close hot air drove them back into the cold. At last the welcome roar came down the valley, the mighty engine panted in, and the engineer in his cab, seeing a white face staring into his as he went by, thought of wife and children at home, and said to himself that if the signals showed a clear track he could make up half his lost time.

At the Grand Central Station Mabel led the way. Almost anything became her, but Mrs. Frazer thought she had never seen her so beautiful in spite of the paleness and dark-circled eyes — or so faultlessly dressed. And being a woman, she sighed and wished she was young.

The boy with the morning papers had passed through the car before they reached New York. Either Mabel had not seen him, or did not dare to. She sat still, her gaze fixed on the flying landscape, one hand fast in Mrs. Frazer’s under her cloak, repeating to herself, “ If the need came to me, would any barrier keep you away ? ”

“ The Carleton, ” she said, as they got into the coupé.

Mrs. Frazer stood in no great awe of the proprieties. She had scoffed at the conventional all her life. Still, as the coupé rolled on, she began to think what was to be done. She concluded to cross no bridges till she came to them, and to do as far as possible what Mabel wished. They stopped at the ladies’ entrance, and a hall-boy came to the carriage door as they drove up, looking, as all the rest of the world did, as if nothing had happened.

“Show us to Mr. Heald’s room,” said Mabel.

The boy’s face betrayed immediate interest and hesitation.

“Do you hear what I say?” said Mrs. Frazer, who had said nothing. “Show us to Mr. Heald’s room.”

The doctor ’s up there, ” replied the boy confusedly.

“ So much the better, ” said Mrs. Frazer tranquilly. She had taken command again.

“This is his parlor, ” said the boy after they had left the elevator and traversed the long hall. “Who shall I say ” —

Mrs. Frazer waved him aside and opened the door. The emergency doctor, summoned in haste the night before, seeing a woman enter so unceremoniously, jumped at the probable.

“Mrs. Heald, I presume,” he said, advancing from the inner room.

“ I am for the present, ” said Laurinda.

“ He will be glad to see you, — I was not aware ” — He was beginning to grasp the strangeness of the reply.

“ Then I may go in ? ”

“Certainly. I am happy to say ” —

Mrs. Frazer turned to Mabel. “Go, dear,” she said softly.

Mabel’s resolution had vanished. He was alive. She had heard the reassuring words. Her heart was beating so cruelly that she could not move.

“Go, dear, go.”

Then she went in, and Mrs. Frazer closed the door behind her and shut out the world.

“It was an ugly wound,” explained the doctor, “but nothing dangerous. A man does the right thing instinctively. He put out his hand. That probably saved his life, Mrs. Heald.”

“I am not Mrs. Heald,” said Laurinda sharply, “I am Mrs. Frazer.” The doctor smiled discreetly. The smile irritated Mrs. Frazer, and she went on tartly. “ The young lady ” — she motioned to the closed door — “is Miss Temple.”

“Yes, yes, I know her father.”

“Very likely, Mr.” —

“Drummond,” said the doctor.

— “Mr. Drummond, and you will know nothing of what I tell you till I authorize you. Have you a nurse here ? ”

“She is at breakfast, Mrs. Frazer.”

“Very good, I will remain till she returns. Meanwhile will you have the kindness to send this card to Mr. John Temple of Gramercy Park. The coupé at the door is mine.” She took a card from her chatelaine bag, wrote a few words in pencil, and inclosed it in an envelope from the desk by the window. “ You have no directions to leave before you go? ” she asked.

“None. You may count upon my discretion, ”

“There is no discretion needed,” said Mrs. Frazer, unbending. “ It is quite sufficient that I am dealing with a gentleman.”

The doctor bowed and withdrew. Mrs. Frazer followed him to the door and rang the bell.

“ Bring me some breakfast, ” she said to the waiter; “a bit of broiled steak and some coffee, and a baked apple, with cream. Is there a telephone in the house ? Well — send for Mr. Temple’s carriage —of Gramercy Park.”

She was taking off her cloak and arranging her wig before the mirror above the fireplace when the door opened and shut, a pair of arms were flung about her neck, and a face sobbing with joy was on her breast.

“He wants to speak to you,” said Mabel. “I must see papa at once.”

“Now listen to me, child. Have you eaten anything this morning? ”

“No.”

“ I thought not. You cannot subsist on air or happiness.”

“But I must see papa at once. It is absolutely necessary.”

“You will eat first. I have ordered something for you, and I have telephoned for your carriage. Here is the breakfast now. The carriage will be here before you have finished. It’s not proper for you to be driving about alone in a cab.”

“I cannot eat here,” said Mabel. “What do you think papa will say? ” She was excited, eager to go. “You think of everything. Oh, how good you have been to me! ”

“I haven’t the least idea what he will say, ” Mrs. Frazer said, moving toward the door. “I have known people to be very nasty under such circumstances. I left word with Marie to come down this afternoon. I shall get you home and return by the three o’clock train. Sit down now and eat your breakfast like a sensible girl.” Then she went in.

Mr. Heald was sitting in a chair by the window, his bandaged arm in a sling.

“ I want to thank you for your kindness to Mabel, Mrs. Frazer,” he said, making an effort to rise.

She waved him back and sat down. “One does what one can with a runaway horse, Mr. Heald.”

“She is a noble girl, —it is more than I deserve.”

“ I have heard that remark from men before,” said Mrs. Frazer freezingly. “ You seem to have succeeded in making her over; perhaps she may do the same for you. I shall take her to her father, and then wash my hands of the whole business.”

Mr. Heald smiled. “You have been very good,” he said, “but I have one more thing to ask of you. I have some business to settle with Mr. Temple of which I have said nothing to Mabel. If he would be so good as to come here before he sees his daughter, — do you think you could arrange that ? I must see him before she does. It is a question of honor.”

“ I know all about it, ” said Laurinda, enjoying the stupefaction which spread over his face. “Mr. Graham has been made referee. He told me so last night.”

“ You seem to know everything, Mrs. Frazer.”

“On the contrary, ” she replied grimly; “so much has gone on under my eyes which I never suspected that I believe I am in my dotage.”

“But I must see Mr. Temple,” he repeated earnestly. “You would be the first to say so if you knew all.”

“ Why ? Mr. Graham has his instructions from Mr. Temple. Would you like to look at them ? ” She took a paper from her bag and handed it to him.

He read it slowly, twice.

“My God! ” he exclaimed, “I can’t accept that, — it is impossible.”

“ You won’t get any better terms out of John Temple,” said Mrs. Frazer. “ Moreover you are not in a position to exact them.”

He passed his unwounded hand over his forehead in a dazed sort of way.

“ Will you call Miss Temple, please. ”

Mrs. Frazer went to the door.

“Mercy! ” she cried, “the child’s gone! ”

XXVII.

Jack was sitting at the head of the long table in the directors’ room on the first floor when Mrs. Frazer’s message was brought in from the office. The word urgent was a familiar superscription, generally indicating something of more importance to the writer than to the reader, and he twirled the envelope between his thumb and forefinger till the speaker, who was stating his views on the reorganization scheme before the Board, had finished; then, while talking with his nearest neighbor, he took up his heavy scissors and cut the edge. Mrs. Frazer’s card fell out.

“Mabel is here. I have done what I could. You had best come and attend to the rest yourself.”

It was not a very explicit message. It was not intended to be. It was hopeless to attempt an explanation on a visiting card, it was considerate not to excite undue alarm, yet it was imperative to excite enough to tear Mr. Temple away from less important business.

Jack’s mind reviewed all the possibilities and settled upon illness as the most probable. Mabel was a nervous, high-strung girl, always well to be sure, but certainly not used to surgical operations. Something serious it must be to make her abandon a house party at Cedar Hill. Yet the tenor of the message as he re-read it did not exactly fit the illness theory, and there was no address. “Here” must mean home, he thought.

He asked permission to state his views on the question before the Board, expressed his approval of the plan submitted by the Committee, suggested an adjournment in case of any divergence of opinion, requested the Vice President to take the chair, and excused himself on the ground of an unexpected and pressing private call. He went upstairs with Mrs. Frazer’s card in his hand, preoccupied and uneasy, less and less satisfied with his first conjecture. Mabel had never justified the anxiety with which he had watched her development. As he had said to the Bishop in all sincerity, she had been a good girl. She had often threatened to be what she never was and to do what she never did, and he remembered with satisfaction that she had always stopped short of precipices with a surprising display of prudence and sense of responsibility. Still, he would have felt less concern if he were dealing with a boy. He knew what boys might do, — but a woman!

He left word for Mr. Brown that he could not see him that afternoon about the superintendency of the Argonaut mine, and would arrange for an interview later. Then he glanced over a litter of papers and documents on his desk, closed the rolling top, and was putting on his coat when the door opened and shut quickly and a pair of arms were flung about his neck. It was a moment before he could disengage himself, a moment in which he realized that it was not illness, but the other thing — whatever that might be. No, she was not ill, she was ominously well.

“ Mabel! ” he said, half-suffocated, “what is it? What brings you back? ”

She was sitting now, not in the visitor’s chair, but in his own, radiant with everything foreign to “down town.” He loved her, he was proud of her, — he could not help it.

“Take off your coat, papa. I have lots to tell you.”

Jack hung up his coat and sat down in the visitor’s chair.

“First — do you love me?" She was on his knees now, looking into his eyes.

He admitted that he did. “But what does this mean, Mabel? ” he said, halfway between sternness and relentment.

“It means this, papa: I am going to be married.” And then came the real surprise. Mabel, who was never silly or hysterical, burst into tears. “ I want you to be pleased, papa, ” — and that was all she could say.

Jack’s face had relaxed. So she wanted to be married! Was that all? He did not believe in interfering with affairs of the heart. He knew that when men try to dam the waters of love they are generally swept away. He kissed the tear-stained face and irretrievably committed himself to this view by saying he was pleased. At the same time with the relief came a disturbing sense of helplessness. His child was never so near or so dear to him, yet he was abdicating. Who was taking his place ? He realized the enormous difference between theory and practice when Mabel first pronounced Mr. Heald’s name. It was impossible to conceal the fact that this was not the man he would have chosen. Mabel could read that in his silence and in the shadow of disappointment on his face. But nothing daunts love at the flood.

“ Papa dear, it had to be — I could not help it ” — and then, between tears and kisses, she told him all she chose to tell. He listened patiently, sympathetically, more helpless than ever before the confidence and serenity of love. She could not help it — nor he ! It was all settled, fixed, consummated. She made that clear, not arrogantly, but with sweet conviction. It had to be ! He was thinking meanwhile that after all the Argonaut mine was not likely to change hands.

“But Mabel,” he said, at the first pause, “why should you come to New York in this way ? Could you not wait — did not Mrs. Frazer ” —

“Papa dear, you mustn’t try to understand everything.” She was quite calm now. “ Can you explain every single thing you do?” Jack’s thoughts went back into the past. No, he certainly could not do that. “Mrs. Frazer has been very good to me. I think I love her next to you.” She looked up suddenly into his face. “I want you to do something for me — promise me you will — without asking what it is — will you, will you ? ”

“I suppose I must promise you anything to-day, Mabel.”

“Would you go and thank her for me? She is to take the three o’clock train for Westford. She ought not to go alone, do you think so? Is there anything to prevent you from going with her? You might bring back Marie, you know, — and explain to Mrs. Kensett, ” — she paused, then added, “I would rather be alone to-day.”

Jack took out his watch. “ There is n’t much time,” he said.

“There is time enough, papa. You can telephone to the house and have your things sent to the train. You can’t get back to-night, you know.”

“You think it would gratify Mrs. Frazer? ”

“It would gratify me, papa, to have your open approval — at once — with every one.”

That seemed reasonable. His finger was on the bell and he was about to ring, when Mabel spoke.

“Wait a moment, papa; I have another reason. I have quarreled with Helen.”

“ Quarreled with Helen! ” It was a day of surprises. He turned, waiting for her to explain. She had gone to the window, the window out of which he had so often looked away from care into another world, and was silently putting on her gloves. “I hope you are not to blame, Mabel.”

“ I am not solely to blame.”

“ Do you wish me to take her any message? ”

“No.”

He was completely at a loss to understand. “ If you are to blame at all, Mabel, wouldn’t that be better — before she comes back? ”

“She will never come back.”

“ What! ” said Jack sharply. “ Never come back? ”

She turned now, and he saw there were tears in her eyes again.

“I cannot explain, papa. You must not ask. If there is any explanation to be made she will make it. But she never will.” The logic was hard to follow. “I thought you ought to know before you saw her. She will probably wish to go home.” He went over and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t ask me any questions, please, papa, ” she said, forestalling the one on his lips. “ She will not come back. I would not if I were in her place.”

“You cannot tell me what this means ? ”

“No. She would not wish me to.” How mercifully dull men were!

He could make nothing out of it. He took a turn across the room and came back again.

“You must be acting hastily, Mabel. Helen has been a faithful companion and friend to you.”

“Yes, but it is finished. She will tell you in her own way. I should have left her to speak, to make her own explanation, as is her right, but I was afraid you would offer her money.”

He was more bewildered than ever. “Money? I should certainly never allow her to leave us without some acknowledgment of my appreciation of her services. You would wish that too, Mabel.”

“Yes, I could wish it — but you must not dare — all the money in the world ” — she stopped short. “ Papa, you must go, or you will be too late for the train. Some day,” she said, as she kissed him good-by at the door, “I will tell you — not now. It is her secret, not mine.”

Jack pondered without result over the matter all the way up town. His man with his bag caught him as the train was moving out. He walked through the cars in search of Mrs. Frazer, and found her sitting wrapped in her cloak, with her back to every one in the car.

“Well”—he said, dropping into the chair beside her. She did not seem surprised to see him, and made no reply at once. She was in the stage of reaction, not altogether sure whether she approved of herself and the world in general or not.

“ John, ” she said at length piteously, “ I knew no more of what was going on than a blind puppy.” Then she proceeded to tell him her story, in which were certain particulars Mabel had omitted from hers.

“ You did quite right, ” he said soothingly. “There was nothing else to be done. ”

“Nothing,” said Mrs. Frazer emphatically. “ We did not know but the man was dead. She would certainly have gone without me.”

“ I think she would, ” assented Jack. “I am very grateful to you, and you may be sure Mabel is, ” he added warmly. “It was she who insisted upon my going back with you.” Mrs. Frazer’s mouth opened with attentive surprise. “ You may feel assured of that, ” Jack continued; “her heart is sound.”

There was a long silence during which something seemed to be slowly taking shape in Mrs. Frazer’s mind.

“ I think it will be best to send a telegram to Dolly, to let her know we are coming,” she said at length.

Jack called the porter.

“Bring me a telegraph blank, ” interposed Mrs. Frazer. She took a pencil from her bag and wrote the message herself.

“John and I arrive by three o’clock train.”

Her pencil hesitated at this point and she looked out of the window before resuming.

“Don’t be a goose. We have made no mistakes.

LAURINDA. ”

Then she folded the blank and gave it to the porter.

Dolly received it about five o’clock, as the depleted household was gathering around the tea-table. It had been an exciting day for Dolly, and although the machinery of Cedar Hill ran on with its accustomed smoothness, she was tired, and glad to be alone. It had not been necessary to intimate her preferences. Amusement being the raison d’être for the convocation, when amusement was not to be thought of its dispersion became a matter of course. Mabel’s abrupt departure was a subject of subdued comment, but was tacitly left in the background of silence. Dolly was never ready with off-hand or specious explanations, designed for smoothing over rough places or veiling what could not be concealed. She would have been glad to shield Mabel if she had known exactly what to shield her from, but she did not. Beyond some discreet expressions of surprise, no one increased her difficulties by awkward questions.

Before tea-time every one had gone except Helen, who, as Dolly explained to Margaret and Paul, was very naturally much distressed by Mabel’s conduct. Dolly was not devoid of curiosity or interest, and after the sleigh disappeared with Mrs. Frazer under the trees of the avenue she had gone to Helen ’s room for further light and information. But Helen was evidently as completely taken by surprise as she was herself. She was so much older than Mabel, and took so much more serious a view of life and of her responsibilities that Dolly quite pitied her. She told her very sweetly, in her effort to comfort, that she had no reason to blame herself, and that she was sure Mr. Temple would not hold her accountable for anything which had happened. She advised her not to worry, — as one always advises those who do, —and opposed with all the arguments at her command Helen’s decision to make a visit to her home in Boston. If she did not feel like going to Gramercy Park, the next best thing to do was to stay quietly at Cedar Hill till she heard from Mr. Temple. Dolly was always hopeful, and did her best to persuade that all would end well. But Helen seemed benumbed by what Dolly thought an altogether exaggerated idea of her responsibility. She wanted to go to Boston, and she wanted to go at once. Poor Helen! it was her one refuge, — and how she dreaded it!

Paul was called upon to consult the time-tables. It was found impossible to reach Boston without passing a night on the way. There was nothing to do but to wait till the following morning.

“ I don’t see, ” Dolly was saying as she poured the tea, “why Helen should feel so terribly cut up. She is not in the least to blame. How could she know anything? I have tried to induce her to wait at least till Laurinda comes back. There may be nothing to blame any way. But she has been so close to Mabel for so long a time that I suppose ” — and Dolly left her sentence unfinished, as her wont was.

“Isn’t she coming down to tea?” asked Paul.

“No. She is to have her dinner in her room. She has been helping Marie with Mabel’s packing all the morning, and says she is tired.”

Mrs. Frazer’s telegram was brought in while Dolly was speaking.

“ Mr. Temple ” — she could not read it “John ” as it was written— “' and I arrive by three o’clock train ’ ” — Then she stopped short.

“ Is that all ? ” said Paul. “ She is not very explicit, is she.”

Dolly thought she was explicit enough. Her heart was beating furiously. She said she would go and see if Helen had had her tea. Instead of which she went directly to her own room, locked and bolted the door, sat down before the mirror over her dressing-table, and took one long look at herself, stretched out her hands with a little cry of happiness, and then buried her face in her arms. It could not, could not, could not be! Yet it was the surest, truest, dearest thing in the world.

Mrs. Frazer and Jack arrived at six o’clock. Paul went down to the station, and Margaret and Dolly met them at the door. They sat down before the fire in the breakfast-room where tea was served again for the travelers, and talked the whole situation over, including the Argonaut mine. Jack seemed to take things very quietly. He had no blame for Mabel, and apologized for being there at all. He said he felt he ought to have remained with her, but she would not listen to it. She had insisted upon his coming back with Mrs. Frazer. But he would go down in the morning train. Where was Helen?

Dolly got up abruptly and said she would go and see.

She did not return, however, and finally Margaret went in search of her. Then Paul had to go and find Margaret, and Mrs. Frazer was left alone with Jack in the firelight.

“There was one matter of which I have said nothing as yet to any one, ” said Jack, walking slowly back and forth before the fire; “ something which has disturbed me a good deal. Mabel told me she had quarreled with Helen. ” He stopped and looked inquiringly at Mrs. Frazer. “Do you know anything about it ? ”

“I seem to know nothing about anything,” she replied a little tartly. “ Quarreled with Helen ! about what ? ”

“That is what I do not know. She would not say. She was strangely reticent. She said Helen would make her own explanations — and then again that Helen would not.”

Mrs. Frazer listened in silence, her eyes fixed on the slumbering fire, while Jack repeated his conversation with Mabel.

“ I cannot understand why she should not wish to go back to Gramercy Park. Do you think you could find out what the trouble is ? ”

“ I think the less said about quarrels the better, John.”

“ Yes, that was my own thought at first. But it must be something serious. Have you no idea what it can be ? ”

Mrs. Frazer looked up from the fire into his face. What fools men were,— and women too!

“ Mabel has no further need of Helen.”

“No, ” replied Jack, “but it is a pity things should end in this way. It has always been a question with me what would become of Helen. Mabel has not needed her, strictly speaking, for some time. But she would never listen to her going. I hoped she might marry. She would make some one a good wife.”

“ Have n’t we husbands enough on our hands for one day, John? ”

“If Helen were really to leave us,” he continued, “ I should like to — to ” —

“To what, John?”

— “ to show her in some substantial way our appreciation of all she has done for Mabel. You know she has been with us since Mabel was ten years old. I supposed that would be Mabel’s wish too.”

“ Well, was n’t it? ”

“ She declared it was impossible.”

Then silence fell upon them.

“ What would you do? ” Jack asked at length.

“ I should go and dress for dinner, ” said Mrs. Frazer.

The conversation at the dinner-table was intermittent and constrained. Jack was thoughtful and quiet. Dolly was nervous and tranquil at intervals. Scarcely a word could be extracted from Mrs. Frazer. She looked very much like a bombshell on the eve of explosion.

The explosion came later in the evening when Paul had gone off with Margaret and the three were alone in the room which had been so gay with laughter the night before.

“John,” said Mrs. Frazer, looking up from her finished solitaire and putting the cards away in their leather case, “to-day is Wednesday. You are going to New York to-morrow? ”

“Certainly,” said Jack.

“Could I trouble you to engage my passage on the Saturday Cunarder ? I am going to Cairo.”

' Laurinda! ” exclaimed Dolly.

“ This climate depresses me, — I need a change ” —

“But Margaret is to be married in the spring! ”

“ Well, I am not going to marry her, am I? ” said Mrs. Frazer.

Dolly was dumfounded.

“It’s a doleful business, traveling alone,” Mrs. Frazer said with a sigh. “ I wonder if I could persuade Helen to go with me. I think I will go and see.”

She had gone before there was any opportunity to comment upon her suggestion, leaving an almost oppressive silence behind her. The inclusion of Helen in her plans, coming so unexpectedly after the abrupt intrusion of the Saturday Cunarder, afforded, Jack thought, abundant material for conversation.

Yet Dolly was silent. Nor did she rise, although it was getting late. She was sitting in the angle of the deep corner divan, altogether absorbed in her embroidery, and looking, so it seemed to Jack, younger than he had ever seen her look before, — almost girlish.

It was not a passive thing, this silence; but something positive, aggressive, gathering volume like a rising flood. It did not occur to him that she was in any way responsible for it. On the contrary, she appeared to be its victim, and he felt he must get it under control at once. The unforeseen had brought him to Westford, and left him alone with the woman who had said No. How much more embarrassed than even he was she must be!

He did not see any embarrassment, however, when she lifted her face to his. It wore only an expression of deep and tranquil content. He had gone over to where she sat, to take his leave, and stood looking down at that something so profoundly peaceful yet appealing in her eyes.

“Are you going off in that horrid early train ? ” she asked, letting them fall.

“I must,” he said, as he had said it once before. But she did not rise, as then, or say good-night.

“ I suppose there is another directors’ meeting. ”

“No, not this time,” he said, sitting down beside her on the edge of the divan ; “but there ’s Mabel, you know. ”

He was beginning to lose control of the silence, and of speech. He must go.

“Yes, there’s Mabel,” —and then she laid her hand on his arm, and smiled, “Mabel — and I.”

Arthur Sherburne Hardy.

(The end.)