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diff --git a/old/52019-8.txt b/old/52019-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a4580d5..0000000 --- a/old/52019-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12706 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ellen Levis, by Elsie Singmaster - -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: Ellen Levis - A Novel - -Author: Elsie Singmaster - -Release Date: May 7, 2016 [EBook #52019] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELLEN LEVIS *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Ian Crann and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - ELLEN LEVIS - _A NOVEL_ - BY - ELSIE SINGMASTER - _Author of "Katy Gaumer," "Basil Everman," etc._ - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - _The Riverside Press Cambridge_ - 1921 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ELSIE SINGMASTER LEWARS - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - U . S . A - - - - - CONTENTS - - - I. A FRIEND IN NEED 3 - - II. ELLEN REFUSES TO HEAR A CALL 15 - - III. TWO VERSIONS OF THE SAME STORY 22 - - IV. A SLUMBERING TERROR 32 - - V. LEVIS SPEAKS HIS MIND 39 - - VI. STUDYING IN VACATION 48 - - VII. AN EVENING PILGRIMAGE 54 - - VIII. MATTHEW MAKES HIS CHOICE 61 - - IX. A GROWING MIND 73 - - X. UNEXPECTED GUESTS 83 - - XI. CHANGE 92 - - XII. A QUICKENING TERROR 99 - - XIII. MATTHEW COMES HOME 102 - - XIV. AMOS VENTURES INTO THE WORLD 108 - - XV. ELLEN IS OFFERED A WAY OUT 120 - - XVI. ELLEN SOLVES HER PROBLEM 126 - - XVII. GOLDSTEIN'S JEWELRY STORE 133 - - XVIII. A CLOCK RUNS DOWN 141 - - XIX. FETZER ENGAGES A NEW MAID 150 - - XX. MASTER AND MISTRESS 156 - - XXI. A LOST SHEEP 163 - - XXII. A CRISIS AT HAND 168 - - XXIII. A STRANGE JOURNEY 178 - - XXIV. AN UNHAPPY SCHOLAR 184 - - XXV. A PROJECTED ATONEMENT 187 - - XXVI. A VISIT TO EPHRATA 196 - - XXVII. ELLEN'S DREAMS COME TRUE 204 - - XXVIII. FETZER'S EYE IS OPENED 214 - - XXIX. GRANDFATHER AND AMOS MAKE DISCOVERIES 217 - - XXX. FETZER DELIVERS A SERMON 226 - - XXXI. ELLEN REMEMBERS BROTHER REITH 233 - - XXXII. GRANDFATHER PLANS A CRIME 237 - - XXXIII. ELLEN UNDERTAKES TO CONQUER HERSELF 242 - - XXXIV. A DARK TOWER 246 - - XXXV. AN UNDELIVERED MESSAGE 257 - - XXXVI. MATTHEW AND ELLEN 261 - - XXXVII. A BITTER WAKENING 272 - - XXXVIII. A QUIET HOUR 280 - - XXXIX. FETZER CLOSES A DOOR 283 - - - - -ELLEN LEVIS - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A FRIEND IN NEED - - -On a dismal day in March, four years before Ellen Levis was born or -dreamed of, the slight acquaintance of Stephen Lanfair and Edward -Levis was quickened by an unpleasant incident into friendship. Both -attended the University Medical School in Philadelphia and both were -ambitious, but there the resemblance between them ended. Stephen, an -underclassman, the only son of a physician, had been started early and -well in his career, and was the youngest student; Levis, a Senior, had -fended for himself and was almost the oldest. Stephen had an allowance -which was not large, but which sufficed for all necessities and some -luxuries; Levis had only that which he earned by tutoring, and by -acting as substitute instructor, laboratory assistant, and editor of -the _Students' Quarterly_. Their acquaintance began when Stephen, -wishing to win a place on the editorial board of the _Quarterly_, and -conferring with Levis, had been invited by him to become a contributor -to the next issue. - -On the morning of that dismal March day Stephen sat, far from -Philadelphia, in the room which had been his father's office in -Chestnut Ridge, a coal-mining town above Wilkes-Barre, waiting until it -was time for the train which should take him back to the Medical School -which he had left to attend his father in his last illness. - -He looked drearily and absent-mindedly out into the thick mist which -hid all but the immediate neighborhood, a dirty, unpaved street, a -stretch of sidewalk made of powdery black culm, and the front of a -large dim building, the "company store." He saw not only what the mist -revealed, but what it hid, a continuation of the dreary street, running -between a black hill and a blacker culm bank, and terminating in a -towering breaker, shapeless and hideous in design. There was no color -in the landscape; all was a dense black or a soft, woolly gray. The -company store had once been painted red, but the red had long ago been -overlaid by black. - -With him sat the superintendent of the mine, Harry Kinter, a plump, -friendly young man with a pendent under lip and easy manners. He -slouched, cigarette in hand, in what had been Dr. Lanfair's office -chair, looking with dull, kindly eyes at his companion. He was sorry -for the distressed youth and was doing his best to comfort him in a -practical way. - -"Now I can get the old fellow from Hazelton to come up for a couple -of years, Stephen. He'll be good for that long, I'm sure, and perhaps -longer. But we must have your word to settle here when you're through -school; otherwise we'll try to get a permanent man. The advantage to -you would be a salary from the beginning, which is what most young -fellows don't get. Wouldn't you like the place for the sake of your -father? Perhaps the company would be willing to pay you something to -help you along if they could have your promise." - -Stephen glanced toward the superintendent and then away, unable to -command his voice. He was tall and thin and the looseness of his -clothing and the length of his hair which he refused to have trimmed -by the Chestnut Ridge barber, as well as his expression of fatigue, -made him look forlorn. The offer of a position indicated a willingness -of the mining company to take doubtful risks, since other lives could -hardly be of much importance to one who valued his own so little. - -His pale cheeks and swollen eyelids indicated not only the weariness of -nights spent in watching, but a copious shedding of tears and also an -acute present anxiety. Alas! it might be that he would have no other -place to go, that this dreary settlement would be his sole refuge, a -gravelike refuge, but a refuge none the less. If, as he anticipated, -disgrace awaited him at the University, he might be only too happy to -return to this inaccessible spot whither it was not likely that a rumor -of his misdeed would ever penetrate, or where, if it did penetrate, it -would be vaguely understood and condoned. Physicians willing to bury -themselves in Chestnut Ridge were not so easily found that the mining -company could afford to be fastidious. - -It was not that Chestnut Ridge offered no opportunities to a physician. -One could not look casually out of the window at this hour without -seeing opportunities, even on a morning when most of the world was -hidden from view. Four out of the ten women who stood gossiping -in strange tongues before the company store--Austrian, Hungarian, -Bohemian, Lithuanian--would need in a short time the attention of a -physician. The children tugging at their skirts were under-nourished. -It was still too early for the men of the night shift to have had their -rest and be on the street, but when they appeared their faces would -show the effect of the long hours spent away from the sunlight and of -the liquor with which they enlivened their periods of idleness. There -was no doubt that Chestnut Ridge needed a physician. - -But such work would be done by Stephen only under compulsion. Here his -father had wasted his life; he had been at the call of every foreigner, -had spent day after day at the squalid bedsides of suffering women, -waiting upon uncleanness, and had died at the age of fifty of blood -poison, contracted in an emergency operation performed hastily and -without gloves, to save two lives far less valuable than his own. He -had apparently not regretted his course; he had accepted his fate -quietly and without complaint and had been anxious only that Stephen -should understand exactly about his small inheritance. Afterwards he -lay low in his bed, his hands clasped across his breast, repeating the -poetry he loved, a little, lean, bearded man, with eager eyes and a -heartening smile, wholly unconscious of the loftiness of his own soul. - -Presently he became confused and tried to remember a formula which he -frequently recited at the bedsides of dying patients, sometimes in -English for Protestants, but more often in Latin for Catholics who -could not be reached in time by the busy head of a wide parish. It was -a formula which for him explained the world, made sacrifice easy, and a -solution of all life's difficulties certain. - -"I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth," he -said faintly and could go no further. - -He had looked at his son earnestly and Stephen had prompted him, not -without embarrassment. Stephen had been trained in the principles of -the Christian faith and he had believed them, but they were now with -him wholly a matter of rote; religion was not, he believed, a necessity -of his life. - -Stephen meant to be not a general practitioner like his father, but -a specialist in the diseases of the eye like Professor Mayne of the -Medical School, and his ambition aimed not only at such skill as -Professor Mayne possessed and such fame as he had won, but also at a -similar accumulation of wealth. He did not expect to attain his end -without hard labor. He was a diligent student, and he was willing to -devote himself night and day to his task. - -His hopes of success were not unfounded, and his unusual ability was -appreciated not only by himself, but by his teachers. He had won -the First Year prize, and Professor Mayne had intimated to him that -of all the candidates for the position of interne at the Ophthalmic -Hospital he was most likely to be appointed. Such a position as that at -Chestnut Ridge should be given to a man like his acquaintance, Levis, -who had worked his way through school and who had endured so much -hardship that a regular salary would be desirable, even with all the -accompanying disadvantages. He might even describe the place to Levis -and suggest that he apply for it, or he might mention his name to the -superintendent as a possible employee. He pitied men like Levis with -all his heart. - -But he might need the Chestnut Ridge practice for himself--let him not -forget that! He rose and walked up and down the room, still without -answering Kinter, who seemed half asleep. - -If only he had not imperiled his future by a piece of madness! Having -signified his willingness to contribute to the _Quarterly_, and -being immensely pleased and flattered by this opportunity to shine, -he was visited by the sterility of mind common to youth which has -a creative task set for it. When he was summoned to his father's -bedside, his article was not yet begun; indeed, he had not yet selected -a subject--and he had expected to make with this contribution an -impression upon the whole of the Medical School and the Faculty as well! - -During an unoccupied hour when the fatal termination of his father's -illness was still in doubt, he had found in an old yellowed medical -journal in the drawer of the office desk, an article proposing an -ingenious and at the same time unfounded and actually ludicrous theory -of the origin of cancer. The magazine was published in England--he did -not know how it had come into his father's possession. - -The theory seemed to him novel and ingenious, though possibly mistaken; -he did not realize that it was ludicrous. In one of those moments of -madness which are part of youth, he condensed the article, copied -it, and sent it to Levis. The act was like the occasional thefts of -children who take pennies in order to buy candy and who repent bitterly -and are forever after honest. He was ambitious as children are hungry; -the desire for fame was his strongest impulse and he could not let pass -even so small an opportunity to shine. - -As he sat by his father's bedside, where stupor had at last succeeded -paroxysm and the end had become the matter of a day, he realized -suddenly what he had done. It may have been that the principles in -which he had been trained reasserted their power over him; it may have -been that his father's face, which looked in its sunken condition like -the face of a tortured saint, recalled him to himself; at any rate, he -saw as by a lightning flash the foolishness of his act. - -Having realized his mistake, he tried to remedy it. Calling from his -window to a passing miner, he sent a telegram to Levis, "Do not publish -my article." In a few hours he received word that the magazine had -gone to press. Levis had added a sentence at which he groaned aloud, -"Article all right." - -If the college officials detected his plagiarism, it would mean the -end of all his hopes. Professor Mayne would no longer distinguish him -by his commendation and friendly attentions; he would have no chance -of becoming an interne at the Ophthalmic Hospital and thus of pursuing -immediately his longed-for work; he would have to accept the position -at Chestnut Ridge and bid good-bye to his proud hopes. - -It might be that he would have to suffer actual punishment. The prize, -which was to add a hundred dollars to his income, might be taken from -him and public mention might be made of his disgrace. It would not be -greatly to be wondered at if the Faculty chose to assume that all his -carefully wrought papers, all his well-prepared examinations, were -accompanied by a similar dishonesty. - -In the midst of his distress, he realized that the superintendent had -waited a long time for an answer. - -"I'll have to think it over, Harry. It's time for me to start now." - -Kinter rose lazily and lifted Stephen's satchel. - -"You let me hear from you in the course of the next few weeks; and in -the meantime we'll engage the old man for a year at least. You won't -find it so dreadfully dull here, believe me. It's possible to get down -to Wilkes-Barre on the evening train and back in the caboose of the -freight; gives you a nice long evening. I know some girls and I'll -introduce you to them. They have dances once in a while. You'll get -accustomed to it. I have. I guess diseases are pretty much the same as -mines, alike everywhere." - -In the train Stephen sat close to the window, a forbidding shoulder -turned toward a possibly loquacious seat-mate. His very heart was sick, -but he fancied that it was his body, made so by the motion of the car. -Usually he enjoyed the ride, first through the region of breakers and -culm banks which took on a weird picturesqueness on a bright day, -then along the upper reaches of the Susquehanna and the narrow defile -through which the Lehigh passes at Mauch Chunk, and into the farm -lands farther down. He liked also to note the changing speech, the -foreign tongues in his own neighborhood, the broad Pennsylvania German -at Allentown, the less accented speech near Philadelphia. But to-day -nothing engaged his attention but his own misery. - -On the news-stand in the station in Philadelphia he saw the _Students' -Quarterly_. He was tempted at first to pass quickly by and thus put -off for a while the final realization of his shame, but he bought a -copy and walked through the station to a bench so placed that he could -turn his back to all the world. When he sat down he found that he was -holding his breath, though suspense was not exactly his condition of -mind, since suspense implied some hope, and he believed that there was -none for Stephen Lanfair. - -Then his lips parted and his eyes dilated and a deadly paleness spread -over a countenance already white. The day of miracles was not past; God -did not mean him to be destroyed. - -He found the article, "A New Theory," and his name "Stephen Lanfair." -He found under his name a note: "This article is not original, but is -an abstract of a mistaken and amusing but ingenious treatise by John -Dalling, a famous London physician. It was first published in England -in 1837." The note, a reader would have said, was placed there by the -contributor himself. - -Saint Elizabeth, finding in the fifteenth century the loaves in her -apron turned to roses in answer to her prayer, may have been surprised. -Stephen Lanfair, finding a similar benison in the nineteenth, was -stupefied. - -When the machinery of his brain began to operate, he tried to -fathom the mystery. He had not written the note himself, that was -certain--some good angel in the guise of a critic had saved him, and -the only person through whose hands the manuscript had passed was -Edward Levis. - -Having crossed the city he knew not how, he found Levis in his poor -room. He was as thin as Lanfair and looked, with his black beard, -twenty years older. He took off a pair of large spectacles and bade -his guest sit down. Stephen remembered having heard that he had been a -foundling, brought up at Girard College. - -He did not answer Levis's greeting, he simply held out the magazine. - -"Did you put that note in, Levis?" - -Levis flushed. His nature was one of intense reserve and he anticipated -and deplored the unpleasantness of a confession. He believed that -he understood the boyish rashness which was to blame for Lanfair's -mistake, and he had added the note for his sake as well as for the sake -of the magazine. - -"I saw you had forgotten it," said he lightly. - -"Did you know the real author?" - -"Yes. I saw this article alluded to humorously long ago in Thurber's -textbook and I looked it up. The old magazine is on file here." - -"It is commonly known, then?" - -"Yes, I should say so, as a sort of absurdity. You see, of course, that -it is an absurdity." - -To this Stephen made no answer. He would have proved himself a fool, -then, as well as a knave! - -"Do you think many persons beside yourself would have recognized it?" - -"I think it likely, and of course one would have been enough. It was -all right for you to send it in, though; it has roused a great deal of -interest; it shows we have a sense of humor. I was very sorry to hear -that you lost your father, Lanfair." - -Stephen would have liked to lay his head on Levis's shoulder; instead -he laid it on Levis's desk. - -"I didn't mean to add a note," said he in a thick voice. "I meant to -pass it off as my own. I have been a dishonest fool." - -Levis stirred uneasily. - -"We all have to learn lessons." - -Stephen was crying like a child. - -"Don't, my dear fellow," said Levis. - -Stephen lifted his head. - -"I promise you that never in my life will I do anything of this kind -again. It's nearly killed me. If my father had known--I don't know what -he would have felt or done or said. He would have been heart-broken. -When I'm tempted to do anything wrong, anything of any kind, I'll think -of you. I promise you faithfully!" - -Levis smiled. - -"Promise yourself, Lanfair!" - -Stephen remembered at the end of the week to write his decision to -Kinter. He would not need, thank God, to go to Chestnut Ridge and -fix his eyes for the rest of his life upon the dirty street and the -dismal breaker and the ignorant, unclean women who were so often and so -direly in need of waiting upon! He thought of his father with an almost -intolerable tenderness of heart. His father had suffered everything, -cold and weariness and loneliness and hunger of mind, separation from -all that was interesting and profitable, and finally martyrdom itself -in a ghastly form. His father was a saint; he would always remember -him and love him, but he would not need to follow exactly in his -footsteps. He would have a career of which his father would have been -unspeakably proud; he would establish principles by which the whole -race of eye specialists would be governed; he would have an immensely -wide influence, and it would all be his father's doing. - -He told Levis about the position, feeling a little ashamed, and was -relieved when Levis explained that he had agreed to take a country -practice in Lancaster County. - -He was given the next day new reason to expect success. Professor Mayne -summoned him to his desk at the end of his last class and congratulated -him upon his answers in a recent examination. Mayne was as large in -body as he was in estate and his manner expressed his opulence. He had -a full round voice, he used long words deliberately and with perfect -correctness, and spoke with an old-fashioned rhythm, which accented -now important, now unimportant words, as though he obeyed some queer -quantitative law. He seemed to be health of body and mind incarnate, -but an inherited susceptibility to mental disorder had forbidden his -continuing his race. Life, he believed, was on the whole hideous if one -stopped to consider it; but clever men did not contemplate it, they -simply secured for themselves all the pleasures of the eye and the mind -and the body that it was possible to get without transgressing the laws -of health and common sense. - -Sitting at his desk, dressed in broadcloth, he looked pleasantly at his -pupil. Stephen's appearance had improved; his hair had been trimmed -after a homely bang-like fashion then prevailing, sleep had refreshed -him, and only the black band on his sleeve distinguished him as one -afflicted. His eyelids were no longer swollen and his eyes had resumed -a natural brilliancy which drew attention away from his somewhat -attenuated features. - -"I was interested in your contribution to the _Quarterly_, Lanfair. -Where did you discover that antediluvian absurdity?" - -"In an old magazine of my father's." Stephen could not suppress the -tears which burned his eyes. His relief from anxiety softened his -heart and the least expression of sympathy made him almost hysterical. -"He had evidently kept it because it was a curiosity. He was a great -reader. I didn't know that attention had been called to it in Thurber's -textbook until Levis told me." - -"We cannot be reminded of a good joke too often. I had forgotten it -entirely. Continue your general reading; it will eventually prove -profitable to you, no matter what department of medicine you select." - -Then, remembering that Lanfair's father had just died, Professor Mayne -invited him to dinner. His niece was to go with him to the theater and -they would dine at six o'clock at the New Windham Hotel. His carriage -was outside the building. Lanfair might just as well accompany him now. -Stephen followed down the hall, his heart thumping. - -His heart beat still more rapidly when he was seated opposite to Mayne -and next to his niece in the hotel dining-room. The girl, Hilda Fell, -was a little creature in exquisite clothes who looked up from under a -pair of brows which almost met and which gave to her face a willful -and imperious expression. She was very young and light as thistledown -and was already spoiled by wealth and idleness. The men whom she had -known hitherto were familiar with her type, but Stephen was not; he -thought of her as a charming princess, and when her bright eyes met -his, he looked back into them smiling, and not recognizing the intense -and somewhat unwholesome curiosity about life which animated them. He -had frequently heard of her as an orphan with a large estate of which a -great stone house on the river front in Harrisburg near the governor's -mansion was only a small part. She was an object of interest to the -students who knew her by sight and who discussed endlessly her wealth -and her fashionable clothes and admired her free manners. There was a -current rumor that she smoked cigarettes, a habit then almost unknown -among women. - -Professor Mayne teased her and she answered saucily. He deplored his -own ill fortune, and still more that of this little creature in whom -the taint of insanity was darker than in himself. He believed that -his sister, Hilda's mother, would have developed, if she had lived, a -serious melancholia ending possibly in suicide for which the family -history furnished abundant precedent. He was convinced of the present -soundness of Hilda's mind, but with him and Hilda the family must end. - -He looked at her and young Lanfair earnestly. Lanfair was ambitious; -he would improve and develop, and to him certain matters could be -explained. Before they parted he had invited Stephen to his house. - -Stephen went from the hotel table to Levis's room. He asked merely to -sit there with his book before the fire, which was the only means of -heating here where living was cheap. He was like a child who finds -assuagement for hurt in the silent company of an older person. - -Levis smiled and went on with his work. It was not often that students -sought him out merely for the pleasure of his company and he was -touched by this youthful devotion. - -Nor was it often, at least during his occupancy, that a girl's figure -and a pair of dark eyes were visualized against the background of the -old mantelpiece. Levis himself did not give one hour's thought in a -year to women; he believed that he was growing too old for love-making -and that hardship had made him immune to love. Certainly there was no -profit in thinking of a state of matrimony into which one was too poor -to enter! - -Stephen contrasted his fearful anticipations with what had actually -occurred. He had expected to be by this time disgraced and despairing. -Instead he was at peace. He had been more honored than he had dreamed -of being, and now a new and wilder possibility dazzled him. - -His thoughts recurred to his father, and he dwelt with gratitude upon -the self-sacrificing care which had always been his. If his father had -been willing to provide less generously for his education, to stint -his pocket-money, or to leave a smaller inheritance, he might have had -a larger library with which to make Chestnut Ridge tolerable and an -occasional journey for diversion or improvement. He might even--Stephen -flushed a little as this notion came into his mind--he might even have -contracted a second marriage, his first having ended tragically with -Stephen's birth. - -Stephen avoided thinking of the piety which was after all his father's -distinguishing characteristic, even though he was aware that his father -would rather have bequeathed to him faith than money, and that his -effort to recite the Creed was not a last reassurance to himself as it -had seemed, but a final reminder of the faith without which he believed -his son would perish. Stephen saw him clearly as he lay in his bed and -heard his voice reciting the treasured verses which he had memorized in -dreary journeys over the bleak hills. The lines which he repeated most -often acknowledged with what was to his son a ghastly frankness his -dire plight: - - "In the hour of death, after this life's whim, - When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim, - And pain has exhausted every limb-- - The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him." - -He resisted not only this memory, but others, a tiny, dismal -schoolhouse, half filled by a little flock of mourning women and -children bereft of husbands and fathers by a cruel death; he saw -weeping eyes and sad faces in which apathy had followed tears. He hated -all sorrow and trouble and he connected religion with them. Religion -was for the old, the dying, the afflicted, the needy, and he was none -of these. - -He looked from time to time gratefully at Levis bending over his books. -Whatever good fortune should be his, Levis should share. Levis had -saved his honor, had saved him from pitfalls for the rest of his life. -He would never, never forget him. - -For the most part, however, he thought of himself, of his excellent -marks, of his grasp of the subjects which he studied, of admirable -Professor Mayne, and especially of Professor Mayne's niece. He had, he -was sure, the ordering of his life in his hands; he could make it what -he chose. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -ELLEN REFUSES TO HEAR A CALL - - -Outside the Saal or meeting-room of the old Kloster all was hot -and bright in the sunshine. The thick grass in the enclosure which -surrounded the group of strangely fashioned buildings was ready for -cutting, the foliage was at its greenest. Ellen Levis could see between -the two wings of a bowed shutter the sloping plot and half of a willow -tree whose plumy branches hung motionless in the still air. She could -see also sheep feeding in the fields across Cocalico Creek and in -imagination she played with them and with herself a childish game, -making a silly wager that a certain black lamb would come again into -sight before Grandfather Milhausen had finished his lengthy exposition -of trine immersion. It was Saturday morning when most children were, -like the lambs, at play, all but the children of the Seventh-Day -Baptists. - -Presently, when her eyes grew tired of the glare of sunshine, she -turned them upon the scene nearer at hand. - -In the meeting-house all was cool and dim. A soft golden light fell -upon the worn benches, the long tables running the length of the room, -the pulpit covered with a white homespun cloth, the ancient stove. -All was old and strange and brown with the stain of time. Hung upon -the wall, close to the heavy beams of the ceiling, were crumbling -paper charts with intricate and graceful lettering which had been made -in 1740--it was natural that now, after almost two centuries, the -inscriptions should be faded and dull. - -The congregation sitting motionless in the shadowy place had an -unearthly aspect. There were three young mothers, with heads bent in -somnolent maternity above the infants in their arms; there were a few -older women whose heads were likewise bent; there were half a dozen -men; and last of all, a few children, dressed like their fathers and -mothers in clothes which betokened indifference to changing styles. - -Only Ellen Levis and her brother were clad in any modern fashion. -Their mother, long dead, had been a Seventh-Day Baptist and their -father, who was not a church member, not even a worldly Lutheran, sent -them to the meeting at the Kloster because of a promise made to her. - -The two children, Matthew, a sturdy, blond boy of sixteen, and Ellen, -who was almost two years younger, sat a little apart from the others, -Matthew with his arms folded like the brethren, and Ellen close beside -him. Sometimes she laid her head for a moment on his shoulder. She -was a child of intense affections to whom the sight and touch of the -beloved object gave unspeakable satisfaction. Matthew was to go to -school in the fall to study medicine and at the thought of separation -from him tears came into her brown eyes. - -The meeting seemed interminable. It was not always possible for the -little flock to gather together on the Seventh Day, and once assembled -they communed long together. This evening after the solemn ceremony of -Foot-washing, the Lord's Supper would be celebrated, as was proper, as -an evening feast. - -The attendance was comparatively large, all that remained of the -Ephrata flock having gathered, as well as a few members from Franklin -and Bedford Counties; and Grandfather Milhausen, feeling the occasion -to be important, was delivering himself of the fruits of a lifetime of -meditation. He proved the necessity of baptism; he proved that baptism -by sprinkling had no warrant in Scripture; he dwelt in conclusion with -passionate outpouring of words upon the efficacy and comfort of trine -immersion. - -His voice, now loud, now soft, kept throughout a monotone. His hearers -grew drowsy, slept, woke again, changed their positions, and slept once -more. The little black lamb came again and again into the field of -Ellen's vision, fifty accurately counted automobile horns sounded from -a curve near by, and each member of the congregation was in turn gazed -at and meditated upon. - -"I like Sister König because she is so very fat and when she is not in -meeting she smiles pleasantly.... I pity Brother Reith because they had -to take his wife to the asylum, but I do not like him.... I pity Sister -Herman because she had to be baptized in the cold creek last winter. -I should choose the summer. I should"--there was a slight admonitory -motion of the shoulder against which she leaned. But she was disturbed -only for a second; then she settled her plump body still more closely -against her brother's arm. He was tired, she was sure, and she was -very, very tired. Grandfather's eyes, lifted a moment ago toward the -ceiling, were bent now upon his congregation. He must see that they -were tired, that they longed to go, but he took no heed of their misery. - -Once more Ellen returned to her musing. She journeyed through the -strange old building, passing from the meeting-room into a kitchen -where, long ago, meals were prepared for visiting brethren, and -climbing up into large empty lofts which had been their dormitories. - -Then she sped in imagination out the door of the meeting-room and -across the angle between the Saal and Saron. In Saron had lived a -conventual sisterhood, young women who had left their fathers' houses, -and older women who had left their own homes and their husbands and -children, to pray, to spin and weave, to letter the old charts, and -to sing morning, noon and midnight, strange, attenuated music from a -latticed gallery. - -The old building was an enchanting place--if only one were sometimes -allowed there alone, so that one might dream without the guiding -admonitions of Grandfather, to whom these women were all saints. Here -were old spinning-wheels and a curious tower clock which struck the -hours, and pieces of pottery and old books and still other elaborate -charts. Climbing a narrow, winding stairway, one came to tiny cells -where the sisters had slept on narrow benches fastened to the wall, -with blocks of wood for pillows. Ellen pictured them lying stiffly; -sometimes she imagined them falling with a crash from their narrow -couches; sometimes she fancied herself pursued by them, and taking -refuge with Matthew or her father. They wore, she seemed to remember, -thick white dresses, tied about with ropes. The poor things lay now, -dead and done for, in the little cemetery between the meeting-house and -the road. - -After a long time she resumed her meditations upon the subject of -immersion. - -"I would not like to be baptized when the water was high, either. I -would do like Millie König"--her eyes turned toward one of the youngest -of the sisters, a girl about Matthew's age, with a meaningless, -saintlike beauty. "I would take a nice day like Millie." She looked -again at the downcast eyes and the crossed hands. "I hate Millie," said -she calmly. Then her weariness became acute. It was dreadful to have to -sit here while the world went on, dreadful, dreadful. She began to pity -herself and saw her whole life wasted. - -Suddenly she was acutely disturbed. It was not alone the admonitory -motion of Matthew's shoulder; it was the preacher's eyes, bent directly -upon Matthew and upon her. She sat upright. Something was going to -happen after all--she anticipated that it was something more trying -than the monotony. - -"There are those in our midst who should be of us," said Grandfather, -with jealous passion. "The children of a good mother who was a -Seventh-Day Baptist should follow in her footsteps, should go down into -the cleansing flood and there wash themselves clean of sin, should make -a fresh start in the world, should put upon themselves the badge of -separation. They have heard the call many times; they must be no longer -disobedient to the heavenly vision. Brother Matthew, Sister Ellen, is -it well that you should postpone what is right for you to do, that you -should longer reject the peace of God?" - -Ellen's head turned sharply, her eyes seeking her brother's. A shaft of -sunshine fell upon his thick, light hair and across his smooth cheek. -For a long time he did not answer and an awful fear began to take shape -in her heart. Was he not going to answer, to get somehow between her -and the dreadful eyes, the deathlike beard of Grandfather? Still he sat -motionless. - -Grandfather lifted his arms in supplication. - -"Father in Heaven, Thou that takest care of the least of Thy children, -Thou who rejoicest over each lamb brought into the fold, help us in -this hour!" - -Ellen leaned forward and grasped the edge of the seat with both hands. -Was not Matthew angry, would he not be angry, would he not take her -and himself away from this glittering, searching eye? She thought with -sick longing of her father, so comfortable at home, or riding to see a -patient. No one would dare, she was certain, to talk to him about his -soul, or to suggest that he should take off his clothes and put on a -long black robe and kneel in Cocalico Creek and let Grandfather dip -him back and forth! Neither would Matthew submit to such indignity. -Outraged and insulted, she tried to find his hand to assure him of her -sympathy. - -But her hand was not taken. Matthew sat motionless staring at the -floor. Her eyes sought the watching faces. Mothers had lifted their -heads, the few fathers in Israel bent forward. Sister Herman was -crying. Sister Millie's eyes were different from the rest; their -expression was sharper and more eager; they were hungry eyes, bent upon -Matthew's thick, light curls. Without understanding, Ellen hated her -even more vehemently. Her hand, creeping into Matthew's, would not be -withstood. - -"Oh, Matthew, let us go home!" - -Holding her hand, Matthew rose. It seemed that only the blood of his -mother filled his veins. The love of the soil was in him and of the -heavy, unthinking, comfortable life which his mother's people had lived -for generation upon generation, life founded upon a conviction that in -the next world all would be well. He could not remember his mother, but -he had thought much about her. - -He took now the most important step of his life. Inclination, inherited -tendencies, and a piety, deep and authentic, though narrow, indicated -his path. - -"I have thought about these matters for a long time," he said slowly. -"I believe that we should be baptized by trine immersion, that there is -no salvation outside it. I believe that we should observe the ordinance -of Foot-washing because our Lord commanded it. I believe in the holy -kiss and in the communion. I believe we should be a separated people -and that we should keep the peace, not going to law, and not making or -engaging in war, and observing temperance and charity. I am ready to be -immersed when it seems best. I am--" - -But he could say no more. Even so well thought out a declaration proved -difficult to deliver. Sister Herman began to sing, a high, shrill song, -not the strange part singing of a century and a half ago, which had -become merely a tradition, but a modern revival hymn, - - "The Lord's my strength, - In Him I'll trust, - A Shelter in the time of storm." - -Sister König joined and the tenor of Brother Amos fell in. Brother -Amos, a nephew of Grandfather Milhausen, was only twenty-one, but he -was a school-teacher and had already been appointed a preacher. - -The music caught Ellen by the throat; it seemed to drown her in thick, -overpowering emotion. An inner voice admonished her to yield; that it -was easier to yield, better to yield, to give up one's own desires, -one's own will, to walk in an appointed path. Matthew grasped her hand -closely and then laid his other hand upon it. He was undemonstrative -and his unwonted gesture softened her heart still more. For him she had -fetched and carried all their short lives; he believed that she would -obey now as she had always obeyed, and he would bring her into the -kingdom. - -Grandfather had not finished his appeal. He looked down at Ellen and -it seemed that his bright eyes burned her through. She thought of a -dreadful picture of God and the judgment, she thought of every wrong -she had done; of disobedience, of impertinence to the housekeeper, of -excursions into forbidden books, of wandering thoughts in meeting. She -heard him plead, she felt Matthew's hand clasp hers still more closely. -Like Matthew she was compelled suddenly to decide, but unlike Matthew -she had not thought on these things, and except in amused speculation -the possibility of being immersed or of baring her feet before the -women had not occurred to her. - -Then Ellen made the choice by which she was to abide. The blood which -flowed in her veins was different from that in her brother's; the -paternal inheritance was paramount, the choice was, after all, made -for her. Though Matthew's caress thrilled her with delight, she rose -unsteadily. She saw in all eyes a pleased conviction that she was about -to imitate him; she noticed for the first time that Amos's eyes could -gleam like her grandfather's, and she trembled. Standing for a moment -she was a pleasant picture, a round and still childish figure whose -future appearance was not to be certainly prophesied, but possessing -two features whose beauty would be for years to come certain, thick, -curly, brown hair, now braided primly, and dark eyes shaded by lashes -so black that they seemed immeasurably deep and tender. - -Suddenly she felt wings given her. Out of the brown shadows, across the -shaft of light which illuminated the bent, blond head of her brother -with a symbolism marked by the congregation, she fled. The sunlight, -the green grass, the trees, now waving in a gentle breeze, and most -wonderful of all, the unlimited blue sky, seemed to hold out welcoming -arms. She began to cry and to run as she cried. She feared that she -might be pursued. Though she was not afraid to drive Matthew's young -horse, she did not think of taking him, but sped on foot up Mount Zion -toward the bounds of the enclosure, across the site of a more ancient -church to the hill-top. There she usually looked down through a thick -bit of virgin woods toward the smoothly flowing Cocalico, and beyond to -pleasant Ephrata. But now she opened the rude fastening of an old gate, -and ran across a field past a tall monument, toward a pair of arms of -whose welcome she was certain. There was peace, and not in the dim -cavern from which she fled! - - - - -CHAPTER III - -TWO VERSIONS OF THE SAME STORY - - -After Ellen had beaten her way with gasps for breath up the slope -beyond the meeting-house, she slackened her pace. She began to doubt -pursuit, and besides she could now trust to her power of swift -locomotion. For a while she kept inside the fences on the grass borders -from which a dash into the wheat would have been easy, but after she -had gone half a mile she wormed her plump body between two spreading -rails and took to the road. - -The sense of escape from prison was not new; many times when church -was over she had looked up and round at the arching sky and the waving -trees and had danced her way out to Matthew's buggy, and sometimes, -from behind the safe shelter of its curtain, she had made atrocious -faces at the back of Millie König's sleek head. - -Presently, her joy at having escaped was tempered. She did not like -to have the brethren consider her wicked. But penitence weakened and -finally faded entirely away, its departure hastened by reflections of a -nature common to mankind. Millie had copied her sentences in school--it -did not make much difference what Millie thought of her. Brother Herman -was notorious for his keenness in trade and he had cheated her father -when he sold him a horse. As for Grandfather--she was sorry to hurt his -feelings, but Grandfather was old. It is very easy to be good, Ellen -believed, when you are old. - -Suddenly the full import of the morning's events was clear to her. She -was free, but Matthew was in prison! As she walked on she began to -cry again. Perhaps he would let his beard grow until he looked like -Grandfather and Amos and like the pictures of Father Friedsam and -Brother Jabez and all the worthies of the past. He would not belong to -her; he would belong to all those grim and pious people. Most dreadful -of all, he would belong to Millie. At this, she stopped short in the -road, remembering Millie's possessing eyes. - -Again she began to run, dashing through the little hollow made by the -creek, where the odors of fresh earth and the intense sweetness of -elder blossoms would at any other moment have made her loiter. The -creek bounded her father's farm and, taking a short cut, she left the -road and crossed a meadow and then ran along the edge of a field of -corn until she came to a gate which let her into the yard. - -The Levis house was one of the large, many-windowed brick houses -common to the neighborhood. It was built solidly and its correctness -of proportion gave it a comfortable beauty. The porch was not a part -of the original structure, but had been added, as running water and -other conveniences had been added within. Behind the house stood a -large barn. The place had not the trim look of adjacent farms; there -was a good deal of brush along the fences, the fences themselves needed -rebuilding and the woodwork of the house needed paint. After looking -carefully at the premises an observant person would have made up his -mind that the owner was neither by taste nor by inclination a farmer. - -The property had one glorious beauty, the thick and lofty grove of -oak trees which stood behind and above the house and barn. They were -a landmark for miles. In them hundreds of birds nested and squirrels -played and scores of little creatures had their homes. In spring -anemones and hepaticas were to be found beneath them and nowhere else -in the immediate neighborhood; in summer they spread a thick canopy -of shade, and in autumn they burned with a glowing red. In them in -all seasons the wind spoke continuously, now in a whisper, now in -thunderous diapason. - -Dr. Levis sat on the porch of his house, his pipe in his hand, his -tall, thin figure comfortably disposed in an old rocking-chair. He had -long since got rid of his black beard, and he looked, if not younger in -body, at least younger in spirit, than in the days of his friendship -with Stephen Lanfair. This morning he had seen a few office patients -and had paid the two visits which were all that were needed by his -healthy clientčle, and he was now waiting comfortably until the rural -mail carrier should leave his newspaper. - -He received little mail besides his papers and magazines and an -occasional printed notice from the University. A connection with one's -Alma Mater soon lapses when one has formed no close friendships, and he -had formed but one. He looked very sober when he thought of Stephen, -not chiefly because Stephen had forgotten him--he was a boy with a -boy's short-lived enthusiasms--but because Stephen had succeeded so -well and he had succeeded so little. The possession of a fair practice, -a productive farm and two fine children might be thought to represent -a sufficient attainment, but there was in his heart a bitter sense of -dissatisfaction and disappointment. He had been tricked, bewitched; -forgetting his superiority and immunity to love he had married soon -after leaving the University, and had thus fettered himself for life. - -He heard the first thump of Ellen's small but heavy shoes on the porch -steps and moving with the physician's swift response to sounds heard -during sleep, he sat upright, his pipe slipping from his hand. Then, -seeing that it was only Ellen come from church, he sank back and closed -his eyes. - -"Are you back? Come pick up Father's pipe and tell him about the -sermon." - -Rendered speechless by the consciousness of her misery and of her -tear-streaked face, Ellen moved no farther, and hearing no advancing -step and feeling no warm creature against his knee, Levis opened his -eyes. - -"Why, Ellen, dear, what's the matter? Why are you home so early? -Where's Matthew? Come here quickly!" - -Blinded afresh by tears, Ellen started toward her accustomed sanctuary. - -"What a heavy Ellen it is! Is there anything the matter with Matthew?" - -Ellen shook her head. There was nothing the matter with Matthew in the -sense in which her father spoke, yet there was everything the matter -with him. - -Suddenly tears seemed an inadequate expression of her trouble. Her -father's face, seen above hers, was pitying, yet a little amused. The -woes of childhood were so small--he wondered whether it was a sick -kitten or a lame horse that had stirred Ellen's tender heart. - -"Now, Ellen, tell me what is the matter." - -Ellen sat up and dried her eyes on her father's large, smooth -handkerchief. She remembered--oh, blessed relief!--that of course her -father could stop Matthew. Matthew was to go away to learn to be a -physician; he could not be a Seventh-Day Baptist! - -"I ran away from meeting," she confessed, feeling the first doubt of -her course. - -Levis's face was grave, but his eyes twinkled. - -"Why?" - -"It was so long and I got so tired looking at half a tree and a little -grass, and at the brothers and sisters and Grandfather's white beard." - -"Why, Ellen!" Levis frowned, not in anger, but so that he might -concentrate both physical and mental vision upon his daughter. - -Now Ellen revealed the heart of the trouble. - -"Grandfather preached at Matthew and me!" - -"Oh, he did!" - -"Yes, and Matthew made a speech about believing in everything. He's -going to be immersed, Father, and he will be at the Foot-washing. They -wanted me to, but I ran away. I couldn't stand it." - -"Why couldn't you stand it?" - -Ellen laid her hands across her plump body. - -"It makes me feel all tight here. And I couldn't bear to take off my -shoes and stockings." - -"No," answered Levis. "I should think you couldn't! Can you remember -just what was said to you and Matthew?" - -"Grandfather said we ought to come to the meeting and get into the -cleansing flood. It was very dark and uncomfortable." - -"And what did Matthew say?" - -"He said he'd been thinking about these things for a long, long time -and he thought it was all right. Then they sang about a shelter and -they prayed over us. Grandfather said we were the children of a good -sister." - -Levis put Ellen off his knee and began to walk up and down the porch. -He knew his own origin as little as he knew the origin of his unusual -name, which the neighborhood turned into Lewis, but he believed himself -to be entirely Anglo-Saxon and he hoped that his children were -Anglo-Saxon rather than Teutonic. Left alone, Ellen ran after him and -took his hand and walked with him, a quaint imitator of his step and -carriage. - -"Can't you stop him, Father?" - -"We shall see." - -"If you told me to stop it--that is, if I were doing it--you know I'd -stop, don't you?" - -"Yes, Ellen." - -Ellen tightened her hand on the three fingers which it held. - -"I'll never do what you don't want me to do." - -Levis made no answer, but exchanged the three fingers for a whole hand. -After a while he stopped walking long enough to light his pipe. At that -moment a buggy turned into the lane, not the well-painted, swiftly -moving rig of Matthew, but an older vehicle in which the housekeeper -had driven to town to do her Saturday shopping. Levis provided ample -transportation for all his family. - -"She's coming, Father," said Ellen in a whisper. - -Levis stepped off the porch, calling, "Home so soon, Manda?" and -received a solemn nod from a large, white, and somewhat reproachful -face. He went round the house and down to the spring house and up a -slope into the woodland which was his pride. There he sat down on a -fallen tree and bade Ellen sit on a stump opposite him. She smiled and -blinked her reddened eyes. It was her favorite spot and she liked to -have her father here with her. - -Suddenly Levis leaned forward. Ellen's news shocked him into the -recollection of important plans, sometimes dreamed of and smoked over, -sometimes forgotten for long periods, sometimes recalled with a pang -of self-reproach, and again forgotten. It was his fault that Matthew -had impulsively committed himself to this foolishness--the separation -from Grandfather Milhausen, which would be complete in the fall when -Matthew went to school, should have been brought about long ago. Ellen -showed more common sense, but he had neglected her also, and for all -her protests she might hold some of these foolish ideas. He had meant -long since to take her education in hand. Amos Milhausen's instruction -was good as far as it went, but it was now inadequate. He began to her -astonishment to ask queer questions. - -"How many bones are there in the human body?" - -"I don't know. I think Matthew knows." - -"What is the shape of the earth?" - -"Round like a ball and flattened at the poles." - -"What are the poles?" - -"I don't know." - -"Why are the days shorter in winter?" - -"I don't know. Matthew knows." - -"Are you going to let Matthew do all your knowing?" - -Tears came again into Ellen's eyes. Matthew had abandoned her. - -"I'm at the head of my class," she boasted in feeble self-defense. -"I can write good compositions and do any kind of examples and I'm -excellent in geography." - -"I should think it would be a very simple matter to stand at the head -of your class!" - -"It is," confessed Ellen. "I don't work hard at all." - -But now Ellen worked very hard. In the next half-hour her father drew -from her small head all the knowledge which it contained and tried to -find a great deal more than had been put there. A few times, for sheer -nervousness and shame, she cried. The amount of her knowledge seemed -infinitesimal, the abyss of her ignorance unfathomable. It was all the -more humiliating because when the catechization was over, her father -started to the house without reproving her for her dullness. It was -hard on one who had prided herself on her brains! - -Matthew returned, driving slowly, a grave expression on his handsome -face. Having unhitched his horse he came round to the porch where the -flutter of a short skirt vanishing indoors did not escape him. He was -deeply angry with the anger of a superior toward an inferior or an -elder toward a child. He could not understand Ellen. For the first time -in her life she had not been willing to go his way, and she had marred -what would otherwise have been a perfect experience. - -Hitherto he had not thought much about his father or his father's -convictions, his father's neglect of church having been a condition -with which he had always been familiar, but now it seemed unnecessary -and wrong. Realizing in his new devotion that it was his duty to -admonish his careless parent, he prayed for opportunity and strength. - -The three Levises ate their dinner silently, the housekeeper sitting -with them. She had, seen close at hand, an air of patient endurance -under affliction. She had expected, according to custom, that the man -of whose house and children she had taken such good care for so many -years would marry her, though she had already been married twice and -was somewhat older than he. She had even, being hopeful of Dr. Levis, -discouraged the advances of a neighboring farmer. The short lives of -her two husbands and the oaklike hardness of Levis made her lot a very -disappointing one. Having just heard of the marriage of a friend, she -was more than usually depressed, a condition which did not escape -her master, to whom her mournful disposition and her extraordinary -combinations of English and German were sources of deep and silent -amusement. He could not always remember her expressions, but Ellen -could repeat them at length. "Unsere number iss 1 long and 2 short and -sis very hart zu's distinguishe," she would say into the telephone and -be perfectly understood by the person at the other end. Or, "I sink it -will give rain," or, "Ach, Ellen, what do you make, then!" - -At another time, with amused recollection of Mrs. Gummidge, Levis would -have rallied her back into cheerfulness, and, unconsciously, into some -hope, but to-day his thoughts were upon his own affairs. He did not -hear when she invited him to a second helping of potatoes, a piece of -absent-mindedness which seemed insulting and which would furnish her -material upon which to brood through the long afternoon. - -When dinner was over, Matthew followed his father to the porch. Levis -looked at him curiously. He had something to say to Matthew, but it -seemed also that Matthew had something to say to him! Matthew took his -seat in a rocking-chair, and another prayer for strength concluded, -spoke. - -"Father, Ellen behaved very badly in church." - -"Ellen told me about it," said Levis. - -"She ought to be punished." - -"That is, she told me her side of it. Perhaps you'd better tell me -yours." - -"Well, Grandfather made a fine address about immersion. Then he said -that since we children had such a good Christian mother, we, too, -should be immersed and come into church. I said that I would. Then he -spoke kindly to Ellen and she got up and ran out in a senseless way." - -"Ellen was frightened." - -"She's old enough not to be frightened. She has an immortal soul. She -should have obeyed me. And you have an immortal soul, Father," said -handsome Matthew. "Would you not become converted and be immersed? It -is a very blessed condition." - -In delivering this quotation from Grandfather, Matthew's voice had a -slightly hollow ring, as though even he were aware that the situation -had unusual aspects. - -Levis rose and knocked the ashes from his pipe. - -"Suppose you come into the office, Matthew," said he crisply. "It will -be easier to talk there." - -Within doors Levis walked up and down. He did not seem to belong here -in this country office, with its simple fittings, its serviceable but -unmodern appliances, its outlook on farmland; he belonged in a city -where he could attend fifty instead of five patients in a day. - -"Matthew," said he frowning, "until this morning, it never occurred to -me that it would be necessary to speak to you as I am going to speak. -But I've been overreached and deceived. I don't blame you; you too -have been a victim. If you're old enough to take the stand which you -took this morning, to describe the convictions of your heart before -strangers, you're old enough to hear what I have to say. - -"You have always had smooth sailing; you can't understand what it means -to be without living kin, to be bound out, to suffer intentional or -unintentional slights, to have always to overcome difficulties, to deny -yourself a little more when you've already next to nothing, to be cold -and hungry and miserable. I wouldn't wish you to know; I want never to -think of the miseries of my youth. I've done my best to shield you from -all hardships; but it won't hurt you to know that such hardships exist. - -"Through it all, I was determined to be a physician, and that is what -I succeeded in becoming--older than most men when I graduated, but -eternally grateful. - -"I came into this neighborhood to begin a practice, or rather to take -a practice temporarily. I didn't expect to stay beyond a year, but I -married here and your mother would not leave." - -For a moment Levis paused and looked out at the fields and the woodland -and the empty sky. Old conflicts in which he had lost, old miseries, -old thwartings came back to him, and especially, painted against the -woodland, a face, exquisite in line, delicate in coloring. The face -before him resembled it in outline and in expression. - -"After she died, I couldn't go away because of you and Ellen. I -couldn't take you, neither could I leave you; so I stayed here. I've -brought you up according to my best judgment, and I've made you good -children. - -"Before your mother died, I gave her a promise. She was concerned that -you should be 'saved'"--Levis's voice laid a lightly scornful emphasis -on the "saved." "She held the strict notions of the Seventh-Day -Baptists, and I promised I'd do nothing to alienate you from her father -and would let you go to church. It was foolish, but your grandfather -promised to exact no religious vows from you. I felt that his promise -was unnecessary. I didn't dream that children brought up in a household -where English was spoken, with books at hand, would return to the -fifteenth century!" - -"The Gospel is the same now," said Matthew neatly. - -"I agree with you. Everything is the same as it has been, always." -Levis spoke with sarcasm. Then he went on--"You can have no deep -conviction of sin. You have committed no great sin." - -"You don't know my heart, Father!" - -"I know you and your heart. I've had you under my eyes ever since you -were born, and I know you're neither gross nor wicked. You can't be -repentant except in a sentimental, superficial way; neither can you -know that the doctrines of the Seventh-Day Baptists are right and -others wrong. You know no others." - -"I--" began Matthew. - -"You're under my control, you're supported by me. You'll go to college -in September as we planned and then to the Medical School, and when -you're through you shall decide about the Seventh-Day Baptists. If -your religion is what you think it is, delay will make no difference; -it will rather strengthen you. This will be a test which you should -welcome." - -"I do welcome it, Father." - -A slight contraction of the muscles changed the expression of Levis's -face. Meekness--that was one of the weapons of Abraham Milhausen's -daughter! - -He felt an almost irresistible desire to pour out upon his boy all the -heretical beliefs, all the unorthodox speculations which had for years -filled his hours of meditation, to fortify him with skepticism against -the foolish hopes built up by the Christian religion. He believed he -had, like the Stoics, the possession of his own soul. Once he had -expounded his convictions to the boy's mother and she had withdrawn -herself physically and mentally until she died. But the world would -take care of Matthew! - -"You don't suppose that all wisdom is incarnate in Grandfather, do you, -Matthew?" - -"He's only a human being," answered Matthew, with the same trying -neatness of response. "But even children can understand all that is -necessary to be saved." - -Levis rose. - -"Well, my boy, when things begin to seem puzzling to you, your father -may be able to help." - -Matthew rose also. He was tired and he had many things to think -of. He looked at his father with strong disapproval; he thought of -Grandfather's saintliness and the pretty face of Millie König. His -father lit a cigarette; it was as alienating an act as could have been -committed. - -"I think Ellen should be punished for disturbing the meeting," said he. -"It shamed me for her." - -"I'll attend to Ellen," promised Levis with a satisfying grimness. - -But, having reached the doorway, Matthew suffered misgivings. - -"You don't mean that I'm not to go to church at all?" - -"Not to the Seventh-Day Baptist church." - -"Not this evening!" - -"Not at all," was the decisive answer. - -Having opened his lips and closed them, Matthew withdrew, backwards, -and went upstairs. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A SLUMBERING TERROR - - -It was not because of ingratitude or altogether because of -forgetfulness that Stephen Lanfair had neglected his friend. Their -association had continued as long as circumstances made the seeing of -one another possible. When the longed-for interneship was won, Levis -had been for two years out of the Medical School and Stephen was -preoccupied with the straight, dark gaze and free and saucy manners -of Hilda Fell. After Hilda had seen him, she had, for reasons as yet -unexplained by psychologists, forsworn all other company. He was -awkward, he knew none of the lively give-and-take of her set, he was -grave in manner and thought; but she would have no other. Her passion -for him assumed an ominous intensity; she was happy only when she had -before her a definite prospect of meeting him, she was unhappy when the -character of the meeting was such that she must share his attention -with others. - -Mayne related frankly the history of his family, but Stephen found -in that no impediment to marriage. The insanity appeared--at least -he received that mistaken impression--invariably in early youth. -Apparently Hilda's mind was sound. Her education had not been of a -very solid quality; in fact, she could do little more than write a -presentable note and she did that as seldom as possible, and of general -information she had none. But Stephen believed that association with -him would largely supplement her knowledge. He believed that Mayne -had not given her the proper sort of education and that she would -learn from him with delight. He could not know or dream that the -slightest opposition, even the thwarting of her whims, would reveal her -fundamental instability. Until now life had brought everything to her; -it had demanded no adaptations on her part. - -He explained to her new and interesting cases which came under his eye, -entirely unaware that all her enthusiasm for his profession had its -origin in his arm across her shoulders. It was when he was discussing -his work that Stephen was at his best. - -His marriage, consummated at the end of his course, seemed to him -an incredible piece of good fortune. A poor man from a little coal -region town, he had none of the wealth or influence which he had -always supposed must, even in America, be the contribution of the -bridegroom to an alliance with a name so important. He visited before -his graduation the gray house in Harrisburg and saw in the city the -solid business block, and outside the city some of the farms which -poured their revenues into Hilda's lap. He believed himself to be -lifted by fortune high above the average of mankind; not only above -the great level mass at the bottom of the social pyramid and the dull, -superimposed layer which he had learned to call _bourgeois_, but also -above the stratum of educated men and women who lacked comfortable -wealth, and above the stratum of rich men and women who had no -intellectual pleasures. He had, he believed for a month after he was -married, everything. - -He began then dimly to discern the chasm which divided him from Hilda. -His keen mind, delivered from its first blindness, could no longer -fail to see that her ignorance was not the result of a poor education, -but of natural inability to learn. She failed to grasp the simplest -of scientific principles; she could not understand the structure of -the eye or remember its chief parts; she made Stephen ridiculous by -misquoting him. - -He dwelt a little longer in the paradise which he had created for -himself. It was absurd to require in an exquisite creature like Hilda -the interests natural to an older woman or to a student. Compared -with the young women whom he had known in the University, she was -immeasurably attractive and she could not be expected to possess every -perfection. - -It was not long, however, before he understood clearly that her -dullness to the passion of his life, his profession, was due not only -to ignorance but to indifference. Their first quarrel was precipitated -by his announcement of his plans for the future. - -"New York is the place for us to live. Each country has one center; -England has London, France has Paris, and the United States has New -York." Stephen often spoke in this sententious fashion in his youth. -"There the world currents--" - -"But we are not going to live in New York," said Hilda quickly. - -"Why not?" - -"Because I don't want to. I'll go there for a few weeks as often as you -like in the winter, but I'm going to live in my own house. In New York -you're nobody unless you're worth millions and millions; in Harrisburg -you can be somebody for a good deal less than that." - -"In Harrisburg!" Stephen was not aware of his absurdity until Hilda -pointed it out to him. - -"I should think that any one who had lived in Chestnut Ridge with a -breaker before the door would find Harrisburg heaven!" - -Stephen flushed. He had poured out to her in a moment of unique -confidence a description of Chestnut Ridge. With it he had told her not -only about his father's life, but about his death, and it was unfeeling -to recall the conversation in this scornful fashion. - -"I have my living to earn!" - -"Your living!" repeated Hilda. She uttered a delicate and good-natured -pleasantry. "I thought you married me for that!" - -Stephen made no answer. After a while, when he could go without -seeming to be angry, he left her on the porch of the hotel where they -were spending their honeymoon and went to walk alone. He was shocked, -amazed, even appalled. - -Once more and only once he broached the subject. - -"I am exceedingly anxious to do well in my profession, Hilda," he said -earnestly. "New York is the only place where a man can really have a -brilliant success." - -Hilda shook her head. - -"I've made my plans." - -In the end, after six months abroad, Stephen hung out his sign upon -the Manning Street wing of Hilda's house and there practiced his -profession for seven or eight months in the year. The other months -he spent in her train, journeying from one fashionable American and -European resort to the other. During these excursions he was idle -except for stolen visits to clinics and lectures, and he was constantly -unhappy. He still had faith in his own powers and he realized that his -best years were passing and that other men and even younger men were -winning honors which should have been his. He knew that Hilda believed -that she had made generous concessions in allowing him to practice at -all. He knew that her friends--though her associates could scarcely be -called friends, so light were the ties that bound them--thought him -exceedingly lucky, but he believed that his colleagues held him to be a -fashionable quack. He held himself to be the most unhappy of men. - -Further opposition to his wife's decisions was impossible. He learned -before the second month of his married life had come to a close that a -woman given to hysteria could not be argued with, could not be made to -see reason. His ambition was, he knew now, stronger than his affection -and he would never be able to gratify it. He came to envy quiet, poor -men like Edward Levis, especially those who remained unmarried, who -could live their lives in freedom. - -He had one or two grossly unpleasant quarrels with Hilda. Once, after -she had laughed at his awkwardness in the presence of an acquaintance, -he took her to task for a habit which he found more and more odious. - -"The boys at the University used to say that you smoked cigarettes, but -I never believed them." - -They were alone in his bedroom--whose bare floors and almost blank -walls acted as sounding-boards for Hilda's shrill denunciation of his -prudishness. Terrified, he closed the door quickly. - -Within a year her malady took a not uncommon form. He had been, -he realized when the ugly scene was over, very stupid not to have -recognized earlier the obsessive jealousy and rage which she must -have felt for some time, but he had not dreamed that the young nurse -in his office, who was pretty, but ignorant of everything outside -her profession, could have attracted more than a casual glance. When -Hilda began to accuse him, he listened dumfounded, on his cheek a gray -paleness which added ten years to his age. - -As he listened to her coarse tirade, the shrill accents seemed to ring -like an unpleasant soprano aria against a clearly accented rhythmic -bass, the voice of Professor Mayne. He had received the impression -from Mayne that the family malady never appeared after early youth, -but had he understood him aright? Horrified he looked into an abyss to -whose precipitous wall he had come blindly, but with the blindness of a -madman or a fool. - -"But, Hilda," he said slowly, "I am married to _you_." - -Hilda uttered a laugh which expressed hideously a variety of -emotions--mollification, for his dismay was disarming; amusement, for -his innocence was laughable, and even a little shame. Stephen's mind -was clean; he looked at her as his good father might have looked. - -For a short time she seemed a little disturbed; she regarded him with -uneasy inquiry as though she suspected his horror and his inability to -forget her outbreak. But he found presently that she watched the coming -and going of his patients and that she interrogated his employees with -such clever slyness that they did not know they were being questioned. -Her jealousy noted only the women with whom he was connected -professionally, especially those who were alone with him in his office, -and between them, young, middle-aged, or old, she did not distinguish. -His dismay at her ignorance had not escaped her; it was the center of -her consciousness, the _idée fixe_ of her madness. She misinterpreted -the present and falsified the past, ascribing to Stephen infidelities -in the days of their courtship. Her obsession was hideous, but by no -means unprecedented; frequently the newspapers rejoiced in the airing -of similar or more sordid cases. Recently an innocent patient waiting -in a doctor's office had been shot dead by a suspicious wife. - -Mayne, hearing his story from a terrified Stephen, grew white, then -shook his head. He laid the case before his intimate friend Dr. Good, -who was an alienist and brought him once or twice to Harrisburg to -spend the night. It might be necessary eventually to have Hilda go--Dr. -Good always put his prescriptions as delicately as possible--to a -sanatorium, but there was no immediate danger. Mayne breathed more -freely, and only Stephen knew by what eternal vigilance over himself -and her the peace was kept, or apprehended the unpleasant and even -perilous results which might follow upon its breaking. - -His life was not entirely without pleasures, unhappy as it appeared -to him. After the first rush of Hilda's fashionable acquaintances, -who came filled with curiosity and went away baffled and irritated by -his gravity and silence, there applied a more desirable clientčle. He -treated the poor in the city hospital, serving them with a pleasure -which he did not analyze, but which had its source partly in the -satisfaction of returning some of the service which hundreds of -working men and women poured out upon Hilda and her kind, and partly in -a deep and unrecognized discontent with his own life. He thought often -of his father with a childish turning to the one human being who had -loved him deeply and unselfishly. He believed that he still regarded -his father's devotion to others with impatience, his life, based upon -a simple and childlike sense of duty, as wasted. He did not know that -unhappiness had begun to alter the opinions which were the product of -youth and good health and material prosperity. - -He performed cures which astonished himself. A Mrs. Fetzer, a plain -little Pennsylvania German woman, suffered at the hands of a drunken -husband a gunshot wound in her face, and he was called to the hospital -when it seemed that the sight of both eyes was lost. A nurse, Miss -Knowlton, who had frequently attended his patients, faced him one day -with defiance and told him that she was going blind and that according -to half a dozen doctors there was no help for her. A Miss MacVane came -to his office and laid her case before him--she was a private secretary -with no other means of support than her own earnings, and her eyes were -failing. - -He saved one of Mrs. Fetzer's eyes and found for her a place in his -house, of which she gradually took entire charge in a manner which -suggested now a guardian angel, now a watchful dragon. He cured Miss -Knowlton and she replaced a younger nurse in his office. Miss MacVane -became his secretary; she could not be entirely cured, but with expert -treatment and unremitting watchfulness she might retain a measure of -vision for a long time. - -He thought, grimly contemplating his assistants, that Hilda could -find no fault with these ladies. Fetzer, as Hilda called her after -an English fashion, was irremediably disfigured; the insertion of an -artificial eye was out of the question and she wore a black patch. -Miss Knowlton was tall, her features were large, her red hair was no -Titian glory, but was thin and pale, and she had pale blue eyes and -skin without color. Miss MacVane was short and heavy and her dim vision -increased her natural awkwardness. All three women were of the type -by which the world's tasks are accomplished, who take little or no -recreation, who do without all luxuries, who desire apparently but one -reward, the consciousness of duty done. - -Stephen's sense of safety, however, was founded upon a mistaken -analysis of Hilda's jealousy. He did not realize that she attributed to -him no lust of the eyes, that she believed that it was intellect only -which attracted him. She hated Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane and every -one with whom he talked about his profession. She hated even Fetzer, -though she could not do without her. - -He had begun, not without a chastening recollection of his first -contribution, to send articles to medical magazines, and he believed -that if he could have a year uninterrupted by idle journeying he could -produce a valuable work on infectious diseases of the eye. When his -first article was finished he thought of sending a copy to Edward -Levis, but Levis seemed as far away as his father, and he could not -renew the acquaintance in so informal a way. He would some day--no, -soon--look him up. - -Life had still other satisfactions. A sense of his own ignorance and -lack of early opportunity kept him constantly seeking for education. He -was interested in art and music and in sciences other than his own and -he tried constantly to increase his information about them. During his -early married life he had bought a small original painting and Hilda -had expressed her approval--it was, she said, a more becoming fad for a -gentleman than diseases. He had then ceased to buy pictures until his -own income warranted it. - -He might have found congenial friends--the city was not inhabited -entirely by men and women of Hilda's type--but he knew that his friends -could not be hers. It was better to avoid all social connections than -to rouse groundless but hideous suspicion. - -As the years passed it seemed likely that Hilda's malady would grow -no worse. Her uncle felt no more anxiety, and Stephen relaxed into a -certain peace of mind. He became thirty-five, then forty. He believed -that the course of his life was laid out, and that, unsatisfying as -it was, it was still happier than that of the mass of mankind. There -were moments when he said to himself that there was no reason for his -existence or that of any one else, that human life was ephemeral and -purposeless; but he put aside quickly all metaphysical speculation -because it recalled his father's last hours and the deep concern in his -sunken eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -LEVIS SPEAKS HIS MIND - - -Levis was the only member of his family who had a great deal to say -on the Sunday following Matthew's declaration of faith. At meals -Matthew ate with his eyes fixed upon his plate, and Ellen wiped away an -occasional tear. Several times since the sad events of yesterday she -had tried to open the door of Matthew's room, to tell him that she was -sorry she had made him ashamed and to lay before him the reasons for -her conduct, but the door was locked. Lying in wait outside had been -productive of no better results, for, appearing at last, he had quietly -brushed her aside. Manda was more mournful than the young people. She -did not weep, but the tip of her nose showed that she had wept in the -recent past. - -When supper was over, Levis addressed his family, one after the other. - -"Matthew, what are you going to do this evening?" - -"I'm going to bed," answered Matthew in a low tone. "I promised to help -with the wheat in the morning. Soon it will be a loss." - -Levis's eyes twinkled. Matthew had lately shown an inclination to -observe that his father's methods of farming were not those of the -thrifty neighbors. - -"Manda, where are you going?" - -"In my church," Manda answered in a tone at once humble and -reproachful. She was always a person of few words, but her ability to -express a variety of meanings with a _H'm_ or with the valuable _So!_ -of the Pennsylvania Germans made a large vocabulary unnecessary. - -Again Levis's eyes twinkled and again he thought of Mrs. Gummidge, ever -mourning for "the old one." - -"And Ellen?" - -Ellen's tears refused to be longer restrained. She rose from her chair -and went to her father. - -"Matthew won't speak to me. I went up seven times to tell him that I -was sorry and he wouldn't open the door." - -Levis led Ellen into his office. - -"Matthew is best left alone. He'll come round, never fear! I have a -visit to make which will keep me out till after dark. There is a book -and Matthew will hear you if you call. If you get sleepy, go to bed." - -Levis kissed her and put on his hat and went away. He did not carry -his satchel of medicines nor go to the barn to put his horse into -the buggy, but walked down the short lane to the road. Ellen watched -him until he reached the gate, and stood for a moment listening to -the church bells in Ephrata. When he went on his way, she turned -with forgetfulness of all troubles to "David Copperfield." The first -paragraphs puzzled her, but she did not linger. Mercifully, one did -not need to understand everything in a book in order to get intense -enjoyment out of it. - -Levis retraced Ellen's journey of yesterday, except that he climbed no -fences, but kept to the road until he reached the strange group of old -buildings in the hollow, now more uncanny than ever in the twilight. -They were entirely dark, and about them in his imagination ghosts -seemed to wander, some of them saintly and all pitifully deluded. These -old buildings had trapped him; entering them from curiosity soon after -he had taken the practice of the old doctor, he had come out bewitched, -unable to free himself, the course of his life changed. - -Midway between an outer and an inner gate he stood still. He was in -the little enclosure beside the public highway where for a hundred and -seventy years the Seventh-Day Baptists had buried their dead. Here were -no ornate monuments, but a few rows of simple stones, some sunk deep -into the soil. One, a little larger and whiter than the rest, seemed to -invite contemplation. Levis glanced at it, hesitated for an instant, -and then went on. He knew well how unimportant are the remains of -mortality and that it is mockery even to pause beside a grave in which -lies the object of a love, extinguished not by death, but by life. The -shadowy stone recalled not grief born when Mary died, but miseries -struggled with long before. - -As he passed through the second gate he heard voices. Beside the tall, -steep-roofed buildings stood a little cottage where lived Grandfather, -the guardian of the property, and Amos, his nephew, protégé, and -familiar. Pleased with the attendance at yesterday's meeting, the two -sat together on the porch, now for a long time silent, now in earnest -conversation. There was now no prophet's fire in Grandfather's eyes. He -sat comfortably in an old armchair, the wristbands of his unstarched -shirt turned back over his coat sleeves, his loosely hanging hands, his -air of negligent repose suggesting the portraits of the aged Whitman. - -He spoke rapidly and easily, the young man more slowly and in a -questioning tone. The prophet's mantle seemed to Amos a heavy robe, -though his piety was sincere and he looked, even more than Grandfather, -the part of saint. His features were beautifully modeled; his thick -and curling hair was worn a little long, in faint imitation of the -pious hermits of long ago. His slightly parted lips and wide gray eyes -gave him a look of expectancy which was the expression of his hopes. -He anticipated that the faith which filled his soul would be quickened -by mystical visions. It had been so in this holy place, it would be so -once more. Grandfather had assured him of it a hundred times. - -Grandfather believed that in establishing in Amos a preoccupation -with spiritual things and with his own soul, he had done him an -inestimable service, but to Levis this preoccupation was unwholesome -and unpleasant. He felt contempt for Amos and avoided whenever possible -the sight of his feminine beauty. Neither Levis nor any one else had -realized that Amos, with his magnificent frame, his delicate beard, his -long hair, his literary aspirations, and his formal meditations, was -not tragic nor profound nor despicable, but perilously like a figure of -comedy. - -The two did not hear the closing of the gate, and the end of their -discourse came distinctly to ears already burning. - -"It is a fine thing for us that young Matthew has taken this stand. I'm -not afraid for the little one--it was doubtless conviction of sin which -made her run away. I will see her alone, and then she too will come -into the fold. It has been distinctly prophesied to me in dreams that -with you three anything might be done, Matthew the head of a secular -congregation, you of a restored brotherhood, and Ellen of a sisterhood." - -Levis laid his hand on his heart in an habitual and, almost invariably, -an unconscious gesture. The blood seemed to beat behind his eyes and in -his throat. He had never been so angry. - -"It comes to me sometimes that my life was all wrong," sighed -Grandfather. "In my youth I had a call to remain single. But I was like -others--weak. When a Seventh-Day Baptist shall show by his life that he -really believes the assurances of God, then the Spirit will descend in -rich measure, and we shall have again our hundreds devoted to prayer -and to good works." - -A flattered Amos tightened the grasp of one hand upon another. He knew -that he was the foundation upon which his uncle's hopes were built, but -he had never heard it so plainly stated. He felt his heart burn, he -seemed to see a light over the steep roof of the Saal, and he believed -that a higher authority than his uncle was going to communicate with -him. Then he saw a tall man approaching from the gate. - -"There is some one here, Uncle." - -"It's Levis," said a crisp and angry voice. "Father Milhausen, I want a -few words with you." - -"Sit down, Edward," said the old man. - -"I'd rather talk where there's a light." Levis tried to keep his voice -steady. He did not mean to have any of his words go trailing off into -the darkness without hitting their mark. Moreover, he meant, if need -be, to quarrel and perhaps to storm, and he did not think it decent to -quarrel so near the white tombstone. - -"All right, I'm willing." The old man rose. "Amos, make a light." - -The coal-oil lamp revealed a little room which was at once kitchen and -sitting-room. It contained a stove, now cold, a table, a shelf holding -Latin and German books, and another holding specimens of ancient -pottery. All was bare and neat. - -The human element was far more interesting than the furniture. Old -Milhausen stood for a moment stroking his white beard. His dark eyes, -half covered by heavy lids, looked downward without seeing--he was -praying for wisdom. Amos stood close to the table fitting a shade over -the glaring light. - -"Perhaps I'd better go," said he humbly. "I don't wish to be where I -have no business." - -"There's no reason why you should go," said Levis lightly. "I'd like -to have you hear what I say, so that there may be no misunderstanding -between any of us." He sat down in a plain wooden chair by the table -and Amos sat down on a bench on the other side. - -Grandfather opened his eyes, having been assured, in some fashion which -he understood, of help from on high. He saw that his son-in-law was -angry and he determined to quiet him if possible. Edward was not one -who bore the dispensations of God easily. - -"This has been a very pleasant--" - -Levis had not come to talk about pleasant things. - -"I don't like discussions and quarreling," said he. "I have not had -a bitter word with you since the hateful scene you forced upon me at -Mary's bedside, but now you have brought about the occasion for another -scene. - -"I promised Mary that the children should not be influenced against her -religion, and that I'd let them go to meeting. I've kept my word partly -because I usually keep promises, but more because I didn't believe that -two children brought up in this century in my house would accept the -teachings of your sect. I"--Levis raised a silencing hand. Grandfather -smiled, then, instead of going on with the remark which he had tried to -begin, he hid his lips--"I still don't believe it, even though Matthew -came home yesterday thinking he was 'converted.' - -"While I've kept my promise, you've broken yours. Yesterday, publicly, -you called on two impressionable children, hypnotized by darkness and -heavy air and too much vague preaching, to confess the most foolish -beliefs. You did worse than that--you put them into a position where -it seemed wicked not to confess them. I don't doubt that Matthew would -give anything in the world to forget that he made such a conspicuous -fool of himself. Fortunately Ellen was more frightened than impressed. - -"What I have to say about the matter is this--Matthew is going to -college in the fall and until then he will come no more to church. If -after he has been at college and medical school, he chooses to believe -as you do, you may have him." - -"I'm not afraid for Matthew," said old Milhausen. "I was bidden to -break my word. I had plain directions." - -"You see nothing Jesuitical in that, I suppose? Well, neither am I -afraid for Matthew. Now about Ellen--" - -"I'll say no more to Ellen," promised Grandfather uneasily. Ellen was -far more than Matthew his darling, the delight of his eyes. - -"That is so; you will not," agreed Levis. He rose and took his hat from -the table. The others rose also, Grandfather towering above the younger -men. Deeply disturbed, he tried to fathom Levis's meaning. - -Amos understood Levis. He had watched Ellen since she was a baby; he -had seen her growing toward womanhood and he believed that he loved -only her soul. - -"What are you going to do about Ellen?" he asked. - -It seemed for a moment that Levis meant to brush by him without -answering. Then he said to himself that it was just as well to let -Grandfather and this saintly young whipper-snapper have their just -deserts together and at once. - -"Ellen will come no more to meeting. You have had your chance at her -now during all her most impressionable years, for which I blame myself. -I should have broken my promise long before you broke yours." - -"God Almighty will require her soul of you!" Grandfather's calmness -vanished, he spoke with gathering power and shrillness. "You came here -a stranger, you beguiled my daughter, she married you against my will -and against her conscience, but she saw very soon that there was no joy -in such a marriage. She gave me her children as a holy gift, and if I -died without knowing they were safe, I couldn't be happy in eternity!" - -"They're my children as well as hers," answered Levis. "I have just as -keen a sense of responsibility as you. You've had more than your share -of their souls. You've taught them superstition, now I'll teach them -the truth." - -"Superstition!" Grandfather made a sweeping gesture in the direction of -the dim old buildings. "What do you believe, Edward?" - -"I believe in an undefinable creative power," answered Levis sharply. -"As for revelation or miracles or immortality or divinity come to -earth--they are delusions created by the imagination of men as panaceas -for the fear of death." - -The old man clasped his hands, anger transmuted into terror. - -"Immortality!" he repeated. "You don't doubt immortality?" - -"I think we shall be immortal as part of the revolving earth." - -"Will you tell Ellen that?" asked Grandfather in a whisper. - -"No," said Levis. "If Ellen has as good a mind as I think she has, she -will find all that out for herself. Good-night." - -Amos barred the way to the door. - -"We will pray for them and you," said he. - -"I have no objections," answered Levis. "Pray away!" - -When the door was shut, Amos saw that Grandfather was weeping. - -"Don't worry, Uncle," said he. "Matthew is safe. I'm confident of it. -And Ellen will come to school for two more years. She will not forget." - -"He came into our meeting from curiosity. He took all I had. He made -her like a mad creature; she had only one thought and that was to -be with him. But she was punished, poor, poor Mary! and now she is -sanctified." - -Amos's cheeks burned again. He was curious about such madness. - -"They didn't live long together?" - -"Four years. At first he was determined to go away, but this Mary -resisted. She was like the Anastasia of whom our records tell. The -better spirit had begun to work upon her and she knew that if she went -from the shelter of this place she was lost." - -"I'm not afraid for these children," said Amos again. - -But he spoke absently. When the old man had gone to bed, he went -outside and walked up and down in the thick grass. After a long time, -when it was so late that passers-by were few and no headlights cast -their glare over the little cemetery, he passed through the gate and -stood by the white stone, thinking of the cousin whose beauty he -remembered, in whom love was a sort of madness. Yet religion had been -more to her than love! A dreadful word which Levis had used tempted -him--was she not a fool to give up love? It seemed to him that the -fragrant night was resonant with voices, calling vaguely and unhappily. -He looked down upon the white stone and traced with his hand the -inscription which he had read a thousand times: - - Mary - Wife of - Edward Levis - Daughter of - Abraham Milhausen - Aged 25 years - -Suddenly he shivered. The tradition of hearts unsatisfied was more -potent than that of the peace of the saints. Then he went indoors and -prayed God to forgive him. It was his object to keep himself unspotted, -to guard his soul unceasingly. His ignorance of the world was well-nigh -unlimited. - -Levis walked back more rapidly than he had come. It was against -his habit to think much of the past, and now the future held a new -interest. It was a relief, moreover, to have spoken his mind, and -because of it he felt greater toleration for Grandfather. For beautiful -Amos he continued to have only contempt. He wished that it was already -September so that he could send Matthew away. - -Another educational project he meant to put into execution at once. He -went whistling up the lane, noticed without pausing the blackness of -the woodland and the slender moon hanging above, and pushing open the -door found Ellen asleep, her book clutched in her arms. The light was -burning dimly and beneath it lay a note: - -"I did not go to bed because of the 'phone. Matthew is asleep. I -listened at his door." - -Levis stood and looked down upon plump Ellen. Her cheeks were flushed -and beadlike drops stood upon her upper lip. Her curls had come out -of their ribbon and clustered about her face; her relaxed body seemed -tall. Levis drew up a chair and sat down to a closer contemplation. -She bore no resemblance to her mother--Matthew had the maternal -inheritance. In spite of her discouragement over yesterday's quiz, she -had exhibited a surprising maturity of mind. - -At this minute she stirred and smiled and appeared for an instant to -lose her childishness in a riper charm. Tears filled her father's eyes. -Perhaps he should yet have companionship in his own household! - -Presently he turned to look round the room; then he rose and brought -from somewhere in the house a little table and set it by the window. -He went out again and reappeared with a handful of books, worn and -dog-eared, and sitting at his desk, looked through them; then taking -a sheet of paper wrote several lines upon which he seemed to ponder. -He glanced at Ellen as though he meditated rousing her to aid in this -planning, but thought better of it, and laid books and papers and two -carefully sharpened pencils on the little table together. - -Then he lifted Ellen herself. Before he reached the doorway she opened -her eyes drowsily. - -"Oh, it's you!" said she heavily and with deep content. - -He was not yet through with his family. Coming back into his room, his -hand again pressed upon his side as though Ellen's weight had exhausted -him, he found a figure, large, bonneted, with hands humbly folded. He -had a dreadful fear that Manda meant to announce her departure. - -"Well, Manda!" - -"I have something to say," said Manda in her humblest tone. - -"Sit down, do." - -Manda shook her head. There were proprieties to be observed by a widow -in her position and she knew them. - -"I should be called Mrs. Sassaman," said she. "I don't mind Manda, but -it is as if I had lost respect for him." - -Levis suppressed a hysterical impulse. - -"Of course you shall be called Mrs. Sassaman!" said he. "We have all -been thoughtless." - -When she had gone, he lay down upon the old sofa, still showing the -impress of Ellen's body. He had thought of himself till this moment -as a young man, but a man is young no longer when his son sets up his -will against him. He looked age in the face; he remembered the senility -through which many pass to their end. Then he turned his cheek against -the pillow which was warm and a little damp. It somehow comforted him. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -STUDYING IN VACATION - - -Anticipation of some unusual happening woke Ellen early on Monday -morning. She lay for an instant staring at the whitewashed walls, at -the carved pineapples tipping the posts of her huge bed, and finally -at a picture above her bureau in which General Washington, in red -trousers, a sky-blue coat, and white wig, bowed to the admiring -applause of a large throng. - -She sat up, clasped her hands about her knees, and looked down upon -the wheat-field where already the first swath had been cut by hand and -where the reaper, driven by Matthew, was about to begin its more rapid -work. At once she sprang from bed. It was Monday and a harvest day and -Manda would be cross. Saturday and Sunday had been, in spite of their -woe, interesting, but to-day promised only dullness. - -But to-day was to have an interest of its own. She washed the dishes -and peeled a mammoth bowl of potatoes, then she made up the beds, -spreading the covers with care and beating the pillows vigorously. -When she had finished, she heard her name called and went down to the -office. Her father sat at his desk, a score of little white papers -before him on each of which he was laying a bit of powder from a -wide-mouthed jar. He seemed to fit in less well than usual with his -surroundings, the old book-cases, the rag carpet, the worn furniture. - -"Shut the door, Ellen." - -Ellen did as she was bid. She lifted a corner of the ugly gingham apron -which hung far below the bottom of her skirt and wiped her perspiring -face. It was exactly a gesture of Mrs. Sassaman's. - -"Take your apron out to the kitchen!" Levis spoke with unreasonable -sharpness, not toward Ellen, but toward the apron. - -"Now, Ellen"--when the last of the little powders had been folded--"I -don't believe that all mental activity should cease because the weather -is warm. For two hours each day--morning or afternoon or evening, -whichever pleases you and Mrs. Sassaman--you are to sit on yonder -chair and study. Each day I shall set you a lesson which you must have -ready by the next day. The machinery in your head is good, but it needs -steady use. First we shall have an examination. I've marked on that -paper a number of sums which I selected from your arithmetic. There are -twenty of them. Then here"--Levis opened a little book--"is something -new. It's absurd that you shouldn't have been taught about your own -body. To-morrow morning at this time, I'll expect you to tell me about -these ten pages and to show me your examples. Get them done neatly." - -Ellen grew pale with the intensity of her emotions. The lesson seemed -long, but she was not one to hesitate when things were hard. - -"But I will get ahead of my class! I don't know whether Amos will like -that, Father." - -"His likes or dislikes make very little difference." - -"And Matthew will think it's silly. He says that when girls get -learning they are like peacocks spreading their tails in the air." - -"In spite of Matthew we shall proceed." - -Thus encouraged, Ellen crossed the room and laid her books and paper -on the little table. "Example 4, page 50," she wrote, referring to her -father's list. Then she put the tip of her pencil into her mouth and -laid herself bodily upon the table. - -Levis pushed under her feet an old ottoman. - -"Sit up, Ellen, sit up! And never put anything but food into your -mouth; no pencils or fingers!" - -Ellen flushed. She was often offended by the habits of others; she now -saw herself sprawling, and blushed scarlet. With the blush her childish -unconsciousness of self vanished. - -"And don't chew your tongue, my dear!" - -"I won't," she promised, deeply mortified. - -Example 4, page 50, was promptly finished and ruled off, and Example 8, -page 58, was begun. Levis fetched the morning paper and the mail from -the rural delivery box and sat down to read. It was only eight o'clock, -and he did not start upon his round till nine. Sometimes he glanced -toward the window where the scholar labored, jerking herself frequently -into the upright position which she had momentarily lost, and striving -with many backslidings to control the motions of a tongue which had -hitherto assisted in all mental processes. Presently Matthew, covered -with dust and grime and perspiration, exhibited with stoical pride a -cut hand. Frowning, Levis bathed and dressed the injury. The clean hand -and the white bandage looked out of place. - -"Matthew, this is entirely unnecessary." - -"The wheat must be cut." - -"There are enough people to cut the wheat. We had better lose a part -than have you hurt your hands." - -"It is nothing," protested Matthew. - -"This work hardens your skin and a physician can't have hard hands. Get -a bath and change your clothes and don't go back." - -"The men expect me back!" - -Levis made no answer, and Matthew went out sullenly. He thought that -Ellen was being punished for yesterday's misbehavior and felt somewhat -mollified. But he wanted to go out to the fields. The men would laugh -at him. He didn't care about his hands and he was determined not to be -a physician. - -"I could make more money farming than Father does doctoring--a great -deal more. I don't want to go away; I want to stay here." - -After changing his clothes, he sat by the window. His room was on the -opposite side of the house from the wheat-field and the men would not -see him. It was bad enough that they should see his father idling. And -Ellen should not be writing; they would think that she was playing. A -host of angry protests crowded into his mind. He had been for a long -time critical of his father and now his father's opposition to the true -religion gave him the right to express his disapproval. - -He reached out and took his Bible from the little stand. It had been -given him by his grandfather, who had marked many of the passages, and -he turned from page to page. There was one verse about being persecuted -and reviled for conscience' sake which he smoothed with his hand. Other -verses came into his mind about separating one's self from one's family -on account of their disbelief. He saw himself a hero, admired and set -on high by the church people. He might leave his home and go to live -with Grandfather. He thought of Millie whose eyes gleamed at him so -pleasantly and so strangely. - -But before he had got beyond the most vague of speculations, he found -himself rising from his chair in response to a summons from below. Even -yet his father lingered! - -"Matthew," said Levis cheerfully, "I think that you, too, should do -some studying. Here is the University catalogue showing the character -of your examinations. Get your books together and after dinner we'll go -over the subjects and see whether you are entirely prepared." - -"I have all my examples done already," announced Ellen proudly at this -ill-selected moment. "Now I'm to study physiology." - -Matthew flushed. So Ellen had not been punished at all! And he was to -be set down beside a baby to study in vacation. But again he moved -obediently. - -The examination proved that Amos had done his work well. Matthew's -mind, if mechanical in its operations, was tenacious of that which it -had once grasped. Mathematics he found difficult, but not impossible; -German was one of his native tongues; Latin had been easy, thanks to -the fact that some of the early writings of the Seventh-Day Baptists -were in that language and that Amos, poring over them, had acquired -thorough knowledge and had imparted it to his pupil. In elementary -science, he was not well prepared and his father made ready to remedy -the deficiency. - -"We can easily rig up a little laboratory, and when you see these -experiments and perform them, you won't find them hard." - -"I don't see any use in it," complained Matthew, almost in tears. - -"But you will. And you must do more English reading. Both you and Ellen -use abominable idioms. Here are a dozen prescribed books." - -"I don't like to read," said Matthew. "I don't believe it's meant for -us to read much except the Word of God." - -Levis looked at his son with an intense, satiric amusement. But he made -no comment. In a few months Matthew would be sitting under teachers -whose elaborate astonishment at stupidity Levis remembered. He would -like to hurry him away to-day. He needed to see himself as others -saw him; he needed to meet amused and astonished eyes, to hear the -smothered laughter of fellow students at his boorish ways. It could not -be that the boy was irreclaimable who yesterday was playing with his -blocks on the floor! - -"You'd better go to your room, Matthew. You should study four or five -hours a day and you're likely to be interrupted here." - -Matthew went slowly upstairs. For a while he sat idle; then hearing his -father's voice, he opened his books. They proved hateful; a few weeks -without mental effort had made thinking difficult. He heard Ellen, now -that her father had driven away, chanting the names of bones and he -shouted fiercely to her to be still. He was even young enough to shed -tears. Then he prayed for strength to bear the extraordinary burdens of -his lot and it seemed to him that his task was lighter. Once, lifting -his eyes from his book, he looked steadily for a long time at the wall. -He was following a pleasant train of thought which had for some time -received a subconscious attention. He was planning what should be done -with the farm if he had it. It was a delightful occupation. - -After dinner Ellen, who had hitherto always obeyed Matthew and every -one else who had given her commands, ceased her singing and studying -and went upstairs, creeping softly on hands and knees. It could not be -that Matthew would continue "mad" much longer. At other times he had -been angry for a day and a night, but now a day and a night had passed. -Unfortunately she did not let her approach be known and Matthew, -looking up from his meditations, saw her standing in the doorway. As -much startled and alarmed as though she had read his thoughts, he flew -into a rage. - -"You sneak on me, do you? I just tell you this, Ellen, you'll get your -punishment, never fear! A girl to run out of church and refuse to -listen to the words of her good grandfather! You know what happens to -bad people--that will happen to you unless you repent. The Bible says -we shan't have anything to do with people who don't do right. I'll -speak to you, but I won't have anything more to do with you until you -say you are sorry for the way you acted. Get out of my room!" - -Ellen got out quickly and went down the stairs. In the office she hid -her face in the pillows of the old sofa. She understood now that the -house was divided; she felt division in her own heart. The teaching of -the Seventh-Day Baptists was the only religious teaching she had ever -had--perhaps Matthew was right. Then what would become of her father -who did not go to church? And what would become of her who fled from -church? - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -AN EVENING PILGRIMAGE - - -That Grandfather would give up the children without a struggle was -unlikely. When a month had passed and they had not reappeared at -service, he went to visit his son-in-law, taking Amos with him. It was -Sunday evening and the church bells were ringing. He carried a long -staff, and looked, with his silvery beard and his unearthly expression, -exactly like the early pilgrims, worn by vigils and fasting, who had -set out from this spot in summer's heat and winter's cold to gather -into the Net of Heavenly Wisdom all who were willing to be caught -therein. Across this undulating land, then thickly forested, had -traveled not only Seventh-Day Baptists, but Moravian and Mennonite, -Dunker, Quaker, and New Mooner, all on journeys which were concerned -with the salvation of souls, all anticipating the coming of the -Celestial Bridegroom. They had not walked on a smooth road comfortably -as did Grandfather and Amos, but with sandaled, stumbling feet in -narrow paths, from which they stepped to let pass a single Indian -warrior or perchance a horde going noisily to Lancaster with squaws and -papooses, worn old horses and dirty impedimenta, to exchange, for a few -hundred pounds, mountains and valleys, great rivers and dense forests. - -Grandfather walked silently, his head bowed, and Amos, stepping behind -him at the approach of a team, kept that position, his head bent like -the old man's. - -The beauty of the evening weaned Grandfather for a little while from -his anxiety. The wheat was gathered and in the barns, the corn was -taller than his head. Over everything streamed a golden light like the -imagined light from the portals of the heavenly city. He had often -fancied himself laying down his earthly burdens on such an evening, -and he had long desired to go. He was desperately tired of life with -its complications and unaccountable contradictions. For an instant he -wondered whether any future could be better than one of entire rest -and blankness of mind, of such sleep as visited the very weary--heavy -and uninterrupted by dreams. - -Then, with horror, he drove away such speculations. Was he to lose in -a moment's doubting in his old age that heaven which he had desired -from his youth? Moreover, the most important duty of his life still -lay before him, the strengthening of the young in the faith so that -the truth should not be left without witnesses. There was Amos of -whose devotion he was sure, but the life of a single man was a slender -barrier to set up before the waves of indifference and disbelief which -were engulfing the world. If he could not count upon his grandchildren, -there was no one left. He gauged with a keen eye the quality of the -rest of his flock. Feeling suddenly the need of an assurance from his -solitary disciple, he called Amos, who stepped to his side, pleased to -obey promptly. - -"Amos, it will not be long till I am gone." - -"Don't say that, Uncle!" - -"It is so in the nature of things and I would not have it otherwise. I -intend to leave you so that you will need to feel no anxiety about your -daily bread. What else I have will go to my grandchildren under certain -conditions and some also to the fund to help the repairs. It is a heavy -responsibility you have on you, but our founder said that wherever -there is a man who has a receptive mind there will the Spirit enter in." - -Amos's golden head bent humbly. - -"I have no ambition to be prominent, Uncle. I wish there was some one -else." - -"There is no one else. Besides, you have been trained; there is no one -but you to decipher the old writings. If anything should happen to me -suddenly, it will be your duty to look after these children. It is -my firm belief that Matthew is ours without any question, but it is -different with little Ellen. You have her in school; everything will -rest with you." - -Amos's delicate skin showed a bright color even in the gathering -twilight. He had begun to believe that he had unsuitable thoughts about -Ellen, that he had noted with unseemly keenness the changes in her -youthful figure. It would be sad if at last temptation should come to -him in the form of sweet little Ellen, his pupil! He believed that thus -the devil answered his desire to remain celibate. Before he had formed -this intention, he had not been troubled. He did not quite hold with -St. Chrysostom that a woman was a wicked work of nature covered with a -shining varnish, but he did believe that she was a serious obstacle to -the spiritual life. - -There was a light in Dr. Levis's office where he sat reading. Ellen had -gone with Mrs. Sassaman to her church, and to their surprise Matthew -had brought round the double carriage and had taken the driver's seat. - -Levis called "Come in," without laying down his book. When he saw his -guests, he sprang up and pushed out two chairs. Now that Ellen was -studying and Matthew had gone to the Lutheran church, he felt a little -pity for Grandfather Milhausen. - -"Sit down," he invited. "This is a very pleasant evening." - -The circumstances of his visit to the Kloster were now reversed--it was -Grandfather who had no desire to discuss the character of the weather, -and to his son-in-law's remark he made no reply. Levis looked at him -critically. He must be considerably over seventy, but he might live to -be a hundred. - -Then Levis looked at Amos whose beauty though unpleasant was -extraordinary--what a sensation he would create among artists!--he -might even, with his aureole and his silky beard, produce a sensation -upon a city street. Levis wondered with amusement what Amos would say -to a suggestion that he allow his body to be made a delight to the eye -for centuries, like that of a certain youthful model of St. John. - -Grandfather clasped both hands over the head of his stick and leaned -forward. His keen eyes fell upon the book which Levis was reading--he -knew enough of books to be certain that this was no religious work. - -"Edward, I have come to speak again about the children for whom I -am accountable. I didn't believe you when you said they shouldn't -come to meeting. It seemed that you could not be guilty of such -short-sightedness and wickedness." - -"I meant exactly what I said--that they should go no longer to the -meeting of the Seventh-Day Baptists. This evening they have gone with -the housekeeper to the Lutheran church." - -"Not Matthew!" - -"Yes, Matthew. He went of his own accord. I hope they'll go to other -churches, all the churches. Then they'll realize that much that you -teach is taught elsewhere, and that will be a step gained." - -"The Lutherans are worldly and they don't believe in trine immersion!" -Grandfather's voice thundered. - -"What do you suppose the Lutherans would say about you? It's only fair -that the children should hear both." - -"That isn't the way to train children. They should be taught, line -upon line, precept upon precept, so that truth is fixed in their minds -firmly." - -"You've had your chance to fix it firmly." - -"I'd like to see them," said Grandfather. If there had been the -slightest break in his voice, if his tone had expressed a hundredth -part of the misery within him, Levis would have replied more gently. -But Levis thought of him only as a bigoted, hard old man. - -"You may come here and see them at any time." - -"It isn't suitable that I should come to see my grandchildren when they -are able to come to see me." - -"I'll send for you. I'll drive down and get you myself when you want to -come. But the children can't go to meeting, I won't allow it. The other -day I passed the door of the Saal and it was open and I went in. It is -incredible that you can hold services there. It ought to be torn down; -it's like a cave for dampness. I would as soon bury Ellen and Matthew -as let them continue under the influence of that place. It's a crime to -stand still when the thought of the whole world is changing." - -"We've one business in life, to serve God and obey Him. We're not to -follow changing winds." - -Levis moved impatiently. - -"Your lot may have been cast in those dim, musty, horrible places. The -lot of my boy and girl is cast in the world where they've got to be -better fortified than your doctrine would fortify them. They've got to -stand on their own feet and think for themselves. They know right and -wrong; the rest they'll have to work out." - -Grandfather leaned forward, scorn upon his trembling lips. - -"What have you worked out? The doctrine of the Trinity? Or trine -immersion? Or salvation by faith? Any of these doctrines?" - -"None of them," answered Levis lightly. "Not a single one of them." - -"You will be eternally destroyed," warned Grandfather, truly appalled. - -"Well," said Levis--then he felt ashamed. There was no use in further -horrifying an old man of whom he had so obviously the upper hand. "You -and I shouldn't discuss this subject. Each of us knows what the other -thinks and there's no likelihood of either of us changing." He tried -to recall some pleasant subject upon which he and his father-in-law -could agree. Grandfather was not interested in politics, and still -less in several wonderful medical discoveries which Levis read about -with eyes agleam like those of a traveler at sight of a new continent. -Grandfather held the practice of medicine to be useless idling. - -"We've had a good harvest," said Levis, at last. - -Grandfather stood upright. His beard was blown to one side by a sudden -breeze which made the flame of the lamp waver. - -"Edward, I ask you once more for the souls of these children!" - -"Nonsense," answered Levis. "Their souls aren't mine! If you're going -home, you'd better let me drive you down." - -Grandfather made a rejecting gesture and walked toward the door. Then -he saw that Amos had not risen, but sat, turned in his chair, looking -at a little table by the window upon which lay several schoolbooks, a -tablet, and two pencils. There was also a glass of water with a few -rosebuds in it. A sharp suspicion shot through Amos's heart. Was Ellen -studying in advance of her class? Then she would not come back! Burning -red dyed his cheeks; he felt that Grandfather and Levis must both be -able to read in his heart the emotions which boiled and raged there, -putting his salvation in jeopardy. - -"Is Ellen studying in summer?" he asked tremulously. "These look like -her books." - -"Yes," answered Levis. "You've given her a good foundation, Amos, and -she has a good mind. But she must move more rapidly, or she'll get into -lazy habits." - -"I could give her extra work," offered Amos, trembling. - -"It isn't fair to ask you to do that. I'll teach her myself till she -goes away." - -"Is she going away?" asked Amos. - -"She'll have to go to finish her education." - -"She'll not need education beyond what she can get in school," said -Grandfather. Here was a new and greater danger! - -"Oh, yes, she will!" - -"What do you mean to make of Ellen?" - -Until this moment her father had had no definite plans about what he -should do with Ellen once her mind was trained. Now he expressed a -sudden alluring thought. She had shown certain aptitudes; even before -his sentence was finished it seemed to him that the idea had long been -forming. - -"I may make a doctor of Ellen." - -At that the ticking of the old clock in the corner could be plainly -heard. Grandfather was amazed and frightened; Amos felt actually dizzy -as though the world were whirling. - -"Of _Ellen_!" they said together. - -Levis began to elaborate the idea. - -"I wish Ellen to earn her own living. Dependence upon any one after one -is grown is bad. I wish her to be perfectly independent even of the man -she marries, to be able to say to him if necessary, 'I don't need you.' -She must have a profession, and it's natural that she has inherited -some aptitude for medicine. I mean to give her every opportunity. I'm -going to prepare her for college as rapidly as I think wise, and when -she is through college she is to go to a medical school if she wishes." - -To Grandfather this was the raving of a madman. - -"You would turn the world upside down!" he cried. - -Levis made no answer. He heard the carriage at the door and Ellen and -Mrs. Sassaman coming in. He wished that they had not returned so soon, -but here they were. He hoped that his visitors would depart before -Matthew finished his work at the barn. - -Ellen ran in, her cheeks aglow. When she saw her grandfather, she -hurried forward. - -"Why, Grandfather, when did you come?" - -"A little while ago." There was a quiver under his long beard. - -"And Amos! Amos, I'm studying with Father and I'm not coming back to -school." - -"So I hear," answered Amos. - -After this no one spoke, but all looked at Ellen with hunger in their -eyes. Standing between them, she felt uncomfortable. She loved them -and she knew that they did not feel kindly toward one another. A week -ago she would have offered to sit on her grandfather's knee, or she -would have taken her fine collection of correct "examples" to show her -teacher. Now she moved backward toward her father, who laid his hands -on her shoulders and held her close to him. - -"I'm studying with Father," said she, as though she were defending him. -"Some day I'm going to be an honor to him." - -The words echoed in two disturbed hearts until the gate of the Kloster -was reached. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -MATTHEW MAKES HIS CHOICE - - -After stabling his horses Matthew came into the house. One would have -thought that any lad would have found the prospect of Ellen on one side -of Dr. Levis's desk and the doctor on the other more attractive than -the furniture of a bedroom. But Matthew started up the stairs. - -"Matthew!" called his father. - -Matthew returned obediently to the doorway. He was fast approaching his -father's height and promised to be as tall as Grandfather Milhausen. - -"Won't you join us?" - -Matthew said he thought not; he believed that he would go to bed. - -"I hate going to bed," remarked Ellen. Between her and Matthew matters -were not yet straightened out, but she was hopeful of a gentle answer. - -"You hate many things that are good and right." - -Ellen's brown eyes filled. - -"Now, Matthew, it isn't necessary to be as serious as all that!" said -Levis. "Come and sit down." - -"I think I'll go to bed." - -Levis half rose, impelled to cross the room and lay an affectionate, -persuasive hand on the boy. But he thought better of it and his face -colored with relief at an escape from a possible rebuff. Alas, he knew -beforehand all that Matthew was likely to do; he remembered another -figure with well-set head and gray eyes that had often regarded him -unyieldingly from the doorway. - -"Very well, my son. Good-night." - -When he had gone, Ellen looked at her father. Levis was for the moment -off his guard, his past years were moving before him in review. -She said nothing, but she began suddenly to feel a deep and loyal -indignation. - -Matthew climbed to his room slowly, the spark of regret in his heart -quenched before he reached the upper step. He sat down at his window -and looked out into the moonlight. He said nothing aloud, but what he -said in his heart was this: - -"The Lutheran preacher prided himself on his learning with his careful -pronunciation and his long, long words. The girls stood gayly dressed -in the choir for the young men to look at, and each tried to scream -louder than the others. I would not look at one of them. Everything was -too rich and too comfortable. Ellen's eyes were like bright, shining -cat's eyes. It was immodest to stare the way Ellen did." - -His gaze sought the moonlit distance as though he would pierce it -through. As clearly as though they were before him he saw the old -buildings, the low ceiling, the worshipers with downcast eyes. He drew -a deep breath of earth-scented air. The field beside the house had been -ploughed, and in the dewy night it exhaled a heavy odor, full of decay -yet full of promise. He seemed to see the farmer, his hands on the -plough; he saw the forward pull of the shoulders of the heavy bays, the -warm dark earth curving from the ploughshare. It was all part of the -life for which he longed, for which he was made. - -Then he looked back into the room. Dimly on his table he saw a pile -of books, his hateful books. He was tempted to destroy them, but even -stubborn Matthew had still a measure of common sense. He would have -to obey his father and go away, but he would come back. He would have -another month at home, then he would have to be at the University -before the opening to take examinations. He had no expectation of -failure and he was above deliberate effort to fail. He was determined -to put himself thoroughly to whatever test the city might offer, a -Daniel descending willingly into the fiery furnace. - -From summer day to summer day, Ellen studied. It was with difficulty -that Levis restrained himself from giving her longer lessons. When -the cooler weather came, then she should have full hours. Last year's -studies were reviewed and the equivalent of a half-year under Amos -accomplished before September. Then, when Matthew, sullen-eyed and -silent, had been taken to Philadelphia by his father, Ellen began to -work in earnest. - -She had by this time acquired many ideas that were new. The gods of -her little girlhood, Grandfather and Amos, had been entirely displaced -and there was but one creature worthy of worship. It was not Levis's -positive statements, delivered as though there were no disputing them, -which won Ellen; it was his hands on her shoulders and the throb of his -beating heart; it was the way he had looked at Matthew when Matthew had -refused to come and sit with them. Two months ago he had been like most -fathers, a tall, distant, directing human being; now he was a creature -not only to be obeyed, but to be made much of, even to be protected -and defended. He would have been touched and amused to know what Ellen -thought of him. - -He left Matthew in a small room at the University and came away, still -believing that he would "come out right," that is, he would see how -foolish he had been. He would make friends, he would learn to be like -other lads, he would forget the bigotry and narrowness to which he had -committed himself. Matthew was his own son, and he, Heaven knows, had -never been bigoted or narrow. - -After visiting the theater and watching a few skillful operations, he -went home. He might have seen, had he chosen to cross the street to -the Ophthalmic Hospital, Stephen Lanfair, who was there one day in the -week, but he did not choose. He still loved him, but he did not care -to search him out. He was astonished to find that the confusion of the -city wearied and, still worse, worried him. - -He found Ellen waiting for him in the doorway and decided as he crossed -the porch that she was going to be a pretty girl. Still there was no -trace of her mother about her, and little of him--perhaps from his own -unknown mother she had inherited her thick curls and her black eyes. - -"I have learned what you gave me to learn," she boasted. "Does Matthew -like Philadelphia?" - -"I think he will." - -"You are to go to Umbesheidens' and to Heilmans' right away." - -"Has anything important happened?" - -"Nothing at all." - -Then Ellen felt a little uncomfortable. Something had happened, but -it was too small a thing to tell. She had met Amos one afternoon in -the woodland. He had been required by a new school law to give a small -amount of instruction in botany and had come to find oak leaves. He -was sitting on the stump which was her special seat and, glad to see -him and ready to talk, she sat down at once on the fallen tree near by. - -"How is school?" - -Amos did not answer. His curious passion seemed suddenly entirely -reasonable. Ellen's hair had gone up, her dresses down. - -"It's pretty much like always," said he at last. "But you're not -there." Then he added hastily, "And Matthew is not there." - -"Are the boys still so dumb?" - -Amos hesitated. The boys were very stupid, but it was against his code -to speak in such fashion of any one. - -"They do their best." - -"And Millie? How does she get her lessons?" - -"She is no longer there. Oh, Ellen, I wish you would come back!" - -"But I'm almost through what you teach," said Ellen. "I couldn't stay -long if I did come. And I couldn't come, anyway. Two years from now I'm -going to college." - -"Oh, Ellen, I hope you'll be a good girl!" - -Ellen stirred uncomfortably at the solemnity in Amos's expression. - -"I mean to!" - -"Don't forget what you have learned!" - -"I won't. Father says you taught me very well." - -"I mean you're not to forget other things--the true Gospel and the -health of your soul." - -"I will remember all that," said Ellen quickly, frightened by this -sudden allusion to her soul. - -"And don't forget me, and that I'm praying for you!" - -"I won't," promised Ellen. "Indeed, I won't." Nervously she rose -from her place on the old log. It was late afternoon and the shadows -suddenly deepened. She held out her hand. The heart which stirred -quickly at another's need felt vaguely Amos's misery. "I must go -back. I--" she was still a child until she had uttered her childish -sentence--"I'll kiss you if you wish, Amos!" - -Then Amos knew that the devil was after him indeed. But he bent and -laid his bearded lips to the smooth cheek. He said nothing, and in a -moment she was gone, flushed and frightened. - -"Oh, how silly!" said she to herself. She felt again the light warm -touch upon her cheek. "How dreadful to have said such a thing!" - -It was of course impossible to describe this foolishness to her father. - -Grandfather thought hourly of Matthew. Each day he became more -painfully aware that Matthew was young and that temptations were many. -He saw him at the end of the week surrounded by all the enticements -of a lurid Babylon. Members of the church, astonished at the course -pursued by Dr. Levis and permitted--at least they thought it was -permitted--by Grandfather, poured into his ears descriptions of -orgies indulged in by college students in which wine, women, and -song furnished a gay entertainment. Indeed, according to the stories -heard by Brother König, wine, women, and song were as necessary to -college students as food and sleep. Church-going was unknown without -compulsion, and then all were required to attend a single irreligious, -inconsistent service where one Sunday Jews preached to Gentiles and the -next Gentiles to Jews. Brother König, so keen when the trade of a horse -was in question, had heard that on certain Sundays even Catholics set -up their altars and tried to proselyte. Matthew, every one believed, -had spiritual strength unusual in a young man, but he was, in the local -idiom, not _that_ strong. - -It was reported also that all evil practices reached their height -in the Medical School where Matthew, after an incredibly long stay -elsewhere, would eventually spend four years. Brother König could -invent little beyond that which he had already imparted, but he stated -plainly that there were other things, _of which he would not tell_. - -From Matthew directly Grandfather heard nothing. He wrote to him, but -his vaguely addressed envelope did not reach its destination. Meanwhile -he came to his assistance in another way. The evenings had grown cool -and he and Amos sat within doors, Grandfather in meditation, Amos -studying a Latin manuscript which he had found in a room high under the -eaves of Saron. It was a discourse on "The Mystic Dove," and was one of -the few documents which had escaped prying antiquarians. The quality -of the Latin was poor, but Amos was puzzling it out, believing that -it had been written by Brother Jabez, one of the most interesting and -certainly the most learned of the sect, and that it contained valuable -devotional material. Sometimes he read a line to Grandfather, and they -discussed it wisely. Alien and worldly historians had described the -Kloster, but none had written with understanding and sympathy, and -sometimes Amos dreamed of undertaking the task. - -Grandfather's plan for the sustaining of Matthew consisted in the -offering of prayers each evening at the hour of nine, when, for some -reason, he fancied temptations to be at their height. During October -the two petitioners made their candle-lit way into the dim and musty -Saal and there knelt down before the old benches, and when the Saal -grew tomblike in the cold November evenings, they offered their -oblations both for Matthew and Ellen in the kitchen, which was filled -with the sound of Grandfather's sonorous voice. - -Amos also, fresh from the work of the devout and mystic Brother -Jabez, prayed for Matthew's well-being, reproaching himself with the -neophyte's humility for the pleasure which he took in a neatly rounded -petition. He tried to pray for Ellen, but when he did so he seemed to -feel her kiss. - -November waned, and still each evening the two men besought the -Creator of the world to watch over their lamb. Grandfather prayed more -fervently and eloquently, with the desperate earnestness of a Jacob who -feels the angel slipping from him. - -"I have had no sign of an answer," said he despairingly. "We must pray -more." - -The next evening they prayed for an hour. Grandfather's heavy heart -found relief, and Amos on his knees with eyes uplifted expected some -visible pillar of fire or of cloud. - -"We shall hear from him," said Grandfather with assurance. - -The last evening of November was stormy. A late and lovely autumn had -ended yesterday with a fiery sunset and a roaring wind, and to-day -wind and rain and sleet made the outer world almost intolerable. The -blast penetrating between the cracks of the cottage blew the fire to -a furious blaze which, roaring up the chimney, gave little heat. The -gale stirred the end of Grandfather's beard as he knelt by his chair, -and fanned Amos's cheek. There were the dark shadows, the silvery white -of Grandfather's beard, the golden light on the brass bowl of the old -lamp, and all about the sound and fury of the storm, which seemed to -threaten the destruction of the cottage. - -Grandfather had worked himself into an ecstasy of expectation and it -seemed to him certain that a divine communication was imminent. Amos -opened his eyes to look at him and did not close them, so wonderful did -he seem. The wind distressed him but the sight of the old man at prayer -calmed him. - -"O Lord, we pray Thee for some sign that we are heard. We ask Thee for -Thy blessing upon one whom we love. Thou knowest the cruel snares set -for the feet of the young; keep his feet from going in those paths. -Forgive those who have tried to set his way therein. Bring him safely -home. We wait, O Lord!" - -The voice grew shrill; the key upon which it ended was high, as though -the petitioner did indeed wait. There was suddenly a sound outside -that was different from the wind, a sharp closing of the gate behind -a visitor in haste. Before Grandfather and Amos could rise from their -knees, the door opened, and, looking up, they saw not a mysterious -visitor, still less Matthew, whom his grandfather thought of first of -all, but Levis, pale and drenched with rain. - -Levis looked away; he did not like to see men in the act of baring -their souls any more than he liked to bare his own. - -"I don't wish to interrupt." - -"There is no interruption. Sit down, Edward." - -Levis did not respond to the invitation. - -"Do you know anything of Matthew?" - -Amazement answered him. - -"Nothing," said Grandfather at last. "I haven't seen him since long -before he was sent away. What is the matter with Matthew?" - -"He has left school." - -Grandfather waited for further information. In his heart he said, -"Thank God!" - -"He hasn't simply disappeared; he has deliberately run away, after -notifying the registrar that he was going. He was forbidden to go, but -he went nevertheless." - -"I know nothing whatever about him." - -"Nor I," said Amos. - -"It was three days ago." - -"I've been praying that he would resist temptation," said Grandfather -boldly. "Perhaps this is the answer." - -"I'm not concerned about temptations," answered Levis impatiently. -"Matthew is no fool. I'm concerned for his health. Where is he?" - -Then Levis felt the door against which he stood move slightly and -turned with tigerish swiftness and threw it open. In came the wind and -sleet, and in came also Matthew, rain-soaked, bedraggled, with bent -head. He pressed hard against the door until it was closed and then -stood panting with bright, sullen eyes. - -Levis spoke first. - -"How long have you been out in this storm?" - -"Only a little while. I walked yesterday and the day before, but to-day -I got a long ride in a market wagon." - -"Have you any clothes here that he can put on?" This in a physician's -sharp tone to Amos. - -Amos beckoned Matthew to the other room. - -"When did you eat?" asked Levis. - -"At supper time," said Matthew and shut the door. - -Levis sat down by the table. "Have you any stimulant in the house?" - -"God in Heaven, Edward, now that he is here and safe, would you ruin -him deliberately? Aren't you satisfied?" - -"Have you anything that he can take hot?" - -Grandfather rose and opened a cupboard door, his hands trembling. - -"I will make _durch-wax_ tea." - -"Make it then, or let your acolyte make it." In the midst of his rage -Levis was pleased with having found exactly the right word. - -"It's very bitter tea," said the old man as he poured hot water upon -the dried leaves. - -"The bitterer the better," said Levis grimly. - -When Matthew appeared from the inner room, there came into his father's -white face the expression of amazed and intolerable pain which Ellen -had once seen. Matthew was unshaven; the dark shade on his cheek was -not put there by the soil of travel, it was a curling beard, which, -above Amos's black suit, had a significance not to be ignored. For a -single second his father thought that this could not be Matthew, it -was Amos. He laid his hand against his side as though his heart ached -sensibly. - -"Are you tired?" he asked. - -"Not very." - -"Then I think we'd better settle this matter at once. Since you've -chosen to come here and to pass your father's gate, we'll discuss it -here and for the last time. Why did you leave school?" - -"I couldn't see any use in it." - -"Do you expect to be a physician without going to school?" - -"I don't want to be a physician. I have no interest in it. I want to -farm." Matthew burst into tears. - -Levis met tears without a change of expression. - -"Suppose you do want to farm, there's no reason why you shouldn't go -to school. There are new methods of farming which you could learn. You -could at least learn how to live. Do you want to remain an ignoramus?" - -"I'm not an ignoramus. And I don't want to take your money." - -Levis made no answer. - -"Because I'm going to be a Seventh-Day Baptist. I'm under conviction. -It wouldn't make any difference how long I went to school, the result -would be the same. I can't have peace unless I come out openly." - -Now it was the heart of Grandfather which threatened to stop beating. -Did God hear the prayers of the faithful, or did He not? He poured into -a cup some of the steaming brew. - -Levis folded his arms and settled himself more closely against the back -of the straight pine chair. - -"Drink your tea," he commanded. "Then I have something to say to you." - -Matthew swallowed the scalding fluid. It warmed him, put heart in him, -like a sacramental wine. The storm was almost over; the roar in the -chimney had ceased, the roar outside had almost died down; it seemed as -though the stage were set for Levis. - -"I don't wish to be interrupted," said he. "I'm speaking to my son and -you are perfectly welcome to listen. Afterwards you shall have your -chance if he wishes to hear you." - -Levis began in the fifteenth century. - -"The Reformation was a protest against superstition, but only against -the more gross superstitions, and the Protestant Church retains to-day -the essential superstitions of the Roman Church. The idea of the Son -of the Creator of the universe in human form is a fantastic one, -now fading from the minds of the more intelligent. Matthew, are you -listening to me?" - -"Yes," said Matthew in a whisper. - -"The idea of a blood atonement, of the sacrifice of a single innocent -being for the sins of all the world, is monstrous, a development of the -idea that the crimes of men could be laid upon the back of an animal, -which, driven away, took them with him. To these ideas the Seventh-Day -Baptists have added others as fantastic as any invented in the history -of the queer mind of man. I could just as easily worship the bones of -a human being as I could believe it essential to have my feet bathed -at a church service. Your denial of opportunities is as ridiculous as -that of the hermit who prefers to live in bodily uncleanness. You live -in mental sloth and blindness! Your founder was a charlatan of the -worst sort who beguiled women away from their husbands and mothers away -from their children, to live in fancied holiness in this grim place. -Generation by generation his followers have grown fewer in number. In -Matthew's generation there will not be half a dozen. - -"Now, Matthew, this is my last word. You may return to school for the -year--that is one alternative. Or you may come home and live like a -normal human being and farm if you wish and without further education -if you insist, under the condition that you don't join the Seventh-Day -Baptists or attend their meetings until you are twenty-one years old. -Or, you may stay here, allied with the past, letting the world go by, -alienated from your father and little sister who have a right to your -society and your love. - -"You must choose now, Matthew. I can't continue to hope for years to -come that you'll be an honor to me and then have you fail me. You'll -have to make up your mind." - -It seemed to Levis that he had been talking a long time. He changed his -position, driving his hands deep into his pockets and crossing one knee -over the other. Seated easily, his clenched fists invisible, he had the -appearance of a man too firmly grounded in his philosophy of life to be -seriously affected by any chance which might befall. Matthew sat with -bent head; Amos in the shadow held his hand across his lips. Once he -remembered a cool, soft cheek. Grandfather seemed to have shrunk within -himself; his eyes were half closed, his lips moved. It was evident that -against the influence of Levis's eloquence he was opposing all his -supplicatory powers. He looked at no one; he seemed to be in a trance. -The wind began to blow louder, whistling round the corners. The silence -within became nerve-racking. - -"Well, Matthew?" said Levis, sitting suddenly upright. - -Matthew answered without raising his head. - -"I'm under conviction. It would be wrong for me to waste my time -studying when nothing was to come of it." - -Levis got to his feet quickly. - -"You mean you're going to stay here?" - -"Yes." - -Now Grandfather folded his arms across his breast and bent his head -almost upon them. Did God hear His children, or did He not? - -Levis lifted his hat from the pine table. - -"Matthew, look at me!" - -Matthew lifted his eyes. For an instant, with torn heart, he longed to -throw himself on his father's breast. But his Heavenly Father was more -dear. He dropped his eyes once more. - -"You've entirely made up your mind?" - -"Yes," he whispered. - -Levis lingered another instant, his back against the door. - -"Listen to me. I have my creed. I believe that no man can behave -foolishly or wrongly without having it somehow returned to him. I hope -that this hour will never be visited upon you." - -Then Levis went out to return no more. He stumbled as he crossed the -step and then straightened up in the face of the wind which blew -clear and strong from the north. He went through the gate into the -graveyard, and saw the full moon, unveiled with mysterious suddenness, -illuminating the white stones. The experience through which he had -passed, the stormy and magnificent night, the moonlight making so -purely white the tallest stone in the little graveyard--all would have -moved and racked another man. But he had the power, cultivated through -long years in uncongenial surroundings, of detaching himself from the -present. He began to repeat a passage of description of which he was -fond and which brought before his eyes a foreign landscape which he -had never seen, but of which he often dreamed. When it was finished he -repeated another passage and yet another, and so came at last to his -own door. - -The light burned dimly, but a dimmer light would have revealed to his -seeking eyes that for which they looked. Under a gay pieced afghan lay -Ellen, a book in her arms. Beside her her father drew up a chair and -there sat down, scrutinizing each childish lineament, each crisp curl. -She slept heavily, and it seemed to him that there was a shadow under -her eyes and he bent still more closely over her to discover that the -shadow was only that cast by her long lashes. He put out his hand and -laid it softly on the bright cover. - -Sitting thus, he faced at last his extraordinary situation. Ten o'clock -struck, eleven, twelve, and still he was there. His mind traveled to -Matthew's babyhood, to Matthew's childhood--would things have been -different if he had been different? He was still young then, and -thinking not so much of his children as of his own miseries of mind and -body, he had not realized that he was guilty of neglect. Even yet he -did not feel like a middle-aged man, much less like an old man--but he -had a son mature enough to defy him and to leave his house! His pride -was deep and high, the pride of a man of intellect--he contemplated -with horror the strange atavistic trick played upon him. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -A GROWING MIND - - -That Matthew had returned, that he was to live henceforth with -Grandfather, that he was not even to come to the house, were facts -which Ellen found difficult to comprehend, yet which she accepted with -a child's willingness to accept what her father told her. The family -separation caused comment, but no great astonishment in a neighborhood -where differences of opinion and the separation of dissenters were -frequent. - -Life went on quietly, yet not without interesting events. Study under -the driving spur of her father's encouragement was an absorbing -occupation for Ellen. Presently catalogues were sent for and schools -considered and compared. When a sample examination paper arrived, it -seemed possible that she might enter college, thoroughly prepared, in -two years. - -Once, before Christmas, her father took her away. When they drove to -the station the pale winter sun had not yet dispelled the pearly mist -which lay over the landscape, nor thawed the ice on farmhouse windows. -The fields were covered with snow and it was difficult to imagine -them dressed in summer's richness of corn and wheat and tobacco. The -farmhouses with their huge barns looked like rich manorial properties, -as well they might in this deep-soiled country. Until they reached -the outskirts of the larger towns nothing was to be seen that was not -beautiful, the white stretches of snow, the frozen streams which showed -here and there dark pools, the fine clumps of forest trees, white -trunks of sycamores, dark masses of evergreens, and willows tipped -with yellow beside old spring houses. Nor was there anything that was -not indicative of prosperity and peace. The houses were built of brick -and stone, the fences were straight and in good repair, there were -no weeds; ignorance might laugh at Mennonite and Dunker, Amish and -Seventh-Day Baptist, who had tilled the fields and built the houses, -but their thrift and labor had founded a great commonwealth. - -The ride across the country did not compare in Ellen's mind with the -ride between the Susquehanna River and the miles of furnaces and mills. -The sight of the towering Capitol, viewed at first from the train above -a low stretch of sordid buildings, filled her with delight. When they -had climbed the steps to the esplanade, her father turned her away from -the Capitol so that she might look down the broad street to the river. - -"Oh, Father!" said Ellen holding his hand tight. - -"It isn't very long since this was only a frontier fort and the Indians -came floating in canoes from far away to barter furs for flintlocks and -powder, and for mirrors and baubles for their squaws. Sometime we'll go -across the river and get a view of the city and the mountains." - -"Shall we really come again?" asked Ellen. - -When they went indoors, she had nothing whatever to say. The rotunda -was at first simply bewildering, its pictured dome was so far above -her, its walls were so white, the angels who held glittering lamps on -high were so majestic. Led from place to place she saw interpreted -for her the history of her State. William Penn stood, an austere -young figure, before an angry father, waited in audience before stern -magistrates, or faced westward high on the prow of a boat against a -stormy sky. Her eyes dwelt with delight upon each detail; here a blue -sky mirrored in a tiny pool, here bright grass, here velvets and laces, -here a lean greyhound's body, here leaping flames and young scholars -casting their books upon the fire. - -There were other pictures; the cold, miserable, intrepid troopers of -Valley Forge; William Penn and a magnificent Indian under a yellow -tree; the reading of the Declaration of Independence; and last of all, -a glorious tableau in which a hundred heroes figured. There was no -doubt in Ellen's mind that she had seen the most magnificent edifice in -the wide world. - -But there were new joys to follow. At sunset the two walked hand in -hand upon the long street by the river, keeping on a path close to -the brink. When Ellen's eyes left the golden surface of the water, -they saw old houses firmly built, stately and well kept. After a while -the houses were newer and farther apart. Far across the river trains -thundered. - -When they retraced their steps the glow had faded and lights sparkled -in interminable lines and were reflected in the dark, velvety water. -Ellen was young and eager, a warm hand held hers, she could not help -dancing by her father's side. - -"I'm choosing a house," she said. "There was one gray stone house on a -corner--I'm watching for it. It is where I should like to live. I see -it now, people are going in!" - -Halted by the tightening of her hand, Levis looked across at the gray -house. An automobile drove away, another was drawing up to the curb. -Wrapped in furs, a lady waited on the pavement for her friends from -the second car. The door of the house was open and a maid stood on the -upper step. - -"Is that a party, Father?" - -Levis did not answer. When the door closed he crossed the street. The -house fronted both on the river and on the side street, and in the -wing there was apparently a suite of offices. He went closer and read -the gilt name on a small black sign--"Stephen Lanfair, M.D." Then he -took Ellen's hand and walked on. So this was where Stephen lived when -he was not traveling about the world! He smiled without bitterness, -remembering Stephen's vows of friendship. - -Ellen looked up at him, a vague impression growing stronger. She -believed that he would like to be here; that he belonged here, rather -than with people like Grandfather and Amos. - -"Would you like to live here, Father?" - -"Would you, Ellen?" - -"Oh, yes!" - -She answered still more ardently that night. After their supper they -went to a huge lighted building, where it seemed all the ladies had -gathered from the fine houses. There were also many gentlemen with such -an expanse of shirt-bosom as she had never seen. Here was something to -tell Mrs. Sassaman--what would she say to such ironing as that? - -"What is going to happen?" she asked in a whisper when they had been -taken to seats in the first row of the balcony. Merely to sit there -would have been entertainment enough, but it was clear that some -additional joy was at hand. - -"Wait!" said her father. - -She watched the rising curtain; she saw standing on a platform -a slender young man with a violin in his hand. Now violins were -wicked--Millie's brother, who had long since vanished, was said to -have brought one from the city and his father was said to have broken -it over the corner of the stove. - -Then she took her father's hand. The violinist moved his arm lightly -and her blood raced through her veins. Her mind filled with pleasing -images, detached from one another, leading nowhere, dreamlike, -heavenly. She had never seen dancing, but she felt an impulse to rise -and discover whether she was really light as air, whether she could -really fly. - -"Oh, Father!" she cried, when the dancing tune was over. - -Then she said no more, had no vocabulary with which to say more. She -felt both sorrow and gladness, but most of all she felt the pains of -growth. There were tears in her eyes, then on her cheeks. - -When on the way to the hotel her father asked whether she had liked it, -she answered his question in a curious way. - -"I wish Matthew would come back to us!" - -The identical desire filled Levis's heart. - -"I wish so, too. Perhaps you can persuade him." - -"May I take him a Christmas present and speak to him then?" - -"Certainly. To-morrow we'll find one for him." - -The carefully chosen present was a picture which reminded Ellen of the -view from Matthew's window. It was clear to Levis why she liked it, but -he had small hopes that either persuasion or art would move Matthew. - -"May I get a pair of gloves for Grandfather and something for Amos?" - -"Yes, if you wish." - -He took Ellen and her packages to the outer gate of the little cemetery -on the afternoon before Christmas. The location of the cemetery -suggested to him always a _memento mori_--the brevity of life was -not to be forgotten by the residents of the Kloster! The whole place -under the covering of snow seemed horribly dreary and forlorn. Ellen -clambered out of the buggy and he held her packages out to her. - -"In an hour and a half at most, I'll be here." - -"May I invite them for Christmas dinner?" - -"Yes." - -"And Amos?" asked Ellen hesitatingly. - -"Yes, and Amos." - -She held her packages with care. She had tied them with red cord--such -festive packages were not often carried through the cemetery. So -accustomed was she to the path that she gave no thought to the white -stones. When she came to the second gate she laid her bundle down and -fastened the latch, as Grandfather liked to have it fastened, and went -up the little walk to the cottage, already shadowed by the Saal and -Saron. It had never been her habit to knock at the door, and she did -not knock now, but balancing her picture carefully on one arm, she -lifted the latch and entered. - -It could not have been that the three men had not seen her -coming--Grandfather sitting by the stove meditating, and Amos sitting -by the table studying, and Matthew sitting idly by the window, all -commanded a view of the gate and the graveyard. Each now had in secret -a throbbing heart, each longed to let his eyes rest upon her, to devour -her. But none had gone to open the door, and now none rose to welcome -her. - -But her smile was not to be resisted. It brought a faint motion to -Grandfather's lips and a red flush to Matthew's cheek, and caused both -heart and cheek of Amos to burn. All saw a change in Ellen, added -height, a brighter color, a longer dress. Her dress was, moreover, -gayer. Hitherto Mrs. Sassaman in selecting her clothes had remembered -that she was destined to be a Seventh-Day Baptist and that therefore -plainness was her portion; now her father had selected a new coat and -hat, with a very decided intention that she was not to be plain in any -sense of the word. Her coloring and his own masculine taste inclined -him to red, but the clerk had persuaded him to take brown, and Ellen in -a brown coat and a fur cap gratified him beyond all his hopes. - -Her appearance, her gayety, and above all her greeting moved, alas, -every heart against her. If she had come humbly, plainly dressed, -remembering the circumstances under which she had departed, her -grandfather would have taken her to his arms. If she had been a little -less lovely, Amos would not have been afraid of her. If she had been -quieter, as suited her sex and station, Matthew would not have turned -away from her. - -But she cried out with singularly poor judgment, "Merry Christmas," -forgetting that Grandfather believed in searching of heart rather than -gayety upon such occasions. Upon her grandfather's cheek she bestowed -a granddaughterly kiss, and to Amos she gave her hand. Then going to -Matthew, she put her arms round him. He longed to respond, to put both -his arms round her and to hide his tearful eyes against her curls, but -the expression which he gave to this desire was a sharp, - -"You're getting too old for such foolishness, Ellen." - -Ellen backed toward the table. - -"I brought you Christmas presents--gloves for you, Grandfather, and -handkerchiefs for Amos, and a picture for Matthew." She handed them -round, one by one, then stood, a bewildered fairy-godmother, in the -midst of unresponsive beneficiaries. - -"I go out very little in cold weather"--this from Grandfather. - -Amos did not lift the handkerchiefs from the table. - -"I don't approve of pictures, Ellen," said Matthew. "We would much -better be reading our Bibles than looking at pictures." - -She knew suddenly that Matthew would not come home, that they would -not come to dinner, but she hurried to give her invitation before she -should lose her voice. - -"Father and Mrs. Sassaman and I would like you all to come to dinner -to-morrow. Every one. We're going to have turkey." - -"We have no heart for gayety, Ellen," said Grandfather. - -The two young men, with the healthy appetites of their age, had a -second of inward rebellion against this decision, then they acquiesced. -Perhaps it was his recollection of the Christmas dinner table with its -handsomest white cloth with a red border, its smoking fowl, its hot -mince pies, that made Matthew's voice still sharper, his words more -cruel. - -"You can wrap your picture up." - -"You won't come, any of you?" whispered Ellen, her eyes seeking first -one, then the other. - -Leaving the picture in Matthew's hand she moved toward the door. To -all she was a most precious creature about to slip away forever. Her -grandfather leaned forward in his chair, pleading like an ancient -prophet. - -"Oh, Ellen, if you could only see the true light! There is only one -thing worth while and that is peace with God. Not education, but your -salvation should be your concern." - -Matthew's attack was savage. A strange, fierce jealousy filled his -narrow heart. Ellen had always obeyed him, she should obey him now! - -"You aren't dressed properly. You should know better if Father doesn't." - -Amos did not speak, but his eyes burned. If he might only talk to this -poor lamb! - -"You shan't speak against Father!" cried Ellen. "I don't see why we -can't live at peace and love one another. It's wicked for Matthew to -make Father feel badly. I would rather"--she knew that she was saying -a monstrous thing, but it was true--"I would rather lose my soul than -hurt any one like that. I wouldn't believe a religion that made me act -like that. I wouldn't believe"--she was now too excited to know exactly -what she was saying--"I wouldn't obey a God that wanted me to act like -that. I--" - -Her sentence unfinished, she got outside and shut the door between her -and them. It was beginning to snow and it might be more than an hour -before her father came, but she could not stay in the little house. - -The snow thickened and twilight fell and she waited, pacing up and -down, and feeling the chill of the raw night air through her whole -body. She did not go beyond the turn of the road, nor would she start -home, for then her father would go into the cottage to inquire for her -and he might be met by reproaches and impertinence. Lights shone out -from comfortable warm rooms in Ephrata; men returning from their work -in the village to homes in the country and women laden with packages -looked at her curiously; but she did not forsake her post, though she -might have walked home easily. - -When at last her father arrived she was shivering. He held his restless -horse with one hand and put out the other to help her. He was late--the -fastening of a box to the back of the buggy had taken time. - -"What in the world are you doing out here?" he asked. - -"I'm waiting for you." - -"But why here?" - -"They wouldn't take my presents," wailed Ellen. "They didn't want them; -they think I'm wicked. They won't come to dinner. They were all there. -Matthew has a--a--beard, Father! I--" But she could say no more. - -When she had changed her clothes, she and Mrs. Sassaman taking counsel -together over the proper method of pressing the beautiful coat, and had -had supper, Levis asked for an account of the afternoon. - -"We'll think no more of it," said he when she had finished. "Matthew -has chosen for himself. We've done everything we can and it's useless -to cry or worry." - -But she refused to give up hope. She thought of Matthew in the night; -she thought of him the next morning, when, wakened by the strains which -she had heard Kreisler play, she ran down the stairs to find the source -of the miracle in a victrola at which Mrs. Sassaman and her father -stood beaming; she thought of him at intervals through the snow-bound, -pleasant day; she thought of him when, with Mrs. Sassaman, she went to -the Lutheran celebration and listened to the children singing their -carols and saw--oh, beautiful sight!--a tree all set with gleaming -candles. - -Mrs. Sassaman felt the Christmas spirit, and her heart warmed to those -whom she served. She was a loyal soul and she often defended Dr. Levis -when her friends blamed him for Matthew's departure. Her marital -aspirations had grown less keen; she asked only to stay and serve. With -this thought in mind she visited Levis in his office. - -"I would rather be Manda," said she, as though the day of her request -to be called Mrs. Sassaman were but yesterday. - -"Very well," said Levis. "I like it better, it is friendlier." - -She sat down uninvited. She gathered now and then from her friends -descriptions of extraordinary diseases, and these she reported to -Levis, believing them to be professionally useful. She told now of the -fearful pain which "took" the friend of her friend, of the treatment -by the medical doctor and by the pow-wow doctor and of the "awful -witality" of the sufferer's constitution. When she had finished she -rose quickly and went happily away. - -Ellen thought of Matthew every day through the winter--in the short -mornings when there seemed to be so much to learn; in the afternoons -when the world moved more slowly; in the evenings when she recited her -lessons. If he had stayed in school, he would be very wise indeed. But -instead of studying he preferred to work in the stocking factory at -Ephrata--that was what Levis's son was doing now! - -One spring evening Ellen went for a walk. The frost was out of the -ground; the April air was full of the odor of wet earth, and when one -stood still one could hear little, pleasant sounds of running water. -She had passed the time when her ćsthetic sense was limited to pleasure -in a glass filled with wild roses, or a gratifying arrangement of -autumn leaves; she had begun to observe the delicate colors near the -horizon, the soft purple of the old fences, the shapes of trees and of -groups of trees. On this spring evening it was heavenly to be alive; -one forgot one's haste to be older, one's regret that learning was a -slow process, one's desire to see a thousand places, the cathedral of -Rheims, for one, and the Doge's palace and the church of St. Sophia for -others, which one would, which one must, see some day. She forgot even -Matthew. - -Then Matthew recalled himself. Ellen was walking slowly, but not so -slowly as two persons who came toward her. At the beginning of the -descent into the little hollow where the stream ran, she stopped and -stood still to listen to the bubbling water and from there discerned, -silhouetted against the yellow sky, two dark figures that might well -have been ghosts of the early settlers of the land. The man's figure -was tall, the woman's short; she wondered what couple was courting -on this pleasant evening. Imagination made her flush suddenly, but -before she had time to translate the incident into her own experience, -the familiarity of the man's outline startled her. There was only one -person who had shoulders like that and that was Matthew, who was now a -Seventh-Day Baptist, having been plunged one morning in the cold waters -of the creek. - -The girl with Matthew was Millie König, could be no other, and the -young people of the Seventh-Day Baptists did not walk with each other -unless they were betrothed! - -She hurried home with her miserable news. - -"Father, I saw him walking in the road, and Millie was with him." - -Levis knew the significance of this companionship. Under his breath, -he said scornfully, "Good Lord!" and aloud, "We'll try not to think of -it, Ellen." - -He had thought often since his visit to Harrisburg of Stephen. He felt -with increasing frequency the uneasy sensation in his heart and he knew -that he ought to have a word with some one about it. Stephen was an eye -specialist, but he was also acquainted with general medical practice. -There was a certain disease of the heart which warned gently for a long -time and then leaped with tigerish swiftness--but it could not be that! - -There was another problem which he should like to lay before his -friend. Life on the farm would be intolerable without Ellen and he -believed himself still young enough to find another place. Stephen -might be able to tell him of a practice and to help him to it. Neither -favor was too large to ask if the old friendliness continued. He -planned to go to Harrisburg at some convenient season, but he postponed -his journey week after week, believing that there was still time -enough. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -UNEXPECTED GUESTS - - -A large store of information may be put into a receptive mind in two -years. Levis, watching his sturdy young Ellen to see that her bright -cheeks did not grow pale or her alert step slow, proceeded to find out -how much she could acquire. It was a new and interesting occupation, -but his pleasure was tempered by a remorseful wonder as to how much -could have been accomplished if he had not been so certain that his own -blood and the spirit of the age would keep Matthew and Ellen safe. - -Ellen continued her mathematics and concluded her geography. She had -studied Beginner's Latin with Amos, and her father required her to -translate French. Furnishing his pupil with an outline of English -history, he prescribed reading and the relating of what she read. -Elementary astronomy, botany, and physiology she absorbed like a sponge. - -He sent for books which he had long wished to possess, but had denied -himself, a many-volumed illustrated history of art, a history of music, -a history of architecture in sumptuous dress. He sat late at night -thinking over plans for Ellen, and even brought his accounts up to date -and sent out bills, so that nothing might be denied her. - -The summer and another winter passed and between the farm and the -Kloster there was no communication. Ellen saw Matthew and Millie -walking together, and hid by the roadside or turned back. There drifted -to Levis's ears a report that Matthew wished to marry, but that -Millie's father was obdurate. Millie should not marry a penniless man, -the two must wait; when Matthew's prospects improved, then marriage -might be discussed. He had, it was reported, spoken his mind plainly. - -"You should have stayed in the nest. What if you couldn't go to meeting -for a while? You are now near twenty-one and then you can do as you -choose. You should have consulted with some one." - -Ellen had little idea of what college would be like, and still less -of what life would be like, but she knew that they must be glorious -and she longed intensely for both experiences. The second summer -of preparation passed slowly. She was sure that much was happening -elsewhere and she knew that little was happening to her. - -One Sunday afternoon she went to sit on her favorite stump in the -woodland. Before starting she looked at herself in the mirror, at her -curls and rosy cheeks, made redder by a reflection from her scarlet -tie. She held up her hands and saw with satisfaction that they were -whiter than any other hands she knew. - -Her inspection had the result which usually follows the self-inspection -of seventeen--she wished that there was some one at hand to admire. -Perhaps in the woods she would meet a stranger! There she could at -least dream of meeting one. - -She had been established on the stump for an hour, now reading, now -sitting idly, her chin in her hands, when, lifting her head, she -observed that the farmhouse was about to receive an unusual visitation. -Since the house stood near the main road, she saw daily the cars of -tourists who were starting across the country, or who journeyed to -Gettysburg or Pittsburgh. Once, sitting on the fence, she had talked to -several elegant ladies who walked about while a tire was being repaired. - -Now a car, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, was turning up -the lane and approaching the farmhouse. Its passengers had come, no -doubt, to ask for some small favor, and she, alas, was not there to -wait upon them! A month ago she would have run, now she descended in as -rapid a walk as dignity would permit. - -To her astonishment she found when she reached the porch that the -occupants of the car, except the driver, had gone into the house. -Curious as she was, she was seized with sudden shyness and wished -herself back under the trees. But in plain view as she was from the -office windows there was nothing to do but to proceed. - -Her father appeared at the office door, his face flushed and smiling. -Stephen Lanfair, halting for a moment at his gate, had seen his name on -the letter box and had come in with his wife. He had passed unknowing, -he said, many times. Levis's heart throbbed so that he had to draw deep -breaths of air. Stephen was the old Stephen; his renewal of their -friendship seemed to make possible all he had dreamed. Mrs. Lanfair's -presence suggested the solution of another problem which had troubled -him. Ellen needed associations and opportunities which he did not know -how to give her; Mrs. Lanfair might help him to provide them. - -"Oh, Ellen, come here," he said, not without pride. "I was just going -to find you!" - -Ellen felt his arm across her shoulders. It was silly to be afraid of -meeting strangers. She lifted her head and went in smiling. - -"This is my daughter." - -She felt her hand taken in a long, firm grasp, and received a general -impression of height and grayness and alertness and very bright eyes. -She looked up into them and smiled, feeling the blood rush to her -cheeks. She was sensitive and she had as yet received few impressions -which were not those of childhood. This stranger, who was younger than -her father and much older than herself, was the first person like her -father whom she had ever met. - -"Your daughter!" said a low voice. - -Then she heard another voice, and courage vanished and embarrassment -returned. It was that of a woman, seated in her father's chair, and -looking about with appraising eyes. She was small, and the old chair in -which she sat seemed much too large for her. Ellen saw in a flash the -handsome and slightly bizarre dress, through the yoke and sleeves of -which her flesh showed faintly pink, the strange and pretty face with -brows which almost met. It was not in the least a happy face, but Ellen -was not critical. Hilda was not interested in this plain _ménage_ or in -Stephen's old acquaintance, recalled thus suddenly to his mind. But it -pleased her for the moment to be friendly. - -"Come and shake hands with me," said she, and Ellen obeyed, feeling -young and awkward and ill at ease. - -"Do you go to school?" - -"I go to school to my father." - -"Have you brothers or sisters?" - -"I have--" - -"One brother who is at his grandfather's," Levis answered for her. -"Lanfair, it is doubtless difficult for an observer to realize that you -and I were in school together." - -"In school together!" Hilda looked from one to the other. "Impossible!" - -Stephen halted suddenly. He had been moving about restlessly, now -picking up one of Ellen's books, now reading the titles on Levis's -shelves. He was at once glad and ashamed to have found Levis. But he -should have come alone, he should not have brought Hilda. He stood -close to Levis, his tightly closed hand thrust into the pocket of his -coat. - -"Levis was an instructor and a Senior at once, and I was a Sophomore," -he explained. "He left school and married and I continued to study. I -didn't begin to practice till he was well settled in life." He turned -his head and looked at Levis, and from eye to eye a message flashed. In -Stephen's there was regret and a childlike desire to be restored to the -good graces of an older person. - -Levis returned the glance steadily and with the same expression with -which he looked at Ellen, as though Stephen needed, as Ellen needed, -love and care. She saw the exchange and curiosity and admiration -quickened. She glanced at Hilda who was taking in from under -half-lowered eyelids the old sofa, the little table, and the doctor's -medicine cupboards. Her stare made Ellen determine to examine carefully -all these articles of furniture. Had the never-failing broom of Mrs. -Sassaman left lint, or had her own dust-cloth touched them too lightly? - -A restless step brought Stephen to her little table. - -"Are these your books?" - -Ellen explained her course of study. His bright eyes were kind; she -looked frankly into them and smiled while she talked. - -"I'm going to college in the fall. I can hardly wait." - -Levis, after a second's reflection about the present temper of Mrs. -Sassaman, spoke to Hilda. - -"Won't you stay and have supper with us? Now that we have you here, -we'd like to keep you." - -Hilda uttered effusive regrets and Levis looked at her curiously. -Her expression had changed; it was no longer that of slightly bored -curiosity, but of anger, sharp and unpleasant. Her eyes darted to her -husband, then back to Levis, and then back again to the little table -where Stephen and Ellen stood together. - -"Oh, thank you. It's really very good of you, but it's impossible, -really. We have guests ourselves this evening. We should be going now. -We sail for Europe on Tuesday." - -"Medical convention at Vienna?" asked Levis, his keen, curious eye -fixed upon her. - -"Yes; that is, my husband is going there. I'm going to Paris for -clothes. I don't like conventions. Nor medicine," said Hilda as she -rose. She laid one hand in the other and kneaded them together in a -strange gesture. - -"It's time to go!" said she. - -Hearing the sharpened voice, Ellen turned swiftly. How fairylike this -stranger was, now that she was standing! She determined in a flash to -live on bread and water, to take some sort of medicine, to do anything -to resemble her. She saw the small, arched foot, set in absurd, -high-heeled shoes--how did she manage to stand, and how to walk? But -she did both gracefully. Ellen had heard the invitation; she hastened -to second it. - -"I do wish you'd stay!" - -Stephen looked down at her. There was a quality in Ellen which was hard -to describe unless one said that she gave herself with every smile. He -had dismissed the thought of children as he had dismissed his father's -creed, but from his deeper consciousness an instinctive longing rose. -"I wish I had her or one like her!" said he to himself with sudden -startled hunger. - -"Won't you stay?" said Ellen to him. - -Then Ellen was conscious that something unpleasant had been said or -done. She could not tell what it was, but she felt that she had given -offense. Hilda went out quickly into the hall and stood waiting. She -did not speak to Levis or to Ellen; she only said once more, "I said -that it's time to go!" - -"You're not really going this minute!" protested Levis, his sharp -disappointment quickening his throbbing heart. - -"Yes," said Stephen. His voice was louder than it had been and even a -little more pleasant. "We really must be off." He held out his hand. "I -haven't forgotten anything, not anything!" - -Hilda followed across the grass to the car and stepped in. From the -car Stephen waved his hand and Levis and Ellen waved theirs. Hilda did -not look back. The car started noiselessly; they sat like king and -queen in a state chariot, a silent retainer conducting them. - -"I think she behaved in a very queer way," said Ellen. - -"I agree with you," said Levis. He went into his office and stood -looking at the books in his case, and Ellen followed closely. - -"Who are they?" - -"He was a friend in college. I haven't seen him for years." Frowning, -Levis took down one of a set of volumes and went to his desk. "He was a -nice boy." - -"Was he married when you knew him?" - -"No; I remember hearing that he had married a rich wife." - -"She must be very rich. Did you know they were coming?" - -"No, indeed." - -"Where do they live?" - -Levis had opened his book at the letter "D," and did not answer. The -uneasy sensation in his heart had sharpened once or twice in the last -hour to an acute though fleeting pain, gone as soon as it was felt. He -had seen Stephen, but the visit seemed to make impossible all that he -had hoped for. - -For a moment, in curiosity about Hilda's behavior, he forgot his own -problems. He had found the article which he wished to consult under -the letter "D," but he could not fix his mind on what he read. It was -in reality something within his own breast which disturbed him, but it -seemed to him that it was Ellen hanging over his shoulder and cutting -off the air which he needed. - -"I wish you'd run away, Ellen, for a little while. I'll talk to you -later about these people." - -"All right," said Ellen cheerfully, remembering her own unwillingness -to be interrupted. She read over his shoulder--"'Dementia'--Father, who -has that?" - -"No one that I know of, Missy." - -"I expect you think I have it. Well, read away, I won't bother." - -Levis smiled at the tone of maternal indulgence, then he returned to -his book. Again he put his hand over his heart uneasily. The sensation -was now of weak fingers moving gently. He coughed, then he looked at -Ellen who had sat down at her table. What a strange woman Lanfair's -wife was! What had annoyed her? Most wives who brought fortunes -proved to be impeditive in some fashion--there was unquestionably an -impediment here! He turned a page and read for a moment. There was a -mental disorder difficult to distinguish in early stages from sheer -devilishness of disposition; and patients had peculiar traits and -nervous ways like this woman. Poor Lanfair! Perhaps he would return and -confide in his old friend. He had looked as though he needed a refuge. - -Presently Ellen returned to her place on the stump and there sat for -half an hour. - -"I think she was very disagreeable," she said, beginning to speculate -about married life. She, Ellen, would never make her husband -uncomfortable! - -"If I get one!" said Ellen. "And he was splendid!" - -They must live in a very grand house--perhaps she and her father might -some day visit them. She realized that she didn't even know their -name--how strange the whole incident was! - -At the end of half an hour curiosity sent her back to the house. Her -father had now had time to read all he wanted, she was sure. She -remembered that to-morrow a dressmaker was coming to get her ready for -school and she sang for joy as she walked. - -But in the half-hour that she spent in the woodland, life had taken a -long stride. Levis sat with his treatise open at "Dementia," his eyes -still bent upon the page. He had not moved since she went away. - -"Father!" she cried gayly. - -He answered without lifting his head. - -"I've been taken suddenly with a bad stitch in my side, Ellen, and -I don't wish to move until I've had medicine. You'll find it in the -right-hand cupboard in a blue bottle. Bring me a pellet." - -Ellen obeyed quickly, growing pale. Levis broke the pellet in his hand -and held it close to his nostril, then he straightened his shoulders. -It was exactly like a tiger that the thing leaped upon one! - -"I'm going over to the couch. Don't be frightened if I go slowly. Lend -me your shoulder." - -Ellen made her shoulder like iron. - -"Telephone Dr. Wescoe." - -Ellen flew. It seemed when she returned that her father's face was less -terribly gray and drawn. - -"What shall I do now?" - -Levis managed a wry smile. - -"You'll make a capital doctor. Bring paper from your desk and sit here, -beside me. You must be brave and steady." - -Ellen obeyed swiftly. - -"I've known for some time that my heart was a bit out of order. I'm -likely to have another attack, but probably not before the doctor gets -here. I want you to write something down." - -Ellen looked steadily at Levis. If she held his eyes with hers, they -could not become blank, unseeing, as they were a moment ago! There -was in his face now a dreadful eagerness. In spite of the last hour -he turned in desperate need to the memory of Stephen's old affection. -Stephen had forgotten for a while, but he meant to remember and he -would help him now. He felt the same fearful despair which he had felt -as a boy when he needed food and did not know where to get it. He had -heard the Creator called upon at too many death-beds to ignore entirely -that refuge, but he was not one to turn even in such a moment to a help -which he had denied. The "sum and term" of education had not been his, -the loss by death of one whom he had deeply loved. If his wife had died -in their earliest married life, or if Ellen had died, his spiritual -history might have been different. - -But what was it he had meant to do? Ah, yes! Ellen was waiting, pencil -in hand. - -"I give to my daughter Ellen all my property and make my friend--" - -"'Make my friend,'" repeated Ellen after a pause. - -"Can you remember his name, Ellen?" - -"I don't think I heard it!" - -"It'll come to me! Listen! You and Matthew inherit this farm from your -mother. What I have besides you must take. Don't let them shame you out -of it! Remember it's my will. If you wish, you can live economically -and share with Matthew after you've had your education. I feel better, -darling." He took suddenly a long, relieving breath. After all he was -not to be cut off now from life, from Ellen. He looked deeply into her -frightened eyes. It was now that she would need him! He had, he felt -suddenly with amazement, not yet really lived; he could not _die_! -Tears rolled down upon his cheeks. "I'll be able to eat supper with -you, I'm sure. We needn't worry to complete the paper. The doctor will -write it for me. Don't look so horrified. I think--" - -His smile stiffened suddenly and drops of perspiration appeared upon -his forehead. Was everything then over? He put out his hands and took -Ellen's face between them. - -"Don't let them keep you here! Remember!" - -"I'll remember," promised Ellen. - -Her head dropped to his breast, pressed by his hands close to his -heart. She could see nothing, but she could hear a strange beating -sound like a wooden hammer upon flesh. Her body was cramped; it seemed -to her that she could not breathe; then her father's embrace relaxed -and she rose quickly. - -Her wild glance sought the window. Mrs. Sassaman drove slowly up the -lane, Dr. Wescoe's car turned in from the highway, but their coming now -made no difference. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -CHANGE - - -Within a few minutes the farmhouse took on the air of almost hysterical -activity which follows upon a sudden death. Mrs. Sassaman, after -sinking upon a chair and giving a few tearful gasps, went to her room -to change her dress, so that she might set to work. The tenant farmer -drove away to carry the startling news to Grandfather and Matthew, -and his wife panted up the hill and sat waiting in the kitchen until -Mrs. Sassaman should be ready to give her the detailed information for -which her soul longed. But Mrs. Sassaman had too exalted a sense of -her own importance to gossip. There were, moreover, many things to be -done at once, the house to be put in perfect order, funeral meats to be -baked, the bees to be told of their master's death, and all the jars of -preserves in the cellar to be turned. - -Matthew returned with Calvin bringing word that Grandfather would -follow with Amos. Having had no active exercise, Matthew had grown -stout and looked nearer thirty than twenty. He kissed Ellen and they -sat silently until Grandfather arrived. - -"The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the -Lord." It was Grandfather's accustomed salutation on entering a house -of mourning. He spoke with a long sigh which expressed his apprehension -about the fate of his son-in-law. - -In spite of his misgivings he planned to bury Levis's body in the -little cemetery beside his wife. Wednesday afternoon would be a -suitable time and he would preach the sermon himself. For a half-hour -the three men and Ellen sat together in the parlor. Frequently Matthew -glanced at Ellen, then away. God had strangely given him his heart's -desire, but he could not help pitying Ellen. He felt very solemn and -important. - -"I don't think that bright tie looks well under the circumstances, -Ellen," he said gently. - -Ellen rose and went upstairs. As she reached the upper step she heard -the door of her father's office open and the undertaker come into the -hall. At once the three black figures crossed to the office. She heard -whispers and the door was closed. - -She did not know whether an hour had passed or only a few minutes when -she heard her name called solemnly. Grandfather stood by the parlor -table, a tablet in his hand. His black eyes gleamed, his old hand -shook. Matthew's eyes were bent upon the floor and Amos looked at Ellen -in a frightened way. - -Grandfather stepped between Ellen and the door and closed it. It seemed -to her that she was shut into prison with three jailers. - -"What is the matter?" she asked. - -"That is what we have to ask you, Ellen," said Grandfather. "What is -this paper?" - -Ellen recognized the writing which she had begun at her father's -command. - -"That is mine, Grandfather. Please give it to me." - -Grandfather held out the paper so that she might read, but he did not -relinquish it. - -"Did you write those words?" - -"Yes." - -"Who is this friend?" - -"He is a friend of Father's who was here this afternoon." - -"What is his name?" - -"I don't know." - -"Where does he live?" - -"I don't know." - -"Does he know anything of this?" - -"No." - -"You didn't write this after your father died, Ellen?" - -The words at first merely paralyzed. When their import was clear, she -could say nothing. Her silence was to Grandfather condemning--alas, for -the human soul which is unsupported by Christian principles! - -"Why, no!" she cried at last. "Of course not! He started to dictate it -to me, but before he had finished he felt better and thought it might -be postponed." - -"You knew you were writing words which would take your brother's -property away?" - -"No," said Ellen. "It was my father's property." - -She saw a glance pass from Matthew to Grandfather. Both sincerely -believed that God had prevented Levis from doing a deed of injustice. - -"It wasn't sisterly to write such words!" - -"I didn't mean to be unsisterly," protested Ellen. "Father wanted me to -be educated. He said that Matthew could get along well." - -Grandfather tore the upper sheet from the tablet and put it into his -pocket. - -"We should have very little respect in the community if such a thing -were known." - -Now Amos found his tongue. He leaned forward, his cheeks crimson. - -"Ellen could not be dishonest," he said. - -Grandfather looked at him in amazement. - -"The women make serious mistakes, and Ellen has made one. They act -before they think. Now I will take the first watch to-night." - -Ellen crept slowly up the back stairway and closed her door. Tears came -in a flood, hot, blinding, choking, drowning all thought, preventing -realization of the seriousness of her bereavement. After a long time -she fell asleep. - -In the two days preceding the funeral she made plans. Only thus could -she keep her composure and continue to feel a connection with her -father. It was now June. She would stay until September, then she would -go to college, as he had intended. Matthew would doubtless come here -to live and would bring, alas! Millie with him. But she must reconcile -herself; since she was going to have her way, Matthew should have his. - -She lived through the funeral service with few tears. The house was -thronged, and the line of carriages and automobiles extended far down -the road. Levis had lived differently from his neighbors and there was -much curiosity about his house. He had used it all, treating the parlor -as though it were no more precious than the kitchen, and drawing no -shades to keep carpets from fading. There were a few strangers present, -members of the county medical society to whom Levis's connections by -marriage were vaguely interesting. - -Grandfather preached upon the certainty of death and the necessity -for preparation, and made no allusion to Levis's heresies. When they -returned to the house Ellen expected that he and Amos and Matthew would -return to the Kloster. But instead all went into the office. - -"Ellen!" called Grandfather. - -Ellen went unwillingly and sat down on a chair near the door. She -dreaded argument, it could only cause ill-feeling. Her plans were made. - -"Ellen, death brings changes with it. It will bring change to you." -There was a gloating affection in Grandfather's voice. He believed that -God was bringing Ellen back to him. - -"Yes," said Ellen quickly, determined not to cry. - -"When the father goes, we must consider the property. Now your mother -had this farm, inherited from her aunt for whom she was named, and she -left it to your father to go after his death to you and Matthew, share -and share alike." - -"Yes," said Ellen. - -"It is only natural that Matthew should want to move on his property -now." - -"Yes," said Ellen. "Of course." - -"It is Matthew's intention to be married." - -"Yes," said Ellen faintly. - -"He has chosen a modest and pious young woman of his own faith who will -doubtless be a blessing to him. He wishes to be married soon." - -"I'm glad if Matthew is happy." Ellen's eyes sought Matthew's timidly. - -"Then he will come here." - -"When will that be?" - -"I had thought not till spring," said Matthew for himself. "But now it -will be sooner, perhaps in a few weeks." That portion of his cheeks -which remained uncovered glowed brightly. He had waited long to possess -Millie and the delay was disturbing his regular and calm mental -processes. - -"Not so soon as that!" cried Ellen, in amazement. - -"Yes," said Matthew firmly. "Father is gone and things are changed and -the sooner we get used to the new ways the better." - -"But Calvin will be here till April!" - -"I shall continue to employ him. I have talked with him already." - -Ellen's face paled. - -"I thought I'd stay here with Mrs. Sassaman till September. Then we -could have the house ready for you before I go." - -Matthew changed his position, settling himself more firmly in his -chair. Ellen would have to do as he said; God was blessing her by -giving her no choice. - -"Now, Ellen, let us talk this out. The farm belongs to you and -me--isn't it sensible that we stay here and work it? Millie isn't such -a strong person as some and she may be from time to time laid up, and -then there would have to be hired help. Isn't it foolish to hire a -woman when you are well and strong?" - -"Oh, but, Matthew, I'm going to college! It's all settled! You know -that I'm to go to college!" - -Silence was Matthew's answer. It was a pity that Ellen was still -stubborn. Grandfather took off his spectacles. - -"Ellen," he began patiently, "you don't understand business matters. -The farm is much run down and Matthew means to build it up. If he gives -it the attention it should have, and makes new fences, and gets the -implements and lime and everything needed, there won't be any extra -income for five years anyhow." - -"Then I shall be too old to go to college!" - -"You know already far more than is necessary." - -"But if I'm not willing to stay here, if I think it's wrong, if I -_refuse_?" Ellen's voice was still steady. - -"I don't wish to be hard on you, Ellen. My heart yearns over you. But -I'm your natural guardian and I have control over your property. I -think that Matthew's plan is correct, and that it should be carried -out. You can't expect him in these first years to run a farm and raise -a family and pay an income besides!" - -"But there was Father's will that he wished me to write," said Ellen, -still steadily. "His last thought was that I should be educated." - -"It is this way, Ellen. Your father left no real will. He had about -five thousand dollars saved. Now half of five thousand is two thousand -five hundred, and the income on that is only a little over a hundred -dollars a year. That would not take you far." - -"But he thought it was enough!" - -"He meant to let you spend the principal, Ellen. That cannot be now." - -Ellen knitted her brows. - -"I'll sell Matthew my part of the farm." - -Grandfather shook his head. - -"We couldn't let you do that. The farm will be worth much more in five -years than now. If we did such a thing our neighbors would reproach us -because we hadn't dealt fairly with you." - -"Let me have my two thousand five hundred dollars," begged Ellen. Here -was light in darkness! "That is all I need; that will see me through." - -Grandfather shook his head. - -"I can't consent to that, either, Ellen. That must be held against a -rainy day and meanwhile its income must go into the farm. My child, try -to accept your lot! You have a home, comfort, everything you need, and -if you stand by Matthew you will have more than you need." - -"I think families should be alone!" Ellen cried desperately. "If I were -Millie I wouldn't want any one to help run my house." - -"You don't know Millie," said Matthew earnestly. "She has no proud -ideas and she's very willing to have you help her. I have laid the -matter before her." - -Grandfather went to speak to Calvin and Amos followed him. Matthew -would have followed also, but Ellen called him back. She stood by her -father's desk, facing his unwilling gaze. - -"Is it possible, Matthew, that you won't help me go to school? Couldn't -you lend me money? You have the farm as security." - -"You're not of age. You'd have to have Grandfather's consent, and that -he wouldn't give. Besides, to be frank with you, I've had experience -with advanced schooling and I couldn't help you to it under any -circumstances. It begets pride of intellect, it leads young people away -from God, it is a curse." - -Suddenly Ellen looked at her brother with a detached curiosity, as her -father had looked at him. When he had gone she went up to her room. Its -loneliness was intolerable, and still more difficult to bear was the -sound of the evensong of birds, the sight of the young moon rising -over the woodland, and the echo of a laugh from the road. She went -down to the kitchen. Mrs. Sassaman was on the porch, her handkerchief -pressed to her eyes, swaying back and forth in her rocking-chair: Ellen -determined to go and sit on the step and lay her head against her knee. - -Instead she turned and went back to her room and sat down at the -window. She would not give way to mourning with Mrs. Sassaman, kind -though she was. This was no time to mourn; she must think, must find -some avenue of escape. Wisdom and peace of mind came from learning--her -father had had both--learning she must have to lift her from despair. - -Suddenly her heart leaped. The mysterious visitor to whom her father -meant to entrust her--who and where was he? He had said that he lived -not far away. Lancaster, Harrisburg, Reading, York were not far -away--even Philadelphia was not much more than fifty miles. But she did -not know his name, she had not observed which way his car had turned -at the foot of the lane. And he was sailing at once for Europe! But he -might read of her father's death in the newspaper before he sailed or -later in one of the medical journals which published obituaries. Here -was a gleam of hope! Her immaturity resented grief, repudiated it, -would not harbor it. She paced up and down the room, now making wild -plans, now crying. She had not yet realized what had happened and she -still had high hopes of life. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A QUICKENING TERROR - - -Mrs. Fetzer, the housekeeper, received Hilda's dinner guests on the -evening of the visit to Levis. It was not a convenient season for -guests, it being Sunday and the larger part of the staff of servants -having been dismissed yesterday, but Hilda had extended her invitation -with her usual indifference to the comfort of others. Her trunks were -not yet packed nor had she indicated what articles were to go into -them. Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane, who had expected to receive that -afternoon directions about a rearrangement of Stephen's records and the -preparation of data for a series of articles, had come at five o'clock -and waited until seven. - -Fetzer was annoyed, but not in the least dismayed, having been prepared -for this event by many similar experiences. She put on her best black -silk dress and welcomed the two women and two men who, undisturbed, -settled themselves in the library for a game of cards; then she changed -to less elegant attire, since in the absence of the waitress she would -serve their dinner. Neither the black patch over her eye, nor the -quick motions by which she compelled one eye to serve as two, made her -repulsive or grotesque. - -Waiting upon the table she saw that something more serious had occurred -than the puncturing of a tire which had delayed the Lanfairs after -leaving Levis's house. Hilda hailed her friends carelessly and asked -that dinner be served at once. She ate little, watched impatiently -Fetzer's deliberate ways, and announced as she rose from the table that -her packing was still to be done. The guests departed amiably with loud -good wishes for the journey. - -Fetzer, going into the hall to tell Stephen that Miss Knowlton and -Miss MacVane waited, approached the library door slowly. Observing him -furtively during dinner, she had been shocked by his expression; he -looked to her like a beaten child who appealed from earth to heaven, -and she sent up several fervent petitions in his behalf. She longed -desperately to help him, but she was wholly powerless. - -To Fetzer Hilda was a wicked woman; no other explanation for her -mistress's behavior had ever occurred to her. Even Stephen's patience -suggested no different explanation. - -She did not advance far into the hall. Hilda had restrained herself -in the presence of Fickes, the chauffeur, and with greater difficulty -before her guests, and the postponement of the expression of her wrath -had not in the least softened her heart. It had, on the contrary, -exaggerated the grievance and sharpened the tongue which was to utter -her wrongs. - -"But she was a child!" Fetzer heard Stephen protest. His voice was like -his eyes, childlike in its earnestness. It was bitter, indeed, that -this old friendship which had been without exception the happiest in -his life was now finally spoiled. What would Levis think of him? He -regretted with sickening self-reproach his call. He might have known -better; now he could never see him again, he hoped that it might never -be necessary to see him--a hope, indeed, which was already granted. - -Hilda accepted no apology. - -"Child!" she repeated. "That was a pose to attract. How ridiculous to -show you her books! She didn't look at you like a child, nor you at -her." - -For a moment silence prevailed. Fetzer meditated advancing. But Hilda -had not finished; she found Stephen's silence far more irritating than -his speech. She turned fiercely upon him with a remark which, while it -was not new, was uttered with truly original ferocity. - -"You'd like me to be dead; then you could live as you pleased on my -money!" - -Fetzer withdrew. She went through a passageway to the office where -again Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane waited. - -"I guess Doctor'll be out soon." - -Neither of the women answered--sometimes she believed that they -observed nothing, sometimes she believed that they knew everything. - -After loitering for about ten minutes in the passage she again -approached the library. Now Stephen was alone, sitting with his back to -the door. - -"Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane are here, Doctor." She spoke as though -they had arrived at this moment. - -"Thank you," said Stephen, without turning. Fetzer saw that though his -head was bent there was no book on his knee. For the thousandth time -she breathed a silent petition in his behalf. The ways of the Creator -were, indeed, past all finding out. - -Stephen sat for a long time looking down at his clasped hands. He -believed that his life was at times in danger, but he did not believe -that a committee of inquiry could find proof of the madness whose -outbursts were reserved for him alone. It was a pleasant prospect for a -European journey! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -MATTHEW COMES HOME - - -To Millie König the last few weeks of single life were a period of -intense satisfaction. Her waiting for Matthew and matrimony had seemed -long, but now, at last happiness and prosperity were at hand. It was -very unlikely that any of her seven sisters would marry so well. - -For the home which she was leaving she had no deep affection. She -believed herself to be the only quiet soul in a noisy brood, and the -incessant chattering and laughing which accompanied all the daily -tasks, the crowded kitchen, the shared bedrooms, the full knowledge of -one another's affairs, offended her. She disliked to be teased, and the -chief form of wit in the König household was teasing. She had loved to -go to meeting because it was quiet and she could sit and think about -her own affairs, and she liked Matthew because he was quiet. - -She was ambitious and her future offered as large a field for -advancement as she could conceive. The Levis farm was in poor -condition, but the land was fertile and the buildings were solid. On -the other side of the wood-crowned ridge ran a vein of limestone which -could be made a source of profit--Matthew had told her long ago of his -desire to develop it, together with many other secret wishes. - -"Five years of careful economy," said Matthew now. "Then we shall not -need to travel with horses"--this with actual as well as figurative -meaning. - -On the evening of his father's funeral he laid before Millie his -completed plans. He came to the door of the farmhouse and asked her to -walk with him to the gate. - -"It's all over, Millie." - -"Yes," said Millie with a becoming sigh. "I was there this afternoon. -I thought your Gran'pop laid things out right to those of us that are -left." - -Matthew had no desire to discuss his grandfather's sermon which had -decently omitted many things that might have been said. He had no -sense of triumph; he accepted God's will when it profited him as he -accepted it when it sent him to work in the Ephrata stocking factory. -His mind was upon Millie; in the twilight he put his arm round her and -drew her close to him. Her cheek was like a rose petal and her whole -body breathed freshness and health. - -"How soon could you get married, Millie?" - -It was not in Millie's nature to be coy. - -"I'm ready now," she answered promptly. "I have all my things this long -time, and it's not like going into a house where there is nothing." - -"In a month, then?" - -Millie saw no reason for even a week's delay. An intense impatience -filled her soul. - -"Yes. How is Ellen?" - -Matthew shook his head. A heavenly providence had delivered Ellen into -improving hands. - -"She can't accept this. It's so with people who are not religious." - -Millie determined to show herself kind. - -"She needn't think that she will have it too hard. Everything can be -pretty much like always. I think we should even put away the bedding -and things like that for her. I shouldn't like her to say that I used -what should be for her _Aussteir_." - -Matthew tightened his arm round this thoughtful creature. He had come -a long, hard way to his happiness, but it promised to be worth the -journey. - -The next day Millie counted her sheets and blankets and table-cloths -and her many pieced quilts, made in long winter afternoons to an -accompaniment of steady sisterly chatter. No bride of the neighborhood -had ever had so fine an assortment. - -Matthew lived at the farmhouse. He slept in his old room and ate his -meals with a quiet Ellen and a tearful and monosyllabic Mrs. Sassaman. -At other times he was at his work. His eyes shone with eagerness, his -brow was furrowed with pleasant thinking. He could have embraced the -trees and thrown himself upon the soil which he loved. - -Already, though the farm was run down and needed all that he could put -into it, he looked with longing eyes upon a small adjoining property, -across which he could reach the highroad directly from the quarry he -meant to open. He looked down upon it from the woodland one August -afternoon. The undertaking would be inexpensive and the profit would be -out of all proportion to the small outlay. If he only had enough money -to begin! Perhaps Grandfather would lend it to him. He did not like to -go to Millie's father, would not, indeed, though success was certain. -That was no way for a self-respecting son-in-law to begin married life! - -Then, as though his question had been borne aloft by the wind, the -wind returned an answer. He looked at the nearest tree, a fine oak -from which the soft whisper came; he looked at the next tree which was -equally fine. In reality the plan for their own destruction was not -breathed by the trees, but originated in a suggestion of Millie's, made -long ago when possession of them seemed only a dream. The price of the -adjoining fields was in his hand! - -Ellen and Mrs. Sassaman cleaned the house and Ellen packed away her -father's belongings, realization of the finality of death being now -complete. Once she asked a question. - -"Shall we leave the office as it is, Matthew?" - -Matthew blinked; he was calculating at that moment the price which the -trees would bring. - -"I'll ask Millie what she wants," said he at last, bringing himself to -consider Ellen's question. "And I'll ask Dr. Wescoe whether he would -like to buy the medicines and the books." - -"Not the books!" Ellen began to twist her hands together in the most -excited way. - -"Very well!" he answered impatiently. "As you like." - -Mrs. Sassaman also approached with a question. - -"When, then, am I to go?" Her large face was pale and her hands drooped -from the wrist joints, like the front paws of a rabbit sitting upon its -haunches. She might have been asking for the date of her execution. - -"I'm going to be married on Saturday at meeting," said Matthew. - -"Well, I guess I'll go then Saturday morning." - -"You're going to your sister?" asked Matthew kindly, putting his hand -into his pocket. "I'll pay you now--for the whole week, though it isn't -due till Monday." - -Mrs. Sassaman did not hold out her hand and Matthew laid the money -in her lap, the last full salary he would have to pay for domestic -service. Suddenly he was amazed. Mrs. Sassaman rose and the money -dropped to the floor. - -"You're doing wrong, Matthew," said she slowly. "You were always such -a headstrong boy, but I never thought you would be such a cruel boy. -Religion is right, so far, but not farther." - -Matthew said nothing, but went out the door and down the road to pay -a last visit to Millie. Mrs. Sassaman did not make him uncomfortable -even for a moment--such is the sustaining power of a good conscience. -He supposed that she was alluding to Ellen, but what she said was -unimportant. - -On Saturday morning he told Ellen the hour of his wedding. - -"It will be in the afternoon in the Saal. I suppose you will hardly -come." - -"I can't, Matthew." - -"You take things too hard, Ellen. We've got to live, no matter what -happens!" - -"But not rejoice!" said Ellen tragically to herself. Then she said -aloud, "You'll come here for supper before you go away?" - -"We'll go to her folks for supper. You are invited also, but I said I -didn't think you would go. We'll come here later." - -"You're going away for a trip?" asked Ellen, suddenly alarmed. "I don't -mean for a long trip, but for a little journey?" - -"Of course not. I don't approve of such celebrations; they're expensive -and they accomplish nothing but the spending of money. We shall come -home." - -"Home!" repeated Ellen when he had gone. "Oh, I wish they would not -come home!" - -She flung herself into the arms of a bonneted Mrs. Sassaman. - -"They're coming here to-night!" - -Mrs. Sassaman wept also. - -"Don't cry, Ellen! You're young yet. You don't have it as bad as I who -have lost two husbands. The thing for you is to marry and spite them. -Marry some one who will stand up for you and tell Matthew the meaning. -That's the thing for you to do." - -She climbed into the spring wagon beside Calvin and was gone. - -The day had promised to be fine, but at nine o'clock a soft rain began -to fall. At ten o'clock Matthew came downstairs dressed in his best -clothes and drove away. The pleasant courtesies once natural were -forgotten or ignored in their mutual embarrassment and he did not -bid his sister good-bye. It was not altogether pleasant that one's -wedding day should be rainy, but the fields needed rain and he was not -disturbed. - -Through the long morning Ellen sat idle. She could not bear to be -in the house, but sat on the porch, a lonely and mournful figure. A -score of vague plans came into her mind only to be rejected. Could -Matthew be won over?--she did not think so. Could her grandfather be -persuaded?--she doubted it. Could they be compelled by law to give -her what was right?--she had no friends to advise her. The mysterious -visitor to whom her father had meant to entrust her--she thought of him -with despair. - -By turns grief and resentment overwhelmed her, but finally apathy -succeeded both. The blow which she had received seemed to have injured -her beyond recovery; plans were useless when all earthly hopes could be -so quickly dissolved. - -"I may die!" said she and found in that a dreary consolation. - -At dark Matthew brought Millie home and the three sat for a while -together on the porch. Ellen had been afraid that she might cry, but -the event seemed too unreal to draw tears from a fountain so nearly -exhausted. Millie rocked rapidly back and forth, for once as loquacious -as her sisters. She stood a little in awe of Ellen's mind, but she -believed that she was making a favorable impression upon her. She was -nervous and excited and her short sentences were not always completed. - -"I haven't yet been in your house except last month when your father--" -Millie feared that she had made a mistake. - -"Would you like to go through it now?" asked Ellen, unmoved by Millie's -allusion. - -"To-morrow will do for sight-seeing," said Matthew with heavy -facetiousness unlike him. - -"I guess it will!" laughed Millie. "It seems as though I'm to be here a -long time, from what the preacher said!" - -When the clock struck nine, Matthew rose. Calvin had attended to the -stock, Matthew had given himself a whole holiday, the only holiday he -was to give himself deliberately in all his life. Millie also rose -abruptly. - -"Are you going to bed, Ellen?" asked Matthew. - -"Not yet." - -"You'll lock the doors?" - -"Yes." - -"Then good-night." - -"Good-night," answered Ellen. - -Ten o'clock struck and eleven and Ellen sat still. Then she went in and -advanced slowly toward the stairway. With her foot on the lowest step, -she heard Millie laugh. Grossly offended, she turned and went into her -father's office and closed the door. Millie had asked for no changes, -and here was the old sofa with its worn cushions, a desk, a chair, and -a little table, upon it a few books, a pad of paper, two lead-pencils, -and some withered flowers in a glass. Ellen lay down upon the sofa as -though it were her bier. - -It was part of Millie's religion to have kindly feelings toward all -mankind. Finding breakfast on the table in the morning, she praised -Ellen and thanked her and assured her that she would be lazy no more. - -"We can plan everything so that neither will have more to do than the -other." - -It was now Ellen who was nervous. - -"Thank you," said she in a tone which seemed to Millie to express a -becoming gratitude. - -Millie was sincerely commiserative; she pitied every one in the world -who was not Millie Levis--except Matthew to whom she belonged. - -"I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I am for you, Ellen," said -she, looking pleasantly into Ellen's heavy eyes. "But we must remember -that God doeth all things well." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AMOS VENTURES INTO THE WORLD - - -In the autumn evenings Grandfather sat beside his stove in meditation. -It was against his principles to permit himself too high a degree of -physical comfort, but as the current of his blood ran less swiftly he -drew unconsciously closer to the stove. As he had often sat here and -ordered his life, so he was ordering now his departure from life. He -dreamed sometimes of a burial such as the fathers had had, at midnight -under the light of torches, with antiphonal singing and solemn tolling -of bells, and with a procession of the Brotherhood of Zion and the -Sisterhood of Spiritual Virgins. - -Amos was at the pine table, now correcting the papers of the children -in his school, now bent over his Latin manuscript. It seemed to him -that his mind became less active and that the devil tempted him to -dream when he ought to be at work. - -To Grandfather there had been in the universe two stable realities, the -existence of a wise and all-powerful Creator and the correctness of the -Seventh-Day Baptist interpretation of the Creator's mind and works. -Now in his old age he dwelt with increasing satisfaction upon a third -reality, the divine appointment and fitness of Amos, on account of his -faith and piety, to interpret both Creator and theology. He thought, as -the weeks passed, less anxiously about Ellen, ascribing her placability -to his own advice and to her better mind, rather than to the stern -necessities of her case. She would, he believed, now that the dangerous -influence of her father was removed, "come round." - -One day he summoned a carpenter and went with him over the old -buildings, measuring and inspecting. Here a wall needed strengthening, -here a chimney rebuilding, here fresh plaster should replace the broken -mortar of clay and grass. The sum required to put all in order was not -large. - -Sitting drowsily by the stove Grandfather peopled the quiet night with -figures. He saw Saron filled; he saw men going after prayer to work in -the fields and women in white filing in solemn procession to worship -at midnight. They went joyfully, as he and Amos went sometimes to pray -in the Saal. He heard above his little cottage heavenly songs issuing -from the high matin room of Saron. - -But the figures in his dreams were not those of departed saints. The -face of the speaker in the pulpit who held an audience enthralled, -not alone by his eloquence, but by the power of truth, was not that -of Father Friedsam, but of Amos; the cowled and robed figure which -was followed by adoring converts was that of Amos; the religious who -knelt alone in the Saal at midnight praying for his people was Amos. It -was medićval and strange, but it was real to the dreamer. It had all -happened once, less than two hundred years ago--it might, if it pleased -God, happen again. - -But Amos, alas! had come to doubt his own strength, had come indeed to -fear his own thoughts. As he bent over "The Mystic Dove" on this winter -evening his face was drawn, the fingers with which he held his pen were -icy. He was trying to translate a sentence which he believed praised -the holy mystery of the sacraments, but his mind was not upon his work, -and, spoken to suddenly, he started as guiltily as though Grandfather -had looked into his heart and detected his disquiet. - -"Our little girl is learning to submit herself," said Grandfather -contentedly. "Matthew tells me so. That's the first lesson -learned--quiet. She is like the noble Sister Anastasia whose pride was -softened. Have you seen Ellen at any time?" - -"Once," answered Amos without lifting his head. He spoke indifferently -and bent more closely over his work, as though he had reached an -important paragraph. It was the acting of a lie, for he thought of -Ellen in school and at home and especially in the long evenings when -it was supposed that his sacred task occupied his mind. He had been -thinking of her when Grandfather spoke; for her benefit he was making a -strange plan. - -Last Sunday afternoon he had gone for a walk. Even then he had not -been quite honest with himself, for he had pretended that his object -was exercise, when deep in his heart he hugged a hope of seeing Ellen. -An intense natural shyness and a consciousness of guilt forbade him -Matthew's door. It was unthinkable that he should "go to see" Ellen! - -Making a long détour he had arrived at last in the woodland back of the -Levis house and there waited for darkness to become complete, when he -intended to go to the edge of the woods and look down upon the lighted -windows and perhaps see Ellen's shadow moving back and forth. - -The November evening was still and he had taken only a few steps into -the woodland when he heard the sound of crying. Ellen herself was no -more tender-hearted and he at once moved forward rapidly, then stood -still, trying to decide upon the direction from which the sound came. -He could now hear nothing; perhaps his footsteps on the dry leaves had -betrayed his approach. Then he heard the sound again nearer at hand. It -was not the whimper of a trapped animal, it was the smothered sobbing -of a human being. He went forward swiftly. Then again he paused. The -low western sun cast a single level beam through the clouds; the light -fell upon Ellen, a mournful figure in a black shawl upon a stump, Ellen -alone in the twilight, Ellen unreconciled to her bereavement, Ellen -changed and forlorn. - -"It is I. Can I help you, Ellen?" he asked breathlessly. - -Ellen sprang to her feet, her black shawl trailing. - -"Oh, is it you?" She drew a long breath of relief. Amos was -negligible--she had thought that it was Matthew! It made little -difference whether Amos observed her woes. - -"You can persuade them to let me go away," she said despairingly. -"I haven't anything to live for, I'm all alone." Then she recovered -herself. "Please forget this. No one can do anything." She rubbed her -eyes furiously with a wet handkerchief and pulled her shawl round her. -"I hadn't any business to talk about it." - -At once she walked rapidly out of the gloom of the woods into the -brighter light and made her way, somber and forlorn, across the fields. - -Amos took her place upon the broad stump. He saw her reach the kitchen -door, he saw the light gleam. It was possible that Matthew and Millie -were away--was she then alone, poor, poor Ellen? He would go down and -speak to her further; he should not have let her go uncomforted, he -who meditated upon religious matters, who translated holy books! But -suppose that Matthew and Millie should return, Millie with her sharp, -cunning eyes! Besides, he knew that he could not help Ellen, she would -not listen. - -Then, the devil tempted him. Grandfather's plan for her was a mistaken -one, she would never bind herself to conventual life. In the Normal -School whither he had gone to learn elementary Latin there had been -many lady teachers, confirmed in singleness, faithful to their duties -and to their various denominations, and useful to the world--it was -not wrong to think of Ellen bound to education! He rose and went home, -meaning to speak in her behalf. - -But between the time of that bold intention and this evening, -misgivings troubled him. If he were listened to he would be helping -to send Ellen into the world. She wished to go farther away than the -Normal School, farther away than Lancaster or Harrisburg, and about the -safety of the world beyond he had grave doubts. She might even go to -New York where, every one said, wickedness was rampant. There was no -telling where she might not go! - -Presently a solution presented itself. It was possible to learn much -from books; he had gained all his information from that source, -and from books he would learn about the present condition of the -world. Before speaking to his uncle he would acquaint himself with -contemporary writings and be governed by their character. In Harrisburg -there was a State library from which he occasionally secured books by -mail, and he had sometime ago announced to Grandfather his intention -to apply there in person for a new volume. At Christmas, when school -closed for a week, he would be his own master. When he had come to this -determination his mind was easier and he was able to proceed with his -translation. - -His preparations for departure consisted of earnest prayer and the -packing of a frugal lunch. When he found that he could conscientiously -ask the blessing of God upon his undertaking his spirits rose. As for -the material preparations, prices in city restaurants were high and -wastefulness was wicked. - -The day which he had selected dawned bitter cold; the fire in the -cottage did not burn well and the pinched and blue countenance of -Grandfather distressed him. But Grandfather would listen to no -sympathy. - -"My trials are small beside those suffered on this spot." - -The landscape showed bleak and gray in the dawn; the lighted windows -suggested not the cheerfulness of evening and of family gatherings, -but unwilling rising in cold rooms, the breaking of ice in pitcher -and bowl, the torturing operation of milking with stiff hands. Wheels -creaked over the frozen snow, and horses puffed like chimneys. Amos was -not warmly dressed; he had never, in fact, been dressed warmly enough -to meet winter storms. Having climbed into the trolley car, he tried -to restrain his tears while circulation returned to his frost-bitten -fingers. He looked fully the part of a shivering Saint Francis. A -traveling man, wrapped in a fur-lined coat, and cursing inwardly the -luck which had kept him overnight in the village, stared. - -"Who is he?" he asked the conductor; but the conductor, being busy with -his fares, made no reply. - -His was the first but not the last comment upon Amos that day. Entering -the train at Lancaster he walked the length of the car to find a -seat, and after him heads turned. Even persons who were familiar -with Lancaster County's strange types looked startled; one or two -impressionable women shivered. - -"Do you suppose he's very wise or very stupid?" asked one woman of -another. - -"He's very handsome." - -"Do you think so?" - -"Yes, he's too handsome." - -"I'll warrant he's the kind of a crank after whom women would travel in -droves. Perhaps we'll have a new sect." - -Amos heard no comments. He sat down and looked at the smooth farmlands, -then at the river filled with floating ice, then upon the tall -stacks and chimneys and into the heart of glowing furnaces. It was -a bewildering world to which he was an alien. He was trained to be -interested not in mechanical operations or in the achievements of -science, but in the operations of the human soul. A famous saint had -put into words, centuries before, Grandfather Milhausen's teaching. -"Suppose that you had subtilty and learning enough to know all things, -that you were acquainted with all languages, the courses of the stars, -and all the rest--what is there in that to be proud of? The glory of -man is to be faithful to God." - -Catching a glimpse of the dome of the Capitol soon after he had left -the station, he walked up a narrow street to the rising ground. Now -that he was here he would not confine himself to the library, but would -look about--this, too, might be a part of Ellen's world! It was nine -o'clock and the sun gave a small measure of warmth. Squirrels ran up -and down the tree-trunks and pigeons wheeled above his head. Their -friendliness with the passers-by pleased him. - -Then, abruptly, pleasure ended. He looked not down at the parked -street, as Ellen had looked at first, but up at two groups of statuary -newly placed on each side of the main entrance. Here, in broad -daylight, fixed eternally and shamefully in marble, were human beings -without clothes! He did not blush; his astonishment and incredulity -were too deep. After a long stare he withdrew his gaze embarrassed. It -was to escape the glaring nudities that he entered the bronze doors, on -which were represented various worthies of the Commonwealth. He did not -smile at the neatly collared gentlemen whose heads protruded like the -heads of turtles; he found them vaguely an assurance of the stability -of the world. - -Once inside, he felt a measure of confidence. Upon his childlike mind -the soaring dome, the painted walls made the same impression which they -had made upon the mind of Ellen. He looked longest at the lunettes in a -corridor which pictured the early sects and found at last his own. How -beautiful was this quiet place and how intolerable the group without! -Here, in Moravian, sounding his trombone from the tower, in pious -Quakeress preaching to the savage, in Wissahickon mystic at prayer on -the hillside, was nothing to hurt Ellen. - -For an hour he wandered about, walking on marble stairways and thick -rugs and letting his astonished vision rest on masses of color, the -green of Penn's rich coat, the Admiral's scarlet robe, the blue sky. He -had not known that such colors existed. Suddenly he apprehended dimly -the beauty of the world, of trees and streams and the bodies of human -beings. But they were all an obstacle between man and God! - -He felt with sudden depression his own insignificance. He had seen in -all his years no crowds of human beings, had been part of no large -body of men, had had a share in no concerted movement. He knew in a -general way the history of his State, but he was not of it; he taught -the history of his country, but felt no thrill at sight of its flag. He -read no daily paper, and in his religious weekly all the news of the -world was censored and emasculated. - -In the library he stood most astonished and confused. Shelves upon -shelves of books, hundreds and thousands of books! He was confounded by -their number and by the vastness of the world which they represented; -he was embarrassed by the studious silence; he was frightened by the -cool black eyes of a young woman behind the desk. To gain a moment's -time, he stepped aside to look at an old map and at a framed and -valuable proclamation offering ten thousand dollars for the arrest of -the assassin of Abraham Lincoln. - -At last he summoned sufficient courage to ask for "The Early Sects," -and was told that it was at present out of the library. - -"I wanted it for study," he explained. "I have sent for books from -here." - -"If you will leave your name and address we'll send it to you." - -As he wrote his name on a card, his eye fell upon a row of books at the -end of the desk whose bright bindings marked them as the modern works -for which he sought. He thought it best to buy copies of his own; he -was not a rapid reader and he wished to study them carefully. - -"May I copy their names?" - -"Surely!" - -He looked at the titles in an uncritical spirit and took them as -they came. The volumes belonged to the "Thinker's Library," a -somewhat poorly bound, carelessly edited series of English novels and -translations of other European novels and tales. It was a curious list -which he transcribed--"Bertha Garlan," "Russian Stories," "Esther -Waters." - -He found at last in a store, where he had to thread his way among women -buying laces and handkerchiefs and table linen, a corner where books -were sold. The first two volumes on his list were on hand, "Esther -Waters" was not to be had, but "Evelyn Innes" was suggested by the -clerk as a substitute. Then, his bundle under his arm, he walked out. -Now that his business was attended to, he would satisfy his still -undulled curiosity. It seemed to him that the gaze of every passer-by -sought his, and he was uneasy until he realized that his glance sought -the eye of every passer-by. This fact discovered, he walked on looking -straight ahead and holding his shoulders stiffly. - -He came at last to the street with the park in the center running from -the Capitol to the river. There stood large churches, and seeing a few -women enter the most imposing, he entered also. He made no excuse for -himself, though he knew that his uncle would not approve; an inspection -of churches seemed a legitimate part of his expedition. - -When with a single astonished glance he saw that the few worshipers -were kneeling, he knelt also. He had not dreamed that anywhere but in -the Saal men went to pray alone. He prayed now for the Kloster and for -his uncle and for Ellen--poor little Ellen whose sobs he would never -forget. It seemed to him that God spoke to him and told him that it -would be right to help her to her heart's desire, and he sighed happily. - -Then--it may have been the tinkle of beads slipping from finger to -finger, it may have been a subtle ecclesiastical odor different from -the odor of the Saal--he felt a sudden misgiving. He opened his eyes -slowly and looked at the woman kneeling near by, who was not so -absorbed in her devotions that she did not have a startled eye for her -neighbor whom she believed to be some sort of very holy man. Next he -saw the stations of the cross along the wall, and then the marble altar -with its tiny, gleaming lamp. Whither, oh, whither had he come? - -At once terrible words rushed into his startled mind--"popish images," -"idolatry," "confessional." He rose and clutched his package and went -out. In the vestibule he saw a woman performing what he took to be -a slight ablution in a sort of basin--it removed his last lingering -doubt. He fled, and the door closed noisily behind him, disturbing -those within. - -As he walked weakly toward the river, he realized that it was not -altogether emotion which had exhausted him, but partly hunger. To one -who was accustomed to the damp coldness of the Saal a meal out of -doors, even on such a day as this, was tolerable and he sat down on a -bench near the spot where Ellen and her father had paused hand in hand -to look across toward Stephen's gray house. He, too, looked at it, but -the lives lived there did not come within his experience and were not -to be imagined. - -When his lunch was eaten, he returned to the station to wait for -his train and sat holding his package of books, and watching the -ever-changing throng. All he saw had a bearing upon his errand, and -he tried to picture Ellen among the travelers--not Ellen in her black -shawl, but Ellen in her brown coat and tight-fitting cap, her Christmas -gifts in her hands, all smiles and happiness. His day in the world had -brought him to no final decision; Ellen's future still waited upon his -reading. - -For some reason unknown to him, the train waited for a long time upon -a siding outside the city, and he could look directly through an -opening in a high fence into the yard of an iron mill. Opposite the -opening stood a lofty shed, apparently a vast store-house for finished -products, in which cranes moved like gigantic men, lifting and laying -down masses of iron and loading long girders upon cars. He watched, as -he sometimes watched the farmers intent upon their work, the men who -manipulated the enormous machines, and the men who came and went in the -yard. Simply to live and work and not to think, what happiness in such -a lot! But he reproached himself sharply for desiring the glory of the -moon rather than the glory of the sun which was his. He had chosen the -better part, or to speak exactly, it had been chosen for him. Let him -be grateful. - -He entered the gate of the Kloster after dark. Grandfather had lighted -the brass lamp and sat by the stove asleep. On the stove were several -pots with a fragrant steam escaping from under their lids. As Amos laid -down his books on the sill outside, his conscience reproached him. But -his motive was, he reminded himself, excellent. - -Grandfather went early to bed on his hard cot in the next room, leaving -Amos bending over the manuscript from which he had been separated for -a day, and charging him not to work too late. When the old man's light -breathing could be heard, Amos opened the door, brought in his precious -parcel and with shaking, thrifty hands untied the hard knot with which -it was fastened. He selected the book which was uppermost and laid the -others in the drawer of his table. In the silence of the night he -began to study the world into which he was to launch Ellen. Surely none -of these authors had hitherto been read in a stranger spot! Close to -the little cottage on one side crowded the graves of the dead, above -it on the other rose the grim old buildings. All spoke, not of love, -either good or evil, nor of the present, nor of life, but of the past -and of the peace of death. - -The book he had selected was the volume of Russian stories. He read an -introductory paragraph which stated that the author gave a description -of his impressions of the Russian-Japanese War, an event as dim to Amos -as though it had taken place in 1904 B.C. instead of 1904 A.D. He was -disappointed--he was not interested in war! But having begun he kept -on. He had thought himself a slow reader, but he had read hitherto only -the subtle abstractions of mystic writers, pondering as he went; he had -never had before him such texts as these. - -"Horror and madness!" The opening words were not reassuring. But he -read on. - -"I felt it for the first time as we were marching along the -road--marching incessantly for ten hours without stopping, never -diminishing our step, never waiting to pick up those who had fallen, -but leaving them to the enemy that was moving behind us in a compact -mass." - -He blinked as though to clear his vision; then his pupils moved back -and forth, back and forth. - -"An hour passed, but the multitude still moved on, and the air and the -distant, phantom-like ranks trembled as before. Again the burning heat -pierced my body ... I was surrounded by a group of gray people; some -lying motionless, perhaps dead; others sitting up and staring vacantly. -Some had guns and resembled soldiers; others were stripped almost -naked, and the skin on their bodies was so livid that one did not care -to look at it. Not far from me some one was lying with his bared back -upturned. One could see by the unconcerned manner in which he had -buried his face in the sharp, burning sand, by the whiteness of the -palm of his upturned hand, that he was dead, but his back was as red as -if he were alive. And I saw--" - -"What is this?" whispered Amos. But he read on and on until headless -men surrounded him and a sea of blood seemed rising to engulf him. - -He finished with a dying light and a body aching cruelly with cold. -The fire had gone out; there echoed about him the mysterious crackling -sounds of a bitter night. He rose and stood in the darkness, appalled -by the things he had read. Was this the world into which he had thought -to send pure and lovely Ellen? - -After a long time he heard his uncle sigh in his sleep, and the tears -began to run down his cheeks. It must be almost morning; he would wrap -himself in his coat and await the striking of the hour, then, if it -was not too early to disturb his uncle, he would make up the fire. -Moreover, he would make it up with these hideous writings for which he -had spent good money. - -But deliberation brought better counsel--Ellen would have no encounter -with war! Besides, it was a Russian story and Ellen did not mean to go -to Russia. He would read the other books. - -The next evening he did not wait until Grandfather had gone to bed; but -laid his book inside the manuscript of "The Mystic Dove" and began. A -great deal of "Evelyn Innes" he did not understand, but he understood -enough. He read like a child for the story, all else escaping his -immature attention. The technique of music was an uncharted sea; the -ambitions of Mr. Innes he did not comprehend; he had never seen an -opera, nor was he able to picture one. But he saw clearly what had -happened to Evelyn. A cold perspiration broke out upon him. It was well -for Ellen that he had set out to discover the world! - -Then he was guilty of a curious and natural inconsistency. He concluded -that it was his duty to acquaint himself further with wickedness, so -that he might the better resist it. When he had finished "Evelyn," -he returned to the book of Russian stories, laying it, too, between -the pages of "The Mystic Dove." He saw a dark river which carried on -its strong current a raft, and understood that a young man, a pious -Christian, worked at the stern and watched his wife made much of in a -shameful way by his own father in the bow. - -But still he read on. "The Raft" was short; midnight was still far -away; he opened the third book. Again the accident of his choice was -unfortunate. The story was simply and plainly told. Bertha Garlan, -widowed and with a little child, sought out, under pressure of -irresistible desire for affection, an old sweetheart who had attained -fame and who lived grossly, and had with him a brief liaison. Her -passion and her shame were pictured with equal skill--it was a moving -tale, and it pointed as bitter a lesson as the pen of moralist could -present. - -It was not strange that when he tried to work at his "Mystic Dove," -the language proved dull and meaningless. He ceased to translate and -began to walk about, traveling over the frozen roads at night like one -condemned to wander for his sins. The world was a whirlpool of crime -in which each hour betrayed and murdered thousands were sucked down to -destruction. His uncle had been right. - -At last he began to think of another way to help Ellen. His uncle -believed and had taught him that a man's first concern should be the -eternal safety of his own soul. Might there not be a higher duty? -Speculating, he felt his cheeks burn, his heart throb quickly. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -ELLEN IS OFFERED A WAY OUT - - -Life in the Levis house, tolerable during the remaining weeks of the -summer and early fall when there was much to be done out of doors, -assumed a more complex character when it was confined entirely to the -kitchen. Millie had believed that she desired escape from home partly -for the sake of freedom from continual chattering; apparently, however, -it was merely the silence of others which she desired. She now became -loquacious; Ellen, she discovered with amusement, knew nothing; that -is, she knew nothing of the private affairs of her neighbors, of -strange old scandals, of recent deeds of foolishness and sin. Millie -knew stories about all the people on the surrounding farms, about all -the people along the road to the Kloster; indeed, about the ancient -inhabitants of the Kloster itself, those holy souls who had given up -all the pleasures of the world for the sake of salvation. She described -in detail the misdeeds of Brother Reith, who in the absence of his wife -in the asylum was a rake of the first order. She had even a story about -Mrs. Sassaman--did not Ellen know that! Millie laughed. Such proud -aloofness as that of the Levises must have made life very dull. - -"I don't believe that about Mrs. Sassaman," answered Ellen soberly. "My -father would not have had her here to take care of us if she was not a -good woman." - -"I don't want to say anything against your father, but he had very free -ideas." - -"Not so free as that." - -"Don't you believe that I tell you the truth?" demanded Millie. - -"You must be mistaken." Ellen was pale and offended, but she was -determined to give no offense. - -On her first free afternoon she went to her room and opened her books. -She remembered all that she had learned and it was still not too late -to be educated. In the evening she heard Millie complain to Matthew of -loneliness, and the next afternoon she took her books into the kitchen -where the sight of them proved irritating. Millie stood no longer in -awe of her superior education; she hated it; it seemed, in some dim, -ominous, and inexplicable fashion, to threaten her. - -"Matthew thinks learning is unnecessary beyond what we need for our -every-day lives." - -Ellen made no answer. Presently Millie came to believe that her growing -annoyance with Ellen and her ways sprang from anxiety about her soul. - -"I can't be here with you all the time without reminding you to make -your peace with God." - -"Thank you," said Ellen shortly. - -To Matthew life was intensely satisfactory. Along with love for the -land he had been endowed with a farmer's good judgment. The early -Pennsylvania Germans had selected with unerring instinct the thickly -wooded limestone country, leaving to their Scotch-Irish neighbors the -poorer and more easily cultivated soil. To Matthew it seemed that his -deep fields had qualities which were almost human; they looked to him -for proper cultivation and nourishment as they looked to God for rain. - -His labors were interrupted only by the time necessary for meals and -sleep. When winter came, the rebuilding of the fences occupied him -whenever it was possible to be out of doors. On snowy and rainy days he -worked in the barn, repairing partitions, mending harness, and planning -for the future. He wrote down in a notebook all his plans; he drew a -map of the farm and hung it on the wall; he dreamed and meditated about -springing corn and golden wheat. Mind and body were at rest, and all -was as it should be in a world which had hitherto been trying. - -When Ellen appeared one afternoon in December in the barn chamber to -make once more her foolish request about school, he answered her by -commending her for her good behavior. He seemed to himself to be at -least twenty years older than Ellen in experience and wisdom. - -"Millie and I were saying yesterday how well you accommodated yourself -to life as it is. It will soon be even better." - -But Ellen had not come to hear compliments or to interpret cryptic -remarks. - -"Do you mean I can't go?" - -"Soon you won't want to go." - -"I shall always want to go," insisted unreasonable Ellen. - -She did not return to the house. A week of clear weather had ended; -there was a lowering sky and a cold damp wind which gave warning that -bad weather was at hand. She walked a long distance on the soft country -road, and then struck across the fields, meaning to return through the -woods which seemed to promise temporary peace of mind. She was aware -as she approached her favorite seat that it was occupied and she was -irritated when she recognized the occupant. Amos was young and strong, -yet he was content to live in the past, to earn a pittance, never to -see the world or to advance. - -But before the ravaged face which he lifted, no one could long be -angry. He seemed to have lost many pounds which he could ill spare; -his clothes were too large, his hair was much too long, and he wore to -Ellen's startled gaze a look so unworldly as to be almost imbecile. Her -heart pitied him, while her mind was filled with a sharp repulsion. - -Poor Amos's horror of the world as he found it in "Bertha Garlan" and -"Evelyn Innes" had changed to an unspeakably shocking desire to know -still more about it. The temptation was of the devil--that he well -knew--and he was resisting it with all the strength that was in him. He -was tempted, not to go into the world, but to take more of it into the -Kloster in the form of books, to read and read and thus lose himself -and forget his self-reproach, his despair, and a new and wild desire. - -When Ellen spoke he stared like a man in hiding come upon by the enemy. -Her brisk walk had made her cheeks glow, and her commiseration for -Amos gave a deeper color to her eyes. Like Millie she breathed youth -and freshness, but she had in place of Millie's empty beauty an eager -vitality of mind and body. You could be with Millie and forget her--you -could never forget Ellen. Her spirit had been for a while in eclipse, -but it could not continue thus. Amos could not analyze her charm, but -he felt its least emanation. - -"I haven't seen you for a long time. Aren't you well?" - -"Yes," he answered faintly. - -"And Grandfather?" - -Amos seemed not to have heard. He rose abruptly and approached Ellen, -his hands clasped before him, his body trembling. His cheek-bones -seemed to press against the skin, his gray eyes to have turned black. -He saw not a helpless creature who needed his succor, but a gleaming -light in darkness, a refuge in deep trouble, a rock to which he could -cling. - -"I've been thinking so much about you, Ellen, and I've been trying to -help you. I thought once I would ask Uncle to let you go away. But -I can't make my conscience agree to such a plan. I can't for a good -reason." He laid his hand across his eyes. At this moment the world -had become wholly unattractive; it offered no invitation to further -acquaintance; he saw headless figures, heard men offering illicit love. -"But I could take you away from where you are, Ellen." - -"How?" asked Ellen stupidly. - -"You could come to me." - -"To you," she repeated, more mystified than before. - -Then a bright, tingling flush mounted to her cheek. She saw the -expression in his eyes, and recognized its tenderness. - -He made his meaning clearer. - -"If you were married you would be freer." - -She took a step backward and rested her shoulder against the trunk of a -tree. The act indicated not fear, but a desire for support. The keenest -of all her startled sensations was curiosity. What was the motive for -this amazing offer? Surely not love as she understood love! Did he mean -to sacrifice himself and all his plans to make her comfortable? He -didn't seem ridiculous; he seemed incredible. - -"But you weren't to marry!" - -"I'm my own master," said he with dignity. "I must decide what is best. -I'm the only one who can decide." His trembling became more violent. "I -sometimes sit here in the evening and look down and think how happy you -and I could be in such a house together. I think of it day and night; -there isn't any rest for me." - -A succession of images passed rapidly through Ellen's mind, herself -in Amos's arms as Millie stood in Matthew's embrace--shameless -Millie!--her father's keen face, the face of his friend who had -somewhat resembled him, the dim Saal with its heavy air, its pale -light, its stolid worshipers. - -"Oh, it couldn't be!" - -Silence answered like the silence which follows an execution. - -"I'm not worthy of such an offer," said Ellen, suddenly wretched. "I'm -nothing; I know nothing. I'm hasty and bitter and hateful." - -"You are worthy!" protested Amos. The language of the stories he had -been reading, much as he loathed them, helped him to find words. He -pleaded with her, not for her sake but for his own, that she would -save him from despair. "There isn't any one like you. You grow more -beautiful each day. I was in Harrisburg, and there I sat in the station -and watched the people come and go, especially the young girls, and -there was no one who carried her head so high and who had such deep, -deep eyes, like a dark night, Ellen, when the sky is very clear and -soft. There's no one round here with a mind like yours. I'm not -old-fashioned; I understand that it is the day of greater liberty. I'll -let you judge and decide in everything. Don't say you aren't worthy; -that isn't true!" - -Ellen looked down at the ground. Praise like this was new and not -unwelcome, even though it came from the lips of so strange a lover. - -"If you would come to me, I believe the peace of God would come to you." - -Now Ellen pressed her whole body against the tree, so as to get farther -away. The peace of God! That was not what she longed for. - -"You're mistaken in me," said she. "There's only one thing I want and -that is to learn. I'm grateful to you, and I shall always think kindly -of you; you are my best friend, but I don't wish to marry any one." - -"It is God's holy ordinance," said Amos thickly. "It saves from gross -sin. Outside its bonds men and women burn with sinful passion. Have I -made you afraid of me, Ellen? I have loved you since you came a little -child into my school, and indeed, before that." - -Into the minds of both came the scene enacted on this spot, the -childish arms flung out, the kiss given and taken. - -"Oh, I can't!" cried Ellen. "I'm sorry for you. Do put this out of your -mind." - -"I don't wish to put it out of my mind. But I'll not trouble you by -speaking again. If you need help that I can give, you have only to ask. -Promise me you will remember that!" - -"I'll promise." She looked suddenly over her shoulder. Millie's eyes -were keen and cruel; her mind was suspicious; she had related to -Ellen a score of clandestine meetings, spied upon and reported to the -confusion of lovers. "I must go home!" said she, moving away. "Don't -come this way too often!" - -"I'll do whatever you wish," promised Amos. "You don't have any -ill-feeling toward me, Ellen, I hope?" - -"No!" said Ellen. She flung back a crumb of comfort. "I told you you -were the only friend I had in this world!" - -It was four o'clock when she opened the kitchen door. Matthew and -Millie stood by the table together, his arm across her shoulders. They -had driven together to the store in the village and their cheeks glowed. - -"Well, Sister?" said Matthew. - -Ellen heard with wonder the unusual salutation. What had come over -Matthew? Her own cheeks still burned. Subconsciously Millie noted -her color and her excited eyes. But Millie was occupied with her own -emotions. She laughed in her sharp, detached way and pushed Matthew -from her. He went smiling, and when the door was shut, she laughed -again. - -"See what I've bought!" she cried, her hands slipping the cords from -her parcels. "He said this was the time to spend." There appeared -white, delicate muslins and yards of lace and ribbons and tiny -patterns. "See! Aren't they beautiful? He thinks you are every day a -little less self-centered, Ellen, and it is a good thing, for you will -soon be certainly needed. Aren't you glad you didn't go to school?" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -ELLEN SOLVES HER PROBLEM - - -The spectacle of complete happiness is so rare that it is valuable as -a phenomenon, even when its causes are not wholly commendable. A queen -upon her throne who knows no threatening usurper and has never trembled -at the voice of reforming democracy could have been no more confident -of herself and her position than Millie. She was beautiful--indeed, -she had long since decided correctly that none of her acquaintances -was so pretty. She was prosperous, she was a good Christian, she was -fulfilling the most honorable function of her sex. - -As a prima donna who has sung gloriously gathers the roses of her -admirers, she gathered to her bosom as her due the affectionate care of -Matthew, the interest of her mother and sisters, and the approval of -Grandfather Milhausen. She gathered also the services of Ellen, given -willingly and with a virginal awe. She laughed at Ellen's innocence and -extended her knowledge in new directions. - -Ellen did not consider her work drudgery, though she did all that -she and Mrs. Sassaman had done together and all that she and Millie -had done together. It was right that Millie should be taken care of, -and Ellen was too inexperienced to know that no young woman in that -hard-working and healthy community had ever expected such tender -indulgence. - -Late in February occurred a regrettable incident in a peaceful life. -Matthew's correspondence had increased, and Ellen, who fetched the -mail from the box at the end of the lane, found many pamphlets with -the words "State College" on the corner of the envelope. Matthew, she -thought, would not care for them; the senders were wasting paper and -postage and pains. - -But Matthew did care for them. At the end of a day which Ellen had -found unusually hard, he mentioned that he was going away for two -weeks. She looked at him astonished; Millie, she saw, was aware of his -intention. "Where are you going?" - -"State College is to give a special course in the treatment of soils. -Many farmers will attend. I don't know whether they have anything -really valuable to teach, but I'm going to see." - -Ellen laid down her spoon, which fell, not upon the saucer as she -intended, but into the cup, splashing the clean cloth. - -"Well, Ellen!" cried Millie. - -"You're going to school, then, Matthew! Surely you'll let me go in the -fall. You've changed your mind about education!" - -Matthew frowned. It seemed to him that Ellen thought she had him in a -trap. "This is different." - -"No, it isn't different!" - -"This has to do with soils and the production of food for the human -race. It's not idle learning." - -"Mine would not be idle learning. You're not fair. You're cheating me -out of what should be mine and taking it yourself!" - -On the other side of the table Millie lifted a reproving face. If she -had been a little more sophisticated, she would have contrived to faint -or to have hysterics. - -"It isn't safe for me to hear such discussions, Ellen. You should know -better than to try to quarrel now!" - -Matthew looked at Millie in alarm. There was some ground for Ellen's -resentment, but her heart was wrong, her demands were wrong, her -carelessness of Millie's health was most wrong of all. He silenced her -roughly and effectively. "Can't you cut it out, Ellen? Especially under -these circumstances?" - -Millie's convalescence after the birth of her baby was, as was to be -expected, a slow and luxurious process. Her mother, an inmate of the -Levis house for a month, scolded, the doctor admonished, but she lay at -ease, her young prince on her arm. When her mother departed, protesting -that only pity for Ellen had kept her so long, Millie took jealous care -of the baby. She sat day after day in the kitchen with him asleep in -her arms, being unwilling to trust the pleasant June air. She had been -slow to forgive what she chose to consider a wanton indifference to her -health, on Ellen's part, but that seemed now to be forgotten. - -"Next time I'll be up sooner," she promised sweetly. - -Ellen made no answer, having learned at last to hold her tongue. Her -body ached and her soul quivered. If Millie had been at all clever, she -would have assigned to her some of the care of little Matthew even in -addition to her own work, but Millie was not clever. - -Late in September Grandfather Milhausen came one Sunday evening to -see his great-grandchild. He and a nervous and unwilling Amos walked -pilgrimwise along the road and at the entrance to the lane separated, -Amos going to the next farmhouse to attend to an errand. Poor Amos was -no happier, and the few hours of rest which he took in one of the cells -in Saron had made him no stouter. His ability to concentrate his mind -upon abstractions seemed to be destroyed, and outside of school hours -he had no occupation. Grandfather found Millie in the kitchen with her -baby. He laid his hand in blessing upon the little head and his eyes -gleamed. Here was an earnest for the future; this child might live to -complete the restoration of the Kloster which his elders were to begin. - -"And where is Ellen?" he asked with a sigh. Ellen had not yet "come -round"; it was now more than three years since she had run away so -incontinently from the Saal and she had never returned. - -"She went for a walk," explained Millie. "She's a great one to go off -alone, and I don't like it. It doesn't look well." - -Matthew moved uneasily in his chair. It was natural for Millie to -express to him disapproval of Ellen's ways, but he did not like her to -complain to others. - -"I'm sure that Ellen does no harm." - -"I'm sure of that also. But it looks as though she wanted to be away -from us. She--" - -The opening of the door interrupted Millie's sentence. It was plain -to Ellen entering that they had been discussing her--why, otherwise, -should they all look so self-conscious? Hearing a sound behind her, she -glanced nervously over her shoulder, to find that Amos had come round -the other corner of the house and was close at her heels. It had been -a day of heavy depression of spirit and of sharp irritability when she -had kept silence with difficulty. Her eyes met first of all Millie's, -in which she saw a startled and amused curiosity. Amos had with all the -brethren a reputation for immaculate behavior, but to Millie no one was -immaculate. - -"Where have you two been?" she asked gayly. "Walking together?" - -In her intense desire to turn attention from herself, Ellen uttered she -knew not what. - -"We have a nice baby here, haven't we, Grandfather?" - -Millie was not to be turned aside even by the praise of her offspring. - -"You should have one just like him, Ellen," said she with her sharp -little laugh. "Then you wouldn't be so discontented." - -"It isn't a subject to be jested about, Millie," said Grandfather -gravely. But he looked at the two young people with startled eyes. He -remembered that Amos had once defended Ellen; he remembered that he -had seemed to have for some time a burden on his mind. Alas, for the -restored Kloster with its monastic orders, its brethren and its holy -spiritual virgins, if Amos should go the way of all the world! Silence -followed Grandfather's reproof, and silence spread. Like graven images -Grandfather and Millie and Matthew sat in their chairs, and like graven -images Ellen and Amos stood by the door. - -"I shall put corn in the east field next summer," said Matthew after a -long pause. - -"So!" said Grandfather and returned to his alarmed speculation. - -Millie's mischievous eyes went round and round the circle. They -signaled a laughing message to Matthew, they gazed with intense -amusement at Amos and Ellen. Ellen's blood raced through her veins and -angry thoughts through her mind. It seemed to her that she was on fire. -Amos stood with his eyes upon the floor, all the machinery of thought -paralyzed. Millie saw guilt written upon them both. - -"Grandfather," she began again mischievously; but before she could go -on Matthew stopped her with the first remark which came into his mind. -Even Ellen's comment upon the baby had not been so unfortunately chosen. - -"I have engaged Umbesheiden to cut the trees." - -Ellen turned upon him swiftly, her eyes flashing. - -"What trees?" - -"I'm going to cut the woodland." - -"My trees!" - -"They are no more yours than mine. I have Grandfather's permission, and -it's only what any far-sighted person would do. It will in the end be -very profitable to you, as well as to me." - -Ellen took a step forward. Here was the last of heaped-up injuries! -Considering the turmoil of anger and grief within, she spoke quietly. - -"I've decided that unless you and Grandfather are willing for me to go -to college at once, I'm going to leave home altogether." - -"Where are you going, Ellen?" Matthew asked gently. He knew that he had -postponed too long telling his plans, but Ellen made everything hard. - -"I'm going to live with Mrs. Sassaman at her sister's and earn my -living." - -"What for?" - -"I promised Father I'd go to college." - -"It was a foolish promise involving matters over which you had no -control." - -"I promised him, too, that I'd go away. He didn't wish me to stay here, -so far from the world." - -"The world!" repeated Amos to his despairing soul. He had read "Evelyn -Innes" again and still again; he understood even more clearly what had -happened to Evelyn. - -"The world will ruin you!" warned Grandfather. - -Millie meant to be exonerated. She was frightened--would she be left -without Ellen's help? "No sister-in-law was ever kinder than I to -Ellen. She has all the say about the house, about planning the work and -everything." - -"I'm not complaining about you, Millie. Matthew, will you give me a -part of my money?" - -"It would be against my conscience." - -"Grandfather?" - -Grandfather shook his head. - -"What is your plan?" asked a placating Millie. - -"I shall get work and save my money. I'm strong and well; it would be -very strange if I couldn't get along. At any rate, I'm going to try." - -Matthew rose. Beside him Ellen looked pale and worn and young. He was -disturbed. It was not possible that she was serious! "You've been a -great help to us--I don't deny that. It all proves that you could -always be a good, earnest Christian girl if you would only be sensible." - -He laid his hand on Ellen's shoulder. The house seconded Matthew and -pleaded with her; her affection for him pleaded. She was conscious -also of Amos near by, and suddenly certain instincts, hitherto -unrecognized, took advantage of her excitement. All pointed to the -easiest way, to acquiescence. It seemed for a moment that her father -was a stranger who had wandered across the path laid down for her by -many generations. Then suddenly she lifted her head and went swiftly -from the room. - -"I believe she'll be all right," said Grandfather in a trembling voice. -"She has an inheritance to fight against her, but one also to fight for -her." - -Matthew looked out the window into the darkness and after a moment he -wiped his eyes. Ellen's spirit, he believed, was broken, and there is -something terrible in the breaking of a spirit even to those who have -brought it about. He saw her in imagination lying upon her bed, crying -pitifully. Millie looked down at her baby. It would be dreadful to have -to give up her brooding hours! But Ellen would stay, of course, and she -hoped that now she was cured of her foolishness. Amos stood trembling -by the door. He wished to speak to them all, to reprove them, to attack -them, to insult them, even Grandfather, but most of all Millie. But it -would only make matters worse. He saw with relief that Grandfather was -rising and he stepped out and waited for him on the doorstone. - -Matthew was mistaken about Ellen. She was not crying; she was standing -upright, listening at last like the prodigal in a far country to a -call. She went quietly about the house, bringing from the attic two -satchels and putting into them the few things which she owned. Each -motion had the deliberation of an act long planned. When she had -finished she undressed and lay down. - -It was quite in character for Ellen next morning to wash the breakfast -dishes. Afterwards she changed her dress and appeared in the kitchen, -the smaller satchel in her hand. - -"Good-bye, Millie." - -Millie, sitting at ease, stared. "Where are you going?" - -"I'm going away; I told you so last evening. I've written Mrs. -Sassaman's address on this piece of paper so that you'll know just -where I am. When I'm settled I'll write and Matthew will send my other -satchel. It's packed in my room." - -"He didn't think you were going!" Millie grew pale. Matthew was, she -believed, offended with her. "He's in the field." - -"Tell him good-bye for me." - -"Are you going to walk to the station?" - -"Yes." - -Like a paralyzed person Millie submitted to Ellen's kiss; then she -looked at the closing door and round the kitchen. The washing was to -be done, and the ironing and baking and cooking and sweeping. In her -dismay she forgot even her sleeping baby; rising, she sped out past the -barn and across the fields to Matthew. - -Ellen walked rapidly. She did not analyze her feeling and she did not -know whether she was excited or calm, glad or sorry; she knew only that -she was free. At the end of the second mile she paused. Before her the -road sloped steeply to the creek; beyond the creek the town climbed -the hill. To the right in the hollow, stood the steep-roofed buildings -and Grandfather's cottage and Amos's schoolhouse. She could hear the -droning voices of the children; not in fact, because it was too early -in the morning for school, but in memory. She saw the old trees and the -lambs at play and the little cemetery so close to the road. Ah, she -must hurry! Invisible arms seemed to reach out for her; she felt her -heart softening, her eyes filling with tears. Should she run in and say -good-bye to Grandfather? He was a very old man and she might not see -him again. But, no, she hastened down the hill, across the bridge and -up the broad street to the station, scarcely able to see through tears. - -There, startled, she beheld Amos whose beauty was spectral. - -"I had a feeling you would go, but none of them believed it," he said, -looking back over his shoulder as though he feared detection. - -"Yes, I'm going." Ellen was frightened. Would he try to keep her? - -"Can't you change your mind?" - -Ellen shook her head. She heard with relief the whistle of the train. - -"I shall pray for you!" - -"Thank you, Amos." - -"I needn't say to you, 'Be good!'" - -"No," said Ellen soberly. "I'll be good without that." - -From a receding platform she waved her hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -GOLDSTEIN'S JEWELRY STORE - - -There was this time for Ellen no interested inspection of the -landscape. Her gaze, directed to the back of the next seat, did not -lift to the hat of its occupant, but remained fixed upon the dusty red -plush. In the fields men and women were cutting corn, their blue jeans -suits the color of the river which reflected in a darker tone the clear -sky. Here and there showed a red or yellow branch and there were masses -of weeds which were already brown. - -During her journey, which seemed like the day of Matthew's wedding, -both long and short, Ellen made futile efforts to assemble and arrange -her thoughts. The act which she was now executing she had dreamed of -innumerable times, but her rage with Matthew and Millie had driven her -to it before she was wholly prepared for independence. Her thoughts -recurred bitterly to the scene of the evening before. Millie was -evil-minded, hateful; she had bewitched Matthew into marrying her by -pretending to be better than she was; she persuaded him now to claim -everything for himself, to prevent Ellen from going to school in order -that she herself might have more. - -She suspected that it was Millie who had suggested felling the trees. -But of that sacrilege she could not think and keep her composure. She -heard the rasping sound of the wood saw; she watched the mighty trunks -crash down, emitting almost human sounds of pain. Matthew should be -punished; he should be made to suffer an equivalent for all that he had -made her suffer. - -She understood, however, that one could not safely allow one's mind to -be forever occupied with one's wrongs. She now had her future in her -own hands, and she did not doubt that work would be easily secured. -In the hundreds of stores there would be a place for her; where so -many persons were gathered all kinds of workers would be needed. She -did not doubt her ability to sell goods of any sort. She might find -it necessary to take a humble position at first, but she would rise -rapidly. - -When she reached the dark train-shed in Harrisburg, hands and knees -were trembling. The waiting-room was crowded with passengers for an -excursion train, and she felt the country-dweller's discomfort and -irritation at being jostled. There had been no time to notify Mrs. -Sassaman, but she was like the sun, she did not move from place to -place. Ellen inquired the way to Hill Street and signaled the proper -car. - -But the car did not stop. A second also sailed by, but the third was -driven by a motorman of friendlier spirit who motioned to the opposite -corner, and she climbed aboard, conscious of eyes upon her. She became -immediately aware that she did not look like the other women, that her -dress and coat were a size too small, and that the style of her hat -bore no relation to the present fashion. - -When she found at last the house of Mrs. Sassaman's sister, Mrs. -Lebber, she stood still in dismay. One of a sordid row hanging on the -edge of a hillside above the railroad yards, even the bright September -sunshine could not make it seem a possible abode. There must be a -mistake! But a little marker on the house itself said "Hill Street," -and this was Number 34. - -Doubts were soon put to flight by the appearance of Mrs. Sassaman, a -stouter, paler creature, but Mrs. Sassaman without question, who gazed -at Ellen speechlessly while she held fast to the door. - -"_Oh, thou dear peace!_" she said at last. "Ellen, is it you?" - -Ellen could not speak. Mrs. Sassaman cooed like a mourning dove. - -"Did you come to see me once then, Ellen?" - -Ellen nodded, and Mrs. Sassaman opened the door wider upon an -atmosphere saturated with the steam of washing and scented with the -odor of boiling sauerkraut, and led her into a little parlor where she -sat down and put her satchel on the floor. Mrs. Sassaman's tears had -begun to flow and it was not until several moments had passed that she -could proceed. - -"Well, Ellen!" said she again. - -"I have come to the city to work," explained Ellen, trying to express -in her voice the courage which she believed she felt in her soul. - -Mrs. Sassaman was not encouraging. - -"Oh, Ellen, the city is an awful place! People, people, people, and -dirt, dirt, dirt!" - -"I'm not afraid of it. I'm not going to stay here always. I mean to get -a place in a store, and I shall study in the evenings, until I've saved -enough to go to college." - -"Are you then still trying to be learned, Ellen?" - -"I'm going to college," said Ellen stubbornly. "I thought perhaps I -could get a room where you lived." - -"Here?" said Mrs. Sassaman. Alas, by her desire to live on Hill Street -Ellen descended from the pedestal upon which the Levises should have -remained exalted! "I could ask my sister." - -Mrs. Sassaman retired into a quarter nearer the source of the steam and -the odor, and returning brought with her a mournful replica of herself. -Mrs. Lebber had been the wife of a railroad conductor and had remained -after his sudden death in the house to which he had brought her as a -bride. She had insurance and death benefits sufficient to support her -body and she had a grievance against the railroad company upon which -she fed her soul. Life had cruelly disappointed her. Like Mrs. Sassaman -she had expected to get married and to remain married and to be a -clinging vine. She looked at Ellen with curiosity and disappointment. - -"Is this then Ellen!" The sentence was not interrogatory but -exclamatory. It said, "This the beautiful scion of a prosperous and -famous family of whom I have had to hear so much!" - -She sat down heavily. - -"She would like if she could get a room here," exclaimed Mrs. Sassaman. - -Mrs. Lebber stared in astonishment at Ellen. Mrs. Sassaman had shown no -sisterly frankness in her recent accounts of the Levis family, but now -their fallen state was plain. Mrs. Lebber had a harmless but inordinate -curiosity. - -"Why does she leave her nice home?" The question implied a doubt about -the niceness of the home. - -"I wanted to come to the city to work." - -"Her brother is married now." - -"I'm afraid you've made a mistake." Mrs. Lebber contemplated the faded -picture of the railroad conductor above the mantelpiece. "I never would -'a' thought I would have to take any one in to live with me for money. -I thought always that I would have it better than I do have it." - -"And I too," mourned Mrs. Sassaman. - -Ellen bent her head. This was a doleful beginning. But in her "David -Copperfield" there was a picture of the hero sitting with his satchel -beside him, as she was sitting now. The recollection heartened her. - -"I guess you could have the little room," said Mrs. Lebber; "that is, -if it is you good enough." - -Ellen carried her satchel up the stairs. The room indicated contained a -bed, a bureau, and a chair; the remaining space measured about six feet -by four. The lifted shade revealed the railroad yards and the sky. - -"Just look once!" cried Mrs. Lebber, pointing tragically to a drift of -black particles on the window-sill. "Do all you can and it don't help." - -Having agreed to Mrs. Lebber's modest price, Ellen partook of the -sauerkraut and descended once more to the business section. Food had -restored her and she felt in herself a sense of adventure. She must -expect unpleasant experiences, she reminded herself, and when they came -she must remember her goal. She was in no immediate need of money, -for pinned inside her dress were five ten dollar bills for which she -had exchanged the nickels and dimes and quarters saved through her -childhood, and the spending money which Matthew had given her. - -She acquired between the hours of one and five a good deal of -experience of store-keepers and their ways. She went first to the -department store near the station where Amos bought his books and -questioned the clerk nearest the door. The clerk looked at her -curiously and directed her to an office on the second floor. - -"I'd like to fix that country pippin up." - -"She'll fix herself up," was the short reply from her nearest neighbor. -"Give her time!" - -In the office Ellen's name and age and address were recorded by a -young woman who spoke to her through a brass grill. Had she had -experience in clerking? No. Training in business college? No. How -much education--High School? Ellen thought she had had at least an -equivalent. The clerk blotted her book with an air of finality. - -"Have you a place for me?" - -"Not now, of course. We take on extras when the holiday trade begins. -We'll let you hear from us." - -In a few other establishments Ellen's name and history were recorded, -but in most places she was answered merely by a shake of the head. -Every one, she realized, looked at her last summer's gingham. - -Finally in a little jewelry store near the entrance to the subway -through which the street descended under the railroad, she was -successful. The articles in the crowded window looked very valuable, -though they were paste and plated ware. The customers were chiefly men, -passengers from the trains who stopped to have their watches regulated -and to spend a few minutes of spare time. The proprietor listened to -Ellen with interest and engaged her promptly, promising her six dollars -a week and an advance if she did well. He looked at her even more -sharply than he listened to her, and when she had gone he nodded his -satisfaction. - -Mrs. Lebber did not view this engagement with approval. - -"Is he a married man, this Mr. Goldstein?" - -"I don't know." - -"Are you there alone with him in his store?" - -"No; men repair watches in a little room at the back." - -Mrs. Lebber shook her head. - -"There are very bad people in the city. Most are bad." - -Ellen recalled Millie's account of the experiences of her acquaintances -who went to the city to find work and who were set upon as though -they were lambs venturing into the lairs of wolves. She scorned both -Millie's tales and Mrs. Lebber's fears. - -She went to her room and unpacked her belongings; then by the dim light -she wrote to Matthew asking him to forward her larger satchel. Having -wiped away a few angry tears, she opened her algebra and fixed her mind -upon it. - -When she laid her head on her pillow she felt under her cheek the sharp -points of the black dust she had seen on her window-sill and had felt -under her hand as she touched the furniture. Sometimes a light shower -fell upon her cheek. The trains had thundered in the abyss all the -evening, but she had a vague notion that they would now go to bed. -Instead their activity increased; they seemed to come in the window and -go out the door, to threaten the foundations of the house. - -Finding sleep impossible she considered the weapons with which she was -to fight her battles. The education which was so superior to that of -her country neighbors was, it seemed, unfortunately not correlated with -the requirements of department stores. But she had a mind and she would -learn. In the second place, she had physical strength. She did not -count in the least upon her curly hair, her clear skin, her dark eyes, -and her round figure, nor realize that it was these possessions which -had won her her first situation. - -Having exhausted herself as a subject for study, she thought of Mrs. -Sassaman, who had changed. In the light of the old days she decided -that Mrs. Sassaman, by turns silent and communicative and frequently on -the verge of tears, had "something on her mind." - -She went to work the next morning, having made up for sleep by a cup of -strong coffee. Her employer had opened his shop and was now finishing -the sweeping of his floor, a task which was to be hers from now on. - -"I guess it won't hurt your dress," he said pleasantly. - -Ellen did not catch the inner meaning of his remark. - -"You might get a little something new once," suggested Mr. Goldstein. -"Just a new waist, perhaps; it would improve you." - -He showed Ellen where she was to stand. - -"There by the window. I'll look after the back of the shop. The women -have sure always the easy time, ain't it so?" - -Ellen perched upon a high stool behind the counter and looked out at -the passing throng of men and women from neighboring villages. She -caught a man's wandering glance; he entered and offered a watch which -needed attention. Having directed him to Mr. Goldstein, who carried -his watch to the workroom at the rear, Ellen looked again toward the -street. A second passer-by met her eye and came in, requesting a chain -from the case before her. The chains were plainly labeled, a sale was -soon consummated and Mr. Goldstein took the burden of making change. -The first customer stopped to speak to her on his way out, but was -interrupted by the arrival of a third. - -"I'll be back when you're not so busy," he promised with reference--at -least so she thought--to the purchase of a chain for his repaired watch. - -There are a good many empty-minded men who turn aside at the glance -of a pair of dark and straightforward eyes, but the supply is -not inexhaustible. The middle of the morning brought a period of -comparative idleness, when Mr. Goldstein joined the corps of workmen -and Ellen sat with folded hands; at noon there was another season of -activity followed by another period of idleness. During this period her -heart suddenly jumped. What could she not accomplish in these hours! -She brought with her the next morning her General History. - -The morning stream of pedestrians interested her, though she never got -a long look at it, so rapid was the entrance of customers. When trade -slackened and Mr. Goldstein had gone to his watch-mending, she opened -her book. She was entirely innocent of any intention to steal his time, -and he was for a while ignorant of the theft, since he made the opening -of the shop-door which was her signal for laying down her book, his -signal for a return. She studied a large and never-to-be-forgotten -portion of General History. Her book served a minor purpose; she no -longer caught the eyes of passers-by. - -Fate was not so partial that she kept Mr. Goldstein forever in -ignorance of this offense against all the laws of contract between -employer and employee. He found before the end of the week Ellen's -book under the counter; he heard with irritation the amused comments -of his friends. If he had caught her in the beginning of her duplicity -he would merely have admonished her, but he realized that she had got -the better of him for almost a week--not an easy matter, he proudly -boasted. He dismissed her with eloquence. - -"Did you think I couldn't get no other girls that you could try to make -such a fool of me, say? Did you think I run a university? The men on -the street say to me, 'Say, is it true that you employ a reader to sit -in your window all the time and read a book?' They ask me do you read -to me while I work and if it is the Scripture. You can go, and there is -your pay." - -A pale Ellen stared at him. - -"I waited on everybody who came in!" - -"Did you think waiting on everybody who came in was what I had you -for?" inquired Mr. Goldstein with scorn. "I do the waiting." - -"What did you engage me for?" she asked, bewildered. - -Mr. Goldstein believed that she was as innocent as she seemed. - -"Nobody will come in here to see an old man, will they? I engaged you -because you had black eyes." - -Ellen's black eyes were for a moment not visible. Then she put on her -hat and took the docked wages held out to her. She was not at first -insulted, she was only humiliated. But on the way up the dreary hill -her sense of outrage grew. Her eyes filled with tears; she longed for -her room and for a chance to cry. She felt homeless, and forlorn. She -had been driven from her own home and she had no other. - -Then in Mrs. Lebber's dismal little hall she stood still. In the parlor -sat the last person whom she wished to see at this moment--Matthew, -with her satchel beside him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -A CLOCK RUNS DOWN - - -Matthew had undertaken a large stint of ploughing on the Monday when -Ellen went away. The field in which he worked lay on the same ridge -as the woodland and commanded a wide stretch of fertile land and -commodious barns and houses and beautiful groups of trees. The soil was -rich and soft and turned easily, and the two horses knew their business -so well and needed so little attention that there was time for many -pleasant thoughts. - -But his thoughts were not pleasant. Millie's remark to Ellen had -offended him; she had behaved like her rude sisters whom he detested. -He would admonish her gently and persuade her to apologize; she would -be glad, he was sure, to put herself in the right. - -Presently he began to meditate upon his experience at State College, -to reconstruct the lectures of which he remembered every principle if -not every word, to follow again the laboratory experiments. He had not -yet recalled his father's reminder that even if one became a farmer -science might be useful. He liked to think of the young men whom he had -met from various parts of the State, all at work to improve the soil, -though it was probable that he would have taken no such pleasure in -similar aspirations on the part of his immediate neighbors. - -As he turned his horses in the lee of the wood he remembered uneasily -how Ellen had always come to him in the troubles of her childhood. -Sometimes she had cried noisily so that he was ashamed of her--she had -never gone silently away as she did last night. - -Amos, as well as Ellen, Matthew thought, had a ground of offense -against Millie. He believed that Amos liked to be thought immune to -love and did not wish to have even friendly relations with any woman. -He thought with faint contempt of a man so young who chose a life -of school-teaching and preaching when he might grasp the handles of -a plough on a cool and pleasant morning. He would have no sympathy -with Grandfather's desire for a return to the ancient conventual -establishment. His own plans for the future included a very different -improvement of the church property; he foresaw the ultimate collapse or -the enforced removal of the old buildings and the erection of a small -bright meeting-house with Amos as preacher. But no matter what the -future might bring, there could be nothing between Amos and Ellen. The -idea was odious. - -He had ploughed across and back several times when he saw Millie -advancing along the edge of the field. Hoping she had come to say that -she was sorry she had teased Ellen, he left the horses standing with -their noses against the fence and went to meet her. She was flushed and -out of breath. - -"She has gone!" she called. "She took a satchel!" - -Matthew asked stupidly, "Who has gone?" - -"Why, Ellen! Leaving me with all the work and on Monday yet!" - -"Where has she gone?" - -"To Harrisburg to Mrs. Sassaman, as she said she would. She left the -number and you are to send the big satchel." - -Matthew's first coherent thought was that the neighbors would say that -he had driven Ellen away. Nothing could so entirely and permanently -disgrace him. He laid the blame for this unfortunate happening where it -belonged. - -"It's all your fault!" - -Millie stood still, flushing, like Matthew, a deep red, and then -growing pale. The moment marked the end of one era in her life and the -beginning of another. - -"My fault! When you wouldn't leave her go to school and wouldn't leave -her have her money! I guess you couldn't get any one to agree with -you in that! She has nothing against me whatever; she was as pleasant -as could be and she kissed me good-bye. Did she even walk out here to -say good-bye to you? No, she didn't. She told me to say good-bye." -Millie's voice grew shriller and shriller. She forgot that hitherto she -had never "had words" with Matthew and that she had proudly contrasted -herself in this respect with her father and mother. - -"You had no right to speak to her the way you did." - -"Ach, I was only teasing!" - -"We never alluded to such matters in our family. Ellen never teased me -about you. My father wouldn't have allowed it." - -A scornful "Your father!" was upon the tip of Millie's tongue and -crowding upon it even more disagreeable and pointed retorts. But her -need of help was uppermost. - -"I have all the heavy work!" - -Here was a new and inconvenient aspect of Ellen's departure! - -"Couldn't you get along, taking it slowly?" - -Millie burst into tears. She had expected Matthew to start at once to -bring Ellen back. - -"Of course I couldn't! If you can't get Ellen to come back you'll have -to go for Esther." - -Matthew's heart sank. - -"I can't go till this evening." - -"You could if you only thought so," said Millie. Then she ran back to -the house. - -Matthew's dinner was poor and the final touches were put upon it by -himself. He asked Millie to describe Ellen's going and she did so -sullenly. He looked at the address which Ellen had left and felt more -at ease. He would write to her and tell her that he was sorry she -was offended, and he was sure that she would return. He remembered -with some small remorse but with a deeper pleasure her distress at -separation from him. - -In the evening he drove to the Königs and brought back his -sister-in-law, who accepted his invitation with alacrity. Esther was -a short, broad young woman who divided her time between periods of -cyclonic activity and equally intensive idleness. She had had a busy -summer and had long desired to visit Millie. Her mother had described -Ellen's housekeeping admiringly and Esther anticipated a season of -refreshing leisure. Of course she would help when it was necessary, -but there would be no dreary and compulsory round of cooking and -dish-washing. Matthew's invitation indicated that he had got over the -haughty feelings of superiority which she had ascribed to him. In -short, Esther was in capital good humor. - -She had not been in the Levis kitchen a minute when she observed that -Ellen's housekeeping was not of the character which she had expected. -The dinner dishes waited in the sink and the soiled clothes which -should have been washed and dried and folded down for ironing were -still untouched in a basket under the table. - -"Why, where's your maid?" she asked jokingly. - -"She's gone away," answered Millie excitedly. "She--" - -"She's visiting Mrs. Sassaman, at 34 Hill Street in Harrisburg," -explained Matthew carefully. "There Mrs. Sassaman lives with a sister." - -"So!" Esther discovered the ulterior motive in Matthew's invitation and -Matthew, recognizing her smartness, hated her the more. Millie gave her -a glance which promised that she should know what was to be known. - -For two days Matthew continued his ploughing, then a driving rain made -outdoor work impossible. In such weather he busied himself in the barn -or, when he had figuring to do, in the kitchen. It had been a pleasure -to him to lift his eyes and see Millie sitting by the window or Ellen -moving quietly about. He often called Ellen to look over a sum which he -could check in no other way and she sometimes discovered mistakes. - -Now he found it impossible to sit in the house which was filled with -incessant clamor of tongues. Millie's laugh rang as loud as Esther's. -Esther had brought an accumulation of neighborhood gossip gathered -during the many months when Millie had been deprived of this form -of entertainment, and the stories lost nothing by her telling. When -Matthew and Millie were in their room at night, Millie repeated others -which Esther had told in his absence. It was pleasant, she thought, to -be married and to have in consequence no reserves whatever. - -"But I don't like to hear such things," Matthew interrupted her -gravely. "I've never been used to anything like this. My father--" - -Millie turned on her side with a contemptuous "Ach, you!" - -Matthew lay very still. The cloudy night was soundless; no cock crowed -or distant dog barked and even the oak trees did not whisper. He -pretended to be asleep, but he was kept awake by a vague, apprehensive -unhappiness. Suddenly he heard a strange, uncanny sound, a queer sort -of metallic death-rattle. He sat up. Millie had heard nothing; her -breathing was the soft, even breathing of sleep. He slipped from bed -and went out into the hall. Everything was perfectly still and the warm -air was scented with the comfortable odor of bread sponge. Nothing -stirred. Yet the strange noise had been unmistakable. - -Then he was aware of something out of the common. The house did not -seem natural, something was amiss. Suddenly the intense silence offered -an explanation. The old clock whose loud tick had not failed as long -as he could remember had run down! Since his father's death Ellen had -wound it each morning, but he had forgotten it. - -He felt himself shaken with a chill. He was not superstitious, but -there was something ominous about the ceasing of motion which had -been continuous for so many years. He returned to his bed but could -not sleep. The wind was rising; he could hear its whisper among the -dead and dying leaves. Sometimes in her little girlhood Ellen had been -frightened by the noise in the oak trees and had crept into his bed for -comfort. He had not known when she came, but he found her there, sweet -and drowsy, when he woke. - -Then the voice of the wind became more importunate than the thought of -Ellen. It was, like the ticking of the clock, a part of his childhood. -Shivering though he was, he rose and looked out at the dark wall of -trees. If they were gone there would be a silence at night like the -silence in the house at this moment. He saw the bare ground with -its ugly stumps. His intention to fell the grove became suddenly -incredible. The tears began to run down his cheeks. Before he returned -to bed he knelt and prayed, but his prayer did not ease his discomfort. -Like Millie he had come to the end of an era. - -To his eyes the abode of Mrs. Lebber looked more forbidding than it had -to Ellen, who tolerated it as a merely temporary abode. Having been -received with cold surprise by Mrs. Sassaman, he sat down to wait. - -"You'll think I haven't bettered myself!" said she as though Matthew -was to blame for her present situation. She could hardly resist -picturing to him in plain language the unpleasantness and actual -danger of Ellen's life in a store with a lot of rascals--what could a -Seventh-Dayer know about life in the city?--but it seemed disloyal to -mention Ellen's affairs, and she withdrew, leaving him alone. He could -hear a continual whispering from the kitchen and when Ellen arrived he -closed the door of the little room which with its drawn shades seemed -like a prison cell. - -"Why, Matthew!" said Ellen. She sat down quickly, her heart filled -with murderous thoughts of Mr. Goldstein. She felt a crazy temptation -to ask Matthew to go to his store and beat him. - -Matthew came to the point at once. He sat squarely in his chair, his -strong, brown hands clasped between his knees, a handsome figure. - -"Millie was wrong to speak as she did, Ellen. We know there is nothing -between you and Amos, either on his part or yours. Won't you come back?" - -Ellen's eyes filled. - -"I didn't mind that so much. I'm not here on that account." - -He saw dark circles round her eyes. She had grown thinner. He had never -before looked critically at Ellen. - -"You aren't well!" - -"Yes, I am." - -He looked still more intently; seeing for the first time the fine -proportions of her body and the shape of her beautiful head. The -city-dwellers would make of her, he thought fearfully, an object of -desire! - -"Ellen, I'll try again to make my position plain. You want to be a -doctor; Father gave you that idea. I don't know how it was when he was -a young man, but I know how it is now. I've been away to school and -I know what is the attitude of the students to God and the Christian -religion. They are scoffers and blasphemers; immersion and Foot-washing -and all our beliefs and customs are subjects for amusement to them." -His cheeks burned; he had believed for a while that he was an apostle -sent to a wicked and perverse university. "I'd as soon cut off my right -hand as help you to such an education. I know, too, what most churches -are like. The preachers are so educated that they can't preach the pure -gospel. When people are educated they think they have found ways of -getting round God!" - -Ellen listened curiously. It seemed to her that he was speaking as -though to convince himself. - -"Why do you blame those things on education? Think how different Father -was from Brother Reith and Brother Miller!" - -"But Father was unbelieving!" - -Ellen lifted heavy eyes and looked at Matthew. - -"I'm unbelieving, too, then. I think it's selfish to think so much -about saving your soul as though that were all!" - -Matthew might have answered, "or about educating your mind," but he was -not quick like Ellen. He had determined to be patient and he answered -gently, "It _is_ all." - -"I brought your satchel," he went on, "but I hoped I could take it -back." - -Ellen shook her head. She thought again of Mr. Goldstein and with -difficulty restrained her tears. - -"What kind of a place have you?" - -"I haven't any," she confessed. - -"You said you were in a store." - -"I have been dismissed." - -"Why?" - -"Because I studied a little when there were no customers. The man -didn't like it." - -"What are you going to do now?" - -"I'm going to find another place." - -Matthew took her hands in his. - -"Ellen," said he in a low tone, "come home." - -Ellen bent her head upon her breast. - -"I won't cut the trees, Ellen. I was mad to think of it. I don't know -what got into me. I've sent word to Umbesheiden." - -She made no answer. - -"And Millie shall never speak to you that way again." - -She seemed to be struggling in a rising sea. Matthew was fond of her; -she guessed by some obscure instinct that he had altered and developed, -that he was fonder of her than of Millie. She was tired, the journey -before her seemed interminable and beyond her strength. But she shook -her head. - -"No," she said, "I'm not going to give up." - -When Matthew reached Ephrata he went to the livery stable and got his -horse and drove slowly to the farm. Tired and depressed, he longed to -sit quietly and hold his son in his arms. - -But his kitchen seemed to be filled with Esther, rocking at the end of -a busy day while Millie prepared supper. She held little Matthew and -sang to him a coarse English song. In the change from one civilization -to another she, like many other young persons, had seized upon that -which was least worthy. Matthew was about to reprove her when he -recollected that little Matthew was still too young to be harmed. -Before he could be hurt, Millie would have to arrange some other way -of running her house. - -After supper he walked to the Kloster where his eye fell upon a scene -grown familiar to him during long evenings. The light from the brass -lamp shone upon Grandfather's white beard and upon the golden hair -of Amos bent above "The Mystic Dove." Sometimes Grandfather cast an -approving look upon Amos and sometimes Amos cast a stealthy glance at -Grandfather. - -Matthew sat down where his father had once sat. He crossed one knee -over the other and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. There was in -his heart a new and irritating undercurrent of astonishment--how could -human beings live like this? - -"I've seen Ellen," said he. - -Grandfather looked at him without understanding. - -"You've seen Ellen? Why not?" - -"She went to Harrisburg as she said she would. There she's living with -Mrs. Sassaman and she declares she won't come back." - -Grandfather clasped and unclasped his hands. - -"We must pray." - -Matthew caught Amos's burning gaze and believed it to be one of anger -at this mention of Ellen. - -"She's living in a miserable neighborhood in a house hanging over the -railroad. She had a place in a store, but she's been dismissed. Now -she's going to hunt for another place. She looks sick." He delivered -his short sentences as though they were so many missiles hurled at -Grandfather. It seemed to Grandfather that they were missiles hurled at -Ellen. The right to judge Ellen belonged, he believed, to him. - -"Matthew," he said, white and trembling, "you mustn't be too hard on -the little one." - -Now Matthew trembled. Nerves were on edge, peace had gone from his -house and heart with Ellen. It was not only that he missed her, -but that there had appeared, as though revealed by her departure, -characteristics in Millie to which he had hitherto been blind. It was -not that Millie had degenerated; it was merely that he saw her suddenly -as she was. Her habits of life were those of the König family. His -table was no longer neatly set; bread was softened by being dipped -into coffee; his house was untidy; the necessities of little Matthew -were attended to unblushingly before every one. He had discovered with -amazement that a man's mind is not at rest even when he is converted -and is a husband and father. He had in the last week had moments of -sick regret when he stood for many minutes with his hands on the -handles of his plough, preoccupied with wicked desires for freedom. He -had, as Ellen surmised, changed radically. A late-born activity of mind -tortured him--it was as though his Milhausen inheritance had had its -way with him, had led him into a trap and there had abandoned him. - -"I was perhaps hard on Ellen," he said hotly. "But where did I learn to -be hard on her?" - -"Not from me," protested Grandfather. "She is the object of my constant -prayers." - -Matthew felt his skin tingle. He drew a deep breath as though he would -inhale more air than the little cottage could furnish. He seemed to -shake his shoulders free of some burden, and he began to talk like a -madman. - -"You frightened her! You threatened her with hell! She was afraid. You -frightened me. You didn't let me think for myself. I wish I too had run -away!" - -Then like a petulant boy he departed, slamming the door. The quiver -which shook the cottage seemed to transmit itself to the outer air and -thence to the Saal and Saron. Leaning heavily on his chair Grandfather -lowered himself to his knees. - -Matthew strode through the gate into the graveyard, catching his breath -once more. He knew that he had acted the fool, but he didn't care, he -was so desperately unhappy and confused. As he drew near the farm he -heard the wind in the trees. He stood still; the sound seemed to carry -some message, but he could not interpret it. - -When he opened the door he saw at first only the faint glow of the -fire in the stove, a pleasant sight on a cool evening. But he heard -smothered laughter and saw that on the old settle Esther sat with a -beau. She hailed him with gay and hateful familiarity. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -FETZER ENGAGES A NEW MAID - - -Ellen spent a dreary Sunday within doors and from time to time shed -tears. She had not minded rain in the country, but this day was -intolerable. All the afternoon Mrs. Lebber and Mrs. Sassaman sat at the -parlor windows looking out into the dingy street and alternating sigh -with sigh. She went with them to evening service in a little church, -where the singing was wretched and the sermon grim. The scanty and -spiritless congregation dispersed silently and she bit her lips to keep -from crying. - -The following morning she started out once more to find a position. -In the sordid district behind the Capitol she saw, next to a Jewish -synagogue with strange lettering above its door, a laundry whose sign -announced "Girl Wanted," and there applied. The second of her assets, -physical strength, was to serve her now. In a few minutes she found -herself engaged and being instructed in the art of running wet towels -through a hot mangle. She put into her work a fierce, triumphant -repudiation of Mr. Goldstein. - -Steam laundries are run like jewelry stores for the benefit of their -owners, and steady work is required. At the end of the second day -Ellen, aching from head to foot, walked home in a cold wind. The third -evening she cried with pain, but she went back, believing that if she -failed now she would fail altogether. - -Mrs. Sassaman wept over her, brought her hot herb tea, and finally in -an excess of emotion told what was on her mind. - -"That one toward Lancaster, he has been here." - -Ellen was puzzled. - -"You knew there was a man there, Ellen." Mrs. Sassaman blushed as she -tried to explain the extent of her suitor's devotion. "I used to know -him, he is a lame man, but kind. He will have me, it seems." - -"You mean a lover?" said Ellen. - -"Something like that." - -"Are you going to take him?" A humorous glance made Ellen's eyes look -like her father's. - -"I don't know." Mrs. Sassaman now wept outright. - -"Of course you are!" - -"He isn't like your father." - -Ellen did not understand the implication--no one was like her father. -At the thought of him she was overcome. She had been here for two -months and had learned nothing; the exhausting work at the laundry took -all one's time, and even Sundays had been profitless, spent as they -were in weariness and idleness. Her life was narrower than it had been -at home and Mrs. Sassaman and Mrs. Lebber were even less congenial -than the companions she had left behind. The amount of her savings was -growing, but very slowly. - -She wished Mrs. Sassaman well, bought her a wedding present which she -could ill afford, and on Thanksgiving Day accompanied her and her -farmer to the preacher's. Mrs. Lebber provided a heavy and bountiful -dinner which she felt to be a waste. - -"She will be back," she prophesied. "I don't mean that anything will go -wrong between them; that is not what I mean at all. I mean that she and -I do not have good luck with husbands. Between us we have already lost -three. I think this one is so yellow. It is not that I cannot marry -that I sit here." - -On the Sunday afternoon following Thanksgiving Ellen went to walk. The -air was mild, and the holiday on Thursday had saved her from Sunday's -usual exhaustion. She walked down to the railroad station, intending, -none too cheerfully, to go over the course which she and her father had -followed on a happy day. In the Capitol she walked from room to room -reconsecrating herself to the divinity which she worshiped. - -Then she sought the river street. It was not yet twilight and she -walked slowly as she and her father had walked. She crossed a bridge -and looked back at the domes and spires. The city, nestling against a -background of blue hills, took on in the afternoon sunshine the rich -colors of a much older settlement. She returned slowly, conscious of -the beauty and of her own misery and went northward as she and her -father had gone. - -Here in the park, opposite the gray house which she had admired, they -had stood. The house remained exactly as it was. She sat down, no -suspicion of its ownership, no premonition of a strange future stirring -her, and looked now out across the quiet river and now at the house. -Only a few of the shades were raised--had the occupants died also? -Presently she believed that she saw at a window in the third story a -face with a black mark upon it, but she did not regard it curiously -or wonder whether it was in some way disfigured, or whether a shadow -fell upon it; it was a face dull to her and her miseries. She dried her -eyes at first gently and then with an angry pressure, fearing that she -was going to cry hysterically as she had done several times after her -father's death. - -The gathering twilight made her the more conspicuous and a man -presently took a place on the other end of the bench and asked her her -trouble. His motive was simple friendliness, but he reminded her of the -creatures who had come at the stupid beckoning of her eyes into the -jewelry store, and rising quickly she crossed the street, blind to a -rapidly approaching automobile. She escaped all but a glancing blow of -the fender, but that threw her against the curb. - -Picking herself up, bruised and angry and tremulous, she found herself -surrounded by the driver of the automobile, the stranger from whom she -had flown, and Fetzer, the owner of the shadowy face which she had -seen at the upper window. Fetzer was alone and lonely and she had been -watching Ellen. She had a passion to which all else was subservient, -the finding of persons as trustworthy as herself to serve Stephen, and -she had been looking at Ellen critically from across the street as she -often looked at strong, plainly dressed young women. Ellen assured them -that she was not hurt. - -"It was my own fault. I was in a hurry and I didn't watch." - -The stranger came forward. - -"I saw you were in some trouble and I thought I might help you. I -didn't mean to frighten you." - -"Oh, I understand," said Ellen earnestly. - -The chauffeur protested his innocence to Fetzer. - -"You saw her run across, didn't you?" - -"Yes." Fetzer laid her hand on Ellen's arm and spoke in an idiom -familiar to her. "Come in here once a little where I live." - -The chauffeur was still disturbed. - -"I don't want to put the blame on any one else and run off." - -Fetzer saw three boys approaching rapidly. - -"I saw how it happened--it'll be all right. Now you come with me." - -With authority she led Ellen through a little door at the back of the -house, and there in a small room Ellen saw a sofa and sank down upon it. - -When she opened her eyes again it seemed to her that she was at home -and that Mrs. Sassaman was attending to some childish injury. Gradually -the articles of furniture appeared, and presently she realized that the -woman bending over her was not Mrs. Sassaman, but a stranger. - -"You just lay still," Fetzer insisted with authority. "I watched you -and I said to myself, 'There's one in trouble'; and I know what trouble -is. I was coming to speak to you when you ran across the street. Did -you eat already?" - -Ellen shook her head. - -"I'll bet that's what ails you. Is any one expecting you?" - -Again Ellen shook her head. - -"Then stay where you are." - -Fetzer moved about a small adjoining dining-room. Presently she -appeared in Ellen's field of vision wearing a white apron. - -"Can you walk into the other room?" - -With the help of a firm arm Ellen made the journey. Now she saw Fetzer -plainly, her neat little figure, her dreadfully scarred cheek, the -black patch across her eye, and the quick, queer motions of her little -head. - -She ate slowly and with appetite. Tears threatened to interfere with -the process of swallowing, but she choked down food and tears together. -The little room with its white cloth and a few pictures and blooming -geraniums was, after Mrs. Lebber's grimy dining-room, like paradise. -She had heard from Millie enough stories about the luring of girls into -magnificent and evil resorts to have been very uneasy, but she was not -uneasy in the least. - -After a while she ventured a pleasantry. - -"My father used to tell about a man who said there were three things he -would never give up, the Democratic party, his hope of salvation, and -his good cup of coffee." - -"That's me," said Fetzer, swallowing a long draught, "except I'm no -Democrat." - -When the dishes were disposed of, she sat down by Ellen, an invitation -to confidence in her one-sided glance. She believed in special -dispensations of Providence, and she was sure that Providence had -brought Ellen here. - -"Do you live in Harrisburg?" she asked. - -"I do now," answered Ellen after a tearful pause. "I was born near -Ephrata. My parents are dead. I lived with Mrs. Sassaman and Mrs. -Lebber, but now Mrs. Sassaman is married. I worked in a store at first, -but now I work in a laundry." - -"What is your name?" - -"Ellen Levis." - -There was a brightening sparkle in Fetzer's eye. She liked Ellen and -she leaned forward and gazed at her more earnestly. - -"Would you consider other work, perhaps?" - -"If I could better myself." - -Fetzer's eye gleamed still more brightly. - -"I'm housekeeper here. The family is away now, but they will soon -be back. The cook and the downstairs girl are colored and they live -outside. We need an upstairs girl who will live here. The pay is eight -dollars a week and you would have a good deal of time to yourself, -especially since you come from Lancaster County and know how to work. I -saw you sitting out there and you looked like a reliable girl." - -Eight dollars a week! Mrs. Sassaman had received three. And she could -save it all! Other considerations were forgotten. - -"Do you think I could fill the place?" - -"You can try. When can you come?" - -"I could come to-morrow." - -"Could you walk upstairs to see your room?" - -Ellen believed the journey was possible, and Fetzer led the way into -the narrow hall through which they had entered and up two flights of -stairs. There she pointed to a large bedroom. - -"That is mine, and yours is here." - -Ellen saw a small room with a narrow bed, a white bureau and a chair. -She saw also the river with its reflected lights. - -"Oh, I believe I should like it!" she said earnestly. - -As they went downstairs Fetzer announced her intention of calling -for an automobile and accompanying her guest home. Ellen was not able -to go alone--that was one reason. In the second place now that Ellen -stood erect and lifted her head Fetzer felt her contract to be a little -precipitate. - -But Fetzer found nothing amiss--indeed, she discovered that she had -known Mrs. Lebber's husband. From a place so dreary she was glad to -escape. She trusted Mrs. Lebber because of the dinginess of her house -and Mrs. Lebber trusted her because of her homeliness. She told Mrs. -Lebber the name of her employer, but neither to her nor to Ellen did -"Lanfair" carry any significance. - -Ellen lay uncomfortably on her hard bed. She was bruised and sore, but -she was excited and happy. No one else would have contemplated the -change in her fortunes with satisfaction. From being the center of the -world, she had become merely an unmarried sister-in-law, then a clerk -in a store, then a mangler in a laundry, and now a housemaid, written -down in Mrs. Fetzer's housekeeping book as "Ellen Lewis." - -But she believed that the tide of fortune had turned. She counted on -her fingers the black and white employees whom Fetzer had mentioned. -Fetzer had also said that extra women came to do the hardest cleaning. -Surely there would be time to study! - -Kept awake by her aching bones she saw a smoothly flowing river and a -little table with books and tablets and neatly sharpened pencils. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -MASTER AND MISTRESS - - -Fetzer, though small of stature and retiring of mien, had no misgivings -about her ability to manage the Lanfair house. Her instructions to -Ellen were given with as much positiveness and intimacy of detail as -though human destinies waited upon the tying of an apron string. - -She stood with Ellen at the head of the broad main stairway leading -from the lower hall to the second floor, on every hand closed -mysterious doors, and there admonished her. The early morning was -bright and the river sparkled in the sun. Ellen's body was sore, but -her spirit marched bravely. - -"Now, what you don't need of this you don't have to take to yourself." -Fetzer cocked her smooth head upon one side and looked at Ellen, her -eye expressing increasing satisfaction with her acolyte. "I give -always this instruction; some don't like it, but they do it; others -don't like it and they leave, and I'm glad they're gone--what _lumps_ -I had already--oh, my! Well, a bath every day, morning, afternoon, or -night, it makes no difference, but a bath." Mrs. Fetzer liked to say -"bath"; the _th_ was an achievement, _v_ she had not conquered. "In the -morning a blue dress and white apron--every day a clean one, you don't -have to do the washing nor yet the ironing. In the afternoon a black -dress and a little apron and cap. I have some you can borrow. Rubber -heels on your shoes and always a low woice. It should be our object -in such a position to be as little seen and heard as possible with -faithfulness to our duty." The last sentence had been memorized from -"The Expert Maid and How to Train Her." "We speak when we are spoken to -and we hear nothing that is not meant for us to hear. The mistress in a -well-conducted home respects the independence of her maid and the maid -respects the independence of her mistress. The two spheres are on the -same plane, but they do not commingle. - -"Now we go through the house." She spoke more briskly, glad that the -theoretical portion of her address was safely delivered. "This is her -sitting-room." - -Ellen looked with awe at the large bay-windowed room with its shrouded -furniture. - -"This is her bedroom and bath. Further back are guest-rooms and baths. -Now on this other side are his bedroom and dressing-room, and from -there a stairway goes down to his office. Now the other rooms on that -side are guest-rooms, too, except this small one which is for sewing -and this one where brushes and brooms and such things are kept." She -pointed with pride to the shelves. "Soap, towels, ammonia, cloths. - -"Upstairs, beside our bedrooms are other rooms for company and -storage-rooms. These two floors are your care, and sometimes she may -ask you to button a dress or something. Mostly she don't like people -round her." - -This comment upon her future mistress confirmed Ellen in a vague -suspicion that Mrs. Lanfair was an old woman. It was like an old woman -to need help and at the same time to resent it. She had the kindliest -of intentions toward her. - -Taken downstairs she was presented to the cook; then she and Mrs. -Fetzer had their breakfast together in the little dining-room. - -"They" were coming home, Fetzer said, in three weeks, and after -breakfast preparations to receive them were begun. Windows were washed, -curtains were unpacked and hung, and rugs were unrolled from moth-proof -wrappings. After the first few days Fetzer left Ellen to proceed alone -while she directed other operations in distant parts of the house. So -pleased was she with her silent, capable assistant that, as she walked -about, even her gait a little sidewise, she sang her favorite revival -songs. - -Harrisburg seen from the river front was a different place from -Harrisburg seen from above the railroad yards. One found refreshment -for one's eye at every glance, in fine old trees, beautiful against the -winter sky, in the broad river and in the distant movement of trains -on the other bank which suggested, not showers of grime, but romantic -journeys. Heard at this distance their roar did not disturb sleep, but -induced pleasant dreams. - -One had at hand food for one's soul. Fetzer exhibited with pride the -long parlors and the library with its many cases of books, its deep -chairs, its blackened fireplace, and its shaded lamps. She saw the -hunger in Ellen's eyes. - -"You dare read them," she offered. "I take the responsibility." - -Ellen went with Fetzer to a Methodist church and there was presented as -"Miss Lewis." She felt for the first time the anomalous character of -her position which was uncomfortable even though it was only temporary. - -Fetzer corrected her but once. At her suggestion Ellen bought a winter -dress and hat and coat, and when the new dress came home, she put it on -and inspected herself in the glass. The view did not satisfy her. She -studied her profile, then she unbraided her thick hair and coiled it -loosely on the top of her head. Ringlets escaped and curled back on her -neck and over her forehead, low and broad and white, without wrinkle, -like the favorite forehead of medićval romance. She put on her dress -again and smiled and flushed as she did long ago when she studied the -effect of her red necktie. - -Fetzer flushed, but she did not smile. She laced and interlaced her -fingers and exhibited an uneasiness apparently inappropriate to the -occasion. Like Stephen, she misunderstood entirely the vagaries of -Hilda's mind. - -"I hardly knew you! It's all right for you and me when we're by -ourselves, but not for about your work. It's too fancy." - -Ellen smiled and braided her hair in the old fashion at the back of her -head. - -In mid-January Fetzer received the cablegram for which she had been -watching, and immediately the machinery of the establishment, so -carefully oiled and inspected, began to revolve. She remained cool, -though great matters waited upon her word. - -The doors were opened into the beautiful rooms and were left open, -shades were lifted, sunshine streamed in where it had been long -excluded, potted plants were set in jardiničres, magazines were -arranged in orderly rows on the library table, fires were laid and -bells were tested. Even the odor of the house changed; the faint -mustiness vanished, and a sensitive Ellen sniffed with delight the -fragrance of flowers and the scents of fine soaps placed by her in -tiled bathrooms. - -Through a door under the stairway drifted a new odor, the faint, -pleasant smell of drugs. Sent to the offices she trembled with a sad -and reminiscent delight. There were three large rooms in line--a -waiting-room with comfortable chairs and books and plants and a canary -in a sunny window, an office with three desks and tall filing-cabinets, -and beyond an examining-room from which opened a little laboratory. In -the second room a short, middle-aged woman in a blue serge dress stood -before a filing-cabinet; in the third a tall nurse in a white uniform -was in the act of mounting a stepladder before one of many cupboards. - -"Are you Ellen?" the nurse called from the ladder. "I'm Miss Knowlton -and that is Miss MacVane. Fetzer says you work quietly and you don't -drop things. Those are fine compliments from her." - -Ellen smiled. Miss MacVane lifted her head and glanced in her -direction, then bent closer to her work. Ellen went into the inner room -and held out her hands for the bottles. - -"Put them on the table, each shelf together." - -When the bottles were placed, she washed the shelves while Miss -Knowlton examined the drugs, pouring some away and making frequent -notes on a tablet. - -The next afternoon Ellen helped to complete the task. At five o'clock -everything was in order, even to a little stand on Miss Knowlton's desk -which held flasks of dilating fluids and droppers. Miss MacVane was -frequently called to the telephone. - -"To-morrow, yes." The telephone rang again. "To-morrow, yes. Nine -o'clock. I'll give you the first appointment. I'm sorry to hear that." - -Many persons, it seemed, awaited the return of Dr. Lanfair. - -Fetzer went to the little side door, through which Ellen had learned -all the employees went and came, to speak to silent Fickes, who brought -round in succession three cars of different styles and who said that -doubtless the car which the boss brought home would be fit only for the -junk-heap. - -Ellen felt a growing excitement and a fear that she would not know her -part. She depended upon Fetzer to support her, and Fetzer, as though -she understood her anxiety, patted her arm encouragingly. - -At ten o'clock Fickes brought his master and mistress home. Ellen, -bidden to open the door, saw Fetzer stand with one arm upon the other -like a feudal retainer while there entered a short, slender woman and a -tall man. - -It was the relation of one to the other in height which first -startled her--she had seen those figures before! For a moment she -was incredulous, then dumfounded; a moment more and she realized her -stupidity. No wonder that her father had stared at this house! No -wonder that he had come close to read the doctor's name! Her knees -trembled and excited thrills ran up and down her body. - -Both the newcomers shook hands with Fetzer. - -"I'm glad to see you back!" - -There was a light, slightly scornful laugh. - -"Glad to see me too, Fetzer?" - -"I mean you too, Mrs. Lanfair." - -Ellen trembled. They had not looked at her, but what would they -say when they did? Would not Mrs. Fetzer be astounded? How were -explanations to be begun? Should she take a step forward or wait for -their eyes to find her? She hoped that she would not cry! - -But her anxiety was wasted. Neither Stephen nor Hilda greeted her, -unless Hilda's careless "A new housemaid, Fetzer?" could be called a -greeting. She spoke as though the matter of a new housemaid was one -which concerned her only slightly. - -"Yes, Mrs. Lanfair. Ellen Lewis is her name." - -At last Stephen nodded absently in her direction. He wore a gray suit -like the one he had worn at Ephrata. He moved and spoke more quickly -and nervously, and his lower lip twitched occasionally. - -"Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane here?" - -"Yes, and everything is in order." Fetzer looked at Ellen, thinking -sympathetically that she seemed afraid. The ways of the Lanfairs had -once paralyzed her, too. - -Hilda paused on the second step. She was more slender and there was a -queer change in her aspect; her dress was tawdry and ill-fitting. Dr. -Good would have detected from her appearance and from her moroseness -and indifference a marked advance in her malady. - -"You can't wait till morning!" she said lightly. - -Fetzer lifted one of the bags. - -"Take this, Ellen." - -Ellen followed Fetzer who followed Hilda to her bedroom. Ellen did not -look back; there would be no immediate and dramatic presentation of -herself. In the bedroom she set down the bag where she was told. - -"You may go, Ellen." - -Obeying with relief she heard a question. - -"A little stupid is she, Fetzer? She looks stupid." - -Ellen went out into the hall and back to the door which led to the -service stairs. In her room she opened her books and finished her -evening's task. She had power of concentration equal to her strength -of purpose; besides, the event was too startling and complex to be -approached at once. - -An hour later, sitting up in bed with her hands clasped round her -knees, she heard the door open. - -"Are you awake yet?" - -"Yes." - -Fetzer sat down on the foot of the bed. The pale moonlight was not -bright enough to show the flush on her cheek, but the trembling of her -body shook the bed. - -"Why, Mrs. Fetzer, what ails you?" Asking the question Ellen believed -that she understood. Mrs. Lanfair had spoken unkindly. - -But Fetzer's thoughts were not upon Hilda. - -"I'd do anything in the world for him!" she declared. - -"For Dr. Lanfair?" - -"There are some that are just like beasts and some that are all the -while angels," wept Fetzer. - -Ellen waited. Neither description seemed to fit Lanfair. - -"If it weren't for him I'd be blind. I was shot once. My husband shot -me when he was drunk. He was good-for-nothing. They gave up my eyes in -the hospital, doctors and doctors examined me and gave me up, both my -eyes, but he wouldn't have it. He watched me day after day, sitting -sometimes for hours by me. They told me, when they took the bandage -off, to look at the beautiful river." There was scorn in Fetzer's -voice. "I looked at him. He was more to me than any river." - -The multitude of her emotions kept Ellen silent. - -"Jim's in jail for another year. He got a long term. I've often prayed -that God would convert him and take him home. That's the only thing for -him." - -Ellen knew no consolatory word which seemed adequate. - -"She thought I was stupid!" said she at last. - -Fetzer answered coldly. - -"I hope you won't be spited at that!" - -"I'm not spited. Perhaps I am stupid." - -Fetzer rose from the bed. - -"I'm so tired I could drop. And nervous! Lay down and go to sleep, -Ellen." - -But sleep was not to be so easily commanded. Ellen sat long with -her hands clasped round her knees. The strange impressions of that -July afternoon came back to her; then in a wave grief wiped out all -recollection of Hilda's behavior. She had never ceased to hope that -she would find her father's friend, that he would in some fashion help -her; but now she had seen him and he had not known her, had not even -looked at her. She had no eyes for his disquiet. She felt alone in the -great house. Presently her cheeks burned. She made no allowance for the -transforming years which had changed her into a woman. She resented -their failure to recognize her. When she was learned and famous and not -until then she would tell them who she was! Now she hated them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -A LOST SHEEP - - -Grandfather Milhausen, having heard the echoes of the slamming door die -away and the gate close with a loud click after angry Matthew, began to -pray. The traditional language of petition was on his lips a powerful -vehicle; noble periods poured forth eloquently. He prayed as though -the safety of the universe depended upon his entreaties. He asked for -the blessing of God upon them all, and especially upon Matthew and -Ellen, and he asked specifically that Ellen be led to return with an -inclination to take up the great work which might be hers. - -He did not observe that he failed to lift his companion's spirit with -his own, and that along the treasured and brittle pages of "The Mystic -Dove" a desecrating pencil made angry strokes. Matthew's account of -Ellen's situation appalled Amos; the evil influences of the world must -already have been at work upon her. - -Through a sleepless night Grandfather's anxiety deepened. He reproached -himself because since Levis's death he had trusted too much to the -softening influence of grief upon Ellen's heart. He should have -importuned her, he should have laid her responsibility before her. The -deep regret for his marriage and his own consequent forfeiting of power -returned. God had given him another chance in his grandchildren--had -he also forfeited that? The consciousness of the immanence of God was -strong within him, but it was the immanence of a reproachful God. He -had slept when he should have watched and idled when he should have -toiled. - -Toward morning he began to pray, and at last, when he had made a -promise to God, he fell asleep. He would go to find Ellen and would -bring her back. - -The inertia of seventy-five was not overcome by a mere intention. -Emotion had exhausted him and in the morning he could not rise. As he -looked out day after day from his bed upon the towering walls of the -old buildings, he had blessed dreams which he did not deserve. He saw -again the white-robed processions, heard the matin songs, and sometimes -he lifted his hand and tolled an imaginary bell. - -When at last he was able to go, he declined the offer of Amos's -company. Amos had waited upon him with devotion; he was his only anchor -to windward; upon him alone he could wholly depend; and therefore, as -is natural to human nature, he valued him a little the less. - -He did not begin his journey in the trolley car as did younger, braver -spirits--steam was sufficiently dangerous as a motive power. Before -he reached the railroad station he was the object of interested -observation by the villagers, who did not often see him. It was one of -the clear, bright mornings of Ellen's early life at the Lanfairs', and -the invigorating winter air acted as a tonic to the old man. He looked -about him with pleasure. In his youth he had dreamed of adventure, of -journeying to the ocean which was not far away, but which he had never -seen, and of visiting the West toward which many Pennsylvania Germans -were then setting their faces. - -But his light-heartedness did not long continue. The sky showed signs -of change; fleecy clouds gathered, and the brightness of the river was -soon dimmed. With the shadow there fell a cloud upon his spirit; he -could not long hold any mood of youth. - -The miles of furnaces and mills astonished and troubled him, signifying -a great force which he felt was not of God, and when he arrived in -Harrisburg he was bewildered by the crowd. The continual motion -seemed to him to be in a circle, though in reality the only circular -motion was that about himself as he stood, though bent, yet towering, -prophet-like, gathering his faculties together for the plunge into the -street. - -He walked up the steep hill, pausing often to rest and passing each -moment into a deeper bewilderment. There were moments when he could not -recall, try as he might, the object of his journey. Then he stood quite -still looking about him with dim, puzzled eyes. - -At the end of an hour, when he had at last reached Hill Street, there -had settled upon the city a thick mist in which black particles were -suspended. He found Number 34 without difficulty and stood waiting -until the rapid beating of his heart should subside. Ellen's face and -figure were before him; he longed for their reality as a lover longs -for a sight of his mistress. She was young and strong and she was a -woman. Old as he was Grandfather missed that complementary association -of which he had long been deprived. But he would not have accepted this -analysis of his feelings; he was a shepherd and Ellen was his lost -sheep; it was in that spirit that he sought her. - -Mrs. Lebber's house still hung over the hill, it still sheltered a sad -spirit, and it still exuded when its door was opened the same heavy -odor. Mrs. Lebber appearing, blinked at Grandfather as though she were -not sure whether he was real or whether he was a thickening of the mist -into a human shape. But the shape gave forth human speech. - -"Is my granddaughter, Ellen Levis, here?" he asked in his thin old -voice. - -Mrs. Lebber looked blankly upon the patriarchal figure. Nothing -would ever happen to her; she was as stationary as her house and as -gray as the mist, and the stories of other lives furnished her only -entertainment. She now scented mystery. - -"You'd better come in, then we can talk," she invited. - -Grandfather peered at her uncertainly. - -"You are Manda Sassaman's sister?" - -"Yes, her younger sister." - -Thus assured, Grandfather walked into the small parlor and sat down -upon the first chair. He did not perceive the dreariness of the room; -he perceived only the pleasant odor of food. - -"What time does my granddaughter come from her work?" - -"She's not here, she's gone this long time," announced Mrs. Lebber. -"First Manda went to get married. She is trying it for the third time, -but I don't believe she will have luck. She--" - -"Where is Ellen?" - -"Well"--Mrs. Lebber folded her hands and began to rock slowly. "One -Sunday Ellen she said she would go for a walk, and she didn't come -and didn't come, and after dark she came driving in an automobile, -and I didn't know what to make of it. She was down along the river -where the rich ones live and she got in front of an automobile, -another automobile, that is. It's very dangerous down there. Then I -know a woman that lives down there and she got a place for Ellen." -Mrs. Lebber gave the impression that she had been the chief agency -in Ellen's finding a place and thus unintentionally counteracted the -mysterious insinuations of the first part of her speech. "It's on Front -Street, a very grand place." - -A grand place was to Grandfather an unsafe place. - -"I was married and my husband was killed through an open switch which -wasn't his fault and I never got enough for it. Then Manda, she came to -live with me, but it wasn't long till she must go away and get married. -I still say to her, 'Manda, why did you come if you were not going to -stay?' Then Ellen came and now she is gone. There is no peace but in -the grave." Mrs. Lebber wiped away her tears. - -Grandfather did not dispute this opinion; he rose feebly, animated by -alarm. He must find Ellen quickly. - -"You needn't go," said Mrs. Lebber as though he too might as well have -stayed away as go so soon. "I have sauerkraut for dinner." She quoted -sadly a proverb meant to be cheerful, "Sauerkraut und Speck treibt alle -Sorge weg." - -A powerful temptation assailed Grandfather, but he resisted it bravely. -He must see his lamb. - -He found that descending the hill was more difficult than ascending. -His knees seemed to have grown too weak to bear him up, and when he -reached the station he could go no farther. Snow had begun to fall, -and he had no umbrella. He must get home; he prayed God that he might -succeed in getting home. He saw the little cottage under the shelter of -the old buildings--oh, to be there, to lay his head upon his pillow! - -Amos met him at the train, his face full of hungry desire. He knew that -it was mad to hope that Grandfather would succeed in persuading Ellen -to live at the Kloster, but perhaps she would bring him home. He had -had a day of unusual freedom, but he had read none of his books, making -of his abstinence a sort of petitionary offering. In the intervals of -his teaching he had put the cottage into thorough order. He saw, as he -worked, Ellen sitting under the lamplight, Ellen moving about. Perhaps -she would help to get the supper as she did in her childhood. - -When Grandfather got feebly down from the train, Amos saw for the -first time that this was an old, old man. Ellen did not follow, and -he guessed as he took his uncle's arm that there was no good news. -Grandfather did not speak, and even when they had reached the cottage -he sat for a while silently as though waiting for his strength to -return. - -"I couldn't find her," he said at last. - -"Why not? Isn't she with Manda Sassaman's sister?" - -"No. She's living with rich people on the main street. I couldn't -understand the woman exactly, but I have the name and the number of the -house. It's a very worldly place. I've heard how such people occupy -their time." - -Amos looked at Grandfather curiously. Grandfather knew nothing of the -world! - -"What do they do?" he asked. - -"They play cards," said Grandfather in a frightened tone. "And read -idle books, and their days are spent in pleasure-seeking. They never -think of God. They drink spirituous liquors. There is no health of soul -with such." - -Amos smiled a bitter smile. Grandfather did not know the worst of them! -What sort of pleasures did they seek?--ah, Amos knew! He longed to be -of them--he acknowledged it to himself shamelessly. - -"What are you going to do next?" he asked. - -"I'm going to send a messenger to Ellen. You are to be my messenger, -Amos. It will not be pleasant to you, but you will do your duty." - -Then Grandfather retired to his bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -A CRISIS AT HAND - - -During the winter Ellen's attitude toward the house in which she lived -and toward all the occupants save one was that of an observant pupil. -She liked the house not alone for its slight association with her -father, but for its size, brightness, and beauty and its ordered and -elaborate life. She heard for a long time no word or sound to make her -suspect that the relation of its master and mistress was not exactly as -it appeared on the smooth surface. She learned from Fetzer, an expert -housekeeper; she admired from afar Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane. - -She soon ceased to feel resentment toward Stephen--it was after all not -to be expected that so brilliant and important a man should recall a -young girl seen but once! She was not tempted to disclose to him her -identity. She put his room in order; she heard the slamming door of his -car; and sometimes she caught a glimpse of his tall figure or received -his "Good-morning." She was glad that she had not called upon him -for help, but that she had made her own way. As the weeks passed her -position seemed less and less comfortable, and she longed to be gone. - -She was conscious of the contrast between Hilda's butterfly existence -and the sober industry of all others in the house, but she felt toward -Hilda as Stephen had once felt, that she was by nature different. She -was astonished at her scant and diaphanous clothing, at her lying in -bed a large part of the day and at her habit of smoking cigarettes, -but her association with her was limited. Her lowly position saved her -from observation, and in any case Hilda had no fear of youth or bodily -attraction for Stephen. - -Hilda's jealousy grew daily stronger. She heard one day for a long time -the sound of Stephen's voice, and at last she stole into the passageway -leading to his office. She could see him as he sat on the end of Miss -MacVane's desk, his arms folded, holding forth steadily and earnestly -and sometimes gayly. Miss Knowlton sat in her informal fashion on the -edge of her desk, her attitude much like Stephen's. - -Hilda could not understand Stephen's medical discourse and her -inability maddened her and quickened her suspicions, which, though they -were insane, were yet terribly real. Why did these women stay on year -after year? Why did Stephen prefer to work incessantly, to be with -them, rather than with her? Why had he given up friends and recreation? -Why was he unwilling to go away? - -She turned at this moment a new corner; she determined somehow to -punish these women, to get rid of them. Toward Miss MacVane especially -she developed suddenly a clearly defined intention, unalterable, though -not yet developed in its cunning perfection. - -In the spring Ellen made a friend. Seeing in the paper the announcement -of an evening lecture on astronomy at the High School, she went, -recalling the rides with her father when he had taught her the names of -the constellations. Next to her sat a familiar figure, Miss MacVane, -who turned her thick glasses upon her. For the first time in her -acquaintance she really saw Ellen. - -"Why, Ellen! Is it Ellen?" - -"Yes, Miss MacVane." - -"Are you interested in astronomy?" - -"I like to learn all I can." - -"How much schooling have you had?" - -"I'm ready for college." - -Miss MacVane turned all the way round in her chair. - -"Are you going to college?" she demanded. Her voice expressed not so -much surprise as defiance; she seemed to dare Ellen to go to college. - -"I hope to." - -"When?" - -"In the fall." - -"Well, of all things!" The weak eyes sparkled. "Now if you want any -advice, you come to me. I know all the ropes. No registrar can tell me -what course I want or don't want, nor can any boarding-house creature -charge me three prices." - -Ellen described the extent of her preparation and Miss MacVane grew -excited. - -"How foolish to think of staying for four years! Get it in three! You -can. You're no chicken--I mean you're old enough to use your time and -not to run after the men and dramatics. Where are you going?" - -"I thought I'd go to a girls' college." - -"Oh, why don't you go to Cornell?" Miss MacVane spoke with missionary -zeal. "Don't shut yourself up with a lot of little girls--you'll never -stand it. Go where you may have some independence. Cornell is--" - -But what Cornell was its admirer was prevented, by the arrival of the -lecturer, from explaining. - -"We'll continue this," she whispered, pressing Ellen's responsive hand. - -When the lecture was over they walked together to the corner and -there let a half-dozen cars pass. Miss MacVane proved to be an ardent -advocate of education. - -"I was a cash girl--I didn't know any other name than C-a-a-sh"--a -passer-by turned a startled head--"I hadn't any money. Have you money? -Because if you haven't there's a fund." - -"If I could borrow just a little, then I could be sure of going in the -fall," said Ellen excitedly. - -"Of course you can borrow! To-morrow Doctor'll be away and you bring -your catalogues into the office. I'll help you." - -"You won't tell!" - -"Not a word," promised Miss MacVane. - -Ellen went home and sat by her window. It was late, but she was wide -awake. A gentle breeze fanned her cheek; trains rolled far away to -distant cities and mountains; a thousand lights gleamed and happy -voices rose from the park. She saw almost within her grasp that -for which she sighed. She was intensely happy with almost her last -unclouded happiness. One could mould one's life if one had only -determination enough, if one would only sacrifice that which was not -essential for that which was. She thought with affectionate pity of -Grandfather, of Matthew, of Amos, even of Millie to whom she owed -gratitude because Millie had driven her away. She pitied every one who -was not Ellen Levis. - -The next afternoon she took her books into the office, where Miss -MacVane sat with her back to the light and with a dark shade over her -eyes. - -"Ellen, I have to have drops in my eyes, and I told Miss Knowlton that -I believed you'd put them in after her hours so that she won't have to -stay. You will, won't you?" - -"Of course." - -Miss Knowlton brought a bottle of eye-wash. - -"It always stands right there in the corner and it's marked 'MacVane.' -You can't miss it. The other bottle in the stand is distilled water." - -Ellen watched the operation attentively. Miss MacVane's blinking eyes -were red-rimmed and her face was pale. When Miss Knowlton had closed -the door she burst out: - -"He actually keeps me seeing, Ellen. If he didn't watch, I'd be -blind--think of it! I'd do anything in the world for him--anything!" -She touched her eyes with her handkerchief and winced. "I sewed my -way through college--that's the trouble. You'll have to read your -catalogues to me; I can't see." - -Both women heard suddenly a light, clear laugh. Hilda was coming in, -accompanied by a gay companion. In the heart of Miss MacVane burned -a bitter resentment; she thought of the millions of stitches she had -taken with dim and aching eyes, and of the price of one of Hilda's -dresses which would have saved her sight. - -A faint odor of cigarette smoke drifted along the hall and through -the door. Hilda was doubtless sitting in her favorite corner of the -library sofa, smoking. Miss MacVane's lips curved downward. Sounds -more distressing than the thin laugh had penetrated through doors and -traveled along passageways to her ears, but she said nothing even to -Miss Knowlton, though she was aware that the ears of Miss Knowlton were -as keen as her own. Both women knew, as Fetzer sometimes suspected, all -that was to be known, at least all that Fetzer knew. - -For a few days Miss MacVane's eyes improved slowly. Each afternoon -Ellen escorted her to her car, and one day as she walked back she -saw standing and gazing at the river a tall figure. She noted with -amusement its immobility in contrast with the ludicrous excitement of a -flock of blackbirds that inflated their bodies and hopped about near -by; then, recognizing the tall figure, she ran across the street. - -"Why, Amos!" - -Amos looked down at her. Grandfather had been ill, and this was his -first opportunity to execute the commission with which he had been -charged. He had meant to ring the bell, and to enter the great and -beautiful house, but his courage had failed and he stood wondering what -he should do. He was startled by the change in Ellen. - -"Were you looking for me?" - -"Yes," he answered, trembling. - -"Would you like to walk?" - -"Yes." - -"How is Grandfather?" - -"He was sick, but he's better." - -"And Matthew?" - -"I don't often see him." - -"And how are you?" - -Amos shifted his eyes uneasily. Nothing was well with him. He had -become a prey to melancholy and he was losing his faith in God. His -terror became at times physical as well as mental; he feared that the -Saal and Saron might fall upon him and crush him; the whole universe -was sinister, existence was torturing. - -"Everything is with me as it was," he said. "Uncle is greatly worried -about you. He's afraid you have come to a place where there is -worldliness." - -"What does he think I do?" - -"He thinks in such places they play cards and perhaps drink, and are -light-minded." - -"I dust and sweep and make beds, Amos, and when I'm through I study. -There are good women in the house and the office and when I have spare -time I spend it with them." She accounted in detail for her presence -here. "I wrote Matthew all about it. I'm only here to earn money and in -the fall I'm going to college. There's nothing wrong with these people." - -Then Ellen flushed--remembering Hilda's bare shoulders, the turn of her -wrist as she flicked the ash of her cigarette--what would Amos say to -that? - -Amos saw the flush and felt his torturing suspicions return. Were -there any young men in the house? Did the doctor have a son? Did they -look upon Ellen with desire? - -"Oh, Ellen!" he said wildly. "I haven't anything in the world but you!" - -Ellen saw the hungry eyes; hitherto they had roused only pity--now they -repelled. - -"What you want can't be, Amos." - -Amos plunged into fear that he had frightened her. - -"I'll never say anything more, Ellen!" - -They walked a few squares silently; then Amos said sadly, "I won't go -any farther; I'll go down the other street." He was certain that he -could trust her. There was no reason to be jealous of ambition. - -When Ellen reached home she went upstairs and opening the door at the -back of the second story went to the linen closet. The hall was bright -with the light of the level sun and sweet with the odors of spring -flowers. She believed herself to be quite alone and, Amos forgotten, -stood still in intense enjoyment. - -But she was not alone; a shrill voice from Hilda's room announced her -presence. - -"I'm going to Aiken, I tell you!" - -Stephen's voice in answer expressed an eager desire to placate. - -"There's no reason why you shouldn't." - -"Are you going with me?" - -"I can't." - -"You can!" Uncontradicted Hilda went on more loudly, "It's on account -of the woman in your office!" - -"That's one of the reasons. I certainly can't let her go blind." - -"You are shameless--shameless!" - -Ellen closed the door softly. When her knees would carry her, she went -slowly to the third story. Fetzer sat behind her closed door; she kept -Stephen's worst troubles a secret from herself when that was possible. -She surmised with distress that they had recently grown more acute. Now -she opened the door quickly. - -"Did you just come in, Ellen?" - -"Yes," answered Ellen, her face in shadow. - -"Well, you needn't do anything more downstairs." - -Ellen closed the door of her own room and stood against it. - -"How dreadful!" she said to herself. "It is she who is shameless." - -When she had had her supper she walked a little distance along the -river-bank to a favorite bench. She looked back at the gray house and -saw the moon shining on its irregular roof. There were trees between it -and her and it seemed to stand isolated, a grim and solemn habitation. - -So Mrs. Lanfair was like that! How troubled Dr. Lanfair must be! -Resentment had now faded wholly, she was filled with pity. Then -suddenly in her dark eyes appeared the emotion expressed by Fetzer's -single eye, by Miss Knowlton's pale blue orbs and by Miss MacVane's -dim vision, the tenderness with which most women regard a man who for -some reason is reduced from the superior position which should be his. -She longed, as they did, with her whole heart, to be of some supreme -service to him. Her wish was soon to be granted. - -When she went into the office the next afternoon to put drops into -Miss MacVane's eyes, she looked at her with curiosity. She had not -the remotest claim to beauty; she was short of speech and sometimes -irritable, and her thick glasses, without which she could see nothing, -disfigured her. It was not possible that Mrs. Lanfair feared good Miss -MacVane! - -Miss MacVane removed her green shade and her thick glasses, and -Ellen lifted the little rack and took from the bottle the attached -medicine-dropper. A penetrating odor frightened her. - -"I'm ready," said Miss MacVane patiently. "I'm better, thank God!" The -expletive was heartfelt--she did thank God. - -Ellen's hand poised motionless above the little vials. - -"What's the matter, Ellen?" - -"Why--" began Ellen. - -"What is it?" Miss MacVane blinked unseeing. - -Still Ellen made no motion. There was something wrong. Ammonia was not -a medicament for the eye, but the lotion seemed to be pure ammonia! - -"What is it, Ellen?" - -Ellen believed suddenly that she understood what had happened--Dr. -Lanfair had made a mistake. Her next act, quickly conceived and -executed, was like a protecting gesture. Into her eyes came again -the expression with which Fetzer and Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane -regarded their master. No wonder that he had made a mistake! She put -deliberately into Miss MacVane's eyes two drops of distilled water. - -When Miss MacVane had gone, Ellen stood holding the bottle and looking -at it. What should she do now? Had she behaved with unwarrantable -officiousness? She stood in the same spot holding the bottle in her -hand when Stephen entered and stared at her in surprise and then in -amazement. For an instant they regarded each other, for the first time -straightforwardly. A vaguely disturbing recollection troubled Stephen's -mind and then was immediately lost in a sharper emotion. - -"What's the matter?" - -Ellen grew pale and her knees weakened. But it was better to have been -unwarrantably officious than to have used the wrong medicine! - -"I've been putting drops into Miss MacVane's eyes in the afternoon, so -that Miss Knowlton wouldn't have to stay, and to-day there's something -wrong with it." - -Stephen took the flask roughly. - -"It's different from yesterday," said Ellen, "there's a great deal more -of it, and there's an odor." - -Stephen held the little bottle with both hands. - -"If I did wrong, I'm sorry. I can go to Miss MacVane's house if you -want me to." - -At last Stephen looked up. - -"Couldn't you smell this stuff?" he demanded. "Couldn't she? Where is -she?" - -"I didn't use it!" cried Ellen. - -"Oh, you didn't!" - -"I used distilled water. I didn't say anything to her." - -Stephen looked at his housemaid, bewildered. - -"Why didn't you?" - -"I thought it was your mistake and that I'd better tell you." - -"You say the solution was all right yesterday?" - -"I think so." - -"It didn't burn?" - -"No; I'm sure it didn't." - -His gaze held Ellen's eyes helplessly. He tried vainly to remember her -name, but at any rate her name didn't matter. - -"Was this bottle in its usual place?" - -"Yes." - -Stephen grew white; his hand trembled and he set the rack with the -little vials down quickly. - -"Tell Fetzer to come here, please." - -Ellen climbed to the third story and found Fetzer in her room. Hilda -had gone motoring and the house was soundless. - -"What ails you, Ellen?" asked Fetzer. "You look so queer." - -"Dr. Lanfair wants you to come to the office." - -"What's the matter?" - -"I don't know," answered Ellen honestly. - -She went into her room and stood looking out the window. He had not -even thanked her! Could the mistake have been Miss Knowlton's? What -had Fetzer to do with it? Perhaps he had called for Fetzer on other -business. Five minutes passed, ten minutes, and she stood looking down -upon the river. - -When her bell rang she went to the office, and was there bidden to -close the door, whether by Stephen or Fetzer she did not know. She -saw only two white faces. Fetzer had sat down because she could not -stand. Ammonia in eye-wash--she knew how that would madden and perhaps -destroy! Her hand covered her scarred cheek. Vividly recollected -sensations paralyzed her mind; she sought as yet no solution of this -strange event, but dwelt only on the imagined agony. - -"Fetzer tells me that you use ammonia for household purposes," said -Stephen. "Where do you keep it?" - -Ellen's eyes sought Fetzer's for confirmation. - -"In the cupboard in the hall." - -"Have you ever missed any?" - -"Why, no!" - -"Does any one but yourself go to the cupboard?" - -"No"--then Ellen corrected herself. She still spoke straightforwardly -and innocently. "Mrs. Lanfair got some there yesterday; she filled one -of the engraved bottles from her bathroom; at least I think so." - -"What makes you think so?" - -Ellen flushed. - -"Because I saw that a new bottle had been opened, and when I cleaned -Mrs. Lanfair's bathroom I saw there was ammonia in her violet water -bottle. I think she probably wanted to clean a chain or something." - -"Thank you," said Stephen. - -When Ellen had gone he looked down at the floor and Fetzer looked at -him. Her lips had parted; she pressed her hand against them as though -to close them. She had always known that Hilda was a wicked woman, but -not that she was as wicked as this! - -Ellen climbed the steps slowly. She heard presently Hilda's motor stop -at the door, and Hilda come upstairs. Then quiet fell once more. After -an hour the door of the motor slammed again--Stephen and Hilda had gone -out to dinner. She heard late at night the sound of their return. She -had remembered now suddenly and clearly a forgotten detail of their -visit to the farmhouse. - -"Dementia, Father!" she heard herself say. "Who has dementia?" - -She looked at her open door. Did she hear the sound of a creeping -approach? She sat upright. If she closed and locked her door she would -leave Fetzer to the mercy of she knew not what. But she would lock -the door at the head of the stairs; then they would both be safe. But -she might shut out a call for help! Did she hear now a half-smothered -voice? She rose and slipped barefooted into the passage. There she saw -a small dark figure. - -"Is that you, Ellen?" asked a sharp voice. - -"I thought I heard a noise." - -"You were dreaming. It was nothing. Go back to bed and shut your door." - -Ellen obeyed, and Fetzer sat down on the upper step from which she had -risen, and suddenly the clock struck two. The sound of voices was not -imaginary. - -"Can't you sleep, Hilda?" - -"No, I can't sleep." - -"Is there anything I can do for you?" - -"You can attend to your own affairs." - -Fetzer's eyes sought longingly the window at the end of the hall. If -morning would only come! She guessed now what ailed her mistress, and -her kind heart ached with remorse and terror. Madness--she knew what -madness was! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -A STRANGE JOURNEY - - -Mayne answered Stephen's telephone call with his usual abounding -cordiality. He was glad to hear Stephen's voice and he had been -thinking about running up to spend the night. Yes he could come very -soon--and bring Dr. Good? - -"And bring Dr. Good," he repeated. "Did I understand you correctly?" - -"Yes." - -"You wish Good to come professionally?" - -"Yes, as soon as possible." - -Mayne understood the significance of the invitation. He was not -prepared to meet this emergency, forewarned though he had always been. -He mopped his brow. His hair was now entirely gray, but he was still -ruddy of complexion and possessed a boy's vigor of body. A chill fear -passed over him, not only for Hilda, but for himself. - -"Lanfair has requested me to bring you to Harrisburg," he explained -to Dr. Good. "I anticipate some serious development. I had begun to -believe my fears to be groundless." He mopped his forehead again. "It -is distressing. I judge there has been some acute crisis, but when I -called her to announce our prospective visit--I suggested to Lanfair -that I do that--her voice sounded natural." - -He had a moment with Stephen upon their arrival and reported the result -of his interview to Dr. Good--whispered it, though they were alone in -Good's bedroom with the door closed. His alarm grew hourly stronger. -One of his aunts had become violent, had lived for several years in an -asylum, and had at last put an end to her life. - -"It seems that Hilda has taken an intense dislike to a half-blind, -middle-aged woman in Lanfair's office and resented the fact that he -felt it professionally necessary to remain here to watch this woman's -eyes when she wished him to accompany her away. She is known to have -taken ammonia from the household supplies the day before ammonia was -put into this Miss MacVane's eye-wash. The woman is a harmless lonely -soul whom Lanfair saved from blindness." - -Dr. Good shook his head. He was a small man remarkable for his bright -eyes, his large steel-rimmed spectacles, and a strong Pennsylvania -German accent which he would never lose. - -"If a homicidal mania is developing, as frequently happens in such -cases," he said, "she should be confined at once. Lanfair should be -persuaded of the necessity for it. She should be got quietly to the -King Sanatorium." - -Dr. Good was secretly glad that the problem of transportation was not -his. He remembered that Lanfair had been comparatively a poor man--he -had paid dearly for his riches! - -The problem of transportation proved to be, however, quite simple. -Hilda greeted her guests at dinner. It was a season when dress patterns -were scant and she wore little, but her slender body appeared to be -inadequate to sustain even her bright, filmy dress and her string of -pearls. She seemed to be becoming as ethereal as the smoke of the -cigarettes which she so constantly used. Dr. Good was quick to observe -that she was suspicious and uneasy, that she seemed to be under great -tension. It was by no means improbable that a crisis was at hand. - -Poor Hilda welcomed her uncle. She was miserably conscious of the -turmoil within, and she felt that his presence would steady her. -Several times she put out her hand toward him across the corner of the -table and he covered it with his own. - -"But your hand is cold!" cried Hilda. "What is the matter?" - -"Nothing is the matter," answered Mayne with a nervous cough. He felt -that they surrounded her, three great men, like enemies, a fluttering, -helpless creature in her own house. She should not be confined unless -there were no other way. She was, as far as he could see, wholly -normal. While Good talked to Stephen about a problem with which both -ophthalmists and psychiatrists were concerned, he clasped Hilda's hand -a little more closely. - -It may have been that his ill-concealed anxiety and alarm roused her -suspicions, or that the cunning plan which she believed that she was -carrying out excited her beyond the point of safety; it may have -been merely that her disease advanced rapidly to a climax. Suddenly -she felt that he--that they all--were against her. It was no longer -possible for her to restrain herself. She began to stammer and to point -her forefinger at Stephen. Hers was the dreadful gaze of a bird at a -snake or a prisoner at a hated jailer. - -"Uncle," she said earnestly in her clear, high voice, "he's not true to -me." The three men heard; so did Ellen, impressed into service by the -absence of the waitress, and so did Fetzer in the pantry. "I can tell -you about the many, many women. I can--" - -"As I was saying, ..." went on Dr. Good. - -"Hilda, I have something to tell you," said Mayne, desperately. - -But Hilda would not be silenced. She rose, pushing away from her the -silver tray with its coffee service and its delicate cups. A flask of -cognac which was not well balanced fell with a light crash upon a piece -of fragile china; then her hands, spread suddenly apart in a frantic -gesture, sent her pearls in all directions. - -"You'll listen while I tell you everything! You'll--" - -A terrified, watchful Fetzer came a little beyond the screen which -stood before the pantry door. She knew the purpose of their coming--did -they understand that Hilda was really mad, and did they know that -madness was cunning and quick and dangerous? - -Hilda turned her head and looked at Fetzer, her hatred leaping to her -eyes. - -"There is one of them, Uncle!" As Mayne rose she threw herself into his -arms. "I want to go home with you!" - -Mayne's eyes filled with tears. - -"Now?" - -"Yes." - -"Can you prepare to go at once?" - -Hilda fixed her eyes upon Ellen who had neither pretensions to learning -nor connection with Stephen's hated work. - -"She'll help me." She looked about wildly and Mayne and Ellen guided -her up the stairs. - -"I'll give you some medicine to make you feel better, then this girl -will assist you." Mayne was trembling. It was, alas, not to his house -that they would take poor Hilda! - -Ellen helped the shivering figure into a street dress. The medicine -began to have its effect; Hilda grew drowsy and lost control of her -tongue. When Mayne returned she pointed to Ellen. - -"What is it, Hilda? Are you afraid of her?" - -Hilda shook her head. - -"Do you wish her to accompany you?" Even in moments like this Mayne -chose his words. - -Hilda nodded and Mayne went to speak to Stephen. When he returned they -helped Hilda down the stairs. She became more drowsy and had difficulty -in finding the step of the throbbing motor. She laid her head on -Ellen's shoulder and Ellen steadied her with her arm. The car gave a -premonitory whirr, then it seemed to spring ahead. It did not move as -though guided by the expert hand of Fickes and Ellen realized that -Stephen was at the wheel and that Dr. Good sat beside him. - -Once in the long journey Mayne asked a question. - -"Isn't Mrs. Lanfair heavy against your shoulder?" - -"No," answered Ellen. - -Mayne's voice was thick and Ellen herself had shed tears. - -At eleven o'clock the car stopped beneath a _porte-cochčre_ and a -nurse and two orderlies came down the steps. They received poor Hilda -tenderly and with businesslike hopefulness. The three men followed the -little procession into the lighted doorway. - -Until they reappeared, a space of time which seemed long, but which was -in reality short, Ellen looked up at the beautiful doorway and at the -dimly outlined ornamental shrubbery. A stranger had now joined Lanfair -and his companions and together they approached the car. - -"She'll sleep till morning, Stephen, then I'll be here, and Good also. -We'll go into the city for the night." - -Ellen heard a new voice, smooth, a little hesitating, and very kind. -Dr. King had new theories and indestructible enthusiasm, and his -experiments were being eagerly watched. - -"I should advise against the patient seeing you at once, Dr. Lanfair." - -"I understand," answered Stephen. He looked frowning at the car. - -"That girl's got to be taken back. I may as well go home." - -"She has comported herself admirably." Mayne raised his voice so that -Ellen might hear. - -Stephen stepped into the car as one who feels his way. He looked at -Ellen as though her outline were dim. - -"You'd better sit beside me. It will be rough riding there on the back -seat." - -He did not speak again until the journey was almost over, when, in the -city limits, he slackened his speed. - -"You've been of great service--" again he tried vainly to remember -Ellen's name. - -Ellen wiped her eyes. - -"I'm very sorry for her," she said. - -"Yes," said Stephen heavily. His own eyes smarted, though he had never -expected to shed tears for Hilda. - -Fetzer, hearing the motor, opened the door. She felt, it must be -confessed, a little jealousy--it was she who should have helped -Stephen! She climbed with Ellen the narrow stairway at the back of the -house, and Stephen went up the broader stairway to his dressing-room. -She sat with Ellen while she got ready for bed. - -"It was God's will that the colored girl was out," she said devoutly. -"Nobody will know anything. Even those women in the office don't need -to know, ain't it so, Ellen?" - -"I shan't tell them." - -Fetzer rose and laid her hand across her cheek. - -"Most people think he laid all this time on a bed of roses. But we -know." - -Ellen lay down and pushed the pillow away and turned over on her face, -her cheek on her arm. Her heart throbbed, her cheek was flushed. The -strange journey, Stephen's eyes, his long, slim hand, the touch of his -arm against hers as she stepped to her place beside him, the darkness, -the swift, unbroken pace, once a deep breath--all passed through her -mind. She did not think coherently; she merely recalled each detail -with nervous excitement. - -Stephen wheeled his bed to the bay-window from which he could look out -upon the river. Sleep was far from him. It was many years since he -had thought of Hilda with tenderness, but he thought of her tenderly -now. After a while he rose and went across to her rooms and sat down. -The low moon illuminated some of the luxurious furnishings and cast -others into shadow. He sat motionless, recalling the early days of his -devotion, the hours of dreaming before Edward Levis's meager fire, -Hilda's advances, his shy response, his rapture. - -Then other recollections thronged, and face and heart burned. He rose -quickly. He would not think of her unkindly in this house, nor in this -hour, now that she was gone. No blame could be imputed to her; she was -a creature unfinished, spoiled, ill. He wished that he had been as -patient in his heart as he had been unfailingly kind in his behavior. -Now she was gone, she could trouble him no more, harass him no more, -embarrass, shame, terrify him no more. He went to his bed and to sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -AN UNHAPPY SCHOLAR - - -No sooner had Amos let Ellen go away from him than he regretted his -foolishness. He might as well have walked back with her to the house -where she lived and thus have been much longer in the half-paradise, -half-purgatory of her company. He did not cross to the next street as -he had intended, but walked rapidly after her. - -The sun was setting and the river was bathed in golden light. Over all -lay a spell broken only by bird-songs. Men and women walked slowly; a -succession of lovers wandered arm-in-arm; automobiles moved quietly; -and occasionally a pair of horses trotted briskly by, drawing a -mistress who clung, for this hour at least, to the vehicle of an older -time. But Amos saw neither the river nor the pedestrians nor heard the -bird-songs; his eyes were fixed ahead searching for a figure which had -already vanished. - -When he reached Ellen's habitation a sheltering twilight had fallen -and he sat down on a bench in the park. He saw lights shine here and -there and he thought that she might be lighting them, though his idea -of her duties was still vague. After a while he hid his face in his -hands. The ways of the world, the quickening of the pulse as night drew -on, the intercourse of delicate, silken-clad women and predatory men, -the prospect of fond assignations, the eluding of watchful wives and -guardians--it was the world of Evelyn Innes and Anna Karenina in which -Ellen was moving, though only a narrow space of street and wall divided -her from him. He felt that he should go mad. - -Presently he saw that a car had glided into place before the Lanfair -house. The door opened and let out a soft glow and at once a tall man -and a short woman came down the steps and drove away. The man helped -his companion into the car with careful solicitude--it was, except for -one, the last drive which Stephen and Hilda were to have together. Amos -saw himself and Ellen going thus happily. - -When it was quite dark he rose and went on his way, past other handsome -houses to a cross-street by which he approached the square. There again -he stood still as though his powers of locomotion were sufficient to -carry him only a short distance. The large, open space wore an air -of festivity. In the center, as from the center of a spider's web, -street-cars started to suburban districts, and round this center -circled perpetually the gleaming lights of automobiles. In a still -wider circle coincident with the pavement moved the human throng. At -the curb stood more or less permanent groups held by the eloquence of a -traveling quack or soap-vender. - -The largest group listened to the loud singing and tambourine-playing -of the Salvation Army, and Amos, hearing their music, moved idly -toward them. The company was made up of two men and three women to -whom religion was not a dull habit, but a burning passion, and on -whose faces were recorded struggles as fierce as his own. Their leader -was a short man with immensely broad shoulders and a countenance -which expressed an almost savage earnestness. He had mounted a box in -order to be seen and he was speaking rapidly, reminding his audience -that they were sinners who needed a Saviour. He gesticulated with -disproportionately large hands, hardened by work in the steel mill. He -did not hold work to be a curse but a means of salvation. - -Amos gazed without seeing and heard without understanding. Presently he -moved on down the street, looking absently at jewels and boxes of candy -and delicate slippers. In the window of the department store he saw a -sign, "New Titles in the Thinker's Library." Alas, the store was closed! - -When he reached the Kloster it was almost midnight, but Grandfather was -awake and spoke feebly as soon as the door opened. - -"Well?" - -The vague question was startling. For an instant Amos could not -remember the object of his journey. - -"Oh, yes," he cried catching his breath, "I saw her; she's all right; -she works hard." - -"Will she come home?" - -"No," said Amos. He stood with bent head, looking at the floor. He felt -a sharp envy of Ellen. After a while a slight movement startled him. -He saw Grandfather standing in the doorway. He had wrapped the sheet -about him and might have passed for the importunate ghost of the King -of Denmark. It seemed to Amos that Grandfather had been looking at him -for a long time. - -"Did you try to persuade her to come home?" - -"Yes," answered Amos vaguely. - -"And she wouldn't listen?" - -"No." - -Grandfather went slowly back into his room and lay down. After a while -he uttered a sigh which seemed unending. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -A PROJECTED ATONEMENT - - -Stephen's forty-second birthday fell upon the day on which he made the -final arrangements for Hilda's residence at the King Sanatorium. He had -not seen her because she was obsessed by fear of him, and he sat in the -office until the superintendent returned with Mayne and Dr. Good. Even -Dr. King, sanguine as his temperament was, was in this case not hopeful. - -"The family history is not encouraging," he explained, with deepest -commiseration for Stephen, deprived before middle life of an attractive -companion. "But you must not despair." - -"Is her physical condition also likely to grow worse?" asked Mayne. -He did not mop his brow upon this occasion; he felt, not without -self-reproach, a deep relief. - -"We can't prophesy about that. We have had patients of her type who -have lived for a long time and others who lived only a few months." - -"What do you mean by a long time?" - -"Well, for some years," said Dr. King in his kind voice. - -Stephen rose and took his hat from the table. He was depressed and -intensely nervous. Mayne's large body and the superintendent's sympathy -and Dr. Good's bright, observant eyes irritated him. - -"She's to have, of course, every possible attention. You have Professor -Mayne's address and mine." - -"We make weekly reports unless we are directed otherwise. In case of -an unusual development we should telephone you. You understand, Dr. -Lanfair, that Mrs. Lanfair's attitude toward you is a part of her -malady?" - -"I understand perfectly." - -At the door Mayne and Stephen bade one another good-bye. Both -remembered a thin, eager boy with a black band on his gray sleeve and a -short, slender, black-eyed girl. - -"It's hard on you, Stephen." - -"And on you." - -Stephen stepped into his car beside Fickes. For a while he stared at -the floor, his arms folded, his mind a blank. Gradually the expression -of his eyes changed, the pupils darkened. There waited for him at -the hospital a woman who had hastened a slow fire with coal oil; the -problem was even more difficult than that of Mrs. Fetzer, but he had -determined to solve it. He planned a course of treatment. He would -offer to take the next twenty burned cases at the hospital. - -Presently he lifted his head and glanced about at a landscape which -recalled his visit to Edward Levis--was it two years or ten since he -had made his sudden descent upon him? Here was a friend! He believed -that he could even tell Levis his troubles; it would do him good. He -sat a little more erectly. - -Then suddenly an electric thrill passed through his body. He was free! -Tears pressed upon his eyelids--he turned his head so that Fickes might -not see them--tears of profound relief. What anxiety and torment had -been his! And it was past, decently past, and he had played the part of -a man throughout. Moreover, no public shame, no irremediable disaster -had terminated the nightmare. Hilda's valedictory was heard by only a -few persons,--her uncle, Dr. Good, Fetzer, upon whose devotion he could -stake all that he had in the world, and this unknown but apparently -trustworthy creature through whose quickness a serious calamity had -been avoided. He would tell Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane where Hilda -was, and he would inform a few of the older friends whom she had -inherited from her parents, and to whom she had paid an indifferent -attention; then all would be concluded except the pitiful end of her -poor life. - -They had begun to descend the hill toward the Kloster, and Stephen -looked at it curiously. When he visited Levis they would come over -here and prowl about. Ah, there were a thousand things to do in the -world, a thousand places to visit! Hilda had liked only main-traveled -roads on which there were theaters and shops; they had never seen the -interesting countries, the Far North, the tropics, Ceylon, Carcassone, -the church of Brou, the Far East. He was able to smile at the old -white-bearded man pottering about among the graves in the cemetery of -the Kloster, as though he smiled at Time himself. - -Opening the door of his office he found Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane -and went at once to work. There were a dozen patients waiting, and -as many to be informed that he had returned. Miss Knowlton smiled at -Miss MacVane when he began to prescribe for a patient whose treatment -would be extended. He meant evidently to stay. But at other times he -had meant to stay and had been persuaded to go away. When he said that -Hilda was in the King Sanatorium they expressed their regret and went -on with their work. They were conscientious souls and both felt a vague -self-reproach. - -When he had had his dinner he returned to his office. But he was tired; -he would go for a walk. The night was clear, the air soft, and the -river reflected the stars. He ran up to his room, where he found his -housemaid engaged in laying back the covers of his bed. Ellen expected -to go out and she had coiled her hair on top of her head in the -transforming fashion condemned by Fetzer. She looked up and answered -Stephen's "Good-evening" with a bright flush. Her heart beat quickly; -it seemed to her now that it was never quiet. Stephen looked at her, -confused, as though she were a stranger. - -"It's a warm night, isn't it?" - -"Yes," said Ellen, "but there'll be a breeze from the river." - -"Are you fond of the river?" - -"It gets to seem like a friend." - -She smiled and moved toward the door. She had learned her lesson well; -while she was a housemaid she would do as housemaids did--or should. -She carried with her now a pleasant anticipation--she had changed her -mind, some day she would tell Stephen who she was. But the time was not -yet ripe. In the doorway she paused. - -"Would you like me to move your bed to the bay-window each evening?" - -Stephen was watching her free walk and her straight shoulders and -wishing for some young creature to walk and talk with, some boy or girl -like this. - -"Did you speak to me?" - -She repeated her question. - -"O, thank you; I'll do that when I want to sleep there." - -He decided not to walk; he would call on Dr. and Mrs. Salter and tell -them about Hilda and ask them to tell certain other persons. It was a -duty which seemed suddenly pressing. - -He continued through the spring to work all day and a part of the -night. He had never felt more alert; after a while he attributed his -alertness to freedom from anxiety. What might a man not accomplish -under circumstances which were entirely favorable--with health and -fortune and domestic happiness? - -It was with a sense of amusement that he found himself thinking -presently of the one creature in his house who was young. It was -pleasant to meet her once or twice a day and see the color deepen in -her cheeks. He did not realize that it was meeting him which made her -flush; it was simply that she had color which came and went easily. She -was always quiet, always unobtrusive, always low-voiced. She smiled, -but he had never heard her laugh. - -He began to be curious about her, but he asked no questions either of -her or of Fetzer. He would learn, of course, that she was merely a -dull country girl and the impression of intelligence given by a single -instance of quick-wittedness would vanish when she began to talk. She -seemed to have within her some spring of interest or satisfaction, but -he could not guess what it was. But dull or not, she was very lovely. - -Then one warm, bright night when sleeping seemed a waste of time, -Stephen found his narrow bed pushed to the window. He smiled; then -suddenly he grew pale and turned on his heel and began to walk up -and down the room. He folded his arms across his breast as though to -hold by force some leaping savage, unrighteous, thing. He was not so -much appalled as astounded. He went down to his office and brought up -Farmingham on the Muscles of the Eye. At three o'clock he laid the book -down and turned out his light, smiling a little weakly at himself. He -refused to connect this absurdity with any individual; he believed it -was an effect of too close application to work. - -In a third-story room neatly arranged was the overflow of his -professional library, pamphlets and magazines which waited binding, -and books which had passed their usefulness, but which he might still -need for reference. On the day after his vigil, going thither to find a -pamphlet, he passed Fetzer's room and came to the door of Ellen's room. -There he saw Ellen's little bed, her table with its books, its neatly -sharpened pencils, its vase of flowers. All was sweet and virginal and -childlike. He remembered that Fetzer had said long ago that the girl -studied; he was curious about her studies. He stepped in and lifted -the three books from the table. The first was a geometry, the second a -general history, the third a copy of "Vanity Fair" from his library. In -the geometry lay several sheets of paper covered with neat triangles -and circles. - -He found his pamphlet and went downstairs slowly. He was indebted -to this girl who had helped him in a hard place. Did she wish more -education?--if so there was no reason why her ambition should not be -gratified. He was positive now that she was superior to her present -situation. His savings were large and his income constantly increasing; -it would be pleasant to help an ambitious student. A comfortable -philanthropic glow quite banished his lingering disgust at last night's -unpleasant experience. - -After dinner he rang for Ellen, who came to his study a little -frightened. She had changed her black uniform for a white dress. -Stephen knew her straight shoulders and her free step, but he had -never realized quite the depth of her gaze when her eyes were squarely -encountered. - -"Sit down, Ellen." - -Ellen took the chair indicated to her. The light shone full on her dark -hair and her round chin and white neck. Something stirred again in -Stephen's breast. - -"Fetzer tells me you're a student." - -"Yes," answered Ellen, blushing. - -"What do you study?" - -"Geometry and history and English and other subjects." - -"Why do you study?" - -"I'm going to college." - -"Oh, you are! When?" - -"In September--that is, if I can make certain arrangements." - -"What arrangements?" - -"If I can pass the examinations. Miss MacVane thinks I can enter the -Sophomore class. I'm arranging to borrow a little from a fund for -students who need help." - -"Why are you going to college?" Stephen leaned forward in his chair. -His interest in her quickened. To borrow from a fund, was she? - -"I mean to be a doctor." - -"A doctor!" Had Fetzer announced her intention of being an aviator, he -would have been no more surprised. "Why a doctor?" - -"My father meant to educate me to be a doctor as he was." Then Ellen -leaned forward, her lips trembling. She could keep her secret no -longer--her heart seemed to burst with it. "Don't you remember me at -all?" - -Stephen looked curiously into Ellen's face and thought of the hundreds -of patients in hospital and office. But even though there had been -hundreds he seldom forgot the eyes which he treated--certainly not such -eyes as these! - -"Were you ever a patient of mine?" - -Ellen shook her head; he could see her lips tremble. She seemed to -be unhappy because he did not remember her! What an extraordinary -experience! He had never been more puzzled or more charmed. - -"Ellen Lewis is your name, Fetzer said. Is that right?" - -"Ellen Levis is my name. They call me Lewis when they can't say 'v.'" - -Still he stared without comprehension. Ellen grew pale with distress. -Was she the victim of an hallucination? - -"Don't you remember _now_?" - -"No." It was Stephen's turn to believe that some form of aphasia had -blotted out a part of his past. - -"You came to see my father the day he died, you and Mrs. Lanfair." - -Stephen frowned; his lifted hand covered his lips; then he leaned -backward into the shadow. He was shocked beyond expression. - -"Not Edward Levis!" said he, at last quietly. - -"Yes." - -"You were the young girl who begged us to stay to supper? You were -studying with your father and you had a little table by the window?" - -"Yes." - -"Your father isn't _dead_!" - -"He died that evening of heart trouble." - -"How do you happen to be here?" asked Stephen sharply. - -"I wanted to earn my living." - -"Had your father no property?" - -"I'm not of age." - -"Why didn't you go on to college?" - -"My grandfather and my brother thought I had enough education, and -the farm was run down and my brother thought the income should go to -improving it." - -"Did they drive you away?" - -"Oh, no! I came of my free will. They thought what they did was right. -It happened to suit Matthew's plans for the farm, but he would have -done right even if it had inconvenienced him." - -"Did you expect to earn enough to go to college in a housemaid's -position?" - -"No; but I earned something and I had a little. Then Miss MacVane -encouraged me--she had nothing, and yet she went to college." - -"How did you happen to come here? Did Fetzer advertise?" - -"No," answered Ellen with difficulty. "My father and I passed here -and he stopped and looked at your house. I came to look at it one day -because it reminded me of him. I was very forlorn. I think I was crying -and I crossed the street in front of an automobile and was struck and -Mrs. Fetzer befriended me." - -"When did you recognize me?" - -"When you came home." - -"Why didn't you speak?" - -"I couldn't." - -"Did your father ever speak of me?" - -"He wanted to make you executor of his will, but he couldn't complete -it." - -"Why didn't you find me?" - -"I couldn't remember your name." - -Stephen leaned his chin upon his hand. He looked through Ellen at some -object far beyond her. He saw a bare room in a dingy old house in -Philadelphia, an old desk and his own head bent in remorse above it. He -had been grateful, Heaven bore witness, for a while. - -"So you have everything arranged?" he said at last. - -"Yes." - -"And you are happy?" - -"Yes. I've quite forgotten how unhappy and forlorn I used to be." - -"The prospect of studying delights you?" - -"Yes." Ellen lifted her eyes to his. "I used to think that learning was -everything, but I've found that it isn't. One needs satisfaction for -the mind, but one needs satisfaction for the heart also. It seemed to -me that I had nobody." - -Stephen rose and went to the side of his desk and stood leaning upon it -and looking down at Ellen. - -"And you feel that now you have somebody?" - -"Yes. I'm older and more sensible and I realize that Grandfather and -Matthew are fond of me even though we think differently." - -"And is this understanding of their affection sufficient food for the -heart?" - -Ellen's look was still straightforward, but her cheeks crimsoned. -Fetzer would wonder where she stayed. She rose and stood before him. - -"No." - -"What else have you?" - -"I have you," answered Ellen simply. - -At that Stephen put his hand under Ellen's soft chin and lifted -her head. She smiled at him, and when Ellen smiled she invited -unconsciously more of a caress than a mere touch of hand. But he did -not move and she turned her cheek a little against the warm palm, then -went away. Her cup of happiness was full. Her father's desires had -hitherto been her law; she had now another law. - -For a moment Stephen stood motionless beside his desk, then he began to -walk up and down. What an extraordinary chance! He began to lay plans. -She must come down out of her attic; she must wait no more upon him. -Fetzer and Miss MacVane and Miss Knowlton must be told at once who she -was, and there must be no slighting of her because she had done this -lowly work. One of his favorite occupations in periods of enforced -idleness in trains or on steamers had been the construction of various -schemes of education based upon what he felt were the deficiencies of -his own. He would see what could be done with this girl. - -Presently he paused and stood for a long time motionless by his desk. -Levis dead! There had been hunger in Levis's eyes, hunger which he -might have satisfied. But no reproach should rest upon him henceforth; -he would do all for this girl that Levis could have done, perhaps he -might do more. He would atone. It was a moment of pure philanthropy, -unalloyed by any less exalted impulse. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -A VISIT TO EPHRATA - - -In late September Matthew began to cut the corn in the field which -he had ploughed a year ago when Ellen went away. He began early in -the morning and worked doggedly and alone. The next day he would have -help, but to-day he rejoiced--if so bright a word could describe his -state of mind--in his loneliness. He breathed heavily; he was angry and -mortified. His life had not turned out as he had expected; he had made, -it was now perfectly clear, a basic error from the effect of which -he should never escape. He had always believed that one could direct -one's life and that so intelligent a person as himself could direct it -successfully, but he had been mistaken. - -He had chosen his wife with impeccable judgment--she was pretty -and quiet and domestic and religious and troubled by no unbecoming -ambition. She was still all of these, but each quality had been -modified in some unexpected way. Her prettiness was spoiled by -untidiness; her quietness was only quietness in comparison with the -clatter of her family; her housewifely accomplishments proved slighter -than he had expected; and her religion was, though he did not realize -it, a good deal like his own, a possession for eternity, but of little -practical use in this life. - -She had slipped back quickly into the idioms which she had once tried -to weed from her speech in order to please him, and little Matthew who -was learning to talk copied her. About this subject she had already -quarreled with her husband whom she accused of being ashamed of her. - -He had not reckoned upon the physical depression which accompanies the -bearing of children of whom there were now two. Millie was preoccupied -with her sensations; she was constantly on the watch for fresh symptoms -which she retailed to whoever would listen. The description of her -morning miseries greeted Matthew's opening eyes; the account of her -evening faintness kept him awake at the end of a weary day. She implied -that for all her troubles he was to blame; a bride married by capture -could have uttered a no more triumphant "Whose fault is it?" - -From the pressure of unpleasant conditions Matthew was free only when -he was in the fields. Domestic activities were now carried on, except -for sleep, in the kitchen, and there on cold evenings even preparations -for sleep were made. The fashion in which he had been brought up -came to possess for him a moral and religious significance. When he -remembered his youth--and he remembered it more and more often--he -saw his father working at his desk, a mouselike Ellen by the window, -Mrs. Sassaman busy with her tasks in a distant kitchen, and himself in -his own room. Each might have if he wished the privacy which was an -inalienable right, the solitude in which mind and soul could grow. - -Though Esther was at present away, she had become a fixture in the -house. She liked the freedom and the wages and she preferred Millie's -company to that of her other sisters. She was certain that Matthew -wished her gone, but his dislike did not trouble her; she knew that -he feared her departure while he desired it. She had left once, and -Matthew, with harvesting waiting, had done the washing. - -He had repented his insolence to his grandfather and had been forgiven -by him, but he was not at peace, though he went regularly to church. -He had confidently expected that God would smooth his path when he so -earnestly besought Him, and instead his path seemed to be growing each -day rougher. - -When in the middle of the afternoon Ellen came up the sloping road -outside the field, he did not recognize her. She wore a changed aspect, -the appearance of one intensely preoccupied with pleasant thoughts. He -saw her wave her hand, and in the light of Millie's prejudices believed -that she was some bold creature beckoning to him. When she slipped -between two fence posts he knew her with a pang. He did not go to meet -her, but stood bending forward a little until she reached to her full -height to kiss his cheek. He had often accepted her kisses as though -they were an infliction; now they brought tears. - -"Well, Matthew!" - -He looked down at her, recognizing the change in her state of mind; she -felt herself to be, it was plain, fortunate and happy. He had made -up his mind that when she returned she should not be received like a -prodigal but now her expression made clear that she was not a prodigal -in any sense. - -"You've surprised me!" he said, astonished at his own delight. - -"Are you glad to see me?" Ellen looked at him almost coquettishly. - -"Yes," he answered with a deep breath. Then in the midst of his -pleasure he was discomfited. She might stay to supper, and a welcome -was doubtful. The secondary cause of all Millie's woes was Ellen. - -"Can't you stop work a little while and sit down in the woods and talk -to me?" - -"Yes," said Matthew. - -The oak trees, whose foliage was now a dark red, were but a step away -and the two sat side by side on the old log. There was between them the -most astonishing contrast. Matthew's youthful beauty was gone; his skin -was tanned to a darker shade than his light hair; he did not sit erect -and he was unshaven; but more startling was his air of weariness and -dullness. He looked ten years older than Ellen and seemed to belong to -a different race. She laid her hand on his knee. - -"I have a long story to tell you." - -"Well?" Matthew's eyes devoured her. He was bewildered and made uneasy -by his delight. He wished to gather her into his arms and lean his head -on her shoulder. - -"Do you remember the day that Father died?" - -"Of course." - -"That afternoon I was sitting here reading and I looked up and saw an -automobile standing before the door. When I went down an old friend of -Father's was in the office, Dr. Lanfair, with his wife. They stayed -only a little while, and soon after they went away Father became ill. -He wanted me to give a message to Dr. Lanfair. Do you remember that, -Matthew?" - -"Yes," answered Matthew uneasily. - -"But I couldn't remember his name. Last fall I got a place accidentally -at his house. I wrote you how I had been struck by an automobile. But -I didn't know then who he was. I had all arrangements made to go to -college, but now he wishes to help me because of his old friendship -for Father. I'm all ready and I wanted to see you before I left." - -Matthew received this announcement in silence. She cherished no -resentment; that was one of her notable characteristics. - -Ellen read his thoughts. - -"I understand everything, Matthew. You did what you thought was right, -and you have certainly improved the farm. Isn't it lovely here?" - -Matthew made no answer. A dull red crept up under the unpleasant growth -of beard. - -"I heard you had another little boy." - -Thus recalled to his domestic ties he rose stiffly and hastily. A late -guest would be unpardonable. "We'd better walk down to the house." - -Sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously, Ellen smoothed the -paths of others. - -"You needn't go down now; I'll go alone. After supper, can you come -with me to see Grandfather?" - -"Yes." - -He walked with her to the opening between the two posts; then he did -not return to his work, but went back to the log and sat down. She -was but a few years younger than he, but she was youthful, free, -unburdened, her life was just beginning. Education had not hurt her. -For the first time a serious doubt of his own wisdom troubled him. He -also for the first time experienced jealousy--he did not wish any one -but himself to help Ellen. - -His thoughts followed her down the hill. He hoped that Millie would be -polite. He saw Millie through the eyes of an outsider such as Ellen had -become, her ignorance, her dullness, her stubbornness. He was at this -moment all Levis. - -Like Matthew, Millie did not at first recognize Ellen. She always -thought of her as a forlorn person, but this was no forlorn person who -stood at the door. She believed at first that Ellen was some sort of -agent, but after a moment's curious contemplation she said, "Well, is -it you!" - -Then she was silent. She saw the beautiful suit and hat and compared -Ellen's appearance with her own, her straggling hair and her dark -calico dress, open at the throat since she had last nursed her baby. - -"You would never have caught me like this before I was married!" she -cried, expressing in her tone all her weariness and bitterness. - -Ellen's cheek lost its bright color. She was not an analyst of -character and she had never looked forward to Millie's future and -prophesied, "Thus she will become." - -"Come in," said Millie as though in defiance of a critical eye. - -Ellen saw a solemn little Matthew sitting on the floor and a -much smaller John in a cradle which was none too tidy. She saw, -also, without looking at them directly, a littered sink, a soiled -table-cover, an unblacked stove, and windows unwashed for weeks. -Looking at little Matthew she began to tremble, remembering how her -arms had once ached to hold him. - -"Matthew is a big boy. And what a lovely baby!" - -Millie's maternal ecstasy had burned itself to a dull flame. - -"Perhaps you wouldn't think so if you had to take care of him day and -night!" - -She accepted Ellen's offer of help with an air which said that since -she was going to stay it was no more than right that she should lend a -hand, and Ellen bravely put on a soiled apron. Millie had had no one -to talk to in the week of Esther's absence, and now the failings of -Brother Reith were commented upon and much neighborhood gossip retailed. - -"It's the women who run after him. They are partly to blame!" explained -Millie. - -When Matthew arrived he breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure that -he had heard Millie laugh, though at sight of him she lost her good -nature. She began to ask questions about Ellen's affairs and pried -deeper than Matthew. - -"How old is this man who is helping you, Ellen? Is he an old man?" - -"He was a schoolmate of Father's, but he is younger than Father was." - -"Is his wife living?" - -"Yes," said Ellen. "But she's not well; she's in a sanatorium." - -"What ails her?" - -"She has lost her mind." - -A look of significant amusement passed from Millie to Matthew, who -stared back furiously and pulled his chair to the table. He had -thought of driving in the double carriage and taking the whole family -to visit Grandfather, but now he changed his mind. He would no more -have Millie share his ride with Ellen than he would three years ago -have had Ellen share his ride with Millie. When he had finished eating -he immediately hitched his horse to the buggy and drove to the door, -and Ellen climbed in beside him. She did not kiss Millie nor did Millie -offer to kiss her. - -For the first half-mile brother and sister were silent and busy with -recollection. Suddenly Matthew breathed a long sigh. - -"I could help you with money before you get your inheritance," he said -in a low tone. - -"Oh, thank you!" Ellen did not remember the long postponing, she saw -only the yielding. "It isn't necessary now, everything is arranged. -Next summer, though, when I'm twenty-one--" - -"Then of course everything will be fixed properly." - -Close together she and Matthew went through the graveyard. She slipped -her hand into his and he did not thrust it away. The sun had set and -the cottage was in shadow. - -"Here is Ellen, Grandfather," said Matthew as he opened the door. - -Ellen stepped into the little room. The moment of reunion had come -unexpectedly. Grandfather raised his beautiful aged head and looked at -her, and Amos got to his feet. Tears began to run down Grandfather's -cheeks; Amos said nothing, but a crimson flush burned his face. All -were conscious of her youth and her vitality and all realized that she -was not theirs. - -"She's here to say good-bye," explained Matthew. "She's going to -college." - -Grandfather saw his castle at last flat upon the ground. Amos leaped to -swift, jealous inquiry. How was Ellen going to college? Who was helping -her? How did she get her fine clothes? But neither Grandfather nor Amos -asked any questions. - -When Matthew had seen the dim red light at the end of the train grow -tinier and then vanish into the darkness, he returned to the Kloster. -He did not wish to go home; his rage with Millie frightened him; he -would hear only complaints against Ellen and if he defended her the -effect would be disastrous. He regretted now the whole course of -his life since he had risen in meeting and announced his intentions, -and he blamed all on the influence of his grandfather. He remembered -Grandfather's ridiculous charge that he had been hard on Ellen. He -remembered also Amos's burning eyes. He opened the door of the cottage -and sat down. - -"I expect there was something more in Ellen's going than appeared on -the surface," he said without any preface. "I expect that you annoyed -her, Amos." - -"Annoyed her? In what way?" - -"I expect that Millie was more than half right," said Matthew -distinctly. "I expect that you annoyed her with offers of love." - -Amos rose, his face deathly pale. - -"I'm older than you, Matthew, and I've been your teacher and your -adviser, but I shall answer this insult for Ellen's sake. I told her -long before she went away that if marrying would help her escape from -you, I would--" - -"Escape!" repeated Matthew. - -"That's the word I used--escape. I said if it would help her to escape -I would marry her. It was months ago. I talked to her only once when -I met her by chance. I had nothing to do with her going away. It was -I who tried to keep her here!" Amos's voice rose. "Levis was right in -a sense--you know nothing about the world, you nor Uncle. But I know -what the world is like that you have driven her into. I was the only -one that tried to save her, remember that, please! Your affection for -her is selfish. You would have liked to keep her so that all would -run smoothly in your house, and when you can't have your way with her -you drive her off--out you go, Ellen! I love her unselfishly, I don't -expect to get anything out of her, I--" - -"Nor did I expect to get anything out of Ellen," protested Grandfather. - -Matthew began to shout. - -"You did! You wanted her to start a sisterhood and to stay in this -worn-out place. You wanted her to come here and live with bats and mice -and dress in strange clothes and cut off her hair and whistle through -her teeth as they used to do"--now the devil surely had possession of -Matthew!--"I never wanted her to do anything like that. You talk as -though she belonged to you. I am closest to her." - -"Matthew!" warned Grandfather. - -"It's true." Matthew rose. "You've ruined me with your religion, ruined -me, ruined me!" - -"What!" cried Grandfather, aghast. - -"You think you have God here. I don't believe in God!" Matthew slammed -the door. - -In his buggy he was tempted to lash his horse, but that would bring -him home the sooner. It was out at last, the dreadful conclusion he -had been approaching for a long time. It was said aloud and he was not -struck dead. He laughed like a drunken man. - -Then, at the top of the hill, he heard a sound and paused. A great -wind had begun to blow and the oak trees were roaring like the sea. -It seemed to him that there was a message for him, but he could not -interpret it. He felt suddenly weak and leaned against the side of the -buggy. - -In the cottage Grandfather lifted his hands toward heaven. The hope of -his sisterhood was definitely ended, and now the prop of his secular -congregation was gone. - -"They are their father's children," he said in a whisper. "You are all -I have left, Amos." He looked suddenly at Amos with new appraisement. -In the loud confusion of Matthew's and Amos's speech he had lost Amos's -confession. "You're all I have; you are trustworthy. I am not left -desolate." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -ELLEN'S DREAMS COME TRUE - - -When Ellen reached Harrisburg, Fickes awaited her. To him Fetzer had -made a brief statement of Ellen's changed prospects and he said, as he -guided the car over the smooth streets, that he wished her well and -that he would miss her. He drew up at the front door, as was suitable -to her altered fortune. She had inspired only friendliness; there was -no one in the house who, thus far, did not wish her well. - -She saw Stephen reading in the library whither he had often summoned -her and where he had heard of Grandfather and the dim Saal and the -lambs at play and the singing oaks. He had been made acquainted with -Mrs. Sassaman and Mrs. Lebber and had drawn from Ellen's reluctant lips -the unpleasant story of Mr. Goldstein. He understood now Edward Levis's -life and its disappointments and frustrations, and saw clearly all -that he would have been able to do for him. He understood also Levis's -daughter and her possibilities, which he believed to be unlimited. Now, -alas! his philanthropic impulse was strengthened by other impulses, -even more potent, though as yet unacknowledged to himself. - -Ellen had begun to view her past history with detachment, and she had -described for him the vagaries of her early associates not only with -humor, but with tenderness. - -"I wouldn't give up any of it, even to have been educated from the -beginning. It used to seem dreadfully dull to sit there in the old Saal -and watch the brethren and sisters, but I can see now that it was all -beautiful. It was like the Rembrandt pictures in one of Father's books, -all different shades of brown with sometimes a soft, golden light. I -believe it was a good place for a child to be for a while." - -Now, when Ellen entered, Stephen put aside his book and called her. - -"Come here, Ellen." - -Ellen sat down. Her cheeks glowed; her dark blue suit fitted closely -her round figure; the eyes of Beatrix Esmond were no more shining, the -head of Anna Karenina no more beautiful in shape. Stephen feasted his -eyes, picturing her in dresses such as Hilda had worn, her smooth young -flesh emerging flower-like from a gleaming sheath of delicate satin. -She pushed her curls back from her forehead. - -"How were the relatives?" - -"All well." - -"Are you ready to go?" - -"Yes." - -"Trunk packed?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you said good-bye to Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane?" - -"Yes. Each of them gave me a present." - -"Are you sorry to go?" - -"I'm coming back," said Ellen, smiling. "This seems like a dream. -Fetzer thinks I've made a mistake; she meant to train me into her -position." Bright tears came into her eyes. "I think of my Father." - -Stephen rose and crossed to his desk. He did not at that moment wish to -think of Ellen's father. Ellen rose also. - -"These are your tickets and here is your money. Your tuition is in the -form of a check to the University. I thought it would be simplest that -way." - -"It's all to be paid back," Ellen reminded him. - -Stephen smiled. He had begun to expect her to pay it back, but not -exactly as she understood. She took the checks and the tickets, -struggling meanwhile against tears. Then she lifted her head and stood -like a young Victory, breasting the winds. She pictured no specific -happiness, but only a general brightness. Every experience in the world -which was worth while awaited her. - -When her eyes met his, her heart began to beat heavily. She did not -realize that life with its strange chances had dealt with her hardly; -that she should have been bound not to middle age, but to free youth. -She wished above everything in the world that he would again lay his -hand under her chin and that she might turn her cheek against it. - -But Stephen did not move. He knew that he might touch Ellen, knew that -she half expected to be kissed, and he believed that a sense of honor -restrained him. In reality prevision governed him; he knew that the -present must sometimes be sacrificed to the future. - -"You'll write once a week," he said more as a command than as a -request. "You'd better put your letter into the form of a report of -what you've been doing." - -"I promise," said Ellen. - -Fetzer escorted her to the train and bade her farewell with regret for -the loss of a congenial companion. For the loss of Ellen's help she -was not at all concerned, though she had no intention of engaging any -one to take her place. She would do all Ellen's work herself. Life in -the Lanfair house would henceforth be very simple. Keener than her one -consuming passion was now a consuming dread. Her husband's term was -almost out and the Lord to Whom she prayed had but one more year to -convert him and take him home; otherwise there was only one course for -her. - -Ellen took the seat indicated by the porter, with an air which declared -that travel in parlor cars was not a new experience. She was determined -not to seem puzzled or frightened or even over-pleased by the fortunes -which dazzled her. - -Having no knowledge upon which to base dreams of the immediate future, -she turned after some vague speculations to the past. Her early life, -she realized, was now behind her; she could not but feel, though she -reproached herself, a deep relief. Her relatives were all troubled and -she would have been glad to help them, but she knew no way. To live at -Matthew's--how impossible! To become the leader of a band of religious -women--how unthinkable! To her, religion was Grandfather's religion. To -marry Amos!--most impossible of all! She would never marry; she would -devote herself to her profession; she would apply herself with the most -intense diligence, and would make Dr. Lanfair proud of her. She leaned -back and closed her eyes, determined to become indispensable to him -in a far greater degree than Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane together. -Her admiration for his keenness of mind, his learning, his goodness of -heart was unbounded. - -When she was shown into her room in the third story of an old -dormitory, her pathway seemed to be literally of gold. Flooded with -late sunlight, the room faced west and north and looked out over the -beautiful campus and the lake. She set down her satchel and walked to -the window and stood looking out, comparing this scene with the scene -of her first adventure, Mrs. Lebber's house overhanging the deep chasm -of the railroad yards, its grime and the shower of sharp particles -which fell upon her cheek at night. Here were roofs and towers showing -above broad tree-tops; yonder was a stretch of heavenly blue water. - -Presently she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Was it all a -dream? The thick beating of her heart frightened her. She forgot her -father's urging, her own unabated effort, Miss MacVane's assistance; it -seemed to her that this happiness was Lanfair's gift. She began to put -her small properties in their places, to examine wardrobes and bureau -and desk. - -As the weeks passed, she made friends slowly. She was not frightened -by the complex life of the University, though at first it confused, -nor by the long task before her; but she was shy in the company of -youthful feminine creatures of all varieties of appearance, natures and -histories. She had been associated with comparatively few persons and -she was not accustomed to sharing her thoughts. The men students were -entirely negligible; she knew that she was the object of their friendly -curiosity, but she made no response to overtures for acquaintance. - -She did not try to overcome her indifference, but devoted herself to -one purpose and one alone. She had, as her father had realized, the -student's mind. Her work had been planned for her by Stephen and Miss -MacVane, and she gave herself wholly to acquirement. Her schedule did -not point, except for one course in elementary biology, to medicine; -she was to study English literature and composition, American history, -French, Latin, and the history of art, and she became promptly what -students called a "grind." - -Nowhere else in the world is it easier to live the life of a hermit -than in a university. To each student is offered a certain amount of -social attention, but he is under no obligation to accept, and is soon -left to himself if he indicates that isolation is his preference. -Ellen made one friend, Miss Grammer, a quiet graduate student from -a Western State who helped her with the arrangement of her programme -and with whom, when the first adjustment was over, she went about -with a tourist's eagerness. They listened enchanted to the chimes; -they climbed the tower to watch them played; they gazed at mortuary -marbles in the chapel and explored the deep, beautiful gorges which on -two sides bounded the campus. As a graduate student, Miss Grammer had -access to a Seminar room in the library, and thither she took Ellen to -spend the long evenings. There on a window-seat, with the twinkling -lights of the town below her and the lake hiding in the darkness -beyond, Ellen learned her lessons, studying sometimes with a strong -effort of the will because a dreamy contemplation of her good fortune -tempted her. An elderly professor of history, adored by Miss Grammer, -exhibited to them the hidden treasures of the library. He was a man of -eager intellectual life to whom most young persons seemed dull, and he -smiled at Ellen's profound attentiveness to all that he said until he -observed that she followed up each uncomprehended allusion. The first -mention of Benvenuto Cellini was answered by a puzzled flash of eye, -the second by a nod of understanding. Ellen had meanwhile consulted an -encyclopćdia. - -Miss Grammer had a small fortune and it was her dream to settle in some -college town for life, buying a little house and taking in with her a -congenial friend. She had found, she believed, her congenial friend. -Every one formed, sooner or later, plans for Ellen. - -Neither Professor Anderson nor Miss Grammer realized that what they did -was each week minutely recounted. Ellen had written few letters, and -none had been in the least like those in which she now found delightful -occupation. She described her room and the campus and the color of the -lake and the foam on the waterfalls and the red oak foliage against -the pine trees. She described all her teachers and some of her fellow -students and the chimes and the mortuary chapel, with its stiff marble -effigies, and the chapel service and the sound of music across the open -spaces of the campus. She wrote on Sunday, carried her letters with her -to vespers, and mailed them afterwards. - -Stephen received the letters on Monday evenings, and read them with -delight. His own youthful response to music and art and poetry came -back to him; it had been less articulate, but it had been no less keen. -Ellen's descriptions reconstructed for him not only her own pleasure, -but his, and he kept them in a drawer of his desk in the library and -reread them often. It was possible then to see life again, freshly, -even more intensely, through the eyes of youth! - -He wrote briefly in reply. He was busy and so were Miss Knowlton and -Miss MacVane and Fetzer. Miss MacVane's eyes were better and all the -women-folk sent their love. He was glad to hear that her theme had been -approved and that her history mark was A. - -In December his letters carried a more definite message. He said that -both he and Fetzer would be away for Christmas and that the house would -therefore be closed. He would be in New York and Fetzer would pay her -annual visit to the penitentiary, where on account of his good behavior -her husband would be allowed to see her. How would Ellen like to stay -at school for the first part of the holidays and then come to New York -to meet Fetzer, the excursion to be his Christmas gift? - -The letter read as though it had been uttered in Stephen's quiet voice, -but there had been nothing quiet about the hand which penned it or -the mind which planned each detail of the visit. To observe youth's -reactions to New York--how rejuvenating that would be! - -Ellen traveled by night, according to directions. The journey might -have been made by day, but Stephen had told her to start on a certain -train. He had done so with deliberation--he wished her to learn -independence. With hot cheeks he pictured Ellen traveling across seas -and continents to meet him. - -Fetzer had taken, the evening before, the luxurious quarters engaged -for her and in the morning she went with Stephen to the train. She -always did exactly as he bade her, but this was the first time she had -put herself in danger of life and limb at his command, and she made -of her alarm, as her taxicab threaded its way through the streets, an -offering of affection. - -Stephen brought a pale Ellen from the train and put the two women into -a car. - -"See that she gets a rest. I'll be up to lunch at one." - -In the Belvoir Fetzer felt at ease--here was one spot which she -had made hers and here she exhibited an air of proprietorship which -impressed even the porters. Her own kingdom--she would like them to -realize--was no less grand than theirs! - -Stephen, coming to the door to escort his guests to the dining-room, -looked not the least like pedant in charge of pupil, which character -he bore in the mind of Fetzer. Freedom from anxiety and a new interest -in life changed him visibly, straightened his shoulders and quickened -a little his deliberate voice. He had read "Conrad in Quest of His -Youth," he knew exactly what had revived him. He had talked all -the morning with a rising young surgeon about an operative form of -inflammation of the cornea, and had observed that the young man had -come far less directly than himself to his conclusions. - -He looked with delight at a refreshed Ellen who moved without -embarrassment through the lobby where a hundred pairs of eyes watched -her, and who walked, still unperturbed, the length of the dining-room. -When his order was given, he told his guests his programme for the -afternoon. - -"We're going to the Metropolitan Gallery. Fetzer, did you bring your -crocheting?" - -Fetzer said, "Now, Doctor!" - -"Good! You won't want to listen to all the preaching I mean to do and -we'll leave you in a snug corner." - -"Well," assented Fetzer, "I have a little rheumatism in the knees. I -guess it will be better to sit still." - -Having climbed the main stairway of the museum, with a supporting hand -on each side, Fetzer was escorted to a comfortable seat in a warm room. -She still looked with approval upon this man of important affairs who -interrupted the course of his busy life to be kind. - -"There are a few pictures I want you to look at closely to-day," said -Stephen. "The others we'll pass by for the present. I want to give you -a general view of the whole thing. Nothing wrong with your knees, I -hope?" - -"She's young," said Fetzer. "She'll get there yet!" - -Stephen looked at the glowing creature beside him. - -"Ever been sick in your life?" - -"Never." - -He continued to regard her--youth!--ah, nothing else was worth while. -A light shiver passed over him. Then he laid his hand on Ellen's arm. - -"In this room is a collection of primitives. They are enormously -valuable in showing the development of art. I want to show you a -Madonna and a single portrait of the period. See the grace and the -lovely tenderness and then the flatness of the whole thing. Here is a -real portrait--see the shrewd eyes and the kindly expression. But in -the main they're valuable only because they're first." - -"Professor Lamb wouldn't agree with you," answered Ellen, amazed. "He -thinks that in some details they've never been surpassed." - -Stephen listened with attentive, smiling eyes to illustrative allusions -to Giotto and Cimabue. She should some day see Giotto and Cimabue! -There was in Florence a dim church whither he had once gone alone; -thither he would sometime go with a companion. He pointed out a few -landscapes, a portrait of Walt Whitman, a Salome in yellow, a little -woman in a white head-covering opening a casement window, three boys -swimming in a green sea. Ellen's cheeks grew a deeper red--she had now -no opinions. Her blood was quickened by Stephen's touch. Did she feel -weariness? She would have walked till to-morrow. - -At the end of an hour the two returned to Fetzer. - -"I haven't heard one single word of English since we came, and it isn't -Pennsylvania Dutch either. Nothing but outlanders. Where do they come -from?" - -Stephen explained the appreciative foreign population; then again he -took Ellen by the arm. The museum had been his refuge a score of times -while Hilda selected beautiful clothes or lay abed. He had made it a -point of pride to know it thoroughly. - -"I want you to get the impression of a voyage through the world. -You must come often and stay all the time of your visit in just one -section--here, for instance, and think of the pyramids and the palms -and the yellow sand and the Sphinx and the Egyptian girl who wore that -jewel in her brown ear, and of the jealous lover who stabbed her to the -heart with that dagger, and of the tents of the Arabs on the yellow -sand. - -"And here you may think of ladies in voluminous skirts and tight waists -and high-heeled slippers, who made love to gay gentlemen under this -rococo ceiling and prinked before these mirrors." Stephen stopped -before a mirror and looked into the dark eyes reflected there. In -imagination he kissed Ellen's red lips. For him as well as for her it -was a golden hour. - -"Do you suppose I'll ever see it again?" asked Ellen sadly. - -"Certainly!" - -"With you?" - -There was a savage defiance in Stephen's "Why not, pray?" - -Ellen sighed; she had expected her father to show her the world, and -she had been disappointed. Then Stephen's closer touch restored her -content. - -"Le Prophčte" is not the greatest of operas, but the greatest tenor -and one of the greatest sopranos were to sing and there were new and -gorgeous stage-settings--it would serve as a good primer for Ellen. -Stephen was amused when he thought of Fetzer and the display of women's -bodies in the boxes, pitiful, thin bodies, and unpleasant fat bodies, -and watching, he read her thoughts. Fetzer had, however, an advantage, -she needed to look with but one eye, and that she fixed upon the stage -where she found plenty to occupy and amaze her. - -On Sunday he took his guests to service in an unfinished cathedral, -so that Ellen might comprehend medićval deliberation and understand -how Chartres and Amiens were built--he expected to show her Chartres -and Amiens--and in the afternoon he took her alone to hear a Russian -pianist. She sat quietly and for a while he forgot even her. When he -turned toward her at the end of a number, she was looking at him. - -"This is best of all," said she, to his supreme content. - -They walked down Fifth Avenue in the late sunshine. It seemed to Ellen -that every one was happy, but none so happy as she. - -"But it seems wicked!" she declared suddenly. - -"What seems wicked?" - -"To be so happy and so gay." - -Stephen recognized a lingering impression of early teachings. None of -that, he was determined, should be left in Ellen! He needed no narrow -creed, either for himself or for her. - -"That is nonsense. That feeling is wicked!" - -Then Ellen asked a question which was prompted by a hunger to share -his interests, and which might have been invented by the deliberate and -cunning art of a much older woman. - -"You said you were going to talk to a young surgeon yesterday morning. -Did you?" - -Stephen plunged into an explanation. To be conducted back to the -passion of his life was all that was needed to complete his happiness. -He spoke rapidly, his hand still clasping her arm. He was old enough to -appreciate the value of a companion moulded by one's self. His thoughts -were clear; he saw even farther into the subject than he did yesterday. -She was not only companionable, she was inspiring, she was essential to -his well-being--he would never, he said to himself, give her up. Youth, -ah, he could win it back! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -FETZER'S EYE IS OPENED - - -During the short spring vacation Ellen went with Miss Grammer to visit -Niagara Falls. Stephen thought with satisfaction of Miss Grammer, -placing her in the same class with Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane, whom -he admired and pitied and with whom he liked to work. - -He suggested that Ellen should spend the summer with Fetzer in his -absence. He had begun to believe, by a strange and childish variety of -logic, that if he did not attempt to see her he would receive a reward, -the nature of which was clearly defined in his thoughts. It would -have been the height of cruelty to wish that Hilda should survive; it -would be the height of absurdity to pretend that her death could bring -anything but relief. He had pretended even to himself for many years, -and for a still longer term to others; now he would be frank with -himself at least. If Hilda died, he could marry Ellen Levis; rather, -when Hilda died, he would marry Ellen. He did not believe that Hilda's -life could be prolonged beyond a few years. - -In May he went abroad to a meeting of ophthalmists. He was to be one of -many speakers, and he became, with the first paragraph of his address, -the chief speaker. Conscious of his triumph, he believed that he had -succeeded because he was intensely happy, or, rather, because he -anticipated intense happiness. - -Afterwards, sitting in a café, he watched the passers-by. There was but -one real happiness in the world and that was to be his. To have Ellen -with him, vivifying his days and filling his nights with peace--no man -could ask for more. - -When he reached his hotel he found a cablegram awaiting him. He -connected it foolishly with the mood from whose influence he had not -yet passed; he believed that his happiness was premonitory and he tore -open the envelope with a shaking hand. It could bring but one message; -he experienced in anticipation as he unfolded the sheet the inevitable -shock which the announcement of death brings, even a death long -expected and desired. - -But Mayne's cablegram did not announce Hilda's death; it urged Stephen -to wait in Paris and go with him on a motor trip. - -In August at last he came home. The house went through its usual -transformation; it seemed to Ellen now not that a machine had begun -to run, but that a heart had begun to beat. She had studied and had -sewed and had visited Ephrata. The half of her father's property had -been delivered to her and Matthew would henceforth pay her an income -from the farm. Stephen had explained her presence to the same few -friends whom he had told directly of Hilda's condition, and she had -been invited to ride with them and had a few times been asked to -their houses. Fetzer grew pale; her year of grace was approaching its -end and she lifted more and more ardently her justifiable prayer for -deliverance. - -Stephen's arrival, unlike his arrivals with Hilda, was heralded only by -the sound of his key in the latch. The time was late afternoon of an -intensely warm day. Still feeling the motion of the ship, and oppressed -by the heat, he walked from the station through the almost deserted -business section, across the burning square to the cool shade of Front -Street, beyond which the quiet river studded with islands appeared to -be a lake. His pace slackened. He thought of the dimness of his shaded -house, of his own bed, of his offices where everything lay ready to his -hand, of one-eyed Fetzer and homely Miss Knowlton and poor Miss MacVane -and Fickes. They would be there, too, as well as Ellen. Ellen did not -come into his mind as did the comforts of his house and those who made -it comfortable; she was already there. - -As he went up the steps he experienced a moment of fright lest his -home-coming should not be complete. She might have gone to visit her -kin; she might merely have stepped out for a half-hour. In either case -his satisfaction would be imperfect. - -But Ellen was at home. She heard the turning of a key in the latch and -looked up from her book. She did not move, but fixed her eyes on the -door which opened from the library into the hall. If it was he, he -would in a moment appear there. The breath seemed to leave her body; -she was conscious of a feeling of constriction in her heart. Then she -bent a little forward and saw him looking at her. He seemed to speak, -but she did not hear. - -Stephen did not come forward, but leaned his shoulder against the door -and looked down at her, his attitude one of deliberate contemplation, -his hand thrust lightly into his pocket. His eyes were keen; he saw -clearly and with gloating joy what had befallen her. He would have -patience now! - -The sound of his key in the latch had not been heard by Ellen alone, -but by another pair of ears as keen as hers. Fetzer's heart leaped. She -rose from her chair in the second-story hall, letting the curtain which -she was mending slide to the floor together with thimble and scissors, -and started downstairs. Even in her joyful confusion she remembered the -proprieties and sought the service stairs and so came into the library -from a rear door. She saw Stephen standing in the doorway and wondered -whether he was ill; she hurried forward and saw Ellen. Though she was -blind in one eye, the other was perfectly sound, and her perceptions -were all the keener for the blindness of her eye. She did not see -Stephen's face, she saw only Ellen, and Stephen recognized no more -clearly than she what had befallen Ellen. - -At once she withdrew backward to the open door and through it to the -passageway, still walking backward, until a wall stopped her. - -"Oh, the poor, poor girl!" she whispered, aghast, lifting her gaze -toward the ceiling. "I can't understand how things are as they are," -she said, for the first time in her life with solemn reproach. - -Without realizing the origin of the gentle sound of her departure, -Ellen and Stephen were disturbed. - -"I'm glad to see you home again," said Ellen. - -He came forward and took her hand in both of his. Fetzer advancing for -a second time heard him ask, "Where's Fetzer?" and moved forward. It -was for her he inquired! Surely he had not seen in poor Ellen's eyes -that betraying look which she had seen! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -GRANDFATHER AND AMOS MAKE DISCOVERIES - - -Amos had acquired during the past winter a considerable addition to -his library. The publishers added the famous tales of "Pčre Goriot" -and "Madame Bovary" to their lists, and in accordance with the -suggestions of the clerk in the department store he was advised of -their publication. He read no more at lightning speed, but allowed -himself only a small portion each day. To teach school, to keep house, -to cultivate a garden, to read in the evenings--it was a life common to -thousands of prosaic citizens, but to him it was a life of wicked and -surreptitious adventure. In April he received a copy of "Tess of the -D'Urbervilles," and with it, by a packer's error, a recently published -and enormously popular story advocating an unremitting optimism in all -the circumstances of life, a gladness which nothing could disturb, -all-pervading as the air. He read it, sitting on a bench in the grove -above Cocalico Creek. - -"'I'm so happy that I sing for joy,' said little Mary. 'I just make up -my mind to be glad, that's all that's necessary. I make everybody round -me glad.'" - -He looked with astonishment at the printed word. Was he to pay good -money for this? A succession of strange expressions appeared upon his -handsome face and finally a grin, all-embracing, malicious. In this -fashion a lion might mock an unstockaded village. - -Suddenly he rose and hurled the book with good aim exactly into the -middle of the creek where it sank heavily; then he laughed a silly -laugh. Life was not like that; life was orgiastic, sinister, monstrous! - -In June he went to look after his supply of books. The Thinker's -Library was not growing with sufficient rapidity for him, and now that -his school was closed and he had so many long, idle hours he needed -occupation. The day was rainy and cool and dismally unseasonable, -and Grandfather looked at him in astonishment. The translation of -"The Mystic Dove" was long, long overdue, but Grandfather still had -implicit faith in its completion; Amos was slow, but spiritual tasks -were not to be hurried. - -When Amos had gone the old man felt lonely. He made his way after a -while in the cool rain to the Saal and Saron, and walked through the -buildings, peopling them with figures. The stairs leading to the second -floor of Saron, were narrow and steep and he took them slowly, trying -to find a hold for his cane and not daring to cling to the ancient rope -which served as a rail, for fear that he might pull down the whole -structure upon his head. - -In the second story his mood brightened. Here the sisters had sat with -their spinning-wheels and looms; here they had sung their ethereal -matins, and had prayed for their beloved Father Friedsam; here they -had talked of the mystical love of the Lord for his Sweet Flowers. An -unsympathetic person would have shivered at the damp, gravelike air, -at the narrowness of the tiny rooms, and at the ancient odors which -suggested decay and dreariness; and an imaginative person would have -remembered all the inevitable physical and mental abnormalities of -conventual life. - -But Grandfather was cheered and not depressed. In a sudden increase -of mental vigor he began to plan once more the rehabilitation of the -Kloster. Here should be placed a supporting beam; here fresh plaster, -where the old plaster of clay and grass had crumbled away, leaving -exposed the slanting rafters held together by wooden pegs. Here was a -large space, newly opened like the hollow in which Amos had found "The -Mystic Dove," and he began to explore the depths with his stick. He -had gone over the old buildings many times, but never without hope of -finding some writing which had been overlooked, and had even stared -at the graves of Father Friedsam and Brother Jabez wondering whether -they might not contain a written message for the present backsliding -generation. - -When his cane touched a small movable object, he forgot that he had -often prayed for exactly such an experience, and he was amazed and -excited. He knelt down and thrust his hand into the opening. A book! -Many books! His old cheeks quivered and his beard trembled upon his -aged breast. He pressed his body against the crumbling plaster so as to -reach in still farther, reproaching himself because he was surprised -at a blessing for which he had so ardently prayed. A library of -books--other "Mystic Doves" and "Sweet Lilies!" - -He drew them out, one by one. But the binding was not of musty leather, -but of cheap modern cloth; the language was neither German nor Latin, -and there was no musty odor of sanctity--what could they be? Still -kneeling painfully, he opened the uppermost of the pile which he had -made and began to read. - -"Hitherto he had never compromised himself in his relations with women. -As he had often said of himself, he had inspired no great passion, but -a multitude of caprices. But now he had begun to feel that it is one -love and not twenty that makes life memorable; he wished to redeem his -life from intrigues, and here was the very chance he was waiting for. -But habit had rendered him cowardly, and this affair frightened him -almost as much as marriage had done. To go away with her, he felt, was -equivalent to marrying her. His life would never be the same again. The -list would be lost to him forever; no more lists for him. He would be -known as the man who lived with--lived with whom? A girl picked up in -the suburbs who sang rather prettily." - -Grandfather turned fifty pages or so. - -"He was the young poet whom all Paris fell in love with. He came up to -Paris with a married woman; I think they came from Angoulęme. I haven't -read Lost Illusions for twenty years. She and he were the stars in the -society of some provincial town, but when they arrived in Paris each -thought the other very common and countrified. He compares her with -Madame d'Espard; she compares him with Rastignac; Balzac completes the -picture with a touch of pure genius--they forgot that six months would -transform them both into exquisite Parisians!" - -Grandfather turned another hundred pages. - -"'Dearest, we cannot spend the night driving about London.' - -"He sighed on his mistress's shoulder. She threw his black hair from -his forehead." - -The book dropped to the floor. - -"Ach, Gott im Himmel!" cried Grandfather. "What is then this?" - -He explored deeply and still more deeply, till he had at last all -the library before him on the floor. Who had carried these books to -this spot? To whom did they belong? Together with the agony of which -his cramped body suddenly became conscious, there rushed upon him a -sickening suspicion of the truth. Only one person beside himself had -access to the old buildings. - -For a long time he stood staring at the odious books. He did not wish -to touch them; he would have liked to press them into a closer heap -with his cane and to set fire to them. But they were not his. Nor did -he wish to leave them in this clean and holy place. He would carry -them down, and when Amos returned he would confront him with them. The -dream of his old age was not yet quite destroyed; there would be no -restoration of the Kloster; but a repentant sinner might still serve a -secular congregation. With him Grandfather would wrestle day and night. - -He carried the books to the cottage in five long journeys. Baskets -woven by the sisters were at hand, but he did not remember them and a -heavily laden basket would have made a perilous burden. Up and down -the two flights of stairs which were scarcely more than ladders he -journeyed, his knees shaking. Then in his kitchen he placed the books -in a row on the table. - -Confounded, he sat with his hands clasped on his cane, waiting. The -rain continued to fall; the monotonous drip from the eaves changed to -the plunge of a miniature waterfall; the shadows of the Saal and Saron -and finally the shadows of night fell upon the little house, and still -he sat alone. - -Amos meanwhile had journeyed through a landscape shrouded in rain and -mist. Fields and farmhouses and noble groups of trees were hidden or -showed only in ghostly outlines. In the neighborhood of the long line -of furnaces and mills the mist produced many strange phenomena. Above -the ground was a succession of dull masses, black freight trains, the -lower floors of vast and shapeless buildings, and mammoth truncated -pyramids of dim red or black or yellow ore. Once, above the layer of -mist which enshrouded the upper portion of a towering blast-house, he -saw a titanic figure, a man elevated apparently upon the mist itself, -raising against heaven a defiant hammer. He felt in his own muscles a -sudden tightening--he believed that he could swing a hammer like that -and swing it hard. - -The city was wrapped in the same dismal blanket. He wandered about the -streets; he visited the Capitol and patrolled miles of the muddy river. -He could not see the distant bank, and even the islands in midstream -had vanished. He walked out beyond the city limits, and there from a -little stone pier looked down into a deep, swirling pool. There was -nothing in life, he believed, and nothing in death either. The men and -women who wrote the books he read made very little allowance for the -future; to them he believed the very conception was ludicrous. - -Then Amos realized suddenly to what point he had come. He recoiled in -horror from the deep pool and from his own wicked thoughts and rapidly -retraced his steps. When he reached the city limits, he left the river -road in fear and took to the first parallel street. - -It had begun to rain heavily and he had no umbrella. He remembered -the cathedral into which he had gone by mistake, and wondering at his -earlier feeling of wickedness, he decided to take refuge there from the -rain. He felt an intense curiosity; Roman Catholic beliefs were often -mentioned in the books which he read. He hurried his steps, and when he -reached the church he went in and sat down panting. - -At first he experienced only a dull peace. His body was tired, his mind -ceased to operate and the mere freedom from thought was comfortable. -Gradually a deeper quiet came upon him, induced by the silence and -the dim conception of ageless traditions which he had unconsciously -gathered. Here as in the Kloster men had found peace; they had crept -away and had taken vows and hidden themselves forever from the -temptations of the mad world. - -He saw a slender youth in a long, loose garment enter the church from -behind the altar and kneel down. As he knelt he read from a little -book, and sometimes he made a graceful, rapid motion with his hand -across forehead and breast. Amos watched hungrily and knelt also, -crouching almost to the floor. The young man had a happy face--would -that he had courage to ask the nature and the effect of his orisons! He -would do anything, follow any one. - -But the young priest, having finished his devotions, rose, crossed -himself, and went the way he had come. He had to Amos's eyes suddenly -a complacent air which produced a reaction. The fierce hunger for -life came back; he rose and went out, letting the door slam. He would -buy more books. And--poor Amos!--he would do worse than that; he would -learn something of the world at first hand. There were theaters and -moving-picture houses--to him nothing human was hereafter to be foreign. - -The rain had ceased, and again for a brief space the mist descended, -not now in a thick blanket, but in ragged masses, and a wind blew -from the river. The deeper chill of evening cooled the air, and as -pedestrians took on a livelier pace, he moved more briskly with them. -At the corner of the square he stood still and watched the street-cars -moving on the weblike tracks, and the bright lights of the automobiles -weaving a pattern round them, and the larger circles of human beings -perpetually revolving. The group of Salvation Army workers stood where -they had stood months before, singing shrilly, with an accompaniment -of tambourine music, an old and sentimental religious song set to a -popular secular air. Their leader looked about with the same solemnity, -the same canine determination to snatch as many souls as possible from -eternal death. Amos looked and listened unmoved. - -Then suddenly, as though by this dullness he had opened finally -a gateway for the powers of darkness, there rose beside him a -representative of that evil which he believed to be the chief evil of -the world. A short, heavy woman whose black eyes sparkled behind a -figured veil came up to him, so close that her shoulder touched his -arm. He took an involuntary step, then he looked down. - -"You're all alone?" asked a flat voice. - -"Yes." - -"So am I, but I'm always glad for company. Perhaps you would come with -me?" - -"Where?" - -The woman answered by turning back toward the dark street and Amos -followed her. He walked lightly as though he walked without shoes, -as an Arab might follow his master down a ghostly street. His folded -arms might have held together a shrouding burnous, his air was secret. -He turned like a soldier on parade into a dark hallway and climbed -a flight of stairs and another and yet another, going as though he -understood perfectly the object of his journey. - -The last stairway opened into a room from which he could see an -illuminated sky, and he realized that he was above the square. He could -hear faintly against the sound of grinding brakes and automobile horns -a confident declaration: - - "I'm the child of a King, - The child of a King, - With Jesus my Saviour, - I'm the child of a King." - -A cold sweat broke out upon him. - -His companion moved quietly about the back of the deep, dim room, -her motions imagined and not seen. As she moved, it seemed to Amos -as though some monstrous and evil thing was bearing down upon him, -an enormous, indescribable instrument of woe. His terror was not -only mental, but physical; he lifted his hands as if to ward off the -crushing weight. At the same time he felt the whole situation to be -unreal; and so keen was this impression that he expressed it aloud. - -"I'm not like this!" - -"What did you say?" asked the flat voice. - -Amos answered in deeds, not words. He rose to his feet and moving like -a cat approached the door. Then he flung himself down the stairs, one -flight, two, three, and out into the street. He believed that he heard -footsteps behind him, felt dim arms outstretched for him. He saw, ten -times magnified, the face of the captain of the Army. His face was all -that he could see. He flung himself upon the little band, now almost -without an audience, and pushed his way into the center. - -The astonished captain laid a hand upon his arm. - -"You're not fleeing from arrest, are you?" - -"No," panted Amos. "I'm fleeing from evil." - -"Then stand right where you are." - -The tambourines began to beat furiously. A lassie started to sing with -a volume of sweet sound which came uncannily from her tiny throat. She -fixed upon Amos concerned and pitying eyes. The woman with the dark -veil did not appear from her fastness. - -Amos stood close to the captain, who, after another song had been -sung, invited all who wished to be saved to come with him to the rooms -of the Army. Apparently Amos was the only one interested in this -important matter and him he led away, leaving the others to conduct -the meeting. In a bare little room furnished with benches, a portable -organ, and a few printed Scripture texts, he bade Amos sit down. - -"Now, Brother, what's your trouble?" - -Amos was for the moment speechless, the joys of confidence being new -to him, but when he began to speak, he could not stop. He told of his -youth and his uncle and Ellen and of his buying books and of the old -Kloster. - -"It was intended that I should found a conventual order." - -The captain did not understand. - -"A what?" - -"A conventual order. We were to gather in others to live a life of -meditation." - -The captain knitted his heavy brows. "What were you going to meditate -about?" - -"The goodness of God and the sin of the world," said Amos faintly; and -drew forth an amazing reply: - -"I don't wonder you got nutty." - -"Got what?" repeated Amos, puzzled. "Nutty?" - -"You've understood me, Brother." The captain tapped his forehead -significantly with his gnarled hand whose deep-laid grime no washing -could altogether remove. "Then what?" - -Amos described his despair, his contemplation of the dark pool, and his -last and most terrible experience. - -"I'm utterly vile," said he at last. - -"You're worse than that," said the captain. - -"Won't you advise me?" asked Amos timidly. - -The little man stared at him. He asked again for a second description -of Amos's long days, he looked at the mighty frame, and was filled with -an impatience which was almost disgust. He rose as though he were going -to turn Amos out. Instead he addressed him fiercely. - -"Will you do exactly as I tell you for a month?" - -"Yes," promised Amos weakly. - -The captain opened a closet door and pointed to several sets of -workingman's overalls. - -"You pick out the longest of those and roll them into a bundle and come -along." - -Amos obeyed. He could not explain this strange course, unless he was to -be conducted on a journey to see depths of misery and wickedness more -abysmal than his own. - -Whistling, the little man led the way out into the street, and -returning to the square bade his companions good-bye. Of the wide, -interested eyes of the leader of the singing he took special note, and -smiled inwardly and said to himself with the air of a prophet, "Sally's -got her eye on him." Then he climbed into a street-car, Amos close -behind him. When they had traveled several miles he got out and led -the way through an opening in a high fence into the yard of a blast -furnace. The blast was in progress and the air was filled with rosy -light. - -"Come on," he said. - -"What are we going to do?" Did some hideous immolation threaten? The -place seemed like the lower regions. - -"We're going to work," said the strange guide. "What ails you is not -sin, but idleness; you've got too much time on your hands. I bet you -ain't ever worked a whole day in your life! I'm the boss of the night -shift and you're under me. Get me?" - -With a gasp of astonishment Amos "got" him. But the captain, however -efficacious his cure, was mistaken in his diagnosis. He believed Amos -to be lazy as well as idle. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -FETZER DELIVERS A SERMON - - -Fetzer did not sleep well the night before Ellen returned to college, -nor had she slept well for several preceding nights. More than once -during the past ten days she had been astonished, not by Ellen, but by -her admired Dr. Lanfair, who on warm evenings took Ellen riding in his -small car. - -They rode along the pleasant river or on smooth country roads. On the -outward journey, companioned by the setting sun, they talked. What -Ellen had not told about her past, she told now. All that Stephen could -remember of his European journeys, of France, of Italy, of the Alps, -he recalled; new countries which he expected to see--with Ellen--he -pictured from imagination. - -Ellen opened her heart; his remained closed. He said nothing about his -youth, his father, his marriage, his inner self, knowing that with -reticence foregone, other inhibitions would be difficult. He still -believed that some day he could honorably tell Ellen everything. - -They drove home silently, their eyes upon the illuminated road and the -bordering trees. Once, returning from Gettysburg, they saw a deer, -blinded by the light, motionless, terror-stricken. The stopping of the -car roused him from his paralysis and he sped into the woods. Their -thoughts followed him to some deep refuge. - -Wholly unsophisticated, Fetzer would have discerned nothing unwise -in these excursions if she had not espied Ellen's look on the day of -Stephen's return. She believed that Stephen was too modest to suspect -that he was enshrined in this susceptible young breast. - -She laid the last articles in Ellen's trunk, and when she went to bed -she continued to mourn. The world was, take it as one might, a queer -place. Then she turned on her side to sleep. Ellen was young; she would -"get over it." After a while she realized that she had forgotten to say -her prayers and she crept out of bed and knelt for a long time praying -for many persons, but especially for Ellen. - -Still she could not sleep. She reviewed Ellen's residence in the house. -This last summer she had watched eagerly for the mail. Fetzer had -believed that the letters which she looked for were from some college -acquaintance; she realized now that they were Stephen's letters. - -"He's not old." Fetzer was about Stephen's age. "And he's very -good-looking." - -Again she composed herself to sleep. - -"He's perhaps a little too kind to people," she said after another -half-hour, in her nearest approach to disapproval of her master. - -In the middle of the night she began to think of her own troubles. The -Lord had not answered her prayer; Jim was not converted, neither was he -translated. His term ended on the first of February, and by that time -she expected to await him in the Pennsylvania German village where they -had been born and married and where everybody knew their history and -his shame. She was not afraid; she believed that if he could be kept -from drink and entertained he would be endurable, at least he would -not be dangerous. If he did not do well--it was all the same, she was -bound to him. It was as yet impossible for her to imagine herself in -the little house with him, but she had no other thought than to go. She -would still have Christmas, and then would come the inevitable misery. -To her Duty was the "stern daughter of the Voice of God," indeed. - -After Ellen had gone she began to put the house in order for her own -departure, spending hours over each room, making lists in neat little -books, and packing carefully Hilda's belongings so that if Stephen -decided to give them away they could be shipped without repacking. - -"If I get everything done, I'll then have a free Christmas." - -Sometimes she walked from room to room adoring and sometimes for an -hour she forgot that she was to go away. Then, as if in punishment for -her forgetfulness, she found her husband walking with her or sitting -close beside her at the table and on the doorstep in the evenings, his -arm, his arm--Fetzer needed her prayers for herself! - -Through the autumn Stephen was constantly occupied and constantly -cheerful. He attended his patients with promises of improvement which -did much to bring about improvement. Miss MacVane stood between him and -overwork, and Miss Knowlton took upon herself a heavier burden than -before. The period was one of supreme happiness for both women; they -lived in a dream, each perfectly aware of her own state of mind and of -that of her companion. Miss Knowlton, at least, was relieved by Ellen's -absence; Ellen was to her like a fifth wheel. Stephen often sat on the -edge of Miss MacVane's desk when the day's work was done and discussed -cases with them. "We've had a good day, haven't we?" he would say, and -Miss MacVane and Miss Knowlton would scarcely be able to speak for -satisfaction. They both believed that it was unlimited opportunity to -work and freedom from anxiety about Hilda's behavior which made him -happy. - -Fetzer had formed the habit of returning promptly from church each -Sunday evening and after carrying Stephen his late supper, of sitting -with him for half an hour. She always told about the sermon, to which -she paid the closest attention for this purpose. He seldom went to -church, but with this failing she was lenient so long as she could -carry religion to him. - -When she finished her sermon outline she invariably inquired for Hilda, -and then asked for directions for the coming week. She was happiest -when he set her tasks, a complete change in the position of the office -or library furniture or the planning of a menu for a dinner party of -medical men. This fall he gave her few directions; he was satisfied -with everything. - -"And now I must go away!" mourned Fetzer. - -One Sunday evening early in December, she carried him his supper and -sat down near him in the only straight chair, a more comfortable seat -being according to her code unsuitable. When she entered she saw him -fold a letter and put it into his pocket, and recognized the size and -shape. Poor Ellen--Fetzer hoped that she did not write as she had -looked! Though she understood Ellen's earlier history, it seemed to -her, all else aside, that Ellen had lifted her eyes to an unattainable -star. - -As Stephen praised her sandwiches and tea, and asked her about the -preacher and the choir and the attendance, she quite forgot all her -worries, forgot poor Ellen, forgot her wicked husband with whom she -would soon have to live, forgot everything but her adoration. But she -was soon recalled from her dreams. Stephen put aside his cup and began -to walk up and down the room. - -"Stay and gossip a while, Fetzer. We must plan a nice Christmas for -Ellen." - -Fetzer looked up startled. - -"Is she coming for Christmas?" - -"Surely!" - -"But she didn't last year!" - -"No, but we went to see her. This year she's to come home." - -Fetzer began to smooth the seams of her black silk dress. It was a -present from Stephen and she felt like a queen in it. She passed over -the astonishing word "home." - -"What do you mean by a nice Christmas?" - -"Oh, wreaths and holly and flowers and a turkey and presents--such -a Christmas as young people like. I don't suppose she's had a real -Christmas for a long time. She was here two years ago, wasn't she? What -did you give her then?" - -"A white apron." - -Stephen laughed and Fetzer began to tremble. It was her feminine duty -to protect Ellen. - -"Do you suppose it is best for her to come? On account of her lessons?" - -"She won't have any lessons. Of course she's coming! Wasn't she here -all summer?" - -Fetzer said in her heart, "But you weren't here!" Aloud she said, "Does -she know she is to come?" - -"Know it? Why, this is her home, Fetzer--surely you understand that!" -He stopped in his walk and looked down. Fetzer was not one to make -difficulties. "I should think you'd be glad to have her. She's young, -and youth is everything." - -With a great effort Fetzer raised her eyes. She was not thinking of -Stephen or of herself, but with deep unselfish concern of Ellen. It was -hideous to want what one could not have! - -"I should think she'd like to be with young people," she said with a -little gasp. - -Stephen had taken up his long stride; he stopped again and looked -down. Rarely, and very rarely, jealousy of Ellen's young companions -troubled him. - -"She likes to be here!" he said sharply. "She--" Then he stopped -short. Fetzer was still smoothing the seam of her dress. He was glad -that he had not met her glance--he did not wish to betray himself. -For an instant and only an instant he hated her, then he blushed for -himself--good, devoted, innocent, unsuspicious Fetzer could have no -doubts of him! "I may not be here all the vacation, but that makes no -difference in her coming." - -Fetzer lifted her tray and bade him good-night, and when she had put -all the things neatly away, went up the stairs to her room and sat down -at the window. She had not met his eye, but for the first time she had -heard his voice speaking to her sharply. It had the effect of light -as well as sound; dark corners were suddenly illuminated. There were -his frequent letters, there were the automobile rides, there was his -present eagerness. She had not seen his face when he greeted Ellen; who -knew what his look had expressed? - -"He's all alone," she said in an awed voice after a long time. "It's -very, very hard to be alone.... He's had all along from the beginning -a hard time.... It was a wonder that he stood it.... He deserved -better in this world.... But this cannot be!" She spoke with childish -simplicity. "This would be wrong!" - -The next Sunday evening she carried Stephen his supper and sat down and -gave him the outline of the sermon. - -"It was on the subject of always having enough light to live by and -it not making anything out if we have nothing else but that," she -explained in her native idiom. The sermon, if one could judge by her -pale cheeks, had moved her. - -She inquired about Hilda. - -"I so often think of her sitting down there when there is all this -here." - -Then she took her future happiness in her hands. Her husband could -not live always and she had expected some day to come back; now she -imperiled that prospect. - -"I'm sorry that I cannot be here over Christmas," she said soberly. - -"Not be here at Christmas! Why not?" - -"He comes out the last of January." - -Stephen looked up quickly. The absurdity of preparing for a month when -a week would suffice did not at first occur to him. He had seen Jim -Fetzer at the trial--he was a mad brute. - -"You're not really going back to him!" - -"Yes, I am." - -"To live with him?" - -"Who else has he?" - -"Let him take care of himself!" - -"But he's my husband"--Fetzer pronounced it "husbant." - -"He'll shoot you again." - -"No, I think not. He knows now what the jail is like." - -"It seems an odious proceeding." - -Fetzer returned his gaze. She was a human being and so was he, there -was at this moment no distinction of rank between them. - -"You would not leave her stick," she said. - -Stephen swallowed the last mouthful of tea. There was something behind -Fetzer's strangeness; it was ridiculous for her to leave before she -must. If she went Ellen could not come! It was not possible that she -was trying to spoil his plan! He rose and stood quite close to her. - -"Why do you go before Christmas, Fetzer?" - -A deep red flooded Fetzer's cheeks. On the left side the white scar lay -like a hand. - -"I must get my place ready for him. It is everything all run down. The -fence must be fixed and I'm going to take water into the kitchen. I'm -used to the conveniences here. I--" - -Stephen too flushed crimson. He laid his hand on Fetzer's shoulder. - -"Look up and tell me what you're driving at!" - -"I mean that I must go." - -"You mean that you're taking pleasure in deliberately spoiling my -little plan for Ellen's Christmas!" - -Fetzer looked at him appalled. Oh, that Ellen had never come to make -life hard! - -"You're making some sort of foolish pretense," he continued. "Don't you -want Ellen to come here?" - -After a long time Fetzer said, "No." - -"Why not?" - -"I think it isn't for the best." - -"Why not?" - -"It's hard on her." - -"How so?" - -Fetzer looked down at her folded hands. - -"It's hard to want all the time what you cannot have, especially when -you see it before you." - -"What is there Ellen wants which she can't have?" - -Fetzer rose, pushing back the light chair upon which she had been -sitting. - -"You know," she said quietly. "It is hard even for me to live here -for some reasons, though I'm a little older than you and I'm a very -ignorant Pennsylvania Dutch woman and I have this." She laid her hand -across her cheek. "Sometimes I think how different everything might -have been if I had been born different. Miss MacVane--I expect it is so -with her and with Miss Knowlton too. But we are older and we can resign -ourselves. But I'm sorry for this young girl, that everything should be -spoiled for her." - -"How spoiled?" Stephen asked the question as quietly as Fetzer -had spoken, but his heart was not quiet. He was not, like her, -unsophisticated, and he saw, not for the first time, his attentions to -Ellen through the exaggerating medium of his own desire. He suspected -with alarm that Fetzer had been prompted by some worldly-wise, -discerning person. There were these other women in the house, there -were Hilda's friends. Could some fool have meddled? - -But Fetzer's prompting had sprung from her own heart, and it did not -take into account any reputations before the world. - -"Because nothing can come of it for her but trouble," she said, and -went out of the room with dignity, not forgetting to say good-night or -to lift her tray. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -ELLEN REMEMBERS BROTHER REITH - - -In the fading light of a December afternoon Miss Grammer and Ellen went -together to an organ recital in the chapel. Only the lamps at the organ -were lighted and they found their way to a pew in the twilight and sat -very still, seeing dimly the mosaics picked out in gold, the faint -outlines of arched windows and the shadowy forms of human beings. They -were not curious about what was being played; for them music was merely -an aid to meditation. Miss Grammer saw a little brown house whose snug -interior was like that of a ship's cabin. It had built-in cases of -drawers, many book-cases, a few pieces of mahogany furniture, and at -the windows white curtains and red geraniums, and it was surrounded -by neat flower-beds in which there was a continual succession of -old-fashioned bloom. - -Ellen's thoughts dwelt upon a human and not a material object. She -saw Stephen's smile and heard his "Well, Ellen!" It was only at such -moments as this that she allowed herself to think of him. A history -paper had recently been marked B, instead of A, and she knew the reason -perfectly, she had been meditating during a lecture upon the admirable -character of her benefactor. There are long periods in youth when the -present suffices for happiness, when the distant future casts no shadow -upon the drifting hours. She was content to work as few students ever -worked and to allow herself grateful thoughts during organ recitals and -late in the evening when she sat on the window-seat in the Seminar room -waiting for Miss Grammer to complete her longer tasks. - -This afternoon the organist seemed to have selected his compositions -for the special benefit of dreamers. He used soft stops, and one lost -at times almost all consciousness of sound. His little yellow-haired -boy had climbed to the organ bench and the light fell upon him as he -sat motionless watching his father's hands. It seemed as though he were -producing the music by a childish magic. - -"Two years from now I shall probably be settled for life," said Miss -Grammer to herself. "I shall not buy a house for a year, however, until -I am sure that everything suits me. I shall have a fireplace with a -couch before it and my bookshelves shall be all about me like a wall. -_If only nothing happens!_" Miss Grammer shivered. Alas, things had -often happened! - -"Two weeks from now I shall be at home," said Ellen. "It will be almost -dinner-time and I shall be going down to the library. Perhaps I shall -have a letter this evening." - -The last part of Ellen's dream came true. She did not read the letter -at once; it pleased her in her confident happiness to postpone it until -she had finished her evening's work. After dinner she and her companion -went back across the dark campus to the library. They listened for a -moment to the noisy brook over which they crossed on a little bridge, -they watched velvety black wind clouds blot out the stars, they smiled -at a whistling boy, they heard the sound of a dance tune from a -fraternity house. - -"People are gayer than we, but they aren't happier," said Miss Grammer. - -"Oh, I'm gay, too!" said Ellen. - -She wrote themes in English and Latin; then she looked over many pages -of history notes and answered mentally a list of questions which she -had set down at the conclusion of to-day's lecture. She could answer -them all--there were to be no more B's! Occasionally the name of a -studious Junior was added to the list of Seniors elected to membership -in the Phi Beta Kappa Fraternity--it was a goal at which she aimed. - -Then at last she opened her letter. - -"My dear Ellen," wrote Stephen, "I find that I shall have to be away at -Christmas--I'm going South with Professor Mayne. Fetzer is, I'm sorry -to say, to be away also, not as heretofore merely visiting her wretch -of a husband, but preparing a home to which he will come permanently -next month. Then Miss MacVane will take charge of the house. I think -your best plan will be to stay in Ithaca with your friend. Would you -like to go to Buffalo again? What would you like to do?" - -After a while Miss Grammer looked up. Ellen's head was bent low. - -"What's the matter? Have you had bad news?" - -Ellen lifted a pale, astonished face. - -"No," she said, trying to make her voice sound natural. "Only I'm to -stay here for Christmas. Dr. Lanfair and Mrs. Fetzer will both be away." - -"Well," said Miss Grammer practically, "I'm sure we shall have a -pleasant time." Blinking in her queer fashion, she delivered a little -homily which expressed her philosophy of life. She had had deep and -wide experience with disappointment. - -"There's only one person for each of us to be absolutely sure of, -that's ourselves, and we've got to make our happiness dependent upon -things which we can get for ourselves. Now one can always have books -and nature, and we should make the most of those pleasures and learn to -rely upon them and not upon human beings or worldly fortune. I've had -to do that." - -Miss Grammer returned to her books and concentrated her attention upon -them. Her remarks indicated no vain boasting; she had done exactly what -she claimed to have done. But she was quite forty. - -Ellen sat for a little while looking out of the window. She felt -stupefied; presently she was conscious that she had difficulty in -breathing. Was she going to cry? She must get quickly from under these -smothering ranks of dull books and this heavy pile of stone and away -from the keen eyes of her companion. It had always been her habit in -trouble to run out of doors. She rose and put on her hat and coat. - -"Just a few minutes and I'll be ready," said Miss Grammer. - -"I think I'll go now," answered Ellen steadily. "See you in the -morning." - -Miss Grammer looked at the door which closed gently. She knew the main -facts of Ellen's life, and suspecting that Harrisburg held some young -man to whom she was attached, she sighed. - -Outside Ellen stood still. The night was bright and starlit. She -went round the great building to the rear and there sat down upon a -familiar bench which was a part of the architectural design and bore an -inscription which she knew by heart: - - "To those who shall sit here rejoicing, - To those who shall sit here sorrowing, greeting! - So have we done in our time." - -She was filled with wonder and amazement. Could such misery be real? He -was going South with Professor Mayne! He could have no other reason -than his own pleasure. If he had stayed at home, Fetzer would have -stayed also--she knew Fetzer's plans. He didn't care; she was nothing -to him but a poor creature who needed help. - -Hearing the sound of men's voices, she realized that it was foolish to -sit here alone, when at any moment a company of students might take a -short cut across the hill. She longed for the shelter of her room, for -her smooth pillow--the sky and the stars and the cold air offered no -balm. Perhaps in her room she could think this out, could find some ray -of comfort, could remember some detail of their association upon which -she could once more build happiness. She rose and went rapidly down the -walk and across the brook. - -Once in her room, she did not go to bed, but sat down by the window -and looked out at the dim campus. Her pain, dulled for a few moments, -returned. He was going away, she should not see him! She put her hand -to her side, to soothe actual, physical distress. - -Presently, as if to ascertain whether this agony had put a visible mark -upon her, she turned on the light and examined herself in her mirror -curiously and with humility. She was not thinking of her appearance; -she was asking herself a question. Then she lifted her head with a -splendid defiance to resist the fire of amazement and resentment which -ran through her. The resentment was not against Stephen, still less was -it against herself; it was against life. - -"I haven't done any wrong," said Ellen aloud. "It isn't my fault." - -At once, moving deliberately, she undressed. She counted the strokes of -the brush on her thick hair, she hung up her clothes with painstaking, -she laid out fresh clothes for the next morning. But once in bed, she -could not sleep; a faint recollection disturbed her, a vague incident -connected with this hour, promising in the most tantalizing way an -interpretation if she could but read it aright. - -Later in the night she dreamed. She seemed to see Millie, a little, -weazened creature who pointed at her and chattered, rat-like, about the -pursuit of Brother Reith and the unlawful pleasures which he allowed -himself in the absence of his wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -GRANDFATHER PLANS A CRIME - - -During the long hours in which Grandfather waited for Amos, he reviewed -his life, searching like Job to find where he had erred and how he had -brought upon himself the heavy punishments of his old age. He had tried -to do his duty, had preached righteousness, had tried to interpret -the Bible correctly, had given to the poor. He had married, but the -instinct to mate had been implanted in the human heart by God Himself. -Except in this one act, his whole life had been one of self-denial. - -In spite of his effort to be righteous, his life had followed a -descending scale since his thirtieth year. Then his wife had died, and -about the same time three families had left the church, two to become -Lutherans, the other to go to church no more. They had all been rich -in this world's goods, and what was far more important, they had been -large families. - -Afterwards Mary had married Edward Levis and the danger to her soul -had occupied his anxious heart. He had recovered presently his sense -of security and had built great hopes upon Matthew and Amos and Ellen; -but here again he had been cruelly disappointed--Ellen had left him -and Matthew had behaved shamefully. Last week Millie had come angrily -complaining that Matthew was bewitched; he would not go to church, he -was teaching the children to despise her, and he had taken to reading -books which he had once considered wicked. - -"He tells little Matthew that things I say are wrong. My way was him -good enough when we were married. It is that Ellen!" - -And now Amos had gone, and the souls of all three were in peril; they -were sheep lost upon the mountain. - -If it had not been for the discovery of these unclean volumes, -Grandfather would have had a search instituted at once for his nephew. -But to him they explained everything. He felt a destroying rage with -Amos; he could look upon him with far less leniency than upon Matthew -and Ellen. It was in his case as though a dog which for years pretended -gentleness had turned and rent the hand that fed it. He had practiced -a long piece of deceit; some of these books he must have had for -months. Grandfather pondered upon his comings and goings and decided -correctly upon the exact day on which he had made his first excursion -in search of literature. With fresh suspicion he took from the table -drawer "The Mystic Dove" and Amos's translation and discovered that -work had ceased months ago. He looked with tears at the marginal -scribblings. - -"I trusted him too much," he said bitterly. - -He sat waiting all the rainy afternoon and evening. - -But Amos did not come. Night fell after a gloomy twilight and -Grandfather went exhausted to bed. He locked the door with a stern -pressing together of his thin lips, but after a while he rose and -unlocked it. He even opened it and, shivering, looked out into the -black landscape. But no human being was to be seen and only the mocking -blast of an automobile horn from the curve near by was to be heard. - -Another day passed and Amos did not come. On the third day Grandfather -saw the rural carrier drop a letter into his box and hurried feebly to -the road. He opened it as he returned through the graveyard, but found -that he could not read. He was frightened until he remembered that he -did not have his spectacles. - -But even spectacles did not make reading possible at once. He stared at -the sheet for a long time before he understood exactly what Amos meant. - -"Dear Uncle, you will be surprised to hear that I am going to give up -my school. I have written to the directors. There are plenty others who -will be glad to have the place. Uncle, I have found peace. For a long -time I have been uneasy in a spiritual way. But I have found a friend -and he says that what I need is to work hard and the soul will take -care of itself. I work in the furnace and in the evening I am with him. -He is a Salvation Army worker. There are three men and two women who -work together. One man and one woman are married, the rest are single -people. It is like the idea of the Kloster in a way. I hope you were -not anxious. I had a heavy burden on me, Uncle." - -When he at last understood, Grandfather was violently excited, not by -anger or by disappointment, but by hope. If Amos had found peace, so -much the better. But he need not stay away--this was the place for -him to labor; let him bring his friends here! Grandfather penned a -forgiving, welcoming response. - -But Amos was not to be persuaded. He answered saying that he was glad -he was forgiven, but a life of meditation and prayer suited none of -them; they must be up and doing, the harvest was white. "It is our -custom to go where sin is," explained Amos. "We do not wait for sinners -to come to us." - -"'We'!" repeated Grandfather. - -The word had for Amos a specific meaning. - -"There is a young woman here, Corporal Sally, who is a noble woman. She -has had a sad history, but has come through." Little did Grandfather -dream the struggling against sin, represented by a worldly Ellen, -behind these simple sentences! - -Then, alas for both writer and reader, Amos explained that he could -no longer believe in the keeping of the Seventh Day, the ceremony of -Foot-washing, the exchange of the holy kiss. He did not hold them to be -the essentials of religion. - -He said in conclusion that if Grandfather needed him, if he should -be sick, for instance, he could come at once. He signed himself -Grandfather's "in the Lord." - -"In the Lord!" Grandfather lifted his stout old stick and brought it -down heavily. It struck "Esther Waters" and Esther fell to the floor. -"The Raft" was torn across one of its grimmest pages, "Madame Bovary" -was cruelly slashed. - -Then a wilder mood came upon him. The end of the Kloster was decreed, -that was clear. The props were removed, the pillars loosened, the -foundations weakened. When he was gone no one would be left to cherish -the old buildings. Curiosity-seekers, long the bane of his existence, -would carry away the treasures of books and curios, the wooden blocks -upon which saintly heads had rested, the elaborate charts penned by -devoted fingers. An insistent antiquarian often visited Grandfather--he -would come and take that which he coveted and perhaps sell his loot, -making capital of the things of the saints! There was no rational -explanation of earthly affairs; reward was not given to merit, nor -peace of mind to those who deserved it. It would be well to make an -end. - -His anger quickened. The Kloster was his; even in human law he -might claim it, might sell it, do as he liked with it, as the last -Seventh-Day Baptist. After him there would be no one who had any real -claim upon it. - -Suddenly he had a vision. He saw clean, merciful, leaping flames doing -quickly what time would do gradually. The suggestion seemed to come -miraculously and with it a plan for its carrying-out. There was an -angle where the Saal and Saron joined, where a pile of kindling could -be laid. He felt an overwhelming weariness with life and an eager -desire to be rid of it. He began to plan cunningly. - -In the night he took from his woodbox an armful of fine kindling and -carried it up the stone steps and round the meeting-house to the -spot which he had selected. The night was cloudy and there was not a -sound, not even the distant baying of a dog or the echo of footsteps. -He returned and secured two matches, the small can from which he -filled his brass lamp, and also the ponderous key. He would look for -the last time upon the treasures which he loved. He opened the door -of the meeting-room in the Saal. The old benches, the table with its -superimposed reading-stand which formed the pulpit, the faded charts -on the wall--he saw them clearly, though their outlines were almost -invisible. He repeated to himself the inscription on one of the charts, -then he stood trembling and sighing. - -He walked through the meeting-room to the kitchen where of old meals -had been prepared for visiting brethren and their families who came to -spend days in worship--he groaned as he thought of their multitude, a -far greater multitude in his dreams than they had been in reality. - -The interior of Saron was black, but he needed no light. He touched -lovingly an ancient chair, an old loom, a row of pewter spoons, a -hand-woven basket. He climbed last of all to the matin room. Now he was -breathing heavily. The thought of Amos had returned, filling him with -rage. Matthew and Ellen were children, his children, but Amos was not. -He hoped that the forthcoming tragedy would haunt Amos all his days. He -meant to come back to this room and await his end. - -He went trembling down the steep steps and out to the angle of the -wall where he had laid the little woodpile. He struck a match and -its light showed faintly. He had selected the spot cunningly; it was -invisible from all points except a field, and in this field, sown with -winter wheat, there was certain to be no observer. The fire would -not be discovered until the flames leaped through the roof and the -opposite wall. When he tried to light the wood it did not burn, and he -remembered his coal-oil and lifted the can. - -But before he had tilted it Grandfather paused. He had given the hours -of a long life, not to dreams of arson and self-destruction, but to -meditations upon the majesty and the goodness of God. His visit to the -matin room had started a familiar train of thought. He ceased suddenly -to hear the crackling of flames and the thunder of falling beams and -rafters and thick old walls; he heard the sweet and heavenly singing -of women far above his head, the ethereal sounds issuing from fasting -bodies. He forgot his rage, he forgot Ellen and Matthew and Amos, -he forgot himself. His wrongs ceased to be real; the realities were -white-robed choirs, a heavenly peace of mind. He stood listening. - -After a long time he carried the oil can and the wood back to the -cottage and put them in their places. Then he opened the window and sat -down. It was almost midnight, the hour when Father Friedsam had been -accustomed to waken his spiritual children so that they might worship -their Creator. With folded hands and monkish mien Grandfather rose and -stepped out of his cottage and up the stone steps to the meeting-house -and there ascended the pulpit platform. The room which he saw was not -this dim, low-ceiled room of his ministry; it was a loftier room with a -latticed gallery for singers. He saw before him an entering procession, -and alone in the darkness he lifted his voice and praised God with a -psalm. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -ELLEN UNDERTAKES TO CONQUER HERSELF - - -The first sting of disappointment past, Ellen believed that she was -glad that her Christmas journey had been made impossible. She might -have betrayed herself, and the only light in her darkness was the hope -of keeping Stephen's good-will. Her experience of human passion was -limited; she believed that the simple fact that Hilda lived would keep -his heart from wandering. Pure hearts, she believed, did not wander, -nor did they seek those which were bound. To feel his eyes upon her -in amazement, disapproval, or scorn--there was the one contingency -intolerable and shameful. - -Not once, during her self-examination, did she surmise that she was -regarded in any other light than that of a beneficiary. Stephen was -grateful to her father for some remembered kindness, he sympathized -with her ambitions, and he had given her what must seem to him--however -large it was to her--a little from his store. Fetzer's opinion that -she had lifted her eyes to a distant and unattainable star was her -own opinion exactly; indeed, to Fetzer he was not nearly so exalted a -person as he was to Ellen. - -She felt, alas! now that she understood herself, another humiliating -emotion, jealousy of all who had anything to do with him, of Miss -Knowlton who obeyed his commands, of Miss MacVane who kept his house, -of Fetzer who might some day return to her post, of Professor Mayne who -went about with him, even of the patients who saw him daily. One could -become, it seemed, wholly ludicrous. - -Another woman might have tried to conquer this passion because it could -result only in misery and humiliation for herself, but Ellen tried to -conquer it because it was wrong. It had not been wrong to love him; she -had fallen blindly into that error--upon that she proudly insisted; -but it would be sinful to continue. From the narrow theology of -Grandfather and from the character of her father she had unconsciously -constructed a code of behavior as rigid as Grandfather's precepts and -as her father's probity. Her nature was developing rapidly, but in this -respect it retained all its natural simplicity and innocence. - -She determined, therefore, poor Ellen, that she would banish Stephen -from the heart which he unlawfully occupied, and with this end in view -she laid down specific rules for herself. In the first place she would -think of him no more. In this determination she was not as childlike -as she seemed for she planned for herself deliberate distractions. She -would study still harder; she would respond to some of the friendly -overtures which were continually made; and, above all, she would -dream no more. She laid away the tiny watch which Stephen had sent -her at Christmas--it was absurd to try not to think of him and then -deliberately to recall him whenever she needed to know the hour! She -went to a few dances, she received a few student callers, she even went -walking four times with a graduate student who confided to her the -history of his past and his hopes for the future. She decided drearily -in March that she was conquering herself. - -She would go to Harrisburg in June only for a day on her way to -Ephrata. Her self-examination led her farther than her relations with -Stephen, and she believed that in her preoccupation with herself -she had been undutiful to her grandfather and to Matthew. When Miss -Grammer, who had taken a cottage on the lake, invited her wistfully to -go with her, she burst into tears. - -"I wish I could. But I've written to my brother that I'm coming home." - -Miss Grammer studied her gravely. Had the object of love died or had he -been married? It was the former of these sorrows which she had suffered -in her youth. - -"You knew that you might come with me, surely, Ellen?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"You are tired," said Miss Grammer. - -Spring breaks the best of resolutions of Ellen's particular variety. -The willow branches turned a brighter yellow, the brook bubbled more -and more loudly, crocuses and scilla enlivened the grass. Presently -flowering shrubs bloomed; one walked in welcome shade where yesterday -there had been sunshine; bees hummed in and out of classrooms where -students nodded. Those who had studied ceased to be industrious and -those who had been idle continued in their course. There was little -talk of Avogadro's Law or of the Elizabethan spirit of Shelley; there -was discussion of baseball games and boat-races. Envy was transferred -from him who made high marks to him who, like the wise virgins, had -provided against springtime by saving permitted absences. - -On Memorial Day there was a boat-race and the students departed with -few exceptions to the lakeside. A half-dozen, studious like Miss -Grammer, worked in the library, their thoughts occupied with matters -alien to boat-races, and others whose purses were empty sought points -of vantage on distant hillsides. Only Ellen turned her back upon -both work and play and went in an opposite direction. She meant this -afternoon, while the struggle on the lake was in progress, to take -herself to task. - -She selected her battleground with poor judgment. One may win a victory -over one's self as one walks on a frozen road or under the bare -branches of wintry trees, but when one approaches the scene of conflict -through beds of daisies and sweet clover one is weakened at the start. -Even her physical strength seemed to be failing when at last she sat -down on a fallen tree at the edge of a little wood and clasped her -hands round her knees. The land fell in a gentle slope to the campus -whose towers rose above the tree-tops. Beyond, and far below, the lake -lay clear and blue. There was no house near by and there was no sound -of the life of human beings, and nothing to take her attention away -from her own problem. - -She believed now that her obsession was a mortal sickness and that from -it she could never escape; she hoped only to hide it and to proceed so -that it might be unsuspected by others. She had tried since Christmas -to put Stephen out of her mind and had failed. She had reminded herself -that her affection was not and that it never would be returned. Indeed, -it seemed to her that already Stephen's letters had grown more curt and -businesslike; perhaps he understood and was trying to make clear to her -the hopelessness of her situation. - -She reproached herself for her blindness. It was upon the night when -she had returned from the King Sanatorium that this had begun; she -should have understood herself then, and not created for herself a -fool's paradise. The effect of this emotion was like the effect of -death, it colored everything. The universe had narrowed to a point. She -did not realize how unlike most lives her life was, with its limited -circle of acquaintances, and its intense affection for a few human -beings. - -The afternoon wore slowly on; far away the straining bodies of the -rowers bent above their oars waiting the word to make a belated start, -the thousands of spectators shouted, and presently the long observation -train began to move with the boats. She should have been with her -schoolmates in body and in spirit, but she did not even think of them. - -Suddenly it seemed to her that some restraining band within her -weakened and broke. In imagination she let her eyes devour Stephen, let -herself be enfolded by his arms, lifted her lips to his. She uttered -a sigh of complete abandonment; she began eagerly to comfort herself -with reminders of his gifts to her, his smile upon her, his hand on a -memorable occasion lifting her chin. When he had walked with her in New -York, he had never let go her arm; when he helped her into his car his -clasp lingered. She found herself speaking aloud. - -"If I could only see him! I haven't seen him since last summer! If I -only knew that he didn't despise me, that he thought of me, I shouldn't -care for anything else. Then I could work once more. If I could only -see him! Others can, and I would give my life for him!" - -She heard dimly the cheering of a multitude. It must be that the race -was won; the visitors could produce no such volume of sound. But her -victory was not won! She rose and went down the hill to the road, her -shoulders bent. Her childhood had been ended by her father's death, -and now her youth was ended by this misfortune. She remembered, alas, -a word of Amos's--"burn with sinful passion"--and she was filled with -shame. - -She crossed the deserted campus to the library, walking aimlessly, and -descended to the cool corridor leading to the Seminar room. The door -was open and she could see Miss Grammer at work within. Unheard, she -stood looking at her curiously, almost as though Miss Grammer were -dead. So that was what was left for one, that was what one became! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -A DARK TOWER - - -When Stephen returned from his excursion with Professor Mayne, Miss -MacVane had installed a young woman in his office and had herself taken -charge of his house, filling her new position with Fetzer's devotion. - -He had given no directions for Ellen's letters to follow him and when -he read them on his return he discovered with selfish pleasure that -she had missed a week. So she couldn't write, poor child! A pretty -dreary time she must have had with Miss Grammer! So had he with Mayne. -He longed to tease Ellen until her eyes filled with tears and then to -brighten them again. He had changed his Christmas plans neither out of -respect to Fetzer's opinion, nor because he wished to avoid encouraging -Ellen's affection, but because of the sharp eyes of the other women in -his house, and because he believed his deliverance was at hand. Hilda -was worse, and her malady was likely to take henceforth a more rapid -course. - -Ellen's mid-year examinations were successfully passed and he proudly -showed her report card to Miss MacVane, who looked at him keenly and -enigmatically from behind her thick glasses, but kept her thoughts to -herself. Ellen and Miss Grammer had been invited by Professor Anderson -to the box of his fraternity at the Junior Promenade, and Ellen had -danced. Did Ellen dance? His heart sank. Professor Anderson was an -old man--she must have had a more agile partner. She went to the -theater--she did not say with whom. She won election to Phi Beta Kappa, -and his eyes sparkled. - -In the spring impatience tortured him. He was tired and his nights were -restless. Life was passing; he was now forty-three years old and joys, -unless they were snatched quickly, would cease to be joys. - -Late in May Dr. King asked for a personal interview--the message could -mean only a change for the worse. To be free, to have a few years -of life at high pitch--how eager was his longing, how clear his -visualization of the nature of that happiness! A year from now Ellen -would have finished her course--it would be absurd to wait beyond that -time. - -But freedom was not at hand. Hilda, he learned, had seemed to improve -and had asked for her husband. Dr. King was almost jubilant; the -improvement offered hope for all similar cases. She was so much better -that he believed it might be possible for her to have a period of -liberty in her home under the care of attendants. He felt an intense -sympathy for Lanfair, and an intense satisfaction in the news he had to -impart. Mrs. Lanfair had not been long enough away for her return to -seem like a return from the dead as sometimes tragically happened. But -Lanfair must not let himself be too hopeful. - -Stephen looked silently down upon the eager little man. Hopeful! He -began to tremble. Was he to take her home _now_? It couldn't be; he -would have to explain, to make excuses. He stammered an incoherent -answer and followed along thickly carpeted corridors, his cheeks -quivering. He fixed his eyes upon the back of Dr. King's well-clad -figure and was absurdly and grossly offended by the pattern of his -coat. He said that he must get hold of himself, that this would never -do. - -Only the fact that his guide locked and unlocked all doors through -which they passed differentiated the journey from a journey through any -large and well-appointed house. It appeared to be endless, but when -they paused before Hilda's door, it seemed to have lasted no more than -a second. Stephen laid his hand on Dr. King's arm. With difficulty he -commanded his voice, and the words when they were formed seemed to -come from some other throat. If the interview could be only a little -delayed! It was not possible that he would faint! He had felt a similar -terror years ago when he had traveled toward Philadelphia expecting to -hear that he was forever disgraced. - -"Has she been prepared for my visit?" - -"Oh, yes! She's waiting for you!" - -The superintendent pushed the door open and tapped on an inner door and -a nurse greeted them in a friendly voice. - -"We've been watching for you, haven't we, Mrs. Lanfair?" she said, -turning to some one within. - -Stephen felt an insane desire to imitate with childish and impertinent -syllables the rise and fall of her voice. He found himself in a -luxurious sitting-room. For a moment he could see nothing; then he -discovered Hilda in a rocking-chair close to the barred and awninged -window which opened upon a portion of the lawn laid out in imitation of -a Japanese garden. He could hear the delicate sound of running water, -and see birds dipping into a pool. - -While he tried to speak, he observed that Hilda had grown stout; though -she did not look like herself, face and figure were nevertheless -familiar. Ah! it was her uncle whom she had grown to resemble, and -there was something grossly unpleasant in the change. - -"You see, I've brought him!" announced the superintendent, as though -this had been accomplished only by a very great effort. - -Poor Hilda saw plainly--for this moment she had been cunningly -planning. She did not rise or move forward or make any motion, except a -motion with her lips. All that she wanted to say to her uncle and Dr. -Good on the night when she came away, she said now, eloquently. Her -heavy, motionless body seemed to add treble emphasis. Such accusations -uttered with an accompaniment of hysterical laughter or of waving arms -would have seemed mad; but she did not speak like a madwoman. One would -have said that her reasoning was sound though her premises were false. - -She had uttered a dozen sentences before her audience came to -themselves. Then Stephen moved backward. He was not afraid; he simply -wished to get away, to end the intolerable tirade as soon as possible. -The nurse stepped between him and Hilda, and the doctor closed and -locked the door quickly, himself and Stephen outside. Dr. King was -distressed. - -"One can never tell," he said, frowning. "I can't say that I'm -altogether surprised, but I felt that the experiment should be made. -You understand my motive?" - -"Certainly," Stephen assured him. - -In the office Stephen repeated his directions for Hilda's comfort. He -would not sit down; he wished to escape quickly as he had wished to -escape from the hospital when there had been lengthy operations with -long incisions or with copious letting of blood. He had always avoided -contact with unpleasant realities. When a nurse came to speak to the -superintendent, he went out and got into the car, which he had driven -himself. He had expected to go on to Philadelphia for the night, but -his business there seemed suddenly unimportant. Neither did he wish to -return home. - -At the first crossroad he got out to investigate a suspicious sound in -the running-gear of his car, and seeking the tool with which to tighten -a screw scratched his left hand deeply, and irritably wiped away the -blood. Then he stood still looking about. Harrisburg lay toward the -west--a road led there directly; Philadelphia toward the east--Mayne -was expecting him. He could not see Mayne of all persons in the world! - -Then suddenly his eyes narrowed, the beat of his heart quickened, -he smiled slowly. He had once visited Ithaca in the spring, it was -lovely with its thick shade, its waterfalls, its lake; he determined -that he would see it again. Then he laughed. He would go if it was as -homely as Chestnut Ridge, if the month was January! No one need know, -no one would ever be the worse for it. He could be there by to-morrow -evening and any one so industrious as Ellen could cut Saturday classes. -Saturday and Sunday would be days to set against months of unhappiness. -He said again that no one would be the worse for it. - -Suddenly he laughed at himself for a fool. Why had he not gone before? -Why not at Christmas-time? If the mere intention could bring about -this lightness of heart, this heavenly clearness of vision, this -certainty of purpose, this deep joy, why had he not had all these long -ago? She was, he did not doubt, prettier than ever, but it was not -her prettiness which he valued, it was her youth, her steadfastness, -her devotion. He was certain that she loved him, he remembered with -amusement his short-lived jealousy. - -He speculated as he drove upon the rarity of human happiness. His -father's life--how dull, how arduous, how ill-rewarded! Mayne's--how -favorable from without, how hollow within! What undeserved calamity had -visited Fetzer--foolish Fetzer to whom he had listened so obediently! -What disappointment Levis had suffered! How little satisfaction he -himself had had and with what high hope he had begun! But here was -happiness within reach! - -He noticed with sharpened observation as he drove north, those changes -in the landscape with which he had been familiar in his youth; he would -point them out sometime to Ellen. He drove rapidly and unweariedly, his -depression passing, feeling that he understood the joy of the aviator. -His route lay to the east of Chestnut Ridge, but he would see presently -a country similar to that in which he had been born and had spent his -youth. - -He did not think of Hilda, sitting heavily by the shaded window; his -thoughts leaped ahead. He drove on and on like one possessed. - -"I could give her riches and ease and travel," he said to himself. -"It wouldn't be an unfair exchange for youth." It may have been the -gathering dusk, it may have been a springing breeze, but a cool wind -seemed to blow across his very heart. To wait another five years or -ten! He must have Ellen now. - -He was tempted to stop as twilight fell, but he changed his mind. He -had come to the point when fifty miles nearer her was a goal to be -desired. He could reach her, he believed, before noon of the next day; -he did not care where he slept or whether he ate. He had ceased to -think of her good or of his own honor or of her father--he thought of -but one matter. - -"It won't hurt her to be kissed," he said to himself, smiling. His -thoughts came disjointedly, sometimes they expressed themselves in -single words--"Adorable" ... "hungry" ... "her dark eyes" ... "peace" -... Once he laughed aloud. "It won't hurt her mind, she'll blossom like -a rose!" Sometimes he smiled grimly. Fate should not cheat him, let her -set her trap never so well! There was, he believed, nothing between him -and the satisfaction of his desire but a few hours of swift driving. - -He was so occupied with his own thoughts that he did not realize till -darkness was almost complete that he had taken a wrong turn. He stopped -his car and got out, a tall gray figure in the dusk, and surveyed the -landscape, and discovered that he had come into a country like the -country of his youth. He could not look far in any direction, for low, -bleak hills had closed in upon him. Through a cleft between two of them -the sun cast a last reflected gleam. Seeing no dim human habitation, -he studied the road--though it was little traveled, he believed that -it would be best to go on. In the next valley there would doubtless -be a village where they could set him straight. The pale light was on -his left; the road led at least in the right direction. Then suddenly -he smiled. Memory played queer tricks--a forgotten fragment of poetry, -recited often by his father, surprised him: - - "Naught in the distance but the evening, naught - To point my footsteps further! At the thought - A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom friend, - Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing, dragon-penned, - That brushed my cap--perchance the guide I sought." - -He shivered suddenly. This was a sinister landscape; familiar as such -scenes had been to him in his youth, he should not like to be held here -for the night. Alas, his poor father had had no other landscape to look -upon in all his latter years! - -He stepped out of the car and mounted a little bank, and discerned -far ahead a hopeful gleam. Driving on carefully and slowly, he saw -with relief that the light shone from the window of a small, faintly -outlined house. Amusedly, as he pushed open the sagging gate, he went -on with his appropriate verses. - - "What in the midst lay but the tower itself? - The round, squat tower, blind as a fool's heart, - Built of brown stone, without a counterpart - In the whole world--" - -He knocked at the door, but there was no answer. He knocked again more -heavily. There was a light, there must be human beings about; perhaps -the occupant had gone to drive home the cow. Perhaps a deaf person -lived here. He stepped to the window and peered in. - -The interior was like a hundred interiors which he had seen in his -childhood, a little room which was at once kitchen and living-room, -its furniture a bare pine table, a few chairs, a half-dozen -cooking-vessels, dirty, out-of-date calendars pinned against the wall, -rags in a broken sash, and, hanging on a nail, a miner's grimy coat and -a woman's shawl. He had driven with his father to such houses as this a -hundred times and had sat waiting in the buggy or on the grass by the -roadside amusing himself with childish games. Sometimes he had been -puzzled and distressed by a sound whose cause he then understood but -dimly. Memory played him another trick, it caused him to hear the same -sound now. - -He could not see into the inner room, perhaps the deaf person was -there; he knocked again and opened the door. Then he laid his hand -across his lips. The sound had not been remembered--it had been heard. -It proceeded from the inner room. - -"What's the matter?" he asked loudly and impatiently. "I've come to ask -my way. Is any one ill?" - -He saw that a distorted figure lay upon a low bed. Fearing that here -was an emergency which had been repellent to him from his youth, he -went unwillingly toward the inner room and stood with his hand upon the -jamb. - -"What is the trouble?" he asked again. - -With painful effort the woman turned and looked up at him. It was not -as he had feared; her need was of a different sort. Upon her pale -face stood drops of perspiration and she clutched her thin chest with -both hands. It was the same agony which had smitten Edward Levis with -merciful swiftness, here long drawn out. He had seen but a few cases, -but he recognized it as different from all other sorts of anguish. But -he could not be delayed! - -"Bill's went for the doctor," said a faint voice from the bed. - -"How far has he gone?" - -"There's none nearer than Weller." - -"What!" Stephen gave a great start. Weller! Then he had veered far to -the west! This was a place he knew. He looked back over his shoulder -into the outer room and into the darkness beyond the door. He recalled -the neighborhood, the roads, the ragged outlines of the ugly hills, -the very house. Outside this gate he had sat in his father's buggy and -waited and waited. He had heard his father's voice in the magic formula -which he said at dying beds, "Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem"--it -was here, he remembered distinctly, at a Roman Catholic bedside. No, -he was dreaming, life did not present such strange coincidences. He -saw that the agonized figure was relaxed; he heard himself asking, "Is -there no doctor at Chestnut Ridge?" - -"Not now. They had one after the other, but they didn't stay." - -"When did your husband leave?" - -"A half-hour ago, I guess. It seems longer. I guess the next spell'll -finish me." - -"Did he walk?" - -"He thought perhaps he could get a ride. But there's three"--the -sentence was taken up after a long pause--"three grog-shops." - -"Are you afraid to stay alone a little longer? I have a car. I can send -the doctor back." - -Glistening drops appeared upon the pale face. - -"Oh, my God, don't leave me!" She raised herself feebly upon her elbow, -animated by a wild hope. "You ain't a doctor, I suppose!" - -"I'm not a general practitioner." - -She sank down, accepting the excuse as final. - -"It don't make any difference, the next one'll finish me." She lay -quiet as death, fearing to breathe. It might be that another moment -would bring a fresh spasm, it might be that there would be no other for -hours. - -Stephen looked down upon her. He could see the pale face with a black -smutch across it; he saw an empty bottle on a chair by the bed. He had -had no experience in this department of medicine for twenty years, -and his practice had been limited to hospital work under the eye of -an instructor. He believed that of simple specifics a mustard plaster -would relieve--there was certainly no other drug to be had here. - -Suddenly the pupils of his eyes dilated, then contracted. His gaze -was fixed absently on his own hand, still lifted against the door -frame. It was a slender white hand. Across the back the blood from -the scratch, now many hours old, had dried. The wound looked for some -reason unnatural, and he moved his hand with a horizontal motion close -to his eyes and put it back against the door frame. He noticed with -quickened perception that he placed it exactly upon the spot which it -had already made warm. Then he laid it in the other hand and stroked -it. A drop of blood oozed out, but it was not the blood which alarmed -him, but the puffy redness of the wound, the thick, ominous raising of -either lip and a dull pain which he felt clear to his elbow. He had -a flask of peroxide in his bag, but he had not used it, and now more -drastic treatment was required. It was required, moreover, at once; an -infection like this broke down the tissues with incredible swiftness. - -His hesitation, his silence, his effort to arrange his thought, roused -a suspicion in the mind of the woman on the low bed. She raised herself -to a sitting position, trying to hold together the ragged gown which -half covered her. Of his importance, his wealth, his intellect, she had -no conception and for none of them would she have had any regard. - -"For God's sake, don't go away!" - -Stephen still cradled his hand. He looked curiously at the wretched -creature, now lying prone and exhausted. He frowned in the effort to -concentrate his mind upon a new and very simple problem. He believed -that his hand was seriously infected and that it should be treated at -once, that haste was imperative. He believed also that the woman left -alone might die. A cold sweat broke out upon him. He had been acutely -impatient with his father because he had not weighed his valuable life -against two worthless lives and had suffered himself to be murdered. -His father, however, had merely taken a chance, there had been a -possibility of escape, but for him there was no escape. The mischief -was done; unless he had speedy aid he might die in agony. - -He felt his heart contract and laid his hand upon it. To die! He was -not old. Life which he had recently so bitterly complained of--what -inestimable happiness it offered! What delight for the eye! What -intense pleasure for the mind! And Ellen--what of Ellen, with whom he -had expected to be in a few hours? He had anticipated rapture in the -assurance of her love. He might now never see her. It was curious that -it was easier to risk his life than to forget his passion! - -The moments passed; there was no sound within or without the little -house; the woman still lay motionless. It might be that she slept; he -realized basely that a step would carry him away. - -Then, quite suddenly and simply, he knew that for him there was no -choice. He had lived, for all his suffering, selfishly, his heart -hardened and not softened by the single affliction of his life. He -had done many kindnesses, but he had never made a sacrifice. He had -helped the poor, but it had cost him nothing; he had performed almost -miraculous cures, but they had been performed in a sense easily. - -Yet he was not at heart selfish, and now, rising from depths almost -unstirred since his youth, a single powerful impulse moved him. He had -come unknowing and unsuspecting to his Dark Tower, which, well for him! -was set in a familiar landscape, presided over by the guiding spirit of -his youth. There was a verse which said, "Train up a child in the way -he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." He had -been trained by precept and example; was his father's last hour made -easy by confidence in his ultimate return? Did his pleading gaze ask -only that the period of departure might not be long? As tenderly as -though he had been his father, he bent over the poor bed, forgetting -life and all its joys and Ellen. - -He remembered now that there was a spring a few yards away. He had been -sent there by his father and he had dipped the clear water from an -open space beside a bed of water-cress. Making his way thither in the -starlight, he filled a pail. He found a box half filled with kindling -and built a fire and set the water on it, and fetched his traveling -bag. He opened the sore wound on his hand and poured into it half the -contents of his bottle of peroxide and bound it up. He found in a dirty -cupboard a supply of mustard, provided possibly for this emergency -and forgotten. He thought with a faint smile of Miss Knowlton--if her -professional eye could see him! He remembered that he had sat for a -long time on the weedy bank across the road when he and his father had -been here--his car stood beside the exact spot. He seemed to hear now -distinctly his father's voice--would it be necessary for him to console -the dying? He could not offer a formula upon which he had not thought -for years! - -He heard a moan in the inner room and returned quickly. The woman had -turned once more on her back and had seized her thin chest. Lip and -brow were beaded. He worked quickly, the perspiration standing on his -own brow. When he had done all he could, he knelt down on the floor and -took the clutching hands in his. He spoke, scarcely aware that he was -speaking, offering all the comfort that he could give. He had never -spoken to Hilda in this fashion; not even quite in this fashion had he -dreamed of speaking to Ellen. - -"I'll stay with you. I'm sorry for you. It will be better soon. I'm -sure it will be better." - -When the spasm was over he rose to his feet. In the cessation of agony -sleep came quickly. He stood motionless for a long time, occupied with -strange thoughts. He was intensely, incredibly happy; he understood -suddenly that his father had had this happiness often; his own danger -became negligible, he quite forgot it. Even when, as he moved about, -the pain in his hand quickened, it was still negligible. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -AN UNDELIVERED MESSAGE - - -Dawn, which came as slowly as the dawns of winter, brought a returning -Bill in the car of a physician whom he had found after much forgetful -wandering. A lifeless body lay upon the bed. - -Stephen looked curiously at the old doctor who descended stiffly from -his car. - -"You don't know me, Dr. Weller?" - -"No." - -"I'm Albert Lanfair's son." - -"How do you happen to be here?" - -"I lost the road and came in to ask directions, and once here, could -do nothing but stay." He meant to exhibit his hand, but thought better -of it. He must get home without wasting time. He had not undone the -bandage, he felt less pain, and in the cheerful light of day believed -that he had exaggerated the seriousness of his condition. If trouble -appeared, however, he wished to be at home. - -He drove with reckless speed southward, remembering grimly, - - "The King of France, with twenty thousand men, - Marched up the hill and then marched down again." - -He tried not to think of Ellen; when, sometimes, her face appeared -before him, his cheeks burned. The strange night had affected all his -thoughts; his heart had somehow changed; he saw clearly what he would -have made of Ellen. - -As he drove into Harrisburg he felt the first premonition of a chill, -and understood its significance. The pain in his hand had returned and -when he stepped into his office he stumbled. The young assistant looked -up from her desk and Miss Knowlton appeared at once from the inner -room. He held out his hand. - -"Ever see anything like that?" - -Miss Knowlton undid the bandage. At his touch a blush covered her pale -cheek, but when she looked up the color had vanished. - -"Dr. Lanfair! What have you done?" - -"I scratched myself on a wire. It's nothing." - -"A girl in the hospital jabbed her hand with an icepick and infected -it, and it had red streaks round it like this!" - -"Well, she has her hand, hasn't she?" asked Stephen banteringly. - -"She nearly lost it. You're going to see Dr. Salter?" - -"Yes; telephone for him, there's a good girl." - -He crossed the passageway to the library and sat down, suddenly fearing -that his pain might bring tears; then he laughed at himself. There was -nothing seriously the matter with him. - -"It was foolish to have called you," he apologized to Dr. Salter. "Miss -Knowlton is to blame." - -Dr. Salter bent above the outstretched hand, a stout, blue-eyed, -cheerful soul who possessed the secrets of hundreds of men and women, -and held in spite of them the most hopeful views of humanity. He had -known Hilda and Hilda's mother. - -"What in the world have you done?" he asked. - -"I scratched it on a wire." - -"Why didn't you come home?" - -"I did. I'm here." - -Having concluded a cruel opening of the wound, the doctor gave a -hovering Miss Knowlton minute directions. - -"You have an ugly-looking hand, Lanfair." - -For the moment Stephen felt neither pain nor fear, only a leaping -excitement. - -"I'm not to be frightened," he said with a defiant laugh. - -By evening he walked the library floor. At ten o'clock he went to his -room and walked there. Miss Knowlton said lightly that she would spend -the night--the doctor wished the dressing changed frequently. - -"Your professional manner is absurd," declared Stephen. "You'll come -presently and take my temperature and watch to see that I don't read -it." - -Miss Knowlton smiled and put a thermometer under his tongue and placed -herself beside him, her hand on his wrist, her air important. She had -sent for a fresh uniform which billowed about her when she walked. - -At midnight Stephen went to bed. Exhaustion dulled his pain for half -an hour; then he sat up, roused, he believed, by a ghastly dream of -Ellen in danger. But he knew in a second that it was not Ellen's -danger. When he lifted his hand, it felt heavy and tight and burned -like fire, and he understood exactly what might happen to him. The -infection suffered by his father had affected him slowly, paralyzing -irremediably both body and brain; this was different; it could be -fought, but it must be fought quickly and with cruel weapons. - -Miss Knowlton, hearing him stir, came in from the next room. - -"I'll look at your hand," she said in a new, smooth voice. "You'd -better lie down." Stephen obeyed, his mind not on his pain, but on a -graver necessity. "It doesn't look any worse," said Miss Knowlton when -the bandage was again in place. "Would you like me to sit by you?" - -Stephen's negative sounded drowsy. But he was not drowsy. There was an -amazing fact to which he must give his mind and he wished to be alone. -He saw his father lying with half-closed eyes upon his pillow; he saw -that he himself lay fever-flushed with a swollen, bandaged, torturing -object by his side, and that he had come to the same dark brink. His -father had stepped out bravely; he did not believe that he should go -bravely. His father had had a hope, but he had no hope. When his father -had recited the creed, he had spoken with conviction; but he had no -convictions. - -He believed suddenly that even to say the words would help if he could -remember them. Childishly pleased, he recited, "Credo in Deum Patrem -omnipotentem," in a tone which brought Miss Knowlton to his side. - -"Did you speak to me?" She began to open the bandage. - -"I was only trying to remember some old Latin." - -Miss Knowlton remembered afterward that as Stephen said this and as she -saw his wrist, purple above the bandage, the market-wagons had begun to -rumble past and dawn was in the sky. - -"I'm going for hot water," she said soothingly as one speaks to a sick -man. - -Outside the door she found Miss MacVane, pale and shocked, her hand -lifted to rap. - -"There was a call on the telephone from the Sanatorium," she said in -an awed tone, her eyes blinking behind her thick glasses. "I don't know -what to do about it." - -"Anything the matter?" - -"Mrs. Lanfair is dead," said Miss MacVane. "They say 'suddenly,' that -is all." - -Miss Knowlton grew a little paler and more important. - -"Well, he can't be told now," she said. "You get Dr. Salter, quickly, -will you?" - -Stephen did not realize that daylight had not yet fully come when Dr. -Salter appeared in his room. It seemed a long, long time since he had -come home--was it a day and night or two days and nights or four? He -didn't think it queer that there was another man with Salter--nothing -seemed queer or of any moment whatsoever, not even a strange question -put to him. They did not mean to let Stephen die. - -"Lanfair, can you understand me?" - -"Oh, yes!" Stephen laughed. - -"Do you trust Mayne and me to use our best judgment for you?" - -"About what?" asked Stephen. In a moment of full consciousness he -recognized Mayne, who bore upon his expansive face the record of more -than one shock. If clearness of mind had lasted for another instant, -Stephen might have suspected the cause of Mayne's disturbance of mind. -But he grew confused and asked in a jovial and impertinent tone, -"What's the matter with you, old boy?" - -"About your welfare," said Mayne earnestly. - -"Oh, bosh!" cried Stephen, and turned on his side. There was but one -thing he desired, peace to pursue a search. What was it his father had -said? He presently began to mix his English and Latin. He knew that -that which he sought was an ineffable happiness, but he could not quite -grasp it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -MATTHEW AND ELLEN - - -Ellen sent to Harrisburg no notification of her coming. She was now -convinced that she had thorough control of herself, and that she -could meet Stephen safely. He might be away--the possibility brought -a painful moment of mixed misery and relief. Shifting her heavy bag -from hand to hand, she walked up the sunny street, past the jewelry -shop of Mr. Goldstein, past small hotels in whose windows idle men sat -drowsily, to Front Street. The river seemed to have no current, but -lay a burnished sheet under the low and glaring sun. In the park a few -sprawled figures occupied the benches. - -She rang the bell, and when no one answered, she opened the door with -a key which she had hesitated to use, and putting down her bag walked -through the hall and passageway to the offices. It was long after -working hours, but Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane would be putting -desks and files in order and closing the day's records. She believed -that they would be glad to see her, and she longed for the refuge of -their homely femininity. She now allied herself in spirit with them and -their kind. - -But neither Miss MacVane nor Miss Knowlton was at work. The office had -an unused appearance; shades had not been lifted, and even in the dim -light she could see on all the furniture a film of dust. The air was -not merely cool, it was damp, and her final impression of strangeness -deepened to a fear of calamity. The house seemed to be empty. - -She returned with a quickly beating heart to the front hall. In the -library shades were irregularly drawn and here also dust covered the -polished surfaces of tables and chairs. One small article of furniture -had been moved and at it she stared while a deeper chill smote her -heart. It was Hilda's little tabourette, upon which now, as formerly, -lay matches and boxes of cigarettes. She leaned helplessly against the -door. Had Hilda come back? - -When she heard steps approaching she turned slowly and in unreasonable -terror. But they were heavier and slower steps than Hilda's. Still her -step might have changed! She looked toward the stairway and beheld -Professor Mayne, large, elegant, cigarette in hand. Her heart leaped to -a more terrible conclusion--Stephen was dead! - -Mayne regarded her with his bland smile. He had lived recently through -two harrowing experiences, but one was on the whole a relief, and the -other, while it shocked him, did not touch his own person or habits. - -"What is it you wish?" he asked kindly. - -"I'm looking for Miss MacVane." - -"You mean Dr. Lanfair's secretary?" - -"Yes." - -"She has unfortunately been somewhat indisposed. She is absent." - -"Is Miss Knowlton here?" - -"She is in the hospital attending Dr. Lanfair." - -"Is he ill?" - -"He has had an infected hand, a severe case of septicćmia, but we have -saved him. He is improving." - -Ellen forgot all her resolutions. - -"Can he be seen?" - -Mayne shook his head, then looked at her curiously. Was she an employee -of Stephen's, like the middle-aged women who were so concerned about -him? - -"Oh, I remember you!" he said. "You are the young woman who assisted -with my niece. Are you still employed here?" - -A foolish red appeared in Ellen's cheeks. - -"No." - -"Did you know that my niece had--had passed away?" Mayne almost said -"expired." - -"No," answered Ellen. She felt that she was not expected to make any -comment and she made none. She stood awkwardly looking about. "Is there -anything I can do?" - -"I believe not, thank you," answered Mayne in his booming voice. He -passed into the library and sat down in Hilda's corner of the sofa and -lifted a newspaper. - -Thus dismissed, Ellen lifted her heavy bag and carried it across the -street to a bench. The air was intensely hot and she was hungry, but -she did not connect weakness or hunger with her despair. He was ill, he -had been very ill or he would not be in a hospital. And he had sent her -no word! Moreover, she had been in a sense turned out! Certainly Fate -was helping her to conquer herself! - -Then, suddenly, a desperate longing came into her heart, a longing -for childhood, for innocence, for ignorance, for freedom from this -consuming passion. She wanted her father's sheltering arm, the sound -of his voice. Lacking him, she thought of those nearest her in -blood--Grandfather had loved her and so had Matthew and Amos. She -believed that they would welcome her. Twilight was at hand; it was the -hour when tired men and women hasten homeward; she too would go home. - -She walked rapidly toward the railroad station. At the Square, while -she waited for a break in the line of automobiles, she saw in a group -of Salvation Army workers a tall brother shepherding the passers-by to -positions within earshot of the preacher's voice. In that figure she -could not be mistaken, it was the first feature of a familiar landscape -seen after a long journey. She did not stop to account for his presence -or his blue uniform, she went up to him quickly. - -"Why, Amos!" - -Amos looked down at her, growing first pale, then crimson. She had -become, he believed, merely a part of the fearful and unrighteous past; -she had vanished entirely, together with impulses to worldliness and -evil. But here she was, looking up with her dark eyes as she had looked -when she was a little girl. Her eyes seemed unhappy, and his heart -bounded. Then it sank like a stone and uneasiness succeeded his rapture. - -"I'm working for the Lord, Ellen," he explained, glancing at the group -of singers who had turned to look for him. "I'm married." - -"Don't you live with Grandfather?" - -"No." - -"Is he alone?" - -"He doesn't want anybody," explained Amos quickly. "He knows he has -only to ask and I'll come." The sharp whirr of a tambourine summoned -him imperatively; it spoke, not with a religious, but with a domestic -sternness. His wife had been expecting him to bring the stranger -promptly into the circle of inquirers; she did not approve of this -lengthy conversation. - -"I must go," said Amos uneasily. "She is there." - -Back in the noisy group Amos neither spoke nor sang. When one of his -companions began to pray, he removed his cap and bent his beautiful -head. But he was not praying, he was thinking of the Kloster and the -past. Now that he was in the world he was not of it. He was like a -monk who had left his monastery too late. The glare of the sun was -too bright, the noise of the world too loud. In his hard day's work -he forgot himself, but his evening tasks, his public orisons, his -soliciting of strangers, were odious. There were times when he bitterly -regretted his marriage; there was no time, indeed, when he did not wish -it undone. But he believed that in seeking to win souls he was obeying -God, and in this conviction he found consolation. - -In the dingy railroad station Ellen waited for her train. The station -had seemed hitherto an opening gateway; she had thought it vast and -wonderful when she had arrived with her father. Her second entrance, -when she came to make her living, had been more sober. Waiting for her -train for Ithaca, scarcely hearing Fetzer's good-byes because she was -thinking of Lanfair's, she had found it again a dazzling portal. Now, -at last, it was an entrance to prison. She believed that all happiness -lay behind her. She stepped into the train, and when she reached -Ephrata went her way on foot. - -The moon shone brightly on the Kloster and on Grandfather's cottage and -on the white tombstones in the churchyard. Ellen choked back a sob; her -absence from this spot reproached her. - -It was a long time before Grandfather answered her pounding. - -"It's Ellen," she called, when at last she heard his hand on the latch. -"It's very late, I know." - -Grandfather opened the door. He was dazed; the moonlight was not bright -enough to make her outline clear. - -"May I stay here to-night?" - -He neither greeted her nor answered her. - -"It is Ellen, Grandfather." - -"Ellen?" He repeated a word without meaning. - -"May I stay here to-night?" - -He seemed now to see her, but he regarded her as though she were a -jinn or spook or other baleful creature of the witching night. - -"I never turned any one away," he said at last in a gentle tone. - -It was clear in the morning that she was regarded not only as a -transient, but as a disturbing visitor. Grandfather followed a regular -routine which took him now to the Saal, now to Saron, now out into the -fields, as the brethren might have traveled a hundred and fifty years -ago. He believed himself to be, indeed, one of them. - -In the afternoon Ellen took up her journey to Matthew's. Inexpressibly -tired, she wanted only sleep in a quiet bed. - -She saw Matthew crossing from the house to the barn and called to -him. He did not come to meet her, but let her approach him, which was -exactly like Matthew. His face was set in a somber expression, his -shoulders were bent. Seeming neither glad nor sorry to see her, he took -her satchel and walked with her back to the house. - -In the kitchen the old chaotic condition persisted. Esther had achieved -the object of her life and had gone away with her prize to a distant -farm, and Millie had had a succession of inefficient servants. She -languidly accepted Ellen's offered help. - -"Where are your grand people?" she asked. - -"Mrs Fetzer has left there." - -"And the man, where's he?" - -"He has been ill." - -A plate slid suddenly from Ellen's hands into the iron sink. Her course -appeared incredible. - -"He's ill, and I'm here!" she said to herself. "He might die and I not -see him!" - -When Matthew said at supper that he would drive to the station for -her trunk, she asked whether she might go with him. She saw at once -that Millie wished to go, but she could not yield her place. From the -drug-store she would call the hospital and talk to Miss Knowlton--why -had she not thought of it this morning? She could have cried with -relief. She was sorry that Millie was disappointed, but she would make -it up to Millie twenty times over. - -The drug-store was crowded with customers for ice-cream and soda water, -all of whom were trying to speak above a strident talking machine -which ground out a lively song. Only a little man of one of the plain -sects seemed anxious to hear the music at the same time that he was a -bit disturbed by his own pleasure. The proprietor and the customers -regarded Ellen curiously, but did not recognize her. When the telephone -bell rang, all looked at her and ceased speaking, believing that she -was calling a lover. - -The talking machine, too, was silenced and she knew that every word -could be heard through the thin booth. Miss Knowlton could not come to -the telephone, but a message would be given her. Ellen inquired for -Lanfair and was told in the optimistic tone characteristic of hospitals -that he was entirely out of danger. She opened the door of the booth -weakly and paid the charge. Matthew was waiting outside and she climbed -into the wagon. She would have liked to tell him everything, but that -was a weakness. He had, she surmised, enough to bear. - -She was conscious of an added coolness in Millie's attitude, but to her -weary mind it seemed unimportant. She laid her head upon the pillow -which had been hers in childhood, and before the tears were dry upon -her cheeks she was asleep. - -But Millie's attitude was not unimportant. Her disposition was now -thoroughly established; she was worn and sour and unhappy and she found -pleasure only in believing herself ill-treated. She had never forgotten -that Matthew had taken Ellen to the Kloster two years ago without -inviting her, and the repetition of the offense was grossly insulting. -It was not he whom she blamed, but Ellen. She would have been glad to -believe that Ellen was deliberately trying to "come between" them. - -The next day Ellen wrote to Stephen. She said that she had gone to -the house in Harrisburg and had heard from Professor Mayne about his -illness and that he was better. She had then come to her brother's. She -had called the hospital and had heard that he was still better. She was -sorry that he had been ill. An undefined feeling restrained her from -speaking of Hilda. - -In a week she had an answer from Miss Knowlton. Dr. Lanfair was -improving and was glad that she was with her brother--that was the -best place for her to be. He would be well enough in a day or two to -leave the hospital, then he and Fickes and Miss Knowlton would go to -the shore. Even though it was Miss Knowlton who wrote, Ellen did not -visualize him as helpless. She cried at night, but by day she went -quietly about innumerable tasks. The postscript of Miss Knowlton's -letter was a "Finis" at the end of a story: "We hope that you will pay -us a call on your way back to college." - -She grew slowly and miserably aware of the domestic volcano over which -she lived. Millie believed now with all her heart that she had come -to make trouble; though Ellen's help lightened her tasks by more than -half and enabled her to put on flesh she made it appear constantly, -by devices difficult to describe, but known to all who are compelled -to associate with women of her type, that she believed the help to be -unwillingly given. - -For a long time Ellen did not understand the exact source of this -resentment. She laid her hand as of old on Matthew's shoulder; she -walked with him about the farm on Sunday afternoons; she pored with -him over calculations. Most foolishly of all she tried to improve the -extraordinary speech of little Matthew. - -The summer was intensely warm; through July the opening of an outer -door brought heat like a leaping flame into one's face, and the nights -were often one long wish for morning. Ellen grew gradually accustomed -to the hard labor, to the rising before dawn, to the insufferable -afternoons. She shared Matthew's anxiety about the harvest; it seemed -that before the wheat crop was brought in destructive storms must break. - -Sometimes in the late afternoon when vitality was at its lowest point, -she remembered the airy rooms in which she had lived last summer, the -bare floors, the furniture in chintz covers, the drifting of white -curtains in a gentle breeze. But of last summer she did not often let -herself think. She heard no word from Stephen, nor sent him any. She -remembered now half-acknowledged dreams, more vivid in retrospect -than they had been in actuality, of position and travel and great -possessions, and her heart burned, now with self-reproach, now with -resentment at life's cruel chances. - -The wheat was safely harvested and no rain fell. Matthew, increasingly -anxious about the corn, searched the sky for clouds. He was irritable -even with the children. Ellen bore with him and pitied him and obeyed -the commands of Millie. - -Early in August Matthew sat one evening on the doorstep. There had been -since noon a low bank of clouds in the west, but he had often been -deceived by banks of clouds. When they rose higher, he was immensely -cheered, pointing them out to Millie, who merely looked sullenly in the -opposite direction, and said nothing. He turned to Ellen and asked her -to walk with him to the woodland from which they could get a better -view. She looked at Millie's lowering face. - -"Won't you go, Millie? I'll stay here." - -"I wasn't asked," said Millie briefly, her very flesh tingling with -resentment. - -For an instant Ellen hesitated; then she followed Matthew across the -yard and the stubble-field to the woodland. - -Before their eyes the sun sank in a blaze of glory. On bright days -only could a low range of hills be seen from this point, but now they -believed they could see beyond to the gleaming river. As the sun -disappeared they sat down on the old tree-trunk. The hot wind bred -restlessness and sadness. - -"I was wrong about everything," said Matthew soberly after a long time. -"What I said in the meeting-house was nonsense, as my father said it -was. I was misled." - -Ellen was appalled. Matthew had arranged his whole life in accord with -that confession. But she could give him no comfort; when Levis died -she had been a child, and since that time, greatly as she had been -troubled, she had felt no need for superhuman reassurance. - -"It must have been very hard to give it all up after you had believed -it." - -Matthew snapped his fingers. "It went, like that! I simply didn't hold -to it, that was all." - -"Did you ever try to believe again?" asked Ellen. - -"No; why should I? I don't want you to think I don't believe anything. -When I come up here and the wind is blowing, it seems to me that I -get an idea about God, greater than was ever thought of down in those -little rooms. But I can't get hold of it. Perhaps some day I shall. -It's only that He is and that He's here. I can't describe it." - -A long sigh stirred the leaves above them. Ellen was disturbed. - -"There's surely going to be a storm, and we should go down." - -As she rose there was a bright flash of lightning and the oaks began to -sing. She held out her hand. - -"Let's run, Matthew!" - -Matthew took the hand and lifted it. Thus they stood for a second, -their arms outstretched, and then plunged down the smooth field and -into the yard. In the doorway Matthew called Millie, but she did not -answer. He went upstairs to find her, but she was not there. Both the -children were asleep and pinned to the pin-cushion on the bureau, in -true melodramatic fashion, was a note. Matthew read it and returned to -the kitchen. - -"Where is she?" asked Ellen. - -"She has started home," said Matthew slowly. "She says it is to stay." - -For a long moment there was only the tick of the clock and the rumble -of distant thunder. Then Ellen lifted her head. - -"Would it help if I went away?" - -Matthew leaned heavily against the table. His face was intensely white, -his gray eyes darkened. The hand upon which he leaned trembled. - -"I have a friend at the University with whom I can stay for any length -of time. She'll be glad to have me till the term opens." - -Matthew lifted his hand and examined the callous spots upon it. It had -seemed to him that peace had descended upon his house. He believed that -Ellen would stay with him if he needed her. He saw the peace continued, -the old life restored, his children brought up correctly, himself -contented. He longed intensely for Ellen's learning, for her outlook -upon life. If she stayed he might yet repair the effect of his own -madness. But like Ellen, he had been trained to follow a certain rule -of conduct and he could not go counter to that which he had been taught. - -"I guess I should bring her back," he said at last thickly. Then a -quiver passed over his face. His sense of honor was of the variety -which leads, if need be, to the stake. What he said was not easy to -say. "Oh, I have many, many times wished for my father!" - -In a few minutes his horse galloped down the lane. The lightning was -now almost incessant and the thunder rumbled heavily. Standing at the -door Ellen saw his white face against the side of the buggy. Then she -went upstairs, and when she had closed the windows and looked in upon -the sleeping children she began to pack her trunk. - -In the morning she walked slowly down the road. Matthew had come back, -and Millie would return later in the day. The storm had made all fresh; -goldenrod was abloom along the fences. She thought with longing of Miss -Grammer and of the deep Seminar room at the library. Work!--ah, that -remained! - -She wished that she did not have to go to the Lanfair house, even -though Stephen was away, but there were a few possessions in her room -which she must secure. Besides, she did not know how to explain her -failure to go. In the station she inquired about the night train to -the north. When she heard that it still left at 10.35, she smiled with -bitter amusement, having unconsciously expected that a new era had -begun, even for trains. - -The open space before the station was almost deserted, only -occasionally a traveler plunged into the sunshine from the cool shadow -of the portico. But indifferent to the heat, which was almost tropical -in spite of last night's storm, Ellen made her way toward the street -of Mr. Goldstein and thence toward the river. She saw the dome of the -Capitol and stood still. Why not spend her brief hour with memories of -her father and spare herself a keener pain? - -But she went on toward the shining river, her shoulders lifted so that -three elderly gentlemen sitting in the windows of a clubhouse opened -drowsy eyes and craned admiring necks. All had comfortable fortunes, -one had great possessions and one had memories of intense happiness, -but all would have exchanged that which they had for that which Ellen -had and which they would have no more. - -Suddenly she crossed the street and sat down on a bench in the park. -She was breathing rapidly, she must compel herself to be composed. She -must forget her dreams, she must take account of what she still had and -thus fortify herself before she entered Stephen's house. - -Work?--the reminder had consoled her this morning, why could it not -console her now? Friends?--she had made few, and Miss Grammer was old. -Books?--ah, what miserable defect in her made them seem dull? The -beauty of the world?--it, alas! merely quickened one's pain. - -How often she had stolen away to the heights above the lake or to a -secluded seat from which she could watch Triphammer Fall! She thought -of it now without pleasure. How often she had marked the perpetually -changing aspect of the stream before her! As if to recall her pleasure -she looked at it with attention. Below her on the bank stood a pair -of young aspen trees whose delicate interlacing branches formed a -lattice-work through which the river showed here a pale lavender, here -a delicate gray. Toward the farther bank a mile away a rosy cloud -seemed to rest upon the water. The sight brought not pleasure but -tears. She was to see the river no more with the eye of possession; -this was not home to her, it was a place of strangers. - -She rose quickly. She would get the books which Lanfair had given her, -the dress which hung in the closet which had been hers, and she would -flee. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -A BITTER WAKENING - - -Stephen woke from unconsciousness to incredible sensations of nausea -and weakness and pain. In his mind two convictions alternated; the -first that he was an enormous body which no room could contain; the -second that he had no body whatever, that all flesh had been removed -from his bones by some terrible process. Gradually all the indefinable -pain and terror concentrated in his left side. - -As consciousness quickened he realized that he was not at home, but in -a strange bed in a strange room, and that a strange woman in a white -dress sat beside him. Slowly he accounted for his presence in this -place, confusing, however, in spite of the pain, his right hand with -his left. It was his right hand, he believed, which he had hurt. He -tried for a long time to lift it and succeeded at last in bringing it -with a feeble jerk within his area of vision. It was still there and -he could see no change in it. He gave a long sigh and recognized Miss -Knowlton's blue eyes looking at him from a white face. After gazing at -her steadfastly he brought out a few foolish words. - -"Your--mouth--is--twisted." - -Miss Knowlton's mouth was twisted. She yearned to be of heroic service -and at the same time she desperately hoped for the return of Dr. -Salter. She had sat often by the bedsides of reviving women who had to -be told that no living joy had come from hours of purgatory; and it was -after many experiences of this sort that she had become an attendant -in a doctor's office. She waited for Stephen's return to consciousness -with even more frightful apprehensions. - -Another hour passed and she was still sitting in the same place, when -the first numbing suspicion of the truth dawned upon Stephen. If his -hand was there and sound, why this agony in his other shoulder? He -turned his unpillowed head slowly and looked down, but the covers hid -his body. He tried to lift his left hand as he had lifted his right, -but he could not move it. It was doubtless tightly bandaged; it was -necessary in such cases to be thorough and Salter and his assistants -cut deep. He closed his eyes to shut out thought. - -But thought was not to be permanently shut out. With a sudden impulse -he reached across his body, but he reached vaguely and met only Miss -Knowlton's strong grasp. - -"I'd try to lie perfectly still," she advised earnestly. - -He left his hand in hers. It was comfortable to feel a human touch and -it suited a cunning plan to pretend to yield. Her mouth twisted again, -but he made no comment upon it. He closed his eyes and after a while -withdrew his hand gently and slipped it back under the covers. Miss -Knowlton had an eagle eye and he must move with caution. He smiled -feebly--she furthered his scheme by drawing up the covers to his neck. -He moved his hand little by little, and touched with the tips of his -fingers after long and exhausting effort his left shoulder. - -His first emotion was, incongruously, one of amusement. - -"They've taken it off," he said aloud as though his circumvention of -watchfulness was the only important fact. - -Miss Knowlton ignored his cleverness. "I'd try to get to sleep now." In -the effort to prevent her lips from twisting she looked at him with a -threatening gaze. If Dr. Salter would only come! Suddenly he caught her -hand and held it in a weak and desperate grip. She closed both her own -upon it. - -"Did they take it off?" - -Denial was useless. - -"Yes, Doctor." - -"At the shoulder?" - -"Yes." She lifted his hand and held it against her breast, then she -bent over him and wiped away his tears. He turned his head, conscious -of his ignominy, but she felt solemnly that she had lived through a -great moment. - -He slept a drugged sleep. In the morning he woke to consciousness as -one wakes to bereavement; first a vague suspicion that all is not -right, then full perception of the leaden weight from which there is to -be henceforth no escape. - -Dr. Salter repeated to him presently the opinions of his colleagues, -their hesitation, their deep concern, their final agreement that delay -would be fatal, and Stephen managed to answer gayly. Then he closed his -eyes and Salter went away. - -With returning strength came increasing activity of mind. He remembered -the journey upon which he had set out and its interruption. He was -uplifted no longer by the spirit of sacrifice; he felt only a sort of -shamed humility. Some mighty power had mishandled him, and resistance -was absurd. There were moments when he wept feebly. - -He believed presently that he was going to die, and he tried to -recollect a magic formula which had once comforted him, but which he -could no longer remember. Miss Knowlton saw his knitted brows. - -"Is there anything you want?" - -"Do you know anything which begins 'I believe'?" No sooner were the -words uttered than he realized that he had delivered himself to the -tyranny of a sentimental piety. - -Miss Knowlton, being a church woman, knew the Creed perfectly. Having -concluded a glib recitation she began a psalm. Her mouth was once more -awry, she believed that she had lived through a second great moment. - -It was not until the fifth day that he thought of Ellen. At once -a reviving flood filled his veins; he became impatient with his -helplessness, with bandages, with feeding with a spoon, with the tender -ministrations of over-solicitous nurses. He moved restlessly in his -narrow bed. Ellen would be coming home--if she did not stay for the -Senior festivities, she might be on her way now! But Fetzer was not at -home and he was not there! He tried to reckon the time which had passed -since he had written to her, but the problem was too difficult. When he -saw her, everything would be right, everything; she would smile at him, -she-- - -"Oh," he cried suddenly, "I am helpless, useless, weak, crippled!" - -It was midnight and no one but Stephen himself was present at this -first moment of full mental and physical consciousness. The various -shocks through which Miss Knowlton had sustained him were slight -compared with the cruel realization that life was over and done for, -that even Hilda's death could not give him Ellen, that she was lost to -him. He measured for the first time his love. Without his hope of Ellen -he had nothing. He felt himself sinking deep into an abyss; he knew -that body as well as soul was faint, he believed that death might be at -hand. - -Then suddenly an extraordinary experience was his; he seemed to grasp -for an instant that solution of life for which he had struggled a week -ago in fever and pain. He lay thinking intently in the quiet night. The -door was closed, traffic on the street was for a short time suspended, -the nurse did not return. His father had had all Stephen's youth in -which to sow; now suddenly, warmed not by sunshine, but by the heat of -pain, and watered by affliction, the seed bore fruit. Forlorn, maimed, -broken in spirit, he remembered his father's teaching, he heard his -father's voice describing again the wooing of that importunate Lover in -whom he believed: - - "Yet let him keep the rest, - But keep them with repining restlessness; - Let him be rich and weary, that at least, - If goodness lead him not, yet weariness - May toss him to My breast." - -He remembered the Chestnut Ridge schoolhouse, filled after a mine -explosion with weeping women and children; he recalled his father's -prayers, their prayers. Even he had prayed and had been comforted! - -The memory of boyhood became detailed; he was suddenly in the midst of -an almost fatal experience. He had gone to swim in a deep mine hole -and had become exhausted. Hanging over the edge of the bank was a -branch of an old tree, and he had reached for it desperately without -any expectation that it would sustain him, but it had proved firm -and he had drawn himself slowly but safely out of the black water. -He remembered the rough bark against his bare, shivering body, the -heavenly consciousness of safety. He felt now a similar security, but -it was of the soul. - -On the seventh day Mayne came to visit him. He did not know exactly -where to look, and with recourse to a physician's gesture, he laid his -hand on Stephen's wrist. He glanced meaningly at the nurse, and she, -returning his gaze with an understanding nod, departed. - -"I have sad news for you, my boy," he said solemnly. - -In a flash Stephen saw himself walking through carpeted corridors -following the back of a Prince Albert coat. - -"Well?" - -"Hilda has passed on." - -"When?" - -"A week ago." - -Then everything was over, even the poor body was put away. He felt for -an instant more than an orthodox solemnity, a tenderness which bred -tears; then misery sprang upon him like a beast from the jungle. If he -had not gone on his journey northward, if he had waited a few pitiful -days, he would not be lying here, done for! His slight color vanished, -his hand trembled, the skin of his face quivered. - -"What is it?" Mayne's hand went back to his wrist. - -He began babbling his formula. He tried not to say it, but his weak -tongue would not be controlled, and Mayne looked down upon him more -embarrassed than he had ever been in his life. His philosophic -good-humor furnished him with no panacea to offer this smitten -creature, returning in feebleness of mind to some forgotten piety of -his youth. - -It seemed to Stephen after a few days that he could, if he were clever -enough, get Ellen back. He still had periods of pain, but his brain now -worked smoothly. She had an angel's heart. If he needed her before, -he needed her doubly now. Her youth was only a small part of her; he -needed her cheerfulness, her devotion, her enthusiasm. In exchange he -would give her riches, travel to the ends of the earth, everything she -could desire. He would not be tyrannical over her, but she must be -his. When the fires of his soul burned lowest he promised her liberty -and riches--if she served him till his death! The meditations of his -midnight hour had not yet worked their complete work upon him. - -But where was Ellen? To-morrow was the latest day upon which she could -be expected. He was to have sat up, but he would postpone it another -day because they would certainly not let him both sit up and see a -visitor. - -When she did not come, he grew restless. She had attended dances, she -had mentioned the names of young men. The weakness of body which had -kept him humble and quiet had vanished, physical strength intensified -each emotion. - -When another day passed, his restlessness became apparent to his -nurse. He would have inquired of Miss Knowlton but he believed -that she enjoyed prying into his soul and he feared some betraying -expression. He asked for his letters and was allowed to look over -them. Miss MacVane had attended to his business correspondence and now -awaited eagerly his further pleasure. He cared nothing for business -correspondence--here was a letter from Ellen, written two weeks ago -from the University--Miss Knowlton helped him with the stiff paper. - -"She ought to be coming along," he said, trying to keep his excitement -out of his weak voice. - -"She came to the house some days ago to inquire and went on to her -brother's. She asked for you by telephone from there--at least some one -called from Ephrata." - -Stephen turned his head away. Miss Knowlton spoke as though Ellen's -inquiry were unimportant. He was sharply irritated. She needn't think -that Ellen would not come! - -But only Ellen's letter came. - -"She's sorry I am ill!" said Stephen to himself. He closed his eyes and -Miss Knowlton thought that he was drowsy. She treated him now like a -loved infant. - -"Would you like to _go sleepy by_?" - -Under his breath Stephen said, "Curses on the tribe!" - -By leaving at this moment Miss Knowlton missed another great crisis. - -"I shall send for Ellen," said a certain Stephen. - -"You shall not send for her," said another Stephen. "She is young, -lovely, she must be free." - -"But I will." - -"Oh, no, you won't! You are old, maimed, forlorn." - -"But she'll come!" - -"If you love her," the other whispered, "you will never let her come." - -Miss Knowlton asked, presently, whether she should not answer Ellen, -and he nodded, and turned away his face. It was surely not required -that he prevent her from coming! His heart warmed to Miss Knowlton and -he knew nothing of her kindly postscript. Her eyes were as sharp as -Fetzer's, and she had once had a suspicion. But it was unfounded, she -knew perfectly, and she had only friendly feelings for Ellen. Sometimes -the beating of her heart almost suffocated her. Stephen was helpless -without her and she believed that his misfortune had narrowed to -nothingness the gap between them. She interpreted a growing humility -and gentleness as a growing regard for herself. A little color remained -steadily in her cheeks and she acquired a sort of majesty of mien. She -selected the friends who should be admitted to his room; she barred out -those who, she thought, would prove exciting; she did not inform him, -until he was almost well, of the concern for his life which was almost -city-wide. - -Stephen continued humble and patient. The next week he went to the -shore with Miss Knowlton and Fickes. He had now, he believed, given -Ellen up. Among his friends was a conspiracy; they all had confidence -in the healing power of occupation and they meant presently to bring -him back to an orderly house and to an office set to run with its -former machine-like regularity. Devoted assistance should make his -affliction of no account, for his office practice at least. - -At the shore he passed an intolerable month. Miss Knowlton read to -him in a voice which took on after the first page the mournful tones -of an Ćolian harp set to sing in a south wind. She selected religious -compositions which made him blush. Fickes carried him about, over miles -upon miles of smooth roads, but Fickes, always a dull companion, was -now awed and more silent than ever. - -He put the thought of Ellen away and sometimes he recited the Creed -against her. He meant when he was delivered from Miss Knowlton to look -secretly into this strange return to his believing youth, to discover -whether he had been cheated in his weakness or helped in his need. At -times, looking down at his shoulder, he said bitterly, "I should have -something in exchange." At other times he dwelt upon possibilities -which he could not put into words, but which answered the questions of -weariness and despair. - -There was a cruel bitterness in the fact that Ellen did nothing -whatever to make the putting away of her difficult. Of all the world, -she was indifferent to his misery. He evolved presently an unworthy -explanation for her absence--she was repelled by his maimed condition. -Then he grew sensitive to the eye of mankind. - -One day Miss Knowlton approached his shaded chair on the beach with a -letter. Unexpectedly another conspirator had joined them. - -"To Dr. S. Lanfair, M.D." - -Stephen smiled. Poor Fetzer, was an eye easier to lose than an arm? - -"Read it." - -"'Dear Friend,'" read Miss Knowlton noting all Fetzer's peculiarities -of style. "'I take my pen in hand'--it is a pencil by the way--'to -say that my prayers are answered and he is gone to where there is no -more sin and sorrow. _He made a good end_'--italics--'I heard of your -troubles, but we all must bear troubles, that is God's law. I suppose -your holiday is over--anyhow, I will be at my old stand when you come -back. Yours respect.'--period--'Mrs. James Fetzer.'" - -"My holiday! Does Fetzer think I'm off on a holiday?" - -Miss Knowlton looked at him, her long, homely face beaming with -encouragement. - -"Aren't you? She expects you to go back and get to work." - -"She does, does she?" - -"There isn't any reason why you shouldn't." - -He looked at Miss Knowlton and grinned. - -"I'll bet you and Salter and Fetzer and all the rest are in cahoot." - -"When shall we go?" asked Miss Knowlton, trembling and believing, poor -Miss Knowlton! that she was taking the first step toward her throne. - -"At once, by all means," said Stephen grimly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -A QUIET HOUR - - -When the journey was over and the offices inspected, Stephen sat in -his room. Fetzer, controlling her emotions in his presence, had gone -to the third story both to rejoice and to weep; Miss MacVane and Miss -Knowlton, moving about the office, worked with shining eyes. Stephen -had promised to see a few patients to-morrow; life would be, Miss -MacVane expected, if there was to be any change, happier. Miss Knowlton -did not put into words what she expected. Neither thought of Ellen -Levis; their household was complete. - -The storm in the night had given the park a springlike greenness. The -river from Stephen's room was blue, with tiniest silver ripples. A soft -breeze stirred the curtains gently and a cool green light filled the -pleasant room. The familiar walls rested his eyes; though he had known -little but misery in this house, he loved its stateliness and it was -now a safe haven. He had begun to be curious about what had been said -and done in the medical world in his absence. He had not forgotten the -quest upon which he intended to go when he should be wholly relieved -from espionage. In the meantime, he thought, drowsily and childishly, -it was sufficient to be quiescent and humble. He believed that he -should never see Ellen nor desire greatly to see her. - -Then he opened his eyes at a slight sound. Ellen was at hand; she had -crossed the street and her familiar figure which had a moment ago -startled the women in the office approached his door, though Miss -Knowlton had directed her with lofty kindness to Fetzer's room. - -"She'll take you to see the doctor," Miss Knowlton promised. - -"Is he still ill?" Ellen asked, astonished. - -"He's not entirely well." Miss Knowlton spoke as though he were her -child. "But he'll see you, I'm sure." - -If Miss MacVane's sight had been keener, she would have interpreted -the long look which Ellen gave Miss Knowlton. In it were astonishment, -resentment, and even defiance. She would break no resolutions, would -not endanger her self-control, her ticket for her journey was in her -purse, but she would not be escorted to Dr. Lanfair's room by Mrs. -Fetzer at Miss Knowlton's suggestion! - -Stephen saw her at first dimly across the wide room--could she be a -deluding vision? He felt the injured resentment of a man hit when he is -down. - -When he was convinced of her reality, he clutched the arm of his chair. -He did not rise to meet her, realizing that he would need all his -physical strength to support his resolution and his pride. When she -came toward him, and he saw that some harsh trouble had deepened her -eyes, he grew still more weak. He wished for Fetzer or Miss MacVane or -Miss Knowlton--he thought with confused rage of Miss Knowlton--if she -was worth anything she should have defended him from this! - -"I didn't know you were here," said Ellen in her low voice. "Miss -MacVane and Miss Knowlton just told me." - -"Or I suppose you wouldn't have come!" Had he said the foolish words or -merely thought them? - -"I'm going to Ithaca to-night," went on Ellen. - -She was halfway across the room on her way to shake hands with him when -she halted. "I'm going to--" She stood staring, incredulous, at his -maimed body. She could not move or speak. It is hard to say which she -felt more deeply, an anguished pity or a sharp resentment. - -Stephen saw her horror; the theory which he had framed to account -for her absence was then quite proved. He even believed that he saw -her hands lifted to shield her eyes. Her repulsion and terror were -unendurable, they constituted the final insult of fate. - -"Does it frighten you?" he asked, wishing to hurt her. She had no -business to come now! - -Her gaze transferred itself to his eyes and held them for a second. -After a long moment she spoke slowly, looking down, with the slightest -emphasis on her last word. - -"What did you say to me?" - -Stephen leaned forward, hating himself. - -"Didn't you know, Ellen?" - -A dumb mouth answered. - -"I had an infected hand. Won't you sit down?" - -Ellen did not move. Her eyes lifted, regarded him steadily. - -"Did you never wonder why I didn't come?" - -Stephen could not endure her gaze. Alas, he was not cured, she was -dearer, more desirable than she had ever been. Perhaps if he were wise -and wary, if he did not betray himself, he could keep her childish -affection until some one won her away! He could then grow gradually -accustomed to that which now seemed worse than death. - -"You wrote and I answered," he said lightly. "Did you say you were -going back to school? Why so early, Ellen?" - -"I'm going to--" - -"Do sit down!" he cried. Did she mean to flee? "I won't hurt you. I -can't hurt you!" With an effort of his will he looked at her again; -he saw her waving hair, her broad forehead, her dark eyes, her round -figure, all of sweet Ellen. He looked at her, steadily and long, in the -quiet room as though he should never see her again. - -He saw not only her body; he saw with a clear vision her soul, and knew -that his journey northward would have been in vain, that he could never -in such fashion have made her his. In her gaze was all her father's -quiet dignity, all his self-respect, which could not be impaired though -all else were taken. She had gained, Stephen saw plainly, the resources -of maturity; though she had been cruelly hurt, she still lifted her -head. - -But he saw more than the beauty of Ellen's body and the worth of her -soul; he read her heart and found there that what he desired was to be -given him. He rose to his feet without taking his eyes from her. The -energy of life returned; he felt no weakness; he knew that that which -he was to have was of inestimable value and he determined to be lacking -in no grateful return. - -Ellen moved a little toward him, her eyes now downcast. - -"I have come to say good-bye." - -He made no answer. The edge of the awning was slightly lifted in the -breeze, the green light brightened, a shaft of sunlight struck across -the room, and he stood still. He would not say, "Ellen, I am too old," -or, "Ellen, I am maimed." He would not hurt her more than she had been -hurt. She had, it was clear, no suspicion that Fate had given her less -than the best. He stood looking at her quizzically, almost merrily, -waiting for her to lift her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -FETZER CLOSES A DOOR - - -Fetzer presently dried her tears and, remembering a message which was -to be delivered to Miss Knowlton, smoothed her hair which was already -smooth and went down to the office. When she entered both women looked -up in surprise. - -"Where is Ellen?" asked Miss MacVane. "Is she going to stay? It's too -early to go back to school." - -"Ellen," repeated Fetzer. "Is she here? Do you mean our Ellen?" - -Miss MacVane grew a little pale and Miss Knowlton turned her head -quickly. - -"She came in a long time ago and I sent her to find you. I told her -that Dr. Lanfair was in his room and that you'd take her to speak to -him." - -"Did she go upstairs the front way?" asked Fetzer. - -"She must have," answered Miss Knowlton. - -"How long ago was this, then?" - -"A half-hour," said Miss MacVane. - -"It's much longer than that," corrected Miss Knowlton. She rose, her -cheeks scarlet. Ellen should have followed directions. - -"Doctor should have some nourishment," she said sharply. "I'm going to -take him a cup of iced broth." - -Then to her astonishment Miss Knowlton found her way barred. Fetzer had -closed the door and placed herself in front of it. She stood again in -the hall on a hot August afternoon and saw Ellen's look. A flame leaped -to life in her heart, then died down, leaving only glowing embers. She -believed that she knew what was happening in Stephen's quiet room. As -for these poor souls, they had had no experience of life. She looked at -them with the utmost kindness. - -"I wouldn't go now," she said, flushing. "He'll ring when he -wants"--she had meant to say "you," but she said valiantly "us." Then a -sound startled her, almost shocked her. It was a man's laugh, hearty, -clear, happy, ringing through the quiet house, and penetrating the -closed door. She laid her hand on the side of her face, the tips of her -fingers covering the black patch, and smiled a brave smile. All of them -heard the laugh again. - -"Ellen, she will make him happy," said Fetzer in her pleasant idiom. - -"He deserves to be happy," said Miss MacVane soberly after another -moment of silence. - -Miss Knowlton, who was younger, said nothing. She returned to the inner -room, and there with automatic regularity of motion lifted bottles from -a shelf which had not been dusted to one which had. - - -THE END - - - - - Transcriber's Note: - - Page 190 - always unobstrusive _changed to_ - always unobtrusive - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ellen Levis, by Elsie Singmaster - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELLEN LEVIS *** - -***** This file should be named 52019-8.txt or 52019-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/0/1/52019/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Ian Crann and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -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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