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diff --git a/40926-0.txt b/40926-0.txt index a7e052e..c1c5dc8 100644 --- a/40926-0.txt +++ b/40926-0.txt @@ -1,25 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Meg, of Valencia - -Author: Myra Williams Jarrell - -Release Date: October 3, 2012 [EBook #40926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40926 *** Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net @@ -2460,364 +2439,4 @@ Mrs. Amelia Weston to Miss Margaret Anthony: End of Project Gutenberg's Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - -***** This file should be named 40926-0.txt or 40926-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/2/40926/ - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Meg, of Valencia - -Author: Myra Williams Jarrell - -Release Date: October 3, 2012 [EBook #40926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: "Meg"] - - - - -MEG, OF VALENCIA - -BY - -MYRA WILLIAMS JARRELL - -MONOTYPED BY - -CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS - -TOPEKA, KANSAS - -1905 - - - - -This little book is lovingly dedicated to my parents. - - "'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print: - A book's a book, although there's nothing in't." - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - "What's in a name?" - - -When Mr. Robert Spencer was annoyed, he made it known by pacing the -floor with his hands under his coat-tails. When he was pleased, he -quickened the pace, and his hands caused his coat-tails to stand out in -a most jaunty and undignified manner. He was pacing up and down a -handsomely furnished room, one bright May morning, with annoyance -visibly depicted in every line of his coat-tails. - -The other occupant of the room, his sister, was watching him with an -expression half amused, half sad. They were much alike, both sandy in -coloring, and both wearing the same humorous, half-quizzical smile, -which in her was saddened by the loss her deep mourning indicated. She -had never been a handsome woman, but she possessed an attractiveness -far greater than that of mere outward beauty. - -Suddenly her brother paused in front of her and began explosively: "I -tell you it's tommy-rot. And it's all because you wouldn't call him -Bob! How the deuce do you expect a boy you have called 'Robert' for -twenty-five years, to have any worldly sense?" - -"Wait a minute, Bob," interrupted his sister, quietly; "how could I be -expected to call such a splendid boy anything else? 'Bob,' for him, -would have been nothing short of sacrilege,--no offense meant, my dear -brother." - -"Don't mention it," he growled; "but I protest that you can make or mar -a boy by a name. You called him 'Robert.' What was the result?" - -"Very fine, I call it." - -Unheeding the interruption, he continued in a mocking voice: "Lacy -dresses which he never tore, wax dolls, kittens, and long curls. Now -that just naturally led up to books, study, church!" - -"That is a combination few people object to, Bob," his sister gently -interpolated. - -"If taken in moderation, my dear Stella,--in homeopathic doses. Your boy -went on the principle by which some people govern their -medicine-taking, that if a little is good, much is better." - -He paused for her reply, but as she was evidently waiting for the close -of his harangue, he continued: "Now, look here. Suppose you had called -him 'Bob.' There would have been no long curls or doll-rags for him. It -would have been baseball, marbles, fresh air, boy friends. And now, -hang it all, look at him now!" - -Mrs. Malloy sat up with dignity, and asked, "Well, what of him now?" - -"That's just it," he sputtered. "If he wasn't so handsome, manly, -honest and lovable, I wouldn't care; but to think of all those virtues -being shut up in a monastery, makes me wish I were a profane man, so I -could ease my mind by swearing." - -Mrs. Malloy had become very white, and she made no answer. Her brother -glanced at her, and added softly, dropping into a chair by her side: -"It's all because he was brought up in that Faith. I don't see how you -could do it, Stella." - -"You forget," she answered sadly; "it was John's religion, and it was -understood that he should do that if he were so inclined." - -"But John never meant for you to be left alone in the world. He -wouldn't have wanted the boy to leave you, if he had known." - -"Perhaps not," she said with white lips, "but I would not lay one straw -in the way, or stand between my boy and what he considers his duty." - -"Duty be--," vociferated Mr. Spencer. "I beg your pardon, Stella,--it -almost slipped out. But can't the young whelp see where his duty is? -Now, don't be angry, Stella. Do you think I wouldn't whale any other -man within an inch of his life if he called the boy that?" - -"Nothing is gained by discussing it," Mrs. Malloy wearily replied, "and -I insist that you say nothing to Robert on the subject. His mind is -quite made up, quite. He believes it to be his father's wish. He does -not know but that it is mine, though it is, as you say, not my faith." - -"'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow,'" quoted Mr. -Spencer, softly. - -"To say anything to him would make him very unhappy, but would not -alter his decision." - -"Perhaps some way may yet be found," he ventured. - -"I am sure nothing would change him. You see, he has had this idea ever -since he was a mere child. It has grown with him. It is so interwoven -with the very fibres of his being that it could not be uprooted. No, -no, Bob, it will have to stand. If I can bear it, surely you can." - -"If _you_ can bear it," he answered. "Oh, yes, you can bear it. You -will wave your handkerchief and smile as the gates close upon him, and -then you'll come home and die of a broken heart!" - -"Don't,--don't," she begged, piteously. - -"Forgive me, Stella; I didn't mean to hurt you so. But I've a scheme to -stop this foolishness and make you happy, and the boy, too." - -She shook her head hopelessly, but her brother patted her on the -shoulder and said, "But yes, I say. Will you be a party to it?" - -For one moment her eyes flashed up with a look of hope, then it died -out as she said slowly, "I cannot conspire against my boy and what I -know to be his earnest desire." - -"Well, don't," was the brusque reply. "Your co-operation isn't -necessary anyway. But you and Robert will come next week to visit me as -you promised, won't you?" - -After Mrs. Malloy nodded in reply, he walked out of the room with his -coat-tails expressing satisfaction. - -He had not been gone long when the door was gently opened, and a young -man entered. Coming up to Mrs. Malloy, he stooped and kissed her on the -forehead. The look of passionate adoration she gave him was not -surprising, for he was undeniably good to gaze upon. He was tall, well -formed and athletic in build, with the fresh coloring, the warm, honest -gray eyes, clear-cut features and rippling dark hair of a long race of -Celtic ancestors. His brow was frank and noble, his smile charming. -There was nothing about him to suggest the parochial calling he was -about to adopt. He looked merely a healthy, wholesome, happy and -unusually handsome young fellow. - -"Always cheerful, little mother," he said, balancing himself on the arm -of her chair, and meeting her smile with tender, earnest eyes. "That -thought makes me very happy, for I know you are never lonely, and will -not mope after I am gone, as some mothers would." - -Her face blanched; with teeth shut hard together, she pressed her face -against his sleeve until she could control her voice, and finally -answered: "No, I was never given to moping, my son. But to be -irrelevant, I promised Uncle Bob that we would go to Valencia next week -and stay with him through the summer." - -"That will be jolly; I think I would enjoy one good old spree of that -sort before--" - -"Let's go out and find Uncle Bob," said his mother quickly. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - "And both were young and one was beautiful." - - -Valencia was a western town, with about forty thousand inhabitants who -believed in and were immeasurably proud of the place. There were no -factories, and there was no great value in real estate, since the wild -boom of the early eighties, which made and broke so many western towns; -but it was quite a railroad center, one of the principal western roads -having headquarters there. Amusement there was none, save band concerts -twice a week in summer, and an occasional show in the opera house in -winter. - -The town had perhaps more than a fair allotment of that class of people -who find fault with everything, from the price of ice to the sparsity -of amusements. It was said, also, to be no more free from public -officials with itching palms, than other cities of its size. - -Saloons were supposed to be unknown in Valencia, in accordance with the -laws of the State, and it did truly present a clean, moral aspect to -the casual observer. - -Valencia was essentially a "home" town, with its wide streets, its many -trees, comfortable homes and green lawns, and it was much beloved by -its inhabitants, who, if they moved away, inevitably moved back again, -with untiring loyalty. - -Robert Spencer had been borne into the town on the tide of prosperity -that had carried so many into it in 1882, and he was one of the -barnacles who had remained, firmly fastened, when the tide receded, -taking with it a few of the industries that had sprung up like -mushrooms during the boom. He had had a competence when he drifted into -Valencia, which by judicious investment had increased until he was -independently rich. - -The first few years of his life there had been uneasy ones, for he had -to be constantly on the alert to avoid matrimony, so many were the -enticements thrown out to land him. He was unquestionably the biggest -fish in the pond, and the hooks had been baited for him repeatedly, but -he had not bitten. - -The first evening after Mrs. Malloy and Robert reached Valencia, Mr. -Spencer entertained two of his nearest neighbors, a widow and her young -niece, at dinner. - -Mrs. Weston had been a pretty girl in her youth, and it was a hard -habit for her to break from. She still affected baby blue, which had -set off to advantage her pink-and-whiteness twenty years before, but -which now exaggerated the faded lemon color into which that complexion -had degenerated. In place of dimples, there were creases in her cheeks, -but she clung to her original conception of them, and used them -accordingly. Her hair, from being golden, had become dull and lifeless, -but she still wore it in the jaunty frizzes which had once set off her -doll-like face. - -She was an easy victim for complexion agents, and her generous -patronage had done much to hasten the decay of her delicate complexion. -She was entirely satisfied with herself, but nevertheless she felt a -pang of jealousy whenever she looked at her young niece, and was only -moved out of her complacency and simplicity, to indulge in caustic -remarks to her. - -Robert Malloy felt himself shy and awkward in the presence of girls, -for his life had been spent close to his mother, with books and study, -and he was ignorant of their ways. - -Before dinner was announced he found himself seated by the girl, -Margaret Anthony, vaguely wondering what to say, and wishing he dared -look at her to see what she really was like. - -He ventured a remark about the weather, and looked at her as he did so. -She answered in a monosyllable, but kept her eyes cast down. Following -the direction of her eyes, he saw that she was twirling her thumbs. - -In a flash he glanced at his own hands, and then he realized that he -was being ridiculed. - -He looked hastily at her again, and this time she met his eyes with an -unmistakable gleam of laughter in hers. For a moment he was inclined to -be angry, but changed his mind and laughed outright, a musical, boyish -laugh, with which hers chimed. - -The older folks looked over at them, and an expression of satisfaction -appeared on Mr. Spencer's face. - -"That little vixen is up to some mischief, I know," twittered Mrs. -Weston. - -"Whatever it is, I am grateful to her," responded Mr. Spencer. "I don't -think I ever heard Robert laugh like that before. Did you, Stella?" he -asked, turning to his sister. - -"He wasn't so different from other boys, Bob," she said smilingly; "he -and I have had many a romp together." - -"Maybe so, maybe so," he muttered. - -"If I should say 'booh!' you'd run," said Margaret with conviction, to -Robert. - -"Try me and see," was his good-humored response, just as dinner was -announced. - -Mr. Spencer had seated the two young people together, for he rightly -concluded that the ice would be broken sooner, over soup and fish, with -the assistance of warm candlelight and flowers, than in a drawing-room -with the accompaniment of voices no longer young. - -In taste, Robert was no acolyte, and he gave a little sigh of -satisfaction as his eyes took in the exquisite details of the table of -polished, massive mahogany, with gleaming silver and glass, the bowl of -gorgeous, rich red roses, and the candles with their red shades. - -Turning, he met the eyes of his companion, and involuntarily thought -that she fitted with the environments. Her hair had a decidedly reddish -cast, and framed a face which was small and white, with a refractory -red mouth and an insignificant nose. - -Her eyes were peculiar, but very beautiful, large and full and greenish -in color, shaded by lashes so long and dark that they gave a dazzling -brilliance to her face. - -As she met his eyes she smiled and said, as though he had spoken, "Yes, -_isn't_ it pretty?" Then she added, "But I am a gourmand. I like the -pretty surroundings _and_ a good dinner, but if I had to choose between -the two, I would take the latter." - -"That's because you are such a child," he said patronizingly. - -"Of course, judging from the standpoint of _your_ experience, I must -appear like one," was her lofty reply. - -Her remark reduced him to an awkward consciousness of his inexperience, -and beside this small girl he felt himself suddenly to seem like an -uncouth school-boy. - -After this little encounter they listened to the conversation of their -elders. Mrs. Malloy was expressing her opinion of a new book which she -did not like, and said that people were better off with no books at all -than with one of that character. - -Mrs. Weston, who had never delved very deep into any subject, said with -a little giggle: "I would hate to acknowledge, though, that I had not -read a book of which every one was talking. But I have often heard Meg -express herself the way you have been doing." - -After they were back in the drawing-room Robert said to Margaret, "Did -I understand your aunt to call you 'Meg'?" - -"You did," was the reply; "I have as many names as Eugene Field's -'Bill,' in the little poem 'Jes 'fore Christmas.' You remember it?" - -He nodded. - -"Well, it's this way with me: Father called me Margaret, the girls they -called me Peg, Mother called me Margie, but Auntie calls me Meg." - -"And--?" he queried. - -A sudden gravity settled over her face, as she replied, "There is no -one now to call me Margaret or Margie. Auntie's name for me sort of -sticks. But I suppose it's all right. I'm not big enough to be entitled -to the big, dignified name of Margaret." - -"When I know you well enough, I shall call you Margie," Robert said -confidently. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - "A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; - or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman." - - -The life which opened up for Robert Malloy was so full of surprises, -new sensations and experiences, that he was both bewildered and -delighted. - -His uncle watched him hopefully, his mother anxiously. There could be -no doubt that she would have welcomed anything which would turn her son -from his desire, but she was paradoxically jealous for the strength of -character and singleness of purpose which had determined him for the -life which would take him from her. Also, she could not be certain that -he would be happy, should he walk into the trap so obviously set for -him by his uncle. - -A few weeks after they reached Valencia she had a chance to study Meg -more closely, and to obtain an insight into the character of the girl -who puzzled her, and who very evidently attracted her son. There was -something so subtle and elusive about her, that Mrs. Malloy, with her -ear attuned to simplicity and directness, had not been able to form an -opinion concerning her. - -She had taken a favorite book and started for a quiet spot in the woods -adjoining her brother's place, when she met Meg. The girl flushed with -pleasure when Mrs. Malloy asked her to join her. There was little said -by either as they walked along, yet there was no constraint. Finally -Mrs. Malloy turned to her companion and said smilingly, "I believe you -are one of those rare persons who are good company without saying a -word." - -Meg laughed as she answered, "I hope I know the value of silence." - -Just then Meg's quick eyes detected a little bird which had been -wantonly shot, and was lying under the tree where probably it had made -its home. Picking it up, she murmured a few broken words of pity, which -might have been a requiem over the little dead body. - -"Isn't it cruel?" she asked, raising her lovely dark-lashed eyes to -Mrs. Malloy's face, "and so useless,--a little bird that never harmed -anyone,--and not even good to eat," she added mournfully. - -Mrs. Malloy was impelled to laugh, though she, too, felt the pity of -it. - -They finally sat down under a large tree, whose branches afforded a -refreshing shade. Leaning her back against the tree, and sighing -restfully, Mrs. Malloy turned to look at her companion. Meg wore the -most inexpensive white dress, but she wore it as she did all of her -home-made clothes, like a small princess. - -As she sat there, with her hands clasped around her knees, and her -small head, with its refractory reddish hair, drooping, there was a -pathetic look about her that went straight to Mrs. Malloy's warm heart. -She put her hand out and slightly touching Meg's shoulder, said softly: -"You look unhappy, dear,--sort of lonely. Can I help you?" - -The girl's face changed instantly, and looking up at Mrs. Malloy she -said gayly, "But I'm not lonely,--not now." - -Mrs. Malloy withdrew her hand and said simply, "Pardon me. I no doubt -seemed intrusive." - -"_You_ intrusive! oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, you _couldn't_ be intrusive! -Why, if you should tell me my hair was red, I would not be offended. -And that's what I wouldn't take from anyone else," she added under her -breath. - -"Well, I won't be so rude, nor so untruthful. It is beautiful auburn, a -color I've always liked." - -"Of course," Meg admitted reluctantly, "it isn't exactly the color one -could wear red with,--not but what I would if I wanted to." - -Mrs. Malloy threw her head back and laughed, and her laugh was as -pleasant as it was rare. - -Meg looked at her in a pleased manner. Then Mrs. Malloy said: "What a -spunky little girl you are! It's regular red-headed spunk, though of -course your hair is not red. My dear, it's a blessing you are so -independent, having no one to do your fighting for you." - -The wistful look came back into Meg's eyes as she answered: "It has -never seemed just right that I didn't have a father, or mother, or even -a big brother to take care of me. Sometimes,--" there was a little catch -in her voice,--"oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, sometimes I feel as if there were -no fight left in me!" - -"You poor little thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Malloy, reaching out for her -hand, "this is really yourself that I see now,--a little tame canary -made wild because it has no one to shield it, and must look out for -itself!" - -Meg looked at her adoringly. - -"You are the first person I have ever known who has seemed to -understand me, and somehow, I feel that my mother was like you. You -won't laugh at me or tell any one if I tell you something?" she asked -anxiously. - -"You may count on my silence and sympathy, dear." - -"When I was a little girl, my principal amusement was to 'pretend' -things. I would pretend I was a princess, or something else equally -improbable. One day, I wanted some one else to play with me so badly, -that I told Aunt Amelia about it." - -"Yes?" queried Mrs. Malloy softly, as she paused. - -"Oh, she slapped me, told me I was nothing but an ugly, red-headed -little object of charity, and not to go imagining any more nonsense." - -Mrs. Malloy bit her lip to keep back the disparaging words which longed -for utterance. Instead, she stroked the hand she held, and Meg -continued: - -"Since then I have played my little games by myself. Sometimes I go up -to the attic, where I have a trunk containing mother's things. I put on -her dress and apron, and take a piece of crochet work in my hands,--the -one she was making when she was taken sick,--and then I pretend that I -am she, and that I am there, too,--you understand?" - -Mrs. Malloy nodded. "And then I talk as I know she would talk to me if -she were here. I give myself lectures for my frivolity, and good -advice,--and,--and,--oh, I say the tender little things that I know she -would say, and that no one ever does----" She stopped, and began to sob -quietly. - -Mrs. Malloy drew her up beside her, so that the little red head rested -on her shoulder. There were unshed tears in her eyes, which had looked -out bravely and hopefully upon a world that had little enough to offer -her, and she felt, in this moment, that a very strong bond was between -this girl, almost a stranger, and herself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - "Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." - - -Meg was leaning back in delicious idleness on the cool, shaded porch of -her aunt's house, with her hands loosely clasped above her head, and -her eyes dreamily fixed on the treetops. - -Robert Malloy was reading aloud from a book of verse. His voice, rising -and falling musically, harmonized with the summer sounds, the hum of -the insects, and chirping of the birds that came fearlessly close, to -bathe in the whirling spray of the garden hose. - -After he had read a while he closed the book, and said, "Tell me a -story." - -"A really, truly one?" she asked, bringing her eyes on a level with -his. - -"Yes; tell me about yourself." - -"All right. Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, and she -was as good as she was beautiful; never cross, never impatient, always -serene, gentle, and loving. She lived with her cruel stepmother--" - -"Wasn't there a prince?" he queried anxiously. - -"Not any real one," was the severe retort, "just a few little imitation -ones. But she had a taste above paste jewels, so she determined--" - -At this moment the air was pierced by a shrill cry from the road, -followed by lusty weeping. - -Meg was half-way to the gate before Robert started, and when he reached -there he found her exclaiming pityingly over a small, ragged, and -decidedly dirty boy, who was sitting in the dust of the road nursing an -injured toe. - -"How did it happen?" she was asking as Robert came up and leaned -against the fence. - -The hurt, slight in itself, assumed new importance in the eyes of the -boy, and he answered proudly, between the sniffles into which his sobs -had subsided, "I was running fast, an' I never seen that piece of -broken bottle, an' I stepped right on it, an' cut my toe, an' it hurts -just awful." - -"I know it does, you poor, dear thing," was Meg's sympathetic -rejoinder; "come right in the yard with me, where it's cool, and I'll -fix it all right." - -The boy began to strut after her, but meeting Robert's broad smile, -bethought himself of his affliction, so changed the strut into a limp, -and followed her in. - -He looked a trifle dubious over the water when she took the injured -member in her soft hands to bathe it, but submitted like a martyr. -After Meg had washed the wound free from dirt she looked up at Robert, -who was watching the proceedings with amused eyes, and imperiously -demanded his handkerchief. - -He elevated his brows, as he handed it to her, and, addressing the boy, -remarked, "The heroines one reads about always tear their own -handkerchiefs into strips." - -"Yessir," responded the boy, scarcely knowing what was expected of him. - -"Do you remember what Chesterfield says about just such a case as -this?" Meg asked the boy, ignoring Robert. - -"No'm. Who's he? The doctor?" And alarm became visibly written under -the grime of his countenance. - -"Never mind," Meg said reassuringly to him, and went on neatly binding -the toe. When it was finished, she darted into the house and came out -carrying an apple and a huge piece of cake, which she immediately -bestowed upon her new proteg. - -He accepted them graciously, as he had her ministrations, and was about -to edge off when her eye was attracted to a sling-shot protruding from -his coat pocket. She pulled it out and threw it as far as she could, -then turned to the amazed boy with flashing eyes. "You horrid, bad, -ugly boy! You were chasing a poor little bird when you stepped on that -bottle! I'm glad you got hurt, and I hope the next time you will cut -your toe completely off!" - -She emphasized her words with a little shake, which sent him scuttling -down the yard and out of the gate without a backward glance. - -After he had disappeared, Meg stood, red and mortified, realizing that -Robert must despise her for her outburst of temper, and wishing that at -least she had been more dignified in her expression of disapproval. She -became uneasy at the long silence, and finally ventured to raise her -eyes to his, prepared for the scorn and contempt she knew would be in -his glance. - -Instead, his eyes were dancing with enjoyment, and when he met her -look, he laughed outright. Then he said deliberately, "I think I know -you well enough now to call you Margie." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - "A creature not too bright or good - For human nature's daily food; - For transient sorrows, simple wiles, - Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles." - - -"Come out for a boat-ride," Robert called to Meg, who was hemming -kitchen towels on her rose-embowered porch. She had seen him between -the leaves, as he came striding up the walk, but gave a very natural -start of surprise when he spoke. "I'm not deaf," was her rejoinder, as -she kept on with her sewing. - -"Neither am I dumb," retorted Robert, turning around and starting down -the path. - -Meg flung the towel from her, scattered thread, thimble and scissors in -every direction as she flew down the steps and overtook him. "What was -your first remark?" she asked demurely. - -He looked down at her, and tried to preserve his dignity, but the eyes -which met his were so innocent and wide opened, the little white face -so alluring, that his anger melted, and he said, "I asked you to go -boating." - -"Oh, you yelled so that I didn't distinguish what you said. Yes, oh, -yes," catching his arm as he started away again, "certainly I will go -with you. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" - -His eyes smiled into hers as he said gently, "Well, get your hat. I'll -wait here for you." - -She was gone only a moment, and rejoined him with her big hat thrown -back somewhat rakishly on her head. "Aunt Amelia is cross. She wanted -me to wash her hair for her, but I told her I was no lady's maid." - -Her eyes sought his face and found no response to her frivolity. -"Perhaps you think I should have stayed at home to wash her hair," she -suggested anxiously. - -Then, as he still did not answer, she stopped and said in an offended -tone, "Oh, well, if _that's_ the way you feel about it, I'll go back -and do it." - -Robert turned and said to her gravely, "It is not for me to say whether -you shall or shall not wash your aunt's hair, but if you must have the -truth, I think your manner of refusing a trifle rude." - -She flushed, and the quick tears came to her eyes, but she kept a brave -appearance as she said, "Perhaps I was rude, but if you had to live -with Aunt Amelia and wait on her like a slave, as I do, you might -forget your manners, too, sometimes." - -He turned and looked at her as he said, "I don't want to quarrel with -you to-day, little girl. You may be as rude as you please to your aunt, -only be good to me." - -Her eyes flashed up with sudden joy, and she looked quickly at him, but -the calm, impersonal glance she met, quelled the thought she had -entertained for that brief second. - -Then she said contritely: "I _do_ owe every thing to Aunt Amelia, for I -couldn't live on my pittance anywhere else,--but I do, truly I do, earn -my board. However, if you say so, I'll go right back now and apologize -to her." - -"Oh, don't do that," he hastily interposed; "the apology will keep, and -the daylight won't." - -When they reached the river, he helped her into the boat, and taking -off his coat, folded it for her to sit on. - -Neither was talkative at first, both preferring their thoughts to idle -conversation. Meg watched him warily, taking in the splendid muscular -development of his arms and chest, the straight, clean-cut features in -a face that in repose was somewhat grave and stern, but infinitely -tender and charming when he smiled. She was wishing, as she gazed at -him, that Fate had given her a brother like him. - -As for Robert, with eyes on the setting sun, his reveries were of the -life about to open for him. For the time being he had forgotten his -companion, and was holding pleasurable communion with himself, absorbed -in the contemplation of his usefulness when once he had entered upon -that mission for which he had been always fitting himself. He was -aroused by an almost inaudible sigh, and he glanced across at Meg with -eyes which were as yet blind to emotion. - -She was not looking at him now, and he watched her with satisfaction. -She had puzzled and bewildered him ever since he had met her, and he -had only occasionally had glimpses of her real character. There were -times when he distinctly disapproved of her, and his training had been -such that he considered it almost an imperative duty to tell her of it. - -Then with a quick subtle change of manner she would do something, some -little gracious act, that would cause him to repent of his harsher -judgment. But through all the varied changes of her moods, she -attracted him. - -She had fallen into one of her silences, and sat looking out over the -water with an expression so tender and childish, that for some reason -he would have been unable to explain, a great wave of pity swept over -him, and the longing to shelter her from harm became uppermost in his -mind. - -When she spoke, it was dreamily. "I do love the water, and the sunset, -and the sound of the oars as they lap the waves." Then, in a more -sprightly manner,--"It has the effect of shaded lights and soft music. I -am so _good_ at such times! All my thoughts are uplifting. Do you feel -that way?" - -Amused by her vagaries, he nodded, and the encouragement started her -off again: "I almost weep to think how noble I am. Nothing that is -petty or mean has any connection with me. Even Aunt Amelia I view -through that rosy mist, and conjure up the kind things she _might_ have -done, the tender words she _might_ have spoken,--and I think with a -swelling heart that I will try to appreciate those 'might have -beens,'--that I will so conduct myself as to make them possible." - -"And then?" as she paused. - -"Oh, then," with a trace of bitterness in her voice, "then the red -lights flicker and go out, and the pungent odor of kerosene oil is all -that remains of them. The music stops with a last protesting wail of -the violin, and the musicians hurry away after their beer and -pretzels." - -"And what becomes of you and your noble thoughts?" - -"Oh, I take my noble thoughts and go home, and quarrel with Aunt -Amelia." - -Robert laughed so heartily that Meg leaned forward and said: "Sometimes -I light the piano-lamp, and start the music-box going in the parlor -after I go home." - -As they walked up the flower-bordered path to the house, Meg remarked -softly, "I feel that I could wash and crimp Auntie's hair, and make it -look just lovely, now." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - "Speak low if you speak love." - - -Robert was walking, with no particular aim in view, when he saw a -familiar figure on the walk ahead of him, and hastening, he soon -overtook her. - -Meg turned her head as his step accustomed itself to hers, and smiled. -"May I go with you, my pretty maid?" he asked lightly. - -"Show me the girl who has been teaching you to say that kind of thing," -she exclaimed with mock anger. - -"Lend me your pocket mirror and I will." - -"Never!" she said emphatically. - -"Never what?" - -"Never carried a pocket mirror in my life. Never taught you to make -pretty speeches," she said tartly. "Why, the first time I saw you, you -sat and twirled your thumbs like a 'bound boy at a corn-husking,' and -never said anything but 'Yes'm,' and 'No'm,' and then only when you -were spoken to!" - -"That proves what I affirm. That was the way I was when I met -_you_,--and look at me now!" with an air of conscious pride. - -"Yes, look at you now!" she mocked scornfully, "with Mother Goose -platitudes tripping off your tongue like extracts from the Hebrew -Decalogue. Why don't you stick to your last? You might say all the nice -things you wished in Latin, Greek, French, German or Spanish, and I'd -have to smirk and act as if I understood, and felt very much -flattered." - -"And all this because I asked to accompany her on her walk!" he -murmured as though to himself. - -She gave him an upward look through her lashes that made him feel very -peculiar, as she said sweetly, "Well, you know I didn't mean it. I -_like_ to have nice things said to me." - -"By every one?" he queried idly, without looking at her. - -"Well, no," she admitted slowly. - -There was nothing more said for a few minutes; then he remarked -carelessly, "You didn't tell me where you were going." - -"I am going to see my cousin-in-law. I hate her, but I love her -husband." - -"That's frankness that might be misunderstood." - -"I know it," Meg replied earnestly, "but it's true. You see, Ada has -always felt that she married beneath her, and she has convinced poor -Charlie that she did. But how she came to cherish such a notion I don't -know, for he's the salt of the earth!" - -"Was it a question of family?" - -"Yes. Her father was at one time pretty well off, and at the time she -married Charlie some people thought she might have done better. -Charlie's one of those big-souled men who never accumulate anything, -and he is blunt and hearty in his manner. Now she thinks because she -crooks her little finger when she drinks a glass of water, that she is -more refined than he!" - -Robert laughed boyishly at her quaint description, and said, "I think I -know them--not this particular couple, but their prototypes." - -"Are there others like Charlie, I wonder," she said musingly. "He -stands out so in my mind because he's the best, the very best man I -ever saw." - -After a short walk, she stopped in front of a modest two-story house, -and turning to her companion, said coaxingly, "Come in with me, and -meet Ada--then you'll see for yourself." - -"You are sure it won't be an intrusion?" - -"Of course I'm sure," was the response. - -They were admitted by a tall, overgrown girl of thirteen, who beamed -with pleasure when she saw Meg. "Come into the sitting-room," she said; -"Papa's in there, and he will be so glad to see you." - -"Why, what's he doing at home in the middle of the day?" Meg asked. - -"He's not feeling very well--just indigestion, he says," answered the -child, leading the way. - -The room they entered was forlorn in the extreme, and in it was -everywhere evidence of the taste of the wife, as well as of her notably -poor housekeeping. There was dirt in the corners of the room, and dust -on the few uncomfortable, cheap, but ornate chairs. There was a rug -with big bouquets of red roses upon the floor, and soiled, sleazy, -fringed silk drapes hung over the few highly colored, gaudily framed -pictures. The wall paper was as startling as the rug, and at the -windows were coarse, cheap lace curtains. - -Charlie Walker was a huge, broad-shouldered blond, with kind blue eyes, -a roaring laugh which always made his refined wife shudder, and a -hand-clasp that was warm and cordial. - -He looked so pleased when he saw Meg, that it was plain to see how well -he liked her. As for the child, who had inherited her father's size, -blondness, and disposition, she evidently regarded her small, grown-up -cousin as a veritable princess in a fairy tale. - -Meg noticed with concern that Charlie really looked ill, but it was a -habit with her to say but little about such things; so, instead of -questioning him fully, she looked around the untidy room and asked, -"Where's Ada?" - -"Gone to her card club," replied Charlie. - -The child, Gertie, had taken up the mending-basket and was painfully -trying to darn a large hole in one of her father's socks. It was -evident that she had had no training, but was trying to teach herself, -that she might assume that part of the household tasks. - -"Let me do that," said Meg impulsively, and taking it from the girl, -began deftly putting in the stitches. - -Charlie watched her a moment, and then remarked, answering the unspoken -accusation of her mind, "Ada had so much to do this week that she -couldn't get around to it." - -Meg drew the thread viciously and made no reply. - -"She has had to practice a good deal for that concert she is to take -part in," he said. - -Still Meg did not speak, and the set of her lips impelled him to add -anxiously, yet with a certain amount of dignity, "It is in accordance -with my wishes, that she keeps up her music." - -"Yes, of course it is," answered Meg meekly, for, as she told Robert -afterwards in discussing it, "Big as that man is, I would no more hurt -him than I would a baby." - -After that, Charlie drew Robert into the conversation. Each man had -taken the measure of the other, and approved. They had talked -indifferently for awhile on matters pertaining to the town, when the -front door opened and a step was heard in the hall. - -Robert, looking at Charlie Walker, saw a light leap into his eyes, as -he turned toward the door leading into the hall. "What manner of woman -is this?" he asked himself, "who can bring such a look to a man's face -after so many years of married life?" All unconsciously his eyes -wandered to Meg. - -Mrs. Walker was pretty, in rather a coquettish way; with soft brown -hair and eyes, a weak red mouth, and a complexion which still retained -its girlish fairness. Her hands were little, white, helpless ones, and -about her was an air of childish innocence and irresponsibility. Her -dress was in keeping with the furnishing of the room, cheaply -pretentious and ornate. - -Robert felt instinctively that while such a woman could never possess -any attraction for him, she was the type some men would die -for,--notably, her husband. - -The talk was desultory for a while, and then Meg asked her cousin to -play for them, "Which was generous of me," she confided later, to -Robert, "for it showed her to the best advantage." - -Without demur she seated herself at the piano and at once began to play -with such sweetness and power that Robert was amazed. Glancing toward -her husband, whose face reflected his appreciation of the music, as -well as his adoration of the performer, Robert felt that he held the -key to the puzzle. - -As they were walking home, Meg asked him suddenly, "What did you think -of my kin-folks?" As he paused, she continued, "Never mind the house,--I -know what you thought of that,--but tell me what you think of Charlie?" - -"He is a man I could love like a brother. I have never felt so drawn to -a stranger." - -"You dear boy!" cried Meg impulsively; "I always knew you were nice, -but I never dreamed you were _that_ nice. You see, Cousin Charlie is my -hobby, for I think he is a grand character, and I want him to be -appreciated." - -"Is he not?" - -"By everybody but his wife." - -"I thought that, but I didn't want to judge her hastily," commented -Robert. - -"She does not appreciate him," Meg vehemently exclaimed. "I wish I -could shake a little sense into her. He was too sick a man to be left -this afternoon, but she didn't know it, or didn't care if she did know -it. Why, if I had a husband like that, and he had nothing more serious -the matter with him than a boil, I would stay with him!" - -"I believe you would." She looked up suddenly, surprised by a new note -in Robert's voice, and found him looking at her earnestly. The -interchange of glances embarrassed both of them, and to cover it, he -continued rather hastily, "I don't understand how a woman of her -evident lack of feelings can have such a divine conception of music." - -"I can explain that," said Meg confidentially. "It was a case of mixed -identity. That gift was meant for me, but got switched around some way. -I have the love of music, the capacity to suffer manifested by her -playing, while she,--she simply expresses what I feel." - -Robert smiled at her whimsical conceit, but made no reply. At her gate -she put her hand in his and said, "Good-bye," simply and quietly. All -the defiance and willfulness which usually characterized her were gone, -and in their place was a gracious sweetness which enveloped and -engrossed him the rest of the evening. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - "Alas! how light a cause may move - Dissension between hearts that love." - - -Meg came down-stairs to breakfast humming a gay little air to herself, -and looking so young and fresh that Mrs. Weston looked at her -disapprovingly as she took her seat at the table. - -The morning light was unmerciful, showing up the wrinkles and -sallowness of the fretful little woman, in direct contrast to the -smooth purity of Meg's skin and the brightness of her eyes. The elder -woman wore a somewhat soiled blue wrapper, and there was not the care -bestowed upon her appearance that usually characterized it. - -She glanced pettishly at Meg as she poured the coffee, and said, "I -don't see why you always wear white." - -Meg smiled at her sunnily, and replied, "Well, I like it--it doesn't -fade, washes well, is economical--" - -"And--?" queried her aunt with uplifted eyebrows. - -"And is becoming," finished the girl calmly. Then she added: "What -would you have me wear? It would be neither suited to you nor to the -glorious summer season to wear drab." - -"Pink?" suggested her aunt. - -"Oh, Auntie, with my hair!" - -Mrs. Weston almost smiled. - -"Yellow?" she continued. - -"Too vivid," objected Meg. - -"Then blue," said her aunt hesitatingly. - -"That's _your_ color," replied Meg, with laughing eyes, "and as it -wouldn't become me so well, I wouldn't think of wearing it." - -Mrs. Weston's smile deepened, spread all over her face, into the -creases she still fondly believed to be dimples, and diplomatic -relations were established. - -Meg picked up the morning paper, and propping it against the -coffee-pot, began scanning the head-lines of the first page. "I -declare," her aunt commented, "you are as bad as a man about reading at -the breakfast-table." - -The girl smiled. "When I marry," she announced, "I shall take a lesson -in managing a husband from that dear, clever little friend of mine in -Atchison, whose husband takes his 'ease in his inn,' sitting in a -rocking-chair while he eats. He shows his appreciation of the -privilege, by holding her hand between bites. Just think!" she added -pensively, "they have been married five years, and he still loves her!" - -"I don't see what that has to do with your reading the paper at the -breakfast table." - -"Why, Auntie," and Meg looked reproachfully at her over the paper, "you -know I do it to save you the trouble of reading it yourself. Let me see -what is happening." And she glanced over the front page. "'More -Macedonians murdered,'--we won't go into the details, please,--'Jealous -lover shoots sweetheart,'--I'm glad I'm redheaded; it saves -complications,--'Woman murders faithless husband,'--oh, what a bloody -world we live in! No, it is a beautiful world," she said softly, after -a little pause, "when there are such women as Helen Gould in it. She -has been giving the waifs another outing at her lovely home. Mrs. -Stuyvesant Fish has consented to an interview. She declares that -America must have an aristocracy. She doesn't say whether it will be an -aristocracy of brains or money. It must be the former, as she deplores -the depredations on the outskirts of society, committed by the vulgar -rich. Yes, of course it is of brains,--that order of brains which can -originate 'cute' things with which to amuse and entertain the elect." - -Mrs. Weston, growing restive, interposed, "That does not interest me. -Read the local news." - -"You are so provincial, Auntie," was Meg's comment, as she turned the -paper; "you belong so hopelessly to Valencia!" - -"Well, so do you," was the brief retort. - -"Not in the way I mean, my dear Aunt! My spirit is cosmopolitan, -though, Prometheus-like, I am chained to Valencia. While my head is in -the clouds, my feet are, oh, very much on the earth!" - -"You do talk the greatest nonsense." - -"Do I? Then I'll read to you instead of talking. 'Mrs. Guy Worthington -Deflurry has returned from an extended Eastern trip.'" - -"Mrs. who? oh, Mrs. Deflurry? I suppose she had some handsome clothes -made while she was gone." Mrs. Weston was tremulous with excitement. - -"Do you know the lady?" Meg asked idly. "No? I thought from your -interest that she was a dear friend. 'Miss Cordelia Jamison has -departed for Michigan to visit friends.' 'It is rumored that a rich -bachelor is to be wedded to a handsome young widow.'" - -Mrs. Weston was all in a flutter instantly. "Who can it mean? Surely,--" -she giggled foolishly, "surely people cannot think that Mr. Spencer and -I--" - -Meg put down the paper with a judicial air. "I have always held," she -said, "that the newspaper habit was a pernicious one for some people. I -will read no more to you. It goes to your head." - -"Why, Meg Anthony, you might at least remember that I am older than -you, and treat me with some respect!" - -Meg opened her eyes wide. "But you are not!" she protested. "I am -centuries older than you. I am a relic of the dark ages, while -you,--Auntie, I really believe you are the youngest woman I know." - -A smile encompassed Mrs. Weston's entire face at what she considered a -compliment, and in the exuberance of her sudden good-humor, she said, -"How would you like to invite Mr. Spencer, his sister and nephew to -come to dinner to-morrow night?" - -"Oh, Auntie, can we really do it?" Meg cried ecstatically. - -"Yes," answered her aunt; "I'll go and interview Delia about it. I -think I'll have some little-neck clams--the canned ones, you know,--some -kind of cream soup, a roast course, an entre, salad--" - -"Auntie!" interrupted Meg sternly, "You know we can't afford any such -frills! And with only one servant! Let's call it supper, and give them -just a plain meal, nicely cooked and served." - -A dull purplish color mingled with the yellow of Mrs. Weston's face, as -she questioned with angry dignity, "Am I, or am I not mistress here? -When did I give over the reins of government into your hands? If I need -your advice, young lady, I'll seek it." With ruffled plumage, she went -into the kitchen to settle the details with Delia. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - "I cannot eat but little meat, - My stomach is not good." - - -On the evening of Mrs. Weston's dinner--for she held to the dinner idea -in spite of Meg's protests--the weather was so hot that the heavy, -poorly cooked meal was appreciated by no one but the hostess, who -plumed herself that she had surprised the guests with her cuisine. -Which, indeed, was true. - -They sat in the stuffy dining-room while course after course was -brought and taken away. Through the window Meg caught the scent of -roses, and could see that a breeze gently stirred the leaves of the -trees. Turning with a sigh from the temptations without, she glanced at -her aunt. The work of entertaining, with the heat, had robbed her hair -of its curl, and the damp, straight locks hung limply around her -forehead, which was beaded with perspiration. - -Meg felt an impish satisfaction when she beheld the wreck. Turning, she -met Robert's eyes, and asked, "What were you saying?" - -"I was recalling a remark you made the first evening I met you,--that -you were a gourmand. You have scarcely tasted your food to-night." - -"I was several hundred years younger then," she retorted; "but if you -had been giving the proper attention to your own plate you would not -have noticed it." - -Leaning toward her, he murmured, "I know it's horribly rude, especially -as you are co-hostess--" she put up a deprecating hand--"but my extreme -youth and callowness will have to be my excuse." - -"Callousness, did you say?" - -"You know what I said. When will this thing come to an end? I'm dying -to get out on the porch and get a whiff of air." - -"So am I," she whispered back. "Let me see,--where are we?" - -He glanced down at his plate, and then said apologetically, "Well, -really----" - -"Oh, yes," she interrupted, stirring the contents of her plate with a -fork, "this is what Delia called the 'entry.' Delia claims to be the -direct descendant of a famous French cook. I believe his name was Brian -Boru." - -"Ah, Delia and I are cousins. And after the 'entry,' what then?" he -whispered. - -She counted them off on her fingers, "The 'poonch,' salad, dessert, and -coffee. And as you and Mr. Spencer are sociably inclined, Auntie will -forego the pleasure of withdrawing, and leaving you with your wine and -walnuts. After coffee, the porch." - -"Thank you for the information," he said humbly. - -When the dinner was finally finished, they went out on the porch. There -the conversation was general for a time, and then Robert said lightly -to Meg, "'Come into the garden, Maud,' and get me a flower for my -coat." - -She rose without demur, and together they strolled down the walk. Mr. -Spencer looked after their retreating forms, and then, meeting his -sister's eyes, he deliberately winked. - -That wink, while not elegant, served as an elixir to Mrs. Malloy, and -under its influence she became fairly sparkling and gay. Mrs. Weston -was astonished, for she had never seen her in such a mood, though she -had never seen her despondent. Her gayety was short-lived, however, for -Mrs. Weston killed it with a word. - -"What a fine-looking boy Robert is," she began; and then, -enthusiastically, "I think it is just lovely that he is to go into a -monastery!" - -There was no response, but she prattled on. "So romantic! And he will -be such a handsome monk in his brown bath-robe! And will he have to go -barefooted, and have his pretty curly hair shaved?" - -She waited a moment, and then asked gushingly, "Don't _you_ think it -romantic?" - -Mrs. Malloy's voice was even but cold, as she replied, when forced to -do so by the direct question, "I would hardly call it romantic." - -"Oh, _wouldn't_ you? Most people see more romance in a love affair, but -I confess that the idea of a monastery appeals to me!" - -"Let's join the youngsters," interrupted Mr. Spencer. "They probably -are boring each other to death by now." - -Mrs. Weston started up with alacrity, but his sister, with the look of -a wounded animal in her eyes, said, "I will be there presently. I want -to enjoy these wild roses a little longer." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - "Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, - Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares." - - -A strong friendship sprang up between Robert and Charlie Walker, -unusual in its warmth, and surprising, as the two men were totally -different in taste and character, and as there was considerable -disparity in their years. - -Charlie Walker was a man of many friends, for he loved the world, yet -of them all, none was, perhaps, so dear as this young friend. Robert -was a man of few friendships, for he was as reserved as the other was -open-hearted. - -Scarcely a week passed that did not see them together. Charlie was -never well from the time he had the first attack of indigestion, though -he was able to be at his office most of the time, and still kept his -hearty, healthy appearance. His hand-clasp was as strong, his laugh as -infectious as ever, but there was a strained look about his eyes, which -told of suffering borne in silence. - -Robert and Meg, who went often together, commented on it to each other, -but his wife remained ignorant of the real seriousness of his -condition, which was what he desired. She still kept up her music and -her club duties, at his request. It was evident that the man, in his -great unselfishness, was determined to shield her from worry or -trouble, while there was life in his body. - -One day Meg and Robert went to see him, for they had learned that he -had been unable to be at his office for a week. When they reached the -home, they found Mrs. Walker softly playing the piano. Greeting them, -she asked sweetly, "Do you want to see Charlie? Just go upstairs. He -will be _so_ glad to see you. I will come up as soon as I finish my -practicing." - -In silence they ascended the stairs and stepped to the open door of the -bed-chamber. Charlie was propped up in bed with pillows, and they were -both shocked at the change in his appearance, wrought by his illness of -the past week. Gertie was curled up awkwardly by the foot of the bed, -and her eyes were big and woe-begone. - -"Well, well, young people," he called heartily when he saw them, "this -is all the medicine I need!" - -At the word "medicine," Gertie started, and going over to a stand where -there was an array of bottles, said, "It's time for your powder, Papa." - -He made a slight grimace, and addressing himself to Meg, said: "Now did -you ever see such an unnatural child? Every time I really begin to -enjoy myself, she comes and stuffs some vile medicine down my throat!" - -The child's eyes were solemn as she said, "But, Papa, you have to take -it. The doctor told me not to neglect it." - -"Well, little Miss Literal, I see you are 'she who must be obeyed,' so -I'll take it. Though I can't imagine why I need anything else when I -have these two youngsters to look at." - -Meg turned to Robert and said, "Delia isn't the only descendant of -Brian Boru in these parts, you see." There was a little laugh at her -remark, but it was only half-hearted, for both Robert and she were too -much grieved at the change in Charlie to enjoy any joke. - -He tried to be gay and natural, but after each effort he sank back -among the pillows exhausted. As he laid there, a light of exquisite -enjoyment came over his features, for the strains of the piano floated -up from below. - -Ada was playing something in a minor key, and the strange, sweet notes -were so in harmony with the sadness of the occasion, that Meg was -obliged to rise suddenly and go to the window, that Charlie might not -see the tears in her eyes. - -There was no sound in the room till the notes died away, and then -turning to Robert, Charlie said: "Did you ever hear anything like that? -Her music is an indication of her soul." - -Just then Ada came noiselessly into the room, and going over to the -bed, asked gayly of her husband: "Did you like that piece? I think I -will play it at the recital next week." - -"I would," he replied, without a break in his voice, looking at her -adoringly; and then, to Robert and Meg, who had exchanged glances, and -were preparing to leave: "Must you go now? You will come again, won't -you?--Come soon--" he added, in a voice he tried to make expressionless. - -After they were outside Meg could contain her grief no longer, and -began to sob. "Oh, can't _you_ see that he is dying?" she asked. - -"I fear so," was the grave rejoinder. - -"And after he is gone, some one will have to shake that woman and say, -'Wake up,--Charlie is dead!'" - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - "Life's a short summer,--man a flower-- - He dies--alas! how soon he dies!" - - -For the next few weeks Meg and Robert were almost daily visitors at the -Walker home. They could see that Charlie was failing very rapidly, but -it was plain that his wife did not realize it, and that he did not wish -her to. - -One day Robert drove up to Mrs. Weston's in his uncle's phaeton, and -Meg knew instinctively why he had come. Throwing on her hat, she ran -out and asked breathlessly, "Oh, is it about Charlie?" - -His face was grave as he answered, "The doctor has just told me that he -cannot live through the day." - -"And Ada?" - -"She knows,--now," was the low reply. - -"Poor, poor girl!" Meg said in quivering accents. - -Robert looked at her with an expression he was himself unconscious of, -but she did not meet his eyes. - -Nothing more was said by either till they reached the home. Tossing a -coin to a boy who was loafing in the yard, Robert asked him to take the -horse back to the stable. - -They went upstairs, and Ada came from the room with eyes swollen and -red, and said, "You may go in,--he will want to see you." - -As they entered, and Charlie recognized them, he called out in his old -cheery tones, much weakened by suffering, "My two young friends, I'm so -glad to see you! Gertie, honey, get another chair so they can both sit -down. How's my little cousin?" he continued, looking at Meg. "What's -that, what's that? No crying, little girl. We want to be cheerful and -happy here." - -Meg dried her tears and tried to smile at him. "That's it," he said. -"That's one reason I've always loved this little cousin so much," he -explained, turning his eyes toward Robert. "She's always -cheerful,--never makes a fellow feel badly." - -"Perhaps we--or at least I--would better not stay in here," said Robert, -noticing how exhausted he was. - -Charlie put out his hand feebly and laid it on Robert's--"Don't go. I -might get blue. _She_--" nodding toward the other room,--"has gone all to -pieces, and you know I can't bear to see her unhappy." - -He seemed at times, from then on, to lapse into unconsciousness, but -whenever one of them would rise to call Ada he would rouse himself and -ask them not to. "The poor girl loses control of herself when she sees -me. I'll tell you when to call her. I don't want to make it any worse -for her than is necessary." - -After a little while he said: "Robert, I don't belong to any church, -but I'm not an infidel. I've tried to live right. Won't you say a -little prayer for me? Not any set form, my boy, but just a prayer from -your heart." - -Kneeling by the bed, Robert made a simple, touching, earnest prayer in -a few sentences, a prayer which brought the quick tears again to Meg's -eyes. At its conclusion Charlie said, "Thank you," very softly, and -turned his head away for a few minutes. - -When he spoke again it was lightly, to cover his emotion. "Meg, I've -played a great joke on Ada. She thinks we are poor. We _have_ had to -economize a good deal, but there will be fifty thousand dollars life -insurance for her after--well, after a while. That ought to keep her and -the young one from starving, don't you think?" - -The room grew very silent, for neither Meg nor Robert had any heart for -conversation. Gertie sat in her usual place at the foot of the bed, -dry-eyed and sad, watching her father's white face. - -Outside, in the hall, could be heard the murmur of voices. It seemed to -disturb the sick man at last, for, opening his eyes, he asked, "Is it -the neighbor-women waiting to see me die? Just tell them that I'm not -at home to callers, will you?" - -He tried to laugh at his pitiful little joke, but the laugh was so -hollow that it startled even himself. He nodded as Robert and Meg -arose, and said, "Yes, send her in, I want her. Good-bye, dear -friends,--God bless you!" - -They started for the door, when he called feebly, "Meg!" - -"Yes," she cried, running back to him. - -"Don't let the doctor or any one disturb us. I just want _her_,--and -little Gertie." As she started again he caught her hand and said -entreatingly, "Be good to _her_, little cousin!" - -When she found Ada and sent her in to him, she whispered, "If you need -me, call me, dear." - -From the room came the sound of Ada's sobs, above which, with -remarkable strength, arose Charlie's voice, encouraging and cheering. -Then weaker and weaker it grew,--and ceased altogether. - -A moment later a wild shriek rang through the house, and Meg, running -in, found Ada in a swoon on the floor, while Gertie, the child, with an -expression of heart-breaking despair, was striving to lift her mother's -head, though she never took her eyes from the still, white face on the -bed. - -Meg and Robert left the house an hour later. There was nothing more -they could do, for the Masons, to which lodge Charlie belonged, were in -charge of the body, and the neighbor-women had taken possession of Ada -and Gertie. - -It had grown almost dark, and the lights were beginning to shine in the -houses along the way. There was little said between them, for both were -too deeply stirred by the sad events of the day to talk much. - -Finally Meg broke the silence. With a little catch in her voice, she -said: "I am so wicked! When poor Charlie told me that Ada would have -fifty thousand dollars, my first thought was that there were many men -whom that amount of money would tempt." - -As there was no reply, she said, with attempted lightness, "Will you -absolve me?" - -Meeting her mood, though both their hearts were heavy, he answered, -"There is no need of absolution where there is no sin." - -Nothing more was said until her gate was reached, and she cried: "It -doesn't pay! It doesn't pay to love, and marry, and be separated by -death!" - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - "Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss - Of Paradise that has survived the fall!" - - -About a week after Charlie's funeral, Meg and Robert chanced to meet at -the Walker home, where both had gone to see the desolate young widow. - -As they walked home together, both were silent. When within a block of -Meg's home they passed a little cottage, plainly the home of people in -moderate circumstances. When they were just opposite the gate, a comely -young woman came out of the door and called, "Supper's ready." - -Her husband, who was on the lawn in front, picked up one child, swung -him on his back, while the youngster squealed with glee, and called, -"Supper's ready. Didn't you hear Mama call, boys? The first one in gets -all the hot biscuit." - -Off he capered over the yard, the child on his back kicking and -pounding, and crying, "Get up, old horsie," while the other two little -lads raced after him as fast as their short legs would carry them. The -mother stood in the open door, her hands on her hips, watching the -race, her face radiating good-humor and joy. - -It was such a domestic scene! Rough and uncouth though they might be, -these people typified home, with all of the sweet meaning which is -often lost amid the environment of wealth. - -Robert watched with his heart in his eyes. He noted each of the little -lads, for he loved children very dearly. He saw the look of idolatrous -pride on the mother's face. He was absorbed in the delight of the -domestic scene. - -And then they entered the house; the door closed upon them! It was as -though he had been given a glimpse of Heaven through a crack in the -door, which had suddenly been closed, leaving him out in the dark and -the night of his own despair. - -Something of what he felt was in his eyes as he turned and looked at -Meg. Then the veil which had obscured his mental vision was lifted, and -he found himself face to face with his great soul-problem! - -He seemed to see her for the first time. He took in the pure little -profile, the fresh red lips, the dark-lashed eyes, in a way he had -never done before. He even found himself looking with tender, amused -eyes at her reddish hair, and vaguely wondered what she would do if he -were to call her, school-boy fashion, "Sorrel-top." - -Suddenly he remembered! Not for him those charms, not for him the -companionship of this winsome little creature, of whose deeper nature -he had been given a glimpse, during the sad communion of the last few -weeks! - -When they reached her gate he dared not trust himself to shake hands -with her. He feared the touch of the soft little hand, and knew he must -be alone to fight it out by himself. - -As Meg stepped up on the porch and was about to go in, a querulous -voice said: "Well, I see you have been gallivanting around with Robert -Malloy again. I should think he would be disgusted with you, the way -you run after him!" - -"Oh, Auntie, don't, please," she pleaded, holding out her hands -beseechingly. - -"Every one sees it," continued the merciless voice, "even his mother. -And from the way she spoke that night she was here, I could tell that -she was very much displeased." - -"Are you sure of that?" Meg asked quietly. - -"Of course I'm sure," was the impatient answer. - -"Very well. I'll see that no one has reason to criticise my actions -again. Thank you for telling me. Good-night," she said gently, as she -started to her room. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - "_Pray, goody, please to moderate the rancour of your tongue._" - - -Meg did not see Robert for a week after that memorable walk. The days -of his absence were not sweetened by the comments of her aunt. "I knew -he would grow tired of being pursued. Men are not won that way," was -the remark, with variations, which greeted the girl every day of the -seven during which she did not have the saving grace of Robert's -presence to help her endure the torture. - -All that was broad and sweet in her nature rejected the imprecations, -but what there was of suspicion, engendered by the loveless home life -she had led, listened to her tormentor. - -It was not surprising, therefore, that she became irritable and -nervous. It was in this mood that Robert found her, when, after his -week of battle, he again walked up the narrow, flower-bordered path. It -seemed to him that he had never really been there before. Just as Meg, -after the great revelation, had appeared in a new light, so now did her -surroundings. - -There was a certain tender gravity in his face as he offered her his -hand, which she purposely ignored. He flushed at this, but being -familiar with her somewhat prickly disposition, saw nothing significant -in her refusal to shake hands with him. "How is Aunt Amelia?" he asked -idly, as he seated himself. - -"As ravishingly disagreeable as usual, thank you," was the somewhat -snappy retort. - -"Has your supply of kerosene oil run out? You don't seem to have been -lighting the piano-lamp lately, with the music-box accompaniment." - -She almost smiled, but thought better of it, and replied, "My ambition -in that line has been nearly killed for lack of encouragement. Candles -and a jew's-harp are about as near as I can approach to my shaded -lights and soft music." - -After a pause she said: "I'm sorry she's not here just now. It will -grieve her to learn that she has missed a gentleman caller. They are -not standing in line any longer, so she can't afford to lose one." - -"I did not come to see your aunt." - -Meg ignored his remark, and kept on: "She heard this morning of a new -skin balm, and she has torn madly down town to procure it. She will be -in rare good-humor when she returns. She always is after buying -something to enhance her beauty." - -Robert was watching her face with intense interest as she talked, and -made no reply. - -"It's something _all_ the time," she complained; "either her face is -smeared with grease, or thick with some chalky mixture which gives her -a clown-like appearance, or else,--oh, the worst of all, the very limit, -was the rubber mask! While she wore that I used to lock my door at -night for fear she would come in my room for something, and scare me -into spasms!" - -As she talked a severe expression came into Robert's face. "Margie!" he -remonstrated. - -It was the first time he had used the dear name by which her mother had -called her, in spite of his threat to do so, and though she felt the -reproof of his tone, she thrilled when he spoke it. "Do you know," he -began, "that your comments on your aunt are, to say the least in poor -taste?" - -She flushed deeply, but there was defiance in her voice and in the tilt -of her head. "Why don't you say outright that I am a vulgar, ill-bred, -common little thing?" she demanded. - -"Because I don't think it." - -"Oh, yes, you do," she retorted angrily. "I just wish you had to live -with Aunt Amelia! It might shake a little of the priggishness out of -you! You don't seem to understand that I would go mad if I couldn't -take it out in ridiculing her." - -His face softened, but before he could speak, she said in a hard, -expressionless tone, entirely devoid of the passion which had just -marked her utterances: "You will be leaving soon to enter your -monastery. I suppose it is proper to wish you _bon voyage_, as one does -people about to embark upon a long journey." - -His face went from red to white, and he studied his shoes, as though -trying to make up his mind to speak. Then he said slowly and -hesitatingly, "Let us not talk of that now. What are you reading?" and -reaching over, he lifted the book from the bench beside her where she -had dropped it on his approach. - -"Nothing which would interest you," she said tartly; "just the story of -a son's devotion to his mother." - -"What do you mean by that?" he demanded sternly. - -"Oh, nothing at all," was the light reply; "you are more interested, -are you not, in foot-washing, shaven heads and cowls?" - -He rose instantly, his face dark with passion, but as he talked, it -cleared, till in the end it was serene and calm. "I understand you now. -You take this means, this cruel means of wounding me, so that I would -know of your indifference. I have been having a mighty battle with -myself, as between my church and my love for you. And, though I should -blush to own it, my love won." - -He paused a brief second. She, too, was standing, and she was trembling -with emotion, but he did not observe it, nor that her lips were -quivering. "I came here to-day to ask you to marry me. I was willing to -forego the vows I was about to take, for which I have been preparing -all my life." - -He took a step nearer, and looked down at her. "Margie, I love you so! -I did not know such a thing existed as this fire which has permeated my -entire being! It will be my curse in my chosen life, because I will -never be able to concentrate my mind on the work before me. Your face -will be always between me and my duty. I could almost hate you for -shattering all the hopes and aspirations of a lifetime!" - -He waited for some sign that she heard him, but she stood like a piece -of marble. "Yet perhaps had you loved me, and we had married, I would -neither be happy, nor cause you to be. So, though you are dearer to me -than all the world, dearer than the cloistered life I thought would be -all-sufficing, I thank you for not returning my love." - -Wheeling abruptly, he walked down the path to the gate. - -"Oh," she whispered to herself, wringing her hands together, "he thanks -me for not loving him!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - "Thus repuls'd, our final hope - Is flat despair." - - -During the week that Robert was trying to choose his path for life, -Mrs. Malloy watched him with anxious, loving eyes, conscious of his -struggle, herself elated and depressed according to the moods his face -reflected. - -On the morning of the day he called on Meg, he had gone to his mother, -and nestling at her feet as had been his habit since his early -childhood, had leaned his head against her knee. She laid her hand -caressingly on his head, as though inviting him to speak. - -With averted eyes, and a manner he strove to make careless, he said, -"Dear Mother mine, would you despise me for a weak, shilly-shally sort -of creature if--" he hesitated a moment,--"if I should, after all, alter -the plan of my life and not go into the monastery?" - -Her face was transfigured, but she answered calmly, realizing fully -that it was delicate ground upon which they were treading: "Of course I -would not, dear. Whatever is for your happiness is that which I desire. -And no one, not even a mother, can decide for you." - -He reached up, and pulling her hand down, kissed it reverently. And -then she said softly: "While my boy was little I guided him through the -shoals, avoiding the rocks, and I longed,--oh, _how_ I longed to be -always at the helm, to keep his boat in the still, deep waters. But I -realized that it would be no kindness to have him depend on me alone -for guidance. I would grow old,--my hand would lose its cunning, my eyes -their keenness of vision,--or I would have to leave him altogether--" - -He kissed her hand again, in protest. "Old age and death have nothing -in common with my young mother," he whispered. - -She smiled sadly as she shook her head. "Nevertheless, one must always -be prepared. At any rate, I taught you how to steer your own boat, my -boy." - -"Then you desert the ship, do you, O most wise woman?" he asked gayly. - -"I but abdicate the captaincy," she replied in the same strain. - -When he left the house to make his call, there was something in his -bearing which would have convinced his mother, even without their -previous conversation, that his decision was made and that he went to -put his life in the hands of the one woman in the world she would have -chosen for him. Her heart was light, for she had no doubt as to the -outcome. - -Mr. Spencer came in singing, "Hail to the chief who in triumph -advances," and then, seeing his sister, he stopped abruptly and said, -"I told you so." - -"You think he has gone to put his fate 'to the test, to win or lose it -all?'" - -"Did you see the set of his shoulders as he left the house?" demanded -her brother, and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: "You -can't fool me. I know the signs of the zodiac. It's the full of the -moon, that part of the month when it gets into a fellow's blood, and he -forgets everything except that here is the one being he loves. Why, -Stella, I'd have been infected with that same fever every full moon for -forty years, if I hadn't been vaccinated." - -Mrs. Malloy laughed heartily, and then he said, more earnestly: "Robert -will be a lucky man to win that girl. I've known her for so long, and -have been so fond of her, that nothing but my age prevents my stepping -in now and interfering with Robert. The first time I ever saw her," he -continued reminiscently, "she was a mere child, a quaint red-headed -little thing, with a world of tragedy in her big eyes. That was a few -months after she had lost her father. She had replied to a question of -her aunt's, simply 'yes,'--and Mrs. Weston was striving to make her say -'yes, ma'am.'" - -"Which won?" Mrs. Malloy asked idly. - -"I don't know. The last I saw of them they were walking down the -street, Mrs. Weston dragging her along and saying, 'You _won't_ say -"Yes, ma'am," to me! Well, I'll teach you some manners if you live with -me!' But as I have never since heard Meg say 'Yes, ma'am,' I have an -idea that she won the day." - -When Robert returned, he sought his mother and said briefly: "Another -hand than mine has turned the boat back into the still waters of the -monastery. My novitiate begins in six weeks. Let us leave here in a few -days, that we may spend the remainder of the time alone together." - -All the glory had departed from her face, and she only nodded, not -trusting herself to speak. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - "Unto every one that hath shall be given, and he - shall have abundance; but from him that hath not - shall be taken away even that which he hath." - - -Meg did not see Robert again before he left. Mrs. Malloy she saw only -for a moment, in the presence of her aunt, when she came to tell them -"Good-bye." "We leave to-morrow," she explained with an attempt at a -smile; "Robert has only six weeks more of liberty." - -They looked into each other's eyes, the two women who loved him. Soul -recognized soul, and Meg, throwing her arms around his mother, -whispered, "God give you strength to bear it." - -For reply, Mrs. Malloy clasped her close a moment and said so low that -Mrs. Weston could not hear, though she strained her ears. "If I find I -cannot bear it alone, and send for you, will you come?" - -Meg could only nod. A moment more, and she was gone. Meg stood staring -after her till her aunt's rasping voice broke the spell: "Do you want -the neighbors to say that you are dying of love for that young man? No? -Well, then, don't act so mawkish about his mother!" - -Meg could stand no more, and ran up to her room to escape the -persecution. - -The days dragged on hopelessly and drearily. One day, about three weeks -after Robert's departure, Ada Walker came to see her. She looked very -pretty in her mourning-clothes, and her face wore a pensive air which -was becoming to her. - -"I have come to say 'Good-bye,'" was her greeting. "Good-bye!" asked -Meg in astonishment. - -"Yes, I am going to put Gertie in boarding-school, and then I am going -East to study music." - -"And the home?" - -"I have sold that," was the reply. - -"Sold Charlie's home!" gasped the girl. - -"Certainly. He always wanted me to keep up my music, and I couldn't be -bothered with a house." - -Meg said nothing. "You know, Meg, Charlie would have wished it," she -said somewhat peevishly. - -"Yes, Charlie would have wanted you to do just as you wished," replied -Meg drearily. Then suddenly she burst into tears, and throwing her arms -around Ada's neck, cried, "Oh, I can't bear to see you go! You are all -of Charlie that is left to me, and _everybody_ is going from me!" - -Ada looked surprised at her burst of emotion, and said patronizingly: -"Why, I didn't know that you cared so much! We people of deeper -feelings are sometimes at a loss to understand you frivolous ones!" - -The words acted like a tonic on Meg, who dried her eyes, and said with -bitter lightness, "You must allow us frivolous ones to mope -occasionally. We are not always gay." - -"I suppose not," said her cousin, eyeing her disapprovingly. - -After she had gone Meg went up to the attic where she kept the little -trunk containing her mother's things. Unlocking it, she clothed herself -in the dress and apron of which she had spoken to Mrs. Malloy. With the -addition the spectacles, the use of which her mother's near-sightedness -had compelled, and the piece of unfinished work, she looked like a -child masquerading in grown-up clothes. But no child could have worn -the look of absolute despair depicted upon her face. - -She sat gazing into vacancy for a while, and then, remembering her -game, began to talk: "Margie, dearie, don't you realize that you are -only a light-minded little thing? You must try to be serious, darling, -try to have sober thoughts, try to feel as people of deeper natures do. - -"And another thing you must remember,--you must not stand in anybody's -way. When you find that you are standing between anyone and the light, -just step aside. Never mind about yourself. You are of no consequence. -You are just a waif,--you don't belong anywhere, and don't belong to -anybody--" - -Suddenly the little red head went down on the folded arms, and she -began to sob, "Oh, mother! mother!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -"As a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings." - - -For a week or so after their return, Mrs. Malloy found herself, in -spite of her philosophy, growing bitter. She compared her life, replete -with all the bodily comforts that wealth procures, with that of other -women, who knew not the luxury of ease and comfort and beautiful -environments, but who, nevertheless, were surrounded by the dear ones -who alone make happiness. - -She looked around her house, which in the minutest detail evidenced -exquisite refinement of taste, and thought with despair that in a few -weeks those rooms would be empty,--empty of the presence of her best -beloved. - -But something occurred which obliterated her reflections, and roused -all the strength and courage of her character. Robert became very ill -with typhoid fever, and for days it was impossible to foresee the -issue. - -During his delirium he was like a child who dreads the dark, except -that the thing he feared was the monastery, that haven of rest for -which he had longed. He would beg his mother piteously to keep Margie -from pushing him through the gates. - -One day he returned from the Crossway leading into the Valley, and -smiled a sane, rational smile. And simultaneous with his recovery, fell -the scales from his eyes. - -He looked at the havoc anxiety had wrought in his mother's face. Back -of the ever-ready smile, was a look he was beginning to understand. - -And from having doubts as to his duty to fulfill his vows, he became -positive that his place was with her. As day after day he thought it -out, he felt horror of himself for the wrong he had unconsciously -intended. - -Finally he told his mother. He begged her forgiveness for ever having -contemplated leaving her after his father's death, and promised that in -the years to come he would try to make it up to her. She clasped him in -her arms, and murmured incoherent words of love, as she pressed her -face to his dark curls, as a mother does with a baby. "Oh, mother mine, -has it meant so much to you?" he asked in sorrow. - -"So much more than you can ever know," she answered, "but this moment -compensates for a whole lifetime of suffering!" - -After a pause, during which he stroked her hand in silence, Mrs. Malloy -said gently, "Robert, I don't want to rush in where angels would fear -to tread, so just stop me if the subject pains you,--but I don't -understand why Margie refused to marry you." - -"She didn't exactly refuse me, Mother," he said hesitatingly; and then -he told her of their conversation. - -His mother regarded him, during the recital, with amazement, amusement, -and consternation. When he had finished she observed quietly: "My son, -I see I neglected an important part of your education. You are not -schooled in woman-lore." - -A little later a telegram went out to Meg from her, saying, "I need -you. Come." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - "To know, to esteem, to love,--and then to part, - Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!" - - -Valencia, to Meg, had become a barren spot on the map. Nothing relieved -the dreary monotony but the nagging tongue of her aunt, who, it would -seem, had found her mission in life, that of saying and doing the -little things which crucify. - -Meg felt that she could have endured having her house of cards tumble -about her feet; could even have been stoical, because accustomed to a -loveless life. But the constant jarring note,--the mean, cutting words -which dwelt upon the lips perpetually of her one relative, kept her -soul in such a turmoil, that she seriously thought of embracing -Catholicism, and retiring to the peace of a convent. - -That consolation, however, was denied her. She had not listened to Mrs. -Weston's exordiums on unrequited love, without acquiring a tolerably -accurate idea of the remarks which such an act would call -forth,--remarks which she felt would follow and torment her, though -thirty convent walls, instead of one, hemmed her in from the strife and -malice and unwisdom of the world she had left. - -When she took a mental inventory of her accomplishments with the view -of engaging in some business, she knew she could not qualify. She was -skilled in cooking and housework,--but courageous as she was in her -convictions, she shrank from the social ostracism that would surely -follow, should she employ her one talent in earning her independence. - -While she was turning these things over in her mind, and trying to come -to a decision, the message came summoning her to the aristocratic -little Eastern city where Mrs. Malloy had made her home since the early -days of her wedded life. - -Before speaking to her aunt about it, Meg counted over her scanty -savings from her insufficient income, and found that she would have -barely money enough for a round-trip ticket. It had not occurred to her -to refuse the summons. She felt it her positive duty to go, and, -putting her own trouble behind her, to do what she could for the -stricken mother who had turned to her in her need. - -When she timidly mentioned it to Mrs. Weston, she said sharply, "You -surely don't think of going! Why, it will only strengthen the opinion -most of the people have,--that you are desperately in love with Robert -Malloy." - -Meg raised her head with a gesture of pride and dignity, though the red -blood mounted to her cheeks, as she replied, "You may tell the -neighbors should they inquire, that I _am_ in love with him." - -"Why, Margaret Anthony, I never heard so shameless an admission in my -life!" - -"I thought you might as well know, being my nearest of blood. You have -thrown out so many innuendoes about the matter, that it may ease your -mind to know the truth. Now you have the knowledge, you may sow it -broadcast. No," as her aunt started to speak, "there is nothing more to -be said between us on the subject. You may discuss me with the -butcher-boy, or the garbage-gatherer, whom I would consider a proper -receptacle for such gossip, or any one who inspires you with a desire -to talk,--but I demand silence for myself!" - -It was a new phase of Meg's character, which Mrs. Weston did not -understand, and as she did not possess a spirit of adventure, she -wisely refrained from disobeying the injunction. - -The following day, with her few clothes, her ticket, and a small -lunch-box which Delia had smuggled to her, Meg set out on her journey. -To her it was a new experience, for since her orphanhood she had -scarcely been away from Valencia. It would have been a pleasurable -trip, but for the sorrow which she anticipated at its close. - -She was so intensely alive, that everything interested her: the -occupants of the car, and the moving panorama without, the rolling -prairies of her own State, the cool, wooded forests of Missouri, the -rich farms of Illinois. But as she neared her journey's end, and -contemplated what it meant to her, and to that other lonely woman who -loved him, her thoughts took shape, and, closing her eyes, she tried to -realize the full force of the blow that had fallen alike upon his -mother and herself. - -In imagination she saw it all! A dim, high-ceilinged cathedral, with -the monastery at the rear. The gloom was relieved only by the candles -at the altar. A priest was droning the Latin of his prayer-book, while -the organ in the loft was playing some soft, monotonous air, that got -into her brain and nearly soothed her into forgetfulness. Suddenly it -burst into a triumphant Te Deum, as the altar boys appeared, followed -by other priests, and lastly, by five young men clad in the brown robe -of the order of St. Francis. - -Her eyes sought their faces, one by one, till the last one was reached. -He was white, and in his eyes was the look of a man who had lived, and -loved, and lost. Over the heads of the other novitiates, beyond the -forms of the priests, his eyes met and held hers. And when he should -have responded in Latin, with the others, no sound issued from his -lips, but his eyes, fixed on hers, said: "Margie, I love you so! You -are dearer to me than all the world, dearer to me than the cloistered -life I thought would be all-sufficing!" - -She held out her arms to him, but into his face had come the gray -pallor of a living death. The service went on and on, endlessly, it -seemed to her. It was all so meaningless! Her mind comprehended -nothing. Her heart, tense and ready to break, knew only that he was -leaving her. The beauty of the music, the impressiveness and solemnity -of the service meant but the one thing,--Robert was leaving her! - -The service ended, his eyes said farewell to her,--and, with the others, -to the same monotonous music of the organ that had first lulled her -senses, he retreated, farther and farther away from her, until at last -he disappeared entirely. There was a moment of terrible suspense, as -she strained her ears to listen. Then came the clang of the monastery -gates, as they closed behind him, shutting him out of her life forever! - -"Missy, de train's done reached Welcomeville. Ain't dis where you all -get off?" - -Meg sat up straight and looked at the colored porter in a dazed manner -for a moment. Then, gathering her few possessions together, she left -the train. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - "Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy." - - -Mrs. Malloy became oppressed with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt, in -the days following the sending of the message. It was foreign to her -nature to do anything about which there was necessity of being -secretive, and she shrank from the consequences of the revelation, -should her act meet Robert's disapproval. - -But dominant over that and every other sensation was her joy at her -son's defection from his chosen path, and the anticipation of his -happiness in knowing that Meg loved him. - -She did not meet Meg at the train, sending her trusted coachman alone, -for she preferred receiving her in her home. When the carriage drove -up, and she saw Meg's white, drawn face, she became momentarily -nervous. But the nervousness gave way to happiness when she held the -girl in her arms, and caressed her hair. "Dear Mrs. Malloy," Meg -whispered, "I seem so helpless! What can I do to make the burden -easier?" - -The silence that followed became uncomfortable. And Meg, looking up, -saw such a light on the face bending over hers that she added -wonderingly, "Why, how strange you look! What is it?" - -"Please listen patiently, dear little girl, and don't misunderstand me. -But first, let me take off your hat,--there--and now sit down. What would -you say if I told you that Robert had given up the monastery?" - -Meg looked at her in a dazed manner, but made no reply. Mrs. Malloy -continued: "He awakened to the knowledge that he was more necessary on -_this_ side of the gates." - -Meg suddenly sat up very straight and asked in a strained voice, "And -the message? When did you send the message?" - -Mrs. Malloy laughed softly, "Just as soon as he told me." - -"But you said you needed me." The girl's tone was hard. - -For the first time Mrs. Malloy realized that here was an undreamed of -force, and she was suddenly reduced to an uncomfortable knowledge that -she had perhaps made a mistake. She hastened to adjust matters by an -explanation. "I felt I _did_ need you, my dear, for Robert. He told me -he loved you, and as I have always tried to procure for him everything -he wished, I thought I would bring you to him." She tried to laugh, but -the effort was a failure. - -"Then you have spoiled him by getting him all the playthings he -wanted," Meg said dryly. "A little denial earlier in life would have -been morally beneficial. You should have let him cry for the moon, and -he would have learned the futility of tears." - -"Margie, dear,--" Mrs. Malloy leaned forward, and her tone was -pleading,--"don't talk like that. It breaks my heart. I have blundered, -but only through love of my boy and you. Can't you forgive a foolish -old woman?" - -Meg smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. "Certainly I will -forgive you. But Rob--your son: does he know you have sent for me?" - -"No, he has no idea of it. And now that I see how you regard it, I fear -to meet his contempt when he knows that I have interfered, fruitlessly, -with his affairs." - -"But he need never know it," Meg said quickly; "I will take the first -train back, and he need not know I was here." - -Robert's convalescence had reached the stage where he longed to prove -to his loving mother that she had been needlessly alarmed about him. -Therefore, slipping out of his easy-chair in the library, he started -into the hall to find and surprise her. Following the direction of her -voice and that other low-toned one, which was so strangely familiar, he -pulled aside the heavy draperies, and stood framed in the doorway. - -"Margie!" he cried, steadying himself by the curtains. - -At the sound of that cry, and at sight of his thin, white face, she -half started toward him with an inarticulate exclamation. But suddenly -she remembered, and advancing formally, gave him her hand to shake, and -said in a conventional tone, as though they had met the day before: -"Good afternoon, Mr. Malloy. I hope you are improving in health." - -Robert dropped weakly into a chair, and with his eyes still fixed on -her face, said to Mrs. Malloy: "Mother, is it a cruel hallucination? Or -is it really my Margie, standing there?" - -Meg flushed deeply, but before she could say anything Mrs. Malloy -interposed: "Let me explain, dear. I have been a foolish meddler. I -wired Margie that I needed her, and she came, thinking you had gone -into the monastery." - -An awkward pause followed, which Robert broke, falteringly: "Margie, it -is not a time to stand on formality, and I know from my former -experience that a delay in speaking is sometimes disastrous. So I am -going to ask you a question in the presence of my mother. Will you be -my wife?" - -Meg's face was white, and her voice quietly cold as she replied, "I am -not unmindful of the very great honor you do me, Robert, but I must -decline it." And turning to Mrs. Malloy, "Is there a train I can take -to-night?" - -"No, dear, not till morning. Let me take you to your room, and you can -rest, for I know you are tired." - -"Thank you," Meg said sweetly, and giving Robert a little nod she -followed his mother from the room. - -After opening her door for her and seeing that everything was as she -had ordered, even to the flowers, and the cheerful grate fire, Mrs. -Malloy turned to leave the room. At the threshold she paused, and Meg -was really concerned to see the look of age which had overtaken her -features. "You would better rest a while," she said, "and I will have -you called in time for dinner." - -When she was alone Meg threw herself down in a chair before the fire -and sat staring into the glowing embers. She was deeply wounded and -offended. "Do they think I have no self-respect?" she said to herself. -"Mrs. Malloy, knowing me to be dying of love for Robert, and being -accustomed to gratifying his slightest whim, hands me to him on a -platter, with her compliments. And he, so polite, having been taught to -say 'Please,' and 'Thank you,' accepts me graciously. 'Thank you, -Mother dear; you have the knack of always getting me just what I want. -It's very pretty. I would prefer it to that monastery or any other -toy.'" - -Just then a glowing log separated, and fell with a hissing sound; -gradually the glow faded from it and it became gray and lifeless. -"That's it," Meg soliloquized; "that log represents life. One moment so -full of color and warmth, the next, a handful of ashes.--I hate -Robert.--He looks very badly.--I wonder if he was in any danger.--I -suppose his mother must have been terribly anxious.--Auntie would say I -was sentimentalizing.--I wonder--" The tired head fell back against the -cushion of the chair, and she slept dreamlessly and sweetly, till she -was summoned to dinner. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - "Her children arise up and call her blessed." - - -Meg, refreshed by her nap, was her usual sprightly self at dinner. Mrs. -Malloy looked weary and old, and had little to say. Robert, who dined -only by courtesy, his repast consisting of a bowl of bouillon, -conversed with Meg on the impersonal topics she selected. - -He found it impossible to get on the old familiar footing. Even the -subject of Aunt Amelia, she treated with respect, refusing to see the -opportunities for ridicule which his polite inquiries furnished, and of -which, once, she would have taken advantage. She was bright and -gracious, but there was a new dignity about her, which forbade any -approach to the doorway of her emotions. - -Robert had forborne to reproach his mother. Being by instinct and -breeding a gentleman, he did not say a word to wound her. Yet ever in -his deference, she was conscious of his resentment. She knew that he -attributed his failure to win Margie, to her interference. That, had he -been left alone to shape his fate, his desire would have led him back -to Valencia, there to woo and win the maiden in the old-fashioned -conventional manner. - -And through her over-zeal, his bubble had burst,--the prize was beyond -his seeking! - -She was very miserable in her self-communion. More so, perhaps, than -either of her companions. With Robert, hope was not by any means -extinct. With Margie, in spite of her schooling, and her wounded pride, -the warmth and glow of life came into her heart, as she looked across -at Robert, listened to his deep, expressive voice, and met his eyes, -containing the message of love he dared not speak. - -As they started to leave the dining-room, Mrs. Malloy turned suddenly -white, and before Robert could catch her, she sank in a crumpled heap -on the floor. It was only a fainting spell, induced by her unhappiness -following so closely upon the exhaustion and anxiety attending Robert's -illness. - -But this they did not know, those two young creatures! To them it -resembled the sleep of death, and they both knelt beside her, frantic -with self-reproach, crying and calling to her to open her eyes and -speak. When she finally emerged from the swoon, she looked from one to -the other of them. Thinking she was dying, and that the wish she could -not frame in words was her last request, Meg sobbingly cried, "Yes, -dear Mrs. Malloy, I _will_ marry him if he wants me, for I do love -him." - -Whereupon Robert, putting his arm around Meg, said solemnly, "Mother -darling, it shall be as you wish. We love each other, and will send for -the priest at once if you say so." - -Mrs. Malloy closed her eyes from sheer weakness, but even in her -half-swoon the look of youth stole back to her features, and a -beneficent expression of peace came over them. When she felt strong -enough to speak, she asked to be helped to the couch. - -The young couple bent over her solicitously, and when she again opened -her eyes, Robert asked in a low voice, "Shall I send for the doctor for -you, and the priest for us, Mother dear?" - -She smiled faintly. "I do not need the doctor, for I simply fainted. As -for the priest, suit yourselves, but don't send on my account, for I -think I will live till morning. And now, if Margie will come to help -me, I am going to my room to lie down. I would rather have you than a -servant, dear. Good-night, my boy. I will send Margie back to you -soon." - -A little later, Meg whispered to Robert, "I believe she fainted on -purpose!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - "Sweet is every sound, - Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet." - - -Meg was writing to her aunt, and Robert leaned over her shoulder and -read: "So I will be married here, and then we will take a trip for -Robert's health. Auntie, please don't suspect me of marrying for money, -but did you guess they were rich? _I_ didn't, till I came here, and -then I saw. Most of the rich people we know make such a vulgar display, -and that is why, I suppose, I did not suspect it of them. I feel like a -fairy princess--" - -Meg stopped writing and leaned back in her chair. "Robert Malloy," she -said with pretended severity, "I am surprised that your mother never -taught you it was impolite to look over people's shoulders. I suppose -she wanted to leave part of your education to me." - -"Speaking of fairy princesses, tell me the rest of that story you began -the day that poor, dear little boy stubbed his poor, dear little toe." - -She blushed at the remembrance, but passed on the reference, and began -her story without a preface: "Well, the beautiful, amiable princess, -almost too good for this world, finally met her Prince, or at least a -very good imitation of one, but he thought _he_ was too good for this -world--" - -"I don't think I care for your story," and he pretended to yawn. - -"And I don't think you would make a good monk. You are not fat enough," -remarked Meg irrelevantly; and then, seeing a tense look on Robert's -face, she leaned forward and said contritely, "Oh, Bobbie, I never will -make light of it again! Honest! Cross my heart and hope to die!" - -"I hope not, dear one," he said gently; "I have given it all up, and I -have no regrets, but,--" - -"Yes," seriously, "I understand." - -Robert had drawn a chair up beside her, and was holding and caressing -her hand. "Tell me, little girl, where you would like to go, when we -leave the world behind us." - -Her face assumed a prim look, as she replied: "I have always been -taught that if I mended my ways and became very, _very_ good, I would -go to Heaven." - -Robert laughed. "But in the meantime? I would like to travel more or -less for a year, especially as Mother can be with us part of the time. -After that, I will come home and go into some kind of business." - -Meg's eyes were shining with excitement. "Won't it be fine!" she -exclaimed; "I have always longed to see the world. I want to view the -universe from the summit of Pike's Peak. I would like to gather oranges -in Florida, to be prodigal with flowers in California. It is my desire -to be made dumb by the magnificence of Yellowstone Park,--temporarily -dumb, you understand,--and deaf by the roar of Niagara!" - -"And you have never been to any of these places?" - -"No, but I once went to Tecumseh! That's fifteen miles from Valencia," -she replied confidentially. - -Robert laughed. Her voice became softly reminiscent, as she continued: -"I used to 'pretend' that I was traveling. I wandered through quaint -old streets in the unfrequented northern parts of Great Britain. I -spent whole weeks in that little town with its one street, paved with -cobblestones, leading straight down to the sea. I reveled in the -strong, salt air, and the odor of the fish, freshly caught,--though I -never could bear to smell them in a meat market in Valencia!" and her -small nose went up at the recollection. - -"And did you never visit France, Germany, or Italy?" - -"Oh, yes,--and Spain, where were all my possessions! I didn't miss any -of the usual places, but I was contrary enough to prefer the unbeaten -path. That, I suppose, is the spirit of my pioneer ancestors in me. I -dearly loved Ireland, and the warm-hearted Irish people,--indeed, -indeed, I'm not saying it to flatter you!" - -Robert was enjoying himself thoroughly, and to encourage her in her -whimsicalities, he asked, "Did you never visit Japan?" - -"Yes, it was there I learned the exquisite art of arranging flowers. -But auntie, being a born and bred Valencian, could never be convinced -that it was not artistic to stuff a vase full of nasturtiums, geraniums -and sweet peas, with a garnishing of alyssum and petunias!" - -"You must have gained quite a smattering of the languages in your -travels," Robert said idly. - -"_Just_ a smattering! Not enough to make me forget the everyday -language which years of association had made familiar, if not dear. My -travels usually ended as abruptly as though a cablegram had called me -home. Just as I would alight from one voyage, and, living over again my -delight in the scenes which had enchanted me, before preening my wings -and preparing for another flight, I would be jerked back to my -commonplace existence by a familiar voice saying, 'Meg, tell Delia to -boil some cabbage for dinner!' Auntie was addicted to cabbage," she -concluded plaintively. - -There was something of sadness in Robert's smile, as he said: "Poor -little bird with the clipped wings! How much of pleasure and happiness -you have missed. Please God, I shall make it up to you!" - -Meg gave him a grateful, upward look, as she exclaimed impulsively, -"Oh, Robert, my dear, you will have to give me so much love to make up -for the fifteen years I have missed it." - -"For twenty years, for forty years, if you say so, sweetheart, for the -supply is unlimited. And you,--will you turn on your shaded lights for -me?" - -"No," she said, with sweet gravity, "for shaded lights are artificial. -They may, at any time, flicker and go out. Nothing but the sunlight and -the moonlight will do now, to express my love." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - An after-thought. - - -Mr. Robert Spencer to Robert Malloy: - - "Valencia, Nov. 5. - - "_Dear Robert_: Hold on. Wait for me. I made the match, and it's - no fair playing the game out till I come. Will take the first - train. But what a combination of hair and name for your wife! It - fixes her nationality, all right. Red-headed Meg Malloy! Salute - her, for - - "Uncle Bob." - -Mrs. Amelia Weston to Miss Margaret Anthony: - - "Valencia, Nov. 5. - - "_Dear Niece Margaret_: For such I suppose you will prefer to be - called, now that you are to marry a rich man. I hope you will not - forget your former friends and relatives who befriended you in - your hour of need. And I trust you will profit by the refined - example I have striven to set you. Be careful of your table - manners. You always had a tendency to put your elbow on the - table. I used to think you did it to annoy me. Perhaps if Robert - never speaks of it you may cease doing it. I am very much afraid - the neighbors will say you pursued Robert to his very home to - marry him. They are likely to say you were afraid to come back to - Valencia to be married for fear he would change his mind. It is - just awful the way people gossip! - - "Of course, I am glad you are going to marry well. But I can't - help thinking how sweet Robert would have looked in that brown - bath-robe. - - "I have bought a new complexion beautifier that I like so much. - The young lady agent explained that my complexion really didn't - need improvement, but that this was a good preservator. She is a - very pleasant young lady. - - "Give my respects to Mrs. Malloy and your future husband. I hope - he won't live to regret choosing you instead of the monastery. - - "Your loving Aunt Amelia. - - "P.S.--I am having the sweetest little dress made! It is of - light-blue cashmere, trimmed in the cutest little chiffon ruffles. - The dressmaker thinks it is going to be very becoming to me." - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - -***** This file should be named 40926-0.txt or 40926-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/2/40926/ - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Meg, of Valencia - -Author: Myra Williams Jarrell - -Release Date: October 3, 2012 [EBook #40926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: “Meg”] - - - - -MEG, OF VALENCIA - -BY - -MYRA WILLIAMS JARRELL - -MONOTYPED BY - -CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS - -TOPEKA, KANSAS - -1905 - - - - -This little book is lovingly dedicated to my parents. - - “’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print: - A book’s a book, although there’s nothing in’t.” - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - “What’s in a name?” - - -When Mr. Robert Spencer was annoyed, he made it known by pacing the -floor with his hands under his coat-tails. When he was pleased, he -quickened the pace, and his hands caused his coat-tails to stand out in -a most jaunty and undignified manner. He was pacing up and down a -handsomely furnished room, one bright May morning, with annoyance -visibly depicted in every line of his coat-tails. - -The other occupant of the room, his sister, was watching him with an -expression half amused, half sad. They were much alike, both sandy in -coloring, and both wearing the same humorous, half-quizzical smile, -which in her was saddened by the loss her deep mourning indicated. She -had never been a handsome woman, but she possessed an attractiveness -far greater than that of mere outward beauty. - -Suddenly her brother paused in front of her and began explosively: “I -tell you it’s tommy-rot. And it’s all because you wouldn’t call him -Bob! How the deuce do you expect a boy you have called ‘Robert’ for -twenty-five years, to have any worldly sense?” - -“Wait a minute, Bob,” interrupted his sister, quietly; “how could I be -expected to call such a splendid boy anything else? ‘Bob,’ for him, -would have been nothing short of sacrilege,—no offense meant, my dear -brother.” - -“Don’t mention it,” he growled; “but I protest that you can make or mar -a boy by a name. You called him ‘Robert.’ What was the result?” - -“Very fine, I call it.” - -Unheeding the interruption, he continued in a mocking voice: “Lacy -dresses which he never tore, wax dolls, kittens, and long curls. Now -that just naturally led up to books, study, church!” - -“That is a combination few people object to, Bob,” his sister gently -interpolated. - -“If taken in moderation, my dear Stella,—in homeopathic doses. Your boy -went on the principle by which some people govern their -medicine-taking, that if a little is good, much is better.” - -He paused for her reply, but as she was evidently waiting for the close -of his harangue, he continued: “Now, look here. Suppose you had called -him ‘Bob.’ There would have been no long curls or doll-rags for him. It -would have been baseball, marbles, fresh air, boy friends. And now, -hang it all, look at him now!” - -Mrs. Malloy sat up with dignity, and asked, “Well, what of him now?” - -“That’s just it,” he sputtered. “If he wasn’t so handsome, manly, -honest and lovable, I wouldn’t care; but to think of all those virtues -being shut up in a monastery, makes me wish I were a profane man, so I -could ease my mind by swearing.” - -Mrs. Malloy had become very white, and she made no answer. Her brother -glanced at her, and added softly, dropping into a chair by her side: -“It’s all because he was brought up in that Faith. I don’t see how you -could do it, Stella.” - -“You forget,” she answered sadly; “it was John’s religion, and it was -understood that he should do that if he were so inclined.” - -“But John never meant for you to be left alone in the world. He -wouldn’t have wanted the boy to leave you, if he had known.” - -“Perhaps not,” she said with white lips, “but I would not lay one straw -in the way, or stand between my boy and what he considers his duty.” - -“Duty be—,” vociferated Mr. Spencer. “I beg your pardon, Stella,—it -almost slipped out. But can’t the young whelp see where his duty is? -Now, don’t be angry, Stella. Do you think I wouldn’t whale any other -man within an inch of his life if he called the boy that?” - -“Nothing is gained by discussing it,” Mrs. Malloy wearily replied, “and -I insist that you say nothing to Robert on the subject. His mind is -quite made up, quite. He believes it to be his father’s wish. He does -not know but that it is mine, though it is, as you say, not my faith.” - -“‘He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow,’” quoted Mr. -Spencer, softly. - -“To say anything to him would make him very unhappy, but would not -alter his decision.” - -“Perhaps some way may yet be found,” he ventured. - -“I am sure nothing would change him. You see, he has had this idea ever -since he was a mere child. It has grown with him. It is so interwoven -with the very fibres of his being that it could not be uprooted. No, -no, Bob, it will have to stand. If I can bear it, surely you can.” - -“If _you_ can bear it,” he answered. “Oh, yes, you can bear it. You -will wave your handkerchief and smile as the gates close upon him, and -then you’ll come home and die of a broken heart!” - -“Don’t,—don’t,” she begged, piteously. - -“Forgive me, Stella; I didn’t mean to hurt you so. But I’ve a scheme to -stop this foolishness and make you happy, and the boy, too.” - -She shook her head hopelessly, but her brother patted her on the -shoulder and said, “But yes, I say. Will you be a party to it?” - -For one moment her eyes flashed up with a look of hope, then it died -out as she said slowly, “I cannot conspire against my boy and what I -know to be his earnest desire.” - -“Well, don’t,” was the brusque reply. “Your co-operation isn’t -necessary anyway. But you and Robert will come next week to visit me as -you promised, won’t you?” - -After Mrs. Malloy nodded in reply, he walked out of the room with his -coat-tails expressing satisfaction. - -He had not been gone long when the door was gently opened, and a young -man entered. Coming up to Mrs. Malloy, he stooped and kissed her on the -forehead. The look of passionate adoration she gave him was not -surprising, for he was undeniably good to gaze upon. He was tall, well -formed and athletic in build, with the fresh coloring, the warm, honest -gray eyes, clear-cut features and rippling dark hair of a long race of -Celtic ancestors. His brow was frank and noble, his smile charming. -There was nothing about him to suggest the parochial calling he was -about to adopt. He looked merely a healthy, wholesome, happy and -unusually handsome young fellow. - -“Always cheerful, little mother,” he said, balancing himself on the arm -of her chair, and meeting her smile with tender, earnest eyes. “That -thought makes me very happy, for I know you are never lonely, and will -not mope after I am gone, as some mothers would.” - -Her face blanched; with teeth shut hard together, she pressed her face -against his sleeve until she could control her voice, and finally -answered: “No, I was never given to moping, my son. But to be -irrelevant, I promised Uncle Bob that we would go to Valencia next week -and stay with him through the summer.” - -“That will be jolly; I think I would enjoy one good old spree of that -sort before—” - -“Let’s go out and find Uncle Bob,” said his mother quickly. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - “And both were young and one was beautiful.” - - -Valencia was a western town, with about forty thousand inhabitants who -believed in and were immeasurably proud of the place. There were no -factories, and there was no great value in real estate, since the wild -boom of the early eighties, which made and broke so many western towns; -but it was quite a railroad center, one of the principal western roads -having headquarters there. Amusement there was none, save band concerts -twice a week in summer, and an occasional show in the opera house in -winter. - -The town had perhaps more than a fair allotment of that class of people -who find fault with everything, from the price of ice to the sparsity -of amusements. It was said, also, to be no more free from public -officials with itching palms, than other cities of its size. - -Saloons were supposed to be unknown in Valencia, in accordance with the -laws of the State, and it did truly present a clean, moral aspect to -the casual observer. - -Valencia was essentially a “home” town, with its wide streets, its many -trees, comfortable homes and green lawns, and it was much beloved by -its inhabitants, who, if they moved away, inevitably moved back again, -with untiring loyalty. - -Robert Spencer had been borne into the town on the tide of prosperity -that had carried so many into it in 1882, and he was one of the -barnacles who had remained, firmly fastened, when the tide receded, -taking with it a few of the industries that had sprung up like -mushrooms during the boom. He had had a competence when he drifted into -Valencia, which by judicious investment had increased until he was -independently rich. - -The first few years of his life there had been uneasy ones, for he had -to be constantly on the alert to avoid matrimony, so many were the -enticements thrown out to land him. He was unquestionably the biggest -fish in the pond, and the hooks had been baited for him repeatedly, but -he had not bitten. - -The first evening after Mrs. Malloy and Robert reached Valencia, Mr. -Spencer entertained two of his nearest neighbors, a widow and her young -niece, at dinner. - -Mrs. Weston had been a pretty girl in her youth, and it was a hard -habit for her to break from. She still affected baby blue, which had -set off to advantage her pink-and-whiteness twenty years before, but -which now exaggerated the faded lemon color into which that complexion -had degenerated. In place of dimples, there were creases in her cheeks, -but she clung to her original conception of them, and used them -accordingly. Her hair, from being golden, had become dull and lifeless, -but she still wore it in the jaunty frizzes which had once set off her -doll-like face. - -She was an easy victim for complexion agents, and her generous -patronage had done much to hasten the decay of her delicate complexion. -She was entirely satisfied with herself, but nevertheless she felt a -pang of jealousy whenever she looked at her young niece, and was only -moved out of her complacency and simplicity, to indulge in caustic -remarks to her. - -Robert Malloy felt himself shy and awkward in the presence of girls, -for his life had been spent close to his mother, with books and study, -and he was ignorant of their ways. - -Before dinner was announced he found himself seated by the girl, -Margaret Anthony, vaguely wondering what to say, and wishing he dared -look at her to see what she really was like. - -He ventured a remark about the weather, and looked at her as he did so. -She answered in a monosyllable, but kept her eyes cast down. Following -the direction of her eyes, he saw that she was twirling her thumbs. - -In a flash he glanced at his own hands, and then he realized that he -was being ridiculed. - -He looked hastily at her again, and this time she met his eyes with an -unmistakable gleam of laughter in hers. For a moment he was inclined to -be angry, but changed his mind and laughed outright, a musical, boyish -laugh, with which hers chimed. - -The older folks looked over at them, and an expression of satisfaction -appeared on Mr. Spencer’s face. - -“That little vixen is up to some mischief, I know,” twittered Mrs. -Weston. - -“Whatever it is, I am grateful to her,” responded Mr. Spencer. “I don’t -think I ever heard Robert laugh like that before. Did you, Stella?” he -asked, turning to his sister. - -“He wasn’t so different from other boys, Bob,” she said smilingly; “he -and I have had many a romp together.” - -“Maybe so, maybe so,” he muttered. - -“If I should say ‘booh!’ you’d run,” said Margaret with conviction, to -Robert. - -“Try me and see,” was his good-humored response, just as dinner was -announced. - -Mr. Spencer had seated the two young people together, for he rightly -concluded that the ice would be broken sooner, over soup and fish, with -the assistance of warm candlelight and flowers, than in a drawing-room -with the accompaniment of voices no longer young. - -In taste, Robert was no acolyte, and he gave a little sigh of -satisfaction as his eyes took in the exquisite details of the table of -polished, massive mahogany, with gleaming silver and glass, the bowl of -gorgeous, rich red roses, and the candles with their red shades. - -Turning, he met the eyes of his companion, and involuntarily thought -that she fitted with the environments. Her hair had a decidedly reddish -cast, and framed a face which was small and white, with a refractory -red mouth and an insignificant nose. - -Her eyes were peculiar, but very beautiful, large and full and greenish -in color, shaded by lashes so long and dark that they gave a dazzling -brilliance to her face. - -As she met his eyes she smiled and said, as though he had spoken, “Yes, -_isn’t_ it pretty?” Then she added, “But I am a gourmand. I like the -pretty surroundings _and_ a good dinner, but if I had to choose between -the two, I would take the latter.” - -“That’s because you are such a child,” he said patronizingly. - -“Of course, judging from the standpoint of _your_ experience, I must -appear like one,” was her lofty reply. - -Her remark reduced him to an awkward consciousness of his inexperience, -and beside this small girl he felt himself suddenly to seem like an -uncouth school-boy. - -After this little encounter they listened to the conversation of their -elders. Mrs. Malloy was expressing her opinion of a new book which she -did not like, and said that people were better off with no books at all -than with one of that character. - -Mrs. Weston, who had never delved very deep into any subject, said with -a little giggle: “I would hate to acknowledge, though, that I had not -read a book of which every one was talking. But I have often heard Meg -express herself the way you have been doing.” - -After they were back in the drawing-room Robert said to Margaret, “Did -I understand your aunt to call you ‘Meg’?” - -“You did,” was the reply; “I have as many names as Eugene Field’s -‘Bill,’ in the little poem ‘Jes ’fore Christmas.’ You remember it?” - -He nodded. - -“Well, it’s this way with me: Father called me Margaret, the girls they -called me Peg, Mother called me Margie, but Auntie calls me Meg.” - -“And—?” he queried. - -A sudden gravity settled over her face, as she replied, “There is no -one now to call me Margaret or Margie. Auntie’s name for me sort of -sticks. But I suppose it’s all right. I’m not big enough to be entitled -to the big, dignified name of Margaret.” - -“When I know you well enough, I shall call you Margie,” Robert said -confidently. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - “A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; - or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman.” - - -The life which opened up for Robert Malloy was so full of surprises, -new sensations and experiences, that he was both bewildered and -delighted. - -His uncle watched him hopefully, his mother anxiously. There could be -no doubt that she would have welcomed anything which would turn her son -from his desire, but she was paradoxically jealous for the strength of -character and singleness of purpose which had determined him for the -life which would take him from her. Also, she could not be certain that -he would be happy, should he walk into the trap so obviously set for -him by his uncle. - -A few weeks after they reached Valencia she had a chance to study Meg -more closely, and to obtain an insight into the character of the girl -who puzzled her, and who very evidently attracted her son. There was -something so subtle and elusive about her, that Mrs. Malloy, with her -ear attuned to simplicity and directness, had not been able to form an -opinion concerning her. - -She had taken a favorite book and started for a quiet spot in the woods -adjoining her brother’s place, when she met Meg. The girl flushed with -pleasure when Mrs. Malloy asked her to join her. There was little said -by either as they walked along, yet there was no constraint. Finally -Mrs. Malloy turned to her companion and said smilingly, “I believe you -are one of those rare persons who are good company without saying a -word.” - -Meg laughed as she answered, “I hope I know the value of silence.” - -Just then Meg’s quick eyes detected a little bird which had been -wantonly shot, and was lying under the tree where probably it had made -its home. Picking it up, she murmured a few broken words of pity, which -might have been a requiem over the little dead body. - -“Isn’t it cruel?” she asked, raising her lovely dark-lashed eyes to -Mrs. Malloy’s face, “and so useless,—a little bird that never harmed -anyone,—and not even good to eat,” she added mournfully. - -Mrs. Malloy was impelled to laugh, though she, too, felt the pity of -it. - -They finally sat down under a large tree, whose branches afforded a -refreshing shade. Leaning her back against the tree, and sighing -restfully, Mrs. Malloy turned to look at her companion. Meg wore the -most inexpensive white dress, but she wore it as she did all of her -home-made clothes, like a small princess. - -As she sat there, with her hands clasped around her knees, and her -small head, with its refractory reddish hair, drooping, there was a -pathetic look about her that went straight to Mrs. Malloy’s warm heart. -She put her hand out and slightly touching Meg’s shoulder, said softly: -“You look unhappy, dear,—sort of lonely. Can I help you?” - -The girl’s face changed instantly, and looking up at Mrs. Malloy she -said gayly, “But I’m not lonely,—not now.” - -Mrs. Malloy withdrew her hand and said simply, “Pardon me. I no doubt -seemed intrusive.” - -“_You_ intrusive! oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, you _couldn’t_ be intrusive! -Why, if you should tell me my hair was red, I would not be offended. -And that’s what I wouldn’t take from anyone else,” she added under her -breath. - -“Well, I won’t be so rude, nor so untruthful. It is beautiful auburn, a -color I’ve always liked.” - -“Of course,” Meg admitted reluctantly, “it isn’t exactly the color one -could wear red with,—not but what I would if I wanted to.” - -Mrs. Malloy threw her head back and laughed, and her laugh was as -pleasant as it was rare. - -Meg looked at her in a pleased manner. Then Mrs. Malloy said: “What a -spunky little girl you are! It’s regular red-headed spunk, though of -course your hair is not red. My dear, it’s a blessing you are so -independent, having no one to do your fighting for you.” - -The wistful look came back into Meg’s eyes as she answered: “It has -never seemed just right that I didn’t have a father, or mother, or even -a big brother to take care of me. Sometimes,—” there was a little catch -in her voice,—“oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, sometimes I feel as if there were -no fight left in me!” - -“You poor little thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Malloy, reaching out for her -hand, “this is really yourself that I see now,—a little tame canary -made wild because it has no one to shield it, and must look out for -itself!” - -Meg looked at her adoringly. - -“You are the first person I have ever known who has seemed to -understand me, and somehow, I feel that my mother was like you. You -won’t laugh at me or tell any one if I tell you something?” she asked -anxiously. - -“You may count on my silence and sympathy, dear.” - -“When I was a little girl, my principal amusement was to ‘pretend’ -things. I would pretend I was a princess, or something else equally -improbable. One day, I wanted some one else to play with me so badly, -that I told Aunt Amelia about it.” - -“Yes?” queried Mrs. Malloy softly, as she paused. - -“Oh, she slapped me, told me I was nothing but an ugly, red-headed -little object of charity, and not to go imagining any more nonsense.” - -Mrs. Malloy bit her lip to keep back the disparaging words which longed -for utterance. Instead, she stroked the hand she held, and Meg -continued: - -“Since then I have played my little games by myself. Sometimes I go up -to the attic, where I have a trunk containing mother’s things. I put on -her dress and apron, and take a piece of crochet work in my hands,—the -one she was making when she was taken sick,—and then I pretend that I -am she, and that I am there, too,—you understand?” - -Mrs. Malloy nodded. “And then I talk as I know she would talk to me if -she were here. I give myself lectures for my frivolity, and good -advice,—and,—and,—oh, I say the tender little things that I know she -would say, and that no one ever does——” She stopped, and began to sob -quietly. - -Mrs. Malloy drew her up beside her, so that the little red head rested -on her shoulder. There were unshed tears in her eyes, which had looked -out bravely and hopefully upon a world that had little enough to offer -her, and she felt, in this moment, that a very strong bond was between -this girl, almost a stranger, and herself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - “Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.” - - -Meg was leaning back in delicious idleness on the cool, shaded porch of -her aunt’s house, with her hands loosely clasped above her head, and -her eyes dreamily fixed on the treetops. - -Robert Malloy was reading aloud from a book of verse. His voice, rising -and falling musically, harmonized with the summer sounds, the hum of -the insects, and chirping of the birds that came fearlessly close, to -bathe in the whirling spray of the garden hose. - -After he had read a while he closed the book, and said, “Tell me a -story.” - -“A really, truly one?” she asked, bringing her eyes on a level with -his. - -“Yes; tell me about yourself.” - -“All right. Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, and she -was as good as she was beautiful; never cross, never impatient, always -serene, gentle, and loving. She lived with her cruel stepmother—” - -“Wasn’t there a prince?” he queried anxiously. - -“Not any real one,” was the severe retort, “just a few little imitation -ones. But she had a taste above paste jewels, so she determined—” - -At this moment the air was pierced by a shrill cry from the road, -followed by lusty weeping. - -Meg was half-way to the gate before Robert started, and when he reached -there he found her exclaiming pityingly over a small, ragged, and -decidedly dirty boy, who was sitting in the dust of the road nursing an -injured toe. - -“How did it happen?” she was asking as Robert came up and leaned -against the fence. - -The hurt, slight in itself, assumed new importance in the eyes of the -boy, and he answered proudly, between the sniffles into which his sobs -had subsided, “I was running fast, an’ I never seen that piece of -broken bottle, an’ I stepped right on it, an’ cut my toe, an’ it hurts -just awful.” - -“I know it does, you poor, dear thing,” was Meg’s sympathetic -rejoinder; “come right in the yard with me, where it’s cool, and I’ll -fix it all right.” - -The boy began to strut after her, but meeting Robert’s broad smile, -bethought himself of his affliction, so changed the strut into a limp, -and followed her in. - -He looked a trifle dubious over the water when she took the injured -member in her soft hands to bathe it, but submitted like a martyr. -After Meg had washed the wound free from dirt she looked up at Robert, -who was watching the proceedings with amused eyes, and imperiously -demanded his handkerchief. - -He elevated his brows, as he handed it to her, and, addressing the boy, -remarked, “The heroines one reads about always tear their own -handkerchiefs into strips.” - -“Yessir,” responded the boy, scarcely knowing what was expected of him. - -“Do you remember what Chesterfield says about just such a case as -this?” Meg asked the boy, ignoring Robert. - -“No’m. Who’s he? The doctor?” And alarm became visibly written under -the grime of his countenance. - -“Never mind,” Meg said reassuringly to him, and went on neatly binding -the toe. When it was finished, she darted into the house and came out -carrying an apple and a huge piece of cake, which she immediately -bestowed upon her new protegé. - -He accepted them graciously, as he had her ministrations, and was about -to edge off when her eye was attracted to a sling-shot protruding from -his coat pocket. She pulled it out and threw it as far as she could, -then turned to the amazed boy with flashing eyes. “You horrid, bad, -ugly boy! You were chasing a poor little bird when you stepped on that -bottle! I’m glad you got hurt, and I hope the next time you will cut -your toe completely off!” - -She emphasized her words with a little shake, which sent him scuttling -down the yard and out of the gate without a backward glance. - -After he had disappeared, Meg stood, red and mortified, realizing that -Robert must despise her for her outburst of temper, and wishing that at -least she had been more dignified in her expression of disapproval. She -became uneasy at the long silence, and finally ventured to raise her -eyes to his, prepared for the scorn and contempt she knew would be in -his glance. - -Instead, his eyes were dancing with enjoyment, and when he met her -look, he laughed outright. Then he said deliberately, “I think I know -you well enough now to call you Margie.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - “A creature not too bright or good - For human nature’s daily food; - For transient sorrows, simple wiles, - Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.” - - -“Come out for a boat-ride,” Robert called to Meg, who was hemming -kitchen towels on her rose-embowered porch. She had seen him between -the leaves, as he came striding up the walk, but gave a very natural -start of surprise when he spoke. “I’m not deaf,” was her rejoinder, as -she kept on with her sewing. - -“Neither am I dumb,” retorted Robert, turning around and starting down -the path. - -Meg flung the towel from her, scattered thread, thimble and scissors in -every direction as she flew down the steps and overtook him. “What was -your first remark?” she asked demurely. - -He looked down at her, and tried to preserve his dignity, but the eyes -which met his were so innocent and wide opened, the little white face -so alluring, that his anger melted, and he said, “I asked you to go -boating.” - -“Oh, you yelled so that I didn’t distinguish what you said. Yes, oh, -yes,” catching his arm as he started away again, “certainly I will go -with you. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” - -His eyes smiled into hers as he said gently, “Well, get your hat. I’ll -wait here for you.” - -She was gone only a moment, and rejoined him with her big hat thrown -back somewhat rakishly on her head. “Aunt Amelia is cross. She wanted -me to wash her hair for her, but I told her I was no lady’s maid.” - -Her eyes sought his face and found no response to her frivolity. -“Perhaps you think I should have stayed at home to wash her hair,” she -suggested anxiously. - -Then, as he still did not answer, she stopped and said in an offended -tone, “Oh, well, if _that’s_ the way you feel about it, I’ll go back -and do it.” - -Robert turned and said to her gravely, “It is not for me to say whether -you shall or shall not wash your aunt’s hair, but if you must have the -truth, I think your manner of refusing a trifle rude.” - -She flushed, and the quick tears came to her eyes, but she kept a brave -appearance as she said, “Perhaps I was rude, but if you had to live -with Aunt Amelia and wait on her like a slave, as I do, you might -forget your manners, too, sometimes.” - -He turned and looked at her as he said, “I don’t want to quarrel with -you to-day, little girl. You may be as rude as you please to your aunt, -only be good to me.” - -Her eyes flashed up with sudden joy, and she looked quickly at him, but -the calm, impersonal glance she met, quelled the thought she had -entertained for that brief second. - -Then she said contritely: “I _do_ owe every thing to Aunt Amelia, for I -couldn’t live on my pittance anywhere else,—but I do, truly I do, earn -my board. However, if you say so, I’ll go right back now and apologize -to her.” - -“Oh, don’t do that,” he hastily interposed; “the apology will keep, and -the daylight won’t.” - -When they reached the river, he helped her into the boat, and taking -off his coat, folded it for her to sit on. - -Neither was talkative at first, both preferring their thoughts to idle -conversation. Meg watched him warily, taking in the splendid muscular -development of his arms and chest, the straight, clean-cut features in -a face that in repose was somewhat grave and stern, but infinitely -tender and charming when he smiled. She was wishing, as she gazed at -him, that Fate had given her a brother like him. - -As for Robert, with eyes on the setting sun, his reveries were of the -life about to open for him. For the time being he had forgotten his -companion, and was holding pleasurable communion with himself, absorbed -in the contemplation of his usefulness when once he had entered upon -that mission for which he had been always fitting himself. He was -aroused by an almost inaudible sigh, and he glanced across at Meg with -eyes which were as yet blind to emotion. - -She was not looking at him now, and he watched her with satisfaction. -She had puzzled and bewildered him ever since he had met her, and he -had only occasionally had glimpses of her real character. There were -times when he distinctly disapproved of her, and his training had been -such that he considered it almost an imperative duty to tell her of it. - -Then with a quick subtle change of manner she would do something, some -little gracious act, that would cause him to repent of his harsher -judgment. But through all the varied changes of her moods, she -attracted him. - -She had fallen into one of her silences, and sat looking out over the -water with an expression so tender and childish, that for some reason -he would have been unable to explain, a great wave of pity swept over -him, and the longing to shelter her from harm became uppermost in his -mind. - -When she spoke, it was dreamily. “I do love the water, and the sunset, -and the sound of the oars as they lap the waves.” Then, in a more -sprightly manner,—“It has the effect of shaded lights and soft music. I -am so _good_ at such times! All my thoughts are uplifting. Do you feel -that way?” - -Amused by her vagaries, he nodded, and the encouragement started her -off again: “I almost weep to think how noble I am. Nothing that is -petty or mean has any connection with me. Even Aunt Amelia I view -through that rosy mist, and conjure up the kind things she _might_ have -done, the tender words she _might_ have spoken,—and I think with a -swelling heart that I will try to appreciate those ‘might have -beens,’—that I will so conduct myself as to make them possible.” - -“And then?” as she paused. - -“Oh, then,” with a trace of bitterness in her voice, “then the red -lights flicker and go out, and the pungent odor of kerosene oil is all -that remains of them. The music stops with a last protesting wail of -the violin, and the musicians hurry away after their beer and -pretzels.” - -“And what becomes of you and your noble thoughts?” - -“Oh, I take my noble thoughts and go home, and quarrel with Aunt -Amelia.” - -Robert laughed so heartily that Meg leaned forward and said: “Sometimes -I light the piano-lamp, and start the music-box going in the parlor -after I go home.” - -As they walked up the flower-bordered path to the house, Meg remarked -softly, “I feel that I could wash and crimp Auntie’s hair, and make it -look just lovely, now.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - “Speak low if you speak love.” - - -Robert was walking, with no particular aim in view, when he saw a -familiar figure on the walk ahead of him, and hastening, he soon -overtook her. - -Meg turned her head as his step accustomed itself to hers, and smiled. -“May I go with you, my pretty maid?” he asked lightly. - -“Show me the girl who has been teaching you to say that kind of thing,” -she exclaimed with mock anger. - -“Lend me your pocket mirror and I will.” - -“Never!” she said emphatically. - -“Never what?” - -“Never carried a pocket mirror in my life. Never taught you to make -pretty speeches,” she said tartly. “Why, the first time I saw you, you -sat and twirled your thumbs like a ‘bound boy at a corn-husking,’ and -never said anything but ‘Yes’m,’ and ‘No’m,’ and then only when you -were spoken to!” - -“That proves what I affirm. That was the way I was when I met -_you_,—and look at me now!” with an air of conscious pride. - -“Yes, look at you now!” she mocked scornfully, “with Mother Goose -platitudes tripping off your tongue like extracts from the Hebrew -Decalogue. Why don’t you stick to your last? You might say all the nice -things you wished in Latin, Greek, French, German or Spanish, and I’d -have to smirk and act as if I understood, and felt very much -flattered.” - -“And all this because I asked to accompany her on her walk!” he -murmured as though to himself. - -She gave him an upward look through her lashes that made him feel very -peculiar, as she said sweetly, “Well, you know I didn’t mean it. I -_like_ to have nice things said to me.” - -“By every one?” he queried idly, without looking at her. - -“Well, no,” she admitted slowly. - -There was nothing more said for a few minutes; then he remarked -carelessly, “You didn’t tell me where you were going.” - -“I am going to see my cousin-in-law. I hate her, but I love her -husband.” - -“That’s frankness that might be misunderstood.” - -“I know it,” Meg replied earnestly, “but it’s true. You see, Ada has -always felt that she married beneath her, and she has convinced poor -Charlie that she did. But how she came to cherish such a notion I don’t -know, for he’s the salt of the earth!” - -“Was it a question of family?” - -“Yes. Her father was at one time pretty well off, and at the time she -married Charlie some people thought she might have done better. -Charlie’s one of those big-souled men who never accumulate anything, -and he is blunt and hearty in his manner. Now she thinks because she -crooks her little finger when she drinks a glass of water, that she is -more refined than he!” - -Robert laughed boyishly at her quaint description, and said, “I think I -know them—not this particular couple, but their prototypes.” - -“Are there others like Charlie, I wonder,” she said musingly. “He -stands out so in my mind because he’s the best, the very best man I -ever saw.” - -After a short walk, she stopped in front of a modest two-story house, -and turning to her companion, said coaxingly, “Come in with me, and -meet Ada—then you’ll see for yourself.” - -“You are sure it won’t be an intrusion?” - -“Of course I’m sure,” was the response. - -They were admitted by a tall, overgrown girl of thirteen, who beamed -with pleasure when she saw Meg. “Come into the sitting-room,” she said; -“Papa’s in there, and he will be so glad to see you.” - -“Why, what’s he doing at home in the middle of the day?” Meg asked. - -“He’s not feeling very well—just indigestion, he says,” answered the -child, leading the way. - -The room they entered was forlorn in the extreme, and in it was -everywhere evidence of the taste of the wife, as well as of her notably -poor housekeeping. There was dirt in the corners of the room, and dust -on the few uncomfortable, cheap, but ornate chairs. There was a rug -with big bouquets of red roses upon the floor, and soiled, sleazy, -fringed silk drapes hung over the few highly colored, gaudily framed -pictures. The wall paper was as startling as the rug, and at the -windows were coarse, cheap lace curtains. - -Charlie Walker was a huge, broad-shouldered blond, with kind blue eyes, -a roaring laugh which always made his refined wife shudder, and a -hand-clasp that was warm and cordial. - -He looked so pleased when he saw Meg, that it was plain to see how well -he liked her. As for the child, who had inherited her father’s size, -blondness, and disposition, she evidently regarded her small, grown-up -cousin as a veritable princess in a fairy tale. - -Meg noticed with concern that Charlie really looked ill, but it was a -habit with her to say but little about such things; so, instead of -questioning him fully, she looked around the untidy room and asked, -“Where’s Ada?” - -“Gone to her card club,” replied Charlie. - -The child, Gertie, had taken up the mending-basket and was painfully -trying to darn a large hole in one of her father’s socks. It was -evident that she had had no training, but was trying to teach herself, -that she might assume that part of the household tasks. - -“Let me do that,” said Meg impulsively, and taking it from the girl, -began deftly putting in the stitches. - -Charlie watched her a moment, and then remarked, answering the unspoken -accusation of her mind, “Ada had so much to do this week that she -couldn’t get around to it.” - -Meg drew the thread viciously and made no reply. - -“She has had to practice a good deal for that concert she is to take -part in,” he said. - -Still Meg did not speak, and the set of her lips impelled him to add -anxiously, yet with a certain amount of dignity, “It is in accordance -with my wishes, that she keeps up her music.” - -“Yes, of course it is,” answered Meg meekly, for, as she told Robert -afterwards in discussing it, “Big as that man is, I would no more hurt -him than I would a baby.” - -After that, Charlie drew Robert into the conversation. Each man had -taken the measure of the other, and approved. They had talked -indifferently for awhile on matters pertaining to the town, when the -front door opened and a step was heard in the hall. - -Robert, looking at Charlie Walker, saw a light leap into his eyes, as -he turned toward the door leading into the hall. “What manner of woman -is this?” he asked himself, “who can bring such a look to a man’s face -after so many years of married life?” All unconsciously his eyes -wandered to Meg. - -Mrs. Walker was pretty, in rather a coquettish way; with soft brown -hair and eyes, a weak red mouth, and a complexion which still retained -its girlish fairness. Her hands were little, white, helpless ones, and -about her was an air of childish innocence and irresponsibility. Her -dress was in keeping with the furnishing of the room, cheaply -pretentious and ornate. - -Robert felt instinctively that while such a woman could never possess -any attraction for him, she was the type some men would die -for,—notably, her husband. - -The talk was desultory for a while, and then Meg asked her cousin to -play for them, “Which was generous of me,” she confided later, to -Robert, “for it showed her to the best advantage.” - -Without demur she seated herself at the piano and at once began to play -with such sweetness and power that Robert was amazed. Glancing toward -her husband, whose face reflected his appreciation of the music, as -well as his adoration of the performer, Robert felt that he held the -key to the puzzle. - -As they were walking home, Meg asked him suddenly, “What did you think -of my kin-folks?” As he paused, she continued, “Never mind the house,—I -know what you thought of that,—but tell me what you think of Charlie?” - -“He is a man I could love like a brother. I have never felt so drawn to -a stranger.” - -“You dear boy!” cried Meg impulsively; “I always knew you were nice, -but I never dreamed you were _that_ nice. You see, Cousin Charlie is my -hobby, for I think he is a grand character, and I want him to be -appreciated.” - -“Is he not?” - -“By everybody but his wife.” - -“I thought that, but I didn’t want to judge her hastily,” commented -Robert. - -“She does not appreciate him,” Meg vehemently exclaimed. “I wish I -could shake a little sense into her. He was too sick a man to be left -this afternoon, but she didn’t know it, or didn’t care if she did know -it. Why, if I had a husband like that, and he had nothing more serious -the matter with him than a boil, I would stay with him!” - -“I believe you would.” She looked up suddenly, surprised by a new note -in Robert’s voice, and found him looking at her earnestly. The -interchange of glances embarrassed both of them, and to cover it, he -continued rather hastily, “I don’t understand how a woman of her -evident lack of feelings can have such a divine conception of music.” - -“I can explain that,” said Meg confidentially. “It was a case of mixed -identity. That gift was meant for me, but got switched around some way. -I have the love of music, the capacity to suffer manifested by her -playing, while she,—she simply expresses what I feel.” - -Robert smiled at her whimsical conceit, but made no reply. At her gate -she put her hand in his and said, “Good-bye,” simply and quietly. All -the defiance and willfulness which usually characterized her were gone, -and in their place was a gracious sweetness which enveloped and -engrossed him the rest of the evening. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - “Alas! how light a cause may move - Dissension between hearts that love.” - - -Meg came down-stairs to breakfast humming a gay little air to herself, -and looking so young and fresh that Mrs. Weston looked at her -disapprovingly as she took her seat at the table. - -The morning light was unmerciful, showing up the wrinkles and -sallowness of the fretful little woman, in direct contrast to the -smooth purity of Meg’s skin and the brightness of her eyes. The elder -woman wore a somewhat soiled blue wrapper, and there was not the care -bestowed upon her appearance that usually characterized it. - -She glanced pettishly at Meg as she poured the coffee, and said, “I -don’t see why you always wear white.” - -Meg smiled at her sunnily, and replied, “Well, I like it—it doesn’t -fade, washes well, is economical—” - -“And—?” queried her aunt with uplifted eyebrows. - -“And is becoming,” finished the girl calmly. Then she added: “What -would you have me wear? It would be neither suited to you nor to the -glorious summer season to wear drab.” - -“Pink?” suggested her aunt. - -“Oh, Auntie, with my hair!” - -Mrs. Weston almost smiled. - -“Yellow?” she continued. - -“Too vivid,” objected Meg. - -“Then blue,” said her aunt hesitatingly. - -“That’s _your_ color,” replied Meg, with laughing eyes, “and as it -wouldn’t become me so well, I wouldn’t think of wearing it.” - -Mrs. Weston’s smile deepened, spread all over her face, into the -creases she still fondly believed to be dimples, and diplomatic -relations were established. - -Meg picked up the morning paper, and propping it against the -coffee-pot, began scanning the head-lines of the first page. “I -declare,” her aunt commented, “you are as bad as a man about reading at -the breakfast-table.” - -The girl smiled. “When I marry,” she announced, “I shall take a lesson -in managing a husband from that dear, clever little friend of mine in -Atchison, whose husband takes his ‘ease in his inn,’ sitting in a -rocking-chair while he eats. He shows his appreciation of the -privilege, by holding her hand between bites. Just think!” she added -pensively, “they have been married five years, and he still loves her!” - -“I don’t see what that has to do with your reading the paper at the -breakfast table.” - -“Why, Auntie,” and Meg looked reproachfully at her over the paper, “you -know I do it to save you the trouble of reading it yourself. Let me see -what is happening.” And she glanced over the front page. “‘More -Macedonians murdered,’—we won’t go into the details, please,—‘Jealous -lover shoots sweetheart,’—I’m glad I’m redheaded; it saves -complications,—‘Woman murders faithless husband,’—oh, what a bloody -world we live in! No, it is a beautiful world,” she said softly, after -a little pause, “when there are such women as Helen Gould in it. She -has been giving the waifs another outing at her lovely home. Mrs. -Stuyvesant Fish has consented to an interview. She declares that -America must have an aristocracy. She doesn’t say whether it will be an -aristocracy of brains or money. It must be the former, as she deplores -the depredations on the outskirts of society, committed by the vulgar -rich. Yes, of course it is of brains,—that order of brains which can -originate ‘cute’ things with which to amuse and entertain the elect.” - -Mrs. Weston, growing restive, interposed, “That does not interest me. -Read the local news.” - -“You are so provincial, Auntie,” was Meg’s comment, as she turned the -paper; “you belong so hopelessly to Valencia!” - -“Well, so do you,” was the brief retort. - -“Not in the way I mean, my dear Aunt! My spirit is cosmopolitan, -though, Prometheus-like, I am chained to Valencia. While my head is in -the clouds, my feet are, oh, very much on the earth!” - -“You do talk the greatest nonsense.” - -“Do I? Then I’ll read to you instead of talking. ‘Mrs. Guy Worthington -Deflurry has returned from an extended Eastern trip.’” - -“Mrs. who? oh, Mrs. Deflurry? I suppose she had some handsome clothes -made while she was gone.” Mrs. Weston was tremulous with excitement. - -“Do you know the lady?” Meg asked idly. “No? I thought from your -interest that she was a dear friend. ‘Miss Cordelia Jamison has -departed for Michigan to visit friends.’ ‘It is rumored that a rich -bachelor is to be wedded to a handsome young widow.’” - -Mrs. Weston was all in a flutter instantly. “Who can it mean? Surely,—” -she giggled foolishly, “surely people cannot think that Mr. Spencer and -I—” - -Meg put down the paper with a judicial air. “I have always held,” she -said, “that the newspaper habit was a pernicious one for some people. I -will read no more to you. It goes to your head.” - -“Why, Meg Anthony, you might at least remember that I am older than -you, and treat me with some respect!” - -Meg opened her eyes wide. “But you are not!” she protested. “I am -centuries older than you. I am a relic of the dark ages, while -you,—Auntie, I really believe you are the youngest woman I know.” - -A smile encompassed Mrs. Weston’s entire face at what she considered a -compliment, and in the exuberance of her sudden good-humor, she said, -“How would you like to invite Mr. Spencer, his sister and nephew to -come to dinner to-morrow night?” - -“Oh, Auntie, can we really do it?” Meg cried ecstatically. - -“Yes,” answered her aunt; “I’ll go and interview Delia about it. I -think I’ll have some little-neck clams—the canned ones, you know,—some -kind of cream soup, a roast course, an entrée, salad—” - -“Auntie!” interrupted Meg sternly, “You know we can’t afford any such -frills! And with only one servant! Let’s call it supper, and give them -just a plain meal, nicely cooked and served.” - -A dull purplish color mingled with the yellow of Mrs. Weston’s face, as -she questioned with angry dignity, “Am I, or am I not mistress here? -When did I give over the reins of government into your hands? If I need -your advice, young lady, I’ll seek it.” With ruffled plumage, she went -into the kitchen to settle the details with Delia. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - “I cannot eat but little meat, - My stomach is not good.” - - -On the evening of Mrs. Weston’s dinner—for she held to the dinner idea -in spite of Meg’s protests—the weather was so hot that the heavy, -poorly cooked meal was appreciated by no one but the hostess, who -plumed herself that she had surprised the guests with her cuisine. -Which, indeed, was true. - -They sat in the stuffy dining-room while course after course was -brought and taken away. Through the window Meg caught the scent of -roses, and could see that a breeze gently stirred the leaves of the -trees. Turning with a sigh from the temptations without, she glanced at -her aunt. The work of entertaining, with the heat, had robbed her hair -of its curl, and the damp, straight locks hung limply around her -forehead, which was beaded with perspiration. - -Meg felt an impish satisfaction when she beheld the wreck. Turning, she -met Robert’s eyes, and asked, “What were you saying?” - -“I was recalling a remark you made the first evening I met you,—that -you were a gourmand. You have scarcely tasted your food to-night.” - -“I was several hundred years younger then,” she retorted; “but if you -had been giving the proper attention to your own plate you would not -have noticed it.” - -Leaning toward her, he murmured, “I know it’s horribly rude, especially -as you are co-hostess—” she put up a deprecating hand—“but my extreme -youth and callowness will have to be my excuse.” - -“Callousness, did you say?” - -“You know what I said. When will this thing come to an end? I’m dying -to get out on the porch and get a whiff of air.” - -“So am I,” she whispered back. “Let me see,—where are we?” - -He glanced down at his plate, and then said apologetically, “Well, -really——” - -“Oh, yes,” she interrupted, stirring the contents of her plate with a -fork, “this is what Delia called the ‘entry.’ Delia claims to be the -direct descendant of a famous French cook. I believe his name was Brian -Boru.” - -“Ah, Delia and I are cousins. And after the ‘entry,’ what then?” he -whispered. - -She counted them off on her fingers, “The ‘poonch,’ salad, dessert, and -coffee. And as you and Mr. Spencer are sociably inclined, Auntie will -forego the pleasure of withdrawing, and leaving you with your wine and -walnuts. After coffee, the porch.” - -“Thank you for the information,” he said humbly. - -When the dinner was finally finished, they went out on the porch. There -the conversation was general for a time, and then Robert said lightly -to Meg, “‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ and get me a flower for my -coat.” - -She rose without demur, and together they strolled down the walk. Mr. -Spencer looked after their retreating forms, and then, meeting his -sister’s eyes, he deliberately winked. - -That wink, while not elegant, served as an elixir to Mrs. Malloy, and -under its influence she became fairly sparkling and gay. Mrs. Weston -was astonished, for she had never seen her in such a mood, though she -had never seen her despondent. Her gayety was short-lived, however, for -Mrs. Weston killed it with a word. - -“What a fine-looking boy Robert is,” she began; and then, -enthusiastically, “I think it is just lovely that he is to go into a -monastery!” - -There was no response, but she prattled on. “So romantic! And he will -be such a handsome monk in his brown bath-robe! And will he have to go -barefooted, and have his pretty curly hair shaved?” - -She waited a moment, and then asked gushingly, “Don’t _you_ think it -romantic?” - -Mrs. Malloy’s voice was even but cold, as she replied, when forced to -do so by the direct question, “I would hardly call it romantic.” - -“Oh, _wouldn’t_ you? Most people see more romance in a love affair, but -I confess that the idea of a monastery appeals to me!” - -“Let’s join the youngsters,” interrupted Mr. Spencer. “They probably -are boring each other to death by now.” - -Mrs. Weston started up with alacrity, but his sister, with the look of -a wounded animal in her eyes, said, “I will be there presently. I want -to enjoy these wild roses a little longer.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - “Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, - Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares.” - - -A strong friendship sprang up between Robert and Charlie Walker, -unusual in its warmth, and surprising, as the two men were totally -different in taste and character, and as there was considerable -disparity in their years. - -Charlie Walker was a man of many friends, for he loved the world, yet -of them all, none was, perhaps, so dear as this young friend. Robert -was a man of few friendships, for he was as reserved as the other was -open-hearted. - -Scarcely a week passed that did not see them together. Charlie was -never well from the time he had the first attack of indigestion, though -he was able to be at his office most of the time, and still kept his -hearty, healthy appearance. His hand-clasp was as strong, his laugh as -infectious as ever, but there was a strained look about his eyes, which -told of suffering borne in silence. - -Robert and Meg, who went often together, commented on it to each other, -but his wife remained ignorant of the real seriousness of his -condition, which was what he desired. She still kept up her music and -her club duties, at his request. It was evident that the man, in his -great unselfishness, was determined to shield her from worry or -trouble, while there was life in his body. - -One day Meg and Robert went to see him, for they had learned that he -had been unable to be at his office for a week. When they reached the -home, they found Mrs. Walker softly playing the piano. Greeting them, -she asked sweetly, “Do you want to see Charlie? Just go upstairs. He -will be _so_ glad to see you. I will come up as soon as I finish my -practicing.” - -In silence they ascended the stairs and stepped to the open door of the -bed-chamber. Charlie was propped up in bed with pillows, and they were -both shocked at the change in his appearance, wrought by his illness of -the past week. Gertie was curled up awkwardly by the foot of the bed, -and her eyes were big and woe-begone. - -“Well, well, young people,” he called heartily when he saw them, “this -is all the medicine I need!” - -At the word “medicine,” Gertie started, and going over to a stand where -there was an array of bottles, said, “It’s time for your powder, Papa.” - -He made a slight grimace, and addressing himself to Meg, said: “Now did -you ever see such an unnatural child? Every time I really begin to -enjoy myself, she comes and stuffs some vile medicine down my throat!” - -The child’s eyes were solemn as she said, “But, Papa, you have to take -it. The doctor told me not to neglect it.” - -“Well, little Miss Literal, I see you are ‘she who must be obeyed,’ so -I’ll take it. Though I can’t imagine why I need anything else when I -have these two youngsters to look at.” - -Meg turned to Robert and said, “Delia isn’t the only descendant of -Brian Boru in these parts, you see.” There was a little laugh at her -remark, but it was only half-hearted, for both Robert and she were too -much grieved at the change in Charlie to enjoy any joke. - -He tried to be gay and natural, but after each effort he sank back -among the pillows exhausted. As he laid there, a light of exquisite -enjoyment came over his features, for the strains of the piano floated -up from below. - -Ada was playing something in a minor key, and the strange, sweet notes -were so in harmony with the sadness of the occasion, that Meg was -obliged to rise suddenly and go to the window, that Charlie might not -see the tears in her eyes. - -There was no sound in the room till the notes died away, and then -turning to Robert, Charlie said: “Did you ever hear anything like that? -Her music is an indication of her soul.” - -Just then Ada came noiselessly into the room, and going over to the -bed, asked gayly of her husband: “Did you like that piece? I think I -will play it at the recital next week.” - -“I would,” he replied, without a break in his voice, looking at her -adoringly; and then, to Robert and Meg, who had exchanged glances, and -were preparing to leave: “Must you go now? You will come again, won’t -you?—Come soon—” he added, in a voice he tried to make expressionless. - -After they were outside Meg could contain her grief no longer, and -began to sob. “Oh, can’t _you_ see that he is dying?” she asked. - -“I fear so,” was the grave rejoinder. - -“And after he is gone, some one will have to shake that woman and say, -‘Wake up,—Charlie is dead!’” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - “Life’s a short summer,—man a flower— - He dies—alas! how soon he dies!” - - -For the next few weeks Meg and Robert were almost daily visitors at the -Walker home. They could see that Charlie was failing very rapidly, but -it was plain that his wife did not realize it, and that he did not wish -her to. - -One day Robert drove up to Mrs. Weston’s in his uncle’s phaeton, and -Meg knew instinctively why he had come. Throwing on her hat, she ran -out and asked breathlessly, “Oh, is it about Charlie?” - -His face was grave as he answered, “The doctor has just told me that he -cannot live through the day.” - -“And Ada?” - -“She knows,—now,” was the low reply. - -“Poor, poor girl!” Meg said in quivering accents. - -Robert looked at her with an expression he was himself unconscious of, -but she did not meet his eyes. - -Nothing more was said by either till they reached the home. Tossing a -coin to a boy who was loafing in the yard, Robert asked him to take the -horse back to the stable. - -They went upstairs, and Ada came from the room with eyes swollen and -red, and said, “You may go in,—he will want to see you.” - -As they entered, and Charlie recognized them, he called out in his old -cheery tones, much weakened by suffering, “My two young friends, I’m so -glad to see you! Gertie, honey, get another chair so they can both sit -down. How’s my little cousin?” he continued, looking at Meg. “What’s -that, what’s that? No crying, little girl. We want to be cheerful and -happy here.” - -Meg dried her tears and tried to smile at him. “That’s it,” he said. -“That’s one reason I’ve always loved this little cousin so much,” he -explained, turning his eyes toward Robert. “She’s always -cheerful,—never makes a fellow feel badly.” - -“Perhaps we—or at least I—would better not stay in here,” said Robert, -noticing how exhausted he was. - -Charlie put out his hand feebly and laid it on Robert’s—“Don’t go. I -might get blue. _She_—” nodding toward the other room,—“has gone all to -pieces, and you know I can’t bear to see her unhappy.” - -He seemed at times, from then on, to lapse into unconsciousness, but -whenever one of them would rise to call Ada he would rouse himself and -ask them not to. “The poor girl loses control of herself when she sees -me. I’ll tell you when to call her. I don’t want to make it any worse -for her than is necessary.” - -After a little while he said: “Robert, I don’t belong to any church, -but I’m not an infidel. I’ve tried to live right. Won’t you say a -little prayer for me? Not any set form, my boy, but just a prayer from -your heart.” - -Kneeling by the bed, Robert made a simple, touching, earnest prayer in -a few sentences, a prayer which brought the quick tears again to Meg’s -eyes. At its conclusion Charlie said, “Thank you,” very softly, and -turned his head away for a few minutes. - -When he spoke again it was lightly, to cover his emotion. “Meg, I’ve -played a great joke on Ada. She thinks we are poor. We _have_ had to -economize a good deal, but there will be fifty thousand dollars life -insurance for her after—well, after a while. That ought to keep her and -the young one from starving, don’t you think?” - -The room grew very silent, for neither Meg nor Robert had any heart for -conversation. Gertie sat in her usual place at the foot of the bed, -dry-eyed and sad, watching her father’s white face. - -Outside, in the hall, could be heard the murmur of voices. It seemed to -disturb the sick man at last, for, opening his eyes, he asked, “Is it -the neighbor-women waiting to see me die? Just tell them that I’m not -at home to callers, will you?” - -He tried to laugh at his pitiful little joke, but the laugh was so -hollow that it startled even himself. He nodded as Robert and Meg -arose, and said, “Yes, send her in, I want her. Good-bye, dear -friends,—God bless you!” - -They started for the door, when he called feebly, “Meg!” - -“Yes,” she cried, running back to him. - -“Don’t let the doctor or any one disturb us. I just want _her_,—and -little Gertie.” As she started again he caught her hand and said -entreatingly, “Be good to _her_, little cousin!” - -When she found Ada and sent her in to him, she whispered, “If you need -me, call me, dear.” - -From the room came the sound of Ada’s sobs, above which, with -remarkable strength, arose Charlie’s voice, encouraging and cheering. -Then weaker and weaker it grew,—and ceased altogether. - -A moment later a wild shriek rang through the house, and Meg, running -in, found Ada in a swoon on the floor, while Gertie, the child, with an -expression of heart-breaking despair, was striving to lift her mother’s -head, though she never took her eyes from the still, white face on the -bed. - -Meg and Robert left the house an hour later. There was nothing more -they could do, for the Masons, to which lodge Charlie belonged, were in -charge of the body, and the neighbor-women had taken possession of Ada -and Gertie. - -It had grown almost dark, and the lights were beginning to shine in the -houses along the way. There was little said between them, for both were -too deeply stirred by the sad events of the day to talk much. - -Finally Meg broke the silence. With a little catch in her voice, she -said: “I am so wicked! When poor Charlie told me that Ada would have -fifty thousand dollars, my first thought was that there were many men -whom that amount of money would tempt.” - -As there was no reply, she said, with attempted lightness, “Will you -absolve me?” - -Meeting her mood, though both their hearts were heavy, he answered, -“There is no need of absolution where there is no sin.” - -Nothing more was said until her gate was reached, and she cried: “It -doesn’t pay! It doesn’t pay to love, and marry, and be separated by -death!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - “Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss - Of Paradise that has survived the fall!” - - -About a week after Charlie’s funeral, Meg and Robert chanced to meet at -the Walker home, where both had gone to see the desolate young widow. - -As they walked home together, both were silent. When within a block of -Meg’s home they passed a little cottage, plainly the home of people in -moderate circumstances. When they were just opposite the gate, a comely -young woman came out of the door and called, “Supper’s ready.” - -Her husband, who was on the lawn in front, picked up one child, swung -him on his back, while the youngster squealed with glee, and called, -“Supper’s ready. Didn’t you hear Mama call, boys? The first one in gets -all the hot biscuit.” - -Off he capered over the yard, the child on his back kicking and -pounding, and crying, “Get up, old horsie,” while the other two little -lads raced after him as fast as their short legs would carry them. The -mother stood in the open door, her hands on her hips, watching the -race, her face radiating good-humor and joy. - -It was such a domestic scene! Rough and uncouth though they might be, -these people typified home, with all of the sweet meaning which is -often lost amid the environment of wealth. - -Robert watched with his heart in his eyes. He noted each of the little -lads, for he loved children very dearly. He saw the look of idolatrous -pride on the mother’s face. He was absorbed in the delight of the -domestic scene. - -And then they entered the house; the door closed upon them! It was as -though he had been given a glimpse of Heaven through a crack in the -door, which had suddenly been closed, leaving him out in the dark and -the night of his own despair. - -Something of what he felt was in his eyes as he turned and looked at -Meg. Then the veil which had obscured his mental vision was lifted, and -he found himself face to face with his great soul-problem! - -He seemed to see her for the first time. He took in the pure little -profile, the fresh red lips, the dark-lashed eyes, in a way he had -never done before. He even found himself looking with tender, amused -eyes at her reddish hair, and vaguely wondered what she would do if he -were to call her, school-boy fashion, “Sorrel-top.” - -Suddenly he remembered! Not for him those charms, not for him the -companionship of this winsome little creature, of whose deeper nature -he had been given a glimpse, during the sad communion of the last few -weeks! - -When they reached her gate he dared not trust himself to shake hands -with her. He feared the touch of the soft little hand, and knew he must -be alone to fight it out by himself. - -As Meg stepped up on the porch and was about to go in, a querulous -voice said: “Well, I see you have been gallivanting around with Robert -Malloy again. I should think he would be disgusted with you, the way -you run after him!” - -“Oh, Auntie, don’t, please,” she pleaded, holding out her hands -beseechingly. - -“Every one sees it,” continued the merciless voice, “even his mother. -And from the way she spoke that night she was here, I could tell that -she was very much displeased.” - -“Are you sure of that?” Meg asked quietly. - -“Of course I’m sure,” was the impatient answer. - -“Very well. I’ll see that no one has reason to criticise my actions -again. Thank you for telling me. Good-night,” she said gently, as she -started to her room. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - “_Pray, goody, please to moderate the rancour of your tongue._” - - -Meg did not see Robert for a week after that memorable walk. The days -of his absence were not sweetened by the comments of her aunt. “I knew -he would grow tired of being pursued. Men are not won that way,” was -the remark, with variations, which greeted the girl every day of the -seven during which she did not have the saving grace of Robert’s -presence to help her endure the torture. - -All that was broad and sweet in her nature rejected the imprecations, -but what there was of suspicion, engendered by the loveless home life -she had led, listened to her tormentor. - -It was not surprising, therefore, that she became irritable and -nervous. It was in this mood that Robert found her, when, after his -week of battle, he again walked up the narrow, flower-bordered path. It -seemed to him that he had never really been there before. Just as Meg, -after the great revelation, had appeared in a new light, so now did her -surroundings. - -There was a certain tender gravity in his face as he offered her his -hand, which she purposely ignored. He flushed at this, but being -familiar with her somewhat prickly disposition, saw nothing significant -in her refusal to shake hands with him. “How is Aunt Amelia?” he asked -idly, as he seated himself. - -“As ravishingly disagreeable as usual, thank you,” was the somewhat -snappy retort. - -“Has your supply of kerosene oil run out? You don’t seem to have been -lighting the piano-lamp lately, with the music-box accompaniment.” - -She almost smiled, but thought better of it, and replied, “My ambition -in that line has been nearly killed for lack of encouragement. Candles -and a jew’s-harp are about as near as I can approach to my shaded -lights and soft music.” - -After a pause she said: “I’m sorry she’s not here just now. It will -grieve her to learn that she has missed a gentleman caller. They are -not standing in line any longer, so she can’t afford to lose one.” - -“I did not come to see your aunt.” - -Meg ignored his remark, and kept on: “She heard this morning of a new -skin balm, and she has torn madly down town to procure it. She will be -in rare good-humor when she returns. She always is after buying -something to enhance her beauty.” - -Robert was watching her face with intense interest as she talked, and -made no reply. - -“It’s something _all_ the time,” she complained; “either her face is -smeared with grease, or thick with some chalky mixture which gives her -a clown-like appearance, or else,—oh, the worst of all, the very limit, -was the rubber mask! While she wore that I used to lock my door at -night for fear she would come in my room for something, and scare me -into spasms!” - -As she talked a severe expression came into Robert’s face. “Margie!” he -remonstrated. - -It was the first time he had used the dear name by which her mother had -called her, in spite of his threat to do so, and though she felt the -reproof of his tone, she thrilled when he spoke it. “Do you know,” he -began, “that your comments on your aunt are, to say the least in poor -taste?” - -She flushed deeply, but there was defiance in her voice and in the tilt -of her head. “Why don’t you say outright that I am a vulgar, ill-bred, -common little thing?” she demanded. - -“Because I don’t think it.” - -“Oh, yes, you do,” she retorted angrily. “I just wish you had to live -with Aunt Amelia! It might shake a little of the priggishness out of -you! You don’t seem to understand that I would go mad if I couldn’t -take it out in ridiculing her.” - -His face softened, but before he could speak, she said in a hard, -expressionless tone, entirely devoid of the passion which had just -marked her utterances: “You will be leaving soon to enter your -monastery. I suppose it is proper to wish you _bon voyage_, as one does -people about to embark upon a long journey.” - -His face went from red to white, and he studied his shoes, as though -trying to make up his mind to speak. Then he said slowly and -hesitatingly, “Let us not talk of that now. What are you reading?” and -reaching over, he lifted the book from the bench beside her where she -had dropped it on his approach. - -“Nothing which would interest you,” she said tartly; “just the story of -a son’s devotion to his mother.” - -“What do you mean by that?” he demanded sternly. - -“Oh, nothing at all,” was the light reply; “you are more interested, -are you not, in foot-washing, shaven heads and cowls?” - -He rose instantly, his face dark with passion, but as he talked, it -cleared, till in the end it was serene and calm. “I understand you now. -You take this means, this cruel means of wounding me, so that I would -know of your indifference. I have been having a mighty battle with -myself, as between my church and my love for you. And, though I should -blush to own it, my love won.” - -He paused a brief second. She, too, was standing, and she was trembling -with emotion, but he did not observe it, nor that her lips were -quivering. “I came here to-day to ask you to marry me. I was willing to -forego the vows I was about to take, for which I have been preparing -all my life.” - -He took a step nearer, and looked down at her. “Margie, I love you so! -I did not know such a thing existed as this fire which has permeated my -entire being! It will be my curse in my chosen life, because I will -never be able to concentrate my mind on the work before me. Your face -will be always between me and my duty. I could almost hate you for -shattering all the hopes and aspirations of a lifetime!” - -He waited for some sign that she heard him, but she stood like a piece -of marble. “Yet perhaps had you loved me, and we had married, I would -neither be happy, nor cause you to be. So, though you are dearer to me -than all the world, dearer than the cloistered life I thought would be -all-sufficing, I thank you for not returning my love.” - -Wheeling abruptly, he walked down the path to the gate. - -“Oh,” she whispered to herself, wringing her hands together, “he thanks -me for not loving him!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - “Thus repuls’d, our final hope - Is flat despair.” - - -During the week that Robert was trying to choose his path for life, -Mrs. Malloy watched him with anxious, loving eyes, conscious of his -struggle, herself elated and depressed according to the moods his face -reflected. - -On the morning of the day he called on Meg, he had gone to his mother, -and nestling at her feet as had been his habit since his early -childhood, had leaned his head against her knee. She laid her hand -caressingly on his head, as though inviting him to speak. - -With averted eyes, and a manner he strove to make careless, he said, -“Dear Mother mine, would you despise me for a weak, shilly-shally sort -of creature if—” he hesitated a moment,—“if I should, after all, alter -the plan of my life and not go into the monastery?” - -Her face was transfigured, but she answered calmly, realizing fully -that it was delicate ground upon which they were treading: “Of course I -would not, dear. Whatever is for your happiness is that which I desire. -And no one, not even a mother, can decide for you.” - -He reached up, and pulling her hand down, kissed it reverently. And -then she said softly: “While my boy was little I guided him through the -shoals, avoiding the rocks, and I longed,—oh, _how_ I longed to be -always at the helm, to keep his boat in the still, deep waters. But I -realized that it would be no kindness to have him depend on me alone -for guidance. I would grow old,—my hand would lose its cunning, my eyes -their keenness of vision,—or I would have to leave him altogether—” - -He kissed her hand again, in protest. “Old age and death have nothing -in common with my young mother,” he whispered. - -She smiled sadly as she shook her head. “Nevertheless, one must always -be prepared. At any rate, I taught you how to steer your own boat, my -boy.” - -“Then you desert the ship, do you, O most wise woman?” he asked gayly. - -“I but abdicate the captaincy,” she replied in the same strain. - -When he left the house to make his call, there was something in his -bearing which would have convinced his mother, even without their -previous conversation, that his decision was made and that he went to -put his life in the hands of the one woman in the world she would have -chosen for him. Her heart was light, for she had no doubt as to the -outcome. - -Mr. Spencer came in singing, “Hail to the chief who in triumph -advances,” and then, seeing his sister, he stopped abruptly and said, -“I told you so.” - -“You think he has gone to put his fate ‘to the test, to win or lose it -all?’” - -“Did you see the set of his shoulders as he left the house?” demanded -her brother, and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: “You -can’t fool me. I know the signs of the zodiac. It’s the full of the -moon, that part of the month when it gets into a fellow’s blood, and he -forgets everything except that here is the one being he loves. Why, -Stella, I’d have been infected with that same fever every full moon for -forty years, if I hadn’t been vaccinated.” - -Mrs. Malloy laughed heartily, and then he said, more earnestly: “Robert -will be a lucky man to win that girl. I’ve known her for so long, and -have been so fond of her, that nothing but my age prevents my stepping -in now and interfering with Robert. The first time I ever saw her,” he -continued reminiscently, “she was a mere child, a quaint red-headed -little thing, with a world of tragedy in her big eyes. That was a few -months after she had lost her father. She had replied to a question of -her aunt’s, simply ‘yes,’—and Mrs. Weston was striving to make her say -‘yes, ma’am.’” - -“Which won?” Mrs. Malloy asked idly. - -“I don’t know. The last I saw of them they were walking down the -street, Mrs. Weston dragging her along and saying, ‘You _won’t_ say -“Yes, ma’am,” to me! Well, I’ll teach you some manners if you live with -me!’ But as I have never since heard Meg say ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I have an -idea that she won the day.” - -When Robert returned, he sought his mother and said briefly: “Another -hand than mine has turned the boat back into the still waters of the -monastery. My novitiate begins in six weeks. Let us leave here in a few -days, that we may spend the remainder of the time alone together.” - -All the glory had departed from her face, and she only nodded, not -trusting herself to speak. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - “Unto every one that hath shall be given, and he - shall have abundance; but from him that hath not - shall be taken away even that which he hath.” - - -Meg did not see Robert again before he left. Mrs. Malloy she saw only -for a moment, in the presence of her aunt, when she came to tell them -“Good-bye.” “We leave to-morrow,” she explained with an attempt at a -smile; “Robert has only six weeks more of liberty.” - -They looked into each other’s eyes, the two women who loved him. Soul -recognized soul, and Meg, throwing her arms around his mother, -whispered, “God give you strength to bear it.” - -For reply, Mrs. Malloy clasped her close a moment and said so low that -Mrs. Weston could not hear, though she strained her ears. “If I find I -cannot bear it alone, and send for you, will you come?” - -Meg could only nod. A moment more, and she was gone. Meg stood staring -after her till her aunt’s rasping voice broke the spell: “Do you want -the neighbors to say that you are dying of love for that young man? No? -Well, then, don’t act so mawkish about his mother!” - -Meg could stand no more, and ran up to her room to escape the -persecution. - -The days dragged on hopelessly and drearily. One day, about three weeks -after Robert’s departure, Ada Walker came to see her. She looked very -pretty in her mourning-clothes, and her face wore a pensive air which -was becoming to her. - -“I have come to say ‘Good-bye,’” was her greeting. “Good-bye!” asked -Meg in astonishment. - -“Yes, I am going to put Gertie in boarding-school, and then I am going -East to study music.” - -“And the home?” - -“I have sold that,” was the reply. - -“Sold Charlie’s home!” gasped the girl. - -“Certainly. He always wanted me to keep up my music, and I couldn’t be -bothered with a house.” - -Meg said nothing. “You know, Meg, Charlie would have wished it,” she -said somewhat peevishly. - -“Yes, Charlie would have wanted you to do just as you wished,” replied -Meg drearily. Then suddenly she burst into tears, and throwing her arms -around Ada’s neck, cried, “Oh, I can’t bear to see you go! You are all -of Charlie that is left to me, and _everybody_ is going from me!” - -Ada looked surprised at her burst of emotion, and said patronizingly: -“Why, I didn’t know that you cared so much! We people of deeper -feelings are sometimes at a loss to understand you frivolous ones!” - -The words acted like a tonic on Meg, who dried her eyes, and said with -bitter lightness, “You must allow us frivolous ones to mope -occasionally. We are not always gay.” - -“I suppose not,” said her cousin, eyeing her disapprovingly. - -After she had gone Meg went up to the attic where she kept the little -trunk containing her mother’s things. Unlocking it, she clothed herself -in the dress and apron of which she had spoken to Mrs. Malloy. With the -addition the spectacles, the use of which her mother’s near-sightedness -had compelled, and the piece of unfinished work, she looked like a -child masquerading in grown-up clothes. But no child could have worn -the look of absolute despair depicted upon her face. - -She sat gazing into vacancy for a while, and then, remembering her -game, began to talk: “Margie, dearie, don’t you realize that you are -only a light-minded little thing? You must try to be serious, darling, -try to have sober thoughts, try to feel as people of deeper natures do. - -“And another thing you must remember,—you must not stand in anybody’s -way. When you find that you are standing between anyone and the light, -just step aside. Never mind about yourself. You are of no consequence. -You are just a waif,—you don’t belong anywhere, and don’t belong to -anybody—” - -Suddenly the little red head went down on the folded arms, and she -began to sob, “Oh, mother! mother!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -“As a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings.” - - -For a week or so after their return, Mrs. Malloy found herself, in -spite of her philosophy, growing bitter. She compared her life, replete -with all the bodily comforts that wealth procures, with that of other -women, who knew not the luxury of ease and comfort and beautiful -environments, but who, nevertheless, were surrounded by the dear ones -who alone make happiness. - -She looked around her house, which in the minutest detail evidenced -exquisite refinement of taste, and thought with despair that in a few -weeks those rooms would be empty,—empty of the presence of her best -beloved. - -But something occurred which obliterated her reflections, and roused -all the strength and courage of her character. Robert became very ill -with typhoid fever, and for days it was impossible to foresee the -issue. - -During his delirium he was like a child who dreads the dark, except -that the thing he feared was the monastery, that haven of rest for -which he had longed. He would beg his mother piteously to keep Margie -from pushing him through the gates. - -One day he returned from the Crossway leading into the Valley, and -smiled a sane, rational smile. And simultaneous with his recovery, fell -the scales from his eyes. - -He looked at the havoc anxiety had wrought in his mother’s face. Back -of the ever-ready smile, was a look he was beginning to understand. - -And from having doubts as to his duty to fulfill his vows, he became -positive that his place was with her. As day after day he thought it -out, he felt horror of himself for the wrong he had unconsciously -intended. - -Finally he told his mother. He begged her forgiveness for ever having -contemplated leaving her after his father’s death, and promised that in -the years to come he would try to make it up to her. She clasped him in -her arms, and murmured incoherent words of love, as she pressed her -face to his dark curls, as a mother does with a baby. “Oh, mother mine, -has it meant so much to you?” he asked in sorrow. - -“So much more than you can ever know,” she answered, “but this moment -compensates for a whole lifetime of suffering!” - -After a pause, during which he stroked her hand in silence, Mrs. Malloy -said gently, “Robert, I don’t want to rush in where angels would fear -to tread, so just stop me if the subject pains you,—but I don’t -understand why Margie refused to marry you.” - -“She didn’t exactly refuse me, Mother,” he said hesitatingly; and then -he told her of their conversation. - -His mother regarded him, during the recital, with amazement, amusement, -and consternation. When he had finished she observed quietly: “My son, -I see I neglected an important part of your education. You are not -schooled in woman-lore.” - -A little later a telegram went out to Meg from her, saying, “I need -you. Come.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - “To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to part, - Makes up life’s tale to many a feeling heart!” - - -Valencia, to Meg, had become a barren spot on the map. Nothing relieved -the dreary monotony but the nagging tongue of her aunt, who, it would -seem, had found her mission in life, that of saying and doing the -little things which crucify. - -Meg felt that she could have endured having her house of cards tumble -about her feet; could even have been stoical, because accustomed to a -loveless life. But the constant jarring note,—the mean, cutting words -which dwelt upon the lips perpetually of her one relative, kept her -soul in such a turmoil, that she seriously thought of embracing -Catholicism, and retiring to the peace of a convent. - -That consolation, however, was denied her. She had not listened to Mrs. -Weston’s exordiums on unrequited love, without acquiring a tolerably -accurate idea of the remarks which such an act would call -forth,—remarks which she felt would follow and torment her, though -thirty convent walls, instead of one, hemmed her in from the strife and -malice and unwisdom of the world she had left. - -When she took a mental inventory of her accomplishments with the view -of engaging in some business, she knew she could not qualify. She was -skilled in cooking and housework,—but courageous as she was in her -convictions, she shrank from the social ostracism that would surely -follow, should she employ her one talent in earning her independence. - -While she was turning these things over in her mind, and trying to come -to a decision, the message came summoning her to the aristocratic -little Eastern city where Mrs. Malloy had made her home since the early -days of her wedded life. - -Before speaking to her aunt about it, Meg counted over her scanty -savings from her insufficient income, and found that she would have -barely money enough for a round-trip ticket. It had not occurred to her -to refuse the summons. She felt it her positive duty to go, and, -putting her own trouble behind her, to do what she could for the -stricken mother who had turned to her in her need. - -When she timidly mentioned it to Mrs. Weston, she said sharply, “You -surely don’t think of going! Why, it will only strengthen the opinion -most of the people have,—that you are desperately in love with Robert -Malloy.” - -Meg raised her head with a gesture of pride and dignity, though the red -blood mounted to her cheeks, as she replied, “You may tell the -neighbors should they inquire, that I _am_ in love with him.” - -“Why, Margaret Anthony, I never heard so shameless an admission in my -life!” - -“I thought you might as well know, being my nearest of blood. You have -thrown out so many innuendoes about the matter, that it may ease your -mind to know the truth. Now you have the knowledge, you may sow it -broadcast. No,” as her aunt started to speak, “there is nothing more to -be said between us on the subject. You may discuss me with the -butcher-boy, or the garbage-gatherer, whom I would consider a proper -receptacle for such gossip, or any one who inspires you with a desire -to talk,—but I demand silence for myself!” - -It was a new phase of Meg’s character, which Mrs. Weston did not -understand, and as she did not possess a spirit of adventure, she -wisely refrained from disobeying the injunction. - -The following day, with her few clothes, her ticket, and a small -lunch-box which Delia had smuggled to her, Meg set out on her journey. -To her it was a new experience, for since her orphanhood she had -scarcely been away from Valencia. It would have been a pleasurable -trip, but for the sorrow which she anticipated at its close. - -She was so intensely alive, that everything interested her: the -occupants of the car, and the moving panorama without, the rolling -prairies of her own State, the cool, wooded forests of Missouri, the -rich farms of Illinois. But as she neared her journey’s end, and -contemplated what it meant to her, and to that other lonely woman who -loved him, her thoughts took shape, and, closing her eyes, she tried to -realize the full force of the blow that had fallen alike upon his -mother and herself. - -In imagination she saw it all! A dim, high-ceilinged cathedral, with -the monastery at the rear. The gloom was relieved only by the candles -at the altar. A priest was droning the Latin of his prayer-book, while -the organ in the loft was playing some soft, monotonous air, that got -into her brain and nearly soothed her into forgetfulness. Suddenly it -burst into a triumphant Te Deum, as the altar boys appeared, followed -by other priests, and lastly, by five young men clad in the brown robe -of the order of St. Francis. - -Her eyes sought their faces, one by one, till the last one was reached. -He was white, and in his eyes was the look of a man who had lived, and -loved, and lost. Over the heads of the other novitiates, beyond the -forms of the priests, his eyes met and held hers. And when he should -have responded in Latin, with the others, no sound issued from his -lips, but his eyes, fixed on hers, said: “Margie, I love you so! You -are dearer to me than all the world, dearer to me than the cloistered -life I thought would be all-sufficing!” - -She held out her arms to him, but into his face had come the gray -pallor of a living death. The service went on and on, endlessly, it -seemed to her. It was all so meaningless! Her mind comprehended -nothing. Her heart, tense and ready to break, knew only that he was -leaving her. The beauty of the music, the impressiveness and solemnity -of the service meant but the one thing,—Robert was leaving her! - -The service ended, his eyes said farewell to her,—and, with the others, -to the same monotonous music of the organ that had first lulled her -senses, he retreated, farther and farther away from her, until at last -he disappeared entirely. There was a moment of terrible suspense, as -she strained her ears to listen. Then came the clang of the monastery -gates, as they closed behind him, shutting him out of her life forever! - -“Missy, de train’s done reached Welcomeville. Ain’t dis where you all -get off?” - -Meg sat up straight and looked at the colored porter in a dazed manner -for a moment. Then, gathering her few possessions together, she left -the train. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - “Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.” - - -Mrs. Malloy became oppressed with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt, in -the days following the sending of the message. It was foreign to her -nature to do anything about which there was necessity of being -secretive, and she shrank from the consequences of the revelation, -should her act meet Robert’s disapproval. - -But dominant over that and every other sensation was her joy at her -son’s defection from his chosen path, and the anticipation of his -happiness in knowing that Meg loved him. - -She did not meet Meg at the train, sending her trusted coachman alone, -for she preferred receiving her in her home. When the carriage drove -up, and she saw Meg’s white, drawn face, she became momentarily -nervous. But the nervousness gave way to happiness when she held the -girl in her arms, and caressed her hair. “Dear Mrs. Malloy,” Meg -whispered, “I seem so helpless! What can I do to make the burden -easier?” - -The silence that followed became uncomfortable. And Meg, looking up, -saw such a light on the face bending over hers that she added -wonderingly, “Why, how strange you look! What is it?” - -“Please listen patiently, dear little girl, and don’t misunderstand me. -But first, let me take off your hat,—there—and now sit down. What would -you say if I told you that Robert had given up the monastery?” - -Meg looked at her in a dazed manner, but made no reply. Mrs. Malloy -continued: “He awakened to the knowledge that he was more necessary on -_this_ side of the gates.” - -Meg suddenly sat up very straight and asked in a strained voice, “And -the message? When did you send the message?” - -Mrs. Malloy laughed softly, “Just as soon as he told me.” - -“But you said you needed me.” The girl’s tone was hard. - -For the first time Mrs. Malloy realized that here was an undreamed of -force, and she was suddenly reduced to an uncomfortable knowledge that -she had perhaps made a mistake. She hastened to adjust matters by an -explanation. “I felt I _did_ need you, my dear, for Robert. He told me -he loved you, and as I have always tried to procure for him everything -he wished, I thought I would bring you to him.” She tried to laugh, but -the effort was a failure. - -“Then you have spoiled him by getting him all the playthings he -wanted,” Meg said dryly. “A little denial earlier in life would have -been morally beneficial. You should have let him cry for the moon, and -he would have learned the futility of tears.” - -“Margie, dear,—” Mrs. Malloy leaned forward, and her tone was -pleading,—“don’t talk like that. It breaks my heart. I have blundered, -but only through love of my boy and you. Can’t you forgive a foolish -old woman?” - -Meg smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. “Certainly I will -forgive you. But Rob—your son: does he know you have sent for me?” - -“No, he has no idea of it. And now that I see how you regard it, I fear -to meet his contempt when he knows that I have interfered, fruitlessly, -with his affairs.” - -“But he need never know it,” Meg said quickly; “I will take the first -train back, and he need not know I was here.” - -Robert’s convalescence had reached the stage where he longed to prove -to his loving mother that she had been needlessly alarmed about him. -Therefore, slipping out of his easy-chair in the library, he started -into the hall to find and surprise her. Following the direction of her -voice and that other low-toned one, which was so strangely familiar, he -pulled aside the heavy draperies, and stood framed in the doorway. - -“Margie!” he cried, steadying himself by the curtains. - -At the sound of that cry, and at sight of his thin, white face, she -half started toward him with an inarticulate exclamation. But suddenly -she remembered, and advancing formally, gave him her hand to shake, and -said in a conventional tone, as though they had met the day before: -“Good afternoon, Mr. Malloy. I hope you are improving in health.” - -Robert dropped weakly into a chair, and with his eyes still fixed on -her face, said to Mrs. Malloy: “Mother, is it a cruel hallucination? Or -is it really my Margie, standing there?” - -Meg flushed deeply, but before she could say anything Mrs. Malloy -interposed: “Let me explain, dear. I have been a foolish meddler. I -wired Margie that I needed her, and she came, thinking you had gone -into the monastery.” - -An awkward pause followed, which Robert broke, falteringly: “Margie, it -is not a time to stand on formality, and I know from my former -experience that a delay in speaking is sometimes disastrous. So I am -going to ask you a question in the presence of my mother. Will you be -my wife?” - -Meg’s face was white, and her voice quietly cold as she replied, “I am -not unmindful of the very great honor you do me, Robert, but I must -decline it.” And turning to Mrs. Malloy, “Is there a train I can take -to-night?” - -“No, dear, not till morning. Let me take you to your room, and you can -rest, for I know you are tired.” - -“Thank you,” Meg said sweetly, and giving Robert a little nod she -followed his mother from the room. - -After opening her door for her and seeing that everything was as she -had ordered, even to the flowers, and the cheerful grate fire, Mrs. -Malloy turned to leave the room. At the threshold she paused, and Meg -was really concerned to see the look of age which had overtaken her -features. “You would better rest a while,” she said, “and I will have -you called in time for dinner.” - -When she was alone Meg threw herself down in a chair before the fire -and sat staring into the glowing embers. She was deeply wounded and -offended. “Do they think I have no self-respect?” she said to herself. -“Mrs. Malloy, knowing me to be dying of love for Robert, and being -accustomed to gratifying his slightest whim, hands me to him on a -platter, with her compliments. And he, so polite, having been taught to -say ‘Please,’ and ‘Thank you,’ accepts me graciously. ‘Thank you, -Mother dear; you have the knack of always getting me just what I want. -It’s very pretty. I would prefer it to that monastery or any other -toy.’” - -Just then a glowing log separated, and fell with a hissing sound; -gradually the glow faded from it and it became gray and lifeless. -“That’s it,” Meg soliloquized; “that log represents life. One moment so -full of color and warmth, the next, a handful of ashes.—I hate -Robert.—He looks very badly.—I wonder if he was in any danger.—I -suppose his mother must have been terribly anxious.—Auntie would say I -was sentimentalizing.—I wonder—” The tired head fell back against the -cushion of the chair, and she slept dreamlessly and sweetly, till she -was summoned to dinner. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - “Her children arise up and call her blessed.” - - -Meg, refreshed by her nap, was her usual sprightly self at dinner. Mrs. -Malloy looked weary and old, and had little to say. Robert, who dined -only by courtesy, his repast consisting of a bowl of bouillon, -conversed with Meg on the impersonal topics she selected. - -He found it impossible to get on the old familiar footing. Even the -subject of Aunt Amelia, she treated with respect, refusing to see the -opportunities for ridicule which his polite inquiries furnished, and of -which, once, she would have taken advantage. She was bright and -gracious, but there was a new dignity about her, which forbade any -approach to the doorway of her emotions. - -Robert had forborne to reproach his mother. Being by instinct and -breeding a gentleman, he did not say a word to wound her. Yet ever in -his deference, she was conscious of his resentment. She knew that he -attributed his failure to win Margie, to her interference. That, had he -been left alone to shape his fate, his desire would have led him back -to Valencia, there to woo and win the maiden in the old-fashioned -conventional manner. - -And through her over-zeal, his bubble had burst,—the prize was beyond -his seeking! - -She was very miserable in her self-communion. More so, perhaps, than -either of her companions. With Robert, hope was not by any means -extinct. With Margie, in spite of her schooling, and her wounded pride, -the warmth and glow of life came into her heart, as she looked across -at Robert, listened to his deep, expressive voice, and met his eyes, -containing the message of love he dared not speak. - -As they started to leave the dining-room, Mrs. Malloy turned suddenly -white, and before Robert could catch her, she sank in a crumpled heap -on the floor. It was only a fainting spell, induced by her unhappiness -following so closely upon the exhaustion and anxiety attending Robert’s -illness. - -But this they did not know, those two young creatures! To them it -resembled the sleep of death, and they both knelt beside her, frantic -with self-reproach, crying and calling to her to open her eyes and -speak. When she finally emerged from the swoon, she looked from one to -the other of them. Thinking she was dying, and that the wish she could -not frame in words was her last request, Meg sobbingly cried, “Yes, -dear Mrs. Malloy, I _will_ marry him if he wants me, for I do love -him.” - -Whereupon Robert, putting his arm around Meg, said solemnly, “Mother -darling, it shall be as you wish. We love each other, and will send for -the priest at once if you say so.” - -Mrs. Malloy closed her eyes from sheer weakness, but even in her -half-swoon the look of youth stole back to her features, and a -beneficent expression of peace came over them. When she felt strong -enough to speak, she asked to be helped to the couch. - -The young couple bent over her solicitously, and when she again opened -her eyes, Robert asked in a low voice, “Shall I send for the doctor for -you, and the priest for us, Mother dear?” - -She smiled faintly. “I do not need the doctor, for I simply fainted. As -for the priest, suit yourselves, but don’t send on my account, for I -think I will live till morning. And now, if Margie will come to help -me, I am going to my room to lie down. I would rather have you than a -servant, dear. Good-night, my boy. I will send Margie back to you -soon.” - -A little later, Meg whispered to Robert, “I believe she fainted on -purpose!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - “Sweet is every sound, - Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet.” - - -Meg was writing to her aunt, and Robert leaned over her shoulder and -read: “So I will be married here, and then we will take a trip for -Robert’s health. Auntie, please don’t suspect me of marrying for money, -but did you guess they were rich? _I_ didn’t, till I came here, and -then I saw. Most of the rich people we know make such a vulgar display, -and that is why, I suppose, I did not suspect it of them. I feel like a -fairy princess—” - -Meg stopped writing and leaned back in her chair. “Robert Malloy,” she -said with pretended severity, “I am surprised that your mother never -taught you it was impolite to look over people’s shoulders. I suppose -she wanted to leave part of your education to me.” - -“Speaking of fairy princesses, tell me the rest of that story you began -the day that poor, dear little boy stubbed his poor, dear little toe.” - -She blushed at the remembrance, but passed on the reference, and began -her story without a preface: “Well, the beautiful, amiable princess, -almost too good for this world, finally met her Prince, or at least a -very good imitation of one, but he thought _he_ was too good for this -world—” - -“I don’t think I care for your story,” and he pretended to yawn. - -“And I don’t think you would make a good monk. You are not fat enough,” -remarked Meg irrelevantly; and then, seeing a tense look on Robert’s -face, she leaned forward and said contritely, “Oh, Bobbie, I never will -make light of it again! Honest! Cross my heart and hope to die!” - -“I hope not, dear one,” he said gently; “I have given it all up, and I -have no regrets, but,—” - -“Yes,” seriously, “I understand.” - -Robert had drawn a chair up beside her, and was holding and caressing -her hand. “Tell me, little girl, where you would like to go, when we -leave the world behind us.” - -Her face assumed a prim look, as she replied: “I have always been -taught that if I mended my ways and became very, _very_ good, I would -go to Heaven.” - -Robert laughed. “But in the meantime? I would like to travel more or -less for a year, especially as Mother can be with us part of the time. -After that, I will come home and go into some kind of business.” - -Meg’s eyes were shining with excitement. “Won’t it be fine!” she -exclaimed; “I have always longed to see the world. I want to view the -universe from the summit of Pike’s Peak. I would like to gather oranges -in Florida, to be prodigal with flowers in California. It is my desire -to be made dumb by the magnificence of Yellowstone Park,—temporarily -dumb, you understand,—and deaf by the roar of Niagara!” - -“And you have never been to any of these places?” - -“No, but I once went to Tecumseh! That’s fifteen miles from Valencia,” -she replied confidentially. - -Robert laughed. Her voice became softly reminiscent, as she continued: -“I used to ‘pretend’ that I was traveling. I wandered through quaint -old streets in the unfrequented northern parts of Great Britain. I -spent whole weeks in that little town with its one street, paved with -cobblestones, leading straight down to the sea. I reveled in the -strong, salt air, and the odor of the fish, freshly caught,—though I -never could bear to smell them in a meat market in Valencia!” and her -small nose went up at the recollection. - -“And did you never visit France, Germany, or Italy?” - -“Oh, yes,—and Spain, where were all my possessions! I didn’t miss any -of the usual places, but I was contrary enough to prefer the unbeaten -path. That, I suppose, is the spirit of my pioneer ancestors in me. I -dearly loved Ireland, and the warm-hearted Irish people,—indeed, -indeed, I’m not saying it to flatter you!” - -Robert was enjoying himself thoroughly, and to encourage her in her -whimsicalities, he asked, “Did you never visit Japan?” - -“Yes, it was there I learned the exquisite art of arranging flowers. -But auntie, being a born and bred Valencian, could never be convinced -that it was not artistic to stuff a vase full of nasturtiums, geraniums -and sweet peas, with a garnishing of alyssum and petunias!” - -“You must have gained quite a smattering of the languages in your -travels,” Robert said idly. - -“_Just_ a smattering! Not enough to make me forget the everyday -language which years of association had made familiar, if not dear. My -travels usually ended as abruptly as though a cablegram had called me -home. Just as I would alight from one voyage, and, living over again my -delight in the scenes which had enchanted me, before preening my wings -and preparing for another flight, I would be jerked back to my -commonplace existence by a familiar voice saying, ‘Meg, tell Delia to -boil some cabbage for dinner!’ Auntie was addicted to cabbage,” she -concluded plaintively. - -There was something of sadness in Robert’s smile, as he said: “Poor -little bird with the clipped wings! How much of pleasure and happiness -you have missed. Please God, I shall make it up to you!” - -Meg gave him a grateful, upward look, as she exclaimed impulsively, -“Oh, Robert, my dear, you will have to give me so much love to make up -for the fifteen years I have missed it.” - -“For twenty years, for forty years, if you say so, sweetheart, for the -supply is unlimited. And you,—will you turn on your shaded lights for -me?” - -“No,” she said, with sweet gravity, “for shaded lights are artificial. -They may, at any time, flicker and go out. Nothing but the sunlight and -the moonlight will do now, to express my love.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - An after-thought. - - -Mr. Robert Spencer to Robert Malloy: - - “Valencia, Nov. 5. - - “_Dear Robert_: Hold on. Wait for me. I made the match, and it’s - no fair playing the game out till I come. Will take the first - train. But what a combination of hair and name for your wife! It - fixes her nationality, all right. Red-headed Meg Malloy! Salute - her, for - - “Uncle Bob.” - -Mrs. Amelia Weston to Miss Margaret Anthony: - - “Valencia, Nov. 5. - - “_Dear Niece Margaret_: For such I suppose you will prefer to be - called, now that you are to marry a rich man. I hope you will not - forget your former friends and relatives who befriended you in - your hour of need. And I trust you will profit by the refined - example I have striven to set you. Be careful of your table - manners. You always had a tendency to put your elbow on the - table. I used to think you did it to annoy me. Perhaps if Robert - never speaks of it you may cease doing it. I am very much afraid - the neighbors will say you pursued Robert to his very home to - marry him. They are likely to say you were afraid to come back to - Valencia to be married for fear he would change his mind. It is - just awful the way people gossip! - - “Of course, I am glad you are going to marry well. But I can’t - help thinking how sweet Robert would have looked in that brown - bath-robe. - - “I have bought a new complexion beautifier that I like so much. - The young lady agent explained that my complexion really didn’t - need improvement, but that this was a good preservator. She is a - very pleasant young lady. - - “Give my respects to Mrs. Malloy and your future husband. I hope - he won’t live to regret choosing you instead of the monastery. - - “Your loving Aunt Amelia. - - “P.S.—I am having the sweetest little dress made! It is of - light-blue cashmere, trimmed in the cutest little chiffon ruffles. - The dressmaker thinks it is going to be very becoming to me.” - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - -***** This file should be named 40926-0.txt or 40926-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/2/40926/ - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/40926-0.zip b/old/40926-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c23e312..0000000 --- a/old/40926-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/40926-8.txt b/old/40926-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4e5778b..0000000 --- a/old/40926-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2823 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Meg, of Valencia - -Author: Myra Williams Jarrell - -Release Date: October 3, 2012 [EBook #40926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: "Meg"] - - - - -MEG, OF VALENCIA - -BY - -MYRA WILLIAMS JARRELL - -MONOTYPED BY - -CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS - -TOPEKA, KANSAS - -1905 - - - - -This little book is lovingly dedicated to my parents. - - "'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print: - A book's a book, although there's nothing in't." - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - "What's in a name?" - - -When Mr. Robert Spencer was annoyed, he made it known by pacing the -floor with his hands under his coat-tails. When he was pleased, he -quickened the pace, and his hands caused his coat-tails to stand out in -a most jaunty and undignified manner. He was pacing up and down a -handsomely furnished room, one bright May morning, with annoyance -visibly depicted in every line of his coat-tails. - -The other occupant of the room, his sister, was watching him with an -expression half amused, half sad. They were much alike, both sandy in -coloring, and both wearing the same humorous, half-quizzical smile, -which in her was saddened by the loss her deep mourning indicated. She -had never been a handsome woman, but she possessed an attractiveness -far greater than that of mere outward beauty. - -Suddenly her brother paused in front of her and began explosively: "I -tell you it's tommy-rot. And it's all because you wouldn't call him -Bob! How the deuce do you expect a boy you have called 'Robert' for -twenty-five years, to have any worldly sense?" - -"Wait a minute, Bob," interrupted his sister, quietly; "how could I be -expected to call such a splendid boy anything else? 'Bob,' for him, -would have been nothing short of sacrilege,--no offense meant, my dear -brother." - -"Don't mention it," he growled; "but I protest that you can make or mar -a boy by a name. You called him 'Robert.' What was the result?" - -"Very fine, I call it." - -Unheeding the interruption, he continued in a mocking voice: "Lacy -dresses which he never tore, wax dolls, kittens, and long curls. Now -that just naturally led up to books, study, church!" - -"That is a combination few people object to, Bob," his sister gently -interpolated. - -"If taken in moderation, my dear Stella,--in homeopathic doses. Your boy -went on the principle by which some people govern their -medicine-taking, that if a little is good, much is better." - -He paused for her reply, but as she was evidently waiting for the close -of his harangue, he continued: "Now, look here. Suppose you had called -him 'Bob.' There would have been no long curls or doll-rags for him. It -would have been baseball, marbles, fresh air, boy friends. And now, -hang it all, look at him now!" - -Mrs. Malloy sat up with dignity, and asked, "Well, what of him now?" - -"That's just it," he sputtered. "If he wasn't so handsome, manly, -honest and lovable, I wouldn't care; but to think of all those virtues -being shut up in a monastery, makes me wish I were a profane man, so I -could ease my mind by swearing." - -Mrs. Malloy had become very white, and she made no answer. Her brother -glanced at her, and added softly, dropping into a chair by her side: -"It's all because he was brought up in that Faith. I don't see how you -could do it, Stella." - -"You forget," she answered sadly; "it was John's religion, and it was -understood that he should do that if he were so inclined." - -"But John never meant for you to be left alone in the world. He -wouldn't have wanted the boy to leave you, if he had known." - -"Perhaps not," she said with white lips, "but I would not lay one straw -in the way, or stand between my boy and what he considers his duty." - -"Duty be--," vociferated Mr. Spencer. "I beg your pardon, Stella,--it -almost slipped out. But can't the young whelp see where his duty is? -Now, don't be angry, Stella. Do you think I wouldn't whale any other -man within an inch of his life if he called the boy that?" - -"Nothing is gained by discussing it," Mrs. Malloy wearily replied, "and -I insist that you say nothing to Robert on the subject. His mind is -quite made up, quite. He believes it to be his father's wish. He does -not know but that it is mine, though it is, as you say, not my faith." - -"'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow,'" quoted Mr. -Spencer, softly. - -"To say anything to him would make him very unhappy, but would not -alter his decision." - -"Perhaps some way may yet be found," he ventured. - -"I am sure nothing would change him. You see, he has had this idea ever -since he was a mere child. It has grown with him. It is so interwoven -with the very fibres of his being that it could not be uprooted. No, -no, Bob, it will have to stand. If I can bear it, surely you can." - -"If _you_ can bear it," he answered. "Oh, yes, you can bear it. You -will wave your handkerchief and smile as the gates close upon him, and -then you'll come home and die of a broken heart!" - -"Don't,--don't," she begged, piteously. - -"Forgive me, Stella; I didn't mean to hurt you so. But I've a scheme to -stop this foolishness and make you happy, and the boy, too." - -She shook her head hopelessly, but her brother patted her on the -shoulder and said, "But yes, I say. Will you be a party to it?" - -For one moment her eyes flashed up with a look of hope, then it died -out as she said slowly, "I cannot conspire against my boy and what I -know to be his earnest desire." - -"Well, don't," was the brusque reply. "Your co-operation isn't -necessary anyway. But you and Robert will come next week to visit me as -you promised, won't you?" - -After Mrs. Malloy nodded in reply, he walked out of the room with his -coat-tails expressing satisfaction. - -He had not been gone long when the door was gently opened, and a young -man entered. Coming up to Mrs. Malloy, he stooped and kissed her on the -forehead. The look of passionate adoration she gave him was not -surprising, for he was undeniably good to gaze upon. He was tall, well -formed and athletic in build, with the fresh coloring, the warm, honest -gray eyes, clear-cut features and rippling dark hair of a long race of -Celtic ancestors. His brow was frank and noble, his smile charming. -There was nothing about him to suggest the parochial calling he was -about to adopt. He looked merely a healthy, wholesome, happy and -unusually handsome young fellow. - -"Always cheerful, little mother," he said, balancing himself on the arm -of her chair, and meeting her smile with tender, earnest eyes. "That -thought makes me very happy, for I know you are never lonely, and will -not mope after I am gone, as some mothers would." - -Her face blanched; with teeth shut hard together, she pressed her face -against his sleeve until she could control her voice, and finally -answered: "No, I was never given to moping, my son. But to be -irrelevant, I promised Uncle Bob that we would go to Valencia next week -and stay with him through the summer." - -"That will be jolly; I think I would enjoy one good old spree of that -sort before--" - -"Let's go out and find Uncle Bob," said his mother quickly. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - "And both were young and one was beautiful." - - -Valencia was a western town, with about forty thousand inhabitants who -believed in and were immeasurably proud of the place. There were no -factories, and there was no great value in real estate, since the wild -boom of the early eighties, which made and broke so many western towns; -but it was quite a railroad center, one of the principal western roads -having headquarters there. Amusement there was none, save band concerts -twice a week in summer, and an occasional show in the opera house in -winter. - -The town had perhaps more than a fair allotment of that class of people -who find fault with everything, from the price of ice to the sparsity -of amusements. It was said, also, to be no more free from public -officials with itching palms, than other cities of its size. - -Saloons were supposed to be unknown in Valencia, in accordance with the -laws of the State, and it did truly present a clean, moral aspect to -the casual observer. - -Valencia was essentially a "home" town, with its wide streets, its many -trees, comfortable homes and green lawns, and it was much beloved by -its inhabitants, who, if they moved away, inevitably moved back again, -with untiring loyalty. - -Robert Spencer had been borne into the town on the tide of prosperity -that had carried so many into it in 1882, and he was one of the -barnacles who had remained, firmly fastened, when the tide receded, -taking with it a few of the industries that had sprung up like -mushrooms during the boom. He had had a competence when he drifted into -Valencia, which by judicious investment had increased until he was -independently rich. - -The first few years of his life there had been uneasy ones, for he had -to be constantly on the alert to avoid matrimony, so many were the -enticements thrown out to land him. He was unquestionably the biggest -fish in the pond, and the hooks had been baited for him repeatedly, but -he had not bitten. - -The first evening after Mrs. Malloy and Robert reached Valencia, Mr. -Spencer entertained two of his nearest neighbors, a widow and her young -niece, at dinner. - -Mrs. Weston had been a pretty girl in her youth, and it was a hard -habit for her to break from. She still affected baby blue, which had -set off to advantage her pink-and-whiteness twenty years before, but -which now exaggerated the faded lemon color into which that complexion -had degenerated. In place of dimples, there were creases in her cheeks, -but she clung to her original conception of them, and used them -accordingly. Her hair, from being golden, had become dull and lifeless, -but she still wore it in the jaunty frizzes which had once set off her -doll-like face. - -She was an easy victim for complexion agents, and her generous -patronage had done much to hasten the decay of her delicate complexion. -She was entirely satisfied with herself, but nevertheless she felt a -pang of jealousy whenever she looked at her young niece, and was only -moved out of her complacency and simplicity, to indulge in caustic -remarks to her. - -Robert Malloy felt himself shy and awkward in the presence of girls, -for his life had been spent close to his mother, with books and study, -and he was ignorant of their ways. - -Before dinner was announced he found himself seated by the girl, -Margaret Anthony, vaguely wondering what to say, and wishing he dared -look at her to see what she really was like. - -He ventured a remark about the weather, and looked at her as he did so. -She answered in a monosyllable, but kept her eyes cast down. Following -the direction of her eyes, he saw that she was twirling her thumbs. - -In a flash he glanced at his own hands, and then he realized that he -was being ridiculed. - -He looked hastily at her again, and this time she met his eyes with an -unmistakable gleam of laughter in hers. For a moment he was inclined to -be angry, but changed his mind and laughed outright, a musical, boyish -laugh, with which hers chimed. - -The older folks looked over at them, and an expression of satisfaction -appeared on Mr. Spencer's face. - -"That little vixen is up to some mischief, I know," twittered Mrs. -Weston. - -"Whatever it is, I am grateful to her," responded Mr. Spencer. "I don't -think I ever heard Robert laugh like that before. Did you, Stella?" he -asked, turning to his sister. - -"He wasn't so different from other boys, Bob," she said smilingly; "he -and I have had many a romp together." - -"Maybe so, maybe so," he muttered. - -"If I should say 'booh!' you'd run," said Margaret with conviction, to -Robert. - -"Try me and see," was his good-humored response, just as dinner was -announced. - -Mr. Spencer had seated the two young people together, for he rightly -concluded that the ice would be broken sooner, over soup and fish, with -the assistance of warm candlelight and flowers, than in a drawing-room -with the accompaniment of voices no longer young. - -In taste, Robert was no acolyte, and he gave a little sigh of -satisfaction as his eyes took in the exquisite details of the table of -polished, massive mahogany, with gleaming silver and glass, the bowl of -gorgeous, rich red roses, and the candles with their red shades. - -Turning, he met the eyes of his companion, and involuntarily thought -that she fitted with the environments. Her hair had a decidedly reddish -cast, and framed a face which was small and white, with a refractory -red mouth and an insignificant nose. - -Her eyes were peculiar, but very beautiful, large and full and greenish -in color, shaded by lashes so long and dark that they gave a dazzling -brilliance to her face. - -As she met his eyes she smiled and said, as though he had spoken, "Yes, -_isn't_ it pretty?" Then she added, "But I am a gourmand. I like the -pretty surroundings _and_ a good dinner, but if I had to choose between -the two, I would take the latter." - -"That's because you are such a child," he said patronizingly. - -"Of course, judging from the standpoint of _your_ experience, I must -appear like one," was her lofty reply. - -Her remark reduced him to an awkward consciousness of his inexperience, -and beside this small girl he felt himself suddenly to seem like an -uncouth school-boy. - -After this little encounter they listened to the conversation of their -elders. Mrs. Malloy was expressing her opinion of a new book which she -did not like, and said that people were better off with no books at all -than with one of that character. - -Mrs. Weston, who had never delved very deep into any subject, said with -a little giggle: "I would hate to acknowledge, though, that I had not -read a book of which every one was talking. But I have often heard Meg -express herself the way you have been doing." - -After they were back in the drawing-room Robert said to Margaret, "Did -I understand your aunt to call you 'Meg'?" - -"You did," was the reply; "I have as many names as Eugene Field's -'Bill,' in the little poem 'Jes 'fore Christmas.' You remember it?" - -He nodded. - -"Well, it's this way with me: Father called me Margaret, the girls they -called me Peg, Mother called me Margie, but Auntie calls me Meg." - -"And--?" he queried. - -A sudden gravity settled over her face, as she replied, "There is no -one now to call me Margaret or Margie. Auntie's name for me sort of -sticks. But I suppose it's all right. I'm not big enough to be entitled -to the big, dignified name of Margaret." - -"When I know you well enough, I shall call you Margie," Robert said -confidently. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - "A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; - or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman." - - -The life which opened up for Robert Malloy was so full of surprises, -new sensations and experiences, that he was both bewildered and -delighted. - -His uncle watched him hopefully, his mother anxiously. There could be -no doubt that she would have welcomed anything which would turn her son -from his desire, but she was paradoxically jealous for the strength of -character and singleness of purpose which had determined him for the -life which would take him from her. Also, she could not be certain that -he would be happy, should he walk into the trap so obviously set for -him by his uncle. - -A few weeks after they reached Valencia she had a chance to study Meg -more closely, and to obtain an insight into the character of the girl -who puzzled her, and who very evidently attracted her son. There was -something so subtle and elusive about her, that Mrs. Malloy, with her -ear attuned to simplicity and directness, had not been able to form an -opinion concerning her. - -She had taken a favorite book and started for a quiet spot in the woods -adjoining her brother's place, when she met Meg. The girl flushed with -pleasure when Mrs. Malloy asked her to join her. There was little said -by either as they walked along, yet there was no constraint. Finally -Mrs. Malloy turned to her companion and said smilingly, "I believe you -are one of those rare persons who are good company without saying a -word." - -Meg laughed as she answered, "I hope I know the value of silence." - -Just then Meg's quick eyes detected a little bird which had been -wantonly shot, and was lying under the tree where probably it had made -its home. Picking it up, she murmured a few broken words of pity, which -might have been a requiem over the little dead body. - -"Isn't it cruel?" she asked, raising her lovely dark-lashed eyes to -Mrs. Malloy's face, "and so useless,--a little bird that never harmed -anyone,--and not even good to eat," she added mournfully. - -Mrs. Malloy was impelled to laugh, though she, too, felt the pity of -it. - -They finally sat down under a large tree, whose branches afforded a -refreshing shade. Leaning her back against the tree, and sighing -restfully, Mrs. Malloy turned to look at her companion. Meg wore the -most inexpensive white dress, but she wore it as she did all of her -home-made clothes, like a small princess. - -As she sat there, with her hands clasped around her knees, and her -small head, with its refractory reddish hair, drooping, there was a -pathetic look about her that went straight to Mrs. Malloy's warm heart. -She put her hand out and slightly touching Meg's shoulder, said softly: -"You look unhappy, dear,--sort of lonely. Can I help you?" - -The girl's face changed instantly, and looking up at Mrs. Malloy she -said gayly, "But I'm not lonely,--not now." - -Mrs. Malloy withdrew her hand and said simply, "Pardon me. I no doubt -seemed intrusive." - -"_You_ intrusive! oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, you _couldn't_ be intrusive! -Why, if you should tell me my hair was red, I would not be offended. -And that's what I wouldn't take from anyone else," she added under her -breath. - -"Well, I won't be so rude, nor so untruthful. It is beautiful auburn, a -color I've always liked." - -"Of course," Meg admitted reluctantly, "it isn't exactly the color one -could wear red with,--not but what I would if I wanted to." - -Mrs. Malloy threw her head back and laughed, and her laugh was as -pleasant as it was rare. - -Meg looked at her in a pleased manner. Then Mrs. Malloy said: "What a -spunky little girl you are! It's regular red-headed spunk, though of -course your hair is not red. My dear, it's a blessing you are so -independent, having no one to do your fighting for you." - -The wistful look came back into Meg's eyes as she answered: "It has -never seemed just right that I didn't have a father, or mother, or even -a big brother to take care of me. Sometimes,--" there was a little catch -in her voice,--"oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, sometimes I feel as if there were -no fight left in me!" - -"You poor little thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Malloy, reaching out for her -hand, "this is really yourself that I see now,--a little tame canary -made wild because it has no one to shield it, and must look out for -itself!" - -Meg looked at her adoringly. - -"You are the first person I have ever known who has seemed to -understand me, and somehow, I feel that my mother was like you. You -won't laugh at me or tell any one if I tell you something?" she asked -anxiously. - -"You may count on my silence and sympathy, dear." - -"When I was a little girl, my principal amusement was to 'pretend' -things. I would pretend I was a princess, or something else equally -improbable. One day, I wanted some one else to play with me so badly, -that I told Aunt Amelia about it." - -"Yes?" queried Mrs. Malloy softly, as she paused. - -"Oh, she slapped me, told me I was nothing but an ugly, red-headed -little object of charity, and not to go imagining any more nonsense." - -Mrs. Malloy bit her lip to keep back the disparaging words which longed -for utterance. Instead, she stroked the hand she held, and Meg -continued: - -"Since then I have played my little games by myself. Sometimes I go up -to the attic, where I have a trunk containing mother's things. I put on -her dress and apron, and take a piece of crochet work in my hands,--the -one she was making when she was taken sick,--and then I pretend that I -am she, and that I am there, too,--you understand?" - -Mrs. Malloy nodded. "And then I talk as I know she would talk to me if -she were here. I give myself lectures for my frivolity, and good -advice,--and,--and,--oh, I say the tender little things that I know she -would say, and that no one ever does----" She stopped, and began to sob -quietly. - -Mrs. Malloy drew her up beside her, so that the little red head rested -on her shoulder. There were unshed tears in her eyes, which had looked -out bravely and hopefully upon a world that had little enough to offer -her, and she felt, in this moment, that a very strong bond was between -this girl, almost a stranger, and herself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - "Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." - - -Meg was leaning back in delicious idleness on the cool, shaded porch of -her aunt's house, with her hands loosely clasped above her head, and -her eyes dreamily fixed on the treetops. - -Robert Malloy was reading aloud from a book of verse. His voice, rising -and falling musically, harmonized with the summer sounds, the hum of -the insects, and chirping of the birds that came fearlessly close, to -bathe in the whirling spray of the garden hose. - -After he had read a while he closed the book, and said, "Tell me a -story." - -"A really, truly one?" she asked, bringing her eyes on a level with -his. - -"Yes; tell me about yourself." - -"All right. Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, and she -was as good as she was beautiful; never cross, never impatient, always -serene, gentle, and loving. She lived with her cruel stepmother--" - -"Wasn't there a prince?" he queried anxiously. - -"Not any real one," was the severe retort, "just a few little imitation -ones. But she had a taste above paste jewels, so she determined--" - -At this moment the air was pierced by a shrill cry from the road, -followed by lusty weeping. - -Meg was half-way to the gate before Robert started, and when he reached -there he found her exclaiming pityingly over a small, ragged, and -decidedly dirty boy, who was sitting in the dust of the road nursing an -injured toe. - -"How did it happen?" she was asking as Robert came up and leaned -against the fence. - -The hurt, slight in itself, assumed new importance in the eyes of the -boy, and he answered proudly, between the sniffles into which his sobs -had subsided, "I was running fast, an' I never seen that piece of -broken bottle, an' I stepped right on it, an' cut my toe, an' it hurts -just awful." - -"I know it does, you poor, dear thing," was Meg's sympathetic -rejoinder; "come right in the yard with me, where it's cool, and I'll -fix it all right." - -The boy began to strut after her, but meeting Robert's broad smile, -bethought himself of his affliction, so changed the strut into a limp, -and followed her in. - -He looked a trifle dubious over the water when she took the injured -member in her soft hands to bathe it, but submitted like a martyr. -After Meg had washed the wound free from dirt she looked up at Robert, -who was watching the proceedings with amused eyes, and imperiously -demanded his handkerchief. - -He elevated his brows, as he handed it to her, and, addressing the boy, -remarked, "The heroines one reads about always tear their own -handkerchiefs into strips." - -"Yessir," responded the boy, scarcely knowing what was expected of him. - -"Do you remember what Chesterfield says about just such a case as -this?" Meg asked the boy, ignoring Robert. - -"No'm. Who's he? The doctor?" And alarm became visibly written under -the grime of his countenance. - -"Never mind," Meg said reassuringly to him, and went on neatly binding -the toe. When it was finished, she darted into the house and came out -carrying an apple and a huge piece of cake, which she immediately -bestowed upon her new proteg. - -He accepted them graciously, as he had her ministrations, and was about -to edge off when her eye was attracted to a sling-shot protruding from -his coat pocket. She pulled it out and threw it as far as she could, -then turned to the amazed boy with flashing eyes. "You horrid, bad, -ugly boy! You were chasing a poor little bird when you stepped on that -bottle! I'm glad you got hurt, and I hope the next time you will cut -your toe completely off!" - -She emphasized her words with a little shake, which sent him scuttling -down the yard and out of the gate without a backward glance. - -After he had disappeared, Meg stood, red and mortified, realizing that -Robert must despise her for her outburst of temper, and wishing that at -least she had been more dignified in her expression of disapproval. She -became uneasy at the long silence, and finally ventured to raise her -eyes to his, prepared for the scorn and contempt she knew would be in -his glance. - -Instead, his eyes were dancing with enjoyment, and when he met her -look, he laughed outright. Then he said deliberately, "I think I know -you well enough now to call you Margie." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - "A creature not too bright or good - For human nature's daily food; - For transient sorrows, simple wiles, - Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles." - - -"Come out for a boat-ride," Robert called to Meg, who was hemming -kitchen towels on her rose-embowered porch. She had seen him between -the leaves, as he came striding up the walk, but gave a very natural -start of surprise when he spoke. "I'm not deaf," was her rejoinder, as -she kept on with her sewing. - -"Neither am I dumb," retorted Robert, turning around and starting down -the path. - -Meg flung the towel from her, scattered thread, thimble and scissors in -every direction as she flew down the steps and overtook him. "What was -your first remark?" she asked demurely. - -He looked down at her, and tried to preserve his dignity, but the eyes -which met his were so innocent and wide opened, the little white face -so alluring, that his anger melted, and he said, "I asked you to go -boating." - -"Oh, you yelled so that I didn't distinguish what you said. Yes, oh, -yes," catching his arm as he started away again, "certainly I will go -with you. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" - -His eyes smiled into hers as he said gently, "Well, get your hat. I'll -wait here for you." - -She was gone only a moment, and rejoined him with her big hat thrown -back somewhat rakishly on her head. "Aunt Amelia is cross. She wanted -me to wash her hair for her, but I told her I was no lady's maid." - -Her eyes sought his face and found no response to her frivolity. -"Perhaps you think I should have stayed at home to wash her hair," she -suggested anxiously. - -Then, as he still did not answer, she stopped and said in an offended -tone, "Oh, well, if _that's_ the way you feel about it, I'll go back -and do it." - -Robert turned and said to her gravely, "It is not for me to say whether -you shall or shall not wash your aunt's hair, but if you must have the -truth, I think your manner of refusing a trifle rude." - -She flushed, and the quick tears came to her eyes, but she kept a brave -appearance as she said, "Perhaps I was rude, but if you had to live -with Aunt Amelia and wait on her like a slave, as I do, you might -forget your manners, too, sometimes." - -He turned and looked at her as he said, "I don't want to quarrel with -you to-day, little girl. You may be as rude as you please to your aunt, -only be good to me." - -Her eyes flashed up with sudden joy, and she looked quickly at him, but -the calm, impersonal glance she met, quelled the thought she had -entertained for that brief second. - -Then she said contritely: "I _do_ owe every thing to Aunt Amelia, for I -couldn't live on my pittance anywhere else,--but I do, truly I do, earn -my board. However, if you say so, I'll go right back now and apologize -to her." - -"Oh, don't do that," he hastily interposed; "the apology will keep, and -the daylight won't." - -When they reached the river, he helped her into the boat, and taking -off his coat, folded it for her to sit on. - -Neither was talkative at first, both preferring their thoughts to idle -conversation. Meg watched him warily, taking in the splendid muscular -development of his arms and chest, the straight, clean-cut features in -a face that in repose was somewhat grave and stern, but infinitely -tender and charming when he smiled. She was wishing, as she gazed at -him, that Fate had given her a brother like him. - -As for Robert, with eyes on the setting sun, his reveries were of the -life about to open for him. For the time being he had forgotten his -companion, and was holding pleasurable communion with himself, absorbed -in the contemplation of his usefulness when once he had entered upon -that mission for which he had been always fitting himself. He was -aroused by an almost inaudible sigh, and he glanced across at Meg with -eyes which were as yet blind to emotion. - -She was not looking at him now, and he watched her with satisfaction. -She had puzzled and bewildered him ever since he had met her, and he -had only occasionally had glimpses of her real character. There were -times when he distinctly disapproved of her, and his training had been -such that he considered it almost an imperative duty to tell her of it. - -Then with a quick subtle change of manner she would do something, some -little gracious act, that would cause him to repent of his harsher -judgment. But through all the varied changes of her moods, she -attracted him. - -She had fallen into one of her silences, and sat looking out over the -water with an expression so tender and childish, that for some reason -he would have been unable to explain, a great wave of pity swept over -him, and the longing to shelter her from harm became uppermost in his -mind. - -When she spoke, it was dreamily. "I do love the water, and the sunset, -and the sound of the oars as they lap the waves." Then, in a more -sprightly manner,--"It has the effect of shaded lights and soft music. I -am so _good_ at such times! All my thoughts are uplifting. Do you feel -that way?" - -Amused by her vagaries, he nodded, and the encouragement started her -off again: "I almost weep to think how noble I am. Nothing that is -petty or mean has any connection with me. Even Aunt Amelia I view -through that rosy mist, and conjure up the kind things she _might_ have -done, the tender words she _might_ have spoken,--and I think with a -swelling heart that I will try to appreciate those 'might have -beens,'--that I will so conduct myself as to make them possible." - -"And then?" as she paused. - -"Oh, then," with a trace of bitterness in her voice, "then the red -lights flicker and go out, and the pungent odor of kerosene oil is all -that remains of them. The music stops with a last protesting wail of -the violin, and the musicians hurry away after their beer and -pretzels." - -"And what becomes of you and your noble thoughts?" - -"Oh, I take my noble thoughts and go home, and quarrel with Aunt -Amelia." - -Robert laughed so heartily that Meg leaned forward and said: "Sometimes -I light the piano-lamp, and start the music-box going in the parlor -after I go home." - -As they walked up the flower-bordered path to the house, Meg remarked -softly, "I feel that I could wash and crimp Auntie's hair, and make it -look just lovely, now." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - "Speak low if you speak love." - - -Robert was walking, with no particular aim in view, when he saw a -familiar figure on the walk ahead of him, and hastening, he soon -overtook her. - -Meg turned her head as his step accustomed itself to hers, and smiled. -"May I go with you, my pretty maid?" he asked lightly. - -"Show me the girl who has been teaching you to say that kind of thing," -she exclaimed with mock anger. - -"Lend me your pocket mirror and I will." - -"Never!" she said emphatically. - -"Never what?" - -"Never carried a pocket mirror in my life. Never taught you to make -pretty speeches," she said tartly. "Why, the first time I saw you, you -sat and twirled your thumbs like a 'bound boy at a corn-husking,' and -never said anything but 'Yes'm,' and 'No'm,' and then only when you -were spoken to!" - -"That proves what I affirm. That was the way I was when I met -_you_,--and look at me now!" with an air of conscious pride. - -"Yes, look at you now!" she mocked scornfully, "with Mother Goose -platitudes tripping off your tongue like extracts from the Hebrew -Decalogue. Why don't you stick to your last? You might say all the nice -things you wished in Latin, Greek, French, German or Spanish, and I'd -have to smirk and act as if I understood, and felt very much -flattered." - -"And all this because I asked to accompany her on her walk!" he -murmured as though to himself. - -She gave him an upward look through her lashes that made him feel very -peculiar, as she said sweetly, "Well, you know I didn't mean it. I -_like_ to have nice things said to me." - -"By every one?" he queried idly, without looking at her. - -"Well, no," she admitted slowly. - -There was nothing more said for a few minutes; then he remarked -carelessly, "You didn't tell me where you were going." - -"I am going to see my cousin-in-law. I hate her, but I love her -husband." - -"That's frankness that might be misunderstood." - -"I know it," Meg replied earnestly, "but it's true. You see, Ada has -always felt that she married beneath her, and she has convinced poor -Charlie that she did. But how she came to cherish such a notion I don't -know, for he's the salt of the earth!" - -"Was it a question of family?" - -"Yes. Her father was at one time pretty well off, and at the time she -married Charlie some people thought she might have done better. -Charlie's one of those big-souled men who never accumulate anything, -and he is blunt and hearty in his manner. Now she thinks because she -crooks her little finger when she drinks a glass of water, that she is -more refined than he!" - -Robert laughed boyishly at her quaint description, and said, "I think I -know them--not this particular couple, but their prototypes." - -"Are there others like Charlie, I wonder," she said musingly. "He -stands out so in my mind because he's the best, the very best man I -ever saw." - -After a short walk, she stopped in front of a modest two-story house, -and turning to her companion, said coaxingly, "Come in with me, and -meet Ada--then you'll see for yourself." - -"You are sure it won't be an intrusion?" - -"Of course I'm sure," was the response. - -They were admitted by a tall, overgrown girl of thirteen, who beamed -with pleasure when she saw Meg. "Come into the sitting-room," she said; -"Papa's in there, and he will be so glad to see you." - -"Why, what's he doing at home in the middle of the day?" Meg asked. - -"He's not feeling very well--just indigestion, he says," answered the -child, leading the way. - -The room they entered was forlorn in the extreme, and in it was -everywhere evidence of the taste of the wife, as well as of her notably -poor housekeeping. There was dirt in the corners of the room, and dust -on the few uncomfortable, cheap, but ornate chairs. There was a rug -with big bouquets of red roses upon the floor, and soiled, sleazy, -fringed silk drapes hung over the few highly colored, gaudily framed -pictures. The wall paper was as startling as the rug, and at the -windows were coarse, cheap lace curtains. - -Charlie Walker was a huge, broad-shouldered blond, with kind blue eyes, -a roaring laugh which always made his refined wife shudder, and a -hand-clasp that was warm and cordial. - -He looked so pleased when he saw Meg, that it was plain to see how well -he liked her. As for the child, who had inherited her father's size, -blondness, and disposition, she evidently regarded her small, grown-up -cousin as a veritable princess in a fairy tale. - -Meg noticed with concern that Charlie really looked ill, but it was a -habit with her to say but little about such things; so, instead of -questioning him fully, she looked around the untidy room and asked, -"Where's Ada?" - -"Gone to her card club," replied Charlie. - -The child, Gertie, had taken up the mending-basket and was painfully -trying to darn a large hole in one of her father's socks. It was -evident that she had had no training, but was trying to teach herself, -that she might assume that part of the household tasks. - -"Let me do that," said Meg impulsively, and taking it from the girl, -began deftly putting in the stitches. - -Charlie watched her a moment, and then remarked, answering the unspoken -accusation of her mind, "Ada had so much to do this week that she -couldn't get around to it." - -Meg drew the thread viciously and made no reply. - -"She has had to practice a good deal for that concert she is to take -part in," he said. - -Still Meg did not speak, and the set of her lips impelled him to add -anxiously, yet with a certain amount of dignity, "It is in accordance -with my wishes, that she keeps up her music." - -"Yes, of course it is," answered Meg meekly, for, as she told Robert -afterwards in discussing it, "Big as that man is, I would no more hurt -him than I would a baby." - -After that, Charlie drew Robert into the conversation. Each man had -taken the measure of the other, and approved. They had talked -indifferently for awhile on matters pertaining to the town, when the -front door opened and a step was heard in the hall. - -Robert, looking at Charlie Walker, saw a light leap into his eyes, as -he turned toward the door leading into the hall. "What manner of woman -is this?" he asked himself, "who can bring such a look to a man's face -after so many years of married life?" All unconsciously his eyes -wandered to Meg. - -Mrs. Walker was pretty, in rather a coquettish way; with soft brown -hair and eyes, a weak red mouth, and a complexion which still retained -its girlish fairness. Her hands were little, white, helpless ones, and -about her was an air of childish innocence and irresponsibility. Her -dress was in keeping with the furnishing of the room, cheaply -pretentious and ornate. - -Robert felt instinctively that while such a woman could never possess -any attraction for him, she was the type some men would die -for,--notably, her husband. - -The talk was desultory for a while, and then Meg asked her cousin to -play for them, "Which was generous of me," she confided later, to -Robert, "for it showed her to the best advantage." - -Without demur she seated herself at the piano and at once began to play -with such sweetness and power that Robert was amazed. Glancing toward -her husband, whose face reflected his appreciation of the music, as -well as his adoration of the performer, Robert felt that he held the -key to the puzzle. - -As they were walking home, Meg asked him suddenly, "What did you think -of my kin-folks?" As he paused, she continued, "Never mind the house,--I -know what you thought of that,--but tell me what you think of Charlie?" - -"He is a man I could love like a brother. I have never felt so drawn to -a stranger." - -"You dear boy!" cried Meg impulsively; "I always knew you were nice, -but I never dreamed you were _that_ nice. You see, Cousin Charlie is my -hobby, for I think he is a grand character, and I want him to be -appreciated." - -"Is he not?" - -"By everybody but his wife." - -"I thought that, but I didn't want to judge her hastily," commented -Robert. - -"She does not appreciate him," Meg vehemently exclaimed. "I wish I -could shake a little sense into her. He was too sick a man to be left -this afternoon, but she didn't know it, or didn't care if she did know -it. Why, if I had a husband like that, and he had nothing more serious -the matter with him than a boil, I would stay with him!" - -"I believe you would." She looked up suddenly, surprised by a new note -in Robert's voice, and found him looking at her earnestly. The -interchange of glances embarrassed both of them, and to cover it, he -continued rather hastily, "I don't understand how a woman of her -evident lack of feelings can have such a divine conception of music." - -"I can explain that," said Meg confidentially. "It was a case of mixed -identity. That gift was meant for me, but got switched around some way. -I have the love of music, the capacity to suffer manifested by her -playing, while she,--she simply expresses what I feel." - -Robert smiled at her whimsical conceit, but made no reply. At her gate -she put her hand in his and said, "Good-bye," simply and quietly. All -the defiance and willfulness which usually characterized her were gone, -and in their place was a gracious sweetness which enveloped and -engrossed him the rest of the evening. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - "Alas! how light a cause may move - Dissension between hearts that love." - - -Meg came down-stairs to breakfast humming a gay little air to herself, -and looking so young and fresh that Mrs. Weston looked at her -disapprovingly as she took her seat at the table. - -The morning light was unmerciful, showing up the wrinkles and -sallowness of the fretful little woman, in direct contrast to the -smooth purity of Meg's skin and the brightness of her eyes. The elder -woman wore a somewhat soiled blue wrapper, and there was not the care -bestowed upon her appearance that usually characterized it. - -She glanced pettishly at Meg as she poured the coffee, and said, "I -don't see why you always wear white." - -Meg smiled at her sunnily, and replied, "Well, I like it--it doesn't -fade, washes well, is economical--" - -"And--?" queried her aunt with uplifted eyebrows. - -"And is becoming," finished the girl calmly. Then she added: "What -would you have me wear? It would be neither suited to you nor to the -glorious summer season to wear drab." - -"Pink?" suggested her aunt. - -"Oh, Auntie, with my hair!" - -Mrs. Weston almost smiled. - -"Yellow?" she continued. - -"Too vivid," objected Meg. - -"Then blue," said her aunt hesitatingly. - -"That's _your_ color," replied Meg, with laughing eyes, "and as it -wouldn't become me so well, I wouldn't think of wearing it." - -Mrs. Weston's smile deepened, spread all over her face, into the -creases she still fondly believed to be dimples, and diplomatic -relations were established. - -Meg picked up the morning paper, and propping it against the -coffee-pot, began scanning the head-lines of the first page. "I -declare," her aunt commented, "you are as bad as a man about reading at -the breakfast-table." - -The girl smiled. "When I marry," she announced, "I shall take a lesson -in managing a husband from that dear, clever little friend of mine in -Atchison, whose husband takes his 'ease in his inn,' sitting in a -rocking-chair while he eats. He shows his appreciation of the -privilege, by holding her hand between bites. Just think!" she added -pensively, "they have been married five years, and he still loves her!" - -"I don't see what that has to do with your reading the paper at the -breakfast table." - -"Why, Auntie," and Meg looked reproachfully at her over the paper, "you -know I do it to save you the trouble of reading it yourself. Let me see -what is happening." And she glanced over the front page. "'More -Macedonians murdered,'--we won't go into the details, please,--'Jealous -lover shoots sweetheart,'--I'm glad I'm redheaded; it saves -complications,--'Woman murders faithless husband,'--oh, what a bloody -world we live in! No, it is a beautiful world," she said softly, after -a little pause, "when there are such women as Helen Gould in it. She -has been giving the waifs another outing at her lovely home. Mrs. -Stuyvesant Fish has consented to an interview. She declares that -America must have an aristocracy. She doesn't say whether it will be an -aristocracy of brains or money. It must be the former, as she deplores -the depredations on the outskirts of society, committed by the vulgar -rich. Yes, of course it is of brains,--that order of brains which can -originate 'cute' things with which to amuse and entertain the elect." - -Mrs. Weston, growing restive, interposed, "That does not interest me. -Read the local news." - -"You are so provincial, Auntie," was Meg's comment, as she turned the -paper; "you belong so hopelessly to Valencia!" - -"Well, so do you," was the brief retort. - -"Not in the way I mean, my dear Aunt! My spirit is cosmopolitan, -though, Prometheus-like, I am chained to Valencia. While my head is in -the clouds, my feet are, oh, very much on the earth!" - -"You do talk the greatest nonsense." - -"Do I? Then I'll read to you instead of talking. 'Mrs. Guy Worthington -Deflurry has returned from an extended Eastern trip.'" - -"Mrs. who? oh, Mrs. Deflurry? I suppose she had some handsome clothes -made while she was gone." Mrs. Weston was tremulous with excitement. - -"Do you know the lady?" Meg asked idly. "No? I thought from your -interest that she was a dear friend. 'Miss Cordelia Jamison has -departed for Michigan to visit friends.' 'It is rumored that a rich -bachelor is to be wedded to a handsome young widow.'" - -Mrs. Weston was all in a flutter instantly. "Who can it mean? Surely,--" -she giggled foolishly, "surely people cannot think that Mr. Spencer and -I--" - -Meg put down the paper with a judicial air. "I have always held," she -said, "that the newspaper habit was a pernicious one for some people. I -will read no more to you. It goes to your head." - -"Why, Meg Anthony, you might at least remember that I am older than -you, and treat me with some respect!" - -Meg opened her eyes wide. "But you are not!" she protested. "I am -centuries older than you. I am a relic of the dark ages, while -you,--Auntie, I really believe you are the youngest woman I know." - -A smile encompassed Mrs. Weston's entire face at what she considered a -compliment, and in the exuberance of her sudden good-humor, she said, -"How would you like to invite Mr. Spencer, his sister and nephew to -come to dinner to-morrow night?" - -"Oh, Auntie, can we really do it?" Meg cried ecstatically. - -"Yes," answered her aunt; "I'll go and interview Delia about it. I -think I'll have some little-neck clams--the canned ones, you know,--some -kind of cream soup, a roast course, an entre, salad--" - -"Auntie!" interrupted Meg sternly, "You know we can't afford any such -frills! And with only one servant! Let's call it supper, and give them -just a plain meal, nicely cooked and served." - -A dull purplish color mingled with the yellow of Mrs. Weston's face, as -she questioned with angry dignity, "Am I, or am I not mistress here? -When did I give over the reins of government into your hands? If I need -your advice, young lady, I'll seek it." With ruffled plumage, she went -into the kitchen to settle the details with Delia. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - "I cannot eat but little meat, - My stomach is not good." - - -On the evening of Mrs. Weston's dinner--for she held to the dinner idea -in spite of Meg's protests--the weather was so hot that the heavy, -poorly cooked meal was appreciated by no one but the hostess, who -plumed herself that she had surprised the guests with her cuisine. -Which, indeed, was true. - -They sat in the stuffy dining-room while course after course was -brought and taken away. Through the window Meg caught the scent of -roses, and could see that a breeze gently stirred the leaves of the -trees. Turning with a sigh from the temptations without, she glanced at -her aunt. The work of entertaining, with the heat, had robbed her hair -of its curl, and the damp, straight locks hung limply around her -forehead, which was beaded with perspiration. - -Meg felt an impish satisfaction when she beheld the wreck. Turning, she -met Robert's eyes, and asked, "What were you saying?" - -"I was recalling a remark you made the first evening I met you,--that -you were a gourmand. You have scarcely tasted your food to-night." - -"I was several hundred years younger then," she retorted; "but if you -had been giving the proper attention to your own plate you would not -have noticed it." - -Leaning toward her, he murmured, "I know it's horribly rude, especially -as you are co-hostess--" she put up a deprecating hand--"but my extreme -youth and callowness will have to be my excuse." - -"Callousness, did you say?" - -"You know what I said. When will this thing come to an end? I'm dying -to get out on the porch and get a whiff of air." - -"So am I," she whispered back. "Let me see,--where are we?" - -He glanced down at his plate, and then said apologetically, "Well, -really----" - -"Oh, yes," she interrupted, stirring the contents of her plate with a -fork, "this is what Delia called the 'entry.' Delia claims to be the -direct descendant of a famous French cook. I believe his name was Brian -Boru." - -"Ah, Delia and I are cousins. And after the 'entry,' what then?" he -whispered. - -She counted them off on her fingers, "The 'poonch,' salad, dessert, and -coffee. And as you and Mr. Spencer are sociably inclined, Auntie will -forego the pleasure of withdrawing, and leaving you with your wine and -walnuts. After coffee, the porch." - -"Thank you for the information," he said humbly. - -When the dinner was finally finished, they went out on the porch. There -the conversation was general for a time, and then Robert said lightly -to Meg, "'Come into the garden, Maud,' and get me a flower for my -coat." - -She rose without demur, and together they strolled down the walk. Mr. -Spencer looked after their retreating forms, and then, meeting his -sister's eyes, he deliberately winked. - -That wink, while not elegant, served as an elixir to Mrs. Malloy, and -under its influence she became fairly sparkling and gay. Mrs. Weston -was astonished, for she had never seen her in such a mood, though she -had never seen her despondent. Her gayety was short-lived, however, for -Mrs. Weston killed it with a word. - -"What a fine-looking boy Robert is," she began; and then, -enthusiastically, "I think it is just lovely that he is to go into a -monastery!" - -There was no response, but she prattled on. "So romantic! And he will -be such a handsome monk in his brown bath-robe! And will he have to go -barefooted, and have his pretty curly hair shaved?" - -She waited a moment, and then asked gushingly, "Don't _you_ think it -romantic?" - -Mrs. Malloy's voice was even but cold, as she replied, when forced to -do so by the direct question, "I would hardly call it romantic." - -"Oh, _wouldn't_ you? Most people see more romance in a love affair, but -I confess that the idea of a monastery appeals to me!" - -"Let's join the youngsters," interrupted Mr. Spencer. "They probably -are boring each other to death by now." - -Mrs. Weston started up with alacrity, but his sister, with the look of -a wounded animal in her eyes, said, "I will be there presently. I want -to enjoy these wild roses a little longer." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - "Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, - Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares." - - -A strong friendship sprang up between Robert and Charlie Walker, -unusual in its warmth, and surprising, as the two men were totally -different in taste and character, and as there was considerable -disparity in their years. - -Charlie Walker was a man of many friends, for he loved the world, yet -of them all, none was, perhaps, so dear as this young friend. Robert -was a man of few friendships, for he was as reserved as the other was -open-hearted. - -Scarcely a week passed that did not see them together. Charlie was -never well from the time he had the first attack of indigestion, though -he was able to be at his office most of the time, and still kept his -hearty, healthy appearance. His hand-clasp was as strong, his laugh as -infectious as ever, but there was a strained look about his eyes, which -told of suffering borne in silence. - -Robert and Meg, who went often together, commented on it to each other, -but his wife remained ignorant of the real seriousness of his -condition, which was what he desired. She still kept up her music and -her club duties, at his request. It was evident that the man, in his -great unselfishness, was determined to shield her from worry or -trouble, while there was life in his body. - -One day Meg and Robert went to see him, for they had learned that he -had been unable to be at his office for a week. When they reached the -home, they found Mrs. Walker softly playing the piano. Greeting them, -she asked sweetly, "Do you want to see Charlie? Just go upstairs. He -will be _so_ glad to see you. I will come up as soon as I finish my -practicing." - -In silence they ascended the stairs and stepped to the open door of the -bed-chamber. Charlie was propped up in bed with pillows, and they were -both shocked at the change in his appearance, wrought by his illness of -the past week. Gertie was curled up awkwardly by the foot of the bed, -and her eyes were big and woe-begone. - -"Well, well, young people," he called heartily when he saw them, "this -is all the medicine I need!" - -At the word "medicine," Gertie started, and going over to a stand where -there was an array of bottles, said, "It's time for your powder, Papa." - -He made a slight grimace, and addressing himself to Meg, said: "Now did -you ever see such an unnatural child? Every time I really begin to -enjoy myself, she comes and stuffs some vile medicine down my throat!" - -The child's eyes were solemn as she said, "But, Papa, you have to take -it. The doctor told me not to neglect it." - -"Well, little Miss Literal, I see you are 'she who must be obeyed,' so -I'll take it. Though I can't imagine why I need anything else when I -have these two youngsters to look at." - -Meg turned to Robert and said, "Delia isn't the only descendant of -Brian Boru in these parts, you see." There was a little laugh at her -remark, but it was only half-hearted, for both Robert and she were too -much grieved at the change in Charlie to enjoy any joke. - -He tried to be gay and natural, but after each effort he sank back -among the pillows exhausted. As he laid there, a light of exquisite -enjoyment came over his features, for the strains of the piano floated -up from below. - -Ada was playing something in a minor key, and the strange, sweet notes -were so in harmony with the sadness of the occasion, that Meg was -obliged to rise suddenly and go to the window, that Charlie might not -see the tears in her eyes. - -There was no sound in the room till the notes died away, and then -turning to Robert, Charlie said: "Did you ever hear anything like that? -Her music is an indication of her soul." - -Just then Ada came noiselessly into the room, and going over to the -bed, asked gayly of her husband: "Did you like that piece? I think I -will play it at the recital next week." - -"I would," he replied, without a break in his voice, looking at her -adoringly; and then, to Robert and Meg, who had exchanged glances, and -were preparing to leave: "Must you go now? You will come again, won't -you?--Come soon--" he added, in a voice he tried to make expressionless. - -After they were outside Meg could contain her grief no longer, and -began to sob. "Oh, can't _you_ see that he is dying?" she asked. - -"I fear so," was the grave rejoinder. - -"And after he is gone, some one will have to shake that woman and say, -'Wake up,--Charlie is dead!'" - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - "Life's a short summer,--man a flower-- - He dies--alas! how soon he dies!" - - -For the next few weeks Meg and Robert were almost daily visitors at the -Walker home. They could see that Charlie was failing very rapidly, but -it was plain that his wife did not realize it, and that he did not wish -her to. - -One day Robert drove up to Mrs. Weston's in his uncle's phaeton, and -Meg knew instinctively why he had come. Throwing on her hat, she ran -out and asked breathlessly, "Oh, is it about Charlie?" - -His face was grave as he answered, "The doctor has just told me that he -cannot live through the day." - -"And Ada?" - -"She knows,--now," was the low reply. - -"Poor, poor girl!" Meg said in quivering accents. - -Robert looked at her with an expression he was himself unconscious of, -but she did not meet his eyes. - -Nothing more was said by either till they reached the home. Tossing a -coin to a boy who was loafing in the yard, Robert asked him to take the -horse back to the stable. - -They went upstairs, and Ada came from the room with eyes swollen and -red, and said, "You may go in,--he will want to see you." - -As they entered, and Charlie recognized them, he called out in his old -cheery tones, much weakened by suffering, "My two young friends, I'm so -glad to see you! Gertie, honey, get another chair so they can both sit -down. How's my little cousin?" he continued, looking at Meg. "What's -that, what's that? No crying, little girl. We want to be cheerful and -happy here." - -Meg dried her tears and tried to smile at him. "That's it," he said. -"That's one reason I've always loved this little cousin so much," he -explained, turning his eyes toward Robert. "She's always -cheerful,--never makes a fellow feel badly." - -"Perhaps we--or at least I--would better not stay in here," said Robert, -noticing how exhausted he was. - -Charlie put out his hand feebly and laid it on Robert's--"Don't go. I -might get blue. _She_--" nodding toward the other room,--"has gone all to -pieces, and you know I can't bear to see her unhappy." - -He seemed at times, from then on, to lapse into unconsciousness, but -whenever one of them would rise to call Ada he would rouse himself and -ask them not to. "The poor girl loses control of herself when she sees -me. I'll tell you when to call her. I don't want to make it any worse -for her than is necessary." - -After a little while he said: "Robert, I don't belong to any church, -but I'm not an infidel. I've tried to live right. Won't you say a -little prayer for me? Not any set form, my boy, but just a prayer from -your heart." - -Kneeling by the bed, Robert made a simple, touching, earnest prayer in -a few sentences, a prayer which brought the quick tears again to Meg's -eyes. At its conclusion Charlie said, "Thank you," very softly, and -turned his head away for a few minutes. - -When he spoke again it was lightly, to cover his emotion. "Meg, I've -played a great joke on Ada. She thinks we are poor. We _have_ had to -economize a good deal, but there will be fifty thousand dollars life -insurance for her after--well, after a while. That ought to keep her and -the young one from starving, don't you think?" - -The room grew very silent, for neither Meg nor Robert had any heart for -conversation. Gertie sat in her usual place at the foot of the bed, -dry-eyed and sad, watching her father's white face. - -Outside, in the hall, could be heard the murmur of voices. It seemed to -disturb the sick man at last, for, opening his eyes, he asked, "Is it -the neighbor-women waiting to see me die? Just tell them that I'm not -at home to callers, will you?" - -He tried to laugh at his pitiful little joke, but the laugh was so -hollow that it startled even himself. He nodded as Robert and Meg -arose, and said, "Yes, send her in, I want her. Good-bye, dear -friends,--God bless you!" - -They started for the door, when he called feebly, "Meg!" - -"Yes," she cried, running back to him. - -"Don't let the doctor or any one disturb us. I just want _her_,--and -little Gertie." As she started again he caught her hand and said -entreatingly, "Be good to _her_, little cousin!" - -When she found Ada and sent her in to him, she whispered, "If you need -me, call me, dear." - -From the room came the sound of Ada's sobs, above which, with -remarkable strength, arose Charlie's voice, encouraging and cheering. -Then weaker and weaker it grew,--and ceased altogether. - -A moment later a wild shriek rang through the house, and Meg, running -in, found Ada in a swoon on the floor, while Gertie, the child, with an -expression of heart-breaking despair, was striving to lift her mother's -head, though she never took her eyes from the still, white face on the -bed. - -Meg and Robert left the house an hour later. There was nothing more -they could do, for the Masons, to which lodge Charlie belonged, were in -charge of the body, and the neighbor-women had taken possession of Ada -and Gertie. - -It had grown almost dark, and the lights were beginning to shine in the -houses along the way. There was little said between them, for both were -too deeply stirred by the sad events of the day to talk much. - -Finally Meg broke the silence. With a little catch in her voice, she -said: "I am so wicked! When poor Charlie told me that Ada would have -fifty thousand dollars, my first thought was that there were many men -whom that amount of money would tempt." - -As there was no reply, she said, with attempted lightness, "Will you -absolve me?" - -Meeting her mood, though both their hearts were heavy, he answered, -"There is no need of absolution where there is no sin." - -Nothing more was said until her gate was reached, and she cried: "It -doesn't pay! It doesn't pay to love, and marry, and be separated by -death!" - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - "Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss - Of Paradise that has survived the fall!" - - -About a week after Charlie's funeral, Meg and Robert chanced to meet at -the Walker home, where both had gone to see the desolate young widow. - -As they walked home together, both were silent. When within a block of -Meg's home they passed a little cottage, plainly the home of people in -moderate circumstances. When they were just opposite the gate, a comely -young woman came out of the door and called, "Supper's ready." - -Her husband, who was on the lawn in front, picked up one child, swung -him on his back, while the youngster squealed with glee, and called, -"Supper's ready. Didn't you hear Mama call, boys? The first one in gets -all the hot biscuit." - -Off he capered over the yard, the child on his back kicking and -pounding, and crying, "Get up, old horsie," while the other two little -lads raced after him as fast as their short legs would carry them. The -mother stood in the open door, her hands on her hips, watching the -race, her face radiating good-humor and joy. - -It was such a domestic scene! Rough and uncouth though they might be, -these people typified home, with all of the sweet meaning which is -often lost amid the environment of wealth. - -Robert watched with his heart in his eyes. He noted each of the little -lads, for he loved children very dearly. He saw the look of idolatrous -pride on the mother's face. He was absorbed in the delight of the -domestic scene. - -And then they entered the house; the door closed upon them! It was as -though he had been given a glimpse of Heaven through a crack in the -door, which had suddenly been closed, leaving him out in the dark and -the night of his own despair. - -Something of what he felt was in his eyes as he turned and looked at -Meg. Then the veil which had obscured his mental vision was lifted, and -he found himself face to face with his great soul-problem! - -He seemed to see her for the first time. He took in the pure little -profile, the fresh red lips, the dark-lashed eyes, in a way he had -never done before. He even found himself looking with tender, amused -eyes at her reddish hair, and vaguely wondered what she would do if he -were to call her, school-boy fashion, "Sorrel-top." - -Suddenly he remembered! Not for him those charms, not for him the -companionship of this winsome little creature, of whose deeper nature -he had been given a glimpse, during the sad communion of the last few -weeks! - -When they reached her gate he dared not trust himself to shake hands -with her. He feared the touch of the soft little hand, and knew he must -be alone to fight it out by himself. - -As Meg stepped up on the porch and was about to go in, a querulous -voice said: "Well, I see you have been gallivanting around with Robert -Malloy again. I should think he would be disgusted with you, the way -you run after him!" - -"Oh, Auntie, don't, please," she pleaded, holding out her hands -beseechingly. - -"Every one sees it," continued the merciless voice, "even his mother. -And from the way she spoke that night she was here, I could tell that -she was very much displeased." - -"Are you sure of that?" Meg asked quietly. - -"Of course I'm sure," was the impatient answer. - -"Very well. I'll see that no one has reason to criticise my actions -again. Thank you for telling me. Good-night," she said gently, as she -started to her room. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - "_Pray, goody, please to moderate the rancour of your tongue._" - - -Meg did not see Robert for a week after that memorable walk. The days -of his absence were not sweetened by the comments of her aunt. "I knew -he would grow tired of being pursued. Men are not won that way," was -the remark, with variations, which greeted the girl every day of the -seven during which she did not have the saving grace of Robert's -presence to help her endure the torture. - -All that was broad and sweet in her nature rejected the imprecations, -but what there was of suspicion, engendered by the loveless home life -she had led, listened to her tormentor. - -It was not surprising, therefore, that she became irritable and -nervous. It was in this mood that Robert found her, when, after his -week of battle, he again walked up the narrow, flower-bordered path. It -seemed to him that he had never really been there before. Just as Meg, -after the great revelation, had appeared in a new light, so now did her -surroundings. - -There was a certain tender gravity in his face as he offered her his -hand, which she purposely ignored. He flushed at this, but being -familiar with her somewhat prickly disposition, saw nothing significant -in her refusal to shake hands with him. "How is Aunt Amelia?" he asked -idly, as he seated himself. - -"As ravishingly disagreeable as usual, thank you," was the somewhat -snappy retort. - -"Has your supply of kerosene oil run out? You don't seem to have been -lighting the piano-lamp lately, with the music-box accompaniment." - -She almost smiled, but thought better of it, and replied, "My ambition -in that line has been nearly killed for lack of encouragement. Candles -and a jew's-harp are about as near as I can approach to my shaded -lights and soft music." - -After a pause she said: "I'm sorry she's not here just now. It will -grieve her to learn that she has missed a gentleman caller. They are -not standing in line any longer, so she can't afford to lose one." - -"I did not come to see your aunt." - -Meg ignored his remark, and kept on: "She heard this morning of a new -skin balm, and she has torn madly down town to procure it. She will be -in rare good-humor when she returns. She always is after buying -something to enhance her beauty." - -Robert was watching her face with intense interest as she talked, and -made no reply. - -"It's something _all_ the time," she complained; "either her face is -smeared with grease, or thick with some chalky mixture which gives her -a clown-like appearance, or else,--oh, the worst of all, the very limit, -was the rubber mask! While she wore that I used to lock my door at -night for fear she would come in my room for something, and scare me -into spasms!" - -As she talked a severe expression came into Robert's face. "Margie!" he -remonstrated. - -It was the first time he had used the dear name by which her mother had -called her, in spite of his threat to do so, and though she felt the -reproof of his tone, she thrilled when he spoke it. "Do you know," he -began, "that your comments on your aunt are, to say the least in poor -taste?" - -She flushed deeply, but there was defiance in her voice and in the tilt -of her head. "Why don't you say outright that I am a vulgar, ill-bred, -common little thing?" she demanded. - -"Because I don't think it." - -"Oh, yes, you do," she retorted angrily. "I just wish you had to live -with Aunt Amelia! It might shake a little of the priggishness out of -you! You don't seem to understand that I would go mad if I couldn't -take it out in ridiculing her." - -His face softened, but before he could speak, she said in a hard, -expressionless tone, entirely devoid of the passion which had just -marked her utterances: "You will be leaving soon to enter your -monastery. I suppose it is proper to wish you _bon voyage_, as one does -people about to embark upon a long journey." - -His face went from red to white, and he studied his shoes, as though -trying to make up his mind to speak. Then he said slowly and -hesitatingly, "Let us not talk of that now. What are you reading?" and -reaching over, he lifted the book from the bench beside her where she -had dropped it on his approach. - -"Nothing which would interest you," she said tartly; "just the story of -a son's devotion to his mother." - -"What do you mean by that?" he demanded sternly. - -"Oh, nothing at all," was the light reply; "you are more interested, -are you not, in foot-washing, shaven heads and cowls?" - -He rose instantly, his face dark with passion, but as he talked, it -cleared, till in the end it was serene and calm. "I understand you now. -You take this means, this cruel means of wounding me, so that I would -know of your indifference. I have been having a mighty battle with -myself, as between my church and my love for you. And, though I should -blush to own it, my love won." - -He paused a brief second. She, too, was standing, and she was trembling -with emotion, but he did not observe it, nor that her lips were -quivering. "I came here to-day to ask you to marry me. I was willing to -forego the vows I was about to take, for which I have been preparing -all my life." - -He took a step nearer, and looked down at her. "Margie, I love you so! -I did not know such a thing existed as this fire which has permeated my -entire being! It will be my curse in my chosen life, because I will -never be able to concentrate my mind on the work before me. Your face -will be always between me and my duty. I could almost hate you for -shattering all the hopes and aspirations of a lifetime!" - -He waited for some sign that she heard him, but she stood like a piece -of marble. "Yet perhaps had you loved me, and we had married, I would -neither be happy, nor cause you to be. So, though you are dearer to me -than all the world, dearer than the cloistered life I thought would be -all-sufficing, I thank you for not returning my love." - -Wheeling abruptly, he walked down the path to the gate. - -"Oh," she whispered to herself, wringing her hands together, "he thanks -me for not loving him!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - "Thus repuls'd, our final hope - Is flat despair." - - -During the week that Robert was trying to choose his path for life, -Mrs. Malloy watched him with anxious, loving eyes, conscious of his -struggle, herself elated and depressed according to the moods his face -reflected. - -On the morning of the day he called on Meg, he had gone to his mother, -and nestling at her feet as had been his habit since his early -childhood, had leaned his head against her knee. She laid her hand -caressingly on his head, as though inviting him to speak. - -With averted eyes, and a manner he strove to make careless, he said, -"Dear Mother mine, would you despise me for a weak, shilly-shally sort -of creature if--" he hesitated a moment,--"if I should, after all, alter -the plan of my life and not go into the monastery?" - -Her face was transfigured, but she answered calmly, realizing fully -that it was delicate ground upon which they were treading: "Of course I -would not, dear. Whatever is for your happiness is that which I desire. -And no one, not even a mother, can decide for you." - -He reached up, and pulling her hand down, kissed it reverently. And -then she said softly: "While my boy was little I guided him through the -shoals, avoiding the rocks, and I longed,--oh, _how_ I longed to be -always at the helm, to keep his boat in the still, deep waters. But I -realized that it would be no kindness to have him depend on me alone -for guidance. I would grow old,--my hand would lose its cunning, my eyes -their keenness of vision,--or I would have to leave him altogether--" - -He kissed her hand again, in protest. "Old age and death have nothing -in common with my young mother," he whispered. - -She smiled sadly as she shook her head. "Nevertheless, one must always -be prepared. At any rate, I taught you how to steer your own boat, my -boy." - -"Then you desert the ship, do you, O most wise woman?" he asked gayly. - -"I but abdicate the captaincy," she replied in the same strain. - -When he left the house to make his call, there was something in his -bearing which would have convinced his mother, even without their -previous conversation, that his decision was made and that he went to -put his life in the hands of the one woman in the world she would have -chosen for him. Her heart was light, for she had no doubt as to the -outcome. - -Mr. Spencer came in singing, "Hail to the chief who in triumph -advances," and then, seeing his sister, he stopped abruptly and said, -"I told you so." - -"You think he has gone to put his fate 'to the test, to win or lose it -all?'" - -"Did you see the set of his shoulders as he left the house?" demanded -her brother, and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: "You -can't fool me. I know the signs of the zodiac. It's the full of the -moon, that part of the month when it gets into a fellow's blood, and he -forgets everything except that here is the one being he loves. Why, -Stella, I'd have been infected with that same fever every full moon for -forty years, if I hadn't been vaccinated." - -Mrs. Malloy laughed heartily, and then he said, more earnestly: "Robert -will be a lucky man to win that girl. I've known her for so long, and -have been so fond of her, that nothing but my age prevents my stepping -in now and interfering with Robert. The first time I ever saw her," he -continued reminiscently, "she was a mere child, a quaint red-headed -little thing, with a world of tragedy in her big eyes. That was a few -months after she had lost her father. She had replied to a question of -her aunt's, simply 'yes,'--and Mrs. Weston was striving to make her say -'yes, ma'am.'" - -"Which won?" Mrs. Malloy asked idly. - -"I don't know. The last I saw of them they were walking down the -street, Mrs. Weston dragging her along and saying, 'You _won't_ say -"Yes, ma'am," to me! Well, I'll teach you some manners if you live with -me!' But as I have never since heard Meg say 'Yes, ma'am,' I have an -idea that she won the day." - -When Robert returned, he sought his mother and said briefly: "Another -hand than mine has turned the boat back into the still waters of the -monastery. My novitiate begins in six weeks. Let us leave here in a few -days, that we may spend the remainder of the time alone together." - -All the glory had departed from her face, and she only nodded, not -trusting herself to speak. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - "Unto every one that hath shall be given, and he - shall have abundance; but from him that hath not - shall be taken away even that which he hath." - - -Meg did not see Robert again before he left. Mrs. Malloy she saw only -for a moment, in the presence of her aunt, when she came to tell them -"Good-bye." "We leave to-morrow," she explained with an attempt at a -smile; "Robert has only six weeks more of liberty." - -They looked into each other's eyes, the two women who loved him. Soul -recognized soul, and Meg, throwing her arms around his mother, -whispered, "God give you strength to bear it." - -For reply, Mrs. Malloy clasped her close a moment and said so low that -Mrs. Weston could not hear, though she strained her ears. "If I find I -cannot bear it alone, and send for you, will you come?" - -Meg could only nod. A moment more, and she was gone. Meg stood staring -after her till her aunt's rasping voice broke the spell: "Do you want -the neighbors to say that you are dying of love for that young man? No? -Well, then, don't act so mawkish about his mother!" - -Meg could stand no more, and ran up to her room to escape the -persecution. - -The days dragged on hopelessly and drearily. One day, about three weeks -after Robert's departure, Ada Walker came to see her. She looked very -pretty in her mourning-clothes, and her face wore a pensive air which -was becoming to her. - -"I have come to say 'Good-bye,'" was her greeting. "Good-bye!" asked -Meg in astonishment. - -"Yes, I am going to put Gertie in boarding-school, and then I am going -East to study music." - -"And the home?" - -"I have sold that," was the reply. - -"Sold Charlie's home!" gasped the girl. - -"Certainly. He always wanted me to keep up my music, and I couldn't be -bothered with a house." - -Meg said nothing. "You know, Meg, Charlie would have wished it," she -said somewhat peevishly. - -"Yes, Charlie would have wanted you to do just as you wished," replied -Meg drearily. Then suddenly she burst into tears, and throwing her arms -around Ada's neck, cried, "Oh, I can't bear to see you go! You are all -of Charlie that is left to me, and _everybody_ is going from me!" - -Ada looked surprised at her burst of emotion, and said patronizingly: -"Why, I didn't know that you cared so much! We people of deeper -feelings are sometimes at a loss to understand you frivolous ones!" - -The words acted like a tonic on Meg, who dried her eyes, and said with -bitter lightness, "You must allow us frivolous ones to mope -occasionally. We are not always gay." - -"I suppose not," said her cousin, eyeing her disapprovingly. - -After she had gone Meg went up to the attic where she kept the little -trunk containing her mother's things. Unlocking it, she clothed herself -in the dress and apron of which she had spoken to Mrs. Malloy. With the -addition the spectacles, the use of which her mother's near-sightedness -had compelled, and the piece of unfinished work, she looked like a -child masquerading in grown-up clothes. But no child could have worn -the look of absolute despair depicted upon her face. - -She sat gazing into vacancy for a while, and then, remembering her -game, began to talk: "Margie, dearie, don't you realize that you are -only a light-minded little thing? You must try to be serious, darling, -try to have sober thoughts, try to feel as people of deeper natures do. - -"And another thing you must remember,--you must not stand in anybody's -way. When you find that you are standing between anyone and the light, -just step aside. Never mind about yourself. You are of no consequence. -You are just a waif,--you don't belong anywhere, and don't belong to -anybody--" - -Suddenly the little red head went down on the folded arms, and she -began to sob, "Oh, mother! mother!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -"As a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings." - - -For a week or so after their return, Mrs. Malloy found herself, in -spite of her philosophy, growing bitter. She compared her life, replete -with all the bodily comforts that wealth procures, with that of other -women, who knew not the luxury of ease and comfort and beautiful -environments, but who, nevertheless, were surrounded by the dear ones -who alone make happiness. - -She looked around her house, which in the minutest detail evidenced -exquisite refinement of taste, and thought with despair that in a few -weeks those rooms would be empty,--empty of the presence of her best -beloved. - -But something occurred which obliterated her reflections, and roused -all the strength and courage of her character. Robert became very ill -with typhoid fever, and for days it was impossible to foresee the -issue. - -During his delirium he was like a child who dreads the dark, except -that the thing he feared was the monastery, that haven of rest for -which he had longed. He would beg his mother piteously to keep Margie -from pushing him through the gates. - -One day he returned from the Crossway leading into the Valley, and -smiled a sane, rational smile. And simultaneous with his recovery, fell -the scales from his eyes. - -He looked at the havoc anxiety had wrought in his mother's face. Back -of the ever-ready smile, was a look he was beginning to understand. - -And from having doubts as to his duty to fulfill his vows, he became -positive that his place was with her. As day after day he thought it -out, he felt horror of himself for the wrong he had unconsciously -intended. - -Finally he told his mother. He begged her forgiveness for ever having -contemplated leaving her after his father's death, and promised that in -the years to come he would try to make it up to her. She clasped him in -her arms, and murmured incoherent words of love, as she pressed her -face to his dark curls, as a mother does with a baby. "Oh, mother mine, -has it meant so much to you?" he asked in sorrow. - -"So much more than you can ever know," she answered, "but this moment -compensates for a whole lifetime of suffering!" - -After a pause, during which he stroked her hand in silence, Mrs. Malloy -said gently, "Robert, I don't want to rush in where angels would fear -to tread, so just stop me if the subject pains you,--but I don't -understand why Margie refused to marry you." - -"She didn't exactly refuse me, Mother," he said hesitatingly; and then -he told her of their conversation. - -His mother regarded him, during the recital, with amazement, amusement, -and consternation. When he had finished she observed quietly: "My son, -I see I neglected an important part of your education. You are not -schooled in woman-lore." - -A little later a telegram went out to Meg from her, saying, "I need -you. Come." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - "To know, to esteem, to love,--and then to part, - Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!" - - -Valencia, to Meg, had become a barren spot on the map. Nothing relieved -the dreary monotony but the nagging tongue of her aunt, who, it would -seem, had found her mission in life, that of saying and doing the -little things which crucify. - -Meg felt that she could have endured having her house of cards tumble -about her feet; could even have been stoical, because accustomed to a -loveless life. But the constant jarring note,--the mean, cutting words -which dwelt upon the lips perpetually of her one relative, kept her -soul in such a turmoil, that she seriously thought of embracing -Catholicism, and retiring to the peace of a convent. - -That consolation, however, was denied her. She had not listened to Mrs. -Weston's exordiums on unrequited love, without acquiring a tolerably -accurate idea of the remarks which such an act would call -forth,--remarks which she felt would follow and torment her, though -thirty convent walls, instead of one, hemmed her in from the strife and -malice and unwisdom of the world she had left. - -When she took a mental inventory of her accomplishments with the view -of engaging in some business, she knew she could not qualify. She was -skilled in cooking and housework,--but courageous as she was in her -convictions, she shrank from the social ostracism that would surely -follow, should she employ her one talent in earning her independence. - -While she was turning these things over in her mind, and trying to come -to a decision, the message came summoning her to the aristocratic -little Eastern city where Mrs. Malloy had made her home since the early -days of her wedded life. - -Before speaking to her aunt about it, Meg counted over her scanty -savings from her insufficient income, and found that she would have -barely money enough for a round-trip ticket. It had not occurred to her -to refuse the summons. She felt it her positive duty to go, and, -putting her own trouble behind her, to do what she could for the -stricken mother who had turned to her in her need. - -When she timidly mentioned it to Mrs. Weston, she said sharply, "You -surely don't think of going! Why, it will only strengthen the opinion -most of the people have,--that you are desperately in love with Robert -Malloy." - -Meg raised her head with a gesture of pride and dignity, though the red -blood mounted to her cheeks, as she replied, "You may tell the -neighbors should they inquire, that I _am_ in love with him." - -"Why, Margaret Anthony, I never heard so shameless an admission in my -life!" - -"I thought you might as well know, being my nearest of blood. You have -thrown out so many innuendoes about the matter, that it may ease your -mind to know the truth. Now you have the knowledge, you may sow it -broadcast. No," as her aunt started to speak, "there is nothing more to -be said between us on the subject. You may discuss me with the -butcher-boy, or the garbage-gatherer, whom I would consider a proper -receptacle for such gossip, or any one who inspires you with a desire -to talk,--but I demand silence for myself!" - -It was a new phase of Meg's character, which Mrs. Weston did not -understand, and as she did not possess a spirit of adventure, she -wisely refrained from disobeying the injunction. - -The following day, with her few clothes, her ticket, and a small -lunch-box which Delia had smuggled to her, Meg set out on her journey. -To her it was a new experience, for since her orphanhood she had -scarcely been away from Valencia. It would have been a pleasurable -trip, but for the sorrow which she anticipated at its close. - -She was so intensely alive, that everything interested her: the -occupants of the car, and the moving panorama without, the rolling -prairies of her own State, the cool, wooded forests of Missouri, the -rich farms of Illinois. But as she neared her journey's end, and -contemplated what it meant to her, and to that other lonely woman who -loved him, her thoughts took shape, and, closing her eyes, she tried to -realize the full force of the blow that had fallen alike upon his -mother and herself. - -In imagination she saw it all! A dim, high-ceilinged cathedral, with -the monastery at the rear. The gloom was relieved only by the candles -at the altar. A priest was droning the Latin of his prayer-book, while -the organ in the loft was playing some soft, monotonous air, that got -into her brain and nearly soothed her into forgetfulness. Suddenly it -burst into a triumphant Te Deum, as the altar boys appeared, followed -by other priests, and lastly, by five young men clad in the brown robe -of the order of St. Francis. - -Her eyes sought their faces, one by one, till the last one was reached. -He was white, and in his eyes was the look of a man who had lived, and -loved, and lost. Over the heads of the other novitiates, beyond the -forms of the priests, his eyes met and held hers. And when he should -have responded in Latin, with the others, no sound issued from his -lips, but his eyes, fixed on hers, said: "Margie, I love you so! You -are dearer to me than all the world, dearer to me than the cloistered -life I thought would be all-sufficing!" - -She held out her arms to him, but into his face had come the gray -pallor of a living death. The service went on and on, endlessly, it -seemed to her. It was all so meaningless! Her mind comprehended -nothing. Her heart, tense and ready to break, knew only that he was -leaving her. The beauty of the music, the impressiveness and solemnity -of the service meant but the one thing,--Robert was leaving her! - -The service ended, his eyes said farewell to her,--and, with the others, -to the same monotonous music of the organ that had first lulled her -senses, he retreated, farther and farther away from her, until at last -he disappeared entirely. There was a moment of terrible suspense, as -she strained her ears to listen. Then came the clang of the monastery -gates, as they closed behind him, shutting him out of her life forever! - -"Missy, de train's done reached Welcomeville. Ain't dis where you all -get off?" - -Meg sat up straight and looked at the colored porter in a dazed manner -for a moment. Then, gathering her few possessions together, she left -the train. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - "Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy." - - -Mrs. Malloy became oppressed with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt, in -the days following the sending of the message. It was foreign to her -nature to do anything about which there was necessity of being -secretive, and she shrank from the consequences of the revelation, -should her act meet Robert's disapproval. - -But dominant over that and every other sensation was her joy at her -son's defection from his chosen path, and the anticipation of his -happiness in knowing that Meg loved him. - -She did not meet Meg at the train, sending her trusted coachman alone, -for she preferred receiving her in her home. When the carriage drove -up, and she saw Meg's white, drawn face, she became momentarily -nervous. But the nervousness gave way to happiness when she held the -girl in her arms, and caressed her hair. "Dear Mrs. Malloy," Meg -whispered, "I seem so helpless! What can I do to make the burden -easier?" - -The silence that followed became uncomfortable. And Meg, looking up, -saw such a light on the face bending over hers that she added -wonderingly, "Why, how strange you look! What is it?" - -"Please listen patiently, dear little girl, and don't misunderstand me. -But first, let me take off your hat,--there--and now sit down. What would -you say if I told you that Robert had given up the monastery?" - -Meg looked at her in a dazed manner, but made no reply. Mrs. Malloy -continued: "He awakened to the knowledge that he was more necessary on -_this_ side of the gates." - -Meg suddenly sat up very straight and asked in a strained voice, "And -the message? When did you send the message?" - -Mrs. Malloy laughed softly, "Just as soon as he told me." - -"But you said you needed me." The girl's tone was hard. - -For the first time Mrs. Malloy realized that here was an undreamed of -force, and she was suddenly reduced to an uncomfortable knowledge that -she had perhaps made a mistake. She hastened to adjust matters by an -explanation. "I felt I _did_ need you, my dear, for Robert. He told me -he loved you, and as I have always tried to procure for him everything -he wished, I thought I would bring you to him." She tried to laugh, but -the effort was a failure. - -"Then you have spoiled him by getting him all the playthings he -wanted," Meg said dryly. "A little denial earlier in life would have -been morally beneficial. You should have let him cry for the moon, and -he would have learned the futility of tears." - -"Margie, dear,--" Mrs. Malloy leaned forward, and her tone was -pleading,--"don't talk like that. It breaks my heart. I have blundered, -but only through love of my boy and you. Can't you forgive a foolish -old woman?" - -Meg smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. "Certainly I will -forgive you. But Rob--your son: does he know you have sent for me?" - -"No, he has no idea of it. And now that I see how you regard it, I fear -to meet his contempt when he knows that I have interfered, fruitlessly, -with his affairs." - -"But he need never know it," Meg said quickly; "I will take the first -train back, and he need not know I was here." - -Robert's convalescence had reached the stage where he longed to prove -to his loving mother that she had been needlessly alarmed about him. -Therefore, slipping out of his easy-chair in the library, he started -into the hall to find and surprise her. Following the direction of her -voice and that other low-toned one, which was so strangely familiar, he -pulled aside the heavy draperies, and stood framed in the doorway. - -"Margie!" he cried, steadying himself by the curtains. - -At the sound of that cry, and at sight of his thin, white face, she -half started toward him with an inarticulate exclamation. But suddenly -she remembered, and advancing formally, gave him her hand to shake, and -said in a conventional tone, as though they had met the day before: -"Good afternoon, Mr. Malloy. I hope you are improving in health." - -Robert dropped weakly into a chair, and with his eyes still fixed on -her face, said to Mrs. Malloy: "Mother, is it a cruel hallucination? Or -is it really my Margie, standing there?" - -Meg flushed deeply, but before she could say anything Mrs. Malloy -interposed: "Let me explain, dear. I have been a foolish meddler. I -wired Margie that I needed her, and she came, thinking you had gone -into the monastery." - -An awkward pause followed, which Robert broke, falteringly: "Margie, it -is not a time to stand on formality, and I know from my former -experience that a delay in speaking is sometimes disastrous. So I am -going to ask you a question in the presence of my mother. Will you be -my wife?" - -Meg's face was white, and her voice quietly cold as she replied, "I am -not unmindful of the very great honor you do me, Robert, but I must -decline it." And turning to Mrs. Malloy, "Is there a train I can take -to-night?" - -"No, dear, not till morning. Let me take you to your room, and you can -rest, for I know you are tired." - -"Thank you," Meg said sweetly, and giving Robert a little nod she -followed his mother from the room. - -After opening her door for her and seeing that everything was as she -had ordered, even to the flowers, and the cheerful grate fire, Mrs. -Malloy turned to leave the room. At the threshold she paused, and Meg -was really concerned to see the look of age which had overtaken her -features. "You would better rest a while," she said, "and I will have -you called in time for dinner." - -When she was alone Meg threw herself down in a chair before the fire -and sat staring into the glowing embers. She was deeply wounded and -offended. "Do they think I have no self-respect?" she said to herself. -"Mrs. Malloy, knowing me to be dying of love for Robert, and being -accustomed to gratifying his slightest whim, hands me to him on a -platter, with her compliments. And he, so polite, having been taught to -say 'Please,' and 'Thank you,' accepts me graciously. 'Thank you, -Mother dear; you have the knack of always getting me just what I want. -It's very pretty. I would prefer it to that monastery or any other -toy.'" - -Just then a glowing log separated, and fell with a hissing sound; -gradually the glow faded from it and it became gray and lifeless. -"That's it," Meg soliloquized; "that log represents life. One moment so -full of color and warmth, the next, a handful of ashes.--I hate -Robert.--He looks very badly.--I wonder if he was in any danger.--I -suppose his mother must have been terribly anxious.--Auntie would say I -was sentimentalizing.--I wonder--" The tired head fell back against the -cushion of the chair, and she slept dreamlessly and sweetly, till she -was summoned to dinner. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - "Her children arise up and call her blessed." - - -Meg, refreshed by her nap, was her usual sprightly self at dinner. Mrs. -Malloy looked weary and old, and had little to say. Robert, who dined -only by courtesy, his repast consisting of a bowl of bouillon, -conversed with Meg on the impersonal topics she selected. - -He found it impossible to get on the old familiar footing. Even the -subject of Aunt Amelia, she treated with respect, refusing to see the -opportunities for ridicule which his polite inquiries furnished, and of -which, once, she would have taken advantage. She was bright and -gracious, but there was a new dignity about her, which forbade any -approach to the doorway of her emotions. - -Robert had forborne to reproach his mother. Being by instinct and -breeding a gentleman, he did not say a word to wound her. Yet ever in -his deference, she was conscious of his resentment. She knew that he -attributed his failure to win Margie, to her interference. That, had he -been left alone to shape his fate, his desire would have led him back -to Valencia, there to woo and win the maiden in the old-fashioned -conventional manner. - -And through her over-zeal, his bubble had burst,--the prize was beyond -his seeking! - -She was very miserable in her self-communion. More so, perhaps, than -either of her companions. With Robert, hope was not by any means -extinct. With Margie, in spite of her schooling, and her wounded pride, -the warmth and glow of life came into her heart, as she looked across -at Robert, listened to his deep, expressive voice, and met his eyes, -containing the message of love he dared not speak. - -As they started to leave the dining-room, Mrs. Malloy turned suddenly -white, and before Robert could catch her, she sank in a crumpled heap -on the floor. It was only a fainting spell, induced by her unhappiness -following so closely upon the exhaustion and anxiety attending Robert's -illness. - -But this they did not know, those two young creatures! To them it -resembled the sleep of death, and they both knelt beside her, frantic -with self-reproach, crying and calling to her to open her eyes and -speak. When she finally emerged from the swoon, she looked from one to -the other of them. Thinking she was dying, and that the wish she could -not frame in words was her last request, Meg sobbingly cried, "Yes, -dear Mrs. Malloy, I _will_ marry him if he wants me, for I do love -him." - -Whereupon Robert, putting his arm around Meg, said solemnly, "Mother -darling, it shall be as you wish. We love each other, and will send for -the priest at once if you say so." - -Mrs. Malloy closed her eyes from sheer weakness, but even in her -half-swoon the look of youth stole back to her features, and a -beneficent expression of peace came over them. When she felt strong -enough to speak, she asked to be helped to the couch. - -The young couple bent over her solicitously, and when she again opened -her eyes, Robert asked in a low voice, "Shall I send for the doctor for -you, and the priest for us, Mother dear?" - -She smiled faintly. "I do not need the doctor, for I simply fainted. As -for the priest, suit yourselves, but don't send on my account, for I -think I will live till morning. And now, if Margie will come to help -me, I am going to my room to lie down. I would rather have you than a -servant, dear. Good-night, my boy. I will send Margie back to you -soon." - -A little later, Meg whispered to Robert, "I believe she fainted on -purpose!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - "Sweet is every sound, - Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet." - - -Meg was writing to her aunt, and Robert leaned over her shoulder and -read: "So I will be married here, and then we will take a trip for -Robert's health. Auntie, please don't suspect me of marrying for money, -but did you guess they were rich? _I_ didn't, till I came here, and -then I saw. Most of the rich people we know make such a vulgar display, -and that is why, I suppose, I did not suspect it of them. I feel like a -fairy princess--" - -Meg stopped writing and leaned back in her chair. "Robert Malloy," she -said with pretended severity, "I am surprised that your mother never -taught you it was impolite to look over people's shoulders. I suppose -she wanted to leave part of your education to me." - -"Speaking of fairy princesses, tell me the rest of that story you began -the day that poor, dear little boy stubbed his poor, dear little toe." - -She blushed at the remembrance, but passed on the reference, and began -her story without a preface: "Well, the beautiful, amiable princess, -almost too good for this world, finally met her Prince, or at least a -very good imitation of one, but he thought _he_ was too good for this -world--" - -"I don't think I care for your story," and he pretended to yawn. - -"And I don't think you would make a good monk. You are not fat enough," -remarked Meg irrelevantly; and then, seeing a tense look on Robert's -face, she leaned forward and said contritely, "Oh, Bobbie, I never will -make light of it again! Honest! Cross my heart and hope to die!" - -"I hope not, dear one," he said gently; "I have given it all up, and I -have no regrets, but,--" - -"Yes," seriously, "I understand." - -Robert had drawn a chair up beside her, and was holding and caressing -her hand. "Tell me, little girl, where you would like to go, when we -leave the world behind us." - -Her face assumed a prim look, as she replied: "I have always been -taught that if I mended my ways and became very, _very_ good, I would -go to Heaven." - -Robert laughed. "But in the meantime? I would like to travel more or -less for a year, especially as Mother can be with us part of the time. -After that, I will come home and go into some kind of business." - -Meg's eyes were shining with excitement. "Won't it be fine!" she -exclaimed; "I have always longed to see the world. I want to view the -universe from the summit of Pike's Peak. I would like to gather oranges -in Florida, to be prodigal with flowers in California. It is my desire -to be made dumb by the magnificence of Yellowstone Park,--temporarily -dumb, you understand,--and deaf by the roar of Niagara!" - -"And you have never been to any of these places?" - -"No, but I once went to Tecumseh! That's fifteen miles from Valencia," -she replied confidentially. - -Robert laughed. Her voice became softly reminiscent, as she continued: -"I used to 'pretend' that I was traveling. I wandered through quaint -old streets in the unfrequented northern parts of Great Britain. I -spent whole weeks in that little town with its one street, paved with -cobblestones, leading straight down to the sea. I reveled in the -strong, salt air, and the odor of the fish, freshly caught,--though I -never could bear to smell them in a meat market in Valencia!" and her -small nose went up at the recollection. - -"And did you never visit France, Germany, or Italy?" - -"Oh, yes,--and Spain, where were all my possessions! I didn't miss any -of the usual places, but I was contrary enough to prefer the unbeaten -path. That, I suppose, is the spirit of my pioneer ancestors in me. I -dearly loved Ireland, and the warm-hearted Irish people,--indeed, -indeed, I'm not saying it to flatter you!" - -Robert was enjoying himself thoroughly, and to encourage her in her -whimsicalities, he asked, "Did you never visit Japan?" - -"Yes, it was there I learned the exquisite art of arranging flowers. -But auntie, being a born and bred Valencian, could never be convinced -that it was not artistic to stuff a vase full of nasturtiums, geraniums -and sweet peas, with a garnishing of alyssum and petunias!" - -"You must have gained quite a smattering of the languages in your -travels," Robert said idly. - -"_Just_ a smattering! Not enough to make me forget the everyday -language which years of association had made familiar, if not dear. My -travels usually ended as abruptly as though a cablegram had called me -home. Just as I would alight from one voyage, and, living over again my -delight in the scenes which had enchanted me, before preening my wings -and preparing for another flight, I would be jerked back to my -commonplace existence by a familiar voice saying, 'Meg, tell Delia to -boil some cabbage for dinner!' Auntie was addicted to cabbage," she -concluded plaintively. - -There was something of sadness in Robert's smile, as he said: "Poor -little bird with the clipped wings! How much of pleasure and happiness -you have missed. Please God, I shall make it up to you!" - -Meg gave him a grateful, upward look, as she exclaimed impulsively, -"Oh, Robert, my dear, you will have to give me so much love to make up -for the fifteen years I have missed it." - -"For twenty years, for forty years, if you say so, sweetheart, for the -supply is unlimited. And you,--will you turn on your shaded lights for -me?" - -"No," she said, with sweet gravity, "for shaded lights are artificial. -They may, at any time, flicker and go out. Nothing but the sunlight and -the moonlight will do now, to express my love." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - An after-thought. - - -Mr. Robert Spencer to Robert Malloy: - - "Valencia, Nov. 5. - - "_Dear Robert_: Hold on. Wait for me. I made the match, and it's - no fair playing the game out till I come. Will take the first - train. But what a combination of hair and name for your wife! It - fixes her nationality, all right. Red-headed Meg Malloy! Salute - her, for - - "Uncle Bob." - -Mrs. Amelia Weston to Miss Margaret Anthony: - - "Valencia, Nov. 5. - - "_Dear Niece Margaret_: For such I suppose you will prefer to be - called, now that you are to marry a rich man. I hope you will not - forget your former friends and relatives who befriended you in - your hour of need. And I trust you will profit by the refined - example I have striven to set you. Be careful of your table - manners. You always had a tendency to put your elbow on the - table. I used to think you did it to annoy me. Perhaps if Robert - never speaks of it you may cease doing it. I am very much afraid - the neighbors will say you pursued Robert to his very home to - marry him. They are likely to say you were afraid to come back to - Valencia to be married for fear he would change his mind. It is - just awful the way people gossip! - - "Of course, I am glad you are going to marry well. But I can't - help thinking how sweet Robert would have looked in that brown - bath-robe. - - "I have bought a new complexion beautifier that I like so much. - The young lady agent explained that my complexion really didn't - need improvement, but that this was a good preservator. She is a - very pleasant young lady. - - "Give my respects to Mrs. Malloy and your future husband. I hope - he won't live to regret choosing you instead of the monastery. - - "Your loving Aunt Amelia. - - "P.S.--I am having the sweetest little dress made! It is of - light-blue cashmere, trimmed in the cutest little chiffon ruffles. - The dressmaker thinks it is going to be very becoming to me." - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - -***** This file should be named 40926-0.txt or 40926-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/2/40926/ - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/40926-8.zip b/old/40926-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9eb9e21..0000000 --- a/old/40926-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/40926-h.zip b/old/40926-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9ad6a7f..0000000 --- a/old/40926-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/40926-h/40926-h.htm b/old/40926-h/40926-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 797fc0c..0000000 --- a/old/40926-h/40926-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2901 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> -<html version="-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" -> -<head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"/> - <meta name='title' content='Meg, of Valencia'/> - <meta name='author' content='Myra Williams Jarrell'/> - <meta name='date' content='1905'/> - <meta name='generator' content='pgen 1.22 02-Oct-2012'/> - <meta name='generated' content='14:53:01, Tue Oct 2, 2012'/> - <meta name='cover' content='images/cover.jpg'/> - <title>Meg, of Valencia</title> - <style type="text/css"> - p { text-indent:1.5em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } - p.first { text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } - div.bq { margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; } - div.bq p { margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; } - body { margin: 10% 10%; text-align: justify; } - h1 { text-align:left; font-weight:normal; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 1em; font-size:1.2em; } - hr.pb { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; margin-top:50px; margin-bottom:50px; } - hr.tb { border:none; margin-top: 1.5em; } - div.figure { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - p.caption { margin: 1em auto; text-indent: 0; width:70%; } - </style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Meg, of Valencia - -Author: Myra Williams Jarrell - -Release Date: October 3, 2012 [EBook #40926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class='figure'> -<a id='illus-153'></a> -<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='“Meg”'/> -<p class='caption'>“Meg”</p> -</div> - -<hr class='pb'/> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;font-size:1.4em;margin-top:2.0em;text-align:center;'>MEG, OF VALENCIA</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;margin-top:2.0em;text-align:center;'>BY</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;font-size:1.2em;margin-top:2.0em;text-align:center;'>MYRA WILLIAMS JARRELL</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;margin-top:4.0em;text-align:center;'>MONOTYPED BY</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:center;'>CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:center;'>TOPEKA, KANSAS</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;margin-bottom:2.0em;text-align:center;'>1905</p> - -<hr class='pb'/> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:center;'>This little book is lovingly dedicated to my parents.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p style='text-align:center; text-indent:0;'>“’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print:<br/> -A book’s a book, although there’s nothing in’t.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<hr class='pb'/> - -<p style='margin-left:0; text-indent:0; margin-bottom:.5em;' id='toc'>CONTENTS</p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chI'>CHAPTER I</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chII'>CHAPTER II</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chIII'>CHAPTER III</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chIV'>CHAPTER IV</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chV'>CHAPTER V</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chVI'>CHAPTER VI</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chVII'>CHAPTER VII</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chVIII'>CHAPTER VIII</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chIX'>CHAPTER IX</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chX'>CHAPTER X</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXI'>CHAPTER XI</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXII'>CHAPTER XII</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXIII'>CHAPTER XIII</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXIV'>CHAPTER XIV</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXV'>CHAPTER XV</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXVI'>CHAPTER XVI</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXVII'>CHAPTER XVII</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXVIII'>CHAPTER XVIII</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXIX'>CHAPTER XIX</a></p> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-left:2em;'><a href='#chXX'>CHAPTER XX</a></p> - -<hr class='pb'/> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chI'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER I.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“What’s in a name?”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>When Mr. Robert Spencer was annoyed, he made it known by pacing the -floor with his hands under his coat-tails. When he was pleased, he -quickened the pace, and his hands caused his coat-tails to stand out -in a most jaunty and undignified manner. He was pacing up and down a -handsomely furnished room, one bright May morning, with annoyance -visibly depicted in every line of his coat-tails.</p> - -<p>The other occupant of the room, his sister, was watching him with an -expression half amused, half sad. They were much alike, both sandy in -coloring, and both wearing the same humorous, half-quizzical smile, -which in her was saddened by the loss her deep mourning indicated. -She had never been a handsome woman, but she possessed an -attractiveness far greater than that of mere outward beauty.</p> - -<p>Suddenly her brother paused in front of her and began explosively: “I -tell you it’s tommy-rot. And it’s all because you wouldn’t call him -Bob! How the deuce do you expect a boy you have called ‘Robert’ for -twenty-five years, to have any worldly sense?”</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute, Bob,” interrupted his sister, quietly; “how could I -be expected to call such a splendid boy anything else? ‘Bob,’ for -him, would have been nothing short of sacrilege,—no offense meant, my -dear brother.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t mention it,” he growled; “but I protest that you can make or -mar a boy by a name. You called him ‘Robert.’ What was the result?”</p> - -<p>“Very fine, I call it.”</p> - -<p>Unheeding the interruption, he continued in a mocking voice: “Lacy -dresses which he never tore, wax dolls, kittens, and long curls. Now -that just naturally led up to books, study, church!”</p> - -<p>“That is a combination few people object to, Bob,” his sister gently -interpolated.</p> - -<p>“If taken in moderation, my dear Stella,—in homeopathic doses. Your -boy went on the principle by which some people govern their -medicine-taking, that if a little is good, much is better.”</p> - -<p>He paused for her reply, but as she was evidently waiting for the -close of his harangue, he continued: “Now, look here. Suppose you had -called him ‘Bob.’ There would have been no long curls or doll-rags -for him. It would have been baseball, marbles, fresh air, boy -friends. And now, hang it all, look at him now!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy sat up with dignity, and asked, “Well, what of him now?”</p> - -<p>“That’s just it,” he sputtered. “If he wasn’t so handsome, manly, -honest and lovable, I wouldn’t care; but to think of all those -virtues being shut up in a monastery, makes me wish I were a profane -man, so I could ease my mind by swearing.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy had become very white, and she made no answer. Her -brother glanced at her, and added softly, dropping into a chair by -her side: “It’s all because he was brought up in that Faith. I don’t -see how you could do it, Stella.”</p> - -<p>“You forget,” she answered sadly; “it was John’s religion, and it was -understood that he should do that if he were so inclined.”</p> - -<p>“But John never meant for you to be left alone in the world. He -wouldn’t have wanted the boy to leave you, if he had known.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not,” she said with white lips, “but I would not lay one -straw in the way, or stand between my boy and what he considers his -duty.”</p> - -<p>“Duty be—,” vociferated Mr. Spencer. “I beg your pardon, Stella,—it -almost slipped out. But can’t the young whelp see where his duty is? -Now, don’t be angry, Stella. Do you think I wouldn’t whale any other -man within an inch of his life if he called the boy that?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing is gained by discussing it,” Mrs. Malloy wearily replied, -“and I insist that you say nothing to Robert on the subject. His mind -is quite made up, quite. He believes it to be his father’s wish. He -does not know but that it is mine, though it is, as you say, not my -faith.”</p> - -<p>“‘He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow,’” quoted -Mr. Spencer, softly.</p> - -<p>“To say anything to him would make him very unhappy, but would not -alter his decision.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps some way may yet be found,” he ventured.</p> - -<p>“I am sure nothing would change him. You see, he has had this idea -ever since he was a mere child. It has grown with him. It is so -interwoven with the very fibres of his being that it could not be -uprooted. No, no, Bob, it will have to stand. If I can bear it, -surely you can.”</p> - -<p>“If <em>you</em> can bear it,” he answered. “Oh, yes, you can bear it. You -will wave your handkerchief and smile as the gates close upon him, -and then you’ll come home and die of a broken heart!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t,—don’t,” she begged, piteously.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, Stella; I didn’t mean to hurt you so. But I’ve a scheme -to stop this foolishness and make you happy, and the boy, too.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head hopelessly, but her brother patted her on the -shoulder and said, “But yes, I say. Will you be a party to it?”</p> - -<p>For one moment her eyes flashed up with a look of hope, then it died -out as she said slowly, “I cannot conspire against my boy and what I -know to be his earnest desire.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t,” was the brusque reply. “Your co-operation isn’t -necessary anyway. But you and Robert will come next week to visit me -as you promised, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>After Mrs. Malloy nodded in reply, he walked out of the room with his -coat-tails expressing satisfaction.</p> - -<p>He had not been gone long when the door was gently opened, and a -young man entered. Coming up to Mrs. Malloy, he stooped and kissed -her on the forehead. The look of passionate adoration she gave him -was not surprising, for he was undeniably good to gaze upon. He was -tall, well formed and athletic in build, with the fresh coloring, the -warm, honest gray eyes, clear-cut features and rippling dark hair of -a long race of Celtic ancestors. His brow was frank and noble, his -smile charming. There was nothing about him to suggest the parochial -calling he was about to adopt. He looked merely a healthy, wholesome, -happy and unusually handsome young fellow.</p> - -<p>“Always cheerful, little mother,” he said, balancing himself on the -arm of her chair, and meeting her smile with tender, earnest eyes. -“That thought makes me very happy, for I know you are never lonely, -and will not mope after I am gone, as some mothers would.”</p> - -<p>Her face blanched; with teeth shut hard together, she pressed her -face against his sleeve until she could control her voice, and -finally answered: “No, I was never given to moping, my son. But to be -irrelevant, I promised Uncle Bob that we would go to Valencia next -week and stay with him through the summer.”</p> - -<p>“That will be jolly; I think I would enjoy one good old spree of that -sort before—”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go out and find Uncle Bob,” said his mother quickly.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER II.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“And both were young and one was beautiful.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Valencia was a western town, with about forty thousand inhabitants -who believed in and were immeasurably proud of the place. There were -no factories, and there was no great value in real estate, since the -wild boom of the early eighties, which made and broke so many western -towns; but it was quite a railroad center, one of the principal -western roads having headquarters there. Amusement there was none, -save band concerts twice a week in summer, and an occasional show in -the opera house in winter.</p> - -<p>The town had perhaps more than a fair allotment of that class of -people who find fault with everything, from the price of ice to the -sparsity of amusements. It was said, also, to be no more free from -public officials with itching palms, than other cities of its size.</p> - -<p>Saloons were supposed to be unknown in Valencia, in accordance with -the laws of the State, and it did truly present a clean, moral aspect -to the casual observer.</p> - -<p>Valencia was essentially a “home” town, with its wide streets, its -many trees, comfortable homes and green lawns, and it was much -beloved by its inhabitants, who, if they moved away, inevitably moved -back again, with untiring loyalty.</p> - -<p>Robert Spencer had been borne into the town on the tide of prosperity -that had carried so many into it in 1882, and he was one of the -barnacles who had remained, firmly fastened, when the tide receded, -taking with it a few of the industries that had sprung up like -mushrooms during the boom. He had had a competence when he drifted -into Valencia, which by judicious investment had increased until he -was independently rich.</p> - -<p>The first few years of his life there had been uneasy ones, for he -had to be constantly on the alert to avoid matrimony, so many were -the enticements thrown out to land him. He was unquestionably the -biggest fish in the pond, and the hooks had been baited for him -repeatedly, but he had not bitten.</p> - -<p>The first evening after Mrs. Malloy and Robert reached Valencia, Mr. -Spencer entertained two of his nearest neighbors, a widow and her -young niece, at dinner.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston had been a pretty girl in her youth, and it was a hard -habit for her to break from. She still affected baby blue, which had -set off to advantage her pink-and-whiteness twenty years before, but -which now exaggerated the faded lemon color into which that -complexion had degenerated. In place of dimples, there were creases -in her cheeks, but she clung to her original conception of them, and -used them accordingly. Her hair, from being golden, had become dull -and lifeless, but she still wore it in the jaunty frizzes which had -once set off her doll-like face.</p> - -<p>She was an easy victim for complexion agents, and her generous -patronage had done much to hasten the decay of her delicate -complexion. She was entirely satisfied with herself, but nevertheless -she felt a pang of jealousy whenever she looked at her young niece, -and was only moved out of her complacency and simplicity, to indulge -in caustic remarks to her.</p> - -<p>Robert Malloy felt himself shy and awkward in the presence of girls, -for his life had been spent close to his mother, with books and -study, and he was ignorant of their ways.</p> - -<p>Before dinner was announced he found himself seated by the girl, -Margaret Anthony, vaguely wondering what to say, and wishing he dared -look at her to see what she really was like.</p> - -<p>He ventured a remark about the weather, and looked at her as he did -so. She answered in a monosyllable, but kept her eyes cast down. -Following the direction of her eyes, he saw that she was twirling her -thumbs.</p> - -<p>In a flash he glanced at his own hands, and then he realized that he -was being ridiculed.</p> - -<p>He looked hastily at her again, and this time she met his eyes with -an unmistakable gleam of laughter in hers. For a moment he was -inclined to be angry, but changed his mind and laughed outright, a -musical, boyish laugh, with which hers chimed.</p> - -<p>The older folks looked over at them, and an expression of -satisfaction appeared on Mr. Spencer’s face.</p> - -<p>“That little vixen is up to some mischief, I know,” twittered Mrs. -Weston.</p> - -<p>“Whatever it is, I am grateful to her,” responded Mr. Spencer. “I -don’t think I ever heard Robert laugh like that before. Did you, -Stella?” he asked, turning to his sister.</p> - -<p>“He wasn’t so different from other boys, Bob,” she said smilingly; -“he and I have had many a romp together.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe so, maybe so,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“If I should say ‘booh!’ you’d run,” said Margaret with conviction, -to Robert.</p> - -<p>“Try me and see,” was his good-humored response, just as dinner was -announced.</p> - -<p>Mr. Spencer had seated the two young people together, for he rightly -concluded that the ice would be broken sooner, over soup and fish, -with the assistance of warm candlelight and flowers, than in a -drawing-room with the accompaniment of voices no longer young.</p> - -<p>In taste, Robert was no acolyte, and he gave a little sigh of -satisfaction as his eyes took in the exquisite details of the table -of polished, massive mahogany, with gleaming silver and glass, the -bowl of gorgeous, rich red roses, and the candles with their red -shades.</p> - -<p>Turning, he met the eyes of his companion, and involuntarily thought -that she fitted with the environments. Her hair had a decidedly -reddish cast, and framed a face which was small and white, with a -refractory red mouth and an insignificant nose.</p> - -<p>Her eyes were peculiar, but very beautiful, large and full and -greenish in color, shaded by lashes so long and dark that they gave a -dazzling brilliance to her face.</p> - -<p>As she met his eyes she smiled and said, as though he had spoken, -“Yes, <em>isn’t</em> it pretty?” Then she added, “But I am a gourmand. I -like the pretty surroundings <em>and</em> a good dinner, but if I had to -choose between the two, I would take the latter.”</p> - -<p>“That’s because you are such a child,” he said patronizingly.</p> - -<p>“Of course, judging from the standpoint of <em>your</em> experience, I must -appear like one,” was her lofty reply.</p> - -<p>Her remark reduced him to an awkward consciousness of his -inexperience, and beside this small girl he felt himself suddenly to -seem like an uncouth school-boy.</p> - -<p>After this little encounter they listened to the conversation of -their elders. Mrs. Malloy was expressing her opinion of a new book -which she did not like, and said that people were better off with no -books at all than with one of that character.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston, who had never delved very deep into any subject, said -with a little giggle: “I would hate to acknowledge, though, that I -had not read a book of which every one was talking. But I have often -heard Meg express herself the way you have been doing.”</p> - -<p>After they were back in the drawing-room Robert said to Margaret, -“Did I understand your aunt to call you ‘Meg’?”</p> - -<p>“You did,” was the reply; “I have as many names as Eugene Field’s -‘Bill,’ in the little poem ‘Jes ’fore Christmas.’ You remember it?”</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s this way with me: Father called me Margaret, the girls -they called me Peg, Mother called me Margie, but Auntie calls me -Meg.”</p> - -<p>“And—?” he queried.</p> - -<p>A sudden gravity settled over her face, as she replied, “There is no -one now to call me Margaret or Margie. Auntie’s name for me sort of -sticks. But I suppose it’s all right. I’m not big enough to be -entitled to the big, dignified name of Margaret.”</p> - -<p>“When I know you well enough, I shall call you Margie,” Robert said -confidently.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chIII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER III.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“A child of our grandmother Eve, a female;</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>The life which opened up for Robert Malloy was so full of surprises, -new sensations and experiences, that he was both bewildered and -delighted.</p> - -<p>His uncle watched him hopefully, his mother anxiously. There could be -no doubt that she would have welcomed anything which would turn her -son from his desire, but she was paradoxically jealous for the -strength of character and singleness of purpose which had determined -him for the life which would take him from her. Also, she could not -be certain that he would be happy, should he walk into the trap so -obviously set for him by his uncle.</p> - -<p>A few weeks after they reached Valencia she had a chance to study Meg -more closely, and to obtain an insight into the character of the girl -who puzzled her, and who very evidently attracted her son. There was -something so subtle and elusive about her, that Mrs. Malloy, with her -ear attuned to simplicity and directness, had not been able to form -an opinion concerning her.</p> - -<p>She had taken a favorite book and started for a quiet spot in the -woods adjoining her brother’s place, when she met Meg. The girl -flushed with pleasure when Mrs. Malloy asked her to join her. There -was little said by either as they walked along, yet there was no -constraint. Finally Mrs. Malloy turned to her companion and said -smilingly, “I believe you are one of those rare persons who are good -company without saying a word.”</p> - -<p>Meg laughed as she answered, “I hope I know the value of silence.”</p> - -<p>Just then Meg’s quick eyes detected a little bird which had been -wantonly shot, and was lying under the tree where probably it had -made its home. Picking it up, she murmured a few broken words of -pity, which might have been a requiem over the little dead body.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it cruel?” she asked, raising her lovely dark-lashed eyes to -Mrs. Malloy’s face, “and so useless,—a little bird that never harmed -anyone,—and not even good to eat,” she added mournfully.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy was impelled to laugh, though she, too, felt the pity of -it.</p> - -<p>They finally sat down under a large tree, whose branches afforded a -refreshing shade. Leaning her back against the tree, and sighing -restfully, Mrs. Malloy turned to look at her companion. Meg wore the -most inexpensive white dress, but she wore it as she did all of her -home-made clothes, like a small princess.</p> - -<p>As she sat there, with her hands clasped around her knees, and her -small head, with its refractory reddish hair, drooping, there was a -pathetic look about her that went straight to Mrs. Malloy’s warm -heart. She put her hand out and slightly touching Meg’s shoulder, -said softly: “You look unhappy, dear,—sort of lonely. Can I help -you?”</p> - -<p>The girl’s face changed instantly, and looking up at Mrs. Malloy she -said gayly, “But I’m not lonely,—not now.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy withdrew her hand and said simply, “Pardon me. I no doubt -seemed intrusive.”</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> intrusive! oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, you <em>couldn’t</em> be intrusive! -Why, if you should tell me my hair was red, I would not be offended. -And that’s what I wouldn’t take from anyone else,” she added under -her breath.</p> - -<p>“Well, I won’t be so rude, nor so untruthful. It is beautiful auburn, -a color I’ve always liked.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Meg admitted reluctantly, “it isn’t exactly the color -one could wear red with,—not but what I would if I wanted to.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy threw her head back and laughed, and her laugh was as -pleasant as it was rare.</p> - -<p>Meg looked at her in a pleased manner. Then Mrs. Malloy said: “What a -spunky little girl you are! It’s regular red-headed spunk, though of -course your hair is not red. My dear, it’s a blessing you are so -independent, having no one to do your fighting for you.”</p> - -<p>The wistful look came back into Meg’s eyes as she answered: “It has -never seemed just right that I didn’t have a father, or mother, or -even a big brother to take care of me. Sometimes,—” there was a -little catch in her voice,—“oh, dear Mrs. Malloy, sometimes I feel as -if there were no fight left in me!”</p> - -<p>“You poor little thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Malloy, reaching out for her -hand, “this is really yourself that I see now,—a little tame canary -made wild because it has no one to shield it, and must look out for -itself!”</p> - -<p>Meg looked at her adoringly.</p> - -<p>“You are the first person I have ever known who has seemed to -understand me, and somehow, I feel that my mother was like you. You -won’t laugh at me or tell any one if I tell you something?” she asked -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“You may count on my silence and sympathy, dear.”</p> - -<p>“When I was a little girl, my principal amusement was to ‘pretend’ -things. I would pretend I was a princess, or something else equally -improbable. One day, I wanted some one else to play with me so badly, -that I told Aunt Amelia about it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” queried Mrs. Malloy softly, as she paused.</p> - -<p>“Oh, she slapped me, told me I was nothing but an ugly, red-headed -little object of charity, and not to go imagining any more nonsense.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy bit her lip to keep back the disparaging words which -longed for utterance. Instead, she stroked the hand she held, and Meg -continued:</p> - -<p>“Since then I have played my little games by myself. Sometimes I go -up to the attic, where I have a trunk containing mother’s things. I -put on her dress and apron, and take a piece of crochet work in my -hands,—the one she was making when she was taken sick,—and then I -pretend that I am she, and that I am there, too,—you understand?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy nodded. “And then I talk as I know she would talk to me -if she were here. I give myself lectures for my frivolity, and good -advice,—and,—and,—oh, I say the tender little things that I know she -would say, and that no one ever does——” She stopped, and began to sob -quietly.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy drew her up beside her, so that the little red head -rested on her shoulder. There were unshed tears in her eyes, which -had looked out bravely and hopefully upon a world that had little -enough to offer her, and she felt, in this moment, that a very strong -bond was between this girl, almost a stranger, and herself.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chIV'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER IV.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Meg was leaning back in delicious idleness on the cool, shaded porch -of her aunt’s house, with her hands loosely clasped above her head, -and her eyes dreamily fixed on the treetops.</p> - -<p>Robert Malloy was reading aloud from a book of verse. His voice, -rising and falling musically, harmonized with the summer sounds, the -hum of the insects, and chirping of the birds that came fearlessly -close, to bathe in the whirling spray of the garden hose.</p> - -<p>After he had read a while he closed the book, and said, “Tell me a -story.”</p> - -<p>“A really, truly one?” she asked, bringing her eyes on a level with -his.</p> - -<p>“Yes; tell me about yourself.”</p> - -<p>“All right. Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, and she -was as good as she was beautiful; never cross, never impatient, -always serene, gentle, and loving. She lived with her cruel -stepmother—”</p> - -<p>“Wasn’t there a prince?” he queried anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Not any real one,” was the severe retort, “just a few little -imitation ones. But she had a taste above paste jewels, so she -determined—”</p> - -<p>At this moment the air was pierced by a shrill cry from the road, -followed by lusty weeping.</p> - -<p>Meg was half-way to the gate before Robert started, and when he -reached there he found her exclaiming pityingly over a small, ragged, -and decidedly dirty boy, who was sitting in the dust of the road -nursing an injured toe.</p> - -<p>“How did it happen?” she was asking as Robert came up and leaned -against the fence.</p> - -<p>The hurt, slight in itself, assumed new importance in the eyes of the -boy, and he answered proudly, between the sniffles into which his -sobs had subsided, “I was running fast, an’ I never seen that piece -of broken bottle, an’ I stepped right on it, an’ cut my toe, an’ it -hurts just awful.”</p> - -<p>“I know it does, you poor, dear thing,” was Meg’s sympathetic -rejoinder; “come right in the yard with me, where it’s cool, and I’ll -fix it all right.”</p> - -<p>The boy began to strut after her, but meeting Robert’s broad smile, -bethought himself of his affliction, so changed the strut into a -limp, and followed her in.</p> - -<p>He looked a trifle dubious over the water when she took the injured -member in her soft hands to bathe it, but submitted like a martyr. -After Meg had washed the wound free from dirt she looked up at -Robert, who was watching the proceedings with amused eyes, and -imperiously demanded his handkerchief.</p> - -<p>He elevated his brows, as he handed it to her, and, addressing the -boy, remarked, “The heroines one reads about always tear their own -handkerchiefs into strips.”</p> - -<p>“Yessir,” responded the boy, scarcely knowing what was expected of -him.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember what Chesterfield says about just such a case as -this?” Meg asked the boy, ignoring Robert.</p> - -<p>“No’m. Who’s he? The doctor?” And alarm became visibly written under -the grime of his countenance.</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” Meg said reassuringly to him, and went on neatly -binding the toe. When it was finished, she darted into the house and -came out carrying an apple and a huge piece of cake, which she -immediately bestowed upon her new protegé.</p> - -<p>He accepted them graciously, as he had her ministrations, and was -about to edge off when her eye was attracted to a sling-shot -protruding from his coat pocket. She pulled it out and threw it as -far as she could, then turned to the amazed boy with flashing eyes. -“You horrid, bad, ugly boy! You were chasing a poor little bird when -you stepped on that bottle! I’m glad you got hurt, and I hope the -next time you will cut your toe completely off!”</p> - -<p>She emphasized her words with a little shake, which sent him -scuttling down the yard and out of the gate without a backward -glance.</p> - -<p>After he had disappeared, Meg stood, red and mortified, realizing -that Robert must despise her for her outburst of temper, and wishing -that at least she had been more dignified in her expression of -disapproval. She became uneasy at the long silence, and finally -ventured to raise her eyes to his, prepared for the scorn and -contempt she knew would be in his glance.</p> - -<p>Instead, his eyes were dancing with enjoyment, and when he met her -look, he laughed outright. Then he said deliberately, “I think I know -you well enough now to call you Margie.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chV'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER V.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“A creature not too bright or good</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>For human nature’s daily food;</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>For transient sorrows, simple wiles,</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>“Come out for a boat-ride,” Robert called to Meg, who was hemming -kitchen towels on her rose-embowered porch. She had seen him between -the leaves, as he came striding up the walk, but gave a very natural -start of surprise when he spoke. “I’m not deaf,” was her rejoinder, -as she kept on with her sewing.</p> - -<p>“Neither am I dumb,” retorted Robert, turning around and starting -down the path.</p> - -<p>Meg flung the towel from her, scattered thread, thimble and scissors -in every direction as she flew down the steps and overtook him. “What -was your first remark?” she asked demurely.</p> - -<p>He looked down at her, and tried to preserve his dignity, but the -eyes which met his were so innocent and wide opened, the little white -face so alluring, that his anger melted, and he said, “I asked you to -go boating.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you yelled so that I didn’t distinguish what you said. Yes, oh, -yes,” catching his arm as he started away again, “certainly I will go -with you. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>His eyes smiled into hers as he said gently, “Well, get your hat. -I’ll wait here for you.”</p> - -<p>She was gone only a moment, and rejoined him with her big hat thrown -back somewhat rakishly on her head. “Aunt Amelia is cross. She wanted -me to wash her hair for her, but I told her I was no lady’s maid.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes sought his face and found no response to her frivolity. -“Perhaps you think I should have stayed at home to wash her hair,” -she suggested anxiously.</p> - -<p>Then, as he still did not answer, she stopped and said in an offended -tone, “Oh, well, if <em>that’s</em> the way you feel about it, I’ll go back -and do it.”</p> - -<p>Robert turned and said to her gravely, “It is not for me to say -whether you shall or shall not wash your aunt’s hair, but if you must -have the truth, I think your manner of refusing a trifle rude.”</p> - -<p>She flushed, and the quick tears came to her eyes, but she kept a -brave appearance as she said, “Perhaps I was rude, but if you had to -live with Aunt Amelia and wait on her like a slave, as I do, you -might forget your manners, too, sometimes.”</p> - -<p>He turned and looked at her as he said, “I don’t want to quarrel with -you to-day, little girl. You may be as rude as you please to your -aunt, only be good to me.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes flashed up with sudden joy, and she looked quickly at him, -but the calm, impersonal glance she met, quelled the thought she had -entertained for that brief second.</p> - -<p>Then she said contritely: “I <em>do</em> owe every thing to Aunt Amelia, for -I couldn’t live on my pittance anywhere else,—but I do, truly I do, -earn my board. However, if you say so, I’ll go right back now and -apologize to her.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t do that,” he hastily interposed; “the apology will keep, -and the daylight won’t.”</p> - -<p>When they reached the river, he helped her into the boat, and taking -off his coat, folded it for her to sit on.</p> - -<p>Neither was talkative at first, both preferring their thoughts to -idle conversation. Meg watched him warily, taking in the splendid -muscular development of his arms and chest, the straight, clean-cut -features in a face that in repose was somewhat grave and stern, but -infinitely tender and charming when he smiled. She was wishing, as -she gazed at him, that Fate had given her a brother like him.</p> - -<p>As for Robert, with eyes on the setting sun, his reveries were of the -life about to open for him. For the time being he had forgotten his -companion, and was holding pleasurable communion with himself, -absorbed in the contemplation of his usefulness when once he had -entered upon that mission for which he had been always fitting -himself. He was aroused by an almost inaudible sigh, and he glanced -across at Meg with eyes which were as yet blind to emotion.</p> - -<p>She was not looking at him now, and he watched her with satisfaction. -She had puzzled and bewildered him ever since he had met her, and he -had only occasionally had glimpses of her real character. There were -times when he distinctly disapproved of her, and his training had -been such that he considered it almost an imperative duty to tell her -of it.</p> - -<p>Then with a quick subtle change of manner she would do something, -some little gracious act, that would cause him to repent of his -harsher judgment. But through all the varied changes of her moods, -she attracted him.</p> - -<p>She had fallen into one of her silences, and sat looking out over the -water with an expression so tender and childish, that for some reason -he would have been unable to explain, a great wave of pity swept over -him, and the longing to shelter her from harm became uppermost in his -mind.</p> - -<p>When she spoke, it was dreamily. “I do love the water, and the -sunset, and the sound of the oars as they lap the waves.” Then, in a -more sprightly manner,—“It has the effect of shaded lights and soft -music. I am so <em>good</em> at such times! All my thoughts are uplifting. -Do you feel that way?”</p> - -<p>Amused by her vagaries, he nodded, and the encouragement started her -off again: “I almost weep to think how noble I am. Nothing that is -petty or mean has any connection with me. Even Aunt Amelia I view -through that rosy mist, and conjure up the kind things she <em>might</em> -have done, the tender words she <em>might</em> have spoken,—and I think with -a swelling heart that I will try to appreciate those ‘might have -beens,’—that I will so conduct myself as to make them possible.”</p> - -<p>“And then?” as she paused.</p> - -<p>“Oh, then,” with a trace of bitterness in her voice, “then the red -lights flicker and go out, and the pungent odor of kerosene oil is -all that remains of them. The music stops with a last protesting wail -of the violin, and the musicians hurry away after their beer and -pretzels.”</p> - -<p>“And what becomes of you and your noble thoughts?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I take my noble thoughts and go home, and quarrel with Aunt -Amelia.”</p> - -<p>Robert laughed so heartily that Meg leaned forward and said: -“Sometimes I light the piano-lamp, and start the music-box going in -the parlor after I go home.”</p> - -<p>As they walked up the flower-bordered path to the house, Meg remarked -softly, “I feel that I could wash and crimp Auntie’s hair, and make -it look just lovely, now.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chVI'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER VI.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Speak low if you speak love.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Robert was walking, with no particular aim in view, when he saw a -familiar figure on the walk ahead of him, and hastening, he soon -overtook her.</p> - -<p>Meg turned her head as his step accustomed itself to hers, and -smiled. “May I go with you, my pretty maid?” he asked lightly.</p> - -<p>“Show me the girl who has been teaching you to say that kind of -thing,” she exclaimed with mock anger.</p> - -<p>“Lend me your pocket mirror and I will.”</p> - -<p>“Never!” she said emphatically.</p> - -<p>“Never what?”</p> - -<p>“Never carried a pocket mirror in my life. Never taught you to make -pretty speeches,” she said tartly. “Why, the first time I saw you, -you sat and twirled your thumbs like a ‘bound boy at a corn-husking,’ -and never said anything but ‘Yes’m,’ and ‘No’m,’ and then only when -you were spoken to!”</p> - -<p>“That proves what I affirm. That was the way I was when I met -<em>you</em>,—and look at me now!” with an air of conscious pride.</p> - -<p>“Yes, look at you now!” she mocked scornfully, “with Mother Goose -platitudes tripping off your tongue like extracts from the Hebrew -Decalogue. Why don’t you stick to your last? You might say all the -nice things you wished in Latin, Greek, French, German or Spanish, -and I’d have to smirk and act as if I understood, and felt very much -flattered.”</p> - -<p>“And all this because I asked to accompany her on her walk!” he -murmured as though to himself.</p> - -<p>She gave him an upward look through her lashes that made him feel -very peculiar, as she said sweetly, “Well, you know I didn’t mean it. -I <em>like</em> to have nice things said to me.”</p> - -<p>“By every one?” he queried idly, without looking at her.</p> - -<p>“Well, no,” she admitted slowly.</p> - -<p>There was nothing more said for a few minutes; then he remarked -carelessly, “You didn’t tell me where you were going.”</p> - -<p>“I am going to see my cousin-in-law. I hate her, but I love her -husband.”</p> - -<p>“That’s frankness that might be misunderstood.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” Meg replied earnestly, “but it’s true. You see, Ada has -always felt that she married beneath her, and she has convinced poor -Charlie that she did. But how she came to cherish such a notion I -don’t know, for he’s the salt of the earth!”</p> - -<p>“Was it a question of family?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Her father was at one time pretty well off, and at the time she -married Charlie some people thought she might have done better. -Charlie’s one of those big-souled men who never accumulate anything, -and he is blunt and hearty in his manner. Now she thinks because she -crooks her little finger when she drinks a glass of water, that she -is more refined than he!”</p> - -<p>Robert laughed boyishly at her quaint description, and said, “I think -I know them—not this particular couple, but their prototypes.”</p> - -<p>“Are there others like Charlie, I wonder,” she said musingly. “He -stands out so in my mind because he’s the best, the very best man I -ever saw.”</p> - -<p>After a short walk, she stopped in front of a modest two-story house, -and turning to her companion, said coaxingly, “Come in with me, and -meet Ada—then you’ll see for yourself.”</p> - -<p>“You are sure it won’t be an intrusion?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I’m sure,” was the response.</p> - -<p>They were admitted by a tall, overgrown girl of thirteen, who beamed -with pleasure when she saw Meg. “Come into the sitting-room,” she -said; “Papa’s in there, and he will be so glad to see you.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s he doing at home in the middle of the day?” Meg asked.</p> - -<p>“He’s not feeling very well—just indigestion, he says,” answered the -child, leading the way.</p> - -<p>The room they entered was forlorn in the extreme, and in it was -everywhere evidence of the taste of the wife, as well as of her -notably poor housekeeping. There was dirt in the corners of the room, -and dust on the few uncomfortable, cheap, but ornate chairs. There -was a rug with big bouquets of red roses upon the floor, and soiled, -sleazy, fringed silk drapes hung over the few highly colored, gaudily -framed pictures. The wall paper was as startling as the rug, and at -the windows were coarse, cheap lace curtains.</p> - -<p>Charlie Walker was a huge, broad-shouldered blond, with kind blue -eyes, a roaring laugh which always made his refined wife shudder, and -a hand-clasp that was warm and cordial.</p> - -<p>He looked so pleased when he saw Meg, that it was plain to see how -well he liked her. As for the child, who had inherited her father’s -size, blondness, and disposition, she evidently regarded her small, -grown-up cousin as a veritable princess in a fairy tale.</p> - -<p>Meg noticed with concern that Charlie really looked ill, but it was a -habit with her to say but little about such things; so, instead of -questioning him fully, she looked around the untidy room and asked, -“Where’s Ada?”</p> - -<p>“Gone to her card club,” replied Charlie.</p> - -<p>The child, Gertie, had taken up the mending-basket and was painfully -trying to darn a large hole in one of her father’s socks. It was -evident that she had had no training, but was trying to teach -herself, that she might assume that part of the household tasks.</p> - -<p>“Let me do that,” said Meg impulsively, and taking it from the girl, -began deftly putting in the stitches.</p> - -<p>Charlie watched her a moment, and then remarked, answering the -unspoken accusation of her mind, “Ada had so much to do this week -that she couldn’t get around to it.”</p> - -<p>Meg drew the thread viciously and made no reply.</p> - -<p>“She has had to practice a good deal for that concert she is to take -part in,” he said.</p> - -<p>Still Meg did not speak, and the set of her lips impelled him to add -anxiously, yet with a certain amount of dignity, “It is in accordance -with my wishes, that she keeps up her music.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course it is,” answered Meg meekly, for, as she told Robert -afterwards in discussing it, “Big as that man is, I would no more -hurt him than I would a baby.”</p> - -<p>After that, Charlie drew Robert into the conversation. Each man had -taken the measure of the other, and approved. They had talked -indifferently for awhile on matters pertaining to the town, when the -front door opened and a step was heard in the hall.</p> - -<p>Robert, looking at Charlie Walker, saw a light leap into his eyes, as -he turned toward the door leading into the hall. “What manner of -woman is this?” he asked himself, “who can bring such a look to a -man’s face after so many years of married life?” All unconsciously -his eyes wandered to Meg.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Walker was pretty, in rather a coquettish way; with soft brown -hair and eyes, a weak red mouth, and a complexion which still -retained its girlish fairness. Her hands were little, white, helpless -ones, and about her was an air of childish innocence and -irresponsibility. Her dress was in keeping with the furnishing of the -room, cheaply pretentious and ornate.</p> - -<p>Robert felt instinctively that while such a woman could never possess -any attraction for him, she was the type some men would die -for,—notably, her husband.</p> - -<p>The talk was desultory for a while, and then Meg asked her cousin to -play for them, “Which was generous of me,” she confided later, to -Robert, “for it showed her to the best advantage.”</p> - -<p>Without demur she seated herself at the piano and at once began to -play with such sweetness and power that Robert was amazed. Glancing -toward her husband, whose face reflected his appreciation of the -music, as well as his adoration of the performer, Robert felt that he -held the key to the puzzle.</p> - -<p>As they were walking home, Meg asked him suddenly, “What did you -think of my kin-folks?” As he paused, she continued, “Never mind the -house,—I know what you thought of that,—but tell me what you think of -Charlie?”</p> - -<p>“He is a man I could love like a brother. I have never felt so drawn -to a stranger.”</p> - -<p>“You dear boy!” cried Meg impulsively; “I always knew you were nice, -but I never dreamed you were <em>that</em> nice. You see, Cousin Charlie is -my hobby, for I think he is a grand character, and I want him to be -appreciated.”</p> - -<p>“Is he not?”</p> - -<p>“By everybody but his wife.”</p> - -<p>“I thought that, but I didn’t want to judge her hastily,” commented -Robert.</p> - -<p>“She does not appreciate him,” Meg vehemently exclaimed. “I wish I -could shake a little sense into her. He was too sick a man to be left -this afternoon, but she didn’t know it, or didn’t care if she did -know it. Why, if I had a husband like that, and he had nothing more -serious the matter with him than a boil, I would stay with him!”</p> - -<p>“I believe you would.” She looked up suddenly, surprised by a new -note in Robert’s voice, and found him looking at her earnestly. The -interchange of glances embarrassed both of them, and to cover it, he -continued rather hastily, “I don’t understand how a woman of her -evident lack of feelings can have such a divine conception of music.”</p> - -<p>“I can explain that,” said Meg confidentially. “It was a case of -mixed identity. That gift was meant for me, but got switched around -some way. I have the love of music, the capacity to suffer manifested -by her playing, while she,—she simply expresses what I feel.”</p> - -<p>Robert smiled at her whimsical conceit, but made no reply. At her -gate she put her hand in his and said, “Good-bye,” simply and -quietly. All the defiance and willfulness which usually characterized -her were gone, and in their place was a gracious sweetness which -enveloped and engrossed him the rest of the evening.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chVII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER VII.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Alas! how light a cause may move</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Dissension between hearts that love.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Meg came down-stairs to breakfast humming a gay little air to -herself, and looking so young and fresh that Mrs. Weston looked at -her disapprovingly as she took her seat at the table.</p> - -<p>The morning light was unmerciful, showing up the wrinkles and -sallowness of the fretful little woman, in direct contrast to the -smooth purity of Meg’s skin and the brightness of her eyes. The elder -woman wore a somewhat soiled blue wrapper, and there was not the care -bestowed upon her appearance that usually characterized it.</p> - -<p>She glanced pettishly at Meg as she poured the coffee, and said, “I -don’t see why you always wear white.”</p> - -<p>Meg smiled at her sunnily, and replied, “Well, I like it—it doesn’t -fade, washes well, is economical—”</p> - -<p>“And—?” queried her aunt with uplifted eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“And is becoming,” finished the girl calmly. Then she added: “What -would you have me wear? It would be neither suited to you nor to the -glorious summer season to wear drab.”</p> - -<p>“Pink?” suggested her aunt.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Auntie, with my hair!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston almost smiled.</p> - -<p>“Yellow?” she continued.</p> - -<p>“Too vivid,” objected Meg.</p> - -<p>“Then blue,” said her aunt hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>“That’s <em>your</em> color,” replied Meg, with laughing eyes, “and as it -wouldn’t become me so well, I wouldn’t think of wearing it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston’s smile deepened, spread all over her face, into the -creases she still fondly believed to be dimples, and diplomatic -relations were established.</p> - -<p>Meg picked up the morning paper, and propping it against the -coffee-pot, began scanning the head-lines of the first page. “I -declare,” her aunt commented, “you are as bad as a man about reading -at the breakfast-table.”</p> - -<p>The girl smiled. “When I marry,” she announced, “I shall take a -lesson in managing a husband from that dear, clever little friend of -mine in Atchison, whose husband takes his ‘ease in his inn,’ sitting -in a rocking-chair while he eats. He shows his appreciation of the -privilege, by holding her hand between bites. Just think!” she added -pensively, “they have been married five years, and he still loves -her!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see what that has to do with your reading the paper at the -breakfast table.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Auntie,” and Meg looked reproachfully at her over the paper, -“you know I do it to save you the trouble of reading it yourself. Let -me see what is happening.” And she glanced over the front page. -“‘More Macedonians murdered,’—we won’t go into the details, -please,—‘Jealous lover shoots sweetheart,’—I’m glad I’m redheaded; it -saves complications,—‘Woman murders faithless husband,’—oh, what a -bloody world we live in! No, it is a beautiful world,” she said -softly, after a little pause, “when there are such women as Helen -Gould in it. She has been giving the waifs another outing at her -lovely home. Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish has consented to an interview. She -declares that America must have an aristocracy. She doesn’t say -whether it will be an aristocracy of brains or money. It must be the -former, as she deplores the depredations on the outskirts of society, -committed by the vulgar rich. Yes, of course it is of brains,—that -order of brains which can originate ‘cute’ things with which to amuse -and entertain the elect.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston, growing restive, interposed, “That does not interest me. -Read the local news.”</p> - -<p>“You are so provincial, Auntie,” was Meg’s comment, as she turned the -paper; “you belong so hopelessly to Valencia!”</p> - -<p>“Well, so do you,” was the brief retort.</p> - -<p>“Not in the way I mean, my dear Aunt! My spirit is cosmopolitan, -though, Prometheus-like, I am chained to Valencia. While my head is -in the clouds, my feet are, oh, very much on the earth!”</p> - -<p>“You do talk the greatest nonsense.”</p> - -<p>“Do I? Then I’ll read to you instead of talking. ‘Mrs. Guy -Worthington Deflurry has returned from an extended Eastern trip.’”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. who? oh, Mrs. Deflurry? I suppose she had some handsome clothes -made while she was gone.” Mrs. Weston was tremulous with excitement.</p> - -<p>“Do you know the lady?” Meg asked idly. “No? I thought from your -interest that she was a dear friend. ‘Miss Cordelia Jamison has -departed for Michigan to visit friends.’ ‘It is rumored that a rich -bachelor is to be wedded to a handsome young widow.’”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston was all in a flutter instantly. “Who can it mean? -Surely,—” she giggled foolishly, “surely people cannot think that Mr. -Spencer and I—”</p> - -<p>Meg put down the paper with a judicial air. “I have always held,” she -said, “that the newspaper habit was a pernicious one for some people. -I will read no more to you. It goes to your head.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Meg Anthony, you might at least remember that I am older than -you, and treat me with some respect!”</p> - -<p>Meg opened her eyes wide. “But you are not!” she protested. “I am -centuries older than you. I am a relic of the dark ages, while -you,—Auntie, I really believe you are the youngest woman I know.”</p> - -<p>A smile encompassed Mrs. Weston’s entire face at what she considered -a compliment, and in the exuberance of her sudden good-humor, she -said, “How would you like to invite Mr. Spencer, his sister and -nephew to come to dinner to-morrow night?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Auntie, can we really do it?” Meg cried ecstatically.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered her aunt; “I’ll go and interview Delia about it. I -think I’ll have some little-neck clams—the canned ones, you -know,—some kind of cream soup, a roast course, an entrée, salad—”</p> - -<p>“Auntie!” interrupted Meg sternly, “You know we can’t afford any such -frills! And with only one servant! Let’s call it supper, and give -them just a plain meal, nicely cooked and served.”</p> - -<p>A dull purplish color mingled with the yellow of Mrs. Weston’s face, -as she questioned with angry dignity, “Am I, or am I not mistress -here? When did I give over the reins of government into your hands? -If I need your advice, young lady, I’ll seek it.” With ruffled -plumage, she went into the kitchen to settle the details with Delia.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chVIII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER VIII.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“I cannot eat but little meat,</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>My stomach is not good.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>On the evening of Mrs. Weston’s dinner—for she held to the dinner -idea in spite of Meg’s protests—the weather was so hot that the -heavy, poorly cooked meal was appreciated by no one but the hostess, -who plumed herself that she had surprised the guests with her -cuisine. Which, indeed, was true.</p> - -<p>They sat in the stuffy dining-room while course after course was -brought and taken away. Through the window Meg caught the scent of -roses, and could see that a breeze gently stirred the leaves of the -trees. Turning with a sigh from the temptations without, she glanced -at her aunt. The work of entertaining, with the heat, had robbed her -hair of its curl, and the damp, straight locks hung limply around her -forehead, which was beaded with perspiration.</p> - -<p>Meg felt an impish satisfaction when she beheld the wreck. Turning, -she met Robert’s eyes, and asked, “What were you saying?”</p> - -<p>“I was recalling a remark you made the first evening I met you,—that -you were a gourmand. You have scarcely tasted your food to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I was several hundred years younger then,” she retorted; “but if you -had been giving the proper attention to your own plate you would not -have noticed it.”</p> - -<p>Leaning toward her, he murmured, “I know it’s horribly rude, -especially as you are co-hostess—” she put up a deprecating hand—“but -my extreme youth and callowness will have to be my excuse.”</p> - -<p>“Callousness, did you say?”</p> - -<p>“You know what I said. When will this thing come to an end? I’m dying -to get out on the porch and get a whiff of air.”</p> - -<p>“So am I,” she whispered back. “Let me see,—where are we?”</p> - -<p>He glanced down at his plate, and then said apologetically, “Well, -really——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” she interrupted, stirring the contents of her plate with a -fork, “this is what Delia called the ‘entry.’ Delia claims to be the -direct descendant of a famous French cook. I believe his name was -Brian Boru.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Delia and I are cousins. And after the ‘entry,’ what then?” he -whispered.</p> - -<p>She counted them off on her fingers, “The ‘poonch,’ salad, dessert, -and coffee. And as you and Mr. Spencer are sociably inclined, Auntie -will forego the pleasure of withdrawing, and leaving you with your -wine and walnuts. After coffee, the porch.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for the information,” he said humbly.</p> - -<p>When the dinner was finally finished, they went out on the porch. -There the conversation was general for a time, and then Robert said -lightly to Meg, “‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ and get me a flower -for my coat.”</p> - -<p>She rose without demur, and together they strolled down the walk. Mr. -Spencer looked after their retreating forms, and then, meeting his -sister’s eyes, he deliberately winked.</p> - -<p>That wink, while not elegant, served as an elixir to Mrs. Malloy, and -under its influence she became fairly sparkling and gay. Mrs. Weston -was astonished, for she had never seen her in such a mood, though she -had never seen her despondent. Her gayety was short-lived, however, -for Mrs. Weston killed it with a word.</p> - -<p>“What a fine-looking boy Robert is,” she began; and then, -enthusiastically, “I think it is just lovely that he is to go into a -monastery!”</p> - -<p>There was no response, but she prattled on. “So romantic! And he will -be such a handsome monk in his brown bath-robe! And will he have to -go barefooted, and have his pretty curly hair shaved?”</p> - -<p>She waited a moment, and then asked gushingly, “Don’t <em>you</em> think it -romantic?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy’s voice was even but cold, as she replied, when forced to -do so by the direct question, “I would hardly call it romantic.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>wouldn’t</em> you? Most people see more romance in a love affair, -but I confess that the idea of a monastery appeals to me!”</p> - -<p>“Let’s join the youngsters,” interrupted Mr. Spencer. “They probably -are boring each other to death by now.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Weston started up with alacrity, but his sister, with the look -of a wounded animal in her eyes, said, “I will be there presently. I -want to enjoy these wild roses a little longer.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chIX'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER IX.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Blessings be with them, and eternal praise,</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>A strong friendship sprang up between Robert and Charlie Walker, -unusual in its warmth, and surprising, as the two men were totally -different in taste and character, and as there was considerable -disparity in their years.</p> - -<p>Charlie Walker was a man of many friends, for he loved the world, yet -of them all, none was, perhaps, so dear as this young friend. Robert -was a man of few friendships, for he was as reserved as the other was -open-hearted.</p> - -<p>Scarcely a week passed that did not see them together. Charlie was -never well from the time he had the first attack of indigestion, -though he was able to be at his office most of the time, and still -kept his hearty, healthy appearance. His hand-clasp was as strong, -his laugh as infectious as ever, but there was a strained look about -his eyes, which told of suffering borne in silence.</p> - -<p>Robert and Meg, who went often together, commented on it to each -other, but his wife remained ignorant of the real seriousness of his -condition, which was what he desired. She still kept up her music and -her club duties, at his request. It was evident that the man, in his -great unselfishness, was determined to shield her from worry or -trouble, while there was life in his body.</p> - -<p>One day Meg and Robert went to see him, for they had learned that he -had been unable to be at his office for a week. When they reached the -home, they found Mrs. Walker softly playing the piano. Greeting them, -she asked sweetly, “Do you want to see Charlie? Just go upstairs. He -will be <em>so</em> glad to see you. I will come up as soon as I finish my -practicing.”</p> - -<p>In silence they ascended the stairs and stepped to the open door of -the bed-chamber. Charlie was propped up in bed with pillows, and they -were both shocked at the change in his appearance, wrought by his -illness of the past week. Gertie was curled up awkwardly by the foot -of the bed, and her eyes were big and woe-begone.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, young people,” he called heartily when he saw them, -“this is all the medicine I need!”</p> - -<p>At the word “medicine,” Gertie started, and going over to a stand -where there was an array of bottles, said, “It’s time for your -powder, Papa.”</p> - -<p>He made a slight grimace, and addressing himself to Meg, said: “Now -did you ever see such an unnatural child? Every time I really begin -to enjoy myself, she comes and stuffs some vile medicine down my -throat!”</p> - -<p>The child’s eyes were solemn as she said, “But, Papa, you have to -take it. The doctor told me not to neglect it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, little Miss Literal, I see you are ‘she who must be obeyed,’ -so I’ll take it. Though I can’t imagine why I need anything else when -I have these two youngsters to look at.”</p> - -<p>Meg turned to Robert and said, “Delia isn’t the only descendant of -Brian Boru in these parts, you see.” There was a little laugh at her -remark, but it was only half-hearted, for both Robert and she were -too much grieved at the change in Charlie to enjoy any joke.</p> - -<p>He tried to be gay and natural, but after each effort he sank back -among the pillows exhausted. As he laid there, a light of exquisite -enjoyment came over his features, for the strains of the piano -floated up from below.</p> - -<p>Ada was playing something in a minor key, and the strange, sweet -notes were so in harmony with the sadness of the occasion, that Meg -was obliged to rise suddenly and go to the window, that Charlie might -not see the tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>There was no sound in the room till the notes died away, and then -turning to Robert, Charlie said: “Did you ever hear anything like -that? Her music is an indication of her soul.”</p> - -<p>Just then Ada came noiselessly into the room, and going over to the -bed, asked gayly of her husband: “Did you like that piece? I think I -will play it at the recital next week.”</p> - -<p>“I would,” he replied, without a break in his voice, looking at her -adoringly; and then, to Robert and Meg, who had exchanged glances, -and were preparing to leave: “Must you go now? You will come again, -won’t you?—Come soon—” he added, in a voice he tried to make -expressionless.</p> - -<p>After they were outside Meg could contain her grief no longer, and -began to sob. “Oh, can’t <em>you</em> see that he is dying?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I fear so,” was the grave rejoinder.</p> - -<p>“And after he is gone, some one will have to shake that woman and -say, ‘Wake up,—Charlie is dead!’”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chX'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER X.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Life’s a short summer,—man a flower—</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>He dies—alas! how soon he dies!”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>For the next few weeks Meg and Robert were almost daily visitors at -the Walker home. They could see that Charlie was failing very -rapidly, but it was plain that his wife did not realize it, and that -he did not wish her to.</p> - -<p>One day Robert drove up to Mrs. Weston’s in his uncle’s phaeton, and -Meg knew instinctively why he had come. Throwing on her hat, she ran -out and asked breathlessly, “Oh, is it about Charlie?”</p> - -<p>His face was grave as he answered, “The doctor has just told me that -he cannot live through the day.”</p> - -<p>“And Ada?”</p> - -<p>“She knows,—now,” was the low reply.</p> - -<p>“Poor, poor girl!” Meg said in quivering accents.</p> - -<p>Robert looked at her with an expression he was himself unconscious -of, but she did not meet his eyes.</p> - -<p>Nothing more was said by either till they reached the home. Tossing a -coin to a boy who was loafing in the yard, Robert asked him to take -the horse back to the stable.</p> - -<p>They went upstairs, and Ada came from the room with eyes swollen and -red, and said, “You may go in,—he will want to see you.”</p> - -<p>As they entered, and Charlie recognized them, he called out in his -old cheery tones, much weakened by suffering, “My two young friends, -I’m so glad to see you! Gertie, honey, get another chair so they can -both sit down. How’s my little cousin?” he continued, looking at Meg. -“What’s that, what’s that? No crying, little girl. We want to be -cheerful and happy here.”</p> - -<p>Meg dried her tears and tried to smile at him. “That’s it,” he said. -“That’s one reason I’ve always loved this little cousin so much,” he -explained, turning his eyes toward Robert. “She’s always -cheerful,—never makes a fellow feel badly.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps we—or at least I—would better not stay in here,” said -Robert, noticing how exhausted he was.</p> - -<p>Charlie put out his hand feebly and laid it on Robert’s—“Don’t go. I -might get blue. <em>She</em>—” nodding toward the other room,—“has gone all -to pieces, and you know I can’t bear to see her unhappy.”</p> - -<p>He seemed at times, from then on, to lapse into unconsciousness, but -whenever one of them would rise to call Ada he would rouse himself -and ask them not to. “The poor girl loses control of herself when she -sees me. I’ll tell you when to call her. I don’t want to make it any -worse for her than is necessary.”</p> - -<p>After a little while he said: “Robert, I don’t belong to any church, -but I’m not an infidel. I’ve tried to live right. Won’t you say a -little prayer for me? Not any set form, my boy, but just a prayer -from your heart.”</p> - -<p>Kneeling by the bed, Robert made a simple, touching, earnest prayer -in a few sentences, a prayer which brought the quick tears again to -Meg’s eyes. At its conclusion Charlie said, “Thank you,” very softly, -and turned his head away for a few minutes.</p> - -<p>When he spoke again it was lightly, to cover his emotion. “Meg, I’ve -played a great joke on Ada. She thinks we are poor. We <em>have</em> had to -economize a good deal, but there will be fifty thousand dollars life -insurance for her after—well, after a while. That ought to keep her -and the young one from starving, don’t you think?”</p> - -<p>The room grew very silent, for neither Meg nor Robert had any heart -for conversation. Gertie sat in her usual place at the foot of the -bed, dry-eyed and sad, watching her father’s white face.</p> - -<p>Outside, in the hall, could be heard the murmur of voices. It seemed -to disturb the sick man at last, for, opening his eyes, he asked, “Is -it the neighbor-women waiting to see me die? Just tell them that I’m -not at home to callers, will you?”</p> - -<p>He tried to laugh at his pitiful little joke, but the laugh was so -hollow that it startled even himself. He nodded as Robert and Meg -arose, and said, “Yes, send her in, I want her. Good-bye, dear -friends,—God bless you!”</p> - -<p>They started for the door, when he called feebly, “Meg!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she cried, running back to him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let the doctor or any one disturb us. I just want <em>her</em>,—and -little Gertie.” As she started again he caught her hand and said -entreatingly, “Be good to <em>her</em>, little cousin!”</p> - -<p>When she found Ada and sent her in to him, she whispered, “If you -need me, call me, dear.”</p> - -<p>From the room came the sound of Ada’s sobs, above which, with -remarkable strength, arose Charlie’s voice, encouraging and cheering. -Then weaker and weaker it grew,—and ceased altogether.</p> - -<p>A moment later a wild shriek rang through the house, and Meg, running -in, found Ada in a swoon on the floor, while Gertie, the child, with -an expression of heart-breaking despair, was striving to lift her -mother’s head, though she never took her eyes from the still, white -face on the bed.</p> - -<p>Meg and Robert left the house an hour later. There was nothing more -they could do, for the Masons, to which lodge Charlie belonged, were -in charge of the body, and the neighbor-women had taken possession of -Ada and Gertie.</p> - -<p>It had grown almost dark, and the lights were beginning to shine in -the houses along the way. There was little said between them, for -both were too deeply stirred by the sad events of the day to talk -much.</p> - -<p>Finally Meg broke the silence. With a little catch in her voice, she -said: “I am so wicked! When poor Charlie told me that Ada would have -fifty thousand dollars, my first thought was that there were many men -whom that amount of money would tempt.”</p> - -<p>As there was no reply, she said, with attempted lightness, “Will you -absolve me?”</p> - -<p>Meeting her mood, though both their hearts were heavy, he answered, -“There is no need of absolution where there is no sin.”</p> - -<p>Nothing more was said until her gate was reached, and she cried: “It -doesn’t pay! It doesn’t pay to love, and marry, and be separated by -death!”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXI'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XI.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Of Paradise that has survived the fall!”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>About a week after Charlie’s funeral, Meg and Robert chanced to meet -at the Walker home, where both had gone to see the desolate young -widow.</p> - -<p>As they walked home together, both were silent. When within a block -of Meg’s home they passed a little cottage, plainly the home of -people in moderate circumstances. When they were just opposite the -gate, a comely young woman came out of the door and called, “Supper’s -ready.”</p> - -<p>Her husband, who was on the lawn in front, picked up one child, swung -him on his back, while the youngster squealed with glee, and called, -“Supper’s ready. Didn’t you hear Mama call, boys? The first one in -gets all the hot biscuit.”</p> - -<p>Off he capered over the yard, the child on his back kicking and -pounding, and crying, “Get up, old horsie,” while the other two -little lads raced after him as fast as their short legs would carry -them. The mother stood in the open door, her hands on her hips, -watching the race, her face radiating good-humor and joy.</p> - -<p>It was such a domestic scene! Rough and uncouth though they might be, -these people typified home, with all of the sweet meaning which is -often lost amid the environment of wealth.</p> - -<p>Robert watched with his heart in his eyes. He noted each of the -little lads, for he loved children very dearly. He saw the look of -idolatrous pride on the mother’s face. He was absorbed in the delight -of the domestic scene.</p> - -<p>And then they entered the house; the door closed upon them! It was as -though he had been given a glimpse of Heaven through a crack in the -door, which had suddenly been closed, leaving him out in the dark and -the night of his own despair.</p> - -<p>Something of what he felt was in his eyes as he turned and looked at -Meg. Then the veil which had obscured his mental vision was lifted, -and he found himself face to face with his great soul-problem!</p> - -<p>He seemed to see her for the first time. He took in the pure little -profile, the fresh red lips, the dark-lashed eyes, in a way he had -never done before. He even found himself looking with tender, amused -eyes at her reddish hair, and vaguely wondered what she would do if -he were to call her, school-boy fashion, “Sorrel-top.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly he remembered! Not for him those charms, not for him the -companionship of this winsome little creature, of whose deeper nature -he had been given a glimpse, during the sad communion of the last few -weeks!</p> - -<p>When they reached her gate he dared not trust himself to shake hands -with her. He feared the touch of the soft little hand, and knew he -must be alone to fight it out by himself.</p> - -<p>As Meg stepped up on the porch and was about to go in, a querulous -voice said: “Well, I see you have been gallivanting around with -Robert Malloy again. I should think he would be disgusted with you, -the way you run after him!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Auntie, don’t, please,” she pleaded, holding out her hands -beseechingly.</p> - -<p>“Every one sees it,” continued the merciless voice, “even his mother. -And from the way she spoke that night she was here, I could tell that -she was very much displeased.”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure of that?” Meg asked quietly.</p> - -<p>“Of course I’m sure,” was the impatient answer.</p> - -<p>“Very well. I’ll see that no one has reason to criticise my actions -again. Thank you for telling me. Good-night,” she said gently, as she -started to her room.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XII.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“<em>Pray, goody, please to moderate the rancour of your tongue.</em>”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Meg did not see Robert for a week after that memorable walk. The days -of his absence were not sweetened by the comments of her aunt. “I -knew he would grow tired of being pursued. Men are not won that way,” -was the remark, with variations, which greeted the girl every day of -the seven during which she did not have the saving grace of Robert’s -presence to help her endure the torture.</p> - -<p>All that was broad and sweet in her nature rejected the imprecations, -but what there was of suspicion, engendered by the loveless home life -she had led, listened to her tormentor.</p> - -<p>It was not surprising, therefore, that she became irritable and -nervous. It was in this mood that Robert found her, when, after his -week of battle, he again walked up the narrow, flower-bordered path. -It seemed to him that he had never really been there before. Just as -Meg, after the great revelation, had appeared in a new light, so now -did her surroundings.</p> - -<p>There was a certain tender gravity in his face as he offered her his -hand, which she purposely ignored. He flushed at this, but being -familiar with her somewhat prickly disposition, saw nothing -significant in her refusal to shake hands with him. “How is Aunt -Amelia?” he asked idly, as he seated himself.</p> - -<p>“As ravishingly disagreeable as usual, thank you,” was the somewhat -snappy retort.</p> - -<p>“Has your supply of kerosene oil run out? You don’t seem to have been -lighting the piano-lamp lately, with the music-box accompaniment.”</p> - -<p>She almost smiled, but thought better of it, and replied, “My -ambition in that line has been nearly killed for lack of -encouragement. Candles and a jew’s-harp are about as near as I can -approach to my shaded lights and soft music.”</p> - -<p>After a pause she said: “I’m sorry she’s not here just now. It will -grieve her to learn that she has missed a gentleman caller. They are -not standing in line any longer, so she can’t afford to lose one.”</p> - -<p>“I did not come to see your aunt.”</p> - -<p>Meg ignored his remark, and kept on: “She heard this morning of a new -skin balm, and she has torn madly down town to procure it. She will -be in rare good-humor when she returns. She always is after buying -something to enhance her beauty.”</p> - -<p>Robert was watching her face with intense interest as she talked, and -made no reply.</p> - -<p>“It’s something <em>all</em> the time,” she complained; “either her face is -smeared with grease, or thick with some chalky mixture which gives -her a clown-like appearance, or else,—oh, the worst of all, the very -limit, was the rubber mask! While she wore that I used to lock my -door at night for fear she would come in my room for something, and -scare me into spasms!”</p> - -<p>As she talked a severe expression came into Robert’s face. “Margie!” -he remonstrated.</p> - -<p>It was the first time he had used the dear name by which her mother -had called her, in spite of his threat to do so, and though she felt -the reproof of his tone, she thrilled when he spoke it. “Do you -know,” he began, “that your comments on your aunt are, to say the -least in poor taste?”</p> - -<p>She flushed deeply, but there was defiance in her voice and in the -tilt of her head. “Why don’t you say outright that I am a vulgar, -ill-bred, common little thing?” she demanded.</p> - -<p>“Because I don’t think it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you do,” she retorted angrily. “I just wish you had to live -with Aunt Amelia! It might shake a little of the priggishness out of -you! You don’t seem to understand that I would go mad if I couldn’t -take it out in ridiculing her.”</p> - -<p>His face softened, but before he could speak, she said in a hard, -expressionless tone, entirely devoid of the passion which had just -marked her utterances: “You will be leaving soon to enter your -monastery. I suppose it is proper to wish you <em>bon voyage</em>, as one -does people about to embark upon a long journey.”</p> - -<p>His face went from red to white, and he studied his shoes, as though -trying to make up his mind to speak. Then he said slowly and -hesitatingly, “Let us not talk of that now. What are you reading?” -and reaching over, he lifted the book from the bench beside her where -she had dropped it on his approach.</p> - -<p>“Nothing which would interest you,” she said tartly; “just the story -of a son’s devotion to his mother.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that?” he demanded sternly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing at all,” was the light reply; “you are more interested, -are you not, in foot-washing, shaven heads and cowls?”</p> - -<p>He rose instantly, his face dark with passion, but as he talked, it -cleared, till in the end it was serene and calm. “I understand you -now. You take this means, this cruel means of wounding me, so that I -would know of your indifference. I have been having a mighty battle -with myself, as between my church and my love for you. And, though I -should blush to own it, my love won.”</p> - -<p>He paused a brief second. She, too, was standing, and she was -trembling with emotion, but he did not observe it, nor that her lips -were quivering. “I came here to-day to ask you to marry me. I was -willing to forego the vows I was about to take, for which I have been -preparing all my life.”</p> - -<p>He took a step nearer, and looked down at her. “Margie, I love you -so! I did not know such a thing existed as this fire which has -permeated my entire being! It will be my curse in my chosen life, -because I will never be able to concentrate my mind on the work -before me. Your face will be always between me and my duty. I could -almost hate you for shattering all the hopes and aspirations of a -lifetime!”</p> - -<p>He waited for some sign that she heard him, but she stood like a -piece of marble. “Yet perhaps had you loved me, and we had married, I -would neither be happy, nor cause you to be. So, though you are -dearer to me than all the world, dearer than the cloistered life I -thought would be all-sufficing, I thank you for not returning my -love.”</p> - -<p>Wheeling abruptly, he walked down the path to the gate.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she whispered to herself, wringing her hands together, “he -thanks me for not loving him!”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXIII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XIII.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Thus repuls’d, our final hope</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Is flat despair.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>During the week that Robert was trying to choose his path for life, -Mrs. Malloy watched him with anxious, loving eyes, conscious of his -struggle, herself elated and depressed according to the moods his -face reflected.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the day he called on Meg, he had gone to his -mother, and nestling at her feet as had been his habit since his -early childhood, had leaned his head against her knee. She laid her -hand caressingly on his head, as though inviting him to speak.</p> - -<p>With averted eyes, and a manner he strove to make careless, he said, -“Dear Mother mine, would you despise me for a weak, shilly-shally -sort of creature if—” he hesitated a moment,—“if I should, after all, -alter the plan of my life and not go into the monastery?”</p> - -<p>Her face was transfigured, but she answered calmly, realizing fully -that it was delicate ground upon which they were treading: “Of course -I would not, dear. Whatever is for your happiness is that which I -desire. And no one, not even a mother, can decide for you.”</p> - -<p>He reached up, and pulling her hand down, kissed it reverently. And -then she said softly: “While my boy was little I guided him through -the shoals, avoiding the rocks, and I longed,—oh, <em>how</em> I longed to -be always at the helm, to keep his boat in the still, deep waters. -But I realized that it would be no kindness to have him depend on me -alone for guidance. I would grow old,—my hand would lose its cunning, -my eyes their keenness of vision,—or I would have to leave him -altogether—”</p> - -<p>He kissed her hand again, in protest. “Old age and death have nothing -in common with my young mother,” he whispered.</p> - -<p>She smiled sadly as she shook her head. “Nevertheless, one must -always be prepared. At any rate, I taught you how to steer your own -boat, my boy.”</p> - -<p>“Then you desert the ship, do you, O most wise woman?” he asked -gayly.</p> - -<p>“I but abdicate the captaincy,” she replied in the same strain.</p> - -<p>When he left the house to make his call, there was something in his -bearing which would have convinced his mother, even without their -previous conversation, that his decision was made and that he went to -put his life in the hands of the one woman in the world she would -have chosen for him. Her heart was light, for she had no doubt as to -the outcome.</p> - -<p>Mr. Spencer came in singing, “Hail to the chief who in triumph -advances,” and then, seeing his sister, he stopped abruptly and said, -“I told you so.”</p> - -<p>“You think he has gone to put his fate ‘to the test, to win or lose -it all?’”</p> - -<p>“Did you see the set of his shoulders as he left the house?” demanded -her brother, and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: -“You can’t fool me. I know the signs of the zodiac. It’s the full of -the moon, that part of the month when it gets into a fellow’s blood, -and he forgets everything except that here is the one being he loves. -Why, Stella, I’d have been infected with that same fever every full -moon for forty years, if I hadn’t been vaccinated.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy laughed heartily, and then he said, more earnestly: -“Robert will be a lucky man to win that girl. I’ve known her for so -long, and have been so fond of her, that nothing but my age prevents -my stepping in now and interfering with Robert. The first time I ever -saw her,” he continued reminiscently, “she was a mere child, a quaint -red-headed little thing, with a world of tragedy in her big eyes. -That was a few months after she had lost her father. She had replied -to a question of her aunt’s, simply ‘yes,’—and Mrs. Weston was -striving to make her say ‘yes, ma’am.’”</p> - -<p>“Which won?” Mrs. Malloy asked idly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. The last I saw of them they were walking down the -street, Mrs. Weston dragging her along and saying, ‘You <em>won’t</em> say -“Yes, ma’am,” to me! Well, I’ll teach you some manners if you live -with me!’ But as I have never since heard Meg say ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I -have an idea that she won the day.”</p> - -<p>When Robert returned, he sought his mother and said briefly: “Another -hand than mine has turned the boat back into the still waters of the -monastery. My novitiate begins in six weeks. Let us leave here in a -few days, that we may spend the remainder of the time alone -together.”</p> - -<p>All the glory had departed from her face, and she only nodded, not -trusting herself to speak.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXIV'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XIV.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Unto every one that hath shall be given, and he</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>shall have abundance; but from him that hath not</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>shall be taken away even that which he hath.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Meg did not see Robert again before he left. Mrs. Malloy she saw only -for a moment, in the presence of her aunt, when she came to tell them -“Good-bye.” “We leave to-morrow,” she explained with an attempt at a -smile; “Robert has only six weeks more of liberty.”</p> - -<p>They looked into each other’s eyes, the two women who loved him. Soul -recognized soul, and Meg, throwing her arms around his mother, -whispered, “God give you strength to bear it.”</p> - -<p>For reply, Mrs. Malloy clasped her close a moment and said so low -that Mrs. Weston could not hear, though she strained her ears. “If I -find I cannot bear it alone, and send for you, will you come?”</p> - -<p>Meg could only nod. A moment more, and she was gone. Meg stood -staring after her till her aunt’s rasping voice broke the spell: “Do -you want the neighbors to say that you are dying of love for that -young man? No? Well, then, don’t act so mawkish about his mother!”</p> - -<p>Meg could stand no more, and ran up to her room to escape the -persecution.</p> - -<p>The days dragged on hopelessly and drearily. One day, about three -weeks after Robert’s departure, Ada Walker came to see her. She -looked very pretty in her mourning-clothes, and her face wore a -pensive air which was becoming to her.</p> - -<p>“I have come to say ‘Good-bye,’” was her greeting. “Good-bye!” asked -Meg in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am going to put Gertie in boarding-school, and then I am -going East to study music.”</p> - -<p>“And the home?”</p> - -<p>“I have sold that,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“Sold Charlie’s home!” gasped the girl.</p> - -<p>“Certainly. He always wanted me to keep up my music, and I couldn’t -be bothered with a house.”</p> - -<p>Meg said nothing. “You know, Meg, Charlie would have wished it,” she -said somewhat peevishly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Charlie would have wanted you to do just as you wished,” -replied Meg drearily. Then suddenly she burst into tears, and -throwing her arms around Ada’s neck, cried, “Oh, I can’t bear to see -you go! You are all of Charlie that is left to me, and <em>everybody</em> is -going from me!”</p> - -<p>Ada looked surprised at her burst of emotion, and said patronizingly: -“Why, I didn’t know that you cared so much! We people of deeper -feelings are sometimes at a loss to understand you frivolous ones!”</p> - -<p>The words acted like a tonic on Meg, who dried her eyes, and said -with bitter lightness, “You must allow us frivolous ones to mope -occasionally. We are not always gay.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose not,” said her cousin, eyeing her disapprovingly.</p> - -<p>After she had gone Meg went up to the attic where she kept the little -trunk containing her mother’s things. Unlocking it, she clothed -herself in the dress and apron of which she had spoken to Mrs. -Malloy. With the addition the spectacles, the use of which her -mother’s near-sightedness had compelled, and the piece of unfinished -work, she looked like a child masquerading in grown-up clothes. But -no child could have worn the look of absolute despair depicted upon -her face.</p> - -<p>She sat gazing into vacancy for a while, and then, remembering her -game, began to talk: “Margie, dearie, don’t you realize that you are -only a light-minded little thing? You must try to be serious, -darling, try to have sober thoughts, try to feel as people of deeper -natures do.</p> - -<p>“And another thing you must remember,—you must not stand in anybody’s -way. When you find that you are standing between anyone and the -light, just step aside. Never mind about yourself. You are of no -consequence. You are just a waif,—you don’t belong anywhere, and -don’t belong to anybody—”</p> - -<p>Suddenly the little red head went down on the folded arms, and she -began to sob, “Oh, mother! mother!”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXV'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XV.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“As a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>For a week or so after their return, Mrs. Malloy found herself, in -spite of her philosophy, growing bitter. She compared her life, -replete with all the bodily comforts that wealth procures, with that -of other women, who knew not the luxury of ease and comfort and -beautiful environments, but who, nevertheless, were surrounded by the -dear ones who alone make happiness.</p> - -<p>She looked around her house, which in the minutest detail evidenced -exquisite refinement of taste, and thought with despair that in a few -weeks those rooms would be empty,—empty of the presence of her best -beloved.</p> - -<p>But something occurred which obliterated her reflections, and roused -all the strength and courage of her character. Robert became very ill -with typhoid fever, and for days it was impossible to foresee the -issue.</p> - -<p>During his delirium he was like a child who dreads the dark, except -that the thing he feared was the monastery, that haven of rest for -which he had longed. He would beg his mother piteously to keep Margie -from pushing him through the gates.</p> - -<p>One day he returned from the Crossway leading into the Valley, and -smiled a sane, rational smile. And simultaneous with his recovery, -fell the scales from his eyes.</p> - -<p>He looked at the havoc anxiety had wrought in his mother’s face. Back -of the ever-ready smile, was a look he was beginning to understand.</p> - -<p>And from having doubts as to his duty to fulfill his vows, he became -positive that his place was with her. As day after day he thought it -out, he felt horror of himself for the wrong he had unconsciously -intended.</p> - -<p>Finally he told his mother. He begged her forgiveness for ever having -contemplated leaving her after his father’s death, and promised that -in the years to come he would try to make it up to her. She clasped -him in her arms, and murmured incoherent words of love, as she -pressed her face to his dark curls, as a mother does with a baby. -“Oh, mother mine, has it meant so much to you?” he asked in sorrow.</p> - -<p>“So much more than you can ever know,” she answered, “but this moment -compensates for a whole lifetime of suffering!”</p> - -<p>After a pause, during which he stroked her hand in silence, Mrs. -Malloy said gently, “Robert, I don’t want to rush in where angels -would fear to tread, so just stop me if the subject pains you,—but I -don’t understand why Margie refused to marry you.”</p> - -<p>“She didn’t exactly refuse me, Mother,” he said hesitatingly; and -then he told her of their conversation.</p> - -<p>His mother regarded him, during the recital, with amazement, -amusement, and consternation. When he had finished she observed -quietly: “My son, I see I neglected an important part of your -education. You are not schooled in woman-lore.”</p> - -<p>A little later a telegram went out to Meg from her, saying, “I need -you. Come.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXVI'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XVI.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to part,</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Makes up life’s tale to many a feeling heart!”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Valencia, to Meg, had become a barren spot on the map. Nothing -relieved the dreary monotony but the nagging tongue of her aunt, who, -it would seem, had found her mission in life, that of saying and -doing the little things which crucify.</p> - -<p>Meg felt that she could have endured having her house of cards tumble -about her feet; could even have been stoical, because accustomed to a -loveless life. But the constant jarring note,—the mean, cutting words -which dwelt upon the lips perpetually of her one relative, kept her -soul in such a turmoil, that she seriously thought of embracing -Catholicism, and retiring to the peace of a convent.</p> - -<p>That consolation, however, was denied her. She had not listened to -Mrs. Weston’s exordiums on unrequited love, without acquiring a -tolerably accurate idea of the remarks which such an act would call -forth,—remarks which she felt would follow and torment her, though -thirty convent walls, instead of one, hemmed her in from the strife -and malice and unwisdom of the world she had left.</p> - -<p>When she took a mental inventory of her accomplishments with the view -of engaging in some business, she knew she could not qualify. She was -skilled in cooking and housework,—but courageous as she was in her -convictions, she shrank from the social ostracism that would surely -follow, should she employ her one talent in earning her independence.</p> - -<p>While she was turning these things over in her mind, and trying to -come to a decision, the message came summoning her to the -aristocratic little Eastern city where Mrs. Malloy had made her home -since the early days of her wedded life.</p> - -<p>Before speaking to her aunt about it, Meg counted over her scanty -savings from her insufficient income, and found that she would have -barely money enough for a round-trip ticket. It had not occurred to -her to refuse the summons. She felt it her positive duty to go, and, -putting her own trouble behind her, to do what she could for the -stricken mother who had turned to her in her need.</p> - -<p>When she timidly mentioned it to Mrs. Weston, she said sharply, “You -surely don’t think of going! Why, it will only strengthen the opinion -most of the people have,—that you are desperately in love with Robert -Malloy.”</p> - -<p>Meg raised her head with a gesture of pride and dignity, though the -red blood mounted to her cheeks, as she replied, “You may tell the -neighbors should they inquire, that I <em>am</em> in love with him.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Margaret Anthony, I never heard so shameless an admission in my -life!”</p> - -<p>“I thought you might as well know, being my nearest of blood. You -have thrown out so many innuendoes about the matter, that it may ease -your mind to know the truth. Now you have the knowledge, you may sow -it broadcast. No,” as her aunt started to speak, “there is nothing -more to be said between us on the subject. You may discuss me with -the butcher-boy, or the garbage-gatherer, whom I would consider a -proper receptacle for such gossip, or any one who inspires you with a -desire to talk,—but I demand silence for myself!”</p> - -<p>It was a new phase of Meg’s character, which Mrs. Weston did not -understand, and as she did not possess a spirit of adventure, she -wisely refrained from disobeying the injunction.</p> - -<p>The following day, with her few clothes, her ticket, and a small -lunch-box which Delia had smuggled to her, Meg set out on her -journey. To her it was a new experience, for since her orphanhood she -had scarcely been away from Valencia. It would have been a -pleasurable trip, but for the sorrow which she anticipated at its -close.</p> - -<p>She was so intensely alive, that everything interested her: the -occupants of the car, and the moving panorama without, the rolling -prairies of her own State, the cool, wooded forests of Missouri, the -rich farms of Illinois. But as she neared her journey’s end, and -contemplated what it meant to her, and to that other lonely woman who -loved him, her thoughts took shape, and, closing her eyes, she tried -to realize the full force of the blow that had fallen alike upon his -mother and herself.</p> - -<p>In imagination she saw it all! A dim, high-ceilinged cathedral, with -the monastery at the rear. The gloom was relieved only by the candles -at the altar. A priest was droning the Latin of his prayer-book, -while the organ in the loft was playing some soft, monotonous air, -that got into her brain and nearly soothed her into forgetfulness. -Suddenly it burst into a triumphant Te Deum, as the altar boys -appeared, followed by other priests, and lastly, by five young men -clad in the brown robe of the order of St. Francis.</p> - -<p>Her eyes sought their faces, one by one, till the last one was -reached. He was white, and in his eyes was the look of a man who had -lived, and loved, and lost. Over the heads of the other novitiates, -beyond the forms of the priests, his eyes met and held hers. And when -he should have responded in Latin, with the others, no sound issued -from his lips, but his eyes, fixed on hers, said: “Margie, I love you -so! You are dearer to me than all the world, dearer to me than the -cloistered life I thought would be all-sufficing!”</p> - -<p>She held out her arms to him, but into his face had come the gray -pallor of a living death. The service went on and on, endlessly, it -seemed to her. It was all so meaningless! Her mind comprehended -nothing. Her heart, tense and ready to break, knew only that he was -leaving her. The beauty of the music, the impressiveness and -solemnity of the service meant but the one thing,—Robert was leaving -her!</p> - -<p>The service ended, his eyes said farewell to her,—and, with the -others, to the same monotonous music of the organ that had first -lulled her senses, he retreated, farther and farther away from her, -until at last he disappeared entirely. There was a moment of terrible -suspense, as she strained her ears to listen. Then came the clang of -the monastery gates, as they closed behind him, shutting him out of -her life forever!</p> - -<p>“Missy, de train’s done reached Welcomeville. Ain’t dis where you all -get off?”</p> - -<p>Meg sat up straight and looked at the colored porter in a dazed -manner for a moment. Then, gathering her few possessions together, -she left the train.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXVII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XVII.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Mrs. Malloy became oppressed with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt, -in the days following the sending of the message. It was foreign to -her nature to do anything about which there was necessity of being -secretive, and she shrank from the consequences of the revelation, -should her act meet Robert’s disapproval.</p> - -<p>But dominant over that and every other sensation was her joy at her -son’s defection from his chosen path, and the anticipation of his -happiness in knowing that Meg loved him.</p> - -<p>She did not meet Meg at the train, sending her trusted coachman -alone, for she preferred receiving her in her home. When the carriage -drove up, and she saw Meg’s white, drawn face, she became momentarily -nervous. But the nervousness gave way to happiness when she held the -girl in her arms, and caressed her hair. “Dear Mrs. Malloy,” Meg -whispered, “I seem so helpless! What can I do to make the burden -easier?”</p> - -<p>The silence that followed became uncomfortable. And Meg, looking up, -saw such a light on the face bending over hers that she added -wonderingly, “Why, how strange you look! What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Please listen patiently, dear little girl, and don’t misunderstand -me. But first, let me take off your hat,—there—and now sit down. What -would you say if I told you that Robert had given up the monastery?”</p> - -<p>Meg looked at her in a dazed manner, but made no reply. Mrs. Malloy -continued: “He awakened to the knowledge that he was more necessary -on <em>this</em> side of the gates.”</p> - -<p>Meg suddenly sat up very straight and asked in a strained voice, “And -the message? When did you send the message?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy laughed softly, “Just as soon as he told me.”</p> - -<p>“But you said you needed me.” The girl’s tone was hard.</p> - -<p>For the first time Mrs. Malloy realized that here was an undreamed of -force, and she was suddenly reduced to an uncomfortable knowledge -that she had perhaps made a mistake. She hastened to adjust matters -by an explanation. “I felt I <em>did</em> need you, my dear, for Robert. He -told me he loved you, and as I have always tried to procure for him -everything he wished, I thought I would bring you to him.” She tried -to laugh, but the effort was a failure.</p> - -<p>“Then you have spoiled him by getting him all the playthings he -wanted,” Meg said dryly. “A little denial earlier in life would have -been morally beneficial. You should have let him cry for the moon, -and he would have learned the futility of tears.”</p> - -<p>“Margie, dear,—” Mrs. Malloy leaned forward, and her tone was -pleading,—“don’t talk like that. It breaks my heart. I have -blundered, but only through love of my boy and you. Can’t you forgive -a foolish old woman?”</p> - -<p>Meg smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. “Certainly I will -forgive you. But Rob—your son: does he know you have sent for me?”</p> - -<p>“No, he has no idea of it. And now that I see how you regard it, I -fear to meet his contempt when he knows that I have interfered, -fruitlessly, with his affairs.”</p> - -<p>“But he need never know it,” Meg said quickly; “I will take the first -train back, and he need not know I was here.”</p> - -<p>Robert’s convalescence had reached the stage where he longed to prove -to his loving mother that she had been needlessly alarmed about him. -Therefore, slipping out of his easy-chair in the library, he started -into the hall to find and surprise her. Following the direction of -her voice and that other low-toned one, which was so strangely -familiar, he pulled aside the heavy draperies, and stood framed in -the doorway.</p> - -<p>“Margie!” he cried, steadying himself by the curtains.</p> - -<p>At the sound of that cry, and at sight of his thin, white face, she -half started toward him with an inarticulate exclamation. But -suddenly she remembered, and advancing formally, gave him her hand to -shake, and said in a conventional tone, as though they had met the -day before: “Good afternoon, Mr. Malloy. I hope you are improving in -health.”</p> - -<p>Robert dropped weakly into a chair, and with his eyes still fixed on -her face, said to Mrs. Malloy: “Mother, is it a cruel hallucination? -Or is it really my Margie, standing there?”</p> - -<p>Meg flushed deeply, but before she could say anything Mrs. Malloy -interposed: “Let me explain, dear. I have been a foolish meddler. I -wired Margie that I needed her, and she came, thinking you had gone -into the monastery.”</p> - -<p>An awkward pause followed, which Robert broke, falteringly: “Margie, -it is not a time to stand on formality, and I know from my former -experience that a delay in speaking is sometimes disastrous. So I am -going to ask you a question in the presence of my mother. Will you be -my wife?”</p> - -<p>Meg’s face was white, and her voice quietly cold as she replied, “I -am not unmindful of the very great honor you do me, Robert, but I -must decline it.” And turning to Mrs. Malloy, “Is there a train I can -take to-night?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear, not till morning. Let me take you to your room, and you -can rest, for I know you are tired.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” Meg said sweetly, and giving Robert a little nod she -followed his mother from the room.</p> - -<p>After opening her door for her and seeing that everything was as she -had ordered, even to the flowers, and the cheerful grate fire, Mrs. -Malloy turned to leave the room. At the threshold she paused, and Meg -was really concerned to see the look of age which had overtaken her -features. “You would better rest a while,” she said, “and I will have -you called in time for dinner.”</p> - -<p>When she was alone Meg threw herself down in a chair before the fire -and sat staring into the glowing embers. She was deeply wounded and -offended. “Do they think I have no self-respect?” she said to -herself. “Mrs. Malloy, knowing me to be dying of love for Robert, and -being accustomed to gratifying his slightest whim, hands me to him on -a platter, with her compliments. And he, so polite, having been -taught to say ‘Please,’ and ‘Thank you,’ accepts me graciously. -‘Thank you, Mother dear; you have the knack of always getting me just -what I want. It’s very pretty. I would prefer it to that monastery or -any other toy.’”</p> - -<p>Just then a glowing log separated, and fell with a hissing sound; -gradually the glow faded from it and it became gray and lifeless. -“That’s it,” Meg soliloquized; “that log represents life. One moment -so full of color and warmth, the next, a handful of ashes.—I hate -Robert.—He looks very badly.—I wonder if he was in any danger.—I -suppose his mother must have been terribly anxious.—Auntie would say -I was sentimentalizing.—I wonder—” The tired head fell back against -the cushion of the chair, and she slept dreamlessly and sweetly, till -she was summoned to dinner.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXVIII'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Her children arise up and call her blessed.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Meg, refreshed by her nap, was her usual sprightly self at dinner. -Mrs. Malloy looked weary and old, and had little to say. Robert, who -dined only by courtesy, his repast consisting of a bowl of bouillon, -conversed with Meg on the impersonal topics she selected.</p> - -<p>He found it impossible to get on the old familiar footing. Even the -subject of Aunt Amelia, she treated with respect, refusing to see the -opportunities for ridicule which his polite inquiries furnished, and -of which, once, she would have taken advantage. She was bright and -gracious, but there was a new dignity about her, which forbade any -approach to the doorway of her emotions.</p> - -<p>Robert had forborne to reproach his mother. Being by instinct and -breeding a gentleman, he did not say a word to wound her. Yet ever in -his deference, she was conscious of his resentment. She knew that he -attributed his failure to win Margie, to her interference. That, had -he been left alone to shape his fate, his desire would have led him -back to Valencia, there to woo and win the maiden in the -old-fashioned conventional manner.</p> - -<p>And through her over-zeal, his bubble had burst,—the prize was beyond -his seeking!</p> - -<p>She was very miserable in her self-communion. More so, perhaps, than -either of her companions. With Robert, hope was not by any means -extinct. With Margie, in spite of her schooling, and her wounded -pride, the warmth and glow of life came into her heart, as she looked -across at Robert, listened to his deep, expressive voice, and met his -eyes, containing the message of love he dared not speak.</p> - -<p>As they started to leave the dining-room, Mrs. Malloy turned suddenly -white, and before Robert could catch her, she sank in a crumpled heap -on the floor. It was only a fainting spell, induced by her -unhappiness following so closely upon the exhaustion and anxiety -attending Robert’s illness.</p> - -<p>But this they did not know, those two young creatures! To them it -resembled the sleep of death, and they both knelt beside her, frantic -with self-reproach, crying and calling to her to open her eyes and -speak. When she finally emerged from the swoon, she looked from one -to the other of them. Thinking she was dying, and that the wish she -could not frame in words was her last request, Meg sobbingly cried, -“Yes, dear Mrs. Malloy, I <em>will</em> marry him if he wants me, for I do -love him.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Robert, putting his arm around Meg, said solemnly, “Mother -darling, it shall be as you wish. We love each other, and will send -for the priest at once if you say so.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Malloy closed her eyes from sheer weakness, but even in her -half-swoon the look of youth stole back to her features, and a -beneficent expression of peace came over them. When she felt strong -enough to speak, she asked to be helped to the couch.</p> - -<p>The young couple bent over her solicitously, and when she again -opened her eyes, Robert asked in a low voice, “Shall I send for the -doctor for you, and the priest for us, Mother dear?”</p> - -<p>She smiled faintly. “I do not need the doctor, for I simply fainted. -As for the priest, suit yourselves, but don’t send on my account, for -I think I will live till morning. And now, if Margie will come to -help me, I am going to my room to lie down. I would rather have you -than a servant, dear. Good-night, my boy. I will send Margie back to -you soon.”</p> - -<p>A little later, Meg whispered to Robert, “I believe she fainted on -purpose!”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXIX'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XIX.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>“Sweet is every sound,</p> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet.”</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>Meg was writing to her aunt, and Robert leaned over her shoulder and -read: “So I will be married here, and then we will take a trip for -Robert’s health. Auntie, please don’t suspect me of marrying for -money, but did you guess they were rich? <em>I</em> didn’t, till I came -here, and then I saw. Most of the rich people we know make such a -vulgar display, and that is why, I suppose, I did not suspect it of -them. I feel like a fairy princess—”</p> - -<p>Meg stopped writing and leaned back in her chair. “Robert Malloy,” -she said with pretended severity, “I am surprised that your mother -never taught you it was impolite to look over people’s shoulders. I -suppose she wanted to leave part of your education to me.”</p> - -<p>“Speaking of fairy princesses, tell me the rest of that story you -began the day that poor, dear little boy stubbed his poor, dear -little toe.”</p> - -<p>She blushed at the remembrance, but passed on the reference, and -began her story without a preface: “Well, the beautiful, amiable -princess, almost too good for this world, finally met her Prince, or -at least a very good imitation of one, but he thought <em>he</em> was too -good for this world—”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think I care for your story,” and he pretended to yawn.</p> - -<p>“And I don’t think you would make a good monk. You are not fat -enough,” remarked Meg irrelevantly; and then, seeing a tense look on -Robert’s face, she leaned forward and said contritely, “Oh, Bobbie, I -never will make light of it again! Honest! Cross my heart and hope to -die!”</p> - -<p>“I hope not, dear one,” he said gently; “I have given it all up, and -I have no regrets, but,—”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” seriously, “I understand.”</p> - -<p>Robert had drawn a chair up beside her, and was holding and caressing -her hand. “Tell me, little girl, where you would like to go, when we -leave the world behind us.”</p> - -<p>Her face assumed a prim look, as she replied: “I have always been -taught that if I mended my ways and became very, <em>very</em> good, I would -go to Heaven.”</p> - -<p>Robert laughed. “But in the meantime? I would like to travel more or -less for a year, especially as Mother can be with us part of the -time. After that, I will come home and go into some kind of -business.”</p> - -<p>Meg’s eyes were shining with excitement. “Won’t it be fine!” she -exclaimed; “I have always longed to see the world. I want to view the -universe from the summit of Pike’s Peak. I would like to gather -oranges in Florida, to be prodigal with flowers in California. It is -my desire to be made dumb by the magnificence of Yellowstone -Park,—temporarily dumb, you understand,—and deaf by the roar of -Niagara!”</p> - -<p>“And you have never been to any of these places?”</p> - -<p>“No, but I once went to Tecumseh! That’s fifteen miles from -Valencia,” she replied confidentially.</p> - -<p>Robert laughed. Her voice became softly reminiscent, as she -continued: “I used to ‘pretend’ that I was traveling. I wandered -through quaint old streets in the unfrequented northern parts of -Great Britain. I spent whole weeks in that little town with its one -street, paved with cobblestones, leading straight down to the sea. I -reveled in the strong, salt air, and the odor of the fish, freshly -caught,—though I never could bear to smell them in a meat market in -Valencia!” and her small nose went up at the recollection.</p> - -<p>“And did you never visit France, Germany, or Italy?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,—and Spain, where were all my possessions! I didn’t miss any -of the usual places, but I was contrary enough to prefer the unbeaten -path. That, I suppose, is the spirit of my pioneer ancestors in me. I -dearly loved Ireland, and the warm-hearted Irish people,—indeed, -indeed, I’m not saying it to flatter you!”</p> - -<p>Robert was enjoying himself thoroughly, and to encourage her in her -whimsicalities, he asked, “Did you never visit Japan?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it was there I learned the exquisite art of arranging flowers. -But auntie, being a born and bred Valencian, could never be convinced -that it was not artistic to stuff a vase full of nasturtiums, -geraniums and sweet peas, with a garnishing of alyssum and petunias!”</p> - -<p>“You must have gained quite a smattering of the languages in your -travels,” Robert said idly.</p> - -<p>“<em>Just</em> a smattering! Not enough to make me forget the everyday -language which years of association had made familiar, if not dear. -My travels usually ended as abruptly as though a cablegram had called -me home. Just as I would alight from one voyage, and, living over -again my delight in the scenes which had enchanted me, before -preening my wings and preparing for another flight, I would be jerked -back to my commonplace existence by a familiar voice saying, ‘Meg, -tell Delia to boil some cabbage for dinner!’ Auntie was addicted to -cabbage,” she concluded plaintively.</p> - -<p>There was something of sadness in Robert’s smile, as he said: “Poor -little bird with the clipped wings! How much of pleasure and -happiness you have missed. Please God, I shall make it up to you!”</p> - -<p>Meg gave him a grateful, upward look, as she exclaimed impulsively, -“Oh, Robert, my dear, you will have to give me so much love to make -up for the fifteen years I have missed it.”</p> - -<p>“For twenty years, for forty years, if you say so, sweetheart, for -the supply is unlimited. And you,—will you turn on your shaded lights -for me?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, with sweet gravity, “for shaded lights are -artificial. They may, at any time, flicker and go out. Nothing but -the sunlight and the moonlight will do now, to express my love.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<div class='chapter'> -<h1 id='chXX'><a href='#toc'>CHAPTER XX.</a></h1> -<p style='margin-left:2em'>An after-thought.</p> -<p> </p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>Mr. Robert Spencer to Robert Malloy:</p> - -<div class='bq'> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:right;'>“Valencia, Nov. 5.</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>“<em>Dear Robert</em>: Hold on. Wait for me. I made the match, and it’s no -fair playing the game out till I come. Will take the first train. But -what a combination of hair and name for your wife! It fixes her -nationality, all right. Red-headed Meg Malloy! Salute her, for</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:right;'>“Uncle Bob.”</p> -</div> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>Mrs. Amelia Weston to Miss Margaret Anthony:</p> - -<div class='bq'> -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:right;'>“Valencia, Nov. 5.</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>“<em>Dear Niece Margaret</em>: For such I suppose you will prefer to be -called, now that you are to marry a rich man. I hope you will not -forget your former friends and relatives who befriended you in your -hour of need. And I trust you will profit by the refined example I -have striven to set you. Be careful of your table manners. You always -had a tendency to put your elbow on the table. I used to think you did -it to annoy me. Perhaps if Robert never speaks of it you may cease -doing it. I am very much afraid the neighbors will say you pursued -Robert to his very home to marry him. They are likely to say you were -afraid to come back to Valencia to be married for fear he would change -his mind. It is just awful the way people gossip!</p> - -<p>“Of course, I am glad you are going to marry well. But I can’t help -thinking how sweet Robert would have looked in that brown bath-robe.</p> - -<p>“I have bought a new complexion beautifier that I like so much. The -young lady agent explained that my complexion really didn’t need -improvement, but that this was a good preservator. She is a very -pleasant young lady.</p> - -<p>“Give my respects to Mrs. Malloy and your future husband. I hope he -won’t live to regret choosing you instead of the monastery.</p> - -<p style='text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;text-align:right;'>“Your loving Aunt Amelia.</p> -<p> </p> - -<p class='first'>“P.S.—I am having the sweetest little dress made! It is of light-blue -cashmere, trimmed in the cutest little chiffon ruffles. The dressmaker -thinks it is going to be very becoming to me.”</p> -</div> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Meg, of Valencia, by Myra Williams Jarrell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEG, OF VALENCIA *** - -***** This file should be named 40926-h.htm or 40926-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/2/40926/ - -Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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