{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_63526/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_63526","id":"gutenberg_63526","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63526","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Children of clergy -- Fiction","Husband and wife -- Fiction","Religion -- Fiction","United States -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction","Women -- Fiction"],"text":"Note: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      https://archive.org/details/womanofyesterday00masoiala\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\nA WOMAN OF YESTERDAY\n\nby\n\nCAROLINE A. MASON\n\nAuthor of \u201cA Minister of the World,\u201d \u201cThe Minister of Carthage,\u201d \u201cA Wind\nFlower,\u201d etc.\n\n\n  \u201c_There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none\n                   of them is without signification._\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York\nDoubleday, Page & Co.\n1900\n\nCopyright, 1900, by\nDoubleday, Page & Company\n\nNorwood Press\nJ. S. Cushing & Co.\u2014Berwick & Smith\nNorwood Mass. U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n                     Our share of night to bear,\n                       Our share of morning,\n                     Our blank in bliss to fill,\n                       Our blank in scorning.\n\n                     Here a star, and there a star,\n                       Some lose their way.\n                     Here a mist, and there a mist,\n                       Afterwards\u2014day!\n\n                                   EMILY DICKINSON.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                Contents\n\n\n                                            Page\n                        BOOK   I. MORNING      1\n\n                        BOOK  II. AFTERNOON  131\n\n                        BOOK III. NIGHT      219\n\n\n\n\n                                 BOOK I\n                                MORNING\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I\n\n         I rise and raise my clasp\u00e8d hands to Thee!\n         Henceforth, the darkness hath no part in me,\n               Thy sacrifice this day,\u2014\n         Abiding firm, and with a freeman\u2019s might\n         Stemming the waves of passion in the fight.\n                                           \u2014JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.\n\n\nWhere the Monk River makes its way through the mountain wall in one of\nthe northern counties of Vermont, lies the small, white village of\nHaran. Although isolated and remote from the world, unknown and\nunconsidered beyond certain narrow limits, this village possessed, forty\nyears ago, a local importance as being the county town, the seat also of\na Young Ladies\u2019 Seminary of some reputation, and an Orthodox church\nwhich boasted a line of ministers of exalted piety and scholarly\nattainment.\n\nThe incumbent in the year 1869 was the Rev. Samuel Mallison. His\npastorate had now extended over twenty years, and he was reverenced far\nbeyond the bounds of his parish for learning and godliness.\n\nIt was a June Saturday night in that year, and the hour was late. In the\nlow-roofed garret of the parsonage of Haran the figure of a tall, thin\ngirl with a candle in her hand moved swiftly and softly to the head of a\nsteep flight of stairs, which gave access to the garret from the floor\nbelow. Some one had called her name.\n\n\u201cYes, father,\u201d she returned, and a certain vibration of restrained\nfeeling was perceptible in her voice, \u201cit was I. I am sorry I disturbed\nyou. Were you asleep?\u201d\n\nAll was dark below, and no person could be seen, but again came the\nman\u2019s voice.\n\n\u201cWhat were you doing, Anna?\u201d was the question.\n\n\u201cOnly putting away\u2014\u201d here the girl faltered and stopped speaking. The\ncandle in her hand shook, and threw a strange, wavering shadow of her\nshape upon the long, rough timbers of the wall. The roof was so low\nwhere she stood that of necessity her head was bent sharply forward. The\noutline of her shoulders was meagre and angular; her arms and body had\nneither the grace of a girl nor the curves of a woman; they were simply\nlean and long. There was something of loftiness, and even of beauty, in\nthe face, but the cheeks were hollow, the lines all lacking in softness.\nThe _ensemble_ was grave and strenuous for a girl of eighteen.\n\nShe began again.\n\n\u201cI was nailing up that box of books, you remember. I thought now, you\nknow, I ought to do it.\u201d\n\nSomething like a groan seemed to float up from the darkness below. There\nwas no other reply for a moment, and then the father\u2019s voice said\nslowly:\u2014\n\n\u201cTo take back later such an action is a greater violation of the moral\nnature than to avoid performing it. If it has been given you as duty, it\nis well done, but be very sure.\u201d\n\nA smile, brooding, and even sad, altered the girl\u2019s face as she\nreflected for a little.\n\n\u201cI am very sure,\u201d she said softly, but without hesitation.\n\n\u201cThen, good night. Sleep, now. Let to-morrow take thought for the things\nof itself, Anna.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood night, father.\u201d The little lingering of her voice on the last word\ngave to it the force of a term of endearment, which it would not have\noccurred to Anna Mallison at that time to add.\n\nA door closed below, presently, and the house was still.\n\nThe garret extended over the entire house, and its unlighted spaces\nseemed to stretch indefinitely on all sides from the little circle of\nlight shed by the one candle. The place was wholly open, save that at\nthe front gable, below the highest point in the peak of the roof, a\npartition of planed but unpainted boards enclosed a small chamber. The\nnarrow door of it stood open.\n\nAs Anna approached this door she cast her glance to a far, dim corner,\nwhere in stiff order a wooden box of moderate size stood upon a chest.\nShe crossed to the place, passed her hand over the lid of this box,\nsatisfied herself that it was firmly and evenly fastened, and then\ngathered up some nails and a hammer, which she put away on the ledge\nformed by a square, projecting rafter. This accomplished, she came back\nand entered the chamber, which was sparely enough furnished, undressed,\nput out her candle, and sat down in the open gable window.\n\nEven if to-morrow were left to take thought for the things of itself,\nthere were many yesterdays which she wished to meet to-night. And for\nthat to-morrow,\u2014she was hardly ready to leave all thought of it yet, for\nshe regarded it as the most solemn and important crisis in her eighteen\nyears of life. On the Sabbath, which a few hours would bring, she was to\nbe received into the village church of which her father was pastor, and\nthis event would signify that all her previous existence, the time past\nof her life, was a closed and finished chapter, and that henceforth all\nthings were to become new. Life was to be furnished now with new\npleasures, new pains, new motives, new mental occupations. A somewhat\nsterner and sadder life she fancied it, full of self-examination,\nsacrifice, and high endeavour, for she felt it must suffice her to have\nwrought her own will in the past, \u201cthe will of the flesh,\u201d as her father\nand the Apostle Paul termed it; a phrase which had but a vague import to\nher own understanding, and yet exerted a powerful influence upon her\nconscience.\n\nTo her mind there was an intimate connection between that now sealed box\nand \u201cthe will of the flesh.\u201d\n\nIt was when she was fifteen years old that Anna had discovered one day\namong the ranks of chests and trunks which lined the outer stretches of\nthe garret, this small box of books, thickly covered with dust. At first\nshe had been greatly surprised, since books were the things her father\nmost earnestly desired and needed, his scanty collection being quite\ninsufficient for his use, and being helped out by no village library.\nEvery book in the house had borne to Anna\u2019s imagination a potent dignity\nand value, for each one embodied a persistent need, and represented an\nalmost severe economy before its possession had been achieved.\n\nAnd here were nearly thirty respectably bound volumes packed away for\nmoth and dust alone to live upon\u2014what could it mean? Had they been\nforgotten? Anna had devoured their titles with consuming wonder and\ncuriosity, and with the ardour of the instinctive book-lover. Like\nAurora Leigh, she had \u201cfound the secret of a garret room.\u201d\n\nThere was a volume of Ossian,\u2014heroic, sounding words caught her eye as\nshe turned the rough, yellow leaves; Landor\u2019s \u201cHellenics and Idylls\u201d; a\ncopy bound in marred, brown leather of Pope\u2019s translation of the\n\u201cIliad,\u201d published, she noted, in 1806, almost fifty years before she\nwas born; the poems of Byron, Shelley, Keats, and Coleridge, and of the\nearlier American poets; and a thin gilded volume of Blake\u2019s \u201cSongs of\nInnocence.\u201d\n\nBesides these were worn volumes of Plato, of Greek and Latin poets, and\nGerman editions of Faust and Nathan der Weise. At the bottom of the box\nAnna found a faded commonplace book with her father\u2019s name inscribed on\nthe first page, and the date 1840. It contained translations of Greek\npoetry which she supposed to have been made by her father, although of\nthis she was not sure. She did not read them, for she felt that she had\nno right to explore anything so personal without his permission. This\nscruple, however, did not extend to the books which filled the box,\nalthough Anna felt rather than understood that they had not been packed\naway together thus by accident, or left by forgetfulness. She perceived\nthat they denoted some decisive experience in her father\u2019s inner life,\nthat spiritual personality of the man, which possessed to the young\ngirl\u2019s thought an august and even mysterious sacredness.\n\nWhatever these books had meant to him, and for whatever reason they had\nbeen exiled from his meagre library, they became to his daughter the\nmost brilliant and alluring feature of a somewhat colourless girlhood,\nthe charm of them enhanced by secrecy; for, with the reticence\ncharacteristic of the family life, Anna never alluded to her discovery.\nNeither did she ever remove these literary remains from their seclusion\nin the garret; this would have seemed an act of violence, but around the\nbox which held them she formed a kind of enclosing barricade of chests\nand old furniture. The little nook thus formed she regarded as her place\nof refuge, of private and unguessed delight. A candle at night, and rays\nof light piercing the wide cracks under the eaves by day, made reading\neasy to her clear young eyes, even in the dust and dusk of the dim\nplace. And so for two years, through biting cold and searing heat, Anna\nfed her mind and heart on the poetry which had ruled her father\u2019s\ngeneration, unknown and unsanctioned by any one. Then one day came a\nstrange event; she never recalled it without a sense of unshed tears.\n\nIt was late one August afternoon, and, her day\u2019s work faithfully\nperformed, Anna had gone up to her garret room to make her simple toilet\nfor the evening meal. There were a few moments to spare, and, as usual,\nshe hastened to her nook, and was soon deep in Prometheus, for Shelley\njust then controlled her imagination. Her father came into the garret\nbehind her, a very unwonted thing, and Anna heard the sharp, scraping\nsound as he drew out from the recesses where it had stood for years, a\nsmall, brown, hair-covered trunk, studded with brass nails, forming the\ninitials S. D. M. It had been his own during his college days, and had\nseen but little service since. One of Anna\u2019s brothers was to start for\ncollege in a day or two, and the old trunk was to serve a second\ngeneration in its quest for learning.\n\nStartled by the unusual noise, Anna rose in her place, and, seeing her\nfather, spoke to him, whereupon he crossed the garret to where she\nstood; a small, thin man, bent a little, with a pale brown skin,\nprominent eyes, and a dome-shaped head, the hair thin on the crown even\nto baldness, but soft and silken and long enough behind the ears to show\nits tendency to curl.\n\n\u201cWhat have you there, Anna?\u201d Samuel Mallison had asked, peering with\nshort-sighted, searching eyes between the bars of a battered crib which\nAnna had used as a part of her wall of partition.\n\n\u201cPoetry, father,\u201d she had replied, handing him the book with eager,\ninnocent enthusiasm; \u201coh, it is very beautiful! I love it so.\u201d\n\nHer father, looking at the book, flushed strangely, and a sudden,\nindescribable change passed over his face. Pushing aside the rubbish\nwhich separated him from Anna, he was immediately at her side, and in\nsilence had bent over the box. He had drawn it nearer the light, and\nseemed looking on the side for some sign or inscription. There was a\npiercing eagerness in his eyes. Then Anna had noticed what had escaped\nher hitherto, the initials, S. D. M., followed by the reference, Matthew\nv. 29, and the date, 1848, written in ink on the lower corner, dim with\ndust stains and faded with the processes of time.\n\nStill her father had not spoken, but, sitting down on a chest, he had\nbent over the box, and had drawn from it one after the other the buried\nbooks, with a hand as gentle as if he were touching the tokens of a dead\nlove. Anna had stood aside, silent and abashed, a strange tightening\nsensation in her throat. Her father seemed to have forgotten her. At\nlast he had reached the old commonplace book underneath all. The flush\non his face had deepened, and Anna had thought there were tears in his\neyes as he glanced rapidly over its yellowed pages, with the verses in\nfine, stiff writing and faded ink. Then he had closed the book with a\nlong sigh, had laid it carefully back in its place, and rising, had\nwalked up and down in the low garret for many minutes in some evident\nagitation.\n\nA sense of guilt and apprehension had fallen upon Anna in her\nperplexity, but when, in the end, he had come and stood beside her,\nthere was a great gentleness on his face.\n\n\u201cAnd so you love those books, my child?\u201d he had asked her briefly.\n\n\u201cYes, father.\u201d\n\n\u201cI understand. I loved them, but I gave them up\u2014twenty years ago,\nalmost. They became a snare.\u201d He had been, then, silent a moment, while\na peculiar conflict of thought was reflected in his face. \u201cYes,\u201d he\ncontinued, as if convinced of something called in doubt, \u201cthey became a\nsnare\u2014to me\u2014but for you I cannot decide. It may not be for you to drink\nof my cup. Who knows?\u201d and with that he had turned and left her, and\nleft the garret, the trunk forgotten; and Anna had laid the books back,\nsoberly and with a great heartache, almost as if she were laying dust\ndear and sacred in its coffin.\n\nThe matter had never been alluded to again between the father and\ndaughter, but Anna knew that she was free to read, and so read on. And\nstill her unalloyed happiness in her hidden treasure was gone. A\nquestion, a suspicion, a disturbing doubt, was now attached to it. It\nwas not wrong to read this poetry, but plainly there was a more\nexcellent way, a higher ground which her father had reached, and which,\nwith her inborn passion for perfection, she, too, must some day attain.\nSlowly and silently this conviction matured within her.\n\nAnd so to-night, on the eve of her day of supreme consecration, Anna, in\nher turn, had buried out of her sight, as her father had before her, the\npoetry into which she had been pouring her young awakening life,\nsilently and secretly, but with a fervour which the reader of many books\ncan never know. They had spoken to her in mighty voices, these great\nspirits, so free, joyous, and mysterious in their power; but they were\nnot the voice _of God_, and therefore she must listen to them no more.\nThis had been a tree of life to her, but its fruit was forbidden. The\naxe must thenceforth be laid unflinchingly at the root of the tree. Such\nwas the initial impulse, single, stern, and absolute, of Anna\u2019s\nawakening religious nature.\n\nTheologians in the sixties did not talk of the immanence of God.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER II\n\n         Children of men! the unseen Power whose eye\n         Forever doth accompany mankind,\n         Hath looked on no religion scornfully\n                 That man did ever find.\n\n         Which has not taught weak wills how much they can?\n         Which has not fall\u2019n on the dry heart like rain?\n         Which has not cried to sunk, self-weary man:\n                 _Thou must be born again!_\n                                               \u2014MATTHEW ARNOLD.\n\n\nAnna Mallison\u2019s working theory of the human family in its moral and\nreligious relations (and she recognized no other as of importance) was\nas destitute of shading as a carpenter\u2019s house plan. Indeed, her\nhypothesis unconsciously bore a certain pictorial resemblance to the\nground plan of a colonial house\u2014a hall running through the middle with\ntwo rooms on each side! There was, straight through the centre of her\nmoral universe, a wide, divisive, neutral passage in which dwelt\nuneasily all people who had not been regenerated, but who had not\nrejected salvation formally and forever. Here were such heathen and\nyoung children, and such thoughtless and unhardened impenitent as might\nyet listen to the divine call. At the right of this central hall,\nfollowing Anna\u2019s scheme of the race, were two wide rooms: the first\nbright with a subdued and varied light; the second, opening beyond the\nfirst, overflowing with undimmed and celestial radiance. The first was\nthe Church, the place of saints on earth, the second was heaven, easily\nreached from the first. But the entrance to the first room from the\ncentral space was obscure, difficult, and mysterious, and few were they\nwho found it.\n\nAt the left of the great hall were likewise two vast connecting\nchambers. A wide door stood ever open into the first, through which a\nthrong continually passed. Here were dimness and dread, lighted only by\nfalse and baleful gleams; and in the room beyond, the blackness of\ndarkness, and that forever.\n\nThis first room was the abode of those who deliberately chose the world\nand turned away from God, whose fitting end was in the awful gloom of\nthat place of torment and wailing beyond.\n\nAbove the right-hand division, high and lifted up, dwelt in unthinkable\nglory the God of her fathers, holy, but to her subconscious sense,\nineffective, else why were earthquakes, murders, prisons, insanities?\nand why, indeed, those populous chambers on the left?\n\nOver them presided a rapid, hurtling Spirit, always engaged in her\nimagination in falling like lightning from heaven. He was Miltonic\nnecessarily, but also much like one of Ossian\u2019s heroes, and, on the\nwhole, a more imposing force than the Creator whose power he seemed so\nsuccessfully to have usurped.\n\nIn fine, Anna believed in two gods, an infinite spirit of good, and an\ninfinite spirit of evil, although she would have called herself strictly\nmonotheistic.\n\nThe neutral space between the realms of the Good and Evil was the\nbattleground of these two mighty spirits. Here prophets, apostles, and\npreachers were calling loudly and untiringly upon all men to repent, and\nto find the entrance to the company of the redeemed. From time to time\nsome swift and valorous spirit of man or angel would even make excursion\ninto the dim outer room on the left, and bring thence a scorched and\nspotted soul, saved, but so as by fire. But such events were rare and\nnot to be presumed upon or expected.\n\nIt was all perfectly clear to Anna, the classification and grouping\nprecise, exact, and satisfactory. Black was very black; and white, very\nwhite. She had herself until very recently belonged in the neutral hall,\nbut she now believed herself to be \u201cexperiencing religion,\u201d a fine old\nphrase, which was in effect to be pressing successfully through that\nobscure opening which led into the outer court of heaven.\n\nBut just here there was a weakness in the system. Theologians and\npreachers like her father boldly declared the contrary, and asserted\nthat the processes of entering the kingdom of heaven were as marked and\nunmistakable as the great general divisions of saints and sinners. The\nconversion of Saul of Tarsus was always depicted as norm and type. To be\nsure, all the processes were not in each case marked by equal\ndistinctness, but the logical order was the same. In the first stage of\nthe progress the sinner was said to be \u201cunder conviction\u201d or\n\u201cexperiencing a sense of sin\u201d; and the more bitter and overwhelming was\nthis first phase, the better was the diagnosis from the professional\npoint of view. At this point the penitent was to realize that, whatever\nhis former life had been, even if a life of prayer and unselfish\ndevotion, it had been wholly displeasing to God, and that, as tending to\nself-righteousness, such a life was peculiarly dangerous. By nature,\nthere could not be in the human character any real moral excellence, or\nwhat was more technically known as \u201cevangelical virtue.\u201d\n\nAll this Samuel Mallison had recently set forth in a series of sermons\non \u201cHuman Depravity; its Degree, its Extent, its Derivation, and its\nPunishment,\u201d which had been considered of extraordinary value and merit.\n\nBut it was just here that his daughter, for all the logic and learning\nto which she was privileged to listen, stumbled and stood still. For\nweeks her spiritual development appeared to be arrested. She was silent,\nuncommunicative, and disappointing to all the older members and\noffice-bearers in her father\u2019s church.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter with Anna?\u201d was the frequent question put to Mrs.\nMallison in the parish. \u201cWhy don\u2019t she _come out_?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, she is under conviction all the time,\u201d would be the reply, with a\nsomewhat decided shake of the head. \u201cWe let her alone pretty much, Mr.\nMallison and I. It isn\u2019t best to say too much, you know, when anybody\nhas reached that point. We can see that conscience is working with her.\u201d\n\nThe questioner would depart with the belief that Anna\u2019s conviction was\nof an unusually profound and interesting nature, like a disease with a\ncomplication; but if they had asked Anna herself, she might have told\nthem that it was from the absence of this conviction, rather than from\nits intensity, that she was suffering. She was too honest to assume a\nvirtue, or even a vice, if she had it not, and seek it as she would, a\npoignant sense of sin did not visit her. She had cast about her, and\nsearched her own heart and life in a distinct embarrassment at finding\nso few clearly defined and indubitable sins of which to plead guilty;\nshe had even secretly reproached her parents in her heart for having\ninsisted upon an almost faultless standard of daily living, since\nconformity to their will seemed to be in itself a snare, and to place\nher at a distinct disadvantage now as compared with the flagrant sinner.\nWhy had they taught her to pray, since she was now told that the prayers\nof the unregenerate were displeasing to God?\n\nShe used to sit during the Sunday morning service and look at the\nneighbours in their pews around her, at their children and\ngrandchildren, and at the members of her own family, seeking to find a\nperson whom she was conscious of having wronged, or toward whom she\ncherished a feeling of enmity or envy. The only result of this species\nof self-examination had been to bring to her remembrance a childish,\nhalf-forgotten grudge against a girl with fair curls, Malvina Loveland\nby name, who had once ridiculed her at school, for wearing one of\nLucia\u2019s dresses made over. Anna drew this dim and fading fault\nremorselessly up to the light, and formally and forever forgave the\nunconscious \u201cMally.\u201d But the longing for a deep experience of the\n\u201cexceeding sinfulness of sin\u201d remained unsatisfied. Like many another\nsincere and seeking soul of that day, she yearned in vain to fill out in\nits rigid precision of sequence that spiritual programme which the\ntheologians prescribed.\n\nHer father gave her free access to the precious, if narrow, resources of\nhis library, and she read the Edwards, both elder and younger, the elder\nDwight, Bunyan, Baxter, and the rest, in place of her dear pagans whose\nend she now clearly foresaw. She read of the \u201cdepraved moral conduct of\nevery infant who lives so long as to be capable of moral action\u201d; she\nread that \u201cthe heart of Man, after all abatements are made for certain\ninnocent and amiable characteristics, is set to do evil in a most\naffecting and dreadful manner\u201d; and that \u201cthe darling and customary\npleasures of men furnish an advantageous proof of the extreme depravity\nof our nature.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas I a very wicked little child?\u201d she asked her mother one day.\n\n\u201cWicked!\u201d cried her mother, artlessly, resenting the thought. \u201cYou were\nlike a little angel, Benigna, even from the very first. So was it that I\ngave you my sainted mother\u2019s name. Even your looks were all love; all\nsaw it, and strangers too. You a bad child, indeed who never gave your\nmother a harsh word or a heartache since you were born!\u201d\n\nAnna Benigna, for so her mother called her, bent and kissed her mother,\na rare caress in that family.\n\n\u201cI am glad I pleased you,\u201d she whispered. There were tears in her eyes,\nand as she walked without further word from the room, her mother\nperceived the significance of question and reply, and pondered long.\n\nThen suddenly, as ice breaks up in the spring, and the freshet bears\ndown everything before it, a moment of crisis and perception came, one\nof those moments which, albeit varying with each human experience,\nremains in each supreme.\n\nUnder all her outward conformity to law and love, Anna realized now that\nthere had lain for years a deep, half-conscious resentment toward the\nCreator, a cold dislike of God. How could he look upon her with approval\nwhile such a disposition remained in her heart? She had loved the human;\nshe had not loved the divine.\n\nA sense of the absolute and eternal Good from which she was alienated,\nto which she was antagonistic, smote her with force. She now seemed to\nherself in the presence of God as a speck of dust against a dazzling\nmountain of snow\u2014incalculably small, hatefully impure. A passion of\ncontrition and surrender mastered her; vague regenerating fires tried\nher soul; and then came an exhaustion of spirit, as of a child whom its\nFather has chastened, and who is reconciled and at peace. This\nsuccession of emotions she was able to recall distinctly as long as she\nlived.\n\nThis had been a month ago. Anna had recounted these spiritual exercises\nto her father, and he had told her that they denoted conversion, and\nadvised her presenting herself to the church for admission. This she had\ndone, but when he asked her, further, to what cause, if any, she\nascribed this past sense of enmity against God, she had been silent.\n\nHowever, her father was fully satisfied. Like a physician with a\nwell-declared fever of a certain type, he felt it to be a clear case.\nConsidering his child\u2019s blameless innocence of life, it was an\nunexpectedly satisfactory one from the theologian\u2019s point of view.\n\nAs she sat now in the warm gloom of the June night, with the dark trees\nmurmuring softly under the wind, and the sky with many stars bending\nnear, only the gable jutting above her head to keep its splendours off,\nAnna travelled back in thought to her childish days and found there the\nanswer to her father\u2019s question.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III\n\n        Nay, but I think the whisper crept\n        Like growth through childhood. Work and play,\n        Things common to the course of day,\n        Awed thee with meanings unfulfill\u2019d;\n        And all through girlhood, something still\u2019d\n        Thy senses like the birth of light,\n        When thou hast trimmed thy lamp at night\n        Or washed thy garments in the stream.\n                                        \u2014DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.\n\n\nUntil her twelfth year Anna had not encountered the severities of\nCalvinistic theology, Samuel Mallison having intrusted the spiritual\nguidance of his children, during their earlier years, to their mother.\nAnna was the youngest child. Mrs. Mallison was of a German Moravian\nfamily who, coming from Pennsylvania, had settled on the eastern\nboundary of New York early in the century. She possessed the serene and\ntrustful temperament of her people. The subtleties of her husband\u2019s\nreligious system were beyond her simple ken; she loved to sing the hymns\nof Zinzendorf, as she sewed and spun and ordered her household in true\nGerman _Hausfr\u00e4ulichkeit_, a sincere, devout, affectionate soul who had\nfound the tone of the frigid little north New England community more\nchilling than she dared to own.\n\nFrom her Anna inherited her warm impulses, her abounding delight in\nnature, her susceptibility to the simplest impressions of sweet and\ncommon things. Gulielma Mallison understood the child when she came\nrunning to her one early spring morning from the parsonage garden, where\nthe dark brown earth was freshly upturned and young green things were\nspringing, and had tears in her eyes, veiling wonder, and a shy thrill\nof joy in all her small birdlike frame, and had asked, her hands clasped\nupon her breast:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhy am I so happy, mother, that I can\u2019t bear it? Why does something\nache so here?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is because thou art in God\u2019s beautiful world, little Benigna,\u201d the\nmother had said, \u201cand thou art God\u2019s child. He is near thee, and thy\nheart yearns to him. Be glad in God.\u201d\n\nIn his study, through the open door, Samuel Mallison heard these words,\nand, whatever his perplexity as to their doctrinal inconsistency, he did\nnot gainsay them. From his point of view at this time little Anna was\nentirely out of relation to God and out of harmony with his being, and\nit would have been impossible for her to please him. But just then an\nold question, which would not always down, had forced its way to his\nmind\u2014What if there were a wrong link somewhere in the logic? What if the\nlove of God were something greater than the schoolmen guessed?\n\nBut on a certain winter night Anna\u2019s childhood died, and the battle of\nher life began.\n\nWell she remembered every physical sensation even, accompanying that\nexperience.\n\nIt had been a snowy Saturday night, and she had come in from the warm\nkitchen where, in a round washing-day tub, drawn close to the hot stove,\nshe had taken a merry, splashing bath, after the regular order of\nexercises for Saturday night at the parsonage. Her older sister, Lucia,\nhad presided over the function, and when it was accomplished she had\nbeen closely wrapped in a pale straw-hued, homespun flannel sheet, over\nher nightclothes, preparatory to facing the rigours of the bitterly cold\nhall and stairs, and the little bedroom above.\n\nSo she had trailed into the living-room, where the boys and her parents\nwere gathered around a large table. The room was not very brightly\nlighted by the single oil lamp, but a great fire crackled loudly in the\nstove, and the rattle of the hard snowflakes on the window panes and the\nwhistling of the wind outside gave keen emphasis to the sense of\ncheerful safety and comfort.\n\nWarm and languid from the heat of her bath, Anna had sat down on a low\nseat and dropped her head on her mother\u2019s knees, feeling an\nindescribable sensation of happy lassitude and physical well-being. She\nrecalled how interested she had been in the shrivelled whiteness of her\nown long, little fingers, and how soft and woolly that dear old blanket\nhad felt; it was on her bed now, with her mother\u2019s maiden name worked in\ncross-stitch in one corner, in pale pink crewel.\n\nThey had been waiting for her, to proceed with the evening devotions,\nand her father had at once begun to read a part of a sermon from one of\nthe standard divines who, though somewhat out of fashion in the centres\nof progressive thought, were still held infallible in these remoter\nregions.\n\nThe subject was \u201cThe Benevolence of God in Inflicting Punishment,\u201d from\na work entitled \u201cThe Effects of the Fall.\u201d\n\nAnna did not listen very closely for a time, but presently her attention\nwas caught and held. The writer was seeking to prove that \u201cthe damnation\nof a large part of the human race directly subserved the general\nhappiness of mankind and the glory of God.\u201d That even if he had saved\nnone of the sons of men, but \u201chad left them to the endless torment they\nhad so justly deserved,\u201d and \u201chad glorified himself in their eternal\nruin, they would have had no cause to complain.\u201d That the best of what\nwere illusively known as \u201cgood works,\u201d were \u201cno more than splendid\nsins.\u201d That no doubt, if any heathen could be found who was truly\nvirtuous and holy, who loved God in the strictly evangelical sense, as\ninfinitely great, wise, and holy, and who kept all his perfect law\nwithout infraction, such heathen might be saved. But as there was no\nevidence that any such heathen ever had existed, or ever could exist,\nthere was no reason to believe that any had been saved. As the heathen\nstill formed a vast proportion of the population of the globe, and as\nonly a small fraction of those nations commonly known as Christian had\nactually and experimentally come under the law of grace, the only\nconclusion possible was, that a vast proportion of the human family\nthroughout all ages and down to the present time \u201cwere serving the\npurposes of God\u2019s infinite wisdom and benevolence in their creation in\nendless misery or torment.\u201d\n\nThe triumphant logic of the old divine, which Mrs. Mallison secretly\nfound discomfiting but accepted calmly enough considering its terrific\nimport, and which her husband read with the sad and solemn pathos of one\nto whom it was a mournful verity, had a curious effect upon little Anna.\nFor the first time the real meaning of familiar words like these smote\nfull and sharp upon her mind, and in the physical lassitude of the\nmoment acted like a bodily injury upon her. She grew whiter and whiter,\nand she touched and grasped the soft blanket about her with powerless\nfingers, to convince herself that she could feel and find what was\nfamiliar, faintness being an absolutely unknown sensation.\n\nSuddenly, with an imperious impulse, and a singular effect of childish\ncourage which dared to do an unheard-of thing, she rose and said with\nperfect apparent composure, breaking in upon the reading:\u2014\n\n\u201cI am too tired to stay here any longer, I am going upstairs now,\u201d and\nso left the room. Her mother had watched the slight figure in its close\ndrapery with anxious eyes until the door closed upon her, but had not\nthought of following. This reading was a solemn function not to be\nlightly interrupted.\n\nUpstairs, Anna had betaken herself hastily to bed, and lay there,\nmotionless, somewhat alarmed at her own revolutionary action, and with\nlittle to say when questioned by her mother presently.\n\nBut when the house was still, and the night advancing to its mid depth\nof darkness, the child, still lying with wide, wakeful eyes, cried\nsilently with a piteous consciousness of desolation and sorrow. A sense\nof the bitterness of a world where millions of helpless human spirits\nwere shut up to endless agony had overwhelmed her, and a spirit of\nrebellion against God who willed it so for his own glory had taken\nintense possession of her thought.\n\nIn the passion of her childish resentment and grief and worn by the\nunwonted wakefulness, her breath came in long, quivering sobs which were\nheard in the next room, and brought her father to her side.\n\nShe could answer nothing to his questions, but he found her hands cold,\nand her pulse weak and rapid.\n\n\u201cYou did not eat your supper to-night, little Anna,\u201d he said gently,\nremembering her faint appetite for the frugal fare of the parsonage\ntable.\n\nAnna only sobbed more convulsively. She had expected severity and blame,\nfeeling verily guilty in spirit.\n\nSamuel Mallison said nothing more, but Anna, wondering, heard him go\ndownstairs, heard doors open and shut, and then silence fell again. Ten\nminutes later her father stood again by the bedside in the icy chill of\nthe winter midnight in the unwarmed chamber, and he had brought a bowl\nof broth, hot and smoking, bread, too, and, most unwonted pampering, a\npiece of the rare poundcake, kept for company and never given to\nchildren except on high holidays.\n\nNeither of them spoke, but Samuel Mallison, for all the cold, sat on the\nbed\u2019s edge while Anna ate and drank, drawing her frail little body to\nrest against his own.\n\nThe broth was salted for Anna by her tears, and the long-drawn sobs,\ncoming at intervals, half choked her as she ate, but she was comforted\nat last and fortified against the woe of the world, and she pressed her\ncheek against her father\u2019s arm with a sense of the infinite sweetness of\nfatherhood warm at her heart. As she finished the last crumb of cake,\nshe thought:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf only God had been kind like my father! I was naughty, and that only\nmakes him good to me and pitiful.\u201d But she said nothing, only looked\nwith a world of wondering gratefulness in her large innocent eyes up\ninto her father\u2019s face, finding some perplexity that cake and broth\nshould reconcile her to the everlasting torment of the majority of\nmankind, but wisely concluding to make the best of it since such seemed\nto be the effect, and, as it was now undoubtedly high time, to go to\nsleep.\n\nFinding her bright and well next morning, the Mallisons, father and\nmother, had thought little more of that Saturday night revolt, which\nthey, indeed, had not known as such; but, as she looked back over her\nyears to-night, in her gable window, Anna perceived that from that time\nthere had always been in the secret place of her heart a sense of enmity\nagainst a God who was not kind like her father. To-night she knew\nherself, at last, reconciled; faith had triumphed and declared that even\nthe darkest decree of God\u2019s great will must be right, since he was the\nabsolutely Good. But her heart yearned with mighty yearning for the\nsubjects of his just wrath, and as she knelt in the darkness and silence\nshe gave herself with simple, unreserved sincerity to the service of the\nlost among men.\n\nRising from her knees, Anna felt a strange glow and exaltation of\nspirit. In her own personal life sin had been met and vanquished.\nTremendous apostolic assertions buoyed her soul upward like strong\nwings: \u201cfree from the law of sin and of death,\u201d \u201cpassed from death unto\nlife,\u201d \u201cAll things are yours, and ye are Christ\u2019s, and Christ is God\u2019s.\u201d\nThus she felt her finite linked to the infinite. Her spirit was suffused\nwith thrilling and unspeakable joy; God was closer than breathing and\nnearer than hands and feet.\n\nBut, as she stood rapt and absorbed, there came up through the hush of\nthe night from the dim street below a strange sound, and she was caught\nback by it, and listened painfully. It was a little child crying\npiteously.\n\nPeering down through the clustering branches, below her window, Anna\ncould discern by the dim light of the stars the shape of a woman,\nforlorn and spiritless, passing silently along the shadowed way. Behind\nher followed the crying child, with weary little feet stumbling at every\nstone. The woman carried something in her arms, hidden by an apron; she\nturned and looked at the child, and shook her head, but did not speak.\n\nThis woman, who moved abroad only at night, was the village outcast, and\nthe child was her child, born in sin.\n\nVague and uncomprehended to Anna\u2019s mind was the abyss into which this\nwoman had fallen, but she felt it to be black and bottomless, and to\nplace an everlasting separation between her and the good. She drew back\nfrom the window, a sharp pain, made of pity and horror, at her heart,\nsin embodied thus confronting her. She felt as Sir Launfal felt when he\nsaw the leper.\n\nLying down to rest at last, Anna slept, in spite of spiritual ecstasies\nand sufferings, the sound sleep of a healthy girl who is fortunate\nenough to forget the ultimate destinies of human souls, her own with the\nrest, for certain favoured hours.\n\nIt was long before her sleep was disturbed by dreams, but an hour before\nsunrise she awoke with a pervading sense of exquisite happiness brought\nover with her from a dream just dreamed. It was a still dream of seeing,\nnot of doing. She had seen the form of a man of heroic aspect, old\nrather than young, with a grey head, leonine and majestic, strong stern\nfeatures, a glance mild and yet searching and subduing; a man imperial\nand lofty, and above his fellows, but whether as king or saint or\nsoldier she could not guess. But here was made visible a power, a\nfreedom, and a greatness for which her own nature, she felt in a swift\nflash of self-revelation, passionately cried out, which it had nowhere\nfound, and to which it bowed in a curious delight hitherto unknown. This\nonly happened: this mysterious personality, more than human, she\nthought, if less than divine, had looked kindly upon her, in her weak,\nchildish abasement, and had shed into her eyes, and so into her heart,\nthe impossible, inexplicable happiness with which she awoke. She did not\nsleep again. This waking consciousness enamoured her.\n\nWhat did it mean? Anna asked herself all day. Was it a dream sent from\nGod at this solemn hour of dedication? If so, what did it prefigure?\nEven at the sacramental feast, her first communion, that majestic head,\nwith the controlling sweetness of the eyes upon her, came before her\nvision, and made her heart beat fast.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IV\n\n            The fiend that man harries\n              Is love of the Best.\n                              \u2014_The Sphynx_, R. W. EMERSON.\n\n\nMalvina Loveland, the girl whom Anna had found solace in forgiving for\nher childish offence, had \u201ccome out,\u201d as Haran people said, at the same\ntime with Anna.\n\nThis fact, and the compunction in Anna\u2019s heart toward her early foe, had\ndrawn the two girls together, and they became friends. They talked of\nthe interests of the cause of religion, and read biographies together,\nor rather, Anna read aloud while her friend diligently produced lace\nwork with a small shuttle, or hemstitched linen ruffles; but both cared\nless for these several occupations than for the sense of mingling their\nyoung, unfolding perceptions.\n\nAnna had need of a friend; Lucia, her sister, was many years older, and\nhad long ago married a farmer, and departed deeper into the hills, where\nshe worked with the immoderate industry of New England women, bore many\nchildren, and lived a life into which Anna did not enter deeply. The\nMallison boys were away from home, studying and working, and the\nparsonage was a silent place. Anna adored her father with the restrained\nardour of her kind, and loved her mother with a great tenderness, but\nshe was actively intimate with neither, and thus greatly alone.\n\nMally was noticeably pretty, and Anna thought her beauty angelic. She\nwas capable, clever, quick, and impulsive, one of the women who can do\nanything they see done, strongly imitative and impressionable. She\ndeveloped rapidly, while Anna matured slowly. Anna had nobleness, Mally\nhad facility. Anna, beside Mally, looked uncomfortably tall, with her\nangular thinness and her dark, grave face. She had masses of lustreless\nbrown hair, a clear _brune_ skin like her father, and, like him,\nsingularly fine hands. Her eyes were her mother\u2019s, and her only\nbeauty,\u2014golden brown, and of limpid clearness.\n\nTo both these girls their religion was a system of prohibition and of an\nabnormal development of conscience. The negative, not the positive, side\nwas uppermost to them. \u201cThou shalt not\u201d was written over every device\nand desire which did not minister directly to the furtherance of the\nlocal conception of religion. Both were eager to grasp the positive\nside, to convert the world, to see Satan chained, and themselves to\ncontribute to this desirable consummation; but they were doubtful how to\nbegin. Both were ardent controversialists after the manner of their day,\nand Anna read systematic theology with her father with extraordinary\nrelish.\n\nThey waited and wondered, each longing for her destiny to disclose\nitself decisively. But with Anna a hidden life budded beneath the\nsurface, unknown even to Mally. The romantic and poetic impulses of her\nnature, no longer directly nourished by the poets whom she had put away\nfrom her by force, stirred in her heart, and fed themselves, in silence,\non the life of nature, and on the delicate, evanescent imaginings of her\nawakening womanhood.\n\nBelow the surface of her conscious thoughts a strange inarticulate\npassion for power and freedom beat and throbbed, and would not be\nstilled, despite her quiet, conscientious conformity to the narrow\nconditions of the world about her. She did not know what freedom was,\nbut she felt that she was not free; neither did she clearly know what\nthe power meant for which she longed, but she felt the absence of it in\nevery one she had ever met. It was mysterious, indefinable\u2014once only had\nshe encountered it, and that was in a dream.\n\nThus a nature simple and single, with all its forces apparently bent one\nway, and with few avenues, or none, by which to import conflicting\ninfluences, was, in fact, already incipiently subject to the\ncomplexities of instinct, of motive, and desire, which weave the\nbewildering network of human experience.\n\nWhen Anna was twenty, an event occurred of much importance in its\nbearing on her life. Under the direction of an old friend of Samuel\nMallison, the Rev. Dr. Durham of Boston, a general secretary for Foreign\nMissions, a series of meetings was held in Haran for the promotion of an\ninterest in this cause. Dr. Durham was entertained, during the time of\nthe convention, at the parsonage; he was a genial and kindly man, and\nbecame in his way an especial friend of Anna, in whom he manifested a\nmarked interest.\n\nFrom the country round about, during the week, men and women thronged to\nHaran; and at an evening meeting to be addressed by a woman who had been\na missionary in India, the white meeting-house was filled. Many in the\ncongregation had never seen a missionary; many more had never heard a\nwoman speak in public. Curiosity ran high.\n\nThe speaker was a little sallow woman, in a plain and unbecoming grey\ngown, who stepped timidly to the edge of the platform, laying a small\nhand which trembled visibly on the cold mahogany pulpit, as if to\nconciliate it for her intrusion and to crave its support.\n\nShe spoke in a shrill crescendo, without the graces or arts of a skilled\nspeaker, and she made no appeal to the emotions of the hearers. It was\nrather a dry and unimaginative account of the work done at an obscure\nmountain station, with statistics of no great impressiveness, and\ncareful attention to accuracy of detail. But she had the advantage of\nsowing her seed on virgin soil. It was not important at that day and to\nthose isolated and simple-minded people that the missionary should speak\nwith enticing words, or attempt dramatic effect. She was herself there\nbefore them in flesh and blood, and no great time before she had been on\nheathen ground, had come into actual combat, face to face, with wild,\nsavage men and strange, outlandish women, who knew not God, and who\nveritably and visibly bowed down to wood and stone.\n\nFor the hour, that little woman of weak bodily presence and commonplace\nintellect became the incarnation of Christianity seeking a lost world,\nand she herself was far greater to their thought than anything she could\nhave said.\n\nAt the end of her report, for it was that rather than appeal or address,\nshe told the story of a high-caste Hindu woman to whom she had sought to\ngive the gospel message. This woman had turned upon her with grave\nwonder and had asked, \u201cHow long have you known this? about this Jesus?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, for many years, all my life in fact.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d said the woman, solemnly, \u201cwhy did you not come to tell us\nbefore?\u201d\n\nWithout comment or enlargement, having told of this occurrence, the\nspeaker turned and walked shyly from the platform, leaving an unusual\nhush in the assembly, as if an event, a result of some sort, were waited\nfor.\n\nToward the end of the church, where she was seated with her mother, Anna\nMallison rose in her place, made her way out into the middle aisle, and\nthen, with her head a little bent, but her face neither pale nor\nagitated, walked quietly to the foot of the platform. Samuel Mallison,\nwho was seated with Dr. Durham behind the pulpit, rose and stood, just\nabove, as if to receive her, looking down with solemn eyes. Some one who\nsaw Anna\u2019s face said that, as she looked up into that of her father thus\nbent above her, the smile which suddenly illuminated it was beyond\nearthly beauty. It was a look in which two human spirits, and those\nfather and child, purged as far as might be of earthliness, met in\nangelic interchange, pure and high.\n\nTurning about, thus facing the great congregation, Anna, who had never\nbefore spoken in a public gathering of any sort, however small, said in\na voice which was clear and distinct, though not loud:\u2014\n\n\u201cI wish to offer myself to this society to go, if they will send me, to\nsome heathen people, to tell them that Christ has died to save them. I\nam ready to go at once, if it is thought best.\u201d\n\nThe gravity and simplicity, and absence of self-consciousness, of the\ngirl\u2019s words and bearing, and the profound sympathy of the people who\nsaw and heard her, combined to produce an overpowering impression. As\nthe meeting broke up, women were weeping all over the house, and sturdy\nunemotional men were deeply moved.\n\nAnna, seeing that many would surround her and speak their sympathy or\ngive their praise, which she dreaded and feared to hear, turned with\nswift steps to the door nearest her, and so escaped into the outer\ndarkness of the night, no one following.\n\nBut, as she hurried with light steps across the village green and\nreached the parsonage gate, she found Mally waiting to waylay her.\n\n\u201cOh, Anna,\u201d she cried, and her tears flowed fast, \u201cyou will go away from\nme, from all of us! How can you put this great distance between us?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can I do anything else, Mally?\u201d Anna answered softly. \u201cIt is what I\nhave been waiting for; I think I was never truly happy until to-night.\nAll my life before I have been unsatisfied, and something has ached and\nhurt whenever I stopped to feel it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd to-night you are really happy?\u201d cried her friend, half enviously,\nand yet by no means drawn to devote herself to the medley of crocodiles,\ndark-skinned babies, and cars of Juggernaut, which signified India to\nher mind.\n\n\u201cOh, at last!\u201d Anna exclaimed, and with a long breath of relief. \u201cWill\nit not bring peace, Mally, to know that I am surely doing His will? It\nwill be like pure sunshine after living in a fog these past years.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen weren\u2019t you really happy when you were converted and joined the\nchurch?\u201d asked Mally, na\u00efvely.\n\n\u201cPartly. But just to be happy because you are saved yourself\u2014why, it\ndoes not last. And you know, dear, we could never find anybody\u2019s soul to\nwork for here in Haran; at least, we didn\u2019t know how,\u201d and Anna became\nsilent, the vision of one solitary outcast coming before her, with whom\nshe had been forbidden even to speak. But Mally refused to be comforted\nthus, and went her way with many tears.\n\nThere were more tears for Anna to encounter that night, for her mother\ncame home broken-hearted. The Lord had answered her husband\u2019s daily\nprayer, and had graciously chosen one of their own family to preach the\ngospel to the heathen, and the answered prayer was more than the loving\nsoul could sustain. Like Jacob, she could get no farther than the wail,\n\u201cIf I am bereaved, I am bereaved.\u201d\n\nNot so Samuel Mallison. Too long had he schooled himself to the\nsacrifice of his dearest human and earthly desires. The long discipline\nof his life stood him now in good stead. Coming into the room where Anna\nwas vainly seeking to comfort her mother, he laid his hands in blessing\non her head, and with a look upward which stilled the weeping woman, he\npronounced the ancient words:\u2014\n\n \u201cLord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy\n    word;\n For mine eyes have seen thy salvation.\u201d\n\nAnd yet Anna was the very apple of his eye. Of such fibre was the\naltruism of that rugged first growth.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V\n\n       Life! life! thou sea-fugue, writ from east to west,\n                 Love, Love alone can pore\n                 On thy dissolving score\n                 Of harsh half-phrasings,\n                   Blotted ere writ,\n                 And double erasings\n                   Of chords most fit.\n                                                 \u2014SIDNEY LANIER.\n\n\nFrom the time of the missionary meeting and the announcement of his\ndaughter\u2019s determination to devote herself to the service of Christ in a\nheathen land, Samuel Mallison\u2019s health declined rapidly. His _Nunc\nDimittis_ was of literal import, and prophetic.\n\nWhether the death which all who loved him saw that he was soon to\naccomplish could be called dying of heart-break or dying of fulfilled\ndesire, would have been hard to determine. Heart and flesh cried out\nagainst the separation from his best-beloved child, while the triumphant\nspirit blessed God for answered prayer, and for the fruition in that\ncherished life of his child of hopes and aspirations which had been but\nscantily fulfilled in his own.\n\n\u201cI have not been a successful man, Anna,\u201d he said to her one autumn day\nwhen they were alone in his study. He sat erect in his straight chair,\nbut with an unmistakable languor in every line of face and frame, and\nwith a feverish brightness in his prominent dark eyes.\n\nAnna laid her hand upon his with endless gentleness.\n\n\u201cNo man in Haran is so beloved, father. No man has done so much good.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d he answered sadly, \u201cand I am satisfied. It is the will of\nGod. Anna, I have seemed, perhaps, cold and silent, and without feeling\nas you have seen me; but the fire within has burned unceasingly, and I\nam consumed.\u201d\n\nThe last words were spoken lower and with an unconscious pathos which\nmoved Anna unspeakably.\n\n\u201cI do not understand, father dear, not fully. Can you tell me all? I\nlove you so.\u201d\n\nThey were the simplest words of the most natural affection, and yet it\nwas the first time in her life that Anna had spoken after this sort to\nher father.\n\n\u201cMy girl,\u201d he said simply, taking her hand within his own. Then, after a\npause, he continued speaking.\n\n\u201cIt is after this manner that life has gone with me. I believe I ought\nto retrace my past with you\u2014for perhaps there may be light upon your\npath, if you know all. When I entered the ministry it was with sincerely\nright purpose; all the influences of my life pointed me in that\ndirection, but it was, perhaps, more as an intellectual and congenial\nprofession than from deeper reasons. I began my ministry, in 1841, in\nBoston. I was considered to have certain gifts which were valued in that\nday, and all went well, on the surface. But it was the period of a\nliterary awakening in our nation, of which Boston was the centre of\ninfluence. An American literature was just becoming a visible reality,\nand a new impulse was at work and stirring everywhere. Men of original\nforce were suddenly multiplied before us, and the contagion of\nintellectual ambition was felt in an altogether new degree. To me it\nbecame all-controlling. Transcendental philosophy, Platonism, and\nclassic learning acquired for me a supreme attraction, and I gave myself\nmore and more to the study of them, and to the translation of Greek\npoetry. This had no unfavourable effect upon my preaching in the opinion\nof my congregation, rather the reverse, and I may say without vanity\nthat I had reached comparatively early a certain eminence to which I was\nby no means indifferent.\u201d\n\nSamuel Mallison paused a moment, while Anna silently reflected that this\nnarrative would in the end explain the buried books of her dear old\ngarret delight.\n\n\u201cLearning was young among us in those days, Anna,\u201d Samuel Mallison began\nagain humbly, after a little space, \u201celse this would not have happened;\nin the year 1848 I received a call to a professorship of the Greek\nlanguage and literature in Harvard College.\u201d\n\nAnna felt her own young blood rush to her cheeks in pride and wonder and\namazement. To her little-village simplicity and scanty experience this\nseemed a surpassing distinction, and one which placed her father among\nthe great men of the earth.\n\n\u201cThe day after the mind of the authorities had been made known to me,\nwas the day of my life which I remember best,\u201d Samuel Mallison\ncontinued.\n\n\u201cI went to my study that morning with a programme of what would take\nplace somewhat definitely before my mind. I was about to seek, humbly\nand devoutly, an interview with God, in which I would lay before him\nthis new and momentous opening in my life, and seek to have his will for\nme made clear. What this will would be, or what I should take it to be,\nwas, just below the surface of my mind, a foregone conclusion. In fact,\nmy letter of acceptance was substantially framed in my mind already. I\nhad never been favoured with voices and visions and revelations clear\nand conclusive in my religious experience, and I foresaw a decision\nbased upon general reasonableness and preference, touched with a\npleasant sense of the divine favour, which might naturally be expected\nto rest upon so congenial a course, and one so worthily justified by\nprecedent. I read, as a preparatory exercise, with perfect satisfaction,\nthe twelfth chapter of John\u2019s Gospel, then closed my Bible and knelt in\nprayer. This was exactly as I had foreseen\u2014an orderly series of\nexercises befitting my position. But, oh; how mechanical, how cold, how\nbarren! With such perfunctory practices I could think to take leave of\nthe sacred calling of the ministry, so dead had my spirit grown to the\nclaims of the blessed gospel, and its mission of salvation to a lost and\nperishing world!\n\n\u201cI knelt and thought to pray, but, like the king in \u2018Hamlet\u2019, my words\nflew up, my thoughts remained below. Between me and Him whom I would\nhave approached, interposed, like a palpable barrier, a solemn\nreiterated echo of words just read: \u2018Verily, verily, I say unto you,\nexcept a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone;\nbut if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life\nshall lose it.\u2019\n\n\u201cI rose from my knees and walked up and down the room in great anxiety\nof spirit. This new work which I thought to undertake was educational,\nennobling, necessary; in no way contrary to sound doctrine, in no way a\nbetrayal of sacred responsibility; I was fitted for it by nature, by\ntastes, and attainments. Why was it opened to me? To mock me? to tempt?\nI could not believe it, I had welcomed it as coming in the providence of\nGod.\n\n\u201cBut my heart-searching grew swift and deep, and it was given me to see\nthe absoluteness, the finality, of the vows which I had assumed, from\nwhich I straightway realized that no argument of those with which I was\nequipped sufficed to release me. Feebly and imperfectly, yet sensibly, I\nbegan to grasp the import of what the apostle calls the fellowship of\nChrist\u2019s sufferings, the being made conformable unto his death. Oh, the\ndepth of the mystery hid in that saying! All these years I have sounded\nit\u2014Anna, all these years I have died, in my own natural life\u2014I have\nstriven to give all I had to give, but the \u2018much fruit\u2019\u2014where has it\nbeen?\u201d\n\nAn expression of pain, hardly less than agony, was impressed upon Samuel\nMallison\u2019s face, and Anna hid her eyes, finding it too bitter to bear to\nsee him suffer thus.\n\n\u201cI put it all away from me, then and there. Nothing was possible but for\nme to decline the invitation which had been given, you can see. Further,\nI saw that my studies had been my snare. My love of poetry and\nphilosophy and learning, the prominence of my pulpit, the social and\nintellectual affinities I had formed, all had contributed to my\nspiritual deadness and decline. It was then that I put away in that box,\nnow upstairs, the books which had particularly ministered to the tastes\nwhich had led me so far from the true conception of my life work. Never\nsince that day have I allowed myself to follow the instinct for poetic\nexpression. That longing had to be cut out, even if some life-blood\nflowed in the doing it. Henceforth, I wished to know nothing but Christ,\nand him\u2014Anna, do not fail to grasp this\u2014him, not triumphant, but\n_crucified_. The offence of the cross to the natural spirit, how hardly\ncan it be overcome! No child\u2019s play, no easy and harmonious growth in\ngrace, has it been to me, but a conflict all the way. Your mother has a\ndifferent type of religious life. Be thankful if her temperament shall\nprove to be yours.\n\n\u201cThat is the story. I left my church not very long after and sought this\nrugged, remote section, because it offered hard work and a needy field,\nwhich some men shunned. Some years before I had met your mother, and we\nwere married. Twenty years of my life and its best activity have been\nspent here in Haran. Those first few years and what made life to me in\nthem I have looked upon as a false start. From that day, I sought only\nthis one gift: an especial enduement of the Holy Spirit to give me power\nwith men unto salvation. I desired this gift supremely, but I have not\nreceived it in any signal manner. My ministry has not been wholly\nunfruitful, but it has been lacking in the results for which I hoped; I\nhave not had power with God and men, as have some of my more favoured\nbrethren. The end is near now, very near, but I come with almost empty\nhands and a humbled, contrite heart to meet my Judge. But, my child,\nwhatever the conflicts of the past years, the last thing which I could\nwish for to-day would be to have reversed that early decision. My life,\nfrom the merely human point of view, might, perhaps, on the line of\nintellectual effort have been counted successful, while as a minister of\nChrist it has not been so to any marked degree: but what is success, and\nwhat failure, when the things of time fade before our eyes?\u201d\n\nSamuel Mallison\u2019s head drooped upon one supporting hand, and an\nexpression of solemn musing rested on his face, while Anna\u2019s tears\nflowed fast.\n\n\u201cJust to do our own little day\u2019s work faithfully, not knowing what its\npart may be in the great whole, just to hold fast to the word of God and\nthe testimony of Jesus, and, having begun the race, to continue to the\nend\u2014is not this enough?\u201d\n\nThere was silence between them for some moments, and then the father\nsaid, making a sign to Anna to rise:\u2014\n\n\u201cI want you to leave me now, dear child. I must rest. The one earthly\nhope to which I still cling is that to you may be given the reward of\n\u2018much fruit,\u2019 which I have failed to win. Remember this, if all the\nother teaching I have given you shall be forgotten in the years which\nare to try you, of what stuff you are made: _with greatness we have\nnothing at all to do; faithfulness only is our part_.\u201d\n\nAnna Mallison listened to these words with reverent sympathy and loving\nresponse, but the deeper meaning of them did not reveal itself to her,\nher time for perception being not yet fully come.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER VI\n\n                  O Joy, hast thou a shape?\n                  Hast thou a breath?\n                  How fillest thou the soundless air?\n                  Tell me the pillars of thy house!\n                  What rest they on? Do they escape\n                  The victory of Death?\n                                                \u2014H. H.\n\n\nIn the largest theatre of the New England city of Springfield on a night\nin December, an immense assembly of people was gathered. Every gallery\nwas crowded to its utmost, and the house, from floor to roof, was a\ndense mass of human beings. On the stage were musical instruments, but\nthe customary scenery was withdrawn, save that the background showed a\nNeapolitan villa situated on the slope of a Swiss mountain, at the base\nof which an ultramarine ocean heaved stormily. Against the incongruity\nof this unstable structure were massed several hundred men and women,\nand before them a musical leader, baton in hand. At an appointed signal\nthe great chorus stood, and with them, at the gesture of a man, himself\nseated near the centre of the foreground of the stage, the whole\naudience, with a rushing sound like the sea or the wind, rose also.\n\nThen there was sung by the chorus, with trained perfection, an old hymn,\nthe words of which, as well as the melody, were of quaint and almost\nchildish simplicity:\u2014\n\n                   \u201cAlas, and did my Saviour bleed?\n                     And did my Sovereign die?\n                   Would he devote that sacred head\n                     For such a worm as I?\n                   Was it for crimes that I had done\n                     He groaned upon the tree?\n                   Amazing pity, grace unknown,\n                     And love beyond degree.\u201d\n\nWith a swift motion of his baton the leader indicated that the whole\nassembly was to join in singing the refrain, in lowered voices. There\nfollowed in a deep murmur of a pathos quite indescribable:\u2014\n\n                  \u201cRemember me, remember me,\n                    Oh, Lord, remember me!\n                  And when thou sittest on thy throne\n                    Dear Lord, remember me.\u201d\n\nAt the close of this hymn many people in all parts of the house were in\ntears, but the hush of motionless silence following was complete, and\nthe eyes of all were riveted upon that central figure on the stage, the\nman who now rose and, advancing to the front, began to address them.\n\nThis man was of majestic personal presence and his speech was with\nmarked power. Thinly veiled under a manner of unusual restraint and\nquietness lay a genius for emotional appeal and for persuasion. There\nwas in his manner and speech an utter absence of excitability, and yet a\nquality which excited; a capacity for impassioned eloquence, apparently\ncontrolled and held back by the speaker\u2019s will. The congregation\nlistened with absorbed attention.\n\nAt the close of the address, which was designed to move all the\nimpenitent or irresolute persons present to an immediate confession of\ntheir need of a Saviour, the speaker asked those of this class who were\npresent and were so inclined to advance and take certain seats, directly\nin front of the stage, which had been reserved for them.\n\nA close observer would have been interested in watching the man as this\npart of the evening\u2019s work was ushered in. The restrained intensity of\nhis manner was noticeably augmented; his eyes moved slowly and\nsearchingly from one part of the house to another with a gaze which no\ntrifler and no awakened soul might escape. The expression of his face\nwas sternly solemn, even tragical, as of one undergoing an actual\ntravail of spirit. He stood absolutely motionless save for a single and\nsignificant gesture of his right hand, an upward gesture made with\npeculiar slowness and with dramatic effect. It was at once entreating,\nsubduing, and commanding.\n\nAt the first moment no person stirred; but presently, as if drawn by an\nirresistible magnetism, a stream of men and women could be seen\nadvancing down the various aisles, with fixed look, pallid faces, and\nsometimes with tears. Upon such the speaker bent a look of gentleness\nand encouragement, in which his features would be momentarily relaxed,\nonly to resume the profound solemnity already spoken of, as he lifted\nhis eyes again to the unmoved masses still confronting him.\n\nThe chorus, without rising, now chanted softly the words of vivid\nappeal:\u2014\n\n               \u201cWhy not to-night? Why not to-night?\n               Thou wouldst be saved, why not to-night?\u201d\n\nMany moments passed. The company of seekers now numbered a hundred.\nBeneath the absolute outward restraint which held all, an inner\nexcitement grew steadily in intensity, and the subtle contagion of \u201cthe\ncrowd\u201d assumed an irresistible sway. It might have become alarming. It\npossessed elements of terror just below the surface. A climax was\nreached when a man of gigantic frame and brutalized features, in the\nupper gallery, stepped forward, and with a gesture rude and almost wild,\nflung out his arms toward the evangelist, and called through the silence\nof the place:\u2014\n\n\u201cI give in\u2014you knew I\u2019d have to. Yes, I\u2019m comin\u2019.\u201d And then, turning,\nclattered down the bare gallery stairs, only to reappear presently\nbelow, with his coarse head bent and big tears flowing down his purple\ncheeks.\n\nGradually the stream of seekers abated, and the aisles became empty.\nThus far no word of appeal or warning had been added to the sermon; save\nfor the restrained monotony of the music this extraordinary scene had\ntaken place in complete silence.\n\nThen the speaker\u2019s voice was heard again, and in it was a strange\nemotional quality which had been previously unnoticed, and before which\nthe pride and will of many melted within them.\n\n\u201cThe people of this company are dismissed to their homes,\u201d he said, in\ngentle, measured tones; \u201cmy work now is for those who have feared God\nrather than men. They will remain. Let all others go without unnecessary\ndelay, or stopping for speech with one another. The Spirit is here.\u201d\n\nThe benediction followed, but as they broke up, scores hitherto\nirresolute turned and joined the company of seekers in the front of the\nhouse.\n\nWhen the speaker, the house being otherwise emptied, came down to the\nanxious and disquieted little company waiting for his guidance, he stood\nbefore them in silence for a little space, and then, turning to a group\nof clergymen who were associated with him, he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cPardon me, but I believe I will leave these friends in your hands,\nbrethren. I wish to return immediately to my lodging,\u201d and saying\nnothing further in explanation or apology, he departed, with evident\nhaste.\n\nWhen he reached the lobby of the theatre he found three men watching who\nhastened toward him, their spokesman, with outstretched hand,\nintroducing himself and his companions and adding, with eager\ncordiality:\u2014\n\n\u201cThis is so much better than we expected. We were prepared to wait for\nyou some time.\u201d\n\nThe man received the greeting gravely, and, indeed, silently.\n\n\u201cWill you come with us now to our hotel? We wish to confer with you. We\nhave come from New York for that purpose.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you not let me know what you wish here, at once?\u201d was the\nrejoinder. \u201cI am in some haste.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, certainly, if you prefer it,\u201d said the other, cheerfully,\nhiding a shade of discomfiture. Then, with a change to serious emphasis,\nhe proceeded: \u201cWe want you to undertake a work in New York this winter,\nas soon as possible, in fact. A large group of prominent churches is\nready to unite in the movement, and unlimited resources will be placed\nat your disposal. Your own compensation, pardon me for alluding to it,\nwill be anything you will name\u2014that is a matter of indifference to the\ncommittee, save that it be large enough. We are ready to build you a\ntabernacle two hundred feet square,\u2014larger if you like.\u201d\n\nThe man addressed involuntarily laid his hand on his breast; a letter in\nthe pocket under his hand, from Chicago, specified a tabernacle three\nhundred feet square. He smiled slightly; even religious zeal was a size\nlarger in Chicago than elsewhere.\n\nFurther details were mentioned, but the evangelist seemed to give them a\nforced and mechanical attention. Then, rather suddenly, he broke in with\na word of apology.\n\n\u201cI am fully sensible, gentlemen,\u201d he went on, \u201cof the confidence you\nhave manifested in me, and I would, under other conditions, have\naccepted your proposition. But the very circumstance of your making it\nto-night hastens an action on my part which I have been approaching, but\nhad not, until now, definitely determined upon. I am about to withdraw\nfrom this work, and can form no engagements, however promising. I shall\nclose the meetings here as soon as I can honourably do so, and these\nmeetings are, for the present certainly, my last.\u201d\n\nThe blank faces of the three men before him seemed to demand a word or\ntwo more.\n\n\u201cMy reasons?\u201d he asked with curt and almost chilling brevity. \u201cPardon\nme. They are personal to myself. Good evening. No one can regret your\ndisappointment more than I.\u201d With these words the speaker turned\nabruptly from the little group and left the theatre. In great amazement\nand perplexity the committee of three presently followed his example.\n\nHere was an accredited and earnest man, no irresponsible religious\ntramp, who possessed, apparently in a superlative degree, the gift of\nwinning souls for which Samuel Mallison had given his all, if in vain,\nand for lack of which he might fairly be said to be dying, being one who\ncould have lived on spiritual joy, if such had ever been his portion.\nAnd this man, possessing this coveted and crowning religious endowment,\nwas deliberately putting it aside, and refusing to use it. What did it\nsignify?\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnna Mallison had left Haran, in its ice-bound valley, early that\nmorning, and, by travelling through snowdrifts in a sleigh all the\nforenoon, had been favoured to get as far as Springfield on her journey,\nat nine o\u2019clock of that same evening. She was bound for Boston, where\nshe was to go before the missionary board to be examined as to her\nfitness and promise for a worker on the \u201cforeign field.\u201d\n\nAt the Springfield station Anna had been met by the little missionary\nlady whom she had heard and met in Haran on her night of great decision.\nBy her she had been conducted to a hotel, shown to a room,\naffectionately if reticently counselled, and then left to sleep and be\nready for another early start on the following morning. It was the first\ntime Anna had ever been in a city, and she was bewildered by the noise\nand lights in the streets through which she had been hurriedly driven.\n\nLeft alone, she looked about her at the stiff order of the narrow hotel\nchamber, the first she had ever inhabited, the showy, shabby carpet, the\ncheap carvings of the furniture, the long mirror in which she herself\nstood, still and dreary, and a rushing wave of heart-sickness swept over\nher. Her anxiety for her father became suddenly poignant; a sense of the\nsadness of his life tore her heart with fierce pain: she realized now,\nas she had failed to before, how fast his strength declined. She longed\nto know how that moment fared with him, and how the next would. A wild\npurpose seized her to return the next morning to Haran, and let all\nother purposes go until some later time.\n\nHowever, in spite of all this anxiety and doubt, Anna\u2019s physical\nweariness was sufficient to bring sleep apace, when once her head was on\nthe pillow, and all the distant murmur of the city and the sudden,\nuncomprehended noises of the great house were soon lost to her. Thus she\nfailed to hear a man who entered the room next to hers within the same\nhour, who closed the door with some emphasis and locked it fast; who,\nafter that, walked up and down within the narrow limits of that room\nwith uniform, slow step, and who continued to do this until the December\ndawn filtered through the dim windows. All was still in that next room\nwhen Anna awoke. The anxiety and homesickness of the night before were\ngone, and in their place was that mysterious joy which once before on a\nJune night had strangely visited her. Again, in her dream, she had seen\nthe face which ever since had dominated her; as before, it was majestic,\nfree, and strong. As before, it had bent to her,\u2014\n\n                        \u201cBent down and smiled.\u201d\n\nShe rose hastily, glad and awed and greatly wondering. At six o\u2019clock\nshe was ready and went down to the great dining-hall, dark save for the\nwan light of a single gas jet under which she sat down, silent and\nalone, and was served by a heavy-eyed, untidy man-servant, with an\nindifferent breakfast. She swallowed a few mouthfuls by force of will,\nthen gathered up her humble belongings, and started out alone into the\nicy chill of the grey morning. It was too early for her friend from the\nOrient to brave the rigours of the unaccustomed winter. It was all\ncomfortless, dreary, and inauspicious; small cheer for a young girl\nstarting on such an errand, but there was no sinking now of her spirit.\nShe walked to the Springfield station in the light and warmth of that\ninexplicable radiance of her dream, and so pursued her journey to\nBoston.\n\n                     FROM ANNA MALLISON\u2019S NOTE-BOOK\n\n  Do you believe in the mutual penetration of mind? Do you believe\n  that, independent of word and voice, independent of distance, from\n  one end of the world to the other, minds can influence and penetrate\n  one another?... Do you not know a soul can feel within it another\n  soul which touches it?\n\n                                                         \u2014P\u00c8RE GRATRY.\n\n_January 28, 1870._\u2014A week to-day since my father was buried. It is late\nat night, and I have come up to my little roof room, but I cannot sleep.\nI have been with my mother, and we have cried together, until she sleeps\nat last, so tired, and her dear face changed so sadly that, as she\nslept, I was almost afraid. And yet she is greatly upheld, and as gentle\nand uncomplaining as it is possible to be.\n\nBut for me, knowing my father, and trying to find the meaning of his\nlife, these days give me less grief than wonder and perplexity. For a\ntime after my father told me the story of his past, after I knew what he\nmight have been, knew his great renunciation, his utter humility, his\nleaving all to seek one only thing, and that a gift for others, and even\nthat being denied him, so that to himself his life seemed a failure, and\nits supreme sacrifice unsanctioned and unblessed\u2014after this I could\nhardly bear the heart-break of it all. So pure, so blameless, so devoted\na life, and yet, to his own thought, so unfruitful. Just a narrow little\nvillage church, with its narrow little victories and defeats, and its\nmonotony of spiritual ebb and flow\u2014this was the sum of his achievement.\nWas it not hard of God? This he would not have said, but my\nundisciplined heart has cried out in bitterness and rebellion. I have\nbeen in deep doubt and darkness.\n\nTo-night it is given me to see it all in light, and I am reconciled. The\nword which changed my father\u2019s life was that great word of the Master,\n\u201cExcept a corn of wheat fall into the ground and _die_, it abideth\nalone.\u201d That dying, the utterness of it, was what we did not comprehend.\nI think my father understood before he left us, although he could not\nexpress it. But all along he had felt that in dying in his own personal\nlife to the world and to his ambition, he was meeting the condition, and\nthat in his own personal life the fruits of that death were to be\nmanifest, that he should be set for the salvation of many. But God sees\nnot with our short vision. Days with him are years, and years days; and\nour whole life but a vapour, which appeareth for a little time, and then\nvanisheth away.\n\nThis has come to me: My father\u2019s sacrifice has borne in the life of one\nof his children, if not in all, the fruit of an especial dedication of\nthat life to the service of God. If he had not been the man he was, if\nhe had not laid down his life daily and hourly in humble self-surrender\nto the Divine Will, never, never should I have dreamed of giving myself\nto the work to which I am now pledged. His life, in its deepest working,\nhad been wrought into mine, so that unconsciously I willed to be what he\nwould have willed to have me. So, then, it is no more I alone, but the\nspirit, the will, the nature of my father that worketh in me.\n\nThe God of my father\u2014this phrase, so common, so almost commonplace\nbefore, has suddenly taken to itself an extraordinary significance. My\nfather\u2019s God, my God, who began in my father\u2019s willing sacrifice of all\nthe noblest powers of his manhood his purpose of grace, will now, in his\ngood pleasure, carry on the one work, the same so begun, through me, all\nunworthy as I am, timid, trembling, but a child. A child, and yet called\nwith this high calling; child of a saint, called solemnly, sacredly, in\nthe very depths of my being, deeper than I feel, higher than I know, to\nbe my father\u2019s child, to be the continuance, the fulfilment of his dying\nlife, to finish what he began, to bring to fruitage the seed he died to\nsow. How sublime, how sweet, how awful the vocation wherewith I am\ncalled!\n\nThen look upon me, O my God, my father\u2019s God! Behold my weakness; raise\nit into power; turn my dull mind to light, my hard and narrow heart to a\nflame of love; make me thy minister, thy messenger, fulfil in me all thy\ngreat will.\n\n_February 20._\u2014To-night I am alone in the old home, not _our_ home any\nmore. It is stripped already of all that made it home, but, bare and\ngrim as it is, I love it, and leave it with a sorrow my heart is yet too\ntired to realize. They have consented to let me sleep this one last\nnight in my own little room. This poor bed is to be left, being not\nworth removing, and all that clothes it goes with me. So, like a\npilgrim, under a tent roof for a single night, I lie alone, and look up\nbeyond the dear old gable and see the winter stars.\n\nThey shine upon his grave, and the snow already has drifted over it, and\nmy heart bleeds. Why will they not let us pray for our dead as the\nRomish people do? Oh, kind little father, gone what dim, dazzling way I\ndo not know, will they let you be happy at last? Will God let you _see\nwhy_?\n\n_February 21._\u2014It was a strange night, and yet most beautiful.\n\nI hardly slept, but prayed until nearly dawn. Then I slept a short time,\nand woke to find my limbs racked with pain from the bitter chill of the\nroom, and tears running down my face. Almost as if I were carrying out\nan order given me in my sleep, I hurried on my clothing, and, taking my\ncandle, came down the stairs, both flights, through the empty, echoing\nhouse, to the rooms below. I was so cold that I shook from head to foot.\nThen I found in the kitchen wood left from our store, and I brought it\ninto the east room, the parlour, where we laid my father after his\ndeath, and where I had sat beside his dear form each night. The great\nfireplace was bare and empty, like the room, but the andirons were left.\n\nI laid the wood across and started the fire, and it blazed and gave\nlight, and threw strange shadows about the room, and I kneeled beside\nit, on the hearth, as I used sometimes when I was a little child, and\nwarmed my hands, and still I cried, and there was no one to comfort me.\n\nMally says she would have been afraid\u2014in that room. I cannot understand.\nIt is because her dearest have not died. What of him could have been\nanything but precious? To have felt his spirit near me! That would\nindeed have been holy consolation.\n\nBut what if that were true? I do not know. While I so crouched in the\nchimney corner, my heart bleeding, and the tears bathing my poor face,\nthere was a soft touch, lighter than the flight of a thistledown,\npassing over my head, as if the gentlest hand God himself could make\ngentle had smoothed my hair, and sought to comfort me.\n\nThen some one said: \u201cI came here to be with you.\u201d But I do not know\nwhether it was I who so said in my own heart, or whether the words were\nspoken to my ear. I only know that I was comforted, and the fire warmed\nmy aching limbs, and my head drooped against the wall, and I slept with\nlong sobs, as I slept once when I was a child, and my dear father\nministered to me.\n\nIt was broad daylight when I awoke, and I felt soothed and strong. I\nrose to go and make ready to lock and leave the house. But first I knelt\nand prayed, and I am praying still.\n\nLive in me, O God, as my father lives in me, and as thou didst live in\nhim. Let me live the life and die the death which he sought to live, to\ndie, for thee. Give thou unto him through me abiding fruit in the\nsalvation of souls; and grant us such grace as that we may humbly and\nworthily fulfil thy gracious will, I on earth, as he in heaven.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII\n\n  She [Dorothea] could not reconcile the anxieties of a spiritual life\n  involving eternal consequences, with a keen interest in gimp, and\n  artificial protrusions of drapery.\u2014_Middlemarch_, GEORGE ELIOT.\n\n\nA small house in a small street of a small provincial city. A faded\nbrown house with its front door directly on the street, the steps\njutting into the sidewalk. A narrow strip of yard overlaid with grimy\nsnow separated this house from others on either side, equally unnotable\nand uninteresting, the dwellings of mechanics and small tradesmen.\n\nIt was the close of a rough March day, the wind had not died with\nsunsetting, and a thin, piercing rain, colder than snow, was driven\nbefore it into the very teeth of the few passers-by.\n\nA tall woman, in a straight black dress with a dyed black shawl drawn\ntightly around her shoulders, was making her way down the street dead\nagainst the wind, which beat her hair out into wet strands and bound her\nskirts hard about the slender long limbs. She made no useless attempt to\nhold an umbrella; in fact, she carried none, but was heavily burdened\nwith four or five large books. She was girlish in figure after a severe\nsort, her step steady, her movement without impatience or fluttering, in\nspite of the struggle with the wind. Seeing her face, the absorbedness\nof sorrow in it was profound enough to explain indifference to sharper\nbuffetings than those of the wind. It was Anna Mallison.\n\nWhen she reached the house she deposited her books on the icy step and\ndrew from her pocket with stiffened, aching fingers a key with which she\nunlocked the door. The house was unlighted, and its close, airless\nprecincts apparently empty.\n\nStooping, Anna gathered her books again and closed the door, then groped\nher way to a steep staircase, a weary sigh escaping her as if in spite\nof herself. The room which she entered, silent and dark at her coming,\nshowed itself, when she had lighted a lamp, a low but spacious living\nroom, stiffly and even meagrely furnished. Opening beyond it was a\nsmaller bedroom.\n\nHaving laid aside shawl and bonnet, Anna made preparation for a simple\nevening meal for two persons. Not until these were made did she stop to\nrealize that she was chilled and that her shoes were wet through.\nCharacteristically it was of the shoes she took cognizance rather than\nof her feet\u2014circumstances having thus far led her to regard health as an\neasier thing to acquire than food and raiment.\n\nThere was a sudden outburst now, from below, of merry voices, both a\nman\u2019s voice and a girl\u2019s, in loud and cheerful banter, then the house\ndoor shut with a bang, there was a quick step on the stairs, and a gay,\nfluttering, wind-blown figure of a pretty girl appeared in the upper\nsitting room. It was Mally Loveland, Anna\u2019s early Haran friend and\ncompanion.\n\n\u201cHolloa, Anna!\u201d she called lightly, \u201clucky for me you got in first! A\nfire is a good thing, I tell you, on a night like this.\u201d Mally\u2019s voice\nhad acquired a new ring of self-confident vivacity.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re a little late, Mally,\u201d remarked Anna, quietly, as she returned\nto the room. \u201cShall I make tea?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, do; there\u2019s a dear. Oh, such fun as we\u2019ve been having at the\nAllens\u2019! But I\u2019m so chilly and damp, you know; and just look, Anna, at\nthe ribbons on my hat.\u201d Mally held up to view a pretentious structure of\nribbon and velvet which had plainly suffered many things of the\nelements.\n\n\u201cToo bad. I hope you won\u2019t go out again to-night, your cold was so bad\nyesterday. It is a wretched night.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I must go out, my dear\u2014must indeed! Couldn\u2019t disappoint the girls,\nyou know.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor even the boys?\u201d asked Anna smiling.\n\nMally laughed at this, evidently pleased. In a few moments she was ready\nand they took their places at the tea-table, Mally quieting herself with\nan effort, in order to ask a brief blessing upon the meal. It was her\nturn to-night. The two co\u00f6perated in their religious exercises of a\ngeneral character, as well as in their housekeeping.\n\nDestiny, so eagerly challenged by these two village girls in the\neventless isolation of their life in Haran, seemed at last to have\ndeclared itself decisively: both were to catch men,\u2014Anna in the\napostolic sense, Mally in a different one.\n\nAnna\u2019s journey to Boston, three months earlier, had been successful. She\nhad returned under appointment as a missionary to India; but being still\ntoo young to go out, the Board had advised her to spend the following\ntwo years in studies especially designed to develop her usefulness in\nwork among the heathen. In January Samuel Mallison had died. The\nparsonage, where the children had been born and nurtured, could thus no\nlonger be their home. It must be made ready now for a successor.\n\nIt had been a sorrowful breaking up, and when the melancholy work was\ndone, and the home effaced forever, the mother, patient and\nuncomplaining, departed with Lucia to the lonely farmhouse among the\nhills, to take on again, in her later years of life, the many cares of\ntending little children. It was then that Anna, accompanied by her\nfriend Mally, had come to Burlington with the purpose of studying at a\ncollegiate institute, which offered opportunity for more advanced study\nthan could be had in Haran. Anna was hard at work every morning on\nPaley\u2019s \u201cEvidences\u201d and Butler\u2019s \u201cAnalogy,\u201d while her afternoons were\nspent in the small hospital of the town, in an informal nurses\u2019 class,\nas it was even then considered a useful thing for missionaries to go out\nwith some equipment for healing the bodies of men as well as their\nsouls. Mally, by her own account, was \u201ctaking\u201d music, painting, and\nFrench.\n\nAs they sat at their little table now, with its meagre and humble fare,\nbut its indefinable expression of refinement, Anna and Mally were in\nstriking contrast.\n\nIt has been said before that Anna matured slowly. There was still in her\nface, despite its sadness, the grave wonder, the artless simplicity, and\nthe sweet unconsciousness of a child. Her figure was angular and\nundeveloped; her black dress, absolutely, harshly plain, and of coarse\nstuff; her face, far too thin and colourless for beauty. She was,\nplainly, underfed and overworked; but there was, nevertheless, a dignity\nand a distinction in her aspect which emphasized Mally\u2019s provincialness,\nnotwithstanding the little fashionable touches about dress and coiffure\nwhich the latter had swiftly and instinctively adapted to her own use.\n\nAnna had the repose of a person who is not concerned at all as to the\nimpression she makes, or desirous of making any personal impression\nwhatever. Mally had the restlessness, the vivacity, the eagerness, of a\nwoman who wishes everywhere and at every time to make herself felt, to\nbe the central figure. She was born an egotist, and even \u201cdivine grace,\u201d\nin the devotional phraseology of that time, had not been sufficient to\novercome her natural bent. At the present time, in fact, egotism was\nhaving comparatively easy work with her, and an indefinite truce with\nthe religious conflicts of earlier days had been tacitly declared. That\nspiritual experience had been sincere, and it had lasted several years.\nFortunately, to Mally\u2019s unspoken thought, she had been favoured during\nthose years to work out her salvation, which was now, according to a\nprime doctrine of the church, secured to her against all accidents. This\nbeing so, no one need be concerned for her; and if she were herself\nsatisfied with a low spiritual attainment, it was nobody\u2019s business but\nher own.\n\nShe had, to her own na\u00efve surprise, met with a marked degree of social\nsuccess in a certain middle-class stratum of the small town. She was\npretty, clever, adaptive; the young men and women of her set said she\nwas \u201csuch good company.\u201d This was high praise. In Haran the natural\norder for a marriageable girl was to be soberly and decorously and\nprotractedly wooed by one young man, to whom, in process of time, she\nwas married. Here Mally found a far more stimulating social condition.\nNot one man, but many, might be the portion of a popular girl, and Mally\nfound the strength of numbers very great. The sex instinct, the ruling\ndesire to attract men, sprang into vigorous action, and became, for a\ntime at least, predominant. Women of whom this is true are often very\ngood women, with energy and common sense, but it is important for their\nfriends, for various reasons, to hold the master key to their character.\n\nAnna Mallison, at this period of her life as sexless in her conscious\nlife as a star, looked on at this rapid and unlooked-for development of\nMally\u2019s nature in infinite perplexity. She had always liked certain men,\neven outside her own kindred, but it was because they were wise or good\nor sincere, not because they were men. A thirst for admiration being\nthus far undeclared in her own life, Mally became inexplicable to her;\nshe did not hold the key to her character, and involuntarily she\nwithdrew more and more into herself, her only friend becoming thus\nuncomprehended. If she felt this in any degree, Mally, being closely\noccupied with more tangible consideration, paid small heed to it.\n\nWhile they were taking tea, Anna kept her eyes fixed on the mantel\nclock, and, having eaten hastily, rose from her place.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter?\u201d asked Mally, looking up. \u201cOh, of course; but, dear\nme, Anna, I never would bother to get things ready for old Marm Wilson,\nafter the way she grumbles at you. Sit down, do. You\u2019ll never get any\nthanks, I can tell you that; and what\u2019s the use?\u201d\n\nAnna was at the door already. \u201cI think it\u2019s late enough now to be safe.\nShe only grumbles, you know, if the oil and wood burn out awhile before\nshe gets here. She was to work quite near on Hill Street, to-day, so she\nwill surely be in early.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well, go on if you\u2019ve a mind to. I suppose it is forlorn on a night\nlike this for the poor old creature to find her house all dark and\ncold,\u201d Mally spoke carelessly, half to herself. Anna was already\nhalf-way downstairs.\n\nMrs. Wilson was their houseowner, a seamstress of narrow means and\nnarrower life whose upper rooms they rented.\n\nAn hour later the upper sitting room was suddenly enlivened and almost\nfilled, as far as seating capacity was concerned, by a group of Mally\u2019s\nfriends, who had come to escort her to an evening gathering. These young\nmen and maidens, whom Anna had scarcely seen before, seemed to explain\nthe new Mally to her, and to place her at a different angle, as one of a\nclass, not one by herself. The girls all wore a profusion of ribbons and\ncurls, and were all in an effervescence of noisy excitement regarding\nthe effect of the dampness on their hair and their finery; they\nwhispered and giggled together, and pouted at the young men, or tossed\ntheir heads and assumed exaggerated airs of being shocked at the\npersonal remarks which these attendants volunteered, and with which they\nwere, in fact, palpably delighted.\n\nAnna, who attempted some quiet civilities from time to time, was\nregarded with undisguised indifference, as not being \u201cone of the set.\u201d\n\nAfter the young people had left the house, however, Mally\u2019s companion on\ntheir expedition, a young man somewhat above the others in intelligence,\nsaid to her:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat an unusual girl that friend of yours, that Miss Mallison, is. I\nnever met any one just like her. She strikes me as a girl who would keep\na fellow at a mighty distance; but if she ever did care for him, he\nwouldn\u2019t mind dying for her, you know, and all that sort of thing. But\nshe isn\u2019t one of the kind you like to play games with.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VIII\n\n        She was a queen of noble Nature\u2019s crowning,\n        A smile of hers was like an act of grace;\n        She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning,\n        Like daily beauties of the vulgar race;\n        But, if she smiled, a light was on her face,\n        A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam\n        Of peaceful radiance.\n                                            \u2014HARTLEY COLERIDGE.\n\n\nTo the surprise of both the friends, Anna, who had gone about her\nrigorous tasks unseen and unnoted hitherto, began about this time to\ncome into a certain comparative prominence in the quiet little city.\n\nA day or two after the evening described in the last chapter, Anna\nreceived a note from Mrs. Ingraham, the wife of a distinguished citizen\nof the town, a man of great wealth, and a well-known senator. The\nIngrahams were, perhaps, the most highly placed family in the little\ntown, by right of distinguished antecedents, of wealth, and of habit of\nlife. They belonged to that singularly privileged class, which Anna\nMallison had not hitherto encountered, who have both will and power to\nappropriate the most select of all things which minister to the\nindividual development, whether things material, things intellectual, or\nthings spiritual. Thus Mrs. Ingraham and her daughters were women of\nfashion, prominent figures at the state functions of their own state,\nand well known in the inner circles of Washington society. They dressed\nsuperlatively well in clothes that came from Paris. At the same time\nthey were as much at home among literary as among fashionable folk, and\nMrs. Ingraham at least was understood to be devotedly religious, with an\nespecial penchant for foreign missions. In fine, all things were theirs.\n\nThus it was an event for Anna Mallison, in her dull, low-ceiled upper\nroom, to open and read the note of Mrs. Senator Ingraham to herself,\u2014a\nnote written in graceful, flowing hand, on sumptuous, ivorylike paper,\nsquarely folded, with a crest on the seal, and the faintest suggestion\nof violets escaping almost before perceived. The note was delicately\ncourteous, a marvel of gracious tact. Mrs. Ingraham had heard through a\nfriend that Miss Mallison was under appointment as a missionary to\nIndia, and had sincerely wished to meet her. On Friday evening a dear\nChristian worker from Boston, now her guest, was to hold a little\nparlour meeting at the house for the help and encouragement of friends\nwho were interested in a higher Christian life. Would not Miss Mallison\ngive them all the pleasure of making one of that number? Mrs. Ingraham\nwould esteem it a personal favour; and if Miss Mallison felt that she\ncould tell the little company something of the experience she had had in\nbeing led into this beautiful life work, it would be most acceptable.\nHowever, this was by no means urged, but merely suggested and left\nentirely to Miss Mallison\u2019s preference.\n\nThe man who had brought the note waited on the narrow walk below for\nAnna\u2019s answer. He wore a sober but handsome livery.\n\nThis was the first invitation of the kind which Anna had received, but\nshe had now somewhat accustomed herself, by the advice of the Board, to\nspeaking in women\u2019s missionary meetings, and it seemed to her right to\nsay yes. Accordingly, on untinted note-paper of a very common grade, she\nsaid yes in a natural and simple way, and made haste to give the note to\nthe man at the door below, whom she felt distressed to keep waiting.\n\nThis man removed his shining hat in respectful acknowledgment as he took\nthe note, and told Anna that Mrs. Ingraham had asked him to say, having\nforgotten to mention it in her note, that in case Miss Mallison would be\nso kind as to come, Mrs. Ingraham would send the carriage for her at\nhalf-past seven on Friday evening.\n\nAnna felt that she ought to deprecate so much attention, and timidly\nattempted to do so; but the man plainly was not further empowered to\ntreat in the matter, and, bowing respectfully, departed with Anna\u2019s\npallid, long and narrow envelope in his well-gloved hand.\n\nWhen Mally came in, Anna handed her Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s note. Mally\u2019s face\nflushed noticeably as she read it. It was not easy for her to have her\nquiet friend thus preferred.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll go, of course?\u201d she commented rather coldly, as she handed it\nback.\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think you would by all means. Who wouldn\u2019t? I\u2019ve heard lots\nabout Mrs. Ingraham; she believes in a very high religious life, you\nknow, and those rich higher-life people live high, I can tell you.\nThere\u2019ll be a supper, depend on that, and it will be a fine one.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t think there will be anything of that kind,\u201d interposed\nAnna, hastily.\n\n\u201cYou see!\u201d cried Mally, with an air of superior wisdom and wide social\nexperience. \u201cOh my! if I should tell you all I\u2019ve heard about those\nIngrahams, you\u2019d be surprised. One night they have a prayer-meeting and\nthe next night a dance. It\u2019s all right, I suppose. Kind of new, that\u2019s\nall.\u201d\n\nOn the following evening, when the luxurious Ingraham carriage was\ndriven up before Mrs. Wilson\u2019s poor little house, many eyes peered\nnarrowly from neighbours\u2019 windows to catch the unwonted sight; and Anna,\nslipping hastily out of the Wilson door, felt an access of humility in\nthis exaltation of herself, for such she knew it seemed to her\nneighbours, transient though it was. She had suffered a guilty and\napologetic consciousness all day toward Mally, who had treated her with\na slight coolness and indifference, which afflicted Anna keenly.\n\nWhen Anna entered the hall of the Ingraham house, a small, stout woman,\nin a brown dress and smooth hair, came out to greet her, and took her\nhand between both her own, which were white and soft and heavily\nweighted with diamonds. Anna found the diamonds confusing, but she knew\nthe hands were kind. Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s manner, of sincere kindliness and\ndignity, put Anna wholly at her ease, and she looked about her,\npresently, at the subdued luxury and elegance of her surroundings with a\nfrank, childlike pleasure. Her absolute unconsciousness of herself saved\nAnna from the awkwardness which her unusual height, her angular\nthinness, and her unaccustomedness to social contact might otherwise\nhave produced. She wore her \u201cother dress,\u201d which was of plain black\npoplin, but quite new, and not ungraceful in its straight untortured\nlines; and as she entered the great drawing-room, with its splendours of\ncostly art, and met the eyes of many people who were watching her\nentrance, the quiet gravity and simplicity of her bearing were hardly\nless than grace.\n\nTwo women, dressed with elegance and apparently not deeply touched with\nreligiousness, commented apart a little later, having met and spoken in\nturn with the lady from Boston and the young missionary elect.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think of Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s new saints?\u201d asked one, whose\nblack dress was heavily studded with jet ornaments.\n\n\u201cI like the young missionary better than the Bostonian, myself,\u201d was the\nreply. The speaker had red hair and an exquisite figure. \u201cIsn\u2019t she\ncurious, though?\u201d she continued. \u201cManners, you know, but absolutely no\nmanner! I never encountered a woman before, even at her age, who\npositively had _none_.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what ails her, isn\u2019t it?\u201d returned her beaded friend. \u201cYou\u2019ve\njust hit it. And you can see that tremendously developed missionary\nconscience of hers in every line of her face and figure, don\u2019t you know\nyou can?\u201d\n\n\u201cFigure, my dear? She has none. I never saw such an utter absence of the\nsuperfluous!\u201d\n\nHere they both laughed clandestinely behind their laced handkerchiefs.\n\n\u201cDo you know how I should describe that girl?\u201d challenged the Titian\nbeauty, recovering.\n\n\u201cCleverly, without doubt.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should call her a scaffolding over a conscience.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is really very good, Evelyn. You can see that she is not even\nconsciously a woman yet. She knows nothing of life or of herself or of\nthis goodly frame, the earth, save what that New England conscience of\nhers has interpreted to her. Her horizon is as narrow as her chest.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor thing. How will she bear life, I wonder!\u201d and the words died into\na whisper, for at that moment the little talking, moving groups of men\nand women were called to take the chairs, which had been arranged in\ncomfortable order, and give attention to what was to follow.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IX\n\n            When the soul, growing clearer,\n            Sees God no nearer;\n            When the soul, mounting higher,\n            To God comes no nigher;\n            But the arch-fiend Pride\n            Mounts at her side,\n            And, when she fain would soar,\n            Makes idols to adore,\n            Changing the pure emotion\n            Of her high devotion\n            To a skin-deep sense\n            Of her own eloquence;\n            Strong to deceive, strong to enslave\u2014\n            Save, oh! save.\n                                            \u2014MATTHEW ARNOLD.\n\n\nAnna was the first to speak. When she rose and faced the little\naudience, made up of fashionable women, professional men, and a\nsprinkling of the more clearly defined religious \u201cworkers\u201d, she did not\nfeel the coldness underlying their courteous attention. The Titian\nbeauty fixed upon her eyes full of unconsciously patronizing kindness,\nand Mrs. Ingraham smiled at her with sympathetic encouragement, but they\nmight have spared themselves the effort. Anna did not perceive or\nconsider these things. She was not thinking of them at all, nor of\nherself.\n\nThe peculiar twofold consecration which rested upon her spirit in regard\nto her missionary vocation, as a call to fulfil at once the Divine Will\nand the will of her father, was so profound and so solemn as to remove\nher from personal and passing cares. She would not herself have chosen\nto appear before these people and to speak to them of her supreme\ninterest; but to do so had been laid upon her as duty, and Anna\u2019s\nconception of duty, by reason of the \u201ctremendously developed conscience\u201d\nwhich the worldly-wise women had discerned in her, was of something to\nbe done. She did this duty with the simple directness of a soldier under\ncommand. She stood erect and motionless, with no nervous working of\nhands or trembling of lips, and spoke in a clear, low voice, in which\nalone, by reason of a peculiar vibrant pathos, the profound, undeclared\npassion of her nature was suggested.\n\nHer critics of the early evening had been right in finding her destitute\nof manner. There was no slightest evidence as she spoke of the orator\u2019s\ninstinct\u2014the magnetism of kindling eye and changing expression, of the\nconciliation and subtle flattery of her hearers. Neither had she fervid\npersonal raptures nor spiritual triumphs to communicate. Of the\npicturesque and pathetic elements of the situation she made no use\nwhatever. She had simply an absolute, dominating conviction that the\nheathen were lost; that they could only be saved by the knowledge of\nChrist; that this knowledge must be conveyed to them by the disciples of\nChrist at his command; and that she, Anna Mallison, was humbly grateful\nthat she was permitted to devote herself to a service so obviously\nnecessary. Of these things she spoke; of the sacred sense of living out\nher father\u2019s disappointed life she naturally could not speak.\n\nIt was not the speech which Mrs. Ingraham and her guests had expected.\nThey had looked to have their sympathies aroused by a pathetic recital\nof sacrifice and exalted self-devotion. Anna, on the contrary, was\nunconscious of sacrifice, and felt herself simply grateful for the\nprivilege of carrying out her innermost desires.\n\nThe people who heard her felt that to give up \u201cthe world\u201d was a mighty\nthing. Anna did not yet know what \u201cthe world\u201d was. To their\nanticipation, she had been a figure almost as romantic and moving as a\nyoung novitiate about to take conventual vows; to herself, she was an\nenlisted soldier who has received marching orders, and whose heart\nexults soberly, since there are ties which may be broken, and death,\nperhaps, awaiting, but even so exults with joyful response.\n\nThus, to most of those who heard her, Anna\u2019s little speech was a\ndistinct disappointment; the very loftiness of her conception of her\ncalling made it featureless, and robbed it of adaptation to easy\nemotional effect. The ladies who had discussed her before her speech\nfound, after it, that it was, after all, exactly what might have been\nexpected\u2014altogether of a piece with the austerity of her figure, and her\nsad, colourless face, no warmth, no emotion\u2014just the hard Puritan\nconscience at its hardest.\n\nThere were two or three only who felt the spiritual elevation belonging\nto the girl and to what she said, and the underlying pathos of her high\nrestraint, as too great to put into the conventional phrases of sympathy\nand praise, and so kept silence.\n\nThere was a brief pause after Anna returned to her seat, during which\npeople stirred and spoke in low tones, and the beaded lady leaned over\nand thanked Anna for her \u201ccharming little talk\u201d. Then Mrs. Westervelt,\nthe guest from Boston came forward and began speaking with a winning\nsmile, a gentle, soothing voice, and an affectionate reference to \u201cthe\ndear, sweet young sister.\u201d She had the ease and flexibility of the\npractised public speaker; the winning and dimpled smile with which she\nwon the company at the start was in frequent use, and she made constant\nmotions with a pair of very white hands. She was quietly dressed, and\nyet, after the straightness of Anna\u2019s poor best gown, her attire had its\nown air of handsome comfort. The perfect command of her voice and of\nherself established instantaneously a _rapport_ with her audience, of\nwhich Anna, in her inexperience, had never dreamed.\n\nHer beloved Mrs. Ingraham, she said, had asked her to tell the dear\nfriends of some wonderful answers to prayer which she had recently\nexperienced, but before doing this she craved the privilege of reading a\nfew verses of Scripture.\n\nShe then read certain passages from the prophecy of Zechariah, detached\nfrom one another, taken entirely from their historic setting, but fitted\ntogether with some care. The speaker explained that she had, in her\nearlier Christian life, found some difficulty in interpreting this\nrather obscure passage, but in the new life of complete sanctification,\ninto which it had been her glorious privilege to enter, she had come to\nsee all Scripture by a new and marvellous light. No longer did she trust\nto the dry and formal explanations of scholars, many of whom, it was but\ntoo well known, had never had the deep things of God revealed to them,\nand who had been led into many errors by their pride of learning. All\nthat kind of study was past for her, for the dear Lord himself showed\nher, when she lifted her heart to him, just what he meant in his blessed\nword. This had been her experience in regard to the passage just read.\nTo the natural mind there were difficulties in it, but just below the\nsurface was the great precious truth which God would have all his\nchildren receive. It had been given her that when she came to the\nbeautiful home of Mrs. Ingraham, and should be called upon to speak to\nthese friends, she must bring them this particular passage. But it had\nlooked dark to her, and she was in doubt how to interpret it. But as she\nhad been in the cars, coming up from Boston, she had said: \u201cNow, Lord,\nthose dear friends in Burlington will want to know just what you meant\nby that sweet portion of your word, and I do not feel that I can tell\nthem unless you enlighten me. What is it that is intended by the two\nstaves in the hand of the prophet, one called Beauty and one called\nBands?\u201d\n\nThen the dear Lord had sweetly spoken in the secret place of her heart,\nas distinctly as if with an audible voice: \u201cMy child, the old life of\nformalism, of coldness, and of worldly pleasure in which many Christians\nlive is the staff called Bands. The higher life, the life of answered\nprayer, the life of perfect sanctification and fulness of blessing, is\nBeauty. Take this message to my dear children in Burlington.\u201d\n\nOh, how simple! Oh, how sweet! Who would weary heart and brain over the\ninterpretations of rationalistic German commentators, when we could thus\nhave the direct interpretation of his own word by the Lord himself?\n\nThus Mrs. Westervelt proceeded at some length on this line, and then,\nwith tearful eyes and an added intensity of the personal element, she\nrehearsed the answers to prayer which her friend, Mrs. Ingraham, had\nrightly called wonderful. Thus, in carrying on the work of preaching\nperfect sanctification in Boston, a room had been needed for meetings.\nTwo or three of the little band had prayed, and within a week they had\nhad a most suitable room offered them by a precious sister, but it was\nunfurnished. The details of securing the equipment of this room were now\ndescribed. Each piece of furniture, the speaker declared, had been\ndirectly given in answer to special prayer and by a marvellous\ninterposition. If any natural means had been at work by which persons in\nsympathy with their efforts were led to supply their obvious needs,\nthese were not mentioned. Plainly it was Mrs. Westervelt\u2019s conception of\na perfect relation to God that the one sustaining it should receive\nconstant miraculous testimony of the divine favour. The privilege of\nattaining this condition was presented with fervid emphasis. It was the\nhigh and perfect life! Who would live on the old plane when this was\nwhat God had for them? Oh, how beautiful it was to trust! Why should we\never doubt, when we were so plainly told that _whatsoever_ we ask we\nshall receive?\n\nAs Mrs. Westervelt went on, many of her hearers were moved to tears, and\na continuous response of sympathetic looks and subdued exclamations\nfollowed her recital of her surprising experiences. The wealthy women\npresent felt that this was certainly a fine thing for those who could\nnot get what they wanted by ordinary business methods, but were,\nperhaps, secretly glad that they were not themselves called upon to test\ntheir relation to God quite so pointedly. The poorer and humbler guests\nwept profusely, thinking how long they had stumbled on in the dull and\ninferior practice of working painfully for many needed things, which\nmight all have been miraculously given them, if they had only been\nfavourites of God, like Mrs. Westervelt, or, as she would have said,\n\u201chad only just stepped out into the fulness.\u201d\n\nAnna Mallison sat and listened in unspeakable astonishment.\n\nThis was as absolutely new a gospel to her as the gospel of Christ to a\ndisciple of Buddha. It was her first contact with sentimental religion.\n\nThe God of her father had been the immutable and eternal Creator, the\nhigh and holy One inhabiting eternity, the Judge of all the earth.\nThrough the Incarnation the just anger of this Holy Being toward sinful\nmen had been appeased. But although in Christ there had been found\naccess to God and an Intercessor, never had it entered into the heart of\nSamuel Mallison or those whom he led to regard themselves as occupying a\nposition other than of deepest humility, self-distrust, awe, and\nreverence.\n\nMrs. Westervelt\u2019s phraseology was almost like a foreign tongue to Anna.\nThe constant use of terms of familiar endearment in speaking of the\nAlmighty; the application of affectionate and flattering adjectives on\nall sides; the sense of a peculiar and intimate relation established\nbetween herself and God; and the free-and-easy conversational, in fact,\nrather colloquial, style in which she held herself privileged to\ncommunicate with him,\u2014were almost amazing to her. And beneath all these\nsuperficial marks of a new cult, lay the deeper sense of the inherent\ndisparity. Religion to Anna had been, it has been said earlier, a system\nof prohibitions, of self-denials, of self-abasement, with only at rare\nintervals the illumination of a profound sense of the love of God. Here\nwas a religion which held up a species of luxurious spiritual enjoyment,\nof unrestrained freedom in approaching God, of an indubitable sense of\nbeing personally on the best of terms with him, as the privilege of all\ntrue believers.\n\nThe conception of prayer which Mrs. Westervelt had demonstrated was not\nless surprising to Anna. She knew that there were wide and sweeping\nscriptural promises with regard to prayer, but she had always felt a\ndeep mystery attaching itself to them. For herself, she had never\nventured to intrude her temporal gratifications and designs upon the\nattention of her God, but had rather felt a sober silence regarding\nthese things to best befit a sinful creature coming before a holy\nCreator. Half revolting, but half smitten with compunction, the thought\nnow flashed through her mind that, if she had only prayed after this new\nsort, her father might have received the oranges for which he had sorely\nlonged in the months before his death. This luxury was not to be\nobtained in Haran, and had therefore been patiently foregone, heaven and\nBurlington having seemed equally inaccessible at the time.\n\nMrs. Westervelt sat down, and the meeting broke up, a swarm of\nenthusiastic, tearful women rushing to surround her and pour out their\neffusive appreciation of her wonderful address. Anna stood bewildered\nand alone, doubting within herself. Had it all been the highest\nconsecration, as it undoubtedly desired to be? or had it been the\nhighest presumption, the old temptation of spiritual pride, assuming a\nnew guise?\n\nTwo clergymen of the city, who had been attentive listeners during the\nwhole evening, not being moved to pour out their admiration upon either\nspeaker, quietly strayed across the hall into Mr. Ingraham\u2019s library.\nThe senator himself was absent.\n\n\u201cWell, Nichols,\u201d said Dr. Harvey, the older man, who had a shrewd,\nkindly, smooth-shaven face, \u201cwhat do you think of that for Old Testament\nexegesis?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was pretty stiff to have the responsibility for it given to the\nLord,\u201d returned his friend. \u201cI almost felt like interrupting her to say\nthat, with all due respect, the Lord never told her any such thing, her\ninterpretation being monstrously untrue.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was awful, simply awful,\u201d said the other, with slow emphasis. \u201cSuch\nfantastic tricks before high heaven might make men, as well as angels,\nweep. And then her familiarity with the Lord, Nichols,\u2014why, man, she\npositively patronized the Almighty!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true, and yet, do you know, Doctor, that woman has some\nextraordinary elements for success in such work?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf she hadn\u2019t, she would be of no importance, my dear fellow. She has a\nfine homiletic instinct. That is just where the danger lies. But, after\nall, she represents only one danger\u2014there are others. She is simply the\nmodern mystic\u2014a kind of latter-day, diluted Madame Guyon. Too much of\nthe thing is a trifle nauseous, perhaps, but it represents the revolt of\ndevout souls, in every age, from formalism, and is inevitably an excess,\nlike all revolt. Doubtless there will be such revolt, world without end,\nand it will have its uses.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was fairly pathetic to see how eagerly those women rushed forward to\nreceive her; evidently that\u2019s the message they are pining for. They\ndon\u2019t go for us that way, Doctor.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; and they didn\u2019t for that first speaker, Mallison\u2019s daughter. I knew\nhim. Poor man, what a mystic he might have made, if he had let himself\ngo! This girl is much like him\u2014the old New England type; religion with\nall colour and sentiment clean purged out of it. Cold as ice, chaste as\nsnow, the antipodes of the Guyon-Westervelt danger. Talk of\nholiness,\u2014poor Mallison,\u2014he was the holiest man I ever knew, and in this\nlife the least rewarded,\u201d and the old clergyman shook his head with a\nmournful smile.\n\n\u201cI fancied, when I heard her speak, although I had no idea who she was,\nthat this daughter of his had not exactly revelled in the luxury of\nreligion.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but I tell you, Nichols, she is none the worse for that, at her\nage. There is a hardihood, an unconscious, sturdy fortitude in that\nearlier type, which we mightily need in the world to-day. To me, that\ngirl was positively beautiful, because\u2014notice what I say, Nichols\u2014she is\nabsolutely true.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery likely.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but when you have thought it over, tell me, some day, how many men\nand women you know of whom you can say that. If you know one, you will\ndo well.\u201d\n\nDr. Harvey, as he said these words, rose to leave the library, but\nstopped and stood, as there appeared at that moment at the hall door the\nfigure of a man who was apparently passing through the hall. So silent\nand so sudden was his coming, and so singular his aspect, that the\nyounger of the two men, perceiving him, started violently in involuntary\nsurprise, and was conscious of a disagreeable sensation along the course\nof his veins.\n\nThis man, who had approached the door with noiseless steps, might have\nbeen young, or might have been old. He was of unusual height, with\nnarrow shoulders, short body, and disproportionate length of limb. His\nface, an elongated oval, was of as smooth surface as that of a woman,\nand of the shape and pale even colour of an egg. The enormous forehead,\nthe eyes, small and narrow, set wide apart and obliquely, the flattened\nnose, the straight, wide, almost lipless mouth, combined with an\nexpression of crafty complacence to give the man a singularly alien\nsemblance. As he stood, he smiled slowly, a smile which emphasized both\nthe craftiness and the complacency of his expression, and remarked in a\nhigh, thin voice:\u2014\n\n\u201cJust going, Doctor? Make yourself at home here, that\u2019s all right.\u201d\n\nHe carried a rather large, morocco-bound note-book in one hand, and a\nsilver pencil-case in the other. His hands were extremely delicate and\nwhite, with sinuous, flexible fingers, of such phenomenal length as to\nsuggest an extra, simian joint. They conveyed to the young clergyman a\nsense of expressing the same craft as the face, and a yet more palpable\ncruelty. The unpleasant impression became more pronounced, for, seeing\nthe hands, young Nichols involuntarily shivered.\n\nProbably this fact was not noticed by the newcomer, but, having thus\nspoken and smiling one more chilling smile, he passed on to the other\nend of the hall.\n\nEyes rather than voice asked in astonishment, \u201cWho is that?\u201d\n\n\u201cOliver Ingraham, the senator\u2019s son,\u201d was the elder clergyman\u2019s reply,\nas they left the library together, \u201cthe son of his first wife.\u201d Dr.\nHarvey was Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s pastor.\n\n\u201cIncredible!\u201d cried the other, under his breath. \u201cI never saw him, never\nheard of his existence.\u201d\n\nThe other shook his head with gravely troubled look.\n\n\u201cHe is only here when it becomes impossible to keep him elsewhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he insane? imbecile? what is he?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot the first, not the second. I cannot answer the third question.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER X\n\n          She sitteth in a silence of her own;\n          Behind her, on the ground, a red rose lies;\n          Her thinking brow is bent, nor doth arise\n          Her gaze from that shut book whose word unknown\n          Her firm hands hide from her; there all alone\n          She sitteth in thought trouble, maidenwise.\n                                                \u2014R. W. GILDER.\n\n\nAn October morning, and breakfast-time in the Ingraham household. Great\ndoors stood open into the dining room, where the vast round table could\nbe seen with its glittering array of silver, and the grace and colour of\nexquisite flowers.\n\nA slender girl, as graceful and charming in her simple morning dress as\nthe flowers she had just placed on the table, stood in the doorway,\nwaiting, a shade of impatience on her face. Behind her, at one of the\ndining-room windows, stood Oliver Ingraham, her half-brother. Mrs.\nIngraham, with her other daughters, one older, one younger, were in the\nadjoining library. Outside, in the hall, a man paced up and down with\nimpatience which he did not attempt to conceal. This was Mr. Ingraham\nhimself, a man of good height, fine, erect figure, and youthful energy\nof motion and bearing. His hair was grey, as also his heavy mustache and\nimperial; his eyes grey also, keen, clear, but inclined to wander with\ndisconcerting swiftness; he had a high, beaklike nose, and a fine,\ncarefully kept skin, in which a network of dark red veins betrayed the\nhigh liver. He was at once peremptory and gracious, military and\ncourtly, a man of the world and of affairs on a large scale.\n\nWith watch in hand he entered the library and approached his wife.\n\n\u201cCornelia,\u201d he said, smiling with good-tempered sarcasm, \u201cdoes it strike\nyou that the show is a little late in opening? I dislike to mention it,\nbut it is already ten minutes past eight. I am not familiar with the\nsocial customs of Abyssinia, nor even of Macedonia, but in the United\nStates it is considered good form for guests, albeit lions, to come to\nbreakfast on time. Even the Hyrcan tiger, I understand, is usually\nprompt in his attendance on that function\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cPapa!\u201d cried his youngest daughter, Louise, \u201cyou are perfectly\ndreadful.\u201d\n\nMrs. Ingraham looked up into her husband\u2019s face with her mild,\nconciliating smile.\n\n\u201cI am so sorry, Justin,\u201d she said softly, \u201cbut I suppose the poor dear\ncreatures are very tired after the meeting last night, and their\njourney, and all\u2014\u201d\n\nThere was a slight noise on the stairs as she spoke, and Mr. Ingraham\nfaced about with military precision to receive in succession a number of\nladies, who filed into the room, and were warmly greeted and promptly\npresented to him by his wife. Two were visitors from New York,\nsubstantial \u201cBoard women\u201d; other two, returned missionaries from Japan;\nthe last to enter was a shy, brown little person with soft dark eyes, a\nnative Hindu, who could only communicate with her host by a gentle,\npleading smile. All were in attendance on a great missionary conference\nheld in Burlington that week, drawing its supporters from all New\nEngland and New York.\n\n\u201cShall we go to breakfast, Cornelia?\u201d Mr. Ingraham asked, having infused\nsudden courage into the trembling breast of the little native by his\ngallant attention. \u201cAre we all here?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, no, papa,\u201d interposed his youngest daughter; \u201cwe must wait for Mr.\nBurgess.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Burgess?\u201d repeated her father, in a musing tone. \u201cI do not recall\nthat I have met him. Is the gentleman an invalid?\u201d\n\n\u201cAt least the gentleman is here, papa,\u201d murmured Louise, directing his\nattention to a young man who at the moment entered the room, and\napproached Mrs. Ingraham with a few words of courteous apology.\n\nMeeting him, Mr. Ingraham saw a slender, youthful figure, somewhat below\nthe average of masculine height, a man of delicate physique, perhaps\nfive and twenty years old, with a serious, sensitive face, and earnest\nblue eyes looking out through glasses; a young man who presented himself\nwith quiet self-possession, and bore the unmistakable marks of good\nbreeding.\n\nAs they took their places around the breakfast table, Keith Burgess, for\nthis was the young man\u2019s name, found himself seated opposite Oliver,\nwith whom he was not drawn to converse, and between the second Miss\nIngraham and the little Aroona-bia. Conversation with the latter being\nnecessarily of an extremely limited nature, her gentle lisping of \u201cyes\u201d\nand \u201cthank you\u201d being somewhat indiscriminate, the guest found himself\nshortly occupied exclusively with his very pretty neighbour.\n\n\u201cYou know, Mr. Burgess,\u201d she was presently saying, \u201cI almost feel that I\nknow you already.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow so?\u201d asked Keith, simply. It was plain that, although accustomed to\nthe refinements of life, this was not a man accomplished in social\nsubtleties. There was, in fact, a curiously unworldly expression in the\nyoung fellow\u2019s eyes, and somewhat of thoughtful introspection.\n\n\u201cWhy, you see mamma and some of her friends who heard you speak last\nspring have told us so much about you.\u201d\n\nKeith bowed slightly, without reply.\n\n\u201cAnd you can\u2019t think, Mr. Burgess, how delighted we are to have you come\nto Burlington. We were so afraid you would leave for the East before we\ncould hear you, and I assure you that would have been a great\ndisappointment. I think you sail in the spring, do you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, in May, as soon as I graduate.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it is for India?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose so. It is not fully determined, but that would be my choice,\nand I believe the Board incline that way.\u201d\n\nThe pretty Miss Ingraham, whose name was Gertrude, sighed a very little.\n\n\u201cIt is all so wonderful, so almost incredible, to me that any one young\nand like other people, don\u2019t you know? can really go,\u201d she said gently.\n\u201cThere _are_ people to whom it seems perfectly natural. Mamma has a new\nprot\u00e9g\u00e9e who is to go out as a missionary teacher a year from this fall.\nShe is very young, only twenty-one, and we all think she is lovely; but\nstill, for her it seems really the only thing to be expected. She has\nthe genuine missionary air already, and you would know she could not be\nanything else, somehow.\u201d\n\nKeith looked civilly, but not keenly, interested.\n\n\u201cI wonder if it is any one I have heard of,\u201d he remarked. \u201cIt is our\nBoard that sends her?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. Her name is Mallison, Anna Mallison. Her father was a country\nminister up in the mountainous part of the state. Poor thing! She will\nfind India quite a change after Vermont winters, I should think.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn improvement, perhaps,\u201d said Keith, smiling. \u201cBut really, Miss\nIngraham, going back to what you said a moment ago, why should it seem\nso incredible for a man who has devoted himself to the service of God,\ntruly and unreservedly, to be willing to go where what little he can do\nis most needed? Many men go to foreign countries and remain the better\npart of their lives for business purposes: men in the navy; Englishmen,\nof course, of social and political ambitions, by hundreds. Do you ever\nfeel that there is anything extraordinary or superhuman in what they\ndo?\u201d\n\nGertrude Ingraham was looking at the young man with almost devout\nattention.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d she answered, shaking her head with pretty humility, seeing which\nway he led.\n\n\u201cThen why,\u201d pursued Keith Burgess, leaning over to look steadily in her\nface with his earnest eyes, and lowering his voice to a deeper emphasis,\n\u201cwhy do you wonder that now and then a man should be willing to do for\nthe Lord Jesus Christ and the salvation of souls what a hundred men do\nas a matter of course for their own selfish ambition and the gaining of\nmoney?\u201d\n\nThe girl looked down, the brightness of her face softened by serious\nfeeling.\n\n\u201cThe only wonder, Miss Ingraham, is that so few do it. For my own part I\ndo not see how a fellow who goes into the ministry, as things are now,\ncan do anything else,\u201d and Keith turned back to his neglected breakfast.\nThereafter he was drawn into conversation, across the mute languor of\nthe little Hindu, with his host, who had questions to ask regarding\nFulham, which had been his college.\n\nAt four o\u2019clock that afternoon, Keith Burgess, sitting in a large\ncongregation in Dr. Harvey\u2019s stately church, listening with consciously\ndeclining interest to a long statistical report which was being read\nfrom the pulpit, felt himself touched on the shoulder. Looking up he saw\nthe Rev. Frank Nichols, pastor of a mission church in the city. He had\nknown him well in college, a clear-eyed, well set-up young cleric.\nNichols invited him by a word and look to follow him, and together they\nquietly left the assembly.\n\nWhen they had reached the street and the crisp autumn air, Keith shook\nhimself with a motion of relief.\n\n\u201cIs there anything more tiresome than such a succession of meetings?\u201d he\nexclaimed. \u201cShall we walk? I am in a hurry to climb one of these hills.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must do it later,\u201d returned Nichols; \u201cbut if you are not too tired I\nwant to take you down this street and on a block or two to my church.\nThe women are having a meeting there this afternoon.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, I remember; but will it be in order for us to intrude?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, that will be all right. The brethren drop in quietly now and then,\nand are welcome. You needn\u2019t stay long, for you are tired, I know by\nyour face; but I tell you what it is, Burgess, I want you to hear Anna\nMallison.\u201d\n\nAnna Mallison! again that name which he had heard in the morning. It\nbegan to have a strangely musical quality to Keith\u2019s ears.\n\n\u201cI have heard her name. She is under appointment, I believe. A good\nspeaker?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, not a particularly good speaker, but, as Dr. Harvey once said to\nme, an absolutely true nature. She is a young woman of strong\npersonality, but singularly destitute of the desire to impress herself,\nand with a certain touch of the unconsciously heroic about her which you\nfeel but cannot describe. I have never met a girl of precisely her type\nbefore, myself, and I am curious to know what you will think of her.\u201d\n\nEntering the small, unpretentious church, Nichols and his friend sat\ndown in the first row of seats, next to the central aisle. The room was\nnearly full; several women were upon the platform, from which the pulpit\nhad been removed. One woman was speaking in a high-keyed, plaintive\nvoice.\n\nIt was not a stable or quiet audience; some were leaving their seats,\nothers coming in, many turning their heads to catch glimpses of expected\nfriends. Behind the young men came in two girls who remained standing\nclose beside them in the aisle for a little space. One of these girls\nhad pretty, fair hair and peachy cheeks; she was dressed in deep blue\nwith touches of gilt cord and buttons, giving a kind of coquettish\nmilitary jauntiness to her appearance. She wore a small round hat, of\ndark blue, which set off her pretty hair charmingly. Her manner was full\nof quick, eager animation; she smiled much and whispered to her\ncompanion continually. This companion stood motionless and unresponsive\nto the frequent appeals made to her, a quiet face and figure, a dress\nand bonnet of plain and unadorned black, ill suited to her youth; but it\nwas her face and figure rather than the other to which Keith Burgess\nfound his attention riveted. He knew intuitively, before Nichols told\nhim, that this was Anna Mallison; but without this knowledge he felt\nthat he must still have kept his eyes upon her face. The repose of it,\nthe purity and elevation of the look, the serene, serious sweetness,\nwere what he had seen in the faces of angels men have dreamed of rather\nthan of women they have loved. But that she was after all a woman, with\na woman\u2019s sensitiveness and impressibility, he fancied was manifest\nwhen, having perhaps felt his look resting thus intently on her face,\nAnna turned and their eyes met in an instant\u2019s direct, uninterrupted\ngaze, whereupon a deep flush rose and spread over the clear brown pallor\nof her face, and she turned, and bent to speak to her friend, as if to\ncover a slight confusion.\n\nThe friend was Mally Loveland, and she was finding her position a\nparticularly satisfactory one at the moment, being aware that Mr.\nNichols was so placed as to take in the best points of her new fall\ncostume in a side view. It was for him, not for Anna, that she had been\nusing so much of nervous energy in the last few minutes.\n\nA lady who had left the platform for the purpose now came down the\naisle, and, taking Anna Mallison by the hand with a word of welcome,\nconducted her to the front of the church. Mally, thus left alone,\nfluttered into a place made for her, seeming to discover Mr. Nichols as\nshe turned, and smiling surprise and pleasure upon him.\n\nJust before Anna began to address the gathering, while a hymn was sung,\nKeith Burgess quietly made his way to a seat near the front of the\nchurch, at the side of the platform. He had excused himself to Nichols,\nwho had then asked and obtained permission to sit beside Mally, an\nincident productive of a vast amount of conscious and fluttering delight\non the part of that young lady.\n\nThe austerity of Anna Mallison\u2019s religious life had, under the influence\nof Mrs. Westervelt and her disciple, Mrs. Ingraham, relaxed within a few\nmonths to a marked degree. New conceptions of a relation of joyful\nassurance, of conscious acceptance with God, had risen within her, with\nthe perception that religion was not exclusively prohibition, and\nconscience its only energy. Something of warmth and brightness had been\ninfused into her chill, colourless, outward life, furthermore, by the\nintercourse with the Ingrahams which had followed her first visit. She\nwas still in a manner ice-bound in her interior life and in her capacity\nfor expression, but the ice was beginning to yield and here and there to\nbreak up a little.\n\nThus, in the manner with which she spoke on this occasion, there was\nsomething of gentleness, and a less uncompromising self-restraint than\nwhen she had first spoken before an audience. She was still noticeably\nreserved, still innocent of the orator\u2019s arts, or of conscious seeking\nto produce an effect; she still delivered herself of her simple message\nas if it were a duty to be discharged rather than an opportunity to be\ngrasped. But through the coldness of all this neutrality there pierced\nnow and then a ray of the radiant purity and loftiness of the girl\u2019s\ninner nature, and this time those who heard her did not pity or\npatronize her in their thoughts.\n\nKeith Burgess watched her from the place he had chosen. Her tall, meagre\nfigure in its nunlike dress was sharply outlined against a palely tinted\nwindow opposite, through which the October sun shone. She stood without\nsupport of table or desk, her hands falling straight at her sides, and\nlooked directly at the people she addressed, fearless, since burdened\nwith the sense of immortal destinies, not with a consciousness of\nherself. Keith noted the hand which fell against the straight black\nfolds of her dress; its fine shape and delicate texture alone expressed\nher ladyhood. She could not have been called pretty, but her face thus\nseen in profile was almost beautiful, the hollowness of the cheeks and\nthe stringent thinness of all the contours being less obvious.\n\nBut Keith Burgess was not occupied with Anna\u2019s face and figure to any\nserious degree. He knew instinctively that she was of good birth and\nbreeding; he saw that, though severe and angular in person and manner,\nshe was womanly, noble, refined. He divined, as no one could have failed\nto divine, the essential truth and purity of her nature. From her\nsimple, unfeigned utterance he perceived the high earnestness and\nconsecration with which she was entering upon missionary labour.\nPerceiving all those things, the young man looked and listened with a\nsudden, momentous question taking swift shape in his mind.\n\nHe remained until the close of the meeting and met Anna, introducing\nhimself, as he preferred doing. She received his few expressions of\nsatisfaction in hearing her with scant response, and apparently with\nneither surprise or gratification. He did not like her the less for\nthat.\n\nThe Ingrahams found Keith sober and preoccupied at dinner that night,\nbut, as he was to be chief speaker at the evening session of the\nconvention, they thought this natural and in order. He was liked and was\ntreated with especial consideration by them all, and even Mr. Ingraham\ndid him the honour of going to the church to hear him speak. He had no\nsympathy with his wife\u2019s penchant for missions, but he thought Burgess\nwas \u201ca nice little fellow,\u201d and he wanted to see what kind of a speech\nhe could make.\n\nThe different members of the family and their guests came home one after\nanother late in the evening, and, as they met, exchanged enthusiastic\nexpressions concerning the eloquence of Keith Burgess. Mrs. Ingraham and\nthe Board ladies thought the dear young man had a wonderful gift;\nAroona-bia smiled tenderly in assent; the girls said he was simply\nperfect; and Mr. Ingraham admitted that, when he had worked off some of\nhis \u201csophomoric effervescence,\u201d he might make a good deal of an orator,\nand added, under his breath, it was nothing less than a crime to send a\ndelicate, talented boy like that to make food for those barbarians,\nwhose souls weren\u2019t worth the sacrifice, even if he could save them,\nwhich he couldn\u2019t.\n\n\u201cVery true, dear,\u201d rejoined his wife; \u201cno man can save another\u2019s soul;\nhe can only lead him to the dear Lord\u2019s feet.\u201d\n\nThe senator bit short a sharp reply, and just then Keith himself\nappeared, looking pale and exhausted, deprecating wearily the praise\nthey were eager to bestow upon him, and begging to be excused if he\nwithdrew at once to his room.\n\nAs the sound of his footsteps was lost in the hall above, Mrs. Ingraham\nsaid:\u2014\n\n\u201cI am sorry Mr. Burgess was so tired. I invited Anna Mallison to come\nhere for the night, and I wanted him to meet her. Mrs. Churchill has\nasked the opportunity for a little talk with Anna in the morning, and it\nwill be convenient for her to be here. It is so far to her rooms, you\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think the house was full already, mamma,\u201d remarked Gertrude\nIngraham. \u201cWhere can we put her?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, she will not mind going up to the south room in the third story, my\ndear. I told Jane to have it in order.\u201d\n\nJust then Miss Ingraham came into the house and Anna Mallison was with\nher.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER XI\n\n          The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,\n          Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit\n            Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,\n          Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.\n                                                \u2014THE RUBAIYAT.\n\n\nIn a few moments after he had reached his room Keith Burgess heard a\nknock at his door. Opening it, he found a neat, white-capped maid who\nbore a tray; entering demurely, she placed it upon a small table,\nremarking that Mrs. Ingraham thought he would need refreshment. The tray\nheld an exquisite china service for one person, a pot of chocolate, and\ndelicate rolls and cakes.\n\n\u201cMiss Gertrude said I was to light your fire,\u201d the maid said, proceeding\nto remove the fender and strike a match for the purpose.\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d replied Keith, walking to the other side of the room. The\nnight air was sharp, and he liked the notion.\n\nA moment later the maid withdrew, with the noiseless, unobtrusive step\nand movement of the well-trained servant, and Keith, when he turned,\nfound the room already enlivened by the firelight. The table was drawn\nto a cosey corner on the hearth-rug, a deep cushioned easy-chair beside\nit. The fragrant steam of the hot chocolate rose invitingly, and as\nKeith threw himself with a long sigh of comfort into the chair, he\ndetected another fragrance, and perceived, lying upon the plate, a\nsingle rose, and around the stem a slip of white paper. On the paper,\nKeith found a few words written: \u201cYou must let me thank you for the\ngreat uplift you have given me to-night. GERTRUDE INGRAHAM.\u201d\n\nThe young man, rising, put the flower in a clean glass vase on his\nmantle, and the note in the inner compartment of his writing-case,\ntouching both with careful gentleness. Then, returning to the fireside,\nhe fell to drinking and eating with cordial satisfaction in all this\ncreature comfort; but as he ate and drank and grew warm, he was thinking\nsteadily.\n\nHe was not minded to flatter himself unduly, but what was he justified\nin inferring from Gertrude\u2019s action and from other small signs which he\nhad seen? Simply, that she liked him; honoured him above his due;\nprobably idealized him; possibly, if he sought her deeper regard, might\nrespond.\n\nHe liked her thoroughly. What man would not? She was very pretty, and\nher beauty was enhanced by faultless dress,\u2014no small thing in itself.\nHer manners were charming, with the charm of a sweet nature, aided by\nthe polish of high social intercourse; she had the thousand little\nnameless, flattering graces of the woman, who, old or young,\ninstinctively knows how to put a man at his best. Furthermore, Keith was\nnot insensible to the background against which this girl was set. The\naristocratic, powerful family connection, the magnificent home, the\nwealth and grace and ease of life, the fine manners and habits of\nthought and conduct belonging to the Ingrahams, were not matters of\nnaught to him. He liked all these things. What was more, he knew\nperfectly that there was no element of temptation in them to lead him\nfrom his chosen path of altruism; Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s well-known missionary\nardour and Gertrude\u2019s delicate sympathy were guarantee for that. They\nunderstood perfectly that within six months he would depart for an exile\nof perhaps a lifetime, in an alien and uncongenial land, where he would\nwork under conditions of life repulsive and depressing to the last\ndegree. Nevertheless, he believed without vanity that Gertrude Ingraham,\nknowing all, foreseeing all, could care for him.\n\nKeith Burgess had come, suddenly perhaps, but definitely, to the\nconclusion that he wanted a wife; and, furthermore, that he wanted a\nwife who would go out with him to India six months hence. Consequently,\nas he sat by the fire which Gertrude Ingraham had lighted for him, he\npursued this line of thought with significant persistence.\n\nA curious condition, however, attended his reflections. While he sat by\nGertrude\u2019s fire, tasted her dainty food, inhaled the fragrance of the\nrose she had sent him, and thought of her in all her beauty and grace,\nhe did not _see_ her. Instead of her figure, there stood constantly\nbefore the eye of his mind the tall, austere form of Anna Mallison, in\nthe unsoftened simplicity of her manner and apparel, and in her\npassionless, unresponding repose. He thought of Gertrude Ingraham, but\nhe saw Anna Mallison.\n\nShe had travelled the way that he had come. Outwardly there might be\ncoldness between them, but inwardly there must be the profoundest basis\nof sympathy. The same master conviction had won and held their two\nsouls. He could not have known her better, it seemed to him, had he\nknown her all his life. The things which would have repelled another man\nwere what drew him all the more to her. It was not the passion of love\nwhich had so suddenly awakened within him, but a mighty longing for what\nKeith Burgess had thus far gone through life without,\u2014a true and\nsatisfying sympathy with his religious life and its aspirations. A girl\nlike Gertrude Ingraham might accept his religion and the shape it took,\nbut it would be because she cared for him; a girl like Anna Mallison\nmight, perhaps, accept him, but it would be because of his religion and\nthe shape it had taken. At this crisis of his life the enthusiasm for\nhis calling ruled him as no human love could, and by it all the issues\nof life must stand or fall.\n\nHours passed. The fire died out to a core of dull red embers, the single\nrose drooped on its stem, the tray of food stood despoiled and\nindifferent; the words of the small white paper were forgotten, and\nKeith Burgess, throwing himself upon his knees, prayed thus to God:\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, my Lord, if thou wilt grant me so great a good as to win her for my\nwife, if thou wilt bless me in seeking her, if it is according to thy\nwill that our lives should be united, and that together we should carry\nthe cross of Christ to the lost, grant me, O Lord, a sign. But if it be\nnot thy will, make this, too, known to me. Thy will I seek, O my God, in\nthis, in all things.\u201d\n\nThen, being wearied in brain and body, he slept heavily until morning.\n\nWhen, just before the breakfast hour, Keith stepped into the hall, he\npaused a moment, hearing a step on the stairs above him leading from the\nthird story rooms. He advanced slowly to the head of the next staircase,\nand not until he reached it did he see who it was descending from above.\nThen, lifting his eyes, he saw Anna Mallison.\n\nHer presence in this house, at this hour, so surprising, so\nunlooked-for, so almost unnatural, since her home was elsewhere in the\ncity\u2014what did it mean? It was the sign he had craved. How else could he\ninterpret it?\n\nThe blood rushed in sudden flow to his heart, leaving his face\ncolourless.\n\nAnna, not being surprised to meet him thus, was simply saying \u201cGood\nmorning,\u201d and passing down the stairs. Keith put out his hand and\nstopped her going.\n\nSo marvellous did her presence seem to him that he forthwith spoke out\nwith unconventional directness the thought in his mind.\n\n\u201cI think you do not know just what it means that you are here, in this\nhouse, this morning.\u201d\n\nMally Loveland would have flashed some pert rejoinder to a comment like\nthis; Gertrude Ingraham, in a similar situation, would have looked at\nKeith Burgess with pretty wonder and smiling question.\n\nAnna Mallison, seeing the pallor and emotion of his face, and having\nbecome wonted to the supernatural interpretation of the small events of\nhuman life, only said gravely and without obvious surprise:\u2014\n\n\u201cI do not, perhaps, know all that it means. I trust it means no trouble\nto any one\u2014to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he answered, a slight tremor in his voice; \u201cI cannot believe that\nit does. You came under the divine leading, no matter how or why you\nseemed to yourself to come. You came as a sign. I had asked a sign of\nGod. I did not dream of your presence in this house. Seeing you now, so\nunexpectedly, how can I doubt any further? It is the will of God.\u201d\n\nAnna looked straight into Keith\u2019s face, a deep shadow of perplexity on\nher own, but she did not speak.\n\nHe smiled slightly.\n\n\u201cYou cannot understand, and no wonder, I am speaking to you as I have no\nright to\u2014in the dark. It is for you to say whether, by and by, before I\ngo to-morrow morning, I may explain my meaning and try to make clear to\nyou what is so clear to me.\u201d\n\nIt was Anna now who grew perturbed, for the significance of his words,\nalthough veiled, was manifest. She turned and descended the stairs\nwithout speaking, Keith Burgess following her in silence. She did not\nherself understand her own sharp recoil and dismay, but all the maiden\ninstinct of defence was in alarm within her.\n\nAt the foot of the stairs they both paused for an instant, and Keith\nasked in a low voice:\u2014\n\n\u201cWill you walk with me on these hills somewhere, alone, this afternoon\nat four o\u2019clock?\u201d\n\nA sudden great sense of revolt arose in the girl\u2019s heart, and broke in a\nfaint sob upon her lips. She did not want to walk on the hills with\nhim\u2014with any man. She did not want to hear what he had to say. But he\nhad said it was the will of God, their thus meeting. He had sought that\nawful, irrefragable will, and she had acted, it seemed, in obedience to\nit in coming to this house. What was she, to be found fighting against\nGod?\n\nShe felt herself constrained to say yes.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XII\n\n  ... I made answer to my friend: \u201cOf a surety I have now set my feet\n  on that point of life beyond the which he must not pass who would\n  return.\u201d\n\n                                               \u2014_The New Life_, DANTE.\n\n\n\u201cI ask you, Anna Mallison, to go out with me to my work in India in May,\nas my wife.\u201d\n\nThus Keith Burgess, having recounted the story of the lights and\nleadings of the past twenty-four hours.\n\nThey were standing, and faced one another in a yellow beech wood where\nthe sky above their heads was shut out by the sun-lightened paving of\nthe clustering leaves.\n\nAs she came down the woodland path Anna had broken off a long stem of\ngoldenrod, and she held it hung like an inverted torch at her side, like\na sad vestal virgin at some ancient funeral rites.\n\n\u201cForgive me for bringing this to you so swiftly. I know it seems hasty,\nperhaps unreasonably so. But to me no time or acquaintance, however\nextended, could change my wish. And, you see, my time is so very short,\nnow!\u201d\n\nKeith Burgess looked with his whole soul\u2019s sincerity into Anna\u2019s face,\nand the integrity of his purpose, of his whole nature, could not be\nmistaken.\n\n\u201cIt is not the suddenness, I think,\u201d she replied slowly, with\nunconscious coldness; \u201clike you, I feel that the great facts of God\u2019s\nwill and providence may be made clear to us instantly.\u201d\n\nThen she hesitated and paused.\n\n\u201cPlease go on,\u201d the young man said gently.\n\n\u201cIt is only,\u201d she answered, with a pathos which a woman would have\nunderstood, \u201cthat I did not want to be married at all. I had never\nthought of it as being a thing I needed to be troubled about.\u201d\n\nKeith Burgess smiled faintly at her frankness, which was not cruel of\nintention, he knew, but his smile touched Anna\u2019s heart.\n\n\u201cI did not wish to trouble you,\u201d he said quietly.\n\n\u201cPlease do not misunderstand me. It was not the way to express it\u2014my\nwords sounded unkind, I am afraid. I should learn better ways of gentler\nspeaking. Other women seem to have them naturally.\u201d\n\n\u201cI like it that you are honest, even if it hurts,\u201d said Keith, steadily.\n\n\u201cI did not mean that you trouble me\u2014not exactly. Only that my life\nlooked so plain and clear to me, and this is so surprising\u2014it seems to\nchange things so.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly by a little outward difference. I should not dare to ask you to go\nas my wife if I did not believe that you could work more effectively so,\nperhaps,\u201d he added timidly, \u201ceven more happily, if I had strength and\nprotection to give you, and a home of some sort, however poor, in that\nstrange land.\u201d\n\nSomething in the quality of his voice brought swift tears to Anna\u2019s\neyes. It was so new to have some one thinking and caring for her ease\nand happiness. It had so long been her part to do this for others, to\nforget herself, and take it quite for granted that others should forget\nher.\n\nHe saw his advantage, and sought to follow it.\n\n\u201cThe thought of marriage is unwelcome to you,\u201d he said earnestly,\n\u201cbecause it is foreign and unfamiliar. I think you are very different\nfrom most girls of your age, and have lived a different inward life,\nhigher and purer, and free from personal aims in a wonderful way. But\neven so, regarding marriage I believe you are wrong. You think of it as\nan interruption, almost as a decline from the life you had meant to\nlive. On the contrary, God has made it to be the very best life, the\nnormal and fulfilled life, in which each is at the strongest and best.\nWhere my work for God and men might fall utterly to the ground, you, by\nyour purer insight, might help me to make it availing; and perhaps the\npoor service I could give might help a little to carry forward your\nwork.\u201d\n\nAnna lifted her hand in a slight, expressive gesture.\n\n\u201cLook at the whole thing a moment,\u201d cried Keith, with sudden boldness,\n\u201cas if you were not you and I not I. Here are two persons, man and\nwoman, of the same age within two or three years, led of the same Spirit\nto the same purpose and consecration and calling; both ready to go out\nto the same unknown land, lonely and apart, and there to work as best\nthey may far from any human being they have ever seen or known. Such\nwere we. And now God, looking upon us, sees that each needs the other,\nand in his good providence he leads us here to this place. I see you,\nand instantly my heart goes out to you as the companion, the other self,\nI need. My soul recognizes in you its counterpart. God, in answer to my\nprayer that he will make known his will, suddenly, most unexpectedly, as\nI start on the new day, brings you before me before I have spoken or met\nwith man or woman, as the first, best light of morning. What does God\nmean? Ask yourself, Anna Mallison, ask him. For my own part, I cannot\ndoubt his will. I have no right to thrust my conviction upon you\nforcibly, but to me this is as clearly the call of God as my call to the\nforeign field or to the divine service.\u201d\n\nThey were still standing face to face, and while Keith spoke Anna looked\ninto his eyes with the serious directness of one listening to an\nargument of weighty but impersonal import. With all his conviction and\nearnestness, he was as passionless as she, save for his religious\npassion. A strange wooing!\n\nAnna turned now and walked on along the mossy path in silence.\n\n\u201cTake time to consider,\u2014all the time you need. Do not try to decide\nnow,\u201d said Keith, walking at her side. She made no reply; in fact, she\ndid not realize that he spoke. Her mind was working in intense\nconcentration.\n\nKeith Burgess alone she would have turned away without a moment\u2019s doubt,\nbut he had, or seemed to have, a mighty Ally. She did not fear him in\nrejecting nor desire him in accepting, but to reject God!\u2014that she\nfeared; to accept God in every manifestation of his will was her deepest\ndesire.\n\nBut what if Keith were wrong in his conviction? Her pale face flushed\nwith a flame of indignation as she thought of it, that a man, whom she\nhad never met or known, sought or desired, could suddenly invade the\nvery citadel of her will, and summon her to surrender her very life into\nhis keeping, in the great Name, when, perhaps, he was self-deceived, was\ncoming in his own name, to do his own will. She looked aside at Keith\u2019s\nface as he walked by her, in sudden distrust. It wore no flush of\npassion, and in the blue eyes was the light less of earthly love than of\nheavenly. It was a look pure and high, such as a man might fitly wear as\nhe approached the sacrament. A sudden awe fell upon Anna, as if she were\nlooking upon one who had talked with God, and her eyes fell, the lashes\nweighted with heavy, unshed tears.\n\n\u201cHe is better than I,\u201d she thought; \u201ca man like this could not lead me\nwrong.\u201d\n\nWhite and cold, and with a strange sinking at her heart, she turned to\nhim soon, and stopped where she stood.\n\nHe looked into her face, his own suffused with emotion. She held out\nboth her hands, the goldenrod, which she had held until now, falling to\nthe ground. Keith Burgess took them in both his, and Anna felt that his\nhands trembled far more than did her own.\n\n\u201cI believe you were right,\u201d she said simply. \u201cIt is the will of God.\u201d\n\nHe kissed her then on her brow and on her lips, the salutation\ndisturbing her no more than if he had been her brother.\n\n\u201cPlease, will you let me go home now, alone, Mr. Burgess?\u201d she asked\nhumbly, like a child.\n\nKeith was disappointed, but consented at once.\n\n\u201cOnly,\u201d he said, \u201cyou should not call me Mr. Burgess. My name for you is\nKeith.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot yet,\u201d she answered. \u201cIn outward things and ways remember, please,\nthat we are perfect strangers. It is only in the spirit that we have\nmet.\u201d\n\nThen she left him, and Keith Burgess stood watching the tall, dark\nfigure swiftly receding down the wood walk in the yellow light. His look\nwas wistful. He longed to go after her, but he forebore.\n\nAnna hastened down into the city streets and to the hospital where she\nwas on duty every afternoon. There was plenty of work awaiting her, and\nnot for a moment was she free or left alone to think her own thoughts.\nSix o\u2019clock found her back in her own rooms at Mrs. Wilson\u2019s. They were\nlow and dull after the fine spaciousness of the Ingraham house, but that\nwas a matter of little note to Anna.\n\nMally was there with a friend whom she had brought home with her to tea.\nAnna washed the dishes while these two diligently revised the trimming\nof their hats which in some particular, wholly imperceptible to Anna\u2019s\nuntrained eye, fell below the standard of latest fashion.\n\nIt was not until the girls left the house, at seven o\u2019clock, and all her\nduties, trivial and homely and wearying, were done, that Anna, alone at\nlast, could yield to the overpowering weariness which was upon her.\n\nShe carried the lamp, whose flame seemed to pierce her aching eyes, into\nthe next room, and then, lying on the hard haircloth sofa with her head\npropped on one hand, she closed her eyes, thankful at last to be where\nshe could let a few tears fall with no one to wonder or question. The\nquiet patience inbred in the constitution of the girl\u2019s nature\ncontrolled her mood; there was no struggle of revolt from the vow she\nhad taken and the future to which she had pledged herself, but an\nunspeakable homesickness had taken possession of her. She liked and\nreverenced Keith Burgess, no doubt she would love him very truly by and\nby, but just now he seemed to have turned her out of her own life and to\nhave taken control where she had hitherto, with God, been supreme. It\nall gave her the same feeling she had suffered when, after her father\u2019s\ndeath, they had been obliged to give up their home for the coming in of\na new leader for the little flock her father had led so long. She knew\nthere was no real analogy between the two experiences, she could reason\nclearly against herself, but she could not control the piteous\nheart-sickness which settled down upon her in the dim room, in the\nsilent, empty house.\n\nMany women have suffered a reaction like this in the hour of committing\nthemselves, from the fear that this is not the supreme love, the love of\nthe lifetime; the misgiving lest this man is not, after all, the man for\nwhom they can forsake all others and unto whom they can cleave with a\nperfect heart to the end. These were not, however, the considerations\nwhich weighed upon Anna Mallison. It was, as she had herself expressed\nit, very simply, that she had not thought about marriage at all. She had\nno ideal of manhood in her mind from this point of view. It was not that\nshe craved the love of a stronger man or a man abler or better in any\nway than Keith Burgess; she merely preferred no man. She had not\nawakened to love; the deeper forces of her woman\u2019s nature were sleeping\nstill.\n\nBut there was not for an instant, in Anna\u2019s mind, the thought of\nwithdrawing from her plighted word to Keith. She believed that he had\ncome to her, as he believed, under the divine light and leading. She\nturned to walk in the new path marked out for her, faithfully and\nobediently, but pausing a moment to look with aching eyes and heart down\nthe dear, familiar path which she was leaving. But Anna was too tired to\nthink long, or even to feel, and so fell asleep shortly, in the stiff,\nangular position in which she lay, the tears undried upon her cheeks.\nThe sound of the knocker on the house door, hard, metallic, but without\nresonance, suddenly roused her, and she sprang up hastily, remembering\nthat Mrs. Wilson had gone to the great missionary meeting, and that she\nwas alone in the house.\n\nShe took her lamp and went down the narrow stairs into the bit of entry.\nWhen she opened the door, Keith Burgess himself was standing there.\n\nHe looked at her, smiling half mischievously, and she felt a sudden\nwarmth at her heart as she met the sweet, true look of his eyes.\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you ever expect to see me again?\u201d he said, and laughed as he\nstepped into the house and closed the door.\n\nShe smiled, too, and held out her hand. He took it and kissed it in a\ngallant way, which she found wholly wonderful, being quite unused to\nsuch feats, and unread in romances.\n\n\u201cIt will be a bore, won\u2019t it,\u201d he went on quaintly, \u201cthis having a man\naround to bother you? Perhaps I ought not to have come, but, you see, I\ngo in the morning, and I thought you might have something to say to me\nbefore I left.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Anna said; adding na\u00efvely, \u201cbut where shall I take you? It is so\nnew. I have not had a call like this before.\u201d She felt shy about\ninviting him up to her own sitting room.\n\n\u201cIn there?\u201d he queried, pointing to the door of Mrs. Wilson\u2019s drear\nlittle closed parlour.\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d replied Anna, \u201cMrs. Wilson never lets us go in there. It is\ntoo fine for anything but funerals and\u2014\u201d she was about to say weddings,\nbut broke off confused, and they both laughed, looking at each other\nlike two children with their innocent eyes.\n\n\u201cI can sit here,\u201d said Keith, pointing, as he spoke, to the steep,\nnarrow stairs. There was a red and green striped carpet on them, and a\nstrip of grey linen over for protection. The little entry was bare of\nfurniture, save for the small uncovered table on which Anna had placed\nher lamp.\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d she said, \u201cI will borrow a chair from Mrs. Wilson\u2019s\nkitchen;\u201d and she forthwith brought out a clean wooden chair painted a\nlight yellow, and placed it at the side of the stairway for herself,\nthere being no room at the foot.\n\n\u201cI was going to say,\u201d remarked Keith, musingly, as Anna sat down, \u201cthat\nthese stairs are rather wide, and if Mrs. Wilson is particular about\nlending her chairs, I could make room for you here,\u201d and he looked at\nher soberly between the stair-rails. Anna shook her head, but suddenly\nthere came over them both a sense of the ludicrousness of the little\nscene they would have presented, had any one been able to look in upon\nthem, and they laughed again, as Anna had not laughed since she was a\nchild, something of exhaustion aiding to break down her wonted\nrestraint.\n\n\u201cIt is so funny, oh, it is so funny!\u201d she cried, \u201cto see you looking out\nbetween those bars as if you were a lion in a cage. Just think of the\npeople at the meeting! What if they were to see us two. Wouldn\u2019t they\nthink it was dreadful?\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you mind putting your hand into the cage?\u201d asked Keith. \u201cI assure\nyou it is perfectly safe. This is not the man-eating variety.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are sure?\u201d Anna asked, with a woman\u2019s instinctive coquetry swiftly\ndeveloped, but giving her hand.\n\n\u201cIt is such a beautiful hand,\u201d he said, laying it very gently on his own\nright hand, which he had placed on the stair beside him, and at this,\nthe first word of flattery which any man had ever spoken to her face,\nAnna blushed and grew positively pretty, as he looked at her.\n\nAll this laughing and light nonsense between them, did for her what a\nseason of prayer and serious discussion of their situation could not\nhave accomplished. Anna felt, with a sudden sense of comfort and\nrelease, that this new relation was not exclusively a solemn religious\nordinance, but a dear human companionship, the joyousness of simple,\nupright hearts, and the sympathy of kindred minds.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIII\n\n             Now die the dream, or come the wife,\n                 The past is not in vain,\n             For wholly as it was your life\n                 Can never be again,\n                   My dear,\n                 Can never be again.\n                                             \u2014W. E. HENLEY.\n\n\nAt Anna\u2019s earnest request, Keith Burgess consented that their engagement\nshould be announced to no one save his mother until spring. Mally\nobserved the regularity of Keith\u2019s weekly letters, and attempted to\ntease Anna into acknowledging that there was \u201csomething in it\u201d; but\nAnna\u2019s dignity, which on occasion had its effect even upon Mally\u2019s\nvivacious self-confidence, ended this line of attack in short order. A\nfew weeks after Keith left Burlington Anna received the following note:\u2014\n\n  MY DEAR MISS MALLISON: My son, Keith Burgess, has confided in me the\n  fact that you have consented to enter into an understanding with him\n  which, if Providence should favour, will doubtless eventually\n  terminate in marriage. Your name has been mentioned to me by members\n  of our Woman\u2019s Foreign Missionary Board, and I am led to believe\n  that my dear son has been graciously led of the Lord in his choice\n  of a companion in the path of duty upon which he has entered. That\n  my son is a godly young man and of an amiable disposition, I need\n  hardly take this occasion to tell you. Similarity of views and of\n  religious experience would seem to furnish a satisfactory basis for\n  a union productive of mutual good and the glory of God.\n\n  Trusting for further acquaintance before you depart for foreign\n  shores,\n\n                                        I am yours very truly,\n                                                  SARAH KEITH BURGESS.\n\n\nIf this letter were stiff or cold, Anna, not looking for warmth and\nfreedom, did not miss them. She knew that Keith was the only son of his\nmother, and she a widow. She took it for granted that they were poor\nlike herself; she had not known many people who were other than poor,\nnone who were in the ranks of missionary candidates. Such a thing would\nhave seemed singularly incongruous because unfamiliar. She had a\ndistinct picture of Mrs. Burgess, whom she knew to be in delicate\nhealth, as a woman of sweet, saintly face and subdued manner, living in\na small white cottage in an obscure street of Fulham, perhaps not unlike\nthe Burlington street in which Mrs. Wilson\u2019s house stood. She fancied\nher living alone\u2014indeed, Keith had told her that this was so\u2014in a plain\nand humble fashion, a quiet, devoted, Christian life, a type with which\nher experience both in Haran and Burlington church circles had made her\nfamiliar. There were some geraniums in the little sitting room window,\nshe thought, and it was a sunny room with braided mats over the carpet,\nand a comfortable cat asleep on a patchwork cushion near the stove.\nThere would be a small stand beside Mrs. Burgess\u2019s rocking-chair with a\nlarge Bible and a volume or two of Barnes\u2019s \u201cNotes,\u201d a spectacle case\nand a box of cough medicine; perhaps it was a bottle, Anna was not sure,\nbut she inclined to the hoarhound drops, and almost smelt them when she\nthought of the room. She imagined the dear old lady carefully and\nprayerfully inditing the epistle to herself, and thought it most kind of\nher, and wrote thus to Keith.\n\nThe winter passed for Anna in hard and unintermitting work. Mally\nallowed herself lighter labours, and, having raised her eyes with\nadmiration to the Rev. Frank Nichols, now shook herself free as far as\nshe could conveniently from her more frivolous Burlington friends, and\nrenewed her earlier interest in religion with extraordinary zeal. She\nfelt that Dr. Harvey\u2019s church was too worldly for her ideals, and that\nMr. Nichols\u2019s beautiful work among the humbler classes offered far more\nopportunity for religious devotion. Her regular attendance at all the\nmeetings of the church was a great satisfaction to Anna, who looked on\nwith characteristic blindness, glad to see her friend returning to a\nmore consistent walk and conversation.\n\nThe letters which passed between Anna and Keith would hardly have been\ncalled love-letters. They dealt with religious experience and views of\n\u201cdivine truth,\u201d for the most part. Not even at start or finish of any\nletter was place found for the endearing trifling common to lovers. This\ncorrespondence might all have been published, omitting nothing\u2014without\ndashes or asterisks, even in that day when it was thought unseemly to\nreveal the innermost secrets of hearts, and to speak upon the housetops\nthat which had been whispered in the ear. There were few personal\nallusions on the part of either, beyond Keith\u2019s occasional mention of\nhis health being below the mark. At Christmas Keith sent Anna a volume\nof \u201cSacred Poetry\u201d; on the fly-leaf he had written:\u2014\n\n              ANNA MALLISON,\n                  From her sincere friend and well-wisher,\n                                      KEITH BURGESS.\n\nHe had abstained from warmer terms on account of Anna\u2019s wish to withhold\nthe knowledge of their engagement for the present.\n\nPoor Anna, having nothing wherewith to provide a gift for her lover, the\nsmall savings for her education being now nearly exhausted, made shift\nto sew together sheets of note-paper, on which she copied her favourite\npassages from Paley and Butler and various theologians. This humble\noffering was sent to Keith, who was highly gratified, and treasured the\nlittle gift affectionately.\n\nFor two weeks following Christmas Anna received no letter, but she was\nnot greatly surprised, as she knew Keith was to start early in January\nfor a tour of various New England towns, where he was expected to\npresent the cause of Foreign Missions. He was now completing his last\nyear in the theological seminary near Boston, and his unusual gifts in\npublic speech induced the faculty to send him out frequently on such\nmissions.\n\nAt half-past eight of a zero morning in the second week of January,\nAnna, with her threadbare black jacket buttoned tight to her throat, her\narm full of books, was leaving Mrs. Wilson\u2019s door on her way to school,\nwhen she saw a boy stop in front of the house with a telegram in his\nhand. Taking it, she found, greatly amazed, that it was for herself\u2014the\nfirst telegram she had ever received.\n\nThe boy, accustomed to see people receive his messages with changing\ncolour and nervous hands, glanced at her coolly, then turned and went\nhis way back, plunging his hands into his pockets against the biting\ncold. In the little entry Anna opened the despatch. It was dated\nPortland, Maine, and signed by Keith Burgess. It told her that he was\nvery ill; that he was alone, it being impossible for his mother to go to\nhim. It asked her to come to him at once.\n\nAnna\u2019s mind, in the half-hour which followed, worked with intense\nrapidity. She found from a newspaper that by a ten o\u2019clock train she\ncould reach Boston that evening, and she decided to take that train, and\ngo on to Portland by night. She wrote a note to Mally, in which she told\nher of her engagement to Keith and of what had occurred. She packed a\nsatchel with what was necessary, and last of all drew out of her little\nsquare writing-desk, where she kept it carefully locked away, an\nenvelope containing all the ready money she possessed. She found that\nthere remained exactly twelve dollars. This, to Anna, was a large amount\nof money, and, although her heart sank a little at the thought of\nspending so much at once, the prospect for the weeks to come before she\ncould draw upon her mother again being blank enough, she knew that this\nwas justified by the emergency.\n\nSoon after nine Anna again departed from the house, the books replaced\nby the satchel, the worn and faded black gown and jacket unchanged,\nstarting alone and unsped upon her long and anxious journey.\n\nShe went first to the Ingrahams, walking the long mile in the sharp\ncold, carrying her heavy bag with a benumbed hand, since the reckless\nextravagance of a carriage might not for a moment be considered.\n\nMrs. Ingraham was ill and could not see Anna, but her daughter Gertrude\ncame into the parlour and greeted her cordially. The issues of the hour\nwere too strong upon Anna to permit any trace of embarrassment or\npersonal feeling in her manner, although she felt that it would have\nbeen easier to say what she felt must be said, to Mrs. Ingraham.\n\n\u201cWill you be so good as to tell your mother,\u201d she began, \u201cthat I could\nnot go away on this journey, which I must take, without explaining it to\nher? She has been so very kind. We did not mean to announce it quite so\nsoon, but Mr. Burgess, whom I met here in the fall, and I are engaged to\nbe married.\u201d Anna was too preoccupied to perceive the flush which slowly\nand steadily rose in Gertrude Ingraham\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cWe expect to go out together in May,\u201d Anna proceeded. \u201cMr. Burgess has\nnot been strong for several months, perhaps he is never very strong; but\nthis morning I have a telegram from him asking me to come to Portland,\nas he is very ill, and his mother cannot be with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall you go, Miss Mallison?\u201d asked Gertrude, with visible constraint.\n\nAnna looked at her then, surprised, and instantly felt the indefinable\ncoldness of her reception of her little story.\n\n\u201cI am on my way to take the ten o\u2019clock train east,\u201d she said simply,\nher voice faltering slightly. For all her courage and steadiness, her\nheart was crying out for a little touch of another woman\u2019s gentleness;\nthe way before her was not easy, and there was a sense of loneliness\nupon her which began to make itself acutely felt.\n\nGertrude Ingraham rose and said:\u2014\n\n\u201cI am so very sorry for Mr. Burgess. We liked him very much. You must\nlet me go and speak to mamma a moment, for I know she would wish to give\nyou some message. I will not keep you long.\u201d And she hurried from the\nroom.\n\nAnna sat alone and watched the minute-hand of a French clock on the\nmantel moving slowly along the gilded dial, a heavy oppression on her\nspirit. She had not consciously expected sympathy, but Gertrude\u2019s\naloofness hurt her strangely.\n\nSome one came softly into the room behind her just then, so softly that\nshe turned rather because she felt a presence than because she heard a\nstep. It was Oliver Ingraham.\n\nThe peculiar personality of this mysterious man inspired Anna always\nwith an aversion hardly less than terror, and although she had become\nfamiliar with his presence in her frequent visits, it had never become\nless painful to her. Indeed, latterly, a new element of discomfort had\nbeen added to her feeling toward him, since he had shown a marked\ndisposition to follow her about, and intrude a manner of unpleasant\ngallantry upon her.\n\nHe greeted her now almost effusively, and, perceiving that she was\nprepared as if for a journey, asked at once:\u2014\n\n\u201cNot going away? The painful hour of parting is not here yet, surely?\u201d\n\nAnna made a vague and hurried reply.\n\n\u201cBecause, you know,\u201d pursued Oliver, lowering his voice to an offensive\ntone of familiarity, and maliciously mimicking the phraseology of his\nstepmother\u2019s friends, \u201cwe could hardly spare our dear young sister yet;\nshe is becoming really indispensable to us,\u201d and he held out one long\nhand as if to clasp that of Anna, leering at her repulsively.\n\nAnna rose hurriedly and moved away from him, her heart beating hard with\nfear and antipathy. To her great relief she heard Gertrude Ingraham\u2019s\nstep in the hall, and Anna, with her face paler than it had been, met\nher at the door, while Oliver slunk away to a little distance, and\nappeared to be looking out of a window unconcernedly.\n\nGertrude Ingraham carried a pocket-book open in her hand, and as she\nspoke she looked at it, and not at Anna.\n\n\u201cMamma is so very sorry, and sends her best wishes and hopes for Mr.\nBurgess\u2019s quick recovery. She hopes you will let her know; and, Miss\nMallison,\u201d Gertrude was evidently embarrassed, \u201cmamma says it is such a\nlong and expensive journey, and she wishes you would just take this with\nyou to make everything as comfortable as may be.\u201d And she drew out a\ncrisp twenty-dollar note, which she essayed to put in Anna\u2019s hand.\n\nAnna had not known before that she was proud. She did not know it now,\nbut Gertrude Ingraham did, and was touched with keen compunction. She\nunderstood that her mother would have been more successful.\n\nIt was only the swift, unconscious protest of Anna\u2019s hand, the pose of\nher head as she turned to go, and the quiet finality with which she\nsaid:\u2014\n\n\u201cWill you thank Mrs. Ingraham for me, and say I did not need it? She is\nalways kind. Good-by.\u201d\n\nA moment later Gertrude watched from the window the slender figure in\nits faded, scanty black, with the heavy, old-fashioned satchel, passing\ndown the windswept lawn, under the grey and bitter sky.\n\nWithin was warmth and luxury and protection, and yet Gertrude\u2019s heart\nleaped with a strong passion of desire to forego all this and take Anna\nMallison\u2019s place, that so she might start on that long journey which\nshould bring her, at its end, to the side of Keith Burgess.\n\nSmall, unseen tragedies in women\u2019s lives such as this, never once,\nperhaps, expressed, and never forgotten, work out the heroic hypocrisies\nwhich women learn, since such is their allotted part.\n\n\u201cYou might have known better than to offer money to that girl,\u201d Oliver\u2019s\nhigh, shrill voice behind Gertrude said. \u201cShe\u2019s as confoundedly proud as\nall the other saints. But she\u2019ll have to come down yet. We shall see\nsome day.\u201d\n\nThus unpleasantly interrupted in her reverie, Gertrude rose impatiently,\nand left the room.\n\nIt was eight o\u2019clock that evening when Anna reached Boston. Dismayed by\nthe small remainder of money left her after her railway ticket was\nbought, she had not dared to spend anything for food through all the\nday, and had tried to think the cold, dry bread, a few slices of which\nshe had put into her satchel, was sufficient for her needs.\n\nIn Boston a change of stations made a cab a necessity if she would not\nlose the Portland train, and this she must not do, since she had\ntelegraphed Keith from Burlington that she would be with him in the\nmorning. Anna alighted at the station of the Maine Railroad and heard\nthe cabman say that his fee was two dollars with a sensation hardly less\nthan terror. She paid him without a word, then entering the station, sat\ndown in the glare of light amid the confusion of the moving crowd, and\nlooked into her poor little purse, a sharp contraction at her throat as\nshe counted, and found less than three dollars left.\n\nThe train would leave in fifteen minutes. Anna went with as brave a face\nas she could manage, to the office, and asked what was the fare to\nPortland. The curt reply of the agent proved the glaring insufficiency\nof her small remaining store. Trembling with weakness and dismay, Anna\nturned back to her place and sat down, closing her eyes while she\nprayed. She had friends in missionary circles in Boston, who would\ngladly have lent her money, but time failed to seek them out. She\nthought, as she prayed, of the money which Gertrude Ingraham had\nproffered in the morning, and, humbled, asked forgiveness for the\nignorance and pride which had led her to reject it. The thought of Keith\nwatching, perhaps in vain, for her coming in his loneliness and great\nneed, perhaps in his extremity, overwhelmed her with pity and penitence.\nHaving prayed for forgiveness and for guidance, and for a way out, and a\nway to Keith that night, she opened her eyes, astonished for the moment\nat the harsh light and the motley scene about her, her actual\nsurroundings having been for the time forgotten in the complete\nabstraction of her mind. She gazed for a few moments languidly before\nher, her face so colourless and sorrowful that many persons who passed\nher looked back at her in curiosity and concern. Presently the space\nbefore her became clear; there was a pause in the fluctuating course of\npassers-by, and nothing interposed, for the instant, between her and the\nwindow of the ticket office.\n\nAn elderly gentleman in a long travelling cloak and silk hat, carrying a\nsnug and shiny travelling bag, came up to the window with the confident\nand assured bearing of the experienced traveller. Anna heard him ask for\na ticket to Portland. She recognized him at once, for it was Dr. Durham,\nthe missionary secretary who had once been her father\u2019s guest.\n\nWhen he turned from the window, the doctor found the pale, quiet girl in\nblack standing just behind him; she spoke to him with a radiant light in\nher face, such as he had never met before. To herself, Anna was saying\nwith a sense of exquisite joy in her heart, \u201cGod is near,\u201d feeling\nherself close touched by the Almightiness. To her father\u2019s friend she\ntold her story and her need in few words, without hesitation or doubt,\ndeclaring, necessarily, her engagement to Keith Burgess, and the fact\nthat she was hastening to reach him on account of his serious illness.\n\n\u201cAmazing, my dear,\u201d exclaimed Dr. Durham, taking off his hat and wiping\nthe large shining baldness of his head, \u201camazing indeed! I am myself on\nmy way to Burgess, and we can make the journey together. Poor fellow! It\nis a sad case. I had a telegram yesterday, but it was impossible to\nstart until to-night. It seems he has had a hemorrhage. But we will talk\nall this over on the way,\u201d and the good old gentleman made haste to buy\nAnna\u2019s ticket, which he said it was only the part of the Society to do,\nand she must never mention it again. This done, they hastened on\ntogether to the train.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV\n\n  How true it is that our destinies are decided by nothings, and that\n  a small imprudence helped by some insignificant accident, as an\n  acorn is fertilized by a drop of rain, may raise the tree on which\n  perhaps we and others shall be crucified....\n\n  Poor, sorely tried Faith! She has but one way out of the\n  difficulty\u2014the word Mystery. It is in the origins of things that the\n  great secret of destiny lies hidden, although the breathless\n  sequence of after events has often many surprises for us too.\u2014AMIEL.\n\n\nThe incredible luxury of her breakfast the next morning in the hotel in\nPortland made an impression upon Anna which she could never forget,\nsince she was, in fact, very nearly starved. The rich coffee, the\ndelicate and sumptuous food, the noiseless assiduity of the sleek black\nwaiters, the great glittering room, all partook of the marvellous to her\nexhausted senses.\n\nThen she was conducted through endless passages where her feet trod in\nbaffling silence upon the lanes of thick crimson carpet, for a few\nmoments she was alone in a room to bathe and prepare herself, and then a\nlow-voiced woman, stout and motherly, met her at the door, and she was\nled to Keith.\n\nHe was lying, fully dressed, on a broad velvet sofa, in a richly\nfurnished room, which was full of flowers, and bright with the light of\nthe snowy winter morning and a blazing wood fire. His eyes were\nluminous, his colour better than she had known it, and he did not look\nill. The nurse left them alone, and they met with unfeigned but quiet\nhappiness.\n\n\u201cWas I selfish to ask you to come this long journey, just for me?\u201d Keith\nasked anxiously, holding her hands. Anna found his hot and tremulous,\nand soothed them with a slow, strong motion of her own.\n\n\u201cNo, not selfish,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYou see, I am not very ill; in fact, I am sure the worst is over now,\nand I shall be just as well as ever in a few weeks; but I had a terrible\ncold and coughing so there was a little hemorrhage,\u2014simply from the\nthroat, we understand it now,\u2014but at the time the doctor himself was\nalarmed, and so was I. If I had known how slight an affair it really\nwas, I should not have asked so much of you, but I cannot be sorry,\nAnna. I shall have to stay right here for several weeks, they say, and\nit will be everything to have you near me, don\u2019t you see?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am most grateful to be with you, Keith.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd will you talk to me about India, and about our home there? I have\nthought of it so continually since I have been sick. It almost seems as\nif I had seen it, and you in it. I love it already, Anna. Please say\nthat you do too, just a little.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me about it. Of course I shall love it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is all made of bamboo, you know, the house, and perched up in the\nair, and there are great, wide rooms, with cool shade, and a sound of\nwater flowing; there are broad bamboo lattices at the windows, and it is\nstill and peaceful, and the servants go about softly, and you are there\nin a white dress, Anna,\u2014oh, how I want to see you in that white dress!\nIt has tiny borders of gilt and coloured embroidery, and it suits you so\nmuch better than this hard black gown. Will you have a dress made soon\nlike that?\u201d\n\nAnna smiled and pressed her hand over Keith\u2019s eyes, which were full of\nchildish imploring. She was beginning to see his weakness with a new\npain at her heart.\n\nShe sat with him an hour, and then, the doctor coming in, she was sent\nto her room to sleep until noon, while Keith should rest, and have an\ninterview with Dr. Durham, their fatherly friend.\n\nWhen Anna reached her room, she found on a table a large jar of roses,\nrich in colour and fragrance, and a basket of hothouse grapes. The day\nwas bitterly cold, and it was snowing hard, the thick snowflakes melting\nagainst the broad, thick glass of her window.\n\nThe extravagant luxury of such fruit and flowers in this depth of\nmidwinter astonished and disturbed her. There was no one of whom she\ncould ask questions, but how could it be right for Keith to spend so\nmuch money? To remain for weeks in such a hotel as this seemed to Anna\nto involve an impossible expenditure, and she lay down on the great\nluxurious bed with a bewildering confusion of questions to which no\nanswers were forthcoming. From the pinching cold and hunger of yesterday\nto the luxurious ease of to-day was like the transformation of a fairy\ntale; and Keith, with his weak hands, and his bright eyes, and his\nwistful eagerness was formidable in his appeal to her. She did not know\nwhat might be coming, but she felt anew that she had surrendered herself\nand was pledged now to do another\u2019s will.\n\nAt noon Anna had a moment\u2019s conference with Keith\u2019s physician. He\nassured her that there was a remarkable change for the better in his\npatient,\u2014in fact, that he looked now for a speedy convalescence, adding\nthat her coming had produced a most favourable effect.\n\nThe whole afternoon of that January day, Keith and Anna were left alone\ntogether. The nurse, glad of a brief release, took her \u201cafternoon out\u201d;\nthe various doctors of medicine and divinity betook themselves to other\nplaces; and word was given the page that Mr. Burgess could not receive\nvisitors, so that flowers and cards accumulated, and interruptions were\npostponed. There was justice in what Keith said, that they had never yet\nhad a chance to get acquainted, and now the afternoon was turned to good\naccount.\n\nExperience and instinct made Anna a nurse. Keith was sure he had never\nbeen so wholly comfortable as she made him, and the effect of her\npersonal presence was like health and healing to him.\n\n\u201cHow dear you are, Anna, and how absolutely necessary to me,\u201d he said\nfondly, as he watched her quiet way of preparing his food and medicine.\n\u201cI foresee plainly that I can never let you leave me.\u201d\n\nWhen twilight gathered and the room grew dusky, they had no lights, but\nsat by the fire, Anna on a low seat beside the sofa, and silence fell.\nWhen Keith spoke again, his voice betrayed a rising emotion, and an\nappeal before which she trembled within herself.\n\n\u201cAnna,\u201d he said, \u201cwhy should you leave me again? Why need we be\nseparated any more? I need you. I can get strong far faster with you\nbeside me, for you inspire me with a new life. Everything seems sure and\nstrong when you are with me. But I want you wholly mine without fear or\nfavour. Marry me, dear, to-night, to-morrow! What have we to wait for?\nIt is only three months before our marriage was to be, you know.\u201d\n\nConcealing her agitation, and speaking quite steadily and soothingly,\nAnna answered:\u2014\n\n\u201cBut you know, Keith, I must go back in a few weeks, and finish my work\nin the school and hospital. I have still so much to learn before I can\nmake a really useful missionary, and so little time before May to learn\nit in. You know I have cut my preparation short a year, now, so that we\nmay go out together. I am sure we ought to wait until May.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Anna!\u201d\n\nThe words, so spoken, had all the force of an inarticulate cry from the\nman\u2019s heart. They told what hours of argument and pleading could not\nhave conveyed,\u2014the yearning need for her presence and her upholding.\nAnna lifted her eyes to Keith\u2019s, and saw that they were dim with tears.\nShe did not feel them to be unmanly tears, knowing his physical\nexhaustion, and they moved her profoundly. She rose and walked to the\nwindow, looking out into the snowy street. Again that sense that her\nlife was taken out of her own hands came upon her; she felt like those\nof old who feared as they entered into the cloud. She feared, but,\nnevertheless, she went back to Keith, and said, very gently, but without\nhesitation:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf we should be married to-morrow night, would that please you, Keith?\u201d\n\nHe caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek with pathetic eagerness.\n\n\u201cOh, my girl, am I wrong to move you to do this for my sake? Forgive me,\nleave me, if I am leading you faster, farther, than you wish to go.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not leave you, Keith,\u201d Anna replied, taking her low seat again\nat his side, \u201cnever, any more. It is the will of God.\u201d\n\nThe next day Keith was much stronger. He was able to walk about the\nroom, to sit up for an hour at a time, and to talk and plan to his\nheart\u2019s desire. His spirits were high, and he was full of irrepressible\nhappiness, and yet a wistful, grateful question always rose in his eyes\nwhen they rested upon Anna. The marriage was arranged to take place in\nKeith\u2019s room at six o\u2019clock. Dr. Durham had consented to remain and\nperform the ceremony, returning to Boston that night. Keith\u2019s physician\nhad interposed no objection to the plan, and even regarded the\ninevitable excitement as likely to be a benefit rather than an injury to\nhis patient.\n\n\u201cHe needs you, Miss Mallison,\u201d he remarked with an emphasis which Anna\nfelt to be peculiarly significant, finding him a man of few words.\n\nIt was five o\u2019clock, and Anna had gone to her room to make ready for the\nceremony. At Keith\u2019s urgent desire, and by the aid of one of the many\nefficient friends whom the circumstances of his illness had gathered\naround him, a white dress had been ordered for her. She found it now,\nlying in delicate tissue wrappings upon her bed, and beside it a box of\norange flowers whose fragrance filled the room.\n\nShe was becoming a little inured to luxury; colour, warmth, perfume,\ndelight to sense, seemed here to be the natural order. A vague\nperplexity lay below it all, but she had ceased now to ask questions.\n\nAs she bent to take her wedding-gown from its wrappings, some one\nknocked at her door. It was Dr. Durham. There was a shade of anxiety\nupon his kind old face, and he asked her to come with him into an alcove\nat the end of the hall. With an uneasy stirring at her heart, Anna\nfollowed him. Keith\u2019s physician was standing by a table in the alcove,\nevidently awaiting them.\n\nAnna looked into his face, waiting without speaking for what he might\nhave to say. Surely it was impossible that Keith could be worse; it was\nnot ten minutes since she left him.\n\n\u201cMiss Mallison,\u201d said the doctor, gravely, \u201cI have been having a little\nconference with your friend, Dr. Durham, and we find that there is a\nchance that you may be under some misapprehension of the actual\nconditions under which\u2014under which you are about to take an important\nstep.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not understand it myself, my dear girl, until within the last\nhour,\u201d interposed Dr. Durham; \u201cand I really don\u2019t know now what we ought\nto do. Still, perfect frankness, perfect understanding, you know, may be\nbetter for all parties.\u201d\n\nThe good old man was visibly oppressed with the burden of the part he\nhad to bear in the interview. Motionless Anna stood, only turning her\neyes from one man to the other in troubled wonder.\n\n\u201cThe facts are simply these,\u201d the physician took up the word again, \u201cand\nI am greatly surprised, and I may add greatly pained, that they have not\napparently been understood before. Mr. Burgess will recover from this\nattack, and may have years yet of moderate health, but as for carrying\nout his purpose to go out as a foreign missionary, it is absolutely\nimpossible. Such a course would simply be suicidal, and must not be\nconsidered for a moment.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot now, perhaps,\u201d Anna spoke very low, in a strange, muffled tone;\n\u201cbut it may be\u2014later\u2014?\u201d and she turned her imploring eyes from the face\nof one man to the other.\n\n\u201cTo be perfectly frank, my dear,\u201d said Dr. Durham, pressing his hands\nnervously together, \u201cafter what the doctor has told me of the condition\nof our dear friend, the organic difficulty, and all that, you see\u2014I fear\nthat I can only, in justice to all concerned, state plainly that our\nBoard would not be justified in sending him. I assure you the blow is a\nsevere one to me in my capacity as secretary; for we regard Keith\nBurgess as, perhaps, the most promising candidate who has ever come\nbefore us. It is a dark Providence, and you will believe me that only a\nsense of our duty in the matter has led us to put the case so plainly\nbefore you.\u201d\n\nAnna did not speak.\n\n\u201cI was not aware, Miss Mallison,\u201d said the physician, \u201cuntil an hour\nago, that you were yourself under appointment as a missionary. When I\nlearned this fact, it seemed to me that you should not enter upon the\nproposed line of action without knowing clearly that it involves giving\nup your chosen career,\u201d and with these words the doctor bowed and turned\nto withdraw.\n\nAnna turned to Dr. Durham.\n\n\u201cMr. Burgess does not know that he must give up\u2014?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cNo, oh, no,\u201d was the reply; \u201cthe doctor says that he must on no account\nbe allowed to learn it until he is stronger. His heart is so entirely\nbound up in this noble purpose, that the blow will be a terrible one\nwhen it comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must wait, Miss Mallison, until he is as far as may be recovered,\nbefore we allow him to even suspect the actual state of the case;\u201d the\ndoctor added this, looking at Anna\u2019s face with surprise and concern. \u201cIf\nI can serve you in any way, do not fail to call upon me. For the present\nI must say good evening,\u201d and he hastened away.\n\nDr. Durham followed, walking along the hall by his side. The look in\nAnna\u2019s face awed him. He felt that it was not his right to share in an\nhour of such conflict as this bade fair to be to her, for he perceived\nalready something of what her missionary vocation meant to her. Anna,\nhowever, did not notice that he had gone; the crisis was too great to\npermit her paying heed to the accidental circumstances around her. A\nvoice in her heart seemed crying with constant iteration, \u201cFather!\nFather! What does God mean?\u201d\n\nFor ten minutes Anna stood alone in the alcove, looking steadily before\nher, but in her bewildered pain seeing no outward thing, while in the\nfar dim reaches of the hall the good old clergyman paced noiselessly to\nand fro.\n\nOn one side Anna saw her father\u2019s life, with all its deep renunciation,\nits pure aims, its defeat, and its one final hope of fulfilment in\nherself; she saw the look in his eyes as he bent above her in the little\nchurch that night, when she declared her purpose to become a missionary;\nshe remembered his _Nunc Dimittis_ as he blessed her with dying eyes;\nshe lived again through the solemn hour of dedication, just after her\nfather\u2019s death, when the sense came upon her that she was called of God\nto carry on what her father began, to be in herself the continuance, and\nthrough divine grace the fruition, of his life. Since that hour life had\nmeant only one thing to Anna; no other purpose or desire had ever\nentered to divide or diminish its control over her: she was set apart to\ncarry the gospel of Christ to the heathen; this one thing only would she\ndo.\n\nThis on the one side, strong as life itself, inwoven into the very\ntexture of her soul and her consciousness.\n\nOn the other side Keith Burgess, even now scarcely better than a\nstranger, and yet, by the will of God as she believed, bound to her by\nsacred and indissoluble vows. To be faithful to those vows, to save him\nfrom despair, perhaps from death, she must cut off all her past, must\nread her life all backward, must annul and declare vain and void the\nmost solemn purposes of her soul.\n\nFrom his retreat, watching, Dr. Durham at length saw Anna advancing down\nthe hall toward the door of her room. He met her there, a question he\ndid not dare to speak in his tired, kind old eyes. Her face was as the\nface of one who has even in the moment received a spiritual death-blow.\n\nHe held his watch in his hand. Without speaking, Anna motioned to him,\nand he replied:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is nearly half-past five, my dear.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d she said, her voice dull and toneless; \u201cI will be ready at\nsix o\u2019clock.\u201d\n\nAs if in a dream she prepared herself for her marriage. She moved as if\nin response to another will than her own; her own will seemed to lie\ndead before her, a visible, tangible thing, done to death by her own\nhand. The white gown, Keith\u2019s gift, seemed less a wedding-garment than a\nburial robe, and a strange smile crossed her face when she caught her\nreflection in the glass, and saw that, save for her eyes, her face was\nwholly colourless, the pale flowers on her breast hardly paler, hardly\ncolder.\n\nAt the clock-striking of the appointed hour, Anna entered the room, and,\ntaking her place beside Keith, whose face was full of tender gladness,\nshe lifted her eyes steadily to the old clergyman\u2019s face, listening as\nfor life and death to his words.\n\n\u201cIn sickness and in health, ... for richer for poorer, ... and forsaking\nall others, keep thee only unto him.\u201d Yes, all others. God only knew the\nsignificance of those words, for they seemed to mean God himself just\nthen; but God would pity. He would help. Her response came low but\nunfaltering, and then, with bowed heads, standing side by side in their\nyouth, their innocence, their patience of hope, they two listened\nsolemnly to the last irrevocable words.\n\nSo steadfastly Anna held herself until the end, but hardly had the final\nword of blessing been pronounced, when, with a low cry for help, she\nwavered as she stood, and fell fainting.\n\n\n\n\n                                BOOK II\n                               AFTERNOON\n\n Hear now our cry for strength to bear the weight of prayers unanswered.\n                                                 \u2014MAARTEN MAARTENS.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER XV\n\nThe evil base of our society eats right through; that our wealthy homes\nare founded on the spoliation of the poor vitiates all the life that\ngoes on within them. Somehow or other, it searches through and degrades\nthe art, manners, dress, good taste of the inmates.\u2014EDWARD CARPENTER.\n\n\nIt was a month later, when a train from the east, entering the Fulham\nstation at five o\u2019clock of the February afternoon, brought Keith Burgess\nand his wife home.\n\nKeith was apparently in fairly good physical condition, and looked and\ncarried himself much as he had when Anna first knew him, although she\ncould now detect the underlying weakness which he strove hard to\nconceal. He had been told in due time of what was involved in his\nillness. The shock had been severe both to mind and body, and for a\nwhile a serious relapse had seemed imminent. Those days had brought the\nyoung wife and husband into a new union of sympathy and suffering, as\neach strove to bear the burden of their thwarted lives bravely for the\nother\u2019s sake. Not at that time nor at any later period was it possible\nfor Anna to let Keith know to the full the meaning of this renunciation\nto her. He knew that to her, as to him, the abandonment of the\nmissionary purpose was a profound and poignant sorrow; he did not know\nthat it was the overthrow of all that had made her life hitherto, and\nthat, whatever new forces and motives might produce out of the elements\nof her character, the old life, the first Anna Mallison, was slain.\n\nKeith had told her little of what lay before them in his mother\u2019s home,\nwhich was now to be theirs; they had been too deeply absorbed in the\npresent emergency to take much thought for the future. This much,\nhowever, had been accomplished in a week\u2019s sojourn in Boston: Keith\nwould shortly be appointed to fill a missionary secretaryship, which\ninvolved much travel and speaking in the interests of the cause, but\npermitted him to make his residence in Fulham. The strong hope which\nAnna clung to silently for herself, as the last pitiful substitute for\nthe calling now denied her, was that she, too, might still accomplish\nsomething for the work so urgent in its claims upon her, by presenting\nit, as occasion offered, among Christian women in her own land. But she\nknew that her life was no longer in her own hands to shape and direct as\nshe might will; not only was Keith now to be her care, her chief concern\nand interest, but she looked forward to daughterly duties toward his\ninvalid mother, to whom it was in her mind to minister with loving and\nfaithful devotion.\n\nAs the train now drew into the Fulham station, Keith remarked,\ncasually:\u2014\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s Foster, all right. I knew he would be on hand.\u201d And, looking\nfrom the car platform, Anna saw a grey-haired man-servant in plain\nlivery, who saluted Keith respectfully as he hastened to the spot, and\nwore an expression of solicitude and responsibility which stamped him at\nonce as an old family servant. As they gave over their hand luggage to\nthis man, and followed him out to the street where a plain closed\ncarriage stood in waiting, an unostentatious \u201cB\u201d on the door showing it\nto be private, a deep perplexity and confusion began to rise in Anna\u2019s\nmind. She had gradually become accustomed to the luxuries of the life in\nthe Portland hotel, and had regarded them as incident to the passage of\na grave crisis, and justified, perhaps, by the necessities of the case;\nbut she had not been interested in thinking farther along the line of\nthe Burgesses\u2019 worldly status, least of all minded to make it a matter\nof inquiry, consequently the sight of the man-servant and the family\ncarriage smote her with a sharp sense of entering a new and undreamed-of\noutward life. In them was the first obvious token which had ever been\ngiven her of her husband\u2019s home surroundings and worldly position. A\nvague anxiety and dread were awakened in Anna by these small signs of a\nlife and habit so widely at variance with her own past of austere\nprivation. She saw the low white cottage figured heretofore in her\nthought, in the narrow street, fading before her; the geraniums in the\nwindow, the cat on the cushion, the braided mats, the wooden\nrocking-chair, the little table with the Bible and cough-drops, wavered\nin all their outlines, and fell like a house of cards. How would it be\nwith the figure of the sweet, saintly, patient invalid to whom she was\nto minister? Must that go too? Anna ceased to speculate, but she sat\nsilent beside her husband, and her heart beat hard.\n\nWhen the carriage stopped, it was in a fine old quiet street lined with\nsubstantial dwellings, and before a large brick house painted a dull\ndrab. The house stood with its broad, low front close to the street;\nthere were many small-paned, shining windows, and a brass knocker on the\npanelled black front door. Nothing could have been plainer or less\npretentious, and yet the house bore, to Anna\u2019s first intuitive\nperception, its own unmistakable expression of decorous and inflexible\ndignity and quietly cherished family pride.\n\nAs they entered the wide, low-ceiled, oak-wainscoted hall, a neatly\ndressed middle-aged woman advanced and, speaking in a low voice to Anna,\nasked if she would follow her up to her rooms, Keith introducing her\npleasantly as his mother\u2019s indispensable Jane. No one else was in sight;\nbut Mrs. Burgess\u2019s invalid condition seemed to account sufficiently for\nthis, although Anna had supposed her able to move about the house, and\neven to go out under favouring conditions.\n\nKeith joined Anna on the stairs, taking her hand in his. He smiled\ntenderly as he looked into her face, but there was a nervous eagerness\nupon him which he could not conceal. Was he thinking that he had chosen\nhis wife for far other scenes and a widely different life? She could not\ntell.\n\n\u201cThis was my old room, Anna,\u201d Keith was saying now, as they stood in the\ndoorway of a spacious bedroom with old-fashioned mahogany furniture and\nhandsome but faded chintz hangings. There was a marble chimney-piece,\nover which hung a large picture of Keith, with a boyish, eager face.\n\nJane now threw open a door from this room into another of equal size.\n\n\u201cIf you please, I was to tell you this is to be Mrs. Burgess\u2019s own\nsitting room,\u201d she said respectfully, \u201cand the dressing room and bath\nbeyond the bedroom will be for your own use entirely after this,\u201d and\nshe crossed to open another door.\n\nKeith drew Anna on into the sitting room.\n\n\u201cWell, now, this is certainly very kind of my mother,\u201d he said, a flush\nof grateful pleasure rising in his sensitive face. \u201cSee, Anna, this has\nalways been the state apartment, the guest-chamber of the house, and she\nhas had it refitted for our use.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow very kind,\u201d said Anna, warmly.\n\nThe room was, indeed, in its own manner, grave and subdued, a luxurious\nparlour, with good pictures, handsome hangings, and soft, pale-tinted\ncarpet.\n\n\u201cI must go down at once and tell the dear mother how we thank her,\u201d said\nKeith, and Anna, left alone, returned to the bedroom and began to remove\nher travelling hat.\n\nJane was beside her at once, giving unneeded assistance.\n\n\u201cShall I unpack for you directly?\u201d she asked, looking at Keith\u2019s small\ntrunk, which was quite adequate to Anna\u2019s few belongings, added to her\nhusband\u2019s. Anna felt her colour deepen as she declined the offered help,\nand sat down with a little sigh in a great easy-chair. But she submitted\nperforce when the maid knelt at her feet, and, quite as a matter of\ncourse, removed her shoes. It was the first time since babyhood that\nthis office had been performed for Anna by other hands than her own, and\nshe felt all her veins tingle with a shy reluctance, but sat motionless.\n\nRising, Jane looked about, Anna thought with a shade of dissatisfaction\nthat there was thus far so little to be done, so scanty a display of the\nsmall belongings of luxury.\n\n\u201cWhen you are ready to dress for dinner,\u201d she said, with a touch of\ncoldness, \u201cI will come if you will just ring the bell. The bell is\nhere,\u201d and she indicated the green twisted cord and heavy silk tassel at\nthe head of the bed. \u201cMrs. Burgess said she could spare me to wait on\nyou for what you needed to-night,\u201d she added.\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d said Anna, gently, but with the quiet unconscious loftiness\nof her own reserve. \u201cMrs. Burgess is very good to think of it, but I am\naccustomed to caring for myself, and so I shall not need to trouble\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, that will be just as suits you, ma\u2019am. I should be pleased\nto wait on you any time Mrs. Burgess doesn\u2019t need me. Dinner will be at\nsix o\u2019clock, then, if you please.\u201d Thus saying the maid withdrew.\n\n\u201cKeith,\u201d said Anna, with a perplexed countenance, when a few moments\nlater he joined her, \u201cI find I ought to dress for dinner, but I have\nnothing better to wear than this black gown. You ought to have told me,\ndear.\u201d\n\nKeith looked down at the straight fashionlessness of Anna\u2019s black figure\nwith unconcealed concern.\n\n\u201cI ought to have thought,\u201d he said, \u201cbut it never occurred to me about\nyour clothes. We must get you a whole lot of new things straight away,\ndear. We will do it together, and have a great time over it, won\u2019t we?\nAnd you will put off the black now for my sake? I want to see you in\nwine-red silk and good lace.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Keith!\u201d cried Anna, \u201cI cannot imagine myself masquerading like\nthat. It would never do. But for to-night\u2014that is the trouble now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, wear your wedding-gown, sweetheart; that is just the thing. What\nluck that we did get that!\u201d and Keith was down on his knees before the\ntrunk on the instant, and soon produced the dress which, being of fine\nwhite cashmere, with a little lace about the neck, was, in fact,\naltogether appropriate.\n\nAnna looked puzzled. It seemed to her almost sacrilegious to put on that\ndress for everyday use, and the association with it made her shiver,\neven now, but she did not dispute the matter.\n\nJust before six o\u2019clock Keith ushered his wife into the library\ndownstairs, where his mother sat waiting to receive them. It was the\nsort of a library which Anna had read of but had not seen\u2014lined with\nbooks, furnished with massive leather-covered chairs and darkly gleaming\nmahogany, a dim old India carpet on the floor.\n\nAnna saw by the shaded drop-light the form of a small woman of fragile\nfigure, dressed in silver-grey silk, with a white shawl of cobweb\nfineness of texture about her shoulders. There were several good\ndiamonds at her throat and on her hands, her grey hair was beautifully\ndressed in soft waves and fastened with a quaint silver comb of fine\nworkmanship. Her face was pale and the features delicately cut; her\nmovement as she advanced to meet Anna was slow, and, in spite of her\ndiminutive size, stately, and there was a crisp, frosty rustle of her\ngrey gown.\n\nShe took both Anna\u2019s hands in hers with a cold, kind smile, and kissed\nher twice on her forehead, Anna bending low for the purpose. She seemed\nto be at an incalculable height above the fine little lady, and\nsingularly young and immature. At twenty-two she had felt herself a\nwoman for long years, with her sober cares and grave purposes; but\nto-night, before Keith\u2019s mother, she suddenly seemed to become a shy,\nundeveloped girl again.\n\nWhile they spoke a little of the journey and the night, Keith Burgess\nturned on his heel and affected to be examining, with critical interest,\nan engraving above the fireplace, which he had seen in the same spot all\nhis life; but he was watching them both aside narrowly as he stood. He\nwas perfectly satisfied.\n\nIf Anna had been never so much prettier, and possessed of all of Mally\nLoveland\u2019s confident social facility; if she had met his mother as the\ncountry girl of this type would have done, with eager and affectionate\nappeal that she should at once stand and deliver motherly sympathy and\naffection in copious measure,\u2014there would have been only disappointment\nand chagrin. But Mrs. Burgess\u2019s bearing was not more reserved than that\nof her daughter-in-law. At twenty-two Anna\u2019s grave repose of manner was\nin itself a distinction, and one which had its full weight with the\nelder woman. Plainly, she had not a gushing provincial beauty on her\nhands to curb and fashion into form. As for good looks, there was a\ncertain angular grace already in figure, an unconscious dignity of\nattitude and bearing which suited Keith\u2019s mother, while for her face,\nthe eyes were good, the brow very noble, and the expression peculiarly\nlofty. The succession of strong and sudden emotional experiences through\nwhich Anna had recently passed had wrought a subtle change already in\nher face; there was less severity, less of hard, conscientious rigour in\nits lines; a certain transparent, spiritual illumination softened the\nprofound sadness which was her habitual expression.\n\nAt dinner, a delicately sumptuous meal, served with some state, Anna\nacquitted herself perfectly, having the instincts of good breeding, the\nhabit of delicate refinement, and having learned at Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s\ntable many of the small niceties which she could hardly have acquired in\nHaran.\n\nAlready, within the first hour, while seeing that her mother-in-law had\nbeen physically entirely able to meet her children at her door at their\nhome-coming, Anna perceived the inevitable consistency of her waiting to\nreceive them in due form and order. Formality and form were essentials\nof life in this house. This did not oppress Anna particularly, and she\nliked to look at the cameo-cut delicacy of Mrs. Burgess\u2019s face. Still,\nperhaps never in her life, never in the cheerless chambers of Mrs.\nWilson\u2019s poor house, had Anna known the homesickness with which she ate\nand drank\u2014that night at her husband\u2019s table.\n\nPoverty and obscurity were old and tried friends to Anna; among them she\nwould have been at home. From wealth and social prominence she shrank\nwith instinctive dread and ingrained disfavour. The familiar austerities\nof poverty were, to her, denotements of mental elevation, while the\nindulgences of wealth bore to her thought an almost vulgar pampering of\nappetite and ministering to sense. The trained perfection of the silent\nattentive service in itself was an offence to her. Why should those\npeople be turned into speechless automatons to watch every wish and wait\nupon every need of three other people no more deserving than themselves?\nCould it ever seem right to her?\n\nShe excused herself early. Left alone with him, Mrs. Burgess laid her\nsmall hand on Keith\u2019s, saying without warmth but with significant\nemphasis:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou have done very well, Keith, in marrying Miss Mallison. I confess I\nwas not without some apprehension lest the wife who would have been a\nperfect helpmeet and companion for you in the foreign field might appear\nat some disadvantage in the life now before you in the ordering of\nProvidence.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnna is so absolutely true, mother, that she cannot be a misfit\nanywhere, except among false conditions.\u201d\n\nMrs. Burgess bowed her head.\n\n\u201cI can see that she is a thoroughly exemplary young woman, and while she\nmay have much to learn of social conditions in a place like Fulham, the\nfoundation is all right.\u201d She paused a little, and added reflectively:\n\u201cHer eyes and hands are extremely good. Her figure will improve. I\nunderstand that her father belonged to the Andover Mallisons.\u201d\n\nThere was a little flicker of Keith\u2019s eyelids, but he made no reply,\ntaking up casually from the table a book at which he looked with\nmechanical indifference. It was a volume of Barnes\u2019s \u201cNotes.\u201d This much\nonly of Anna\u2019s vision had had foundation.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI\n\n  For the most part people do not think at all. They have little\n  phrases and formulas which stand in their minds for thoughts and\n  opinions, and they repeat them parrotlike. Most of their notions and\n  ideas and prejudices are mere extraneous accretions, barnacled on to\n  them by men and books in their passage through life, as shells are\n  on a vessel, but not growing out of them or really belonging to\n  them.\u2014ANON.\n\n              Life in her creaking shoes\n                Goes, and more formal grows,\n              A round of calls and cues.\n                                            \u2014W. E. HENLEY.\n\n\nAt the end of the week, on Saturday morning, Anna Burgess was sitting on\na low stool in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by a curious\nconfusion and medley of miscellaneous things. Before her was an open\ncedar chest of large proportions; its pungent odour was mingled with the\nspicy smell of winter apples, dried fruits, and maple sugar. From the\nhalf unpacked chest, quilts of calico patchwork and soft home-woven\nblankets were overflowing; piles of snowy linen sheets and pillowcases,\nfinely hemstitched and bordered with delicate thread-work, lay about the\nfloor, together with body linen of equal daintiness, and books in dull\nand faded binding, while the red apples, rolled everywhere, studded the\nconfused array as commas do a printer\u2019s page.\n\nIn the chest still lay some old-fashioned furs and other clothing. Anna,\nas she sat, had her lap heaped with a quantity of yellowed lace, and a\nnumber of small, thin silver spoons. She was reading a letter, and, as\nshe read, unconsciously tears were running down her cheeks.\n\n\u201cYou must have known,\u201d wrote Gulielma Mallison, \u201cthat I could not let my\ndear daughter go empty-handed to her new home. The box has been long,\nhowever, in being made ready, but I know your husband and his mother\nwill make excuses, the marriage having been so sudden. Lucia and I have\ntaken comfort in sorting out and preparing the things. The linen is,\nmuch of it, what was left of my own bridal outfit, but we have bleached\nit on the snow, and it is still strong. The silver I have tried to\ndivide equally among you all. This is your portion. The little\nporringer, you know, came over from Germany with my mother, then the\nJungfrau Benigna von Brosius.\n\n\u201cI regret that I am unable to provide you with more dresses, etc., but\nthere is little to do with and little to choose from in Haran. Indeed, I\nhardly ever get to Haran any more, my rheumatism is so bad, and the\ngoing has been terrible this winter. We got Lucia\u2019s husband\u2019s sister to\nbuy the white cotton cloth, and sent it back by Joseph when he went down\nwith a load of wood. The brown cloak I shall not be likely to need any\nmore, going out so seldom, and Lucia says she doesn\u2019t begrudge it to you\nat all, being much too long for her, and it would be a shame to cut off\nany of that material to waste. You know it is the best of camlet cloth,\nand there is no wear out to it. I have given Lucia the melodeon, and she\nsays it is only fair that you should have the cloak and the brown silk\ndress. We got Amanda Turner to make that over for you by an old waist we\nhad of yours. She was here three days, right through the worst snowstorm\nwe have had all winter, and there was nothing to interrupt us. We turned\nthe silk and made it all over. I think we succeeded pretty well. I\nthought you really ought to have one silk dress, now you are going to\nlive in this country. Of course you\u2019ll be invited out to tea some, there\nin Fulham. The grey merino will do for afternoons. I made you four\naprons, two white, and two check to wear about your work, and you\u2019ll\nneed them afternoons for taking care of your husband\u2019s mother. Please\ngive her my best respects. I send the dried fruit to her,\u2014maybe it will\ntempt her appetite a little,\u2014and part of the maple sugar, that in the\nlittle cakes. Lucia ran it for her especially. We thought maybe they\nwouldn\u2019t have it down there in Fulham, that was pure.\n\n\u201cI am sorry we haven\u2019t anything better to send Mr. Burgess, but I put in\nyour dear father\u2019s quilted dressing-gown as my particular present; his\nhealth being so poor, Lucia and I thought it might be acceptable. The\nbooks are for him, from your father\u2019s library....\u201d\n\nThe letter dropped in Anna\u2019s lap, and covering her face with both hands,\nshe burst into passionate tears. Her old life, in all its homely, simple\nsweetness called her mightily, and the sharp sense of her own separation\nfrom it now and forever tore her heart. Her mother\u2019s inability to\ncomprehend the new conditions, the eager self-sacrifice which had gladly\nshorn her own poor life bare of every lingering superfluity of\npossession that she might equip her child with such small dower as was\nattainable, had to Anna a pathos which seemed almost too poignant to\nendure. How well, oh, how well she understood the planning and\ncontriving, the simple joy in each small new object gained; the delight\nwhich her mother and Lucia had shared in picturing to themselves her own\ngrateful surprise in the manifold treasures stored in the dear old\nchest, itself an heirloom of impressive value in the Mallison family.\nAnd she was grateful beyond words to tell, and pleased and proud to come\nthus set out to her husband; and yet, these possessions, so unspeakably\nprecious to her, would, she knew only too well, wear a rustic and\nincongruous aspect in the Burgess household. She knew that Keith and his\nmother would be gentle and respectful in thought as in word, but she\nknew the faint embarrassment which they would try to conceal in\nreceiving gifts for which they would have no use; she knew the delicate,\nhalf-pitying, well-meaning sympathy, which could never understand, try\nas it would.\n\nOn Sunday morning, Anna attended church with her husband and his mother\nfor the first time, the latter making a great effort, since church-going\nwas far beyond her usual invalid routine. When Anna presented herself in\nthe hall ready to start, Mrs. Burgess, or Madam Burgess as she was\ngenerally styled after this time, had bit her lip and almost gasped,\nsuch was her amazement and dismay. However, she had said nothing, the\nsituation being plainly hopeless, and she sat in the carriage in\nspeechless anxiety, while Keith\u2019s face reflected the same emotion. He\nhad felt it impossible to interfere with Anna\u2019s arraying herself as she\nhad for church, seeing with his sensitive perception that the garments\nfashioned and sent her from her home by the hands of her mother and\nsister, for such a time as this, were in her eyes sacredly beyond\ncriticism or cavil.\n\nAnna now preceded him, following his mother, down the broad aisle of the\nstately and well-filled church, drawing to herself unconsciously the\nattention of many eyes. She wore over the soft overshot silk gown the\nbrown camlet cloak which had formed in her mother\u2019s eyes the chief glory\nof her simple trousseau. It was a long, circular cape, falling to the\nhem of her dress, drawn up about the throat and shoulders with quaint\nsmocking after a forgotten art, and tied with a long, loose bow of\nchangeable brown ribbon. The outlines of this garment were so simple and\nso natural that it could never, at any period or by any shift of\nfashion, become awkward, but it had at that time an effect of\nPuritan-like quaintness. She wore a dark, broad-brimmed hat with falling\nplumes, according well in simplicity as in colour with her cloak.\n\nAs she passed down to the Burgess pew, her height and bearing, the\nflowing outline of her costume, the purity and unconscious, childlike\nseriousness of her face with its clear brune pallor, the steady light of\nher hazel eyes, the lustreless masses of her dark hair, all combined to\nmake a singular impression of medi\u00e6val loveliness, of something rare and\nfine and wholly distinct from the prevalent type of women in the\nambitious little city. There were some who, seeing her, smiled and\nwhispered at the quaintness of her dress; there were others who found\ntheir eyes irresistibly drawn again and again by the picturesque harmony\nof her figure; there were one or two persons who, watching the proud,\npure severity of her face as she sat with her soul lifted to God and\nheedless of outward things, saw in her a woman fit for reverence and\nwonder, one whose spirit had been most evidently nourished on the\ngreatness and simplicity of spiritual realities, and who was yet\nuntouched by \u201cthe world\u2019s slow stain.\u201d\n\nAnd so it came about that Keith Burgess and his mother, who had been\ndismayed at the lack of conformity to fashion in Anna\u2019s dress at this\nfirst appearance in their world, found themselves met, the service over,\nby men and women who had admiration and interest, sober and sincere, to\nexpress, and much to say aside of the singular distinction, the\naristocratic dignity and charm, of the bride. Madam Burgess was not slow\nto produce the good points of Anna\u2019s ancestry of which she had quickly\npossessed herself, thus enhancing the favourable impression, and she was\nready to accept Anna, cloak and all, herself, when the son of one of\nFulham\u2019s leading men, Pierce Everett, an artist newly returned from\nParis, came to her with a respectful but eager wish that Mrs. Keith\nBurgess would at some future day grant him the notable favour of sitting\nto him for some saint\u2019s face and figure.\n\nThere was a little crowd about them as they passed out to their\ncarriage, and much kind and deferential courtesy pressing upon Anna\u2019s\nnotice. A group of young girls on the church steps watched her with shy,\nawed glances, and murmured to each other that they adored her, she was\nso different from any bride they had ever seen; she was grave and quiet,\nand something of pathos and mystery seemed to remove her far from the\nconscious, fluttering pink-and-white brides of their experience.\n\nThe young artist, Pierce Everett, joined a friend, a professor of\nliterature in the local university, Nathan Ward, as he walked away from\nthe church.\n\n\u201cWhat a study for a saint!\u201d he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. \u201cI did not\nsuppose there was such a woman left in the world. Where can she have\nbeen saved up to keep that super-earthly look?\u201d\n\nProfessor Ward smiled. After a silence he said,\u2014\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s a conundrum, if it is Sunday: Why is Keith Burgess like St.\nFrancis of Assisi?\u201d\n\nThe answer not being forthcoming, Professor Ward presently volunteered\nit.\n\n\u201cBecause he has espoused Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience. In Mrs. Keith\nthese three are one.\u201d\n\n\nFulham was a small city with a college of no great reputation, which\ncalled itself a university by reason of having a divinity school\naffiliated. Furthermore it was a seaboard town and had had a large\nshipping trade in former years, now slowly dying a natural death. The\naristocratic circle of Fulham\u2014there was but one\u2014was as definitely marked\nand as strongly defended from invasion as it is possible for such a\ncircle to be, even in an old New England town. In fact, it existed more\nobviously for its own defence and preservation from the ineligible than\nfor any other reason; and only two classes of citizens were\neligible,\u2014namely, those who had some connection with \u201cthe university,\u201d\nand those who inherited either poverty or riches from ancestors engaged\nin foreign commerce. These two agreed in one, and agreed to rule out all\nothers. Thus the aristocratic circle was necessarily small and its\nsocial functions painfully mechanical and monotonous; its maidens were\nproverbially lacking in personal charms, and its young men, with rare\nexceptions, fled, escaping to more interesting and varied scenes; but it\nwas supremely satisfied, rejoiced in the distinction of its unattainable\nexclusiveness, and looked with cold and unrelenting disfavour upon all\nstrangers, newcomers, or fellow-citizens, however meritorious, who\nfailed to possess the sole claims to its ranks.\n\nMadam Burgess enjoyed a double title to membership in this exclusive\ncircle. Her fathers before her, for several generations, had been\nshipowners residing in the house now her own, to which her husband, the\nReverend Elon Burgess, had come, as an eminently suitable adjunct upon\ntheir marriage. Mr. Burgess had filled a minor chair in the divinity\nschool for the ten years of their married life; he had not filled even\nthis particularly well, being a man of small calibre, lacking in any\ntrace of original power or talent, but his name was in the university\ncatalogue, and hence his place in the ranks of Fulham\u2019s high social\ncircle safe forever. But, although of limited ability, Professor Burgess\nwas fine of grain and fine of habit, and sincerely pious in a day when\nto be called pious did not awaken a smile. In the fear and faith of God\nand in true humility he had lived and died, leaving perhaps no very\nlarge and irreparable vacancy, and no overwhelming sense of loss or\ndesolation even to his wife and son, and still having borne\u2014\n\n                            \u201cwithout reproach\n                    The fine old name of gentleman.\u201d\n\nAs a girl Sarah Keith had given satisfactory evidence of a \u201cchange of\nheart,\u201d and in a time of profound missionary awakening she had declared\nherself strongly in sympathy with foreign missions. To the position thus\ntaken she had consistently adhered. All boards and auxiliaries to which\nshe was available claimed her name on their lists. Missionary literature\nwas always scattered abundantly in her library, her gifts were large,\nand her allegiance to religious interests was so completely taken for\ngranted that it would no more have been questioned in Fulham than her\nplace in its aristocracy. Certainly she never doubted herself that she\nwas essentially a religious woman. Nevertheless, religion, whether\npersonal or in its outreaching toward a world which she would have\nunhesitatingly called \u201clost,\u201d consisted for her now in a series of\nmechanical observances, and in tenacious orthodoxy of opinion it had\nbecome a dry husk enclosing a dead seed. The brief blossoming of the\nreligious impulse of her young years over, she had fixed her affections\non the small adventitious trappings of \u201cthis transitory life,\u201d and\ndenied unconsciously the power of that other life, the form of which she\nso punctiliously maintained.\n\nHer invalidism was becoming, not inconvenient on the whole, and not\nwholly imaginary. Such was the woman who was now by the ordering of\nProvidence to rule and direct the unfoldings of Anna\u2019s early womanhood,\nsince Keith Burgess cherished a respect and submission to his mother\nwhich would have found something akin in Chinese ancestor-worship. He\nhad reproduced in his own young life his mother\u2019s early missionary\nfervour; that it was long dead in her case he did not suspect. With\nKeith this experience had received a strong accent from the temper of\nhis college life, and from the possibility of an actual dedication of\nhimself to the missionary vocation. It had thus become, as we have seen,\nfor a time nobly and completely dominant with him, the strongest passion\nhis life had known. He was himself surprised to find, on his reaction\nfrom the crisis of loss and disappointment connected with his illness\nand the abandonment of a missionary career, how natural and, on the\nwhole, how satisfactory it was to settle back into his own place in his\nold home, to fall back into the small, comfortable interests of Fulham,\nand to find full soon an aspect of unreality and even of incongruity\nclothing his former ardent dream.\n\nNot so Anna.\n\nThe ordered precision, the formal, stiff monotony, repeated day after\nday in her husband\u2019s home, the cold, conventional courtesies, the\nabsence of any purpose save to maintain things in existing form without\nprogress or alteration, for a time exerted upon her an almost paralyzing\neffect. A torpid dulness, a physical oppression, came upon her when shut\nup alone to the companionship of Madam Burgess, against which she found\nit impossible to struggle successfully. Accustomed to serious mental\nwork, to much strenuous bodily labour, to the wholesome severity of long\nwalks in all weathers, and more than all to the stimulus of a great,\nimmediate purpose ennobling every homeliest task and smallest\nservice,\u2014the present life of inaction, of sluggish ease, of absence of\nresponsibility of motive or purpose, was like the life of a prison. A\nheavy, spiritless apathy overbore every motion to fresh endeavour or to\nnew hopes and incitements. She \u201cfluttered and failed for breath,\u201d and at\ntimes her heart seemed bursting with its longing, the old wild, girlish\nlonging, grown still and deep, for freedom and for power.\n\nWith mechanical indifference she accompanied Madam Burgess on her daily\ndrives, paid and received visits, shopped, and attended the various\nprescribed social functions, read aloud to Keith, and made a feint of\nembroidering the great ottoman cover which her mother-in-law had\ncontrived for her leisure. It was a stag\u2019s head with impossible square\neyes, the head partially surrounded by a half-wreath of oak leaves and\nacorns, staring out of an illimitable field of small red stitches,\nnumberless as the sands of the seashore, and significant, Anna thought\nwearily, of her endless, monotonous hours.\n\nAll the while, just below the surface, repeated through the long days,\nwas the bitter conflict of her spirit, her perpetual, unanswered\nquestioning, Why had God thus dealt with her? Why, with all power to\nsave or heal, had he permitted the illness to come upon Keith which had\nthus brought to naught what she had supposed was the very and sacred\npurpose of her creation.\n\nUpon the intensity of youth and a nature of profound and passionate\nearnestness this thwarting of her dedicated purpose, this apparent\nrejection of herself from the service of God, worked piteous havoc. Anna\ndid not grow sullen or rebellious, but she felt her whole interior life\nto be in hopeless confusion. Her sense of an immediate and personal\nrelation to a fatherly God had suffered something like an earthquake\nshock. All the high faith, the sacred and filial purpose, the profound\nself-dedication of her girlhood, seemed to have been flung aside by the\nGod whom she had sought to know and serve, with cold, blank\nindifference, without sign or suggestion of pity, of love, or of amends.\nThe God of whom Mrs. Westervelt had taught her, a conception which she\nhad gradually absorbed and assimilated as her own, a God closer than\nbreathing, nearer than hands and feet, to whom the heart was never\nlifted in vain, whose presence could be indubitably felt and known, who\nanswered every holy and devout prayer of his children, and who led them\nimmediately in every thought and action\u2014where was he? Either he existed\nonly in imagination, or she was herself rejected by him as unworthy;\nand, in a depth below the depth of burning grief, she saw her father\nlikewise despised and rejected.\n\nA great protest, honest and indignant, rose up in Anna\u2019s heart. She knew\nthat, as far as mortal man could be holy and harmless in the eyes of his\nGod, her father had been; and she knew that her own purposes had been\nblameless and sincere. She refused to quibble with herself in regard to\nthese facts; something staunch and sturdy in her mental constitution\u2014not\nobstinacy, not pride, but sheer inward honesty\u2014refused to seek\naccommodation in any forced paroxysm of humility or blind submission.\nWith a sorrow which a lighter nature could not have comprehended, but\nwith characteristic conclusiveness, she said to herself, the stress of\nher inward conflict spent, \u201cI do not know God,\u201d and composed her spirit\nin silence to wait.\n\nAt the end of a month Keith returned to his class in the Massachusetts\nDivinity School, with which he was to graduate in June. Immediately\nthereafter he expected to enter upon the duties of his missionary\nsecretaryship, and make his home in Fulham with his wife and mother.\n\nThrown thus upon the sole companionship of Madam Burgess, and forced\neither to make the best of the situation or to appear the crude,\nundisciplined provincial who sullenly refuses to adapt herself to new\nconditions, Anna\u2019s native good sense came to her rescue. With strong\nwill she crowded down her mental conflict, while with conscientious\nearnestness she addressed herself to the duty of making herself a\ncheerful and sympathetic companion to her husband\u2019s mother, and of\nfilling the social position in which she was undeniably placed, however\ninscrutable the reasons therefor. New influences came out to meet and\nwin her on every side, and she responded with a social grace, and even\nfacility, which amazed all who had seen her first as the cold, pale,\nsilent girl whose marriage altar had seemed rather an altar of\nsacrifice.\n\nAn effect of singular charm was produced by this new mental attitude,\nthe opening out of a nature until now so closely sealed. The native\nseriousness, the fine, direct simplicity, of Anna\u2019s girlhood remained;\nbut they seemed flooded with a new and warmer light, welcome as daily\nsunshine while the hardness, the rigour, and the severity melted away.\nShe submitted without further protest to the comparative luxury of her\nsurroundings, found it surprisingly agreeable, and discovered a fresh,\nforgotten joy in simple physical existence, which carried her bravely\nthrough the long, dull days of the Burgess order of life.\n\nNotwithstanding all these things, below the surface of her life, often\nbelow the surface of her thought, lay an unplumbed depth of spiritual\nloneliness, a sense of double orphanhood, a voice which cried and would\nnot be stilled; for while men and women had come near, of God she had\nbecome shy, feeling toward him as toward a dearest friend grown cold.\n\nBut one night, as she lay alone and wakeful, tears painful, not easily\nflowing, wetting her pillow, a sudden thought stung her by its throbbing\nwonder and delight, seeming great enough to reconcile all things, even\nGod, who had filled her with bitterness, and hedged her about in all her\nways.\n\nShe said to herself, \u201cIt may be I shall have a child,\u201d and the deep\nplaces of her nature called to each other in joy and exultation; and she\nknew that, if this grace should be given her, all would yet be clear,\nand she could still believe in God\u2019s love, and in his purpose in her\nlife.\n\nSo, blindly groping through the rough and thorny way by which humanity\nhas sought God through many ages, this human soul, sincere and humble,\nperpetuated the heart-breaking fallacy of conditioning the Divine Love,\nthe Eternal Power and Godhead, on the small mutations of her own life,\nseen at short range.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVII\n\n           Affections, Instincts, Principles, and Powers,\n           Impulse and Reason, Freedom and Control\u2014\n           So men, unravelling God\u2019s harmonious whole,\n           Rend in a thousand shreds this life of ours.\n           Vain labour! Deep and broad, where none may see,\n           Spring the foundations of that shadowy throne\n           Where man\u2019s one nature, queen-like, sits alone,\n           Centred in a majestic unity.\n                                             \u2014MATTHEW ARNOLD.\n\n\nTo some minds there is nothing more pathetic in human experience than\nthe patient resignation with which average men and women accommodate\nthemselves to the most disastrous and distorting of griefs and\ndisappointments, nothing more amazing than their power to endure. If\nsomething of the brute nature is in us all, it is not always and\naltogether the animalhood of greed or of ferocity, but far more commonly\nthe mute, uncomprehending submission of sheep and oxen. Though the\nfutility of revolt is so apparent, the infrequency of it in human lives\ndoes not cease to surprise. The modern Rachel mourns for her children,\nand will not be comforted, but she goes about the streets in\nconventional mourning, orders her house with decent regularity, and\nprobably, in the end, goes abroad for a time, and returning, enters with\napparent cheerfulness into the social round. The modern Guelph or\nGhibelline, banished from the political or intellectual activities which\nmade life to him, finds readily that raving against time and fate is no\nlonger good form, reads his daily paper with unabated interest, and\nenjoys a good dinner with appetite unimpaired. Very probably the man\u2019s\nand the woman\u2019s heart is broken in each instance, but what then? Life\ngoes on, and the resiliency of the mainspring in a well-adjusted piece\nof human mechanism may be usually guaranteed, with safety, to last a\nlifetime.\n\nIn a year after her marriage Anna Burgess was diligently at work along\nthe conventional lines of activity of her day for religious young women\nat home,\u2014writing missionary reports, distributing literature, collecting\ndues. She saw nothing better to do. Her own private and innermost\nrelation to God, it was true, had been dislocated, but the heathen\nremained to be saved.\n\nOne morning, Keith being away from home, Anna came into Madam Burgess\u2019s\nsitting room, her cheeks slightly flushed, her eyes shining, a letter in\nhand.\n\n\u201cMay I read you this?\u201d she asked eagerly; \u201cI have been invited to give\nan address at the foreign missionary conference next month in H\u2014\u2014. What\nif I could! I should be so glad.\u201d Her eyes told the new and eager hope\nwhich this summons had stirred within her.\n\nAn added degree of frost settled upon her mother-in-law\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cYou can hardly mean, Anna,\u201d she said, \u201cthat you would be willing to\nspeak in public?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut our missionaries do, and sometimes others,\u201d Anna replied anxiously.\n\n\u201cThe case of missionaries is, of course, entirely exceptional; and they\nshould never be heard, in my opinion, before mixed audiences. As for\nother women making spectacles of themselves, it would seem to be enough\nto remind you, Anna, of the words of the Apostle Paul on that subject.\nYou would hardly attempt, I think, to explain them away.\u201d\n\nAnna was silent.\n\n\u201cA woman who has a noble Christian husband, my dear,\u201d continued Madam\nBurgess, more gently, feeling her case now won, \u201cas you have, who is\nalready at work in this very field of labour, has no occasion to leave\nthe sacred shelter of her own home, and lift up her voice and exhibit\nher person in public gatherings.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeith always said that I might still have a chance to do a little work\nin this way; I am sure he approved,\u201d and Anna\u2019s low voice faltered, her\nheart full just then of the memory of those first days of their common\nsorrow.\n\n\u201cYou have a very indulgent husband, and it is not strange if, in the\nfirst fond days of your married life, he may have unwisely yielded to\nsome mistaken sense of duty on your part, and apparently committed\nhimself to a purpose which he would later realize to be impracticable.\nUnderstand me clearly, my dear,\u201d and the term of endearment sounded,\nfrom Madam Burgess\u2019s lips, as sharp as the point of an icicle, \u201cmy son\u2019s\nwife can never, without flying in the face of all her holiest\nobligations, both to God and man, present herself before an audience of\npeople as a public speaker. A woman who does this violates the very law\nof her being, she ceases to be womanly, ceases to be modest, and loses\nall that feminine delicacy which is woman\u2019s chief ornament.\u201d\n\nThe finality of these remarks clearly perceived, Anna rose from her\nchair, and left the room in silence. She never returned to the subject,\nbut simply buried in her heart one more high hope of service.\n\nThis was the first time that Anna\u2019s inexperience and young ardour had\njoined direct issue with Madam Burgess\u2019s social creed. For a while\neverything had gone so smoothly that Anna\u2019s first sense of disparity had\nbeen soothed to rest; all things being new, she had failed to see the\nfull significance of certain limitations which hedged her in. Little by\nlittle she learned this, and learned the inevitable submission. She\nnever appealed to Keith from his mother, controlled by a sense of the\nessential ugliness and vulgarity of a domestic situation in which the\ndifferent elements are working and interworking at variance with each\nother. Furthermore, she learned very soon that, however sympathetic and\ngentle Keith might show himself toward her, he would, in the end, range\nhimself on his mother\u2019s side of every question.\n\nStratagem and indirection were alike alien to Anna\u2019s nature and habit,\nbut she inevitably learned, in process of time and experience, to avoid\nleading Madam Burgess to a declaration of definite positions, while she\nsought to enlist her husband\u2019s sympathies in her own undertakings before\nhis mother was made acquainted with them. Any plan which was brought\nbefore her by her son was comparatively acceptable to the elder woman.\nThus wisely ordering her goings as women learn to do, Anna succeeded in\nreaching a fair degree of independence and at the same time a harmonious\noutward order. Her sacrifices and disappointments, the gradual paring\ndown of her larger hopes and the dimming of her finer aspirations, she\nkept to herself.\n\nPierce Everett, the young artist who had spoken of Anna\u2019s fitness for a\nmodel of a saint, had carried out his purpose, and had formally\nrequested her to pose for him. With the cordial approval of both Madam\nBurgess and Keith, Anna had consented, and late in the winter the\nsittings began in Everett\u2019s studio, which was in his father\u2019s house.\nMadam Burgess brought Anna to the house for the first sitting. They were\nreceived by the mother of the artist, an intimate friend of Madam\nBurgess, and the older ladies then laughingly gave Anna over into\nEverett\u2019s hands while they enjoyed a discussion of certain benevolent\ncommittee matters.\n\nIn the studio a little talk ensued regarding the projected sittings, and\nvarious considerations involved in them. These matters understood, Anna\nsaid composedly:\u2014\n\n\u201cI am ready, Mr. Everett, if you will tell me just what you wish. I do\nnot even know for what I am to be painted.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you will not object, Mrs. Burgess,\u201d said Everett, quickly, \u201cif I do\nnot tell you now? It is in a character which could not, I am sure,\ndisplease you, but I think it would be decidedly better that we should\nnot discuss it, and that you should have no definite thought of it. Is\nthis satisfactory to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cEntirely so.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well.\u201d\n\nImmediately upon this Everett took his place at the easel and began a\nfirst rapid sketch of Anna\u2019s head. He was a slight fellow, below the\nmedium height, with a delicate, almost transparent face, a red Vandyke\nbeard, and large and brilliant brown eyes. Quick and nervous in speech\nand gesture, he had the clear-cut precision of a man who knows both his\nmeans and his end.\n\nAnna thought him very interesting.\n\nAt the second sitting their talk chanced to turn upon the relation of\nthe ideals of men and women to their practical lives, and Everett told\nAnna the old story of Carcassonne, which was new to her. The train of\nthought thus suggested soon absorbed her, so that she forgot him and\nwhat he was doing. The sacred hope of her own life, yet unfulfilled,\nstill centring in the hope of her father, the ever receding purpose of\nwhich she never spoke, cast its powerful influence upon her.\n\nFor half an hour neither spoke. Then Everett\u2019s friend, Professor Ward,\ncame into the room in familiar fashion, and the two men talked of many\nthings.\n\nWhen Anna left Nathan Ward said, looking over his friend\u2019s shoulder:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf you can keep that look, you will make a great picture.\u201d Then he\nadded, \u201cBut don\u2019t fail to get her hands. They have the same expression.\u201d\n\nAfter that it became an habitual thing for Ward to drop into the studio\nat these sittings. It never occurred to Anna that her presence had\nanything to do with his coming. She supposed he had always come. He\ntalked very little with her, but she liked to listen to his talk with\nEverett. It was distinctly novel to her\u2014light, rambling, touch-and-go,\nand yet full of underlying thought and suggestion. Anna had known few\nmen at best, none of the order to which these two belonged, men\nconversant with art and literature, music and poetry, and modern life on\nall its sides. Much that they said puzzled and perplexed her, but she\nfound an eager enjoyment in it.\n\nThen one day Professor Ward said to her, apropos of Shelley, of whom\nthey had been speaking:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou do not join in this discussion, Mrs. Burgess. I am quite sure you\ncould give us opinions much wiser than ours.\u201d\n\nAnna\u2019s colour deepened as she answered:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have not read Shelley in a great many years. Indeed, I know nothing\nof literature.\u201d\n\nThere was a little silence; Anna hesitated, half inclined to say a word\nin explanation of a fact which she plainly saw the two men found very\nsurprising, but finally, finding the explanation too personal and too\nserious, remained silent.\n\nAs she started to walk home from the Everett\u2019s, Professor Ward joined\nher, asking to walk with her. He was a man of forty, with a wife and a\nflock of little children. Anna knew the family slightly, but pleasantly.\n\n\u201cMrs. Burgess,\u201d the professor began, as they walked down the quiet\nstreet, \u201cI do not want to intrude or to be found inquisitive, but I am\nso puzzled by what you said a little while ago that I really wish you\nfelt inclined to enlighten me. I know you never speak with the\nexaggeration and inaccuracy which is so much the habit of young ladies,\nand so I accept what you said as to your ignorance of literature as\nsober truth. But you are a well-educated woman. How can it be?\u201d\n\nAnna was almost glad of a chance to explain. She was facing many new\nquestions in these days, and she felt the need of light. She answered\ntherefore at once, with frankness:\u2014\n\n\u201cI deliberately gave up study on all these lines when I became a\nChristian. I supposed them to be contrary to the absolute consecration\nof my life to God.\u201d\n\nProfessor Ward looked perplexed.\n\n\u201cYou cannot understand,\u201d Anna said timidly. \u201cI have felt since I have\nbeen in Fulham as if the language of my religious life in those days\nwould be an unknown tongue here. I see that I am right. To you,\nProfessor Ward, I am sure such a sense of duty as I speak of is\nunintelligible, but I can still say it was sincere. And it was not an\neasy sacrifice to make, for I had already grown fond of poetry, and\nlonged to know more in a way I could never express.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see,\u201d said her companion, gravely; \u201cyou felt that the study of the\nwork of men like most of our poets, whose religious positions were vague\nand not formulated according to our creeds, was likely to act\nunfavourably upon your spiritual life and experience.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. To divide my heart, to dim my sense of a one, single aim in life.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that aim?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo serve God directly in every thought and word. That, and to try to\nsave the souls of the lost.\u201d\n\nProfessor Ward had no key to the profound sadness with which Anna spoke,\nbut he watched her face with earnest interest. She spoke with the\nunconsciousness of absolute sincerity. He was reflecting, however, on\nhow much easier life might be if one could sustain, undisturbed, such\nbare simplicity of conception of human relations.\n\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cyou were going to prune away every instinct,\nevery faculty of your nature which did not serve the immediate purpose\nof furthering what men call sometimes \u2018the cause of religion,\u2019 and know\nand feel and be one thing only?\u201d\n\nAnna bent her head in assent.\n\n\u201cThat is precisely what men and women do who seek monastic life.\u201d\n\nAnna looked up at Professor Ward in quick surprise and instinctive\nprotest.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, with emphasis, \u201cit was just as noble and just as\ncowardly, just as weak and just as strong, as the impulses which make\nmonks and nuns. It is what people do who are afraid of life, who do not\ndare to encounter the whole of it, who have not reached the highest\nfaith in either God or man.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you think such a resolution, such a scheme of life, produces weak\nnatures, not strong ones?\u201d asked Anna, looking up with her honest,\nsteadfast gaze into his eyes.\n\n\u201cI should say narrow natures, and yet I fear I ought to say weak ones\ntoo. Mrs. Burgess, do you not see yourself the weakness, the narrowness,\nof the position? It is what might be called the department system of\nhuman life,\u201d and Professor Ward, with rapid gestures, indicated the\ndrawing of sharp lines. \u201cIt is as if you said to your ego, your\nsoul\u2014yourself\u2014whatever,\u2014Go to now, this department of your life is\nreligious; it sings hymns, reads a collection of sacred writings at\nregular hours, prays, gives away money to build churches, and performs\nvarious other exercises definitely stamped as godly. This other\ndepartment loves nature, exults in beauty, pours itself into poetic\nthought, rejoices in music, expresses itself in art: but all this is\nsecular, pagan\u2014all men may have this in common who have not accepted my\nparticular conception of the divine nature and its dealings with men;\nconsequently all this is to be cut off\u2014effaced, fought with to the\ndeath. Am I right?\u201d\n\nAnna nodded, her face very grave, her breath quickened.\n\n\u201cDoes that seem to you a reasonable or even a noble conception? There\nwas nobleness, I grant you, in the struggle, just as there was in the\nfortitude of the Spartans; but who feels now a desire to imitate that\nsheer, barbaric effacing of human feeling? No, no. That day has passed.\nWe can begin to see life whole to-day; we can see God in nature, in\npoetry, in beauty, in ugliness even. He is all and in all. All things\nare ours and we are God\u2019s! I wish I could make this clear to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have, in part,\u201d said Anna, simply.\n\n\u201cNo way, however tortuous, by which men have groped after God can be\nindifferent to us, if we have the right sense of humanity. Trust\nyourself, Mrs. Burgess; trust the human heart throughout the ages.\nBelieve me, with all the drawbacks, all the falls, and all the blunders,\nit has been an honest heart and is worthy of reverence and devout study.\n\u2018Trust God: see all, nor be afraid.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen only one side of life, one conception of human nature.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat, at least, was a high and lofty one. For stern heroism of thought,\ncommend me to that old New England Calvinism in which I see you were\nnurtured. It was fine; I glory in it, just as I glory in heroism\neverywhere, builded up on however mistaken a foundation. The worst of\nit, however, is that it completely deceives the human heart as to\nitself. It is terrible in its power to mislead. The elect are not as\nelect by half as they suppose. Calvin himself helped to burn Servetus,\nwhich was not really fine of him, you know. But I have said enough. I\nhope I have not wounded you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not think so,\u201d said Anna, smiling faintly, \u201cbut I am amazed beyond\neverything. All that you say is so new.\u201d\n\nThey had reached Professor Ward\u2019s house, which was very near that of\nMadam Burgess.\n\n\u201cI wish you would come in a moment,\u201d said Ward, very gently; \u201cyou know\nmy wife always likes to see you, and I want to show you some books in\nwhich I think you would be interested.\u201d\n\nWithout reply, Anna passed through the gate which he held open for her,\nand they entered the house together. Mrs. Ward met them, and they all\nwent into the professor\u2019s study.\n\nIn a few moments Anna was lost in the realm of books so long self-closed\nto her experience. She sat at his desk, and Ward handed her and heaped\nabout her rare and beautiful volumes until she became bewildered with\nthe sense of intellectual richness and complexity. She looked up at\nlast, as he bent over her, turning the leaves of a beautiful old Italian\nedition of Dante\u2019s \u201cCommedia,\u201d and, with a smile beneath which her lips\ntrembled, she asked, like a child:\u2014\n\n\u201cTell me truly, is all this for me, righteously, safely?\u201d\n\n\u201cDid I not tell you?\u201d he asked gently. \u201c\u2018All things are yours, and you\nare Christ\u2019s, and Christ is God\u2019s.\u2019\u201d\n\nWith that day Anna returned to the long-sealed books of her father\u2019s\nlove and her own. She read and studied under Professor Ward\u2019s guidance\nand direction, steadily and with eager delight. She did this with no\nfurther misgiving or doubt. He had succeeded in satisfying her\nconscience, and she moved joyfully along the clear lines of her\ninherited intellectual choice.\n\nAs for her father and the example of renunciation he had given her, her\nheart was at rest. That which was perfect being come for him, was not\nthat which had been in part done away?\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVIII\n\n Are you the new person drawn toward me?\n To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you\n    suppose;\n Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?\n\n        \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7\n\n Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloyed satisfaction?\n\n        \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7\n\n Do you see no further than this fa\u00e7ade, this smooth and tolerant manner\n    of me?\n Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic\n    man?\n Have you no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all maya, illusion?\n                                                       \u2014WALT WHITMAN.\n\n\nIn her sittings in the studio of Pierce Everett, Anna had found from\ntime to time numbers of an English magazine devoted to social reform.\nSome of these, at Everett\u2019s suggestion, she had taken home with her and\nread with care. Coming to the studio one May afternoon, for the work had\nbeen laid aside for a time for various reasons, and only resumed with\nthe spring, Anna laid down on a table three or four of these magazines\nwith the remark:\u2014\n\n\u201cI wish I knew who John Gregory is.\u201d\n\nEverett glanced up quickly.\n\n\u201cI mean the man who wrote those articles on the \u2018Social Ideals of\nJesus,\u2019\u201d added Anna.\n\n\u201cDo you like them?\u201d asked Everett.\n\n\u201cI do not know how to answer that question,\u201d said Anna, musingly;\n\u201cperhaps you hardly can say you like what makes you thoroughly\nuncomfortable. What he says of the immorality of a life of selfish ease\nappeals to me powerfully.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a great arraignment,\u201d said Everett, working on in apparent\nabsorbedness.\n\n\u201cWhat stirs me so deeply,\u201d continued Anna, \u201cis that this writer not only\nsays what I believe to be true, but that he makes you feel a sense of\npower, authority, finality almost, in the way he says it. And by that,\nyou know, I do not mean that he is authoritative or autocratic; it is\nsimply that he writes as one who sees, who knows, who has gone beyond\nthe mists of doubt and has a clear vision.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are quite right, Mrs. Burgess,\u201d said Everett, quietly, looking up\nfrom his work, his eyes kindling with unwonted light. \u201cJohn Gregory is a\nman of his generation\u2014a seer; as you say, one who sees. He is my master.\nYou did not know, perhaps, that I am a socialist?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d Anna said simply; \u201cI do not even rightly know what a socialist\nis.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is, as far as my personal definition is concerned,\u2014there are a dozen\nothers,\u2014a man who believes that the aim of individual and private gain\nand advantage, to the ignoring of the interests of his fellow-men, is\nimmoral; this, whether it is the struggle for the man\u2019s salvation in a\nfuture life, or his social or material advancement in this.\u201d\n\nAnna looked very sober. In a moment of silence, she was asking herself,\n\u201cI wonder what becomes of people who are forced into lives of selfish\ninaction; who have to live luxuriously when they don\u2019t want to; who are\nobliged to go in carriages when they far prefer walking; and who find\ntheir hands tied whenever they seek any line of effort not absolutely\nconventional?\u201d\n\nLooking up then with a sudden smile, she exclaimed, \u201cI should like to\nask this Mr. Gregory a few questions!\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you may be able to some time. He is in this country now, and he\nis so good as to honour me with his personal friendship. However, he\npasses like night from land to land; one can never count upon his\ncoming, or plan for his staying an hour. But if I can bring it about,\nMrs. Burgess, you shall meet some time.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you. What is he? A clergyman, a teacher, or what?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou found something a little sermonic in his articles?\u201d and Everett\nsmiled. \u201cI believe he can never throw it off entirely. He is an Oxford\nman, a scholar, and a writer on sociology. He is first and last and\nalways, however, a Christian in the purest and most practical sense.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat seemed to me unmistakable.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe used to be a preacher; in fact, he was for a number of years a\nfamous evangelist in England, and also in this country. He was led into\nthat work by a sense of obligation. I should almost think you must have\nheard of his wonderful success. John Gregory\u2014his name was in everybody\u2019s\nmouth a few years ago.\u201d\n\nAnna tried to recall some vague sense of association with the name,\nwhich failed to declare itself plainly.\n\n\u201cHe was holding great revival meetings somewhere in New England, simply\nsweeping everything before him; all the great cities were seeking him,\nyou know his income could have been almost anything he would have made\nit. All this I know, but I never heard a word of it from Gregory\nhimself.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is not doing this still?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you. Really to understand, you must try to imagine\nsomething of the man\u2019s personality. He has in the highest degree that\nindefinable quality which we usually call magnetism. He has an almost\nirresistible personal influence with many people. Well, on a certain\nnight, four or five years ago, I should think, during the course of a\nmost successful meeting, it suddenly became clear to him that he was\nbringing the people in that audience to a religious crisis, and to a\ncommittal of themselves to a profession of a knowledge of God, by\ndoubtful means. I cannot tell you the details, I have forgotten them;\nbut I know that he went through something like agony in that meeting,\nand that in saying the words \u2018The Spirit is here,\u2019 he had an\noverwhelming sense of presumption and even of blasphemy. He did not know\nthat the Spirit was present. He was not sure but the influence at work\nwas the product of music, of oratory, of his own will and personality,\nof the contagion of an excited crowd\u2014in short, was purely human. If this\nwere so, what could the results be but confusion and dismay when the\nhour of reaction should come? He was borne down by a sense of pity and\nremorse even for the coming spiritual doubts and struggles of the people\nwho were at that hour placed almost helplessly in his hands, and\nabruptly he left the place\u2014hall, whatever it was. That night in his\nhotel he made no attempt to sleep, but studied the situation, its\ndangers, its losses, its benefits, with the result that he never again\nheld that order of revival meetings. Whatever good other men might do\nwith the forces at work and put into their hands to wield at such\ncrises, for himself he was convinced that the human had usurped the\ndivine, and made of him, not only an unauthorized experimenter with\nsouls, but a violator of their sacred rights, albeit hitherto\nunconsciously to himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has he been doing since?\u201d\n\n\u201cStudying. He has gone deeply into social and religious problems, has\ntravelled largely, has seen and talked with many of the most famous\nleaders of modern thought, and I think he has now some large plans which\nare maturing slowly. Meanwhile he writes such things as you have read.\u201d\n\nThe following week Anna was again in Everett\u2019s studio. This sitting, he\npromised her as it drew to a close, should be the last, as he could\nfinish the picture without her.\n\n\u201cAm I to see it now?\u201d asked Anna, timidly.\n\n\u201cNot quite yet, if you can be patient still after such long\nforbearance,\u201d was the answer, given with a bright but half-pleading\nsmile. \u201cI want you to like the thing if you can, Mrs. Burgess, and I\nknow my chances are better if you see it when the final touches are on.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well. I am not in a hurry.\u201d\n\nWhen Anna left the studio the sun was low and the room fast growing\nshadowy. Seeing how hard and intensely Everett was working to use the\nlast light of the day, she insisted that he should not come down the\nthree long flights of stairs with her. The studio was at the top of the\nhouse. They parted, therefore, with a brief, cordial good-by, and\nearnest thanks from the young artist, whose admiration and reverence for\nhis model had grown with every hour spent in her presence.\n\nOn the second flight of stairs Anna encountered the housemaid coming up,\na tray with a card in her hand. Otherwise the house seemed strangely\nstill and deserted that evening. As she descended slowly from the broad\nlanding of the main staircase, where a window of stained glass threw a\ndeep radiance from the western sky like a shaft of colour down into the\ndim hall below, Anna perceived that some one stood there, waiting.\n\nAs she looked, amazement and a strange, deep joy took hold on her. The\nman who stood with arms crossed upon his breast where the shaft of light\nfell full upon him in the gathering shadow was of heroic height and\nstature, with a large leonine head, grey hair thrown carelessly from his\nforehead, strong features, and eyes stern and grave in their fixed look\nstraight before him as he stood.\n\nIt was not the first time that Anna Mallison had confronted this face.\nTwice in her girlhood she had seen it as she saw it now. It was the face\nof her dream, the dream which for years secretly dominated her inner\nlife as a vision of human power and greatness touched with supernatural\nlight. Even in later time, in this year of her Fulham life, she had at\nintervals recalled that presence and influence distinctly, and never\nwithout quickened pulses and mysterious longing. And now she saw bodily\nbefore her the very shape and substance of her dream.\n\nWith her heart beating violently and her breath painfully quickened, she\nproceeded down the stairs, through the hall, and so past the place where\nthe stranger stood. When she reached him he became aware of her presence\nfor the first time. Throwing back his head slightly with the action of\none surprised, he met Anna\u2019s eyes lifted with timid joy and dreamlike\nappeal to his face, and smiled, bending slightly as if in spiritual\nbestowment, and shedding into her heart the inexplicable delight which\nshe had known before only as the effluence of a dream.\n\nNeither spoke. The house door opened and closed, and Anna hastened down\nthe street alone under the pale, clear sky, with a sense that the\ngreatest event of her life had befallen her, but she knew not what it\nwas. As she went on her homeward way she seemed to herself to be\npalpably taken up and borne onward by a power beyond herself, as of some\nrushing, mighty \u201cwind of destiny.\u201d\n\nShe found her husband at home, alone in the dusky library by an\noppressive fire. She wanted to tell him what had happened; but when she\nsought to do this she found that nothing had happened; there was nothing\nto tell unless she should seek to put into words that mysterious dream\nof her past, and this she found impossible. The dream was her own. No\none else could understand.\n\nKeith had returned from a long and tiresome journey in her absence, and\nAnna was filled with penitence that she had not been in the house to\nreceive him and make him comfortable. He looked worn and dispirited, and\ncomplained of the weather, which she had thought celestial, but which\nprostrated his strength.\n\nIn her quiet, skilful way she ministered to him, hiding in her heart the\ndeep happiness in which no one could share, and as she bathed his head\nhe caught her hand and kissed it.\n\n\u201cOh, my wife,\u201d he said, so low that she could hardly hear, \u201cyou are too\nbeautiful, too wonderful for a miserable weakling of a man like me; but\nhow I love you, Anna! Tell me that I do not spoil your life.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIX\n\n              I am holy while I stand\n              Circumcrossed by thy pure hand;\n              But when that is gone again,\n              I, as others, am profane.\n                                          \u2014ROBERT HERRICK.\n\n\nJohn Gregory stood in the studio with his friend, the first greetings\nover.\n\n\u201cMay I look at your work?\u201d he asked, approaching Everett\u2019s easel. The\nyounger man stood behind him with sensitive, changing colour, and\nsomething almost like trepidation in the expression of his face.\n\nThere was a certain quality of command in John Gregory, of which he was\nhimself, perhaps, usually unconscious, which produced in many minds a\ndisproportionate anxiety to win his approval. As he stood now before\nEverett\u2019s easel, however, he was not the awe-inspiring figure of Anna\u2019s\ndream, or even of its sudden fulfilment, but simply an English gentleman\nin his rough travelling tweeds, a man of fifty or thereabout, noticeable\nfor his height and splendid proportion, for a kind of rugged harmony of\nfeature, and for the peculiarly piercing quality of his glance. His\nmanner was characterized by repose which might have appeared stolidity\nhad not the fire in his eyes denied the suggestion; his voice was deep\nand full, and he spoke with the roll and rhythm of accent common to\neducated Englishmen. The aspect of the man produced, altogether, an\neffect of almost careless freedom from form, the sense that here was one\nwho had to do with what was actual and imperative, not with the\nadventitious and artificial; in fine, an essentially masculine and\nvirile individuality,\u2014a man born to lead, not to follow.\n\nBeside him, Pierce Everett, with his delicate mobility of face and the\nslender grace of his frame, looked boyish and even effeminate, but there\nwas nothing of superiority or patronage in Gregory\u2019s bearing toward the\nyoung artist, but rather a kind of affectionate comradery peculiarly\nwinning, and he entered into the study of the young man\u2019s work with\ncordial and sympathetic interest.\n\nThe canvas before them was not a large one; the composition extremely\nsimple; the single figure it presented was set in against a background\nof cold, low tones of yellow. A crumbling tomb of hewn stone, with tufts\nof dry grass growing in the crevices, hoary with age, stained with\ndecay, was set against a steep hillside of sterile limestone. Leaning\nupon a broken pillar of this tomb stood the figure of a young girl, her\nhands dropped carelessly upon the rough stone before her, her head\nlifted and encircled by a faint nimbus, the eyes fixed in absorbed\ncontemplation, and yet with a child\u2019s passionless calm. The outlines of\nthe figure, in white Oriental dress, were those of extreme youth,\nundeveloped and severe, the attitude had an unconscious childlike grace,\nthe expression of the face was that of awe and wonder, with a curious\nmingling of joy and dread. The subject, easily guessed, was the Virgin\nin Contemplation in early girlhood.\n\nThe picture was nearly finished, only the detail of the foreground\nremained incomplete.\n\nJohn Gregory stood for some time in silence. The face and figure before\nhim possessed the expression of high, spiritual quality common to the\nearly Florentines; there was little of fleshly or earthly beauty, but an\naura of celestial purity, of virginal innocence and devout aspiration,\nwas the more perceived.\n\n\u201cYou have painted, like Fra Angelico, Everett, with heaven in your\nheart.\u201d\n\nGregory spoke at last. The artist drew a long breath and turned away,\nsatisfied. They both found chairs then, and settled down for an hour of\ntalk.\n\n\u201cWhere could you find a model for such a conception? It would be most\ndifficult, I should think, in our self-conscious, sophisticated, modern\nlife.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was my model who created my picture,\u201d replied Everett. \u201cMrs. Keith\nBurgess is the lady\u2019s name. Seeing her at church, when she came here a\nbride, gave me my first thought of the thing.\u201d\n\nGregory looked at him meditatively.\n\n\u201cIt is most remarkable that a woman who was married could have suggested\nyour little Mary there, with that child\u2019s unconsciousness in her eyes,\nthat obviously virginal soul. When a woman has loved a man, she has\nanother look.\u201d\n\nEverett was surprised at this comment from Gregory, who had never\nmarried, and who was peculiarly silent and indifferent commonly when the\nsubject of love or marriage was touched in conversation. He answered\npresently:\n\n\u201cWhen Mrs. Burgess was married and came here, she was in a sense a\nchild. She was thoughtful and serious beyond her years in religious\nconcerns, but quite undeveloped on all other lines, and as inexperienced\nin the motives and energies of the modern world as a child\u2014I think one\nmight have described her then as a very religious child.\u201d\n\n\u201cHas she changed greatly?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so much, and yet somewhat. She has begun to read, you see, which\nshe never had done except on certain scholastic and religious lines; she\nhas begun to think for herself somewhat, and in a sense, one could say,\nshe has begun to live.\u201d\n\nJohn Gregory did not reply, but he said to himself that if she had begun\nto love she could not have furnished his friend with the inspiration and\nthe model for just that picture.\n\nHe had come to Fulham only for the evening, being on his way to take a\nsteamer from Montreal back to England. The two men had dinner together,\nand then, returning to the studio, conversed long and earnestly. Gregory\nspoke freely but not fully of plans which absorbed him, but which were\nnot yet matured. Some theory of social co\u00f6peration was in full\npossession of his mind, and he had small consideration for things\noutside. Everett listened with serious attention to all that he said,\nand when he rose to make ready for departure he remarked:\u2014\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory, when the time comes that you are ready to carry into\nexecution any plan embodying this principle of brotherhood, count on me,\nif you think me worthy. I am ready to follow you\u2014anywhere.\u201d\n\nGregory looked down upon the young man with his grave and winning smile.\n\n\u201cThank you, Everett; I shall remember. But do you know, my dear fellow,\nI want to ask a tremendous favour of you now, this very night?\u201d\n\n\u201cSay on,\u201d returned the other.\n\nGregory had crossed the room to the easel, and now stood with a look\nintent on the picture of the young Virgin.\n\n\u201cIt is a bold request, but I want to buy this picture of you now\u2014before\nyou have a chance to touch it again. Who knows but you may spoil it? It\ninterests me unusually, and I want to take it with me to England,\u2014to do\nthat it must go with me to-night. I will pay you any price you have in\nmind. I want it for a purpose, Everett.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! you mean that I should let it go to-night, before I have finished\nit, or shown it to Mrs. Burgess herself even?\u201d and Everett looked almost\naghast. \u201cShe has never seen it, even once, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the other, looking fully into the artist\u2019s excited face with\nundisturbed quietness; \u201cthat is exactly what I ask of you. I will\npromise to return the painting to you at some future date if that should\nbe your wish. I shall be over here again in a year.\u201d\n\nEverett stood for a moment, reflecting.\n\n\u201cI am very fond of the picture,\u201d he said slowly.\n\n\u201cSo am I,\u201d said the other, smiling.\n\nEverett glanced up, and caught the smile, and felt a strange control in\nit.\n\n\u201cYou will have to take it,\u201d he said, with a nervous laugh. \u201cThere is no\nother way.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, put a good price on it, my boy,\u201d said Gregory, with\nmatter-of-fact brevity.\n\n\u201cYou will agree not to exhibit it anywhere, publicly?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. I could not do that without Mrs. Burgess\u2019s consent.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow I shall make my peace with her, I am sure I cannot imagine,\u201d\nmurmured Everett, as he took the painting from its place, and laid it on\nthe table preparatory to packing it.\n\n\u201cWill you tell her, please,\u201d said Gregory, quite unmoved, \u201cthat I wanted\nthe picture, and will agree to make good use of it?\u201d\n\nA sudden clearing passed over Everett\u2019s clouded face.\n\n\u201cOh, to be sure, to be sure!\u201d he cried; \u201cMrs. Burgess has read your\nrecent articles in the _Economist_, and she is quite enthusiastic over\nthem. It will be all right.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure it will,\u201d said John Gregory. He was thinking of Anna\u2019s face\nas she had passed him in the hall below, but he did not mention the fact\nthat they had met to Everett.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER XX\n\n  That which has caused the miserable failure of all the efforts of\n  natural religion is that its founders have not had the courage to\n  lay hold upon the hearts of men, consenting to no partition. They\n  have not understood the imperious desire for immolation which lies\n  in the depths of every soul, and souls have taken their revenge in\n  not heeding those too lukewarm lovers.\n\n                                     \u2014_Life of St. Francis._ SABATIER.\n\n  To be content to have while others have not, to be content to be\n  right while others are bound and crushed with wrong, to be content\n  to be saved apart from the common life, to seek heaven while our\n  brothers are in hell, is deepest perdition and not salvation; it is\n  the mark of Cain in a new form.\u2014G. D. HERRON.\n\n\nIn the few years which followed her early married life, the cords of\nconvention, slender, and strong as threads of silk, were wound closer\nand closer about Anna Burgess outwardly. As she grew older, Keith\u2019s\nmother grew more immovable in her social creed, and ruled her family\nmore rigidly. Anna might read and study, but if she would please her\nmother-in-law, it must be in the mildest of manners, and on strictly\nsuitable and ladylike lines; religious biography was recommended, while\nall literature which conveyed a touch of freedom in thought, or a\nsuggestion of a change in social conditions, was viewed with horror.\n\nAnna might also be charitable, but this too must be on strictly\nconventional lines. There were numerous benevolent organizations upheld\nby Fulham\u2019s fashionable women; the name of Mrs. Keith Burgess might\nfigure frequently on these,\u2014to this there would be no opposition, but\nindividual and sporadic work among the poor was uniformly discouraged.\nThe family carriage was often sent into the slums of the city on errands\nof bestowal as from the wealthy to those \u201cless favoured,\u201d but when Anna\nwould have liked the carriage to take her on social calls on equal\nterms, in respectable but unfashionable regions, she met with a cold\ndisfavour and unyielding lack of compliance.\n\nMalvina Loveland, who had been married to the Rev. Frank Nichols, not\nlong after Anna\u2019s marriage, had come again within Anna\u2019s horizon.\nThrough Keith\u2019s personal influence, exerted at Mr. Nichols\u2019s request, a\ncall had been extended to him to the pastorate of a church in Fulham.\nThis church was not very large and not particularly prominent;\nfurthermore, it was not in the \u201cright\u201d part of Fulham geographically,\nwhich was as distinctly limited as the social circle.\n\nThe Nicholses, delighted to come to Fulham as a university town of some\nimportance, and to a church far more promising of obvious success than\nthe mission enterprise in which they had worked in Burlington,\ninnocently rented a cosey modern house on a pleasant street which, had\nthey but known it, distinctly stamped them as socially ineligible from\nthe day of their arrival.\n\nMally, dreaming of nothing of the kind, entered upon what she expected\nto be a somewhat brilliant life socially, into which she saw her husband\nand herself conducted easily and naturally by the Keith Burgesses.\n\nAnna had received her old friend with most affectionate cordiality, and\nhad spent days of hard work in helping her to order her house, which, as\nthere was a baby and but one servant, was not a small undertaking. Madam\nBurgess had submitted with patience to the long absences and the\npreoccupation of her daughter-in-law thus involved, and had even\nresponded without demur to Anna\u2019s timid request that they might have her\nold friends to dinner.\n\nThis dinner closed the Nichols episode from the social point of view.\nThe guests were full of cheerful and unfeigned admiration, eager to\nplease, easy to be pleased, but their good will availed them nothing.\nEven Anna could not fail now to perceive poor Mally\u2019s inherent\nprovincialness, but had she been apparently to the manner born, it would\nhave made no difference with Madam Burgess. The essential qualifications\nto entrance into her world being lacking, her punctilious and attentive\ncourtesy for the occasion simply covered the inevitable and absolute\nfinality of it.\n\nThe Nicholses themselves, while by no means perceiving that the social\ncareer to which they had looked forward in Fulham was ended with this\nvisit instead of begun, departed from the Burgess mansion with a vague\nsense of chill which all Anna\u2019s efforts could not counteract. They were\nnever invited there again. Madam Burgess had done her duty by her son\u2019s\nwife\u2019s early friends, and the incident, as far as she was concerned, was\nclosed.\n\nAnna, burning with a desire to make up to Mally for the inevitable\ndisappointment which she foresaw, and hotly, although silently,\nresenting the social narrowness which excluded all men and women whose\nlives had not been run in the one fixed mould, devoted herself\npersonally to her old friend with double ardour. More than this she\ncould not do. Mally wondered, as the months passed and they settled down\nto the undivided intercourse of their own obscure church and\nneighbourhood, that Anna made no attempt to introduce her into her own\naristocratic circle. Over and over she bit back the question which would\nreach her lips, \u201cWhy?\u201d Her heart fermented with bitterness and\nresentment, and her husband was taxed to the utmost to subdue and\nsweeten the tumult of her wounded feeling.\n\nAnother year brought Mally another baby, greatly to her own\ndissatisfaction. Poor Anna, the great passion of motherhood within her\nstill baffled and unfulfilled, poured out her soul upon mother and child\nin vicarious ecstasy, and went home to lie awake for many nights with\nher ceaseless, thwarted yearning for a child; and thus these two women\neach longed passionately for what the other, possessing, found a burden\nrather than a joy.\n\nAs time went on, Anna, bound to a certain outward course of life alien\nto her natural bent, lived her own life just below the surface, a life\nlike a flame burning beneath ice. All the master motives of her nature\nunapplied; all the initial motives with which life had begun,\nneutralized and made ineffective, she reached, five years of married\nlife over, the point which in any human development is one of\ndanger,\u2014the point when great personal forces are dammed up by barriers\nof external circumstance, when the prime powers and passions are without\nadequate expression.\n\nMeanwhile Keith Burgess, his young enthusiasms having lost their first\nfreshness, the limitations of physical weakness and suffering making\nthemselves more and more felt, settled into a narrow routine of life and\nthought. As his physique gradually seemed to shrivel and his delicacy of\nform and feature to increase, a resemblance to his mother, scarcely\nobservable in his younger manhood, became at times striking. His\nmissionary activity passed from its original fresh ardour into a system\nof petty details, increasingly formal and perfunctory, even to Anna\u2019s\nreluctant perception.\n\nPerhaps it was due to Keith\u2019s protracted absences from home, perhaps\npartly to his physical exhaustion, which made him dull and unresponsive\nwhen with her, but Anna felt, against her own will, a growing divergence\nin thought and interest between them. He was delicately sympathetic,\nchivalrously attentive, to her in all outward ways; but when she longed\nwith eager craving for his participation in the life of thought and\npurpose which was stirring the depths of her nature in secret, she found\nscant response.\n\nDriven inward thus at every point, Anna\u2019s essential life centred itself\nmore and more upon the new message of social brotherhood which she had\nfound in the writings of John Gregory; and, unconsciously to herself,\nthe ruling figure in her mind, as the symbol of the human power and\nfreedom for which she longed, was his. The \u201ccounterfeit presentment\u201d of\nthis man in her dream had ruled her girlish imagination; and now his\nactual presence, though but once encountered, exercised an influence\nover her maturer life no less mysterious and no less profound. To this\ninfluence fresh strength was given by the relation, never-so-slight,\nwhich existed between them by reason of Gregory\u2019s possession of the\npicture painted by Everett. How she was represented was still all\nunknown to her, still unasked; but must it not be that, owning this\nmysterious image of her face, his thoughts would sometimes turn to her?\nThis thought stirred Anna with a thrill, half of joy, half of fear.\n\nAn interruption in the routine of their Fulham life occurred after Keith\nhad served the missionary society for a period of five years. An illness\nwhich manifested, as well as increased, his physical inability to\ncontinue in his difficult duties brought Keith and Anna to a sudden\ncourse of action. Keith resigned his official position, and, as soon as\nhe was able to travel, they sailed for Europe for a year\u2019s absence.\n\nThis was a year of rapid development and of abounding happiness to Anna.\nAlone and unguarded in their life together for the first time since\ntheir marriage, the husband and wife grew together in new sympathy, and\nfed their spirits on the beauty and wonder of art and the majesty of\nnature in fond accord. The fulness and richness and complexity of the\nworking of the human spirit throughout the ages were revealed to Anna;\nthe grandeur and purity of dedicated lives of creeds unlike and even\nhostile to her own opened her eyes to a new and broader view of human\nand divine relations. Reverence, love, and sympathy began to usurp the\nplace of dogma, division, and exclusion in her mental energies. She\nbegan to perceive that the righteous were not wholly righteous, nor the\nwicked wholly wicked. The old ground plan of the moral universe with\nwhich she had started in life looked now a mean and narrow thing. Larger\nhopes and a bolder faith awoke in her.\n\nAnd so in mind, and also in body, Anna grew joyously and freely; even\nher attitudes and motions expressed a new harmony, while suavity and\ngrace of outline succeeded to the meagre and angular proportions of her\nyouth.\n\nThe return to Fulham came, when it could no longer be postponed, as an\nunwelcome period to their best year of life. Madam Burgess received her\nchildren with affectionate, albeit restrained, cordiality, and watched\nAnna with keen eyes on which no change, however slight, was lost.\n\nWhen mother and son were left alone on the night of the return, as on\nthe night when Keith brought his wife home a bride, Madam Burgess spoke\nplainly and directly of Anna. She had never discussed her\ncharacteristics from that night until the present, but she felt that\nanother epoch was reached, and a few remarks would be appropriate.\n\n\u201cMy son,\u201d she said, \u201cdo you remember the night when you brought Anna\nhome to this house as a bride?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerfectly, mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo do I. I have been going back continually in thought to-night to that\ntime. Without undue partiality, Keith, I think we are justified in a\nlittle self-congratulation. Anna has developed slowly, but she has now\nreached the first and best bloom of her maturity. You brought her here a\nshy, angular, country-bred, undeveloped girl, although I will not deny\nthat she had distinction, even then; to-night you bring her again not\nonly a _distingu\u00e9_ but a beautiful woman,\u2014yes, Keith, I really mean\nit,\u2014a beautiful woman, and with a certain charm about her which makes\nher capable of being a social leader, if she chooses to exert her power.\nI understand she has purchased some good gowns in Paris. I have about\nconcluded to give a reception next month in honour of your return, if my\nhealth permits.\u201d\n\nThe reception, which Madam Burgess\u2019s health was favoured to permit,\nproved to be as brilliant an event as social conditions in Fulham\nrendered possible. The fine old house was radiant with flowers and\nwax-lights, and the company which was gathered was the most\ndistinguished which the little city could muster. In the midst of all\nthe gay array stood Keith and Anna,\u2014he with his small, slight figure,\nhis scrupulously gentlemanly air, his thin, worn face and nervous\nmanner; she tall and stately, with her characteristic repose illuminated\nby new springs of thought, perception, and feeling, full of swift and\nradiant response to each newcomer\u2019s word, overflowing with the first\nfresh joy of her awakened social instinct.\n\nProfessor Ward stood with Pierce Everett aside, and, watching Anna, said\nin a lowered voice:\u2014\n\n\u201cMrs. Burgess is a woman now, through and through. Would you know her\nfor the girl whom Keith brought here half a dozen years ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cI could not find my little maiden Mary in that queenly creature!\u201d\nexclaimed Everett.\n\n\u201cNo; you were just in time with that mysterious disappearance of yours,\nbad luck to you that you made way with it, however you did!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt has taken her a good while to accept the world\u2019s standards and fit\nherself to the world\u2019s groove, but Madam Burgess has been patient and\ndiligent, and I think she has succeeded at last,\u201d said Everett gravely;\n\u201cshe will run along all right after this.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think Mrs. Keith will live to sustain the family traditions\nhereafter, do you? And Keith, what is to become of him? He seems to have\ndropped off his missionary enthusiasm with singular facility.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrecisely. You will have to create a nice little chair for him in the\nuniversity now, to keep him in the correct line of his descent. By and\nby, you know, he will have the estate to administer. That will be\nsomething of an occupation.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen he probably will take to collecting things,\u201d Ward added, \u201ccoins or\nautographs\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, come, Ward, you\u2019re too bad,\u201d laughed Everett. \u201cYou don\u2019t know Keith\nBurgess as well as I do.\u201d\n\nLater in the evening Anna was summoned from her guests to speak with\nsome one who had called on an urgent matter which could not be put by\nuntil another time.\n\nThe fine hall, as she passed along it, was alive with lights, fragrance,\nmusic, and airy gayety; her own elastic step, her exquisite dress, her\njoyous excitement in the first taste of social triumph which the evening\nwas bringing to her, accorded well with the environment. For the first\ntime in her life, Anna had seen that she was beautiful; had felt the\npotent charm of her own personality; had found that she could draw to\nherself the homage and admiration of her social world. These perceptions\nhad not excited her unduly, but they had given her a new sense of\nherself, a strong exhilaration which expressed itself in the lustre of\nher eyes, the brightness of every tone and tint of her face, in the way\nshe held her head, in the clear, thrilling cadence of her voice.\n\nOnce again, after long dimness and confusion, life seemed about to\ndeclare itself to her, and the energies of her nature to find a free\nchannel. At last she might move in the line of least resistance, and\nfill the place she was expected to fill, without further conflict or\nquestion.\n\nIt looked a pleasant path that night, and submission a sweet and\ngracious thing.\n\nWith a half smile still on her lips, and the spirit of the hour full\nupon her, Anna came to the house door and opened it upon the outer\nvestibule, where she had been told the messenger would await her.\n\nThe man who stood there was John Gregory.\n\nAnna softly closed the door behind her, and looked up into his face. It\nwore a different aspect from that which she remembered, for it was stern\nand unsmiling, and more deeply grave and worn than she had seen it. But\neven more than before the person of the man seemed to overawe her with a\nsense of power and command.\n\n\u201cDo you remember me, Mrs. Burgess?\u201d he asked simply.\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I know you through my friend, through the picture he painted once\nof you. You must pardon my intruding upon you to-night. I could not do\notherwise. I have a message for you, and I am here only for to-night.\u201d\n\nAnna did not speak, but her eyes were fixed upon his in earnest\nquestion, as if in some mysterious way he held destiny in his hands.\n\n\u201cNo man could paint that picture from you now,\u201d he proceeded slowly,\ngently, and yet with a kind of unflinching severity; \u201cyou had the vision\nthen. You have lost it now. You saw God once. To-night you see the\nworld. Once your heart ached for the sorrows of others; now it thrills\nwith your own joys. You have given up great purposes, and are accepting\nsmall ones. I have been sent to say to you: keep the word of the kingdom\nand patience of Christ steadfast to the end, and hold that fast which\nwas given that no man take your crown.\u201d\n\nThese words, spoken with the solemnity of a prophetic admonition,\npierced Anna\u2019s consciousness.\n\nA faint cry, as if in remonstrance, broke from her lips, but already\nGregory had turned, and before she could speak she found herself alone.\n\nWith strong control Anna returned, and mingled with her guests without\nperceptible change of manner. When, however, the last carriage had\nrolled down the street, and the house itself was dark and still, she\nescaped alone to her own room to live over and over again that strange\nsummons and challenge of John Gregory.\n\nNow the sense of what he had said roused her to burning indignation and\nprotest, and again to contrition. She knew that she was blameless and\napproved if tried by the standards of the people now about her, and they\nwere the irreproachable, church-going people of Fulham. She was simply\nconforming to the demands of an orderly and balanced social life, and\npleasing those most interested in her. But she also knew that, as tried\nby the standards of her father, and her own early convictions, in the\nsocial and intellectual ambitions which now animated her, she was\nlearning to love \u201cthe world and the things of the world,\u201d to know \u201cthe\nlust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life.\u201d The\nvoice of her past spoke clearly through the voice of John Gregory and\nmust be heard. The things which she had thought to put away forever in\nthe solemn dedication of her girlhood had gradually returned, and\nsilently established themselves in her life in the guise of duties,\nnecessities, conformities to the wishes of others.\n\nBut of late she had come to regard those early scruples almost as\nsuperstitious. Where lay the absolute right\u2014the truth? the will of God\nconcerning her? Why was life so hard? Why was it impossible to even know\nthe good? What right had John Gregory to spoil, as he had spoiled, this\nlatest development of life for her, and give her nothing in its place?\nShe resented his interference, and yet felt that she should inevitably\nyield herself to its influence.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXI\n\n        My thwarted woman-thoughts have inward turned,\n        And that vain milk like acid in me eats.\n        Have I not in my thought trained little feet\n        To venture, and taught little lips to move\n        Until they shaped the wonder of a word?\n        I am long practised. O those children, mine!\n        Mine, doubly mine: and yet I cannot touch them,\n        I cannot see them, hear them\u2014Does great God\n        Expect I shall clasp air and kiss the wind\n        For ever? And the budding cometh on,\n        The burgeoning, the cruel flowering:\n        At night the quickening splash of rain, at dawn\n        That muffled call of birds how like to babes;\n        And I amid these sights and sounds must starve\u2014\n        I, with so much to give, perish of thrift!\n        Omitted by his casual dew!\n                                              \u2014STEPHEN PHILLIPS.\n\n\nThe next morning Anna was sent for to go to Mrs. Nichols, whom she had\nhardly seen since her return from Europe.\n\nShe found her sitting in her nursery with her two little children\nplaying about her feet. She was near her third confinement, and in the\nshadow of her imminent peril and the heavy repose laid upon body and\nspirit by her condition there was an indescribable dignity about her\nwhich Anna had never felt until now.\n\nBefore she left, Mally, with wistful eyes, looked up to her, and said,\ntimidly:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnna, you love little children. No one that I ever saw takes mine in\nher arms as you do\u2014not even I who am their mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Mally!\u201d Anna cried, sharp tears piercing their way. \u201cIf that is\ntrue, it must be because my heart never stops aching for a child of my\nown. I know now that we shall never have children, and I try to be\nreconciled; but you can never know, dear, how I envy you.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not envy me,\u201d Mally answered, her lips trembling. \u201cYou do not know\nwhat it means to sit here to-day and see the shining of the sun on the\nchildren\u2019s hair, and touch their little heads with my hand, and smell\nthose roses you brought, and yet think that to-morrow at this time I may\nbe gone beyond breath, sight, the sun, the children\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cDear, don\u2019t, don\u2019t,\u201d Anna pleaded; \u201cyou must not think so. You have\nbeen helped through safely before; you will be again. People always have\nthese times of dread.\u201d\n\nMally shook her head, but answered quietly:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have never felt before like this, but only God knows. But this is why\nI sent for you: If my little baby lives, and is a perfect child, and I\nam taken away, would you, Anna, do you think you could\u2014take my baby for\nyour own, for always?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, if I could!\u201d and all Anna\u2019s heart went out in the cry, and Mally\nsaw the love which shone in her eyes and wondered at her strange beauty.\n\n\u201cI am sure you will come through safely as you have before,\u201d she said,\n\u201cbut this I promise you, Mally,\u201d taking her friend\u2019s hand and holding it\nfast, \u201cif you should be taken from your children, and they will let\nme,\u2014I mean if my husband and his mother should consent, for I am not\nquite free, you see,\u2014I will take your little baby and it shall be my\nvery own, and I will be its mother while we both live, God helping me.\u201d\n\nA look of deep joy and relief in Mally\u2019s poor pale face was full\nresponse, and the two parted with a sense of a deeper union of spirit\nthan they had ever known before.\n\nEarly on the following morning, after a wakeful and anxious night, Anna\nhastened to the Nicholses\u2019 home.\n\nMally\u2019s husband met her with a stricken face, for a swift and sudden\nblow had fallen; her trial had come and his wife had died, hardly an\nhour before. There had been no time to send for Anna, although Mally had\nspoken her name almost at the last.\n\nThey stood together in the poor, gay little parlour which Mally had\nadorned with high hopes of the abundant life into which she fancied\nherself entering,\u2014the young husband with his grief-wrung, ashy face,\nAnna with her heart melted in sorrow and compassion. While neither could\nspeak for their tears, the faint wail of a little child smote upon the\nsilence from a room within.\n\n\u201cThe baby?\u201d Anna asked under her breath.\n\nA deeper darkness seemed to settle upon Nichols\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cYes, a boy. A fine little fellow, they say; but I feel as if I could\nnot look at him. I have not seen him.\u201d\n\nAnna turned and left the room, and in another moment, in the dark inner\nroom where she had sat with Mally in the sunshine the day before, she\ntook Mally\u2019s baby into her arms, and bent her head above it with a great\nsense of motherhood breaking over her spirit like a wave from an\ninfinite sea.\n\nShe stood and held the tiny creature for many moments, alone and in\nsilence, while joy and sorrow, life and death, passed by her and\nrevealed themselves. Then she laid the baby down and went up to the room\nwhere Mally lay, white and still, with something of the beauty of her\ngirlhood in her face, and the great added majesty of motherhood and\ndeath. On her knees Anna bent over the unanswering hand which yesterday\nshe had seen laid warmly on the fair curls of her little children, and,\nin the hush and awe of the place, spoke again her solemn promise of\nyesterday.\n\nAfter that she came down to the children and their father, and took\nquietly into her own hands the many cares which the day had brought.\n\nIt was late in the evening when Anna, exhausted and unnerved, returned\nhome. She found Keith and his mother waiting for her in the\nlibrary,\u2014Keith hastening to welcome her with tender sympathy, Madam\nBurgess a shade colder than usual beneath a surface of suitable phrases\nof solicitude and condolence. She had been absolutely indifferent to\nMrs. Nichols in life, and did not find her deeply interesting even in\ndeath. Furthermore, she always resented Anna\u2019s spending herself upon\nthat family, and in the present affliction she felt that flowers and a\nten-minute call would have answered every demand.\n\nIf Anna had been steadier and less under the influence of the piteous\ndesolation of the home she had left, less absorbed in her own ardent\npurpose, she would have realized that this was not the time or place in\nwhich to make that purpose known. If she had waited, if she had talked\nwith her husband alone, the future of all their lives might have taken a\ndifferent shape. But with the one controlling thought in her mind,\nforgetting how impossible it was for these two, not highly gifted with\nimaginative sympathy, to enter into her own deep emotion, she spoke at\nonce of Mally\u2019s request that in the event of her death she should take\nher baby; of her own conditional promise, and of her deep desire to\nfulfil it.\n\nThere was a little silence, chill and bleak, and then Keith said, in a\nhalf-soothing tone as if she had been an excited child, hurrying in with\na manifestly impossible petition:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt was a very sweet and generous wish on your part, Anna; so like you,\ndear.\u201d\n\nAnna looked at him in silence, her lips parted.\n\nMadam Burgess gave a dry cough, and partook of a troche from a small\nsilver box which she carried in a lace-trimmed bag.\n\n\u201cYes, as Keith says, my dear, it was a kind impulse on your part, but it\ncertainly was a very singular action on that of your friend. She was\nprobably too ill, poor thing, at the time to realize just what she was\nasking. I have no doubt you were quite excusable for giving her some\nsort of a conditional promise, considering all the circumstances. But\nyou need have no sense of responsibility in the matter; infants left\nlike that never live. It will only be a question of a few weeks\u2019 care\nfor any one.\u201d\n\nAnna turned her eyes from her mother-in-law back to her husband in mute\namazement and appeal. They could not mean to deny her this sacred right!\nIt was impossible. And yet a sudden sense of the incongruity of poor\nMally\u2019s baby in that house smote sharply upon her for the first time.\n\n\u201cIf it had been God\u2019s will that we should have had children of our own,\nAnna,\u201d said Keith, in answer to her look, \u201cwe should have learned to fit\nourselves to the many cares and responsibilities involved, I do not\ndoubt, as others do; but it is very different to go out of our way to\nassume such cares, not ours in any legitimate sense. I think the\nquestion is more serious than you realize in the very natural and proper\nemotion which you are passing through in the death of your friend. We\ncertainly could not ask mother to take this strange child, and all that\nwould be involved in such a relation, into her house; and we are, I am\nsure, as little prepared to leave mother and break up our natural order\nof life,\u201d and Keith smiled with kind conviction into Anna\u2019s face. She\nrose slowly and stood with eyes fixed before her, and a strange light\nwas in them, which her husband had never seen before.\n\n\u201cThat is all perfectly true, Keith,\u201d said Madam Burgess, as if to finish\nup the case against poor Anna; \u201cand even if all this were not so, there\nwould remain one insuperable obstacle to adopting this infant\u2014an\nabsolutely insuperable obstacle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d asked Anna, very low.\n\n\u201cBlood, my dear. I believe in blood, and never, with his mother\u2019s\nconsent or approval, could my son give his name, and all that that\nmeans, to a child of alien stock. Never.\u201d And Madam Burgess closed her\nlips firmly and folded her hands peacefully upon her grey silk gown with\nthe consciousness of occupying a perfectly unassailable position.\n\nAnna moved toward the door, a curious effect in her step and bearing as\nof one physically wounded, her head drooped slightly as if in\nsubmission, her eyes downcast.\n\nWhen she reached the door, however, a swift change passed over her; a\nsudden energy and power awoke in her, and she turned, and, looking back\nat mother and son, her eyes flashing light, and a smile they had never\nseen before upon her lips, said quietly, but with slow emphasis:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou have decided this matter. You have each other; you are satisfied. I\nshall submit, as you know. Once more you have taken my life\u2014its most\nsacred promise and its highest purpose\u2014out of my hands. This time\nanother life, too, is involved. One thing only you must let me say, _I\nwonder how you dare_!\u201d\n\nFacing them for an instant in silence, she turned, and went alone to her\nroom.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXII\n\n  One by one thou dost gather the scattered families out of the\n  earthly light into the heavenly glory, from the distractions and\n  strife and weariness of time to the peace of eternity. We thank thee\n  for the labours and the joys of these mortal years. We thank thee\n  for our deep sense of the mysteries that lie beyond our dust.\u2014RUFUS\n  ELLIS.\n\n            By Thy Rod and Thy Staff comfort us.\n                                        \u2014CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.\n\n\nTwo days later, in response to a note from Pierce Everett, Anna went to\nthe studio. He wrote that John Gregory had passed through Fulham and had\nleft the picture, in which she might still feel some lingering interest.\n\nAnna left Keith and his mother diligently occupied in their daily task\nof arranging and copying Keith\u2019s European letters and journals,\ninterspersing them with careful and copious notes from Baedeker. From\nthis laborious undertaking, which absorbed mother and son in mutual and\nsympathetic devotion, Anna was self-excluded, simply because she found\nthe letters of merely passing interest, but not of marked or lasting\nvalue and concern. Madam Burgess confessed that she could think of no\noccupation more graceful or becoming a young wife than this of putting\nin permanent form the beautiful and instructive correspondence of her\nbeloved husband, and she found a new cause for disapproval in Anna\u2019s\nindifference to the work. In her own heart Anna hid a great protest\nagainst the substitution of puerile and unproductive work like this, for\nthe serious altruistic endeavour to which she still felt that she and\nKeith were both inwardly pledged. But this was an old issue, and one,\nindeed, to-day almost forgotten before her passionate grief concerning\nMally, buried yesterday, and the promise to her which might not be\nfulfilled. The pitiful cry of Mally\u2019s baby seemed to sound continually\nin her ears.\n\nBut another, even deeper, consciousness was that of the condemnation,\nbrief, sharp, conclusive, of herself by John Gregory. She believed now\nthat his judgment of her and of the line along which she was developing\nwas in a measure just\u2014but what then? It had suddenly become definitely\ndeclared in Anna\u2019s thought, with no further shading or disguise, that a\nlife of worldly ease, of self and sense-pleasing, of fashionable charity\nand conventional religion and of intellectual stagnation, was the only\nlife which could be lived in harmony with the spirit of her home. Her\nsoul lay that day in the calm which often falls upon strong natures when\nprofound passions and powers are gathering in upheaval just below the\nsurface. To conform, or to revolt, or to lead the wretched life of\nspiritual discord which seeks to avoid alike conformity and freedom,\nwere the hard alternatives before Anna, as she thought, that day.\n\nPierce Everett, meeting her at the door of his studio, was startled by\nthe pallor and sadness of her face, like that of her earlier years, but\nforebore to question her. He had expected to see her in the joyous bloom\nof his last view of her; he had looked for her to fulfil his prophecy.\n\nThe light tone of badinage and compliment with which he had\ninvoluntarily started to receive her fell from him now as impossible,\nseeing her face, and in almost utter silence he led her across the room\nand pointed to the picture of the Girlhood of Mary.\n\nAfter a few moments Anna said simply, without turning to Everett, her\neyes still on the picture:\u2014\n\n\u201cDid _I_ once look like that?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory said no one could paint this from me now,\u201d Anna said\nslowly, as if to herself, not knowing that tears were falling down her\ncheeks.\n\n\u201cYou are older, that is all,\u201d said Everett, gently.\n\n\u201cNo, that is not all. I have lost something which I had then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe all lose something with our child-soul, Mrs. Burgess,\u201d cried\nEverett, earnestly; \u201cbut you have gained more than you have lost. John\nGregory was not fair to you to leave you with a word like that. You were\na child then; now you are a woman. That face in my picture is not the\nface of a Madonna, yet. It did not seek to be, but we do not blame it\nfor that. Should we blame the Mater Dolorosa that she has no longer the\nface of a child?\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d Anna said humbly, and held out her hand, which the young\nman caught in his and held with reverence.\n\nShe left the studio hastily, not daring to say more, a childless mother\nof sorrows. The very emptiness of her grief, since no sweet substitution\nof motherhood could be granted her, made it the more intolerable.\n\nInstinctively she went from the Everett\u2019s straight across the city to\nthe unfashionable new quarter and to the Nicholses\u2019 home. She found\nMally\u2019s baby properly cared for, but coldly, by hired and unloving\nhands, and took it into her own arms with yearning motherliness and\ncried over it, easing her heart and murmuring the tender nonsense, the\nartless art which mothers always know, but seldom women who have not\nknown motherhood.\n\nMr. Nichols came in and she told him,\u2014leaving the baby that she might\nsurely control herself,\u2014that on account of Madam Burgess\u2019s feeble health\nit had been found impossible for her to carry out Mally\u2019s wish and her\nown. The disappointment of the poor fellow, with his almost impossible\nburden and scanty income, was evident; but he rallied well, and showed a\nsimple dignity in the matter which made Anna like him even better than\nshe had before.\n\n\u201cI shall watch over the baby, you may depend, and come as often as I\ncan,\u201d she said in leaving.\n\nHe thanked her, and she made him promise to send for her without delay\nor hesitation if there were illness among the children or other\nemergency, and so came away.\n\nThe frail little life, unwarmed and unwelcomed by the love which had\nbeen bestowed on the other children, seemed to feel itself in an alien\nair, and failed from week to week. Anna spent every moment she could\nwith the child, and sought to cherish and shield the tiny, flickering\nflame of life, but in vain. The baby lingered for a month, and then, on\na bleak March evening, Anna was sent for, to speed its spirit back into\nthe unknown from which it had scarcely emerged. She sat all night with\nthe child upon her knees, the young father asleep in the leaden sleep of\nunutterable weariness on a sofa in the room adjoining. It is not given\nto a man to know the absolute annihilation of the body by love which\nmakes the endurance of long night watches and the supreme skill in\nnursing the prerogative of women.\n\nThe nurse came and went at decent intervals with offers of help and of\nfood, but Anna quietly declined both. She knew that she was about to\npartake of the sacrament of death, and she wished to receive it fasting,\nand, if it might be, alone. She knew that she only on earth loved the\nlittle child and longed to keep it, and she meant that it should die in\nloving arms, if they had been denied it for living.\n\nIn the slow hours which were yet too swift, as she bent over the small\npinched face, brooding tenderly over the strange perfection of this\nminiature of humanity, the delicately pencilled eyebrows, the fine\nmoulding of the forehead, the exquisite ear with soft fair hair curling\nabout it, the little, flower-like hands, Anna wondered, as she never had\nthought to wonder before, at the wastefulness of nature. All this\nexquisite organism made perfect by months of silent upbuilding, a life\nof full strength paid for its faint breath, and then, this too cut off\nbefore the dawn of consciousness!\n\nHarder to bear was the thought, which would not leave her, that if she\ncould have taken the child for her own its life could have been saved. A\nphotograph of Mally on the bedroom wall in her wedding-gown looked down\nupon her through the yellow gloom of the night lamp, and the eyes seemed\nto Anna full of sad upbraiding.\n\nIn bitterness of soul she groaned aloud:\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, Mally, Mally, I wanted to keep your baby, but they would not let\nme! He is going back to you, dear. Oh, if I knew that you were glad,\nthat you forgive me!\u201d\n\nAt the sound of her voice the child on her knees, which had been asleep\nor in a stupor, opened its eyes, and lifted them to hers. They were\nlarge blue eyes like Mally\u2019s, and for a moment their look was fixed upon\nher own,\u2014a clear, direct look, and, with a thrill of awe, Anna felt a\n_conscious_ look. The instant of that mutual glance with all of mystery,\nof joy, and of wonder which it held, passed; the waxen whiteness of the\nlids fell again, but, as it passed, a sense of great peace fell upon\nAnna\u2019s spirit. The last look of that newborn soul, pure and undefiled,\nhad searched her heart, had found her love, had shed the glory of its\npassing into her bruised and cabined spirit.\n\n\u201cNow go, little child, go to God and be at rest; we have known each\nother, and you are mine after all,\u201d she whispered fondly, her tears\nfalling like spring rains upon white blossoms.\n\nThe dawn-light came into the room, dimming the lamp-light with which it\ncould not blend; a tremor passed through the tiny frame, the breath\nfluttered once or twice upon the lips, and the baby died. Anna had\ncalled the father, and he stood by, watching in heavy oppression.\n\nQuietly, with the great submission of spirit which death brings, Anna\nwashed and dressed the little body, putting on the garments of fairylike\ntexture and proportion which she had seen Mally making with warm,\ndexterous fingers, a few weeks before. Then, having prayed, she left the\nplace and walked home alone through the silent streets, with the\nconsecration of the hour full upon her.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIII\n\n  He who professeth to believe in one Almighty Creator, and in his Son\n  Jesus Christ, and is yet more intent on the honours, profits, and\n  friendships of the world than he is, in singleness of heart, to\n  stand faithful to the Christian religion, is in the channel of\n  idolatry; while the Gentile, who, notwithstanding some mistaken\n  opinions, is established in the true principle of virtue, and humbly\n  adores an Almighty Power, may be of the number that fear God and\n  work righteousness.\u2014JOHN WOOLMAN.\n\n\nA physician\u2019s carriage stood before the house when Anna reached it, and\nwithin there was a stir unusual for that early hour. Jane met her on the\nlanding, and answered her questions.\n\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am; Mrs. Burgess, she was all right as far as I could see when\nI helped her get to bed, but I hadn\u2019t got her light out when I heard her\ngive a queer kind of groan, and when I got to her, her face was that\ntwisted all to one side, that it would make your heart ache to see her.\nBut that isn\u2019t so bad now; you\u2019d hardly notice it. And she don\u2019t seem\nparalyzed; she moves \u2019most any way.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen she is better?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, ma\u2019am, I don\u2019t know as you could say so much better. The worst of\nit is, her mind ain\u2019t right. She looks sort of blank, and when she talks\nit ain\u2019t natural, but all confused like, and it\u2019s hard, poor lady, for\nher to get anything out; she talks thick and slow, so different from\nherself.\u201d\n\nA moment later Anna saw Keith, and heard the verdict of the physician.\nMadam Burgess had suffered a paralytic seizure of a somewhat unusual\ncharacter. He should watch the case with great interest. There was\nevidently a small clot on the left side of the brain which affected the\nmental equilibrium, and produced something like delirium. The ultimate\nresult could only be fatal, and it was doubtful whether full\nconsciousness would return before death.\n\nThat afternoon Anna was permitted to go to her mother-in-law\u2019s bedside.\nKeith followed her, full of eager hope that for her there might be the\nclear and unquestionable recognition which had thus far been denied him.\nIt was a strangely painful thing to Anna to see the familiar figure of a\nwoman so graceful, so precise, so secure in her high-bred\nself-possession, so decided in her conscious self-direction, prostrate,\ndull, lethargic; to hear in place of the cold, clear modulations of her\nvoice a meaningless, half-articulate muttering. She stood for a moment\nbeside the bed, her heart sinking with the piteousness of the sight,\nherself apparently unnoticed by the stricken woman.\n\nAt the foot of the bed Keith, standing, cried out as if in\nuncontrollable pain:\u2014\n\n\u201cMother, do you see Anna? She wants to speak with you.\u201d\n\nSlowly his mother turned her eyes, which had been fixed straight before\nher, until they rested full upon Anna in a curious, disconcerting stare.\nThis continued in silence for some throbbing seconds, and then, with\nthick utterance and unaccented monotony of modulation, she said, very\nslowly:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf you had married differently you might have had children of your\nown.\u201d\n\nThis laboured sentence, in its violent discordance with the filial\ntenderness and sympathy which alone filled the hearts of Keith and Anna\nat the moment, smote them both as if with a harsh and incredible buffet.\nAnna turned away from the bed white and appalled, and left the room at\nthe motion of the nurse while Keith, bowing his head upon the bed-rail,\ngroaned aloud. Even in the moment their mother had fallen back into\nunintelligible confusion of speech. To them both this sinister and\nunlooked-for expression revealed something of the weary ways in which\nthe clouded mind was straying. Some haunting sense of remorse and\naccountability, vaguely felt and deviously followed, was torturing the\ndimness of mental twilight. Again and again during the days following,\nAnna, sitting just outside the bedroom door, heard the question\nreiterated in the harsh, toneless voice:\u2014\n\n\u201cDid that baby die?\u201d And always, when answered, there came the same\nresponse, \u201cI said it would, I said it would that night.\u201d\n\nFilled with pity and compunction as she recalled the severity of her own\nutterance in that interview, the memory of which with the sick woman had\nplainly outlived all other, Anna went once more on the third night into\nthe sick-room, knelt by the bed, and took the hand of the sufferer in\nboth her own.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d she said, in a strong, comforting voice, \u201cmother dear, this is\nAnna. Will you forgive me for my unkindness that night?\u201d\n\nThere was no reply.\n\n\u201cDear mother,\u201d Anna went on, with gentlest kindness, \u201cI wanted to tell\nyou that the little baby has gone to its own mother. It is all right,\nand I am satisfied.\u201d\n\nThere was a faint response as of relief and acquiescence.\n\nThen, as Anna still held the limp, unresisting, unresponding hand and\nlooked tenderly in the grey, changed face, Sarah Burgess spoke once\nmore. Broken and falteringly came the words:\u2014\n\n\u201cI am ... sorry ... you have ... no child,\u201d and, as she spoke, large,\nslow tears rolled down her face.\n\nIt was the first time in all their intercourse that she had opened her\nheart to Anna in motherly pity. Perhaps she could not before, the\ndefences of pride and reserve were sunk too deep. But the few words, the\ntears, the glimpse of a heart which, whatever its hardness, itself knew\nthe passion of motherhood and could understand her pain, broke down for\nthe younger woman the last remaining barriers which had stood between\nthese two who had lived together so coldly. Anna laid her head on the\npillow and kissed the face of the dying woman again and again, their\ntears mingling, while pity and tenderness overflowed the coldness and\nall the silent resentments of the past.\n\nTwo days later Madam Burgess died, not having spoken again, although she\nhad plainly recognized Keith and watched him with wistful eyes.\n\nThe burial and the various incidents connected with the close of a long\nlife, and one of social eminence, over, Keith and Anna turned back to\nthe home, now wholly their own, and looked about them wondering what was\nin the future. Like all men and women of gentle will, they blotted out,\nat once and forever, every impression of unworthiness or selfishness\nwhich their dead had ever made upon them. They idealized her narrow\ncharacter, and loved her better than they ever had, perhaps, in life;\nbut underneath all this dutiful loyalty Anna found in her own heart a\nrecognition of great release, and at times, in spite of her will, her\npulses would bound and leap with the sense of new possibilities in life\nfor them both.\n\nJust what these possibilities might be was by no means clear to Anna,\nnor how far Keith would sympathize with her own vague but dominant\ndesires for a return in some sort to the working motives which had\nswayed their earlier lives. She was greatly encouraged by the response\nwhich she received to her timid approach to the subject of some slight\nchanges in their outward method of life in favour of simpler and more\ndemocratic habits. The horses and carriage and liveried servants had\nlong been a source of distress to Anna\u2019s conscience, as marks of a\nprivileged and separate class. She had always avoided employing them as\nfar as was possible. She had never, since she had begun reading the\nsocial essays of Gregory, driven in the family carriage without longing\nto apologize to every working man and woman whose glance rested upon\nher, for a luxury which she felt to be in their eyes divisive, while all\nthe time her heart was crying out for brotherhood and burden-sharing\nwith the lowliest and most oppressed among them.\n\nSomewhat to her surprise she found that Keith was not without a similar\nconsciousness, any expression of which, even to Anna, he had\nscrupulously avoided in his mother\u2019s lifetime. Finding herself met here,\nand thus emboldened, Anna came to her husband one evening with a\nquestion which involved serious doubt and difficulty for her. It was two\nmonths since the death of Madam Burgess, and Anna was to start the\nfollowing morning for Vermont for a visit of several weeks to her mother\nand Lucia. Keith was too busy with the details of settling his mother\u2019s\nestate to accompany her, but it had been planned that he should meet her\nin Burlington on her return, late in May, and together with her make a\nvisit, long-promised and long-postponed, at the Ingrahams\u2019, whose\nfriendship for them both had remained unchanged by the years.\n\nAnd now the postman had brought Anna a note from Mrs. Ingraham which\ntook her back strangely to her girlhood, and to one March night when she\nhad first received a like request from the same source. This note asked\nher to come, when she came for the promised visit, prepared to give a\nmissionary address at a meeting which would take place at that time in\nBurlington.\n\nAnna handed the note to her husband, and, as he finished the perusal of\nit, she said hesitatingly:\u2014\n\n\u201cKeith, I don\u2019t know what to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, dear? Why not simply do as Mrs. Ingraham asks? You would like to,\nwould you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnce I would have, only too gladly,\u201d and Anna paused a moment,\nrecalling the opposition to which she had yielded so unwillingly in the\ntime past. That outward and forcible opposition was now wholly removed,\nbut another restraint, subtle and subjective, had gradually taken its\nplace, although Anna had until now scarcely recognized the existence of\nit.\n\n\u201cI am afraid, if I tell you,\u201d she resumed, \u201cyou will be shocked and\npained. Perhaps I cannot even put it into words, and not overstate what\nis in my mind; but the trouble is, Keith, I am afraid I don\u2019t believe\neverything just as I used to.\u201d\n\nKeith Burgess looked at her with his gentle smile.\n\n\u201cGo on,\u201d he said quietly.\n\n\u201cDear, it is very strange,\u201d and Anna spoke with sudden impetuousness;\n\u201cbut I suppose I have not really a right to speak for missions, for I\ncannot, any more, believe that God will condemn to everlasting torment\nall the heathen who do not believe in a means of salvation of which they\nhave never heard.\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither can I.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeith!\u201d Anna felt her breath almost taken away by this sudden admission\nof what, in the seventies, was rank heresy in strictly orthodox circles.\n\u201cWhy have you never let me suspect such a change in your views? Has this\nhad something to do with your giving up the secretaryship? Was it not\nthen quite all your health? Oh, Keith, if you knew how I have been\ntroubled!\u201d\n\nThe tumult of Anna\u2019s surprise broke out in this swift volley of\nquestions, for which she could not wait for answers.\n\n\u201cHow have you been troubled? Tell me that first, Anna.\u201d\n\nAnna\u2019s colour came and went. It was not easy to speak, but honesty and\nfrankness were the law of speech with her. Very seriously she said:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt seemed so strange to me that you grew, after the first few years,\ninto what often appeared a kind of official and perfunctory way of\nworking\u2014letting the details cover the great purposes. It seemed little,\nand different from what I had expected. Tables and figures and endless\nreports\u2014it was all business, and almost like other business.\u201d\n\nKeith Burgess nodded gravely. \u201cGo on,\u201d he said, as before.\n\n\u201cAnd then, you see, all at once you dropped it. Of course you had that\nillness, and I could see how tiresome and troubling the work had come to\nbe; but I used to think\u2014forgive me, Keith; I hated myself that I\ndid\u2014that you dropped the whole missionary endeavour and purpose and\npoint of view as easily as you might have dropped a coat that you had\nworn out\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIn short, that it was all officialism.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, even that\u2014that it had come to be. And you know how different it\nwas at first, when it was your only life.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Anna,\u201d and the delicate, sensitive face of the man showed\nsomething of the profound pain which he could not speak; \u201cit has been a\nhard experience. I have kept it to myself because I did not think it was\nfair to lay upon you the same burden of doubt and conflict. I see how\nnaturally you came to look upon the change in me as you have described.\nPerhaps your view is in a measure just, too, but I think not\naltogether.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, Keith.\u201d Anna was waiting for him to go on with sympathetic\neagerness.\n\n\u201cIt was simply that, some way, I hardly know how,\u2014perhaps it was in part\nworldliness and selfishness, but I think not altogether,\u2014my views\ngradually have changed. Perhaps it was in the air, perhaps I took it in\nunconsciously from what I read, and from my deeper thought of God and\nhis grace. What I learned of the various forms of heathen religions\ninfluenced me somewhat, and also observation of the workings of our own\nsystem in our own country even under most favouring conditions. I cannot\ntell, only I came definitely at last to the point where I could no\nlonger go before the churches and plead with them to send their money to\nforeign missions to save the heathen from immediate eternal perdition\nand torment, because they did not believe in the plan of salvation by a\nSaviour of whom, as you say, they had never heard.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did you do?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d Keith went on, not noticing her question, \u201caccording to our\nconfession there is no salvation even in any ordinary knowledge of\nChrist, but only for the elect few who experience personal regeneration\nby conscious acceptance according to the line laid by such men as Calvin\nand Edwards. Now we know that judged by this test a very large\npercentage of any so-called Christian community is doomed to eternal\npunishment, and when you come to the heathen, it grows unthinkable\u2014do\nyou see?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I _feel_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI went very soon to Dr. Durham, and poured out a full confession of my\n\u2018unsoundness.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did he say?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnna, that was what settled me. I almost think that if he had said,\n\u2018Stop where you are, and wait until you can see it differently,\u2019 I might\nhave come back to my early convictions in some sort, at least\nsufficiently to give me a motive for working on. What he did say, in his\nlarge, hearty way, was: \u2018Oh, my dear fellow, there is nothing more\ncommon than such doubts and questions! They naturally arise from time to\ntime with us all. Probably not half the men who are at work in this\ncause actually believe literally in the common conception that the\nheathen who do not know of Christ are all condemned. Oh, no, I ceased to\nhold any such opinion long ago.\u2019 \u2018Then why don\u2019t you say so openly?\u2019 I\nasked; to which he replied impressively: \u2018Don\u2019t you see, Burgess, that\nif we told our change of views to the churches at large we should _cut\nthe very nerve_ of the missionary motive? We may hold these slightly\nmodified views on eschatology ourselves without detriment, perhaps, or\ndanger, although of course they must be held well in hand; but if we\nshould speak them out to the rank and file, the result would be an\ninstant falling off in the receipts of our treasury, and the Lord knows\nthey are small enough and inadequate enough as it is. The average man\nwould reason, if the heathen can be saved after all in some other way,\nit is not necessary for me to deny myself in order to send them the\ngospel. So keep still, my dear Burgess, just keep your views to yourself\nas some of the rest of us do. Go right along as you have been doing, and\nthere will be no harm done.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cKeith, dear Dr. Durham did not know it, but that is Jesuitism!\u201d\nexclaimed Anna, with flashing eyes.\n\n\u201cI thought it was,\u201d he replied quietly, \u201cand the result was I gave up my\noffice, partly on account of my health, partly because I could not\ncontinue what would actually have been, for me, getting money under\nfalse pretences.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, Keith, it is not only to save the heathen from everlasting\npunishment that we want to send the gospel, but to give them the present\nsalvation from sin.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. There are other motives left. I think they may be sufficient\nto energize our work far beyond what the Gospel of Fear could do, but\nthey are not at present the popular motives to which I am expected to\nappeal. The future of the cause is not clear to me. If Durham is right,\nand the nerve of missions will be cut when people cease to believe that\nthe heathen are necessarily damned because they have not accepted\nChrist, why then I have little hope, because it seems to me impossible\nfor thinking people to hold this view much longer. But I must admit that\nit is hard enough to get them to give money when they believe implicitly\nin the immediate and hopeless doom of every heathen soul departing to\njudgment.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeith, they _don\u2019t_ believe it! Nobody _believes_ it! It is monstrous.\nIf we really believed such things as practically taking place, we should\nall lose our reason. Our only escape from insanity, I believe, is that,\nwhile with our mouths and with our opinions we have declared such\nthings, in our hearts and in our deeper conviction we have denied them,\nknowing that they would be treason to God. What misleads us all, Keith,\nI am beginning to believe, is that we have felt bound to accept a system\nwhich theologians have worked out, and which has involved a paring down\nof both God and man to make them fit into the narrow grooves they have\nassigned them in the hard logic of their formulas.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, let us make this question concrete; illustrate it from life,\u201d\nsaid Keith, leaning back languidly in his arm-chair. \u201cHow is it with\nyourself? You have been taught, and have believed until very recently,\nthis doctrine of universal condemnation of all heathen \u2018out of Christ,\u2019\nand now, it seems, you have begun to question it. What is the effect on\nthe missionary motive in your case? Would you feel as eager as ever to\ngo as a missionary? Does the subject appeal to your conscience as\npowerfully as before?\u201d\n\nAnna looked at Keith for a moment in thoughtful silence, and then shook\nher head.\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou see Dr. Durham was right,\u201d said Keith, sadly. \u201cIf this is true of\nyou, who have all your life been pledged to this work,\u2014and I admit that\nit is true of myself,\u2014what can be expected of the careless crowd,\nindifferent at best?\u201d\n\nAnna had been walking restlessly up and down the library. Now she came\nback to the heavy black oak table at which her husband was sitting, sat\ndown, and, resting her elbows on the table, propped her chin in both\nhands, and so sat silently for many moments. Then she began to speak,\nbut very slowly, rather as if thinking aloud:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have been accustomed, and so have you, all our lives, to the\nstimulus, the spur, of a piercingly powerful motive, the most powerful\npossible, I should think.\u2014To save somebody from immediate death when the\nmeans of rescue is in your hands is a motive to which every human being\nmust respond, instinctively. Suppose this motive is shown to be, in some\ndegree at least, based upon a misunderstanding, and we find that we are\nasked to alleviate suffering instead of to save life, why would it not\nbe perfectly natural, almost inevitable, that at first there should be a\nreaction? Accustomed to the stronger stimulus, just at first our motives\nand purposes would languish, I think. Mine _do_. I can\u2019t help owning it,\nKeith. But I can imagine that deeper knowledge of God, higher\nconceptions of human brotherhood, of what they call the solidarity of\nthe race\u2014things like that\u2014which I only dimly realize yet, might\nre\u00ebnforce our poor wills, and knit again the nerve if it has been cut.\nDon\u2019t you think so?\u201d\n\nKeith watched his wife as she sat thus speaking, and a great tenderness\nwas in his eyes.\n\n\u201cYou are a very wonderful woman, Anna,\u201d he said; \u201cyour thought always\ngoes beyond mine.\u201d\n\nShe did not seem to hear what he said, for she went on in the same\nmusing tone:\u2014\n\n\u201cIn a way, it seems to me, sometimes, as if every hope, every purpose,\nevery controlling motive with which I started out in life, had slipped\naway from me, this of missionary work with the rest. All that I thought\nI could do or become has been rendered impossible in one way or another,\nand whatever capacity or force there is in me is unapplied. I can\u2019t even\nbe a comfortable society woman; other people won\u2019t let me, even if I can\nlet myself, and you know how I find it impossible to fit into\nconventional charities. Everywhere I seem to be superfluous, out of\nharmony with my environment. I thought once, I was vain enough to think,\nthat God wanted me for some special service,\u2014that he would give me a\nwork for him and for his children; but I am thirty years old now, Keith,\nand what have I done?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have been a dear wife and a faithful child,\u2014a true Christian\nwoman,\u2014is that not enough?\u201d\n\nAnna smiled wistfully.\n\n\u201cIt is not good for any one to simply _be_, and bring nothing to pass.\nBut to-night I feel that whatever new wine life is to bring me will have\nto be put into new bottles. The old motives and forces have spent\nthemselves, and the old hopes; and the forms which held them, have gone\nwith them, for me.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                                BOOK III\n                                 NIGHT\n\n         O Holiest Truth! how have I lied to thee!\n         I vow\u2019d this day thy sacrifice to be;\n             But I am dim ere night.\n         Surely I made my prayer, and I did deem\n         That I could keep in me thy morning beam,\n             Immaculate and bright.\n         But my foot slipp\u2019d; and, as I lay, he came,\n         My gloomy foe, and robb\u2019d me of heaven\u2019s flame.\n         Help thou my darkness, Lord, till I am light.\n                                           \u2014JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXIV\n\n  Christianity has hitherto only partially, feebly, and waveringly\n  taught its great doctrine. Christendom has not believed its own\n  gospel. Forsaking the vital religion of Jesus, and of all the heroes\n  and saints as impracticable, men have put up with a sort of\n  conventional Christianity, from which the great essential ideas of\n  the Golden Rule and the real presence of God were dropped out.\n\n                                                          \u2014C. F. DOLE.\n\n\n\u201cI have spoken for three nights in this place, and for three nights you\nhave heard me patiently. I have not regarded the favour of any man, but\nneither have I wished to bruise or wound. And yet, as I stand here now\nfor the last time, I must declare the whole truth as it has been given\nto me. I have charged upon our present social and industrial conditions\ngrave responsibility. To-night I declare plainly that you who calmly\naccept and profit by them, whether you know it or whether you know it\nnot, are rejecting Jesus of Nazareth and his kingdom.\u201d\n\nThe speaker was John Gregory, the place a large hall in the city of\nBurlington, crowded to its utmost with eager listeners, for the theories\nwhich he proclaimed were new and startling in that day.\n\nAs in his earlier revival preaching, so now, Gregory\u2019s utterance was\nattended with peculiar power. There was this difference, however,\nbetween his relation to his audience now and in that other time: then a\nfamiliar appeal was re\u00ebnforced, even though involuntarily and\nunconsciously, by the full weight of his personal and psychic influence;\nnow he relied wholly, it appeared, upon the dynamic of his message. His\nmanner was more impassioned than in that earlier time, but less\nexciting.\n\nKeith and Anna Burgess, from their places in the audience with Mrs.\nIngraham, whose guests they were, watched and listened with almost\nbreathless intensity of interest. They had not heard it on this wise\nbefore.\n\n\u201cDo you remember,\u201d continued Gregory, with searching emphasis, \u201cthat on\na certain day the Master said, \u2018Verily I say unto you, That a rich man\nshall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven\u2019? Do you remember how the\ntwelve men who followed him were said to have been \u2018exceedingly amazed\u2019?\nFrom the fourth century, when the Church and the world formed their\nunhallowed union, down to the present day, men have continued to be\n\u2018exceedingly amazed\u2019 at a saying so inconvenient and so revolutionary,\nand have set themselves to blunt its sharp edge or to explain it away\naltogether.\n\n\u201cTo-night I am here to say to you plainly, This is a faithful saying,\nworthy of all acceptation, and woe unto him who seeks to take it away\nfrom the words of Christ. Put with it, if you will, other like words\nfrom the lips of Christ and his Apostles, rather than seek to abate the\nforce of these. But why are the rich condemned? Surely they are the most\nlaw-abiding, most influential class in every community! Because the\nriches of the rich man are founded upon a lie! This is the lie: _that a\nman has the right to build up his own prosperity and enjoyment upon the\nsuffering and privation of his fellow-men_.\n\n\u201cAsk yourselves, men who listen to me now, do I tell the truth?\n\n\u201cYou made your money in trade; very well\u2014is trade just? Could you, under\npresent conditions, have made money, had you dealt justly and loved\nmercy? had you lived the truth, shown the truth? Could your trade have\nprospered if you had followed the simplest rule of Christ, \u2018Do unto\nothers as ye would have them do unto you?\u2019\n\n\u201cIs not the very basis of your trade and of your gains that you force\nother men into failure, dejection, and poverty, and rise upon the wreck\nof them? Well has it been said, \u2018A rich man\u2019s happiness is built up of a\nthousand poor men\u2019s sorrows.\u2019\n\n\u201cMany men make their money in manufacture, perhaps not largely so in\nthis city; but the conditions are familiar to us all. Very well, is\nmanufacture true to God, true to men?\n\n\u201cThe profits, we will say of a given manufacture, were not great enough\nlast year; the owners had a large income, but not as large as they\nwanted; some of the rich stockholders grumbled. What did they do? They\nreduced the beggarly wages of the toilers in their iron prisons, sent\nthem home to their wives and children with less than sufficed to give\nthem daily bread and shelter, and they knew it. They sent pure girls to\nthe life of shame, and honest men to the black refuge of despair. Thus\nthey declared their dividend, and their rich neighbours praised their\nbusiness genius and pocketed their share of the gains complacently; and\nthe rich grew richer, and the poor, poorer. This done, they come before\nGod with pious words; they pass boxes in the churches to gather the\nwidows\u2019 and the orphans\u2019 mites whose burdens they do not lift, no, not\nwith one finger; they build a hospital now and then; they found a\nuniversity, and their names are exalted; they sit in their homes with\nall their treasures of art, of intellect, and of refinement about them,\nand thank the Lord that they are not as other men are, or even as that\npoor fellow they hear reeling, profane and drunken, down the street,\nbecause _no_ home is his, no hope, no God.\n\n\u201cHear the words which God hath sworn by his holy prophets:\n\n\u201c\u2018Forasmuch, therefore, _as your treading is upon the poor_, and ye take\nfrom him burdens of wheat; ye have built houses of hewn stone, but ye\nshall not dwell in them; ye have planted pleasant vineyards, but ye\nshall not drink wine of them.\n\n\u201c\u2018For I know your manifold transgressions and your mighty sins; they\nafflict the just, they take a bribe, and they turn aside the poor in the\ngate from their right.\n\n\u201c\u2018Woe to the City of Blood!\n\n\u201c\u2018Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till\nthere be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the\nearth!\n\n\u201c\u2018Woe to them that are at ease in Zion!... that lie upon beds of ivory\nand stretch themselves upon their couches, and eat the lambs out of the\nflock, and the calves out of the midst of the stall, that chant to the\nsound of the viol and invent to themselves instruments of music, ...\nthat drink wine in bowls and anoint themselves with the chief ointments;\nbut they are not grieved for the affliction of Joseph!\n\n\u201c\u2018Woe to him that buildeth a town with blood, and establisheth a city by\niniquity!\n\n\u201c\u2018Neither their silver nor their gold shall be able to deliver them in\nthe day of the Lord\u2019s wrath.\n\n\u201c\u2018For, behold, the Lord said unto me, What seest thou? And I said, A\nplumb-line. Then said the Lord, Behold, I will set a plumb-line in the\nmidst of my people Israel: I will not again pass by them any more.\n\n\u201c\u2018For judgment will I lay to the line and righteousness to the\nplumb-line: and the hail shall sweep away the refuge of lies, and the\nwaters shall overflow the hiding-place.\n\n\u201c\u2018For ye have said, We have made a covenant with death, and with hell\nare we at agreement; we have made lies our refuge, and under falsehood\nhave we hid ourselves.\n\n\u201c\u2018But your covenant with death shall be disannulled and your agreement\nwith hell shall not stand.\u2019\u201d\n\nAs the speaker went on marshalling and massing with stern conviction the\ntremendous indictments and declarations of the Hebrew prophets, which\nthe people before him had never heard thus definitely applied to their\nown social conditions, the dramatic effect became irresistible. A mighty\nblast of wind seemed to bow their heads, and many trembled and grew\npale.\n\nSuddenly John Gregory, whose whole face and figure had been rigid and\nset with the awe of what he spoke, stepped out to the very edge of the\nplatform, and, with a gesture of gentleness and reconcilement, and a\nsmile which relaxed the tense mood of his hearers, cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cBut this is not all! Never did the prophets leave the people without a\nray of hope\u2014never did they withhold\n\n          \u201c\u2018Belief in plan of God enclosed in time and space,\n          Health, peace, salvation.\u2019\n\n          \u201c\u2018Is it a dream?\n          Nay, but the lack of it a dream,\n          And failing it life\u2019s love and wealth a dream,\n          And all the world a dream.\u2019\u201d\n\nThese words were spoken with no less conviction than those which had\ngone before, but the change of voice, of expression, of attitude and\ngesture, were those which only a master of oratory could have so swiftly\neffected. The audience, now wholly under his control, felt a new thrill\nof comfort, of hope, even of exultation.\n\n\u201cThe Spirit of God is brooding in the bosom of all this chaos, and a new\nday dawns. Fear not, but look within. Your own heart confesses the bond\nof brotherhood which unites you to all the race. Let your heart speak.\n\n\u201cMen everywhere see the new light, and confess and deny not that it is\nthe true light, the light which lighteth every man coming into the\nworld, until sin and selfishness quench it.\n\n\u201cThe day is come when men shall no longer greedily seek their own\nsalvation; the straitened individualism of the fathers has had its day;\neven the passion for personal perfection is refined selfishness from the\nnew point of view. Many Christian souls have been misled in the past by\nthe mistaken idea of self-sacrifice and renunciation, not for their\nresults to humanity, but for the perfecting of self, a fruitless,\njoyless, Christless thing. The continual seeking for the safety here and\nhereafter of the individual\u2014the man\u2019s own advantage, what if\nspiritual?\u2014held up always as his chief and noblest aim, have resulted in\nChristianity becoming a symbol for sublimated selfishness.\n\n\u201cA greater, nobler motive is ours to-day\u2014no new gospel, but a right\nreading of the old, a deeper insight into his purpose who said, \u2018If any\nman serve me, let him follow me.\u2019\n\n\u201cHere may we, at last, and perhaps for the first time in long years of\nblind and baffled longing for the fellowship of Christ our Sacrifice,\nlearn the awful joy of dying in our own lives that so we may not live\nalone.\n\n\u201cYour soul cannot rise toward God, my brother, while you are treading\ndown other souls beneath your feet. Cease the hopeless effort. Take the\nworld\u2019s burden on your heart, and you shall know Christ. Refuse the joys\nwhich can only be for the few and the rich. Take nothing but what you\ncan share. Learn poverty and simplicity and hardihood; unlearn luxury,\nexclusiveness, epicureanism. Be pioneers in the new state, apostles of\nthe new-old gospel\u2014the Gospel of Brotherhood, of Fellowship, of\nSacrifice.\u201d\n\nAs Anna Mallison, in her early girlhood, had responded with swift,\nunquestioning response to the simple appeal of the missionary, and had\noffered herself unreservedly to the work of seeking lost souls in the\nheathen world, so now, in the maturity of her womanhood, her inmost soul\nconfessed that her hour had come. The message of John Gregory, heard\nvaguely and partially before, had now reached her fully, and she found\nits claim upon her irresistible.\n\n\u201cWhere this leads, I follow,\u201d a voice said in her heart; \u201cI follow\nthough I die! It is for this I have waited.\u201d\n\nTurning, she looked into her husband\u2019s face, and their eyes met. Keith\nBurgess read what he intuitively expected in the deep awe of Anna\u2019s\neyes; while she read in his a sympathy and response, real, and yet\nstrangely sad.\n\nGregory had been about to leave the platform, his address ended; but the\naudience sat unmoving, as if they would hear more. A man rose up then,\nin the middle of the hall, and spoke.\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory,\u201d he said, \u201csome of the people are saying that, having told\nus so much, you ought to tell us more. If it is true that you have some\nscheme or system by which people like us could live such a life as you\ndescribe, we want to hear about it.\u201d\n\nHaving so said, he sat down.\n\nJohn Gregory turned about and came slowly back to his former place. Here\nhe stood, confronting the people with a gravely musing smile. Again, as\nshe saw him, there swept over Anna\u2019s memory the sense that this was the\npresence of her girlish dream, and the old indefinable sense of joy in\nthe power of this man was shed into her heart.\n\n\u201cYou want to hear me say something about Fraternia, I suppose,\u201d said\nGregory, slowly.\n\n\u201cI am not here for that purpose. I covet no man\u2019s silver or gold for my\nproject, let that be distinctly understood first of all. Fraternia has\nnot had to beg for support, thus far. Men and women who are like-minded\nwith ourselves are welcome to join themselves to us. No others need\napply,\u201d and he smiled a peculiar, humorous smile of singular charm.\n\n\u201cFraternia,\u201d he continued, \u201cis an experiment. It is only a year old. Is\nis what may be called a co\u00f6perative colony, I should think; that is, a\nlittle community of people who believe that no one ought to be idle and\nno one ought to overwork, and accordingly all work a reasonable number\nof hours a day. We also believe that an aristocratic, privileged class\nis not a good thing, not even a necessary evil, but a mere gross product\nof human selfishness. We have none, accordingly, in Fraternia, nor\nanything corresponding to it. We are all on a precisely equal footing.\nThat bitterest and tightest of all class distinctions, the aristocracy\nof money, is unknown among us. Those who have joined us have thus far\nput their property into the common treasury, and all fare alike. We\npropose to work out this social problem on actual and practical lines.\nWe all work and all share alike in the results of our work.\n\n\u201cYou will ask what we do. Fraternia lies in a valley among the foothills\nof southwestern North Carolina. We raise all kinds of fruit, some grain,\nand some cotton. We have water-power, a mountain stream as beautiful as\nit is useful, and so we have built a cotton mill. We have made it as\npretty as we could, this mill,\u2014better than any man\u2019s house, since the\nhouse is for the individual, and the mill for the use of all. By the\nsame token our church and our library are to be finer than our houses\nwhen we advance so far as to build them. We have nothing costly or\nluxurious in Fraternia, but our mill is really very attractive. We all\nlike to work in it. You know it is natural to like to work under human\nand decent conditions. I believe no man ever liked absolute idleness. It\nis overwork and work under hideous and unwholesome conditions against\nwhich men revolt.\n\n\u201cIn our personal and home life, simplicity and hardihood are the\nkey-notes. No servants are employed, for all serve. Our luxuries are the\nmountain laurel and pine, the exquisite sky and air, the voices of the\nforest, the crystal clearness of the brook. In these we all share. So do\nwe in the books and the few good pictures which we are so happy as to\nown; in the best music we can muster and in the service of divine\nworship. Life is natural, homely, simple, joyous. Its motive: By love,\nserve one another. From no one is the privilege of service withheld.\nThank God, we have no forlorn leisure class.\n\n\u201cOur mission, however, is not to ourselves alone, but to the world\noutside. We are holding up, by our daily living, a constant\nobject-lesson. We are preaching co\u00f6peration and social brotherhood\nlouder than any voice can ever preach it, and the small child and the\nsimple girl can preach as well as the cultured woman and the strong man.\n\n\u201cWho are we? We are mostly from England, many from the slums of London,\nothers from its higher circles, some Germans and Scandinavians, and thus\nfar not more than a dozen American families. Some of us had nothing to\nbegin with, and some had large property; some were so unfortunate as to\nbelong to the number of those who oppress the poor in mills and mines,\nwhile others were simple peasants. We have no difficulty in living\nhappily together on the broad basis of a common human nature, a common\npurpose, and a common hope.\n\n\u201cBut there is another side to this adventure, friends,\u201d and Gregory\nspoke with deeper seriousness. \u201cFraternia is nothing unless it is\nbuilded on the immutable laws of God and of righteousness. Never, never\ncan we succeed if sin grows little to us and self large. Our message\nwill be taken from us, our arm will be paralyzed, if the day shall ever\ncome when the lust of gold, the lust of power, the lust of pride, shall\ntaint the free air of our high valley.\n\n\u201cSo then, if any among you would join our ranks, see that you shrive\nyour souls and come to us seeking only the Kingdom of God and his\nrighteousness.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXV\n\n  Sin and hedgehogs are born without spikes, but how they wound and\n  prick after their birth we all know. The most unhappy being is he\n  who feels remorse before the deed, and brings forth a sin already\n  furnished with teeth in its birth, the bite of which is soon\n  prolonged into an incurable wound of conscience.\n\n                                                             \u2014RICHTER.\n\n\nOn the steps of the rostrum, as he descended them, John Gregory was met\nby a man of singular aspect, a man who has been encountered by us\nbefore, in the house of Senator Ingraham,\u2014his son, Oliver.\n\nAs the two clergymen whom he had then addressed had been disturbed, and\neven dismayed, by this strange face and figure, the smooth, egglike face\nwith its enormous forehead, narrow eyes, and wide, thin-lipped mouth, so\nnow Gregory drew back instinctively, finding the singular apparition\nthus suddenly before him.\n\nMr. Oliver Ingraham did not appear to notice the movement, but, smiling\nhis peculiarly complacent smile, held out one long, sinuous hand, and as\nGregory took it, not over eagerly, he remarked in his high, feminine\nvoice:\u2014\n\n\u201cI liked your line very much, Mr. Gregory. Nothing would suit me better\nthan to see these rich men brought to book. They\u2019ll get their\ncome-uppance in the next world, anyway; but I sometimes get tired of\nwaiting. It would be a satisfaction to see Dives, Esquire, taking his\ntorments here once in a while, don\u2019t you think so?\u201d and the malevolent\nleer with which the question was accompanied gave Gregory a chill of\ndisgust.\n\nOliver held in his left hand a handsomely bound note-book and silver\npencil-case which it was his custom to carry everywhere. Gregory, now\nabout to pass on, and greet the crowds who were waiting to speak with\nhim just below, was again stopped.\n\n\u201cJust a moment, Mr. Gregory,\u201d said the other, slipping off the elastic,\nand opening the note-book with the dexterity of constant habit; \u201cI want\nyou to help me a little in gathering some very valuable statistics. It\u2019s\nrather in your line, I take it. I have been engaged in this work for\nseveral years, and find it extremely interesting.\u201d\n\nGregory noted the long, white, flexible fingers of the man, and the\nlook, half of deficient intellect and half of cunning, in his face.\n\n\u201cPlease make haste, Mr. Ingraham,\u201d he said shortly, \u201cthere are others\nwaiting.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am making a computation,\u201d Oliver continued imperturbably, \u201cin fact, a\ncarefully tabulated record, according to nations, of the probable number\nof souls from each nation now in Sheol\u2014it is considered polite now to\ncall it Sheol, I believe. We used to say hell when we were boys, didn\u2019t\nwe, Mr. Gregory?\u201d and Oliver laughed his low, cruel laugh.\n\n\u201cExcuse me,\u201d exclaimed Gregory, impatiently; \u201cI could not give you any\ninformation on that subject. I have never been there. Allow me to pass\non, if you please.\u201d\n\nOliver closed his book as if not unaccustomed to rebuffs; but, as\nGregory\u2019s forward movement obliged him to retreat down the steps, he\nremarked slyly:\u2014\n\n\u201cI had a message to you from the senator, if you only weren\u2019t in such a\nhurry. He is one of the fellows that will have to go to now, weep and\nhowl. He has the shekels, I can tell you! What he wants of you is more\nthan I can figure out. I should suppose Ahab would as soon have sent for\nElijah.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid your father send for me?\u201d asked Gregory, surprised. They were now\nat the foot of the steps, and the crowd was gathering about them.\n\n\u201cYes; he would like to see you in his office on this same block, next\nbuilding, as soon as you can get away from here. You work him right, and\nyou can get something out of him for your Utopia.\u201d The last words were\ncalled back aloud with a series of confidential nods, as Oliver turned\nand plunged into the crowd, who seemed to make a way for him with\nespecial facility. Gregory saw him go with a keen sense of heat and\ndiscomfort.\n\nHalf an hour later, Gregory found himself in the office of Senator\nIngraham, seated in a substantial office-chair by the well-appointed\ndesk, while Mr. Ingraham, himself in evident and most unusual mental\ndisturbance, walked up and down the room. Suddenly he wheeled, and\nconfronted Gregory, as if with sudden, though difficult, resolution.\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory,\u201d he said, low, and with the stern, terse brevity of a man\nwho finds himself forced to speak what he would rather leave unsaid,\n\u201cfor over thirty years I have carried certain facts in my personal\nhistory shut up in my own memory. Not one other being, to the best of my\nbelief, has shared my knowledge. To-night, I cannot tell how, I do not\nknow why, I feel that I must break silence, and before you\u2014stranger as\nyou are\u2014unload my burden. A strange compulsion seems upon me to disclose\nthe things I have hitherto lived to conceal. What there is in you or in\nwhat I have heard you say, to bring me to this point, I cannot\nunderstand; but I feel in you something which makes you alone, of all\nmen I have ever met, the one to whom I can speaks\u2014and must. Are you\nwilling to hear me?\u201d\n\nJohn Gregory noted the set, hard lines in the lawyer\u2019s face, the knotted\ncords in his hands, and the tone, half of defiance, half of\nself-abasement, with which he threw out this abrupt question. Accustomed\nto encounters with men in their innermost spiritual struggles, Gregory\nwas in no way astonished or excited by this surprising beginning of\ntheir interview, and simply nodded gravely in token that Ingraham should\nproceed.\n\n\u201cI will not affront you by demanding secrecy on your part,\u201d the latter\nbegan haughtily; \u201cif it were possible for you to betray my confidence,\nit would have been impossible for me to give it to you. I understand\nmen.\u201d\n\nHe paused. Gregory made no remark in confirmation of this assertion, but\nthe direct, unflinching look with which he met the appeal in the eyes of\nthe speaker was full guarantee of good faith. There was promise of\nprofound and sympathetic attention in Gregory\u2019s look, there was also\njudicial calmness and reserve; in fine, the characteristics of the\npriest and the judge were singularly united in him, and it was to the\nperception of this fact that he owed the present interview.\n\n\u201cI do not know whether I am a respectable citizen or a murderer,\u201d\nIngraham now began, turning again to walk the floor, while an\nuncontrollable groan as of physical anguish accompanied this unexpected\ndeclaration. \u201cImagine, if you will, what thirty years have been inwardly\nwith this uncertainty as food for thought, served to me by conscience,\nor some fiend, morning and night. If I could have forgotten for one\nblessed day, it has been ingeniously rendered impossible, for sin in\nbodily form is ever before me. You have seen my son.\u201d\n\nWith this sentence, harsh and curt, Ingraham paused, glanced aside at\nGregory, who assented, and then continued to walk and speak. His voice\nand manner alike showed that he was holding himself in control by the\neffort of all his will. Strange distorting lines appeared in his face,\nand there was heavy sweat on his forehead.\n\n\u201cI was twenty-five years old when I was married, and was alone in the\nworld save for one brother,\u2014Jim, we always called him,\u2014two years younger\nthan I. We had inherited a good name, strong physique, and some little\nproperty from our parents, and started in life shoulder to shoulder. In\nBurlington, where we first began business life together, we became\nintimately acquainted with a family in which there were two daughters.\nThe elder, Cornelia, was very pretty and singularly attractive. Men\nalways fell in love with her. I did, desperately. The younger sister was\na commonplace, uninteresting girl, rather sentimental perhaps, not\notherwise remarkable.\n\n\u201cI shall make this story as short as possible. I offered myself to\nCornelia after long wooing, and was refused. I was bitterly wounded,\nangry, defiant. While I was in that state of mind, it became apparent to\nme that I was secretly an object of peculiar interest to the younger\nsister. Like many another fool, half in spite and half in\nheart-sickness, I sought her hand, and was at once accepted, and our\nmarriage followed quickly. Within the year Cornelia and Jim became\nengaged. There was a hard, silent grudge against Jim in my heart from\nthe day I first suspected that it was he who had stood between Cornelia\nand me, and their engagement increased the grudge to hate.\n\n\u201cWe had, before this, put the whole of our inheritance into mining\nfields in what was then the far West, buying up a large tract of land,\ndivided equally between us. The year after my marriage we moved West for\na time, and I started out on a prospecting tour of our land; Jim to\nfollow me when he had finished establishing a kind of business office in\npioneer quarters, in a small town as near the base of our operations as\nwas feasible. My wife remained in this town.\n\n\u201cOn horseback, with two engineers and a copper expert and an Indian\nguide, I rode through our possessions. Miners were already at work, and\nhad pursued the lead far enough to prove pretty distinctly that, while\nJim\u2019s part of the tract was likely to be fairly productive, the vein\nstopped short of mine, which was thus practically worthless.\n\n\u201cI rode back to our camp in a black mood. Jim, it seemed, was to succeed\nin everything; all that he sought was his, and for me there was nothing\nbut failure and defeat. All the way back I brooded bitterly on the\ncontrast between us, until I was in a still frenzy of jealousy when I\nreached the camp. The contrast between Cornelia, for whom I still had a\nwild, hopeless passion, and my wife, sickly, dull, indeed disagreeable\nto me already, was maddening, and had been sufficiently so before. But\nnow, when I thought of Jim, with Cornelia for his wife and the certain\nprospect of large wealth to add to his elation, while I was without a\npenny or a prospect of any sort, the rage and fury in my mind became\nalmost intoxicating.\n\n\u201cWe had encountered hostile Indians on the trail as we returned, but our\nbold, dare-devil dash through this danger made slight impression on me.\nI think death would have been welcome to me that night. God knows I wish\nI had met it then. My heart was evil enough, but at least it had not the\nguilt that came later.\n\n\u201cI suppose, Mr. Gregory, that I am answerable for my brother\u2019s death\u2014not\nin the eye of the law, but before God. And yet\u2014if you could tell me that\nI am mistaken, that I exaggerate, that other men would have done the\nsame and held themselves guiltless\u2014if that could be\u2014\u201d Ingraham broke off\nand fixed his eyes on Gregory\u2019s face once more, as if in appeal for his\nlife.\n\n\u201cPlease go on,\u201d was Gregory\u2019s response, but the words were gently\nspoken, as the words of a physician when he is diagnosing a manifestly\nmortal disease.\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said Ingraham, harshly. \u201cJim was at the camp, and was boy\nenough to parade a letter from Cornelia before me. We quarrelled\nfiercely, about what I cannot remember, but I could not restrain the\nstorm of rage and jealousy in me. It had to break loose somewhere. I\nrefused to tell Jim what I had discovered regarding the lead, and he\ndeclared he would go and find out for himself. I said he would be a fool\nif he did, but gave him no hint of the fact that there were hostile\nIndians on the way. He knew nothing of the conditions, nor the character\nof the people about us, having never been in the country before. It was\nearly in the morning. We had ridden all night, and the men had gone to\ntheir tents and were sleeping off the effects of our struggle. I told\nJim he could not get a guide. He merely whistled in a light-hearted,\ncareless way he had, and started off to a neighbouring camp, in search,\nas I inferred, of some escort. I saw him no more, and made no attempt to\ngovern his actions, and did not even know whether he had started. Who\nand what the guide was whom he obtained, I learned later.\n\n\u201cI slept most of that day, after Jim disappeared, exhausted in body and\nmind, and continued to sleep far into the night, keeping my tent door\nsecurely closed, as I wished to see and speak to no one. It was,\nperhaps, three o\u2019clock of the morning following when I was roused by a\nstrange noise at my tent door. Starting up from my bed on the ground, I\nsaw that some one had cut open the fastenings, and that the flap was\ndrawn back. In the opening thus formed stood the shape of an Indian\nrider on horseback, perfectly motionless. The moonlight, which was\nunusually brilliant, fell full upon the face of this man, and I\nrecognized him at once, with a horrible chill of foreboding, as a\nhalf-witted Indian who sometimes acted as guide, but only to those who\nknew no better than to accept his services, which were worthless and\ntreacherous. He was a half-breed, an odious, repulsive being, with only\nwit enough to be malicious, and of abnormal treachery and cruelty even\nfor his kind. Never can I forget that face of his in the moonlight. He\nspoke not one word, but simply sat his horse and looked at me with his\nnarrow, gleaming eyes, a malignant grin making his ugliness fairly\nfiendish. If you want to get a faint idea of his look, recall the face\nof Oliver\u2014my son;\u201d Ingraham\u2019s voice sunk to a whisper, and he added, \u201cI\ncan never escape it.\u201d\n\nGregory\u2019s brows knit heavily, and his face reflected something of the\ntortured misery of the man before him.\n\n\u201cIt was not,\u201d said Ingraham, \u201cuntil I had staggered to my feet that I\nsaw that across his saddle-bow this creature carried a dead body\u2014Jim.\nThere was an Indian arrow in his side.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter, no matter for the rest; I understand,\u201d said Gregory,\nhastily.\n\nThere was silence for a moment, and then Ingraham, with a strong effort,\nrallied himself to conclude his story.\n\n\u201cI was Jim\u2019s heir.\u201d These words were spoken with hard and scornful\nemphasis. \u201cThat was a feature of the case which presents complications\nto a man in forming a judgment. Perhaps you will believe me when I say\nthat this issue had not entered my mind in letting the boy go to his\ndeath. Indeed, the whole series of events was without deliberation, but\nunder the influence of blind, sullen anger.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe you,\u201d said Gregory.\n\n\u201cAll the same, I profited by his death. The mines proved immensely\nvaluable, and are even to-day. They have made me rich\u2014and incomparably\nwretched. A word or two more, and you will know the whole story. Jim was\nbrought home, here, for burial, my wife and I returning with his body.\nAll through that journey, and continually, for many months, I saw before\nme, waking or sleeping, that face of cruelty incarnate, the half-witted\nIndian guide, as I had seen him on that awful night. That face was my\nNemesis. It is still.\n\n\u201cWithin the year my wife gave birth to a son, Oliver,\u2014a strange\nperversion, made up of moral obliquity, mental distortion, and physical\ndeformity, like an embodiment of sin. On his face was stamped by some\nstrange trick of nature the image which had haunted me\u2014as if the Fates,\nor the Fiends, or God himself, had feared I might forget, and know a day\nof respite.\n\n\u201cMy wife died when Oliver was a few months old,\u2014died of cold, I believe,\nthe chill of our loveless marriage. Two years later Cornelia and I were\nmarried. I believe she has been happy. I have been prospered, and have\nrisen to a position of some influence, and we have all that could be\ndesired in our home, in our three daughters. But when, to-night, I heard\nyou pronounce the judgments of God on men who had built up prosperity\nupon a lie, I was like a man struck in his very heart. I felt that I\ncould no longer endure my hidden load, and must confess to one human\nbeing my past, and make restitution, if by any means it is yet possible.\nThe Romish Church is merciful, when it provides the possibility of\nconfession to sinful men.\n\n\u201cWhat have you to say to me? Have you healing for such a sore as mine?\u201d\n\nWith these abrupt words Ingraham threw himself into a leather-covered\narm-chair with the action of complete exhaustion. His aspect was changed\nfrom that of the alert, confident man of the world and of affairs, to\nthat of a broken down and shattered age.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXVI\n\n  Sin is not a monster to be mused on, but an impotence to be got rid\n  of.\n\n                                                      \u2014MATTHEW ARNOLD.\n\n  Use sin as it will use you; spare it not, for it will not spare you;\n  it is your murderer and the murderer of the world: use it,\n  therefore, as a murderer should be used. Kill it before it kills\n  you; and though it kill your bodies, it shall not be able to kill\n  your souls: and though it bring you to the grave, as it did your\n  Head, it shall not be able to keep you there.\u2014BAXTER.\n\n\nJohn Gregory met the demand thus made upon him with all the moral and\nspiritual resources of which he was master, for all were needed. The\nfull strength of the man\u2019s personality was brought into action, the\nlofty severity, the unflinching hate of sin, and yet the clear vision\nwhich could see beyond the torture and taint of it, and sound the depth\nof a nature which thus agonized for redemption and for righteousness.\n\n\u201cThe only sin,\u201d he said, in the words of another, \u201cwhich is unforgiven\nis the sin which is unrepented of. That early yielding to a paroxysm of\njealousy and rage had a fearful, and yet it may even be a merciful,\nresult. There are those who have given way to worse, and, no result\nfollowing, have lived on in hardness of heart and contempt of God\u2019s law.\nChrist\u2019s inflexible law, far more rigorous than the old law of Moses,\nsays he that hateth his brother is a murderer. Murder, then, is the\ncommonest of social sins, rather than the rarest. Christ also says that\nit was for sinners that he came to die, not for the righteous. His love\noverflows all our sin, and finds no halt at the degrees of guilt which\nmen emphasize in their shallow judgment. Men judge by consequences, by\noutward events; God looks upon the heart.\n\n\u201cLooking upon the heart, as far as we may, with God, I say then, you\nhave been guilty of murder, but so have other men. Many a man has\ncherished a spirit of bitter revenge and hatred against one who had\ninjured him, who has not suffered what you have, not having caused or\nprofited by the death of that person, directly or indirectly; but before\nGod you are perhaps equally guilty.\n\n\u201cI do not count your sin slight. I would not seek to make it small in\nyour own eyes, but I believe that you are released from the guilt and\nburden borne so long, and should no longer stagger under it. Has not\nAlmighty God given to his servants power and commandment to declare to\nthose who are penitent the absolution and remission of their sins?\n\n\u201cWhat did our Lord say to the leper who sought his cleansing? \u2018I will,\nbe thou clean.\u2019 Even this he says to you. Throw off that old yoke of\nbondage. It is your right. Go free in the liberty of the sons of God,\nbut go to sin no more.\u201d\n\nThese words, spoken with the authority of a priest, and with the\nsolemnity of absolute conviction, brought something of light and release\nto the troubled heart of Ingraham.\n\nThe hour was late, indeed, morning was at hand, when, lifting his face\nupon which a certain calmness had settled, he said to Gregory,\nearnestly:\u2014\n\n\u201cI believe I grasp the truth of what you say, and that there is for me a\ncertain peace, a partial release, although forgetfulness never. But this\nis not enough; the cry of my whole soul is to make restitution in some\nsort, somewhere, although how and to whom I cannot see. I still have the\nstain that I profit by my sin. What can you tell me? Do you see a way\nfor me?\u201d\n\nJohn Gregory looked at Ingraham steadily for a moment before speaking,\nand then said very slowly:\u2014\n\n\u201cDo you remember what the Master said to a certain ruler, \u2018Sell all that\nthou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and come, follow me\u2019? If you\nare in earnest, Mr. Ingraham, and if you feel that, as your experience\nof sin has been in no light and common form, but in a depth of agony\nwhich few men ever know, so your repentance should be along no mild and\neasy lines, but should reach to the foundations of your life\u2014if, I say,\nyou see things thus, and can bear so strong a prescription, I should\nrepeat to you _literally_ what Christ said to the rich ruler. It is a\nhard saying; not every man can receive it.\u201d\n\nThe two men faced each other in silence for a moment, and Gregory saw\nthe leap of a sudden question in the other\u2019s eyes.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said sternly, as if in answer to a spoken inquiry, \u201cI am not\nadvising you with an eye on my own advantage. My thought was not of my\nown cause, but of the cause of humanity anywhere. Pardon me if I speak\nplainly; I could not use a farthing of your money, were it all at my\ndisposal, for building up the work I am seeking to establish in\nFraternia. Recall what you heard me say to-night of the true Kingdom of\nGod. I could not use your money, Mr. Ingraham, in seeking to show forth\nthat kingdom; but I could use you, should you wish to come with us, if\nyou came empty-handed.\u201d\n\nThe lawyer felt the pitiless severity of Gregory\u2019s moral standard and\nall that this dictum implied, but he did not resist it. His humiliation\nand submission were sincere, and, for the time at least, controlling;\nbut doubt and conflict were plainly read in his face.\n\n\u201cIs it a hard saying?\u201d John Gregory asked, with a slight smile.\n\n\u201cYes, harder than you know. I could do what you say, were I alone to be\nconsidered; but to reduce my family to beggary, to cut short my career\nand stain my reputation by the cloud which would inevitably rest upon it\nin the community by such an unheard-of course of action, to take my wife\nand daughters from their social world to follow me, sent like a\nscapegoat into some wilderness\u2014really, Mr. Gregory, what you name is\nbeyond reason!\u201d\n\nGregory made absolutely no response. After a long silence, Ingraham said\nthoughtfully:\u2014\n\n\u201cThis is about the way I see for myself: from this time on I shall seek\nto live a humbler and a sincerely Christian life, and shall strive in\nevery way open to me to aid and further the cause of righteousness, with\nmy money and with my influence. In this way I shall bring happiness and\nsatisfaction to my wife, to whom I owe the highest obligation, next to\nGod, instead of destroying her comfort by dragging her with me into some\nlate missionary endeavour or eccentric experiment. Pardon me, Mr.\nGregory, if I too speak plainly.\n\n\u201cBut this is not all. Although I feel no individual call in the\ndirection of your co\u00f6perative colony, and am not over sanguine of its\nsuccess, I do believe profoundly in you, personally, as I must have\nshown you. Now I want you to reconsider what you said a little while\nago. Frankly, this discriminating between money made in one way or\nanother savours to me of superstition. This money, which is mine, cannot\nbe destroyed; even you would hardly advise that. Why not put it to a\ngood use, the best possible from your point of view? I have never given\naway money largely, but I am able to, and I want to seal our interview\nto-night with a substantial gift.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, Ingraham turned to his desk and touched a check-book which\nlay upon it.\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory, I want to write my check for fifty thousand dollars to be\nplaced unconditionally in your hands. You want a little church down\nthere in your settlement, and you want it beautiful, worthy of its\npurpose; you want a library\u2014both are necessary to carry on the kind of\nwork you project. Here they are,\u201d and again he touched the little\nleather book with his forefinger; \u201clet me do that much as a memorial of\nthis night and what you have done for me.\u201d\n\nJohn Gregory met the look of sincere and even anxious appeal with which\nthese words were spoken with unyielding, although not unkindly,\nfirmness.\n\n\u201cThis is a generous impulse on your part, Mr. Ingraham. Do not for a\nmoment think I fail to appreciate it. You are right; the money must be\nused, and will be, I hope, promptly and wisely. You must pardon me a\ncertain over nicety perhaps in preferring not to build my church in\nFraternia, or even my library, with it. You will find plenty of men less\nfastidious, and no one but myself will, I suppose, have reason to\nentertain such scruples.\u201d\n\nGregory had risen, and was ready now to go. It was four o\u2019clock, he\nfound, by his watch, and it had been a long vigil; but, while Ingraham\u2019s\nface was haggard and even ghastly, that of Gregory was unchanged in its\nmassive firmness and its strong, fine lines.\n\nIngraham stood at his desk plainly chagrined and ill at ease.\n\n\u201cIn your eyes, I see,\u201d he said ruefully, \u201cI am still in the place of the\nman who went away sorrowful because he had great possessions.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d said Gregory; \u201cit is too soon to tell.\u201d\n\n\u201cEvery man must judge for himself, Mr. Gregory, when it comes to the\nsupreme acts of his life.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the other, sadly; \u201cto the supreme acts or to the supreme\ncompromises. Will you excuse me now? I believe that I must go.\u201d Gregory\nheld out his hand, which Ingraham grasped with eagerness. \u201cYou have\nhonoured me by your confidence and your generosity. Count me your friend\nif you will. Good night.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXVII\n\n                I tire of shams, I rush to be.\u2014EMERSON.\n\n\nGertrude Ingraham was still unmarried, still pretty, still charming in\nher dainty, high-bred way.\n\nPerhaps the thought crossed Keith Burgess\u2019s mind as he joined her in her\nfather\u2019s library that evening, after their return from Gregory\u2019s\nlecture, that she would have been, as a wife, a shade less _exigeante_\nthan Anna.\n\nAnna, shrinking from the small coin of discussion of so great themes,\nhad gone directly to their room,\u2014the room which had been Keith\u2019s on his\nfirst visit to Burlington. Keith remained in the library to accept the\nrefreshment which Gertrude had prepared for their return, and found the\nsituation altogether pleasing. It was a rest to a sensitive, nervous man\nlike himself to sit down with a pretty woman who had no startling\ntheories of life and conduct; one who had always moved, and who would\nalways choose to move, on the comfortable lines of convention, instead\nof seeking some other path for herself, rough and lonely.\n\nPerhaps Keith lingered all the more willingly to-night because he\nperceived a rough and lonely path opening visibly before him, into which\nhe must in all probability turn full soon.\n\n\u201cWhat did you think of Mr. Gregory?\u201d asked Gertrude Ingraham over her\ntea-cups.\n\n\u201cHe is a tremendous speaker,\u201d said Keith, soberly; \u201cI never heard a man\nwho could mould an audience to his will as he does. You were not there\nto-night.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but I heard him before you and Mrs. Burgess came, night before\nlast. I think he has the finest physique of any orator I ever heard.\nDon\u2019t you think that is one source of his power? There is something\nabsolutely majestic about him when he is speaking. He seems to overpower\nyou\u2014you _must_ agree with him, whether you do or not.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen do you accept this new doctrine of his, Miss Ingraham?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean that there should be no social distinctions, no aristocratic\nand privileged class, no wealth and no poverty, and all that? I do not\nknow what he said to-night, you see, but that is the line on which he\nhas been speaking.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, that is what it all comes to.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, no, of course I don\u2019t believe in it, when I get away from Mr.\nGregory,\u201d said Gertrude, laughing prettily; \u201cbecause I really think he\nis going against the fundamental laws of God. There have always been\nrich people and poor people, and it was intended that there always\nshould be, I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt does seem absolutely impracticable to carry out any such theory in\nactual life. Certainly it would be under existing conditions. It can\nonly be done by radical, by revolutionary methods. Have you heard what\nMr. Gregory is actually doing to illustrate his theory? Have you heard\nof Fraternia?\u201d\n\nGertrude Ingraham lifted her chin with a roguish little movement and\nnodded with a charming smile.\n\n\u201cYes, I have heard of Fraternia too! Isn\u2019t it droll? That is why I\ndidn\u2019t go to-night, you see. I was afraid Mr. Gregory would get hold of\nme with that irresistible power of his, and then I should have to go and\nwork in a cotton mill!\u201d and with this Gertrude lifted her eyebrows with\nan expression of plaintive self-pity which Keith found very taking. \u201cI\u2019m\nafraid I shouldn\u2019t like it,\u201d she added archly; \u201cit would be so new, and\none\u2019s hands would get so horrid!\u201d\n\nThey laughed together, Keith naturally noting the delicacy of the small\nwhite hands which were manipulating the transparent china on the low\ntable between them. Then Mrs. Ingraham and others coming into the room\nafter them, Keith rose with graceful courtesy to serve them and to draw\nthem into the conversation. But all the while Keith had a sense that he\nwas turning against himself the sharpest weapons which could have been\nfound, nothing being so instinctively dreaded by him as to put himself\nin an absurd situation, to awaken ridicule, even his own.\n\nJust below the surface of his thought there lay two formidable facts,\nlike sunk, threatening rocks seen darkly under smooth water. He knew\nthat Anna would propose to him that they should throw themselves into\nGregory\u2019s enterprise, and become disciples of the new school; and he\nknew that having cut off hitherto, involuntarily or otherwise, each\ndeepest desire of her soul for the service of others, he should not dare\nto thwart her in this. If she wished to do this thing, he must join her\nin it.\n\nKeith had himself been deeply moved by Gregory. The old passion for\nsacrifice and self-devotion had stirred again within him. He felt the\nhigh courage, the generosity, the strong initiative of Gregory; he was\nthrilled at the sight of a man who could throw himself unreservedly into\na difficult and dangerous crusade, simply for an ideal, with all to lose\nand nothing to gain. He too had once marched to that same music; his\nblood was stirred, and he felt something of the enthusiasm of his\nstudent years, rising warm within him. He perfectly understood the\nmotions of Anna\u2019s spirit, and shared in them, up to a certain point.\nThis point was reached when he touched the limit set by his inborn and\ninherited conservatism, his constitutional preference for things as they\nwere, and his quick dread of making himself absurd. And now, Gertrude\nIngraham with her pretty mocking had suddenly put the whole thing before\nhim in the light he dreaded most.\n\nAnna was not thus divided in her mind, and could not have been.\nSomething of the steadfast simplicity of her ancient German ancestry\npreserved her from this characteristically American form of\nsensitiveness. She could have adopted without hesitation, any outward\nforms, however out of conformity to usage, however grotesque in the eyes\nof others, if she had felt the inward call. Gregory\u2019s stern and lofty\nutterances had come to her with full prophetic weight, and had left\nnothing in her to rise up in doubt or gainsaying.\n\nIn this mood Keith found her. She was standing, still fully dressed,\nbefore the chimney-piece, where he had sat one night and dreamed at once\nof her and Gertrude Ingraham. Her hands were clasped and hanging before\nher; her face was slightly pale, and her eyes strangely large and\nluminous. Standing before her, Keith took her clasped hands between his,\nand looked at her with a questioning smile.\n\n\u201cWell, dear,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know,\u201d she answered softly. \u201cWas it not to you what it was to me?\nIs it not the very chance we wish, to redeem our poor lost hopes of\nservice?\u2014to leave all the luxuries and privileges and advantages, and\nshare the world\u2019s sorrows? to become poor and humble as our Master was?\nto give what we have received? Oh, Keith, is it to be, or must another\nhope go by?\u201d\n\nAs Anna thus cried out, the solemn appeal of her nature, austere, and\nyet full-charged with noble passion, breaking at last through the\nbarriers which had long held it back, gave her an extraordinary\nspiritual grandeur. There was something of awe in the look with which\nher husband regarded her. Weapons of fear and doubt and cavil fell\nbefore that celestial sternness in her eyes,\u2014a look we see sometimes in\nthe innocent eyes of young children.\n\n\u201cIt is to be, Anna. You shall have your way this time, my wife.\u201d\n\nThe words were spoken reverently, with grave gentleness, and Keith\u2019s own\nsweet courtesy. Was it Anna\u2019s fault that she failed, in the exaltation\nof her mood, to catch the sadness in them?\n\nKeith was hardly conscious of it himself. He was thinking, on an\nunspoken parallel, that he would rather be privileged to adore Anna\nMallison in a moment like this, even though she led him in a rough and\nlonely path, than to dally with another woman in smoothness and ease.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXVIII\n\n            I took the power in my hand\n            And went against the world;\n            \u2019Twas not so much as David had,\n            But I was twice as bold.\n\n            I aimed my pebble, but myself\n            Was all the one that fell.\n            Was it Goliath was too large,\n            Or only I too small?\n                                          \u2014EMILY DICKINSON.\n\n  We all have need of that prayer of the Breton mariner, \u201cSave us, O\n  God! Thine ocean is so large and our little boats are so\n  small.\u201d\u2014FARRAR.\n\n\n\u201cTrunks checked for Utopia! Direct passenger route without change of\ncars! Ye gods, it doth amaze me!\u201d\n\nThus Professor Ward, with a sardonic and yet discomfited smile, standing\nin the studio of his friend Pierce Everett, in Fulham. The room was in\nthe disorder of a radical breaking up; packing boxes standing about and\nlitter strewn everywhere.\n\nEverett in his shirt sleeves was piling on a table a mass of draperies\nwhich he had taken from the wall. He was covered with dust, but his face\nwas full of joyous excitement.\n\n\u201cYes, my good friend\u2014straight for Utopia now!\n\n                  \u201c\u2018Get on board, chil\u2019en,\n                  Get on board, chil\u2019en,\n                  For there\u2019s room for many a more.\u2019\u201d\n\nEverett trolled out the old negro chorus with hilarious enjoyment.\n\n\u201c_Quos Deus vult perdere_\u2014\u201d began Ward, grimly.\n\n\u201cOh, we\u2019re all mad, you know. We are simply not so mad as the rest of\nyou,\u201d interrupted Everett, gayly. \u201cWe have intervals of sanity, and are\ntaking advantage of one of them to get out of the mad-house, leaving you\nother fellows to keep up your unprofitable strife with phantoms by\nyourselves, while we actually\u2014yes, we even dare to believe it\u2014_live_.\nThink of that, Ward, if you have the imagination!\u201d Ward shook his head.\n\u201cNo, you haven\u2019t; that is so. If you had, you could not have listened to\nGregory unmoved.\u201d\n\n\u201cConfound Gregory,\u201d muttered Ward. \u201cWhat did you ever get the man here\nfor, turning our world upside down!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat has been the occupation of seers and prophets from the beginning,\nI believe,\u201d retorted Everett, carelessly.\n\n\u201cSeers and prophets!\u201d cried Ward, angrily, \u201cthat is what I can stand\nleast of all. This posing as a kind of nineteenth century John the\nBaptist strikes me as exquisitely ridiculous.\u201d\n\nEverett\u2019s eyes flashed dangerously, but he made no rejoinder.\n\n\u201cI saw your John the Baptist this morning in the Central Station buying\nhis railway ticket and morning paper like any other average man. The\nlocusts and wild honey were not in evidence.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, he doesn\u2019t take nourishment habitually in railway stations,\u201d put in\nEverett, coolly.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t see any leathern girdle about his loins, either, although of\ncourse he may wear it next the skin for penitential purposes. His\nclothing appeared to be a species of camel\u2019s hair\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cFalsely so called,\u201d put in Everett; \u201cit is really English tweed. Very\ngood quality.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I\u2019ll venture to say that is true. Your prophet of the wilderness\nstrikes me as knowing a good thing when he sees it. Plague take the\nfellow! He has just that sort of brute force and sheer overbearing\npersonal dominance, which you idealists and credulous take for spiritual\nauthority.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome now, Ward, we may as well keep our tempers and treat this matter\ndecently. Nothing is gained by calling names. You are naturally\nprejudiced against a man who attacks the existing social order, and\nsuggests that even the rulers of the synagogue and the great teachers of\nthe schools have something yet to learn. Gregory is radical,\nrevolutionary perhaps, but not a whit more so than the New Testament\nmakes him. He is an absolutely conscientious man; he has given up every\npersonal ambition, wealth, position, all that most men cling to\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIn order to become a Dictator, in a field where there is very little\ncompetition.\u201d\n\nEverett suppressed the irritation which this interposition aroused, and\ncontinued in a lighter tone,\u2014\n\n\u201cYou are enough of a dictator yourself to see this point, which had\nescaped the rest of us. I can see that it is a little bitter to you to\nhave Mrs. Burgess seeking another spiritual and intellectual\nadviser,\u2014going after other gods, as it were.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Ward, gravely; \u201cit makes me sick at heart to see a woman\nlike Mrs. Burgess, with all that glorious power of self-devotion of\nhers, throwing herself blindly into this wild, Quixotic experiment\u2014sure\nto end in disappointment and defeat. It is mournful, most mournful,\u201d and\nWard shook his head in melancholy fashion. \u201cAnd when it comes to Keith,\u201d\nhe resumed, \u201calas! our brother! Poor Keith, with his lifelong habits of\nluxurious ease, his conventional views of duty, his yardstick\nimagination, and his wretched health\u2014to think of such a man being torn\nfrom all the amenities of a refined Christian home, and carted across\nlots, Government bonds and all, to be set down in some malarial swamp to\ndig ditches with a set of ploughmen, to prove, forsooth! that all men\nare created free and equal,\u201d and Ward groaned and bent his head as if\novercome by the picture he had called up.\n\nLifting his head suddenly, he added in a tone of pensive rumination.\n\n\u201cHe is one of those men Thoreau tells of, who would not go\na-huckleberrying without a medicine chest; and he would perish, I am\nconvinced, if deprived of improved sanitary plumbing.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll very clever,\u201d said Everett, \u201cbut I will take the liberty of\nmentioning the fact that the Burgess\u2019s physician hails the North\nCarolina project as the very best thing which could happen for Keith\u2019s\nhealth.\u201d\n\nHardly had he finished the sentence when a light knock was heard on the\nhalf-open door of the studio, and Anna Burgess, at Everett\u2019s word,\nstepped into the room.\n\nShe wore a thin black gown, for the day was warm, and a broad-brimmed\nhat of some transparent black substance threw the fine shape of her head\nand the pure tints of her face into striking relief. A handful of white\njonquils was fastened into the front of her gown, and the freshness of\nthe June day seemed to enter the dusty, despoiled studio with her.\n\nBoth men stood at gaze before her with deference and admiration in every\nline and look. With a delicate flush rising in her cheeks, Anna gave her\nhand to each, and spoke a word of greeting in which her natural shyness\nand her acquired social grace were mingled to a manner of peculiar\ncharm.\n\n\u201cI ran up to hand you these papers for Mr. Gregory,\u201d she said to\nEverett, a vibration of suppressed joy in her full, low voice which he\nhad never heard before. \u201cYou know he said he would like it if you would\nbring them,\u201d and she placed a long envelope in his hand. \u201cNo, I cannot\nstop a moment, Keith is waiting for me in the carriage. I did not give\nthe papers to the maid because I wanted to say to you, Mr. Everett, that\nKeith does not see it any differently,\u2014about the estate, you know. He\npledges the income, freely, altogether, but he feels that the estate\nitself should be kept intact.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank Heaven, he has a spark of reason left!\u201d exclaimed Ward under his\nbreath, adding quickly,\u2014\n\n\u201cPardon me, Mrs. Burgess, but you know I am not a Gregorian psalm\nmyself, yet.\u201d\n\nAnna turned to him with her rare smile, less brilliant than clear and\nluminous.\n\n\u201cBut I was so glad you came to the house, Professor Ward, and heard Mr.\nGregory,\u201d she said with gracious courtesy; \u201cwe cannot expect every one\nto follow out these new theories practically as we hope to do, but at\nleast we want every one we care about to know really what they are.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think that many of those present at your house that afternoon\nwere inclined to accept Mr. Gregory\u2019s gospel, if I may so call it?\u201d\nasked Ward, respectfully.\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d interjected Everett, \u201cthere was no one there but cranks\nand critics.\u201d\n\nAnna\u2019s face clouded a little. \u201cNo,\u201d she said simply. \u201cFulham is not a\ngood field for such a message; it was quite different in Burlington.\nMost of them went away saying it would be very fine if it were not\nwholly impossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it does not occur to you, does it, Mrs. Burgess,\u201d Ward pressed the\nquestion with undisguised earnestness, \u201cthat perhaps they were right?\nthat there is something to be said for the old order, as old as the\nrace? that possibly certain distinctions are inherent in the nature of\nthings? Such distinctions, for instance, as separate you,\u201d and Ward gave\nthe pronoun a freight of significance to carry, \u201cfrom that man,\u201d and he\nindicated a labourer who had just left the room with an immense box of\nmerchandise on his broad, bent shoulders, and whose slow, heavy steps\ncould now be heard on the stairs below.\n\nHe had struck the wrong chord.\n\n\u201cProfessor Ward,\u201d cried Anna, her voice even lower than its wont, but\nher emphasis the more intense, \u201cdid that man choose to be reduced to the\nlife and little more than the faculties of a beast of burden, to be a\nbrother to the ox, to live a blind, brutalized, animal existence, with\nneither joy nor star?\u201d\n\nShe paused a moment, and then added, with indescribable pathos dimming\nthe kindling light in her eyes:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is that man, Professor Ward, and what he stands for, that sends me\nto Fraternia, if perhaps I can yet atone. It is I that have made that\nman what he is, and you, and all of us who have clung gladly to our\npowers and privileges, and dared to believe that we were made for the\nheights of life, and men like him for the abyss. If we could read our\nNew Testament once as if it were not an old story! If we, for one\nmoment, could lay our social cruelties beside that pattern shown us in\nthe mount!\u201d\n\nThe deep heart of her and the innermost motive power broke forth from\nAnna\u2019s usual quiet and reserve in these last words with thrilling\ninfluence upon both men. She was beautiful as she spoke, but with the\nbeauty of some Miriam or Cassandra,\u2014a woman, as had been said of her\nlong before, \u201cto die for, not to play games with.\u201d\n\nProfessor Ward, the irritation of his earlier mood quite gone, stood\nregarding Anna as she spoke with a sadness as profound as it was wholly\nunaffected. Having spoken, she turned to go.\n\n\u201cLet me say one word, Mrs. Burgess,\u201d he said, extending his hand to\ndetain her a moment. \u201cI sympathize deeply with your purposes, and I am\nnot wholly incapable of appreciating your motives. From my heart I shall\nbid you God-speed on your way when your time comes to go out into this\nnew spiritual adventure. It will be none the less noble because it is\nimpossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-by,\u201d she said, and smiled.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXIX\n\n        Canst drink the waters of the crisp\u00e8d spring?\n              O sweet Content!\n        Swim\u2019st thou in wealth, yet sink\u2019st in thine own tears?\n              O Punishment!\n        Then he that patiently Want\u2019s burden bears\n        No burden bears, but is a king, a king.\n              O sweet Content, O sweet, O sweet Content!\n        Work apace, apace, apace, apace,\n        Honest labour bears a lovely face.\n                                          \u2014THOMAS DEKKER, 1600.\n\n\nA valley, two thousand feet above the sea level, narrowing at its upper\nor northern end to a ravine piercing thickly wooded hills, but widening\ngradually southward, until, a mile lower down the mountain stream which\nissues from the gorge, it becomes a broad sunny meadow land.\n\nOn a day in the middle of March, when the sun shone warm and a turquoise\nsky arched smiling over this valley, signs of human activity and energy\nprevailed on every side. In the bottom lands men were ploughing the\nbroad level fields; here the river had been dammed, forming a pond, on\nthe bank of which stood a large picturesque building sheathed with\ndark-green shingles. From the wide and open windows of this building the\nsound of whirring spindles and the joyous laughter of girls and men\nissued.\n\nHigher up the valley men were at work building a light bridge of plank\nacross the creek, while others were carting newly sawed lumber, with its\nstrong pungent smell, from the sawmill below. On the eastern side of the\nvalley, between this bridge and the mills half a mile south, were\nscattered or grouped at irregular intervals, forty or fifty small\ncabins, some of log, others of unplaned boards; thatched, or covered in\nred tile. Men and women were at work in the damp mould of the gardens by\nwhich these cabins were surrounded, and fresh green things were shooting\nup. On the opposite side of the stream, on a wooded knoll, stood a\nlarge, low, barrack-like building with a red roof, and near it a few\ncabins. It was opposite this group of buildings that the foot-bridge was\nin process of making, to supersede a single plank and rail which had\nhitherto connected the banks of the stream. Down the valley from this\nsmall and separate settlement stretched fields already under\ncultivation, for corn, potatoes, and cotton.\n\nThere were no streets in this rustic settlement. Footpaths led to the\ncottage doors through the thin, coarse grass, and along the eastern side\nof the little river; and between its bank and the houses ran a rough\nwagon road, deeply rutted now by the wheels of the lumber wagons in the\nsoft, red soil. To the north and east the hills rose abruptly, covered\nwith oak and pine, and the aromatic fragrance of the latter was in the\nair, mingling with the scent of the soil. Beyond the lower hills to the\nwest loomed the shoulders of dim, blue mountains, while looking south,\ndown the shining river, beyond a belt of woodland, the valley broadened\nout to the sunny plain stretching to the horizon line.\n\nThe limpid clearness of the air, the fragrance of the forest and the\nearth, the musical flow of the little river, the wonderful brilliancy of\nthe sky, with the vast uplift of the mountains, gave a sense of wild\nperfection to the _ensemble_. Such was Fraternia in the morning of its\nsecond spring.\n\nIt was during that decade which saw the sudden springing into life of so\nlarge a number of communistic organizations and settlements throughout\nthe country, mainly in the south and west. Many of these experiments\nwere crude and obscure; most of them were shortlived. They were founded\non widely different social conceptions, ranging from those of unlimited\nlicense and rank anarchism up to the high ideals of the life of\nChristian brotherhood set forth in the early church.\n\nThe latter was the foundation of John Gregory\u2019s colony in Fraternia.\nInflexible morality and blamelessness of Christian living were his\ncardinal laws. Built upon them was the superstructure of economic and\nsocial equality, of labour sharing, and of domestic simplicity.\n\nThus far unusual promise attended the adventure, and peace and good will\nreigned in the little community.\n\nToward the upper end of the village half a dozen men were at work around\na circular excavation not more than five or six feet in diameter, which\nhad been lined with irregular slabs and blocks of stone patched together\nwith clay. In blue overalls thickly bespattered with red mud and the\nsticky clay, a man was working on his knees at the edge of this basin.\nIt was Keith Burgess. Near him, measuring with rule and line and marking\nout the width of the coping, stood the artist, Pierce Everett. Their\nfellow-workmen were two Irishmen\u2014big, active fellows, with honest\neyes\u2014and a wiry little black-a-vised Jew, a quondam foreman in a New\nYork sweat-shop. He was mixing clay and laying the stone of the coping,\nwhile the Irishmen were at work in an open trench through which ran the\npipe which was to conduct the water from a spring in the ravine above\ninto the new reservoir.\n\nEmerging from the woods below the dam a little crowd of children came\nstraying up the valley, laughing and shouting, and jumping gayly over\nthe pools of red mud in the road. Their hands were full of wild\nflowers,\u2014bloodroot, and anemones, and arbutus; their hair was blown\nabout in the wind; their eyes were shining. Among them, giving her hand\nto a little girl who walked with a crutch, walked Anna Burgess, her face\nas joyous as theirs, and a free, unhampered vigour and grace in every\nline of her figure. She was the head teacher in the village school, and\nwas known to her scholars, and, indeed, quite generally in the little\ncommunity, as \u201cSister Benigna.\u201d\n\nThis name, \u201cBenigna,\u201d which had come down in Anna\u2019s family for\ngenerations, and had been given her as a second name, had not been used\nfor many years, save by her mother, who still clung loyally to the full\n\u201cAnna Benigna.\u201d Who it was in Fraternia who had revived the beautiful\nold Moravian name was not known, but the use of it had been quickly\nestablished, especially among the children and the foreign folk.\n\nThe habit of using \u201cBrother\u201d and \u201cSister\u201d with the given name in\nordinary social intercourse was common, although not universal, in\nFraternia. Anna\u2019s assistants in the school\u2014a pale, little English\ngoverness, who had apparently never known stronger food than tea and\nbread until she came to Fraternia, and a rosy-cheeked German\nkindergartner\u2014were among the little flock, their hands overflowing with\nwild flowers, and their faces with the high delight the spring day\nbrought them. It was Saturday morning, and a holiday.\n\nSuddenly there was a shout from some boys who were foremost in the\ncompany, and they came scampering back to Anna exclaiming that the\n\u201cfountain\u201d was almost finished, and, perhaps, the water would soon be\nturned into it. By common consent the whole party hastened on and soon\nencircled the workmen at the basin with noisy questions and merry\nchatter. It was to be so fine not to have to go up to the spring in the\nravine with pails and pitchers any more. Could they surely have the\nwater here for Sunday? Then Fr\u00e4ulein Frieda told them how the girls in\nher country came to such fountains with their jugs, and carried them\naway full on their heads. She showed them with a tin pail, found lying\nin the clay, just how it was done, walking away with firm, balanced\nstep, the pail unsupported on her pretty flaxen-haired head, on which\nthe sun shone dazzlingly. The little girls were greatly delighted, and\nall declared they should learn to carry their water pots home on their\nheads from the _Quelle_, as Fr\u00e4ulein Frieda called it.\n\nAnna stood at the edge of the basin, Keith at her feet, on his knees,\nwith the trowel in his hands, smiling up at her, the little lame girl\nstill at her side, a trace of wistfulness in her eyes as she watched the\nothers.\n\n\u201cWe will not carry our water pails on our heads, you and I, will we,\nlittle Judith?\u201d Anna asked, kind and motherly. \u201c_We_ want our brains to\ngrow, and it might crowd them down; don\u2019t you think so?\u201d\n\nThe swarthy Jew looked up from the clay he was mixing with quick,\ninstinctive gratitude. Judith was his child. He grinned a broad and\nrather hideous grin, and exclaimed in a broken dialect:\u2014\n\n\u201cDas ist so, Kleine; shust listen to our lady! She knows. She says it\nright.\u201d\n\nPierce Everett\u2019s dark eyes flashed with sudden enthusiasm. Turning to\nAnna he bowed profoundly and said low to Keith, as well as to her:\u2014\n\n\u201cThere you have it! Barnabas has found your title\u2014\u2018our lady\u2019!\u201d\n\nAnna looked into Everett\u2019s dark eager eyes with her quiet smile, and was\nabout to speak, when a sudden noise of grating and rattling and horses\u2019\nhoofs behind them caused them all three to turn and look down the river.\nA horse and stone drag were approaching rapidly, driven by John Gregory,\nwho stood on the drag, which was loaded with big clean pebbles from the\nriver-bed. He wore a coarse grey flannel shirt, the collar turned off a\nlittle at the throat, and rough grey trousers tucked into high rubber\nboots, which reached to the thighs. The cloth cap on his head with its\nvizor bore a certain resemblance to a helmet, and altogether the\nlikeness of the whole appearance to that of a Roman warrior in his\nchariot did not escape the three friends who watched its approach in the\nmotley crowd around the basin.\n\nGregory drove his drag close up to the edge of the coping, now nearly\nlaid, greeted the company with a courteous removal of his hat and a\ncordial Good-morning, then discharged the load of pebbles in a glinting\nheap on the soft red earth.\n\nThere was no conscious assumption of mastery or direction in Gregory\u2019s\nmanner, nothing could have been simpler or more democratic than the\nimpartial comradery with which he joined the others, nevertheless the\nsense that the master was among them was instantly communicated\nthroughout the little group. Up in the trench, nearly to the base of the\ncliffs which marked the entrance to the ravine, one Irishman said to the\nother, in a tone of satisfaction not unmixed with good-natured sarcasm:\u2014\n\n\u201cHimsilf\u2019s come now. The gintlemin masons will git to rights or they\u2019ll\nlose their job, d\u2019ye mind, Patrick?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, ay,\u201d said the other, \u201can\u2019 the same to yersilf, if ye ivir noticed\nit.\u201d\n\nThere was a little silence even among the chattering children as Gregory\nstooped by Everett\u2019s side, pulled up with the ease of mighty muscle two\nor three stones, took the trowel from Keith\u2019s hand and a hod of mortar\nfrom the waiting Barnabas, and set the stones over on a truer line,\nlaughing the while with the men and turning aside the edge of criticism\nwith frank self-disparagement, as being himself but a tyro.\n\nA curious consequence of Gregory\u2019s appearance on the scene after this\nsort, was the dwarfed effect of the men around him, who suddenly seemed\nto have shrunk in stature and proportions, and whose motions, beside the\nvirile force and confident freedom of his, appeared incompetent and\nweak.\n\nAnna had drawn back from her place near the basin\u2019s edge. Gregory had\nnot looked at her nor she at him directly. In fact, they habitually, for\nsome reason they themselves could not define, avoided each other, and\nyet could not avoid a piercing consciousness, when together, of every\nlook and word of the other. A sudden shyness and subduing had fallen\ninstantly upon Anna\u2019s bright mood, and, while the others watched every\nlook and motion of Gregory with almost breathless interest, she stood\napart and arranged little Judith\u2019s flowers with apparent preoccupation.\n\nTossing the trowel back to Keith, with whom he exchanged a few words of\nquestion, Gregory next hastened with long strides up the line of the\ntrench to the place where the Irishmen were at work. Here was a\nprimitive moss-grown trough, into which the water of the spring had\nhitherto been conducted, and to which all the people had been obliged to\ncome for their supply of drinking water. The new iron pipe already\nreplaced the rude wooden conduit which had done duty until now, but the\nwater still flowed into the trough, and would do so until, the basin\ncompleted, the connection might be made between the two sections of\npipe.\n\nUnder Gregory\u2019s direction this was now effected, and the water of the\nspring, if there was no flaw, should now flow unimpeded into the basin\nbelow. To test the basin, it was Gregory\u2019s purpose to make the\nexperiment at once.\n\nPresently there was a shout, exulting and joyous, from the company\nbelow.\n\n\u201cThe water is here! The water! The water!\u201d rose the cry into the\nstillness of the valley. The men at work upon the bridge left their\nwork, and hastened to join the little crowd.\n\nWith strides even longer than before, Gregory came down again, the\nIrishmen following him in a scramble to keep up. Joy was in all their\nfaces, and the deepest joy of all in that of Gregory. They stood\ntogether and watched the jet of water as it sprang from the mouth of the\npipe, turbid at first, but gradually becoming clear and sparkling, and\nfell with a gentle, musical plashing into the stone fountain. There was\ncomplete silence for a little space, as they looked intently at the\nincreasing depth of the gathering pool, and then, bringing down his\nhands with a will on the shoulders of Keith and Everett, Gregory\nexclaimed:\u2014\n\n\u201cMen, you have done well, all of you! It holds, do you see? It is tight\nas a ship. Hurrah!\u201d\n\nThey all joined in a great cheer, and then, swiftly finding where she\nstood, or knowing, as he always seemed to know, instinctively, Gregory\u2019s\neyes sought Anna Burgess.\n\n\u201cWill Sister Benigna come up here?\u201d he asked quietly, with the\nunhesitating steadiness of the man who knows just what he means to do.\n\nAnna came slowly forward, and stood on the new-laid coping, by the side\nof Gregory, greatly wondering. Just beyond her was Keith, side by side\nwith Barnabas Rosenblatt. Meanwhile, Gregory had taken from his pocket a\nsmall folding drinking cup of shining metal, which he had held in the\nflow of the spring water until it was thoroughly purified. Turning now\nto look at all those who stood round about, he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cBrothers, sisters, little children, this water is the good gift of God.\nLet this fountain be now consecrated to all pure and holy uses. By the\nwish which I believe to be in every one of you, let the first who shall\ndrink of this living water from the new fountain be our Sister Benigna.\u201d\n\nWith these words Gregory filled the cup from the sparkling outgush of\nthe spring, the water so cold that the polished cup was covered with\nfrosty dimness, and with simple seriousness handed it to Anna. Affection\nand reverence were in the eyes of all the people as they watched her\nwhile with uncovered head, calm brow, and the fine simplicity of\nunconsciousness she took the cup and drank. But with the first touch of\nher lips to the cup the hand in which she held it trembled; and when she\ndrained the last drop, it trembled still. As Anna stepped back, having\ndrunk, into the ranks, Gregory lifted his hand, and with the gesture\nwhich commands devotion repeated the ancient words,\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018O most high, almighty, good Lord God, to thee belong praise, glory,\nhonour, and all blessing!\n\n\u201c\u2018Praised be my Lord for our brother the wind, and for air and cloud,\ncalms and all weather, by the which thou upholdest in life all\ncreatures.\n\n\u201c\u2018Praised be my Lord for our sister, water, who is very serviceable unto\nus, and humble, and precious, and clear.\u2019\u201d\n\nThen with a deeper solemnity and significance in face and voice, he\ncontinued:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018If thou knewest the gift of God and who it is that saith to thee, Give\nme to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him and he would have given\nthee living water.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Jesus said, If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink.\u2019\u201d\n\nIt was noon, and turning they all dispersed, each to his own place, a\ndeepened gladness in their faces. But as for Anna Burgess, a dimness was\nupon her joy, a thrilling undercurrent of dread and wonder which she\ncould not understand; for she had drunk of the Cup of Trembling\u2014and knew\nit not.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXX\n\n           We\u2019ve toiled and failed; we spake the word;\n             None hearkened; dumb we lie;\n           Our Hope is dead, the seed we spread\n             Fell o\u2019er the earth to die.\n\n           What\u2019s this? For joy our hearts stand still,\n             And life is loved and dear,\n           The lost and found the cause hath crowned,\n             The Day of Days is here.\n                                             \u2014WILLIAM MORRIS.\n\n\nThe Burgesses had come to Fraternia in the preceding December, although\nKeith had soon left again, having still many business concerns to recall\nhim to Fulham. The house there was now closed, and the life there for\nthem presumably ended, and, late in February, Keith had returned to\nFraternia.\n\nAnna had employed the months between their decision to join the\nco\u00f6perative colony and their actual journey to the South, in taking a\nshort course in nursing in a Fulham hospital, reviving her old knowledge\nof the subject, gained in her girlhood in Burlington. She had it in mind\nto fit herself thus as thoroughly as the brief interval allowed, for the\nduties of a trained nurse to the little community, this being an\noccupation at once congenial to herself and important for the general\ngood. For uniformity of service was by no means according to John\nGregory\u2019s plan, and Gertrude Ingraham might not have found herself shut\nup to the cotton mill even if she had done so incredible a thing as to\nthrow in her fortunes with Fraternia. All must labour, and all must\nlabour for the general good,\u2014one of Gregory\u2019s prime maxims being, If a\nman will not work, neither shall he eat; but as far as practicable that\nlabour was to be on the line of each person\u2019s best capacity, choice, and\ndevelopment. Thus Keith Burgess\u2019s feat of stonelaying had not been\nenforced, but self-chosen, as an expression of his good will in the\nsharing the coarser labours of the people. The work to which he had been\nassigned by Gregory was clerical, not manual, being that of secretary to\nthe colony.\n\nAnna, thus far, had had no opportunity for any especial use of her\nvocation as nurse, the families of Fraternia being remarkably healthy\nunder the simple and wholesome conditions of their life, and serious\nillness unknown during that winter. Her trained and well-equipped mind\nobviously fitted her for a work of intellectual rather than industrial\ncharacter, and the duties of teaching the children of the colony five\nhours a day\u2014the required time of service for the women\u2014were given to her\nby common consent.\n\nNeither at the time when she was chosen to this service, nor at any\nother, had John Gregory directly communicated his wishes to Anna or\ndiscussed his plans with her; and yet, from the day of her arrival in\nFraternia he had perhaps never formed a plan which was not in some\nsubtle manner shaped by unconscious reference to her. In her own way,\nAnna\u2019s personality was hardly less conspicuous than his; and these two\ninvisibly and involuntarily modified each the other\u2019s action and\ndeliberation as the orbits of two stars are influenced by their mutual\nattraction and repulsion.\n\nBy the whole habit and choice of his life John Gregory was a purist in\nmorals and in his personal practice of simplicity. The most frugal fare\nand the simplest domestic appliances served his turn by preference,\nalthough he had been born and bred in comparative luxury. He was free\nand fraternal with men; gently respectful to women, whom he yet never\ntreated as if they were superior to men by force of their weakness, but\nrather as being on a basis of accepted equality; while to little\nchildren he always showed winning tenderness. Socially, however, he\nscrupulously avoided intercourse with women, with a curious, undeviating\npersistency which almost suggested ascetic withdrawal. The other men of\nthe colony, several of whom were men of some social rank and mental\nculture, found it pleasant to stop on the woodland paths or by the\nstream, all the more in these soft spring days, and exchange thought and\nword, light or grave, with the girls and women, but never once had\nGregory been seen to do this, or to visit the households presided over\nby women on any errand whatever. Whether a line of action which thus\ninevitably separated him more and more from the domestic life of the\npeople, was pursued by deliberate purpose or by the accident of personal\ninclination was not clear, but certain it was that the fact contributed\nto the distinction and separation which seemed inevitably to belong to\nGregory. With all his simplicity of life and democratic brotherliness of\nconversation, he lived and moved in Fraternia with an effect of one on a\nwholly different plane from the others, and with the full practical\nexercise of a dictatorship which no one resented because all regarded\nhim with a species of hero-worship as manifestly the master of the\nsituation.\n\nHis residence was in one of the small cabins on the western side of the\nriver, to which the bridge gave convenient access. The other cabins\nserved, one as a rude, temporary library, the other as storehouse, while\nthe large barrack-like building furnished bachelor quarters for the\nunmarried men. Gregory, since Everett\u2019s arrival, had shared his house\nwith the artist. Their meals were taken in common with the other men. No\none was in the habit of entering the house, Gregory having a kind of\noffice, agreeably furnished, at the cotton mill, where he was usually to\nbe found when not at work in field or wood. This was, however, often the\ncase, for he never failed to discharge the daily quota of manual labour\nwhich he had assigned himself; and it was noticeable to all that if any\ntask were of an offensive or difficult nature, he was the one to assume\nit first and as a matter of course. It was owing to this characteristic,\nperhaps more than to any other, save his singular personal ascendency,\nthat the silent dictatorship of Gregory in the little community was so\ncheerfully accepted. Nominally the government of the village was in the\nhands of a board of directors, with an inner executive committee, and of\nwhich Gregory was chairman. Several women served on the larger board.\nKeith Burgess was a director; Anna\u2019s name had not been proposed for the\noffice. There had been but one vacancy in the board on their arrival,\nwhich was sufficient reason. The councils of the directors were held\nweekly in Gregory\u2019s office, and thus far a good degree of harmony\nprevailed.\n\nAgain it was Saturday morning. A week had passed which had brought many\ndays of heavy rain. The river, swollen and yellow, dashed noisily down\nfrom the gorge and filled its channel below with deep and urgent\ncurrent. On its turbid flood appeared from time to time newly felled\nlogs, floated down from the regions above, where Fraternia men were at\nwork, taking advantage of the swollen river for conveying their lumber\nto the sawmill. A west wind, the night before, had blown the clouds\nbefore it, and this morning the sun shone from an effulgent sky; the\nwind had died to a soft breeze laden with manifold fragrance; and in\nplace of the chill of the north, the air possessed the indescribable\nsoftness and balm of the southern spring.\n\nIt was again a busy morning in Fraternia, and everywhere, and in all the\nhomely tasks, thrilled the unchecked joy in simple existence of innocent\nhearts living out their normal bent for mutual help and burden-sharing.\nIn the garden ground around their house, which was high up the valley in\na group of three others, one of which contained the common kitchen and\ndining room for the inmates of all, Anna Burgess was at work in her\ngarden, sowing and planting in the damp soil. Glancing down the valley,\nshe could see Everett hard at work with another man, who had been an\narchitect in Burlington, erecting a little thatched pavilion, of\noriginal design, graceful and rustic, to protect the new and precious\nfountain from the sun, and keep its water clean and serviceable. Across\nthe river, in the library, Keith, she knew, was at work at his\nbookkeeping, and also at the task of collecting excerpts from the\nwritings of social economists for use in an address which he was\npreparing. A new mental activity had been stimulated in Keith by the\nchange of climate and conditions, and the influx of new ideas; and the\nease and cheerfulness with which he had adapted himself to the primitive\nhabits of pioneer life, would have amazed his friend Ward.\n\nBarnabas had been gathering one or two sizable slabs of stone which had\nbeen left from the lining and coping of the fountain, and Anna watched\nhim a moment as, having loaded them into a wheelbarrow, he proceeded to\ncarry them down to the new bridge, and so across to the west side of the\nriver. She hardly cared to wonder what he was about to do, being\notherwise absorbed, and her eyes did not follow him as he wheeled his\nburden on up the knoll on which were the library and the house of\nGregory, set in their bit of pine wood.\n\nThe door of Gregory\u2019s cabin stood open, as was customary in Fraternia in\nmild weather. Barnabas dropped the burden from his barrow just before\nthe open door, stood to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and then,\nkneeling, began the self-imposed effort of placing the stones together\nfor a low step, which was yet lacking to the rudely finished house. As\nhe worked, he now and then lifted his eyes and glanced into the interior\nof the house which he had never entered. It had the walls and ceiling of\nunplaned, uncovered boards of all the Fraternia houses; the floor was\nabsolutely bare and absolutely clean, damp in spots and redolent of soap\nfrom recent scrubbing. The open windows let in the sun-warmed, piney\nair, but the light was obscured, the trees growing close to the house,\nand a dim gold-green twilight reigned in the silent room. A door stood\nopen into the second room where two narrow iron beds came within the\nfield of vision. There was the ordinary chimney, built of brick, of\nample proportions, with a pine shelf running across, and in the\nfireplace logs of fat pine laid for a blaze in the evening, which was\nstill sure to be cool. Plain wooden arm-chairs stood near the hearth; an\nuncovered table of home manufacture, clumsy and heavy, in the middle of\nthe room, was thickly strewn with books and papers and writing\nmaterials. It was the typical Fraternia interior,\u2014bare, and yet not\ncomfortless, and with its own effect of simple distinction, conveyed by\nabsolute cleanness, order, and the absence of the superfluous.\n\nBut it was none of these details which caught the eye of Barnabas. Above\nthe chimney there was fastened by hidden screws close against the wall,\nso that it had the effect of a panel, a picture, unframed, showing the\nfigure of a slender girl with uplifted head and solemn eyes, set against\nan Oriental background. It was Everett\u2019s study of the Girlhood of the\nVirgin, and besides it there was no picture nor decoration of any sort\nin the place.\n\nEach time he lifted his eyes from the stones before him to the picture\nwhose high lights gleamed strangely through the dimness of the room\nwithin, Barnabas was more impressed with some elusive resemblance in the\nface; and at last, striking the stone with his hand, he murmured to\nhimself in his native tongue, \u201cNow I have it! The damsel there is like\nour lady when she prays.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile the river ran between and thundered over the dam below; the\nred roofs gleamed warm in the sun, and Anna, down on her knees like\nBarnabas, on a bit of board, was tending her bulbs with loving hands,\nwhile within her was springing a very rapture of poetic joy. Almost for\nthe first time in her life she was conscious of unalloyed happiness. Was\nit because the sky was blue? or because the vital flood of spring beat\nand surged about her in the river, in the forest, in the air? Not\nwholly; nor even because under these kindly influences all the dormant\npoetic and creative instincts of her nature were stirring into luxuriant\nblossoming, although all these things filled her with throbbing delight.\nThe deeper root of her joy was in the satisfaction, so long delayed, of\nher passion for brotherhood with lowly men and poor; the release from\nthe constraint of artificial conventions, and from the painful sense,\nwhich she could never escape in the years of her Fulham life, that she\nowed to every weary toiler who passed her on the street an apology for\nher own leisure, her luxury and ease.\n\nSuddenly Anna rose, and stood facing the west, her eyes full of light. A\nvoice within her had called and said:\u2014\n\n\u201cI can write poetry now, and I will!\u201d The fulness of energy of joy and\nfulfilment in her spirit sought expression as naturally as the mountain\nspring sought its outlet in the fountain below.\n\nJust then her neighbour, in the house on the left,\u2014it was the\ndining-house,\u2014put her head out of the window and said, reflectively:\u2014\n\n\u201cSay, Sister Benigna, I wish I knew how to get the dinner up into the\nwoods to the men-folks. It\u2019s half-past eleven and time it went this\nminute, and Charley has gone down to Spalding after the mail; but I\nsuppose it\u2019s late or something. Anyway he ain\u2019t here, and I\u2019ve got the\nrest to wait on.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, I could take the dinner pails up to them, Sister Amanda,\u201d answered\nAnna, obligingly. The \u201cmen-folks\u201d alluded to were of her own group of\nfamilies and were felling lumber in the woods north of the valley.\n\n\u201cYou couldn\u2019t do it alone, but Fr\u00e4ulein Frieda, she\u2019d be tickled to\ndeath to go with you. There she is now,\u201d and Sister Amanda flew to the\ncabin door through which a neatly ordered dinner table could be seen,\nand shouted down the slope to the young German teacher who had just come\nover the bridge with some books on her arm from the library.\n\nA few moments later Anna sallied out from the house with Frieda, both\ncarrying well-stored dinner pails.\n\n\u201cNo matter,\u201d said Anna, smiling at the sudden diversion from her poetic\ninspiration; \u201cit is better to live brotherhood than to sing brotherhood.\nBut some day, maybe, yet, I shall sing.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXXI\n\n                Heaven\u2019s gift takes earth\u2019s abatement!\n        He who smites the rock and spreads the water,\n        Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him,\n        Even he, the minute makes immortal,\n        Proves, perchance, but mortal in the minute,\n        Desecrates, belike, the deed in doing.\n                                              \u2014ROBERT BROWNING.\n\n\nRelays of men had been at work in the woods clothing the steep banks of\nthe ravine above Fraternia for three days, even while the rain was\nfalling in torrents. It was absolutely necessary to secure the lumber\nwhile the river was of a depth to carry it down stream, and for a time\nall other work was in abeyance.\n\nGregory had worked steadily with the rest at the wood cutting, but Keith\nhad told Anna the night before that on Saturday morning he would be\nobliged to go down to Spalding, the small town in the plain below the\nvalley, on urgent business concerning notes which were coming due and\nmust be extended if possible.\n\nIt was therefore with great surprise that Anna, as they approached the\nspot where the men were at work, heard Frieda exclaim:\u2014\n\n\u201cThere is the master himself; see, Sister Benigna!\u201d\n\nThey had had a merry scramble up the gorge, but a hard one. The swollen\nstream had submerged the narrow path by which the ascent was commonly\nmade, and it was only by finding the footholds cut out by the men with\ntheir axes in the earth of the dripping, slippery bank above, that Anna\nand her companion had been able to make their way on. Holding their\npails with one hand and clinging to overhanging branches or roots of\nferns and laurel with the other, shaking the splashes of rain from the\ndripping leaves as they struck their faces, the two had scrambled\nbreathlessly forward; and now, at length, the welcome sound of the axe\ngreeted their ears, and they saw a little beyond, strewing the\nunderbrush, the new chips and shining splinters of stripped bark which\ntold that trees had recently been felled.\n\nAnna had just stopped to exclaim:\u2014\n\n\u201cHow good it smells, Frieda,\u2014such a wild, pure smell!\u201d and was laughing\nat her own choice of adjectives, when Frieda had called her attention to\nJohn Gregory. He was standing at no great distance from them in the\nmidst of the rapid, roaring creek where the water reached nearly to the\ntops of his high boots, and, with a strong pole in both hands, was\ndirecting the course of the logs, which were eddying wildly about him on\nthe surface of the torrent, into the proper channel which should carry\nthem down stream.\n\nFrieda\u2019s voice attracted his attention to their approach, and without\npause he strode through the water, leaped up the bank and was promptly\nin the path, if it could be called such, before them, holding out both\nhands to relieve them of their burdens, and smiling a cordial greeting.\n\nAnna\u2019s cheeks wore a vivid flush.\n\n\u201cThen you did not go to Spalding?\u201d she asked, seeking to quiet the\nconfusion of her surprise and the immoderate beating of her heart.\nFrieda, she saw gratefully, was quite as excited; it was so unusual for\nMr. Gregory to bestow attentions of this sort upon them; it was not\nstrange that one should be a little stirred.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said, leading on in the now broadening path, \u201cI found I could\nsend a letter by Charley, and the men rather needed a long-legged fellow\nlike myself up here this morning. But I see that my doing this has\nreacted unexpectedly upon you. Charley not being on hand to bring the\ndinner, our ladies have had to take his place,\u201d and Gregory turned\ntoward them as he spoke with regret and apology which were evidently\nsincere.\n\n\u201cAre you very tired?\u201d he asked simply, looking at Frieda but speaking to\nAnna.\n\nThey both declared that it had been great fun and they were not in the\nleast tired; and indeed the bright bloom of their cheeks, and the\nlaughter in their eyes, and the elastic firmness of their steps were\nsufficient reassurance.\n\n\u201cI think, Mr. Gregory,\u201d said Anna, quite at her ease now, \u201cthat\nFraternia women can never know anything of that disease of civilization,\nnervous prostration. It will become extinct in one spot at least.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018More honoured in the breach than the observance,\u2019\u201d quoted Gregory, \u201cwe\nshall hail its loss.\u201d\n\nSoon they reached a little clearing, where, the underbrush trampled\ndown, the rugged steepness of the bank declining to a gentler slope, and\nthe sun having found full entrance by reason of the removal of the\nlarger trees, there was a possibility of finding a dry place to rest.\nHere they were soon joined by half a dozen men, several of whom had\nbrought their dinner with them, and preparations were made for a fire to\nheat the coffee which filled one of the pails brought by Anna and\nFrieda. The other was solidly packed with sweet, wholesome brown bread\nand butter and thick slices of meat.\n\nThe fat pine chips and splinters burned readily in spite of the\nall-pervading dampness, and the coffee-pail, suspended over this small\ncamp-fire from a hastily improvised tripod, was soon sending up a\ndeliciously fragrant steam.\n\nThe men treated the two women as if they had been foreign princesses,\ncovering a great tree-trunk with their coats for a kind of throne for\nthem, and serving them with coffee in tin cups with much flourish of\nmock ceremony. This part of the proceedings John Gregory watched from a\nlittle distance, leaning against a tree, a smile of quiet pleasure in\nhis eyes. He refused the coffee for himself, drinking always and only\nwater, but ate the bread and meat they handed him with hearty relish and\na vast appetite.\n\nBy a sort of inevitable gravitation, almost before the meal was\nconcluded, Frieda had strayed off into the woods with Matt Taylor, son\nof Anna\u2019s neighbour, whose devotion to her was one of the especial\ninterests for Fraternia folk that spring. A certain view from the crest\nof the hill beyond the little clearing was by no means to be missed.\nThen, one after the other, the men took up their axes and returned to\ntheir work; but John Gregory kept his place, and still stood leaning\nagainst the tree, facing Anna, the smouldering embers of the fire\nbetween.\n\nHe had been speaking on a subject in which all had been interested,\u2014the\nprayer test advocated by Mr. Tyndall, which had attracted the attention\nof the scientific and religious world of that time. The men had gone\naway reluctantly, leaving the conversation to these two. Heretofore Anna\nhad hardly spoken, but now with deepening seriousness she said:\u2014\n\n\u201cI feel the crude, incredible impertinence of such a test as this which\nMr. Tyndall has proposed, and yet it brings up very keenly to me my own\nattitude for many years.\u201d\n\nGregory looked a question, but did not speak, and Anna went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cA good woman whom I once heard speak at Mrs. Ingraham\u2019s in Burlington\ngave me an idea of prayer, quite new to me then, but which I at least\npartially accepted, and which has had its effect on my inner life ever\nsince.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was\u2014?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat we were to pray to God for every small material interest of life,\nand were to expect definite, concrete, physical return. That if such was\nnot our experience it was because we were not dwelling near God, and\nwere out of harmony with him. This life of answered prayer and perfect\ndemonstrable union which she described was called the \u2018higher life.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was your own experience?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt has been a long experience of spiritual defeat. I prayed for years\nfor every temporal need, asked for whatever I deeply desired,\nand\u2014never\u2014perhaps there was one exception, but hardly more\u2014received an\nanswer to my praying which I could fairly assume to be such.\u201d\n\nAnna\u2019s face was profoundly sad, as she spoke, with the sense of the\nbaffling disappointments of years.\n\n\u201cIn the end what has been the effect on you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have ceased to pray at all, Mr. Gregory. I know that sounds very\nharsh, perhaps very wrong, but I lost the expectation of a response, and\nthe constant defeat and failure made me bitter and unbelieving. God\nseemed only to mock my prayers, not to fulfil. It seemed to me at last\nthat I was dishonouring him by praying, and that waiting in silence and\npatience was shown to be my portion. Do you think that was sinful?\u201d\n\nAnna raised her eyes timidly to Gregory\u2019s face with this question, and\nmet the repose and steady confidence of it with a swift presentiment of\ncomfort.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he answered; \u201cI think you were simply struggling to release\nyourself from the meshes of the net which a mercenary conception of\nprayer cannot fail to throw over the soul. It was said of John Woolman,\nand a holier man never lived, that he offered no prayers for special\npersonal favours. I believe the theory of prayer of your Burlington\nfriend not only mistaken, but dangerous and misleading. Instead of such\na habit of mind as she described being a \u2018higher life,\u2019 I should call it\na lower one. The nearer the man comes to God, the less he prays, not the\nmore, for definite objective things and externals; the more he rests on\nthe great good will of God. Prayer was not designed for man to use to\nconform a reluctant God to his will, to get things given him, but to\nconform the man\u2019s own blind and erring will to the divine. By this I do\nnot mean to say that no prayers for temporal objects are granted. Many\nhave been, but the soul that feeds itself on this conception of prayer\nas a system of practical demand and supply lives on husks.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut there are many promises?\u201d Anna said with hesitation.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Gregory, with the emphasis of sure conviction, crossing the\nspace between them to stand directly before her, forgetting all his\nusual scruples; \u201cbut you must interpret Scripture by Scripture, by the\nwhole tendency and purpose, not by isolated mottoes which men like to\ndrag out for spiritual decoration, breaking off short all their roots\nwhich reach down into the solid rock of universal Truth! Look at our\nLord himself\u2014did he ask for \u2018ease and rest and joys\u2019? It is only as we\nenter into his spirit that our prayers are answered, and that almost\nmeans that we shall cease to pray at all for personal benefits. He\nprayed, often, whole nights together, but was it that he might win his\nown cause with the people about him? Was it not rather for the\nmultitudes upon whom he had compassion, and that God the Father should\nbe made manifest in himself? Ah, Sister Benigna, few of us have sounded\nthe depths of this great subject of prayer. It is one of the deepest\nthings of God; and, believe me, it is not until we have cast out utterly\nthe last shred of the notion of childish coaxing of God to do what will\nplease us, that we can catch some small perception of its meaning. But\nlet me say just one thing more: you are too young to count any prayer\nunanswered. At present you see in part and interpret God\u2019s dealings only\nin part. At the end of life your interpretation will be larger, calmer\nthan it is now. We \u2018change the cruel prayers we made,\u2019 and even here\nlive to praise God that they are broken away \u2018in his broad, loving\nwill.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnna sat in silence, her eyes downcast, slowly passing in review the\nnature of her own most ardent prayers and the deep anguish and doubt of\ntheir non-fulfilment. Not one, she saw, could bear the high test of\nlikeness to the mind of Christ, not one but had its admixture of\nselfishness, not one but seemed poor and vain in this new light. A\nnobler conception of the relation of her soul to God seemed to dawn\nwithin her. She looked up then, and saw upon Gregory\u2019s face that inner\nillumination which belongs to the religious genius. The look of it smote\nher eyes as if with white and dazzling light, and they fell as if it\nwere impossible to bear it. Then she rose, and they stood for a moment\nalone and in silence, while a sense of measureless content overflowed\nAnna\u2019s spirit, and for an instant made time and space and human\nrelations as if they were not. So strong upon her was the sense of\nuplift from the contact with the spirit of Gregory. She hardly knew at\nfirst that the incredible had happened. John Gregory had taken her hand\nin his, with reverent gentleness, for some seconds. He was asking her if\nhe had been able to help her in any wise, and asking it as if he cared\nvery much. She said \u201cyes,\u201d quite simply, and turned to go. Frieda was\ncoming back, and they were lingering over long. Slowly they descended\nthe rugged path before them, for a strange trepidation had come over\nAnna,\u2014a vague, new, disturbing joy.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXXII\n\n  What went ye out into the wilderness for to see?... A man clothed in\n  soft raiment? Behold, they which are gorgeously apparelled, and live\n  delicately, are in kings\u2019 courts.\u2014_St. Luke\u2019s Gospel._\n\n  Instead of the masterly good humour, and sense of power, and\n  fertility of resource in himself; instead of those strong and\n  learned hands, those piercing and learned eyes, that supple body,\n  and that mighty and prevailing heart, which the father had, whom\n  nature loved and feared, whom snow and rain, water and land, beast\n  and fish, seemed all to know and to serve, we have now a puny,\n  protected person, guarded by walls and curtains, stoves and\n  down-beds, coaches, and menservants and women-servants from the\n  earth and the sky.\u2014R. W. EMERSON.\n\n\nThe spring passed in Fraternia, and the summer. Not again did John\nGregory and Anna come into direct personal communication. They went\nindeed their several ways with a steadier avoidance of this than before,\nfrom an undefined, but instinctive, sense of danger. Nevertheless, the\nfact that they breathed the same air and shared the same lot in life\nsufficed to yield in the heart of each an unfailing spring of\ncontentment; while now and again it would happen that Anna, in her\nschoolroom or cottage, and Gregory, at his work, lifting their eyes at a\nfootstep or a shadow, would be aware that the other had drawn near and\npassed by, and contentment would give place to nameless joy.\n\nThe poetic impulse which Anna had inherited from both parents, but the\nexpression of which had been stifled by the deadening of her high\ndesires which life in Fulham had brought, now developed unchecked. Many\ninfluences promoted this development: her clear child-delight in the\nrich life of nature about her, the release of her long-cabined spiritual\nenergy, and the stimulation of her powers of discernment and\ninterpretation by contact with the strong intellectual power of Gregory.\n\nGregory was, in the simple system of life in Fraternia, at once prophet,\npriest, and king; and his most potent influence over the people was\nmanifest in the Sunday services and in the evening lectures which, for\nlack of a church, were held in a large empty room on the upper floor of\nthe cotton mill. Anna found in these sermons and lectures the strongest\nintellectual and spiritual food upon which she had ever fared, and\nthrove apace, having good faculty of assimilation. The verses which she\nwrote at intervals from a sudden and almost irresistible impulsion were\nalways, when completed, turned over to her husband. Proud and pleased at\nthis new gift of Anna\u2019s, it was Keith\u2019s habit to take them straightway\nto Gregory. Anna never knew this. She knew, however, that her poetry\nfound its way into print, and now and then, she found, into the hearts\nof sincere people. This was new food for unaffected gladness, and she\nwas glad.\n\nThe summer, although its fierce continuous heat had been hard to bear,\nwas yet the season _par excellence_ for Fraternia, and peace and plenty\nreigned in the valley. But with the autumn came a change, gradual at\nfirst, but later strongly accented. The wholesome occupations of the\nspring and summer came, of necessity, to a standstill. There was now\nlittle vent for the energy and working force of the people, while the\nscant resources of the narrow valley offered nothing to counteract a\ndull ennui which settled like a palpable cloud upon them. It had been a\nbad year for all their crops; the cotton crop had been a total failure,\nand the mill was shut down. This threw nearly fifty of the little\ncommunity into enforced idleness, and a smouldering resentment was bred\nby the discovery that there had never been a profit, but rather a\nsustained loss, on the output of the mill by reason of Gregory\u2019s scruple\nagainst selling at any advance beyond the bare cost of production. This\nprinciple might have a fine and lofty sound from the lips of an orator,\nspeaking on broad, general lines; but the hard business sense of average\nmen and women rebelled against the concrete results of its application\nto their own isolated case.\n\n\u201cIf other people did the same, it might work. For one manufactory alone\nto attempt it is simply commercial suicide,\u201d they said to each other,\nand with justice.\n\nIt became known, moreover, throughout the community, that a heavy\nmortgage had been placed on the land, held by a rich cotton planter in\nSouth Carolina, and that a wide chasm yet intervened between their\npresent condition and that of self-support. A more serious\ndisappointment and a more immediate difficulty, however, lay in the\ninadequacy of their food products to the needs of the people, and the\nconsequent demand for ready money wherewith to buy the necessities of\nlife.\n\nThe fare, hitherto of the simplest, was gradually made coarser and less\npalatable, since better could not be. Winter was coming on; open-air\nlife had become impossible; fierce winds coming down through the gorge\nswept the valley, and scattered the foliage of the forest, while a grey\nand sullen sky hung over, and every day brought chilly rains. There was\nsome sickness, of a mild nature, but it emphasized the discomfort and\ninconveniences of the homes. The prospect for the coming months in\nFraternia grew grim. The enthusiasm of novelty had tided the little\ncommunity over the two preceding winters, but some stronger upholding\nmust evidently now be interposed; for the people openly murmured, and\nbegan to say to each other sullenly, as once another company, \u201cWere we\nbrought out into this wilderness to die? As for this food, our soul\nloathes it.\u201d\n\nKeenly conscious of the criticism of which he was now the subject,\nGregory withdrew proudly more and more within himself, and touched less\nand less familiarly the life of those about him. It was well known that\nhe deprived himself of all better fare than coarse bread and the water\nfrom the spring, that he had unhesitatingly devoted his last dollar to\nthe enterprise so near his heart, and the patience and courage of the\nman were unfailing. But what of that? It was his own enterprise, with\nwhich he must stand or fall. Why should he not risk everything and bear\neverything? For the rest it was different. They, too, had given their\nmoney, and they had left their ceiled houses and their goodly fleshpots\nand their pleasant social commerce to further his project! They at least\nexpected Christian food!\n\nCrossing the bridge from the library, on a raw afternoon late in\nNovember, Anna Burgess met a woman of her own age, a woman of cheerful,\nsensible temperament and habit, the wife of the architect, whom she had\nknown in Burlington. The husband, George Hanson, had surrendered with\nunconditional devotion to Gregory\u2019s teaching, and the wife, in loyal\nsympathy, although herself by no means an idealist, had gathered her\nlittle brood of children and a few household treasures together, and had\ncome to Fraternia with him.\n\nAs she approached the bridge, Mrs. Hanson, holding up her wet skirts\nwith both hands, cried to Anna:\u2014\n\n\u201cOh, how I hate this red mud! Don\u2019t you? It seems to me I could stand it\nbetter if it were not this horrid colour. One can never get away from\nit, or lose sight of it.\u201d\n\nAnna, who thus far, with only a few others, still kept heart and courage\nunbroken through this gloomy season, replied cheerfully that she rather\nliked the colour.\n\nMrs. Hanson gave a mournful sigh.\n\n\u201cYou like Fraternia anyway, don\u2019t you, Sister Benigna? You always did?\u201d\n\nAnna smiled at the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of the question, and assented.\n\n\u201cI must like what I have chosen above all other things.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I confess I never did like it, and I never shall. Oh, it will do\nvery well for a summer vacation if one could be sure of getting safe\nhome at the end. But as for a life like this! and when it comes to\nbringing up children here!\u2014\u201d and Mrs. Hanson\u2019s voice broke into a\nsuppressed sob.\n\n\u201cI am sorry,\u201d said Anna, gently.\n\n\u201cOh, Sister Benigna!\u201d cried the other, letting loose the floodgates of\nher tears, while they still stood on the bridge in the piercing rain, \u201cI\nnever was so homesick in my life! When I hear my children asking if they\nare not going home to see grandma pretty soon, it just breaks my heart.\nThey have no appetite for this hard meat and coarse bread, and they look\nso white and thin, and plead so for a good old-fashioned turkey dinner!\nI have a little money of my own, and I would spend every cent of it for\nbetter food for them, but Mr. Hanson, he says that would be unjust to\nthe rest who cannot have such things, and that all must share alike. He\nsays it would cost a hundred dollars to give one such dinner as the\nchildren want to the whole village.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose that is true,\u201d said Anna, seriously; \u201cand then it would only\nbe harder to come back\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTo prison fare,\u201d Mrs. Hanson interjected with unconcealed bitterness.\n\u201cWell, all I have to say is that, if this is co\u00f6peration, I\u2019ve had all I\nwant of it. As for \u2018the brotherhood of man,\u2019 I wish I may never hear of\nit again as long as I live! I believe we have some duties to ourselves.\u201d\n\nWith this she passed slowly on, and Anna hastened homeward, a deep pang\nin her heart.\n\nEntering her own house, she found Keith, pale and dispirited, leaning\nwith outstretched hands over the fire in an attitude unpleasantly\nsuggestive of decrepitude and want. He looked up as Anna came in, and\nsmiled faintly.\n\n\u201cI think I have taken a fresh cold,\u201d he said hoarsely; \u201cthis climate is\nlovely half the year, but the other half\u2014\u201d and he left the sentence\nunfinished, coughing sharply.\n\nAnna sat down by the hearth and removed her mud-sodden shoes, afterward\nhastening to prepare such scanty remedies for Keith as the cabin\nafforded. There was a dispensary down at the mill. She would go down for\nmedicine as soon as she had made him comfortable. On the surface of her\nmind lay the habit of sympathy and care for her husband\u2019s fragile\nhealth, but in the depth below was a sense she could not have formulated\nto herself of resentment at his lack of courage and fortitude. For\nKeith, although too finely courteous to share in the open murmuring of\nthe people, was himself in the full swing of reaction from the\ncomparative enthusiasm which he had felt six months ago. The fall\nweather had brought on ague, which, added to his chronic physical\nweakness, made him altogether wretched; and while he punctiliously\navoided contributing to the public discontent, Anna perceived and\nunderstood perfectly his weariness with the enterprise. For the first\ntime in their married life his patience and sweetness of temper failed;\nhe had grown irritable, and fretted at small inconveniences in a way\nwhich chafed Anna\u2019s hardier spirit indescribably.\n\n\u201cI am very sorry, Keith, you are so miserable to-day,\u201d Anna said now,\nwith half-mechanical commiseration. It chanced that, as she had come on\nher way home from the little conversation with Mrs. Hanson, a new\nsympathy had taken possession of her for the lonely man upon whom fell\nthe full burden of all this reaction, but who bore it with such\nunflinching patience, albeit so silently. Almost inevitably, her mind\nbeing thus absorbed, the sympathy with Keith in his familiar ailments\nand complaints was rendered perfunctory for the time, and by comparison\nhis weakness wore to her some complexion of unmanliness.\n\nPerhaps Keith discerned a shade of coldness in her tone, and was stirred\nby it.\n\n\u201cI am sure I do not know,\u201d he said with significant emphasis, \u201chow long\nI can stand this condition of things. You must see, Anna, that I am\nlosing ground from day to day. Look at my hands!\u201d and he held out his\nleft hand to her, clammy and cold, for all the yellow blaze, wasted and\nthin even to emaciation.\n\nAnna took the hand in hers, and caressed it with womanly gentleness,\nmurmuring that it was too bad, and something must be done; he certainly\nwas not properly nourished.\n\n\u201cWhy, Anna,\u201d the poor fellow cried, warmed by her compassion, \u201cI would\ngive all my \u2018incomes from dreamland,\u2019 all the fine-spun theories of\neconomic religion and social salvation that Gregory or any other\nidealist ever dreamed of, to be for just one day in our own dear old\nlibrary, warmed all through, floor warm, walls warm\u2014everything, you\nknow; to see you, beautifully dressed again, at your own table, with its\nsilver and damask; to have the service we always had; and once, just\nonce, Anna\u2014to have all the hot water I want for a bath!\u201d\n\nAnna smiled, but forebore to speak. The echo of Mrs. Hanson\u2019s wail was\nalmost too much for her, and yet she pitied and understood. Pioneers\nmust be made of sterner stuff, that was all; men who, like Emerson\u2019s\ngenius, should \u201clearn to eat their meals standing, and to relish the\ntaste of fair water and black bread.\u201d Were there such men? She knew one.\nShe almost began to doubt if there were any more. A few moments later\nshe brought Keith a tray containing tea and toast, served with such\nlittle elegance as was possible, and with the daintiness of shining\nlinen and silver.\n\n\u201cWe must find a way for you to spend the winter in a different climate,\u201d\nshe said, as she stood beside him. She spoke very kindly, but with the\ninward sense of concession as of the stronger to the weaker. \u201cYou\ncertainly cannot remain here if this ague continues.\u201d\n\nKeith watched her gratefully, as she prepared to go out again, sure of\nsome effective help when her strong determination was enlisted. The last\nsix months had revealed his wife to him as six years had not done\nbefore. As she was about leaving, he said thoughtfully:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnna, I am not the only one to be anxious about. Perhaps you do not\nknow it fully, but the whole scheme of Fraternia is on the edge of\ncollapse.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you mean, dear?\u201d she asked, alarmed.\n\n\u201cThrough lack of funds. He says very little, but I can see that Gregory\nhas practically reached the end of his resources and expectations.\u201d\n\nAnna\u2019s face showed her great concern.\n\n\u201cI did not know it was so bad,\u201d she answered. \u201cOh, Keith, would you not\nbe willing to help out a little more? I know you have been wonderfully\ngenerous, but some one must come up to the point of real sacrifice and\nsave the day. You could sell the Mill Street property, you know?\u201d and\nthe timid tone of her final question contrasted strangely with that in\nwhich she had begun speaking.\n\nIt was the expression of Keith\u2019s face which had dashed Anna\u2019s\nconfidence. She had never seen him look so much like his mother as when\nhe replied.\n\n\u201cNo, my dear, I shall have to stand my ground,\u201d he said, \u201cand abide by\nthe terms I first proposed. My mother\u2019s estate is not to be sacrificed\nfor this doubtful experiment. More than ever before I feel the\nproblematic nature of Gregory\u2019s scheme. We must provide for our own\nfuture as well as for his present crisis.\u201d\n\nIt was hard, Anna felt, as she started out again alone into the wind and\nrain, not to reflect that, perhaps, the sooner the experiment proved a\nfailure the better Keith would be satisfied. She struggled against a\nrising sense of anger which the separation of their interest from\nGregory\u2019s gave her, at the characteristic caution, the irritating\nprudence, the old familiar inflexibility, so like his mother. Keith\u2019s\ndecision chafed her all the more because something warned her, in her\nown despite, that he was after all justified in it. But the contrast\nbetween his softness of yielding toward his own desires for luxury, and\nthe hardness of his withholding from the bare needs of another, came\njust then into unfortunate juxtaposition.\n\nThe attitude of Keith toward Gregory was complex and peculiar. When in\nthe immediate presence of this man he was brought under his personal\ninfluence to a degree which even Anna often found surprising. Gregory\u2019s\nintensely masculine and forceful nature appeared to exert an almost\nirresistible control over the younger man so long as they were together.\nAs soon, however, as Keith was removed from that immediate influence, he\nreverted at once to an attitude not only critical toward Gregory, but at\ntimes, and as if instinctively, antagonistic.\n\nAnna went on her way down the valley to the cotton mill with a sore and\nheavy heart. On other days she could rejoice even in a leaden sky, in\nthe muddy, sullen stream, in the stripped branches of the forest; but\nto-night, for twilight was falling now, all seemed clothed in that\noppressive ugliness of Tennyson\u2019s picture:\u2014\n\n                   \u201cWhen the rotten woodland drips,\n                   And the leaf is stamped in clay.\u201d\n\nReaching the mill, dark and silent otherwise, she noted a light in\nGregory\u2019s office and the sound of voices, but the door was closed. She\npassed through the corridor to the small room beyond which was used as a\ndispensary. Pushing open the door she found the room empty; the young\nman whose charge it was seemed to have betaken himself otherwhere over\nearly. However, Anna\u2019s knowledge of drugs was not inconsiderable, and in\nthis case she knew precisely what Keith needed and where to find it. So\nshe proceeded without delay to place on the small polished counter which\nstretched across the narrow room, the necessary ingredients for a\ncertain powder, and then carefully mixed these in the proportion called\nfor by her simple prescription. While she was thus occupied she noticed\nwith a sense of discomfort that the voices in the office, only divided\nfrom her now by a thin partition, grew louder and took on a disagreeable\nquality. Presently the door of the office was opened, and some one\nhastened from the building in evident impatience, leaving the door wide\nopen. There was complete silence for a moment, and then Anna heard John\nGregory speak. She could not fail to hear every word, although his voice\nwas not raised, and its wonted quietness and courtesy were unchanged.\n\n\u201cYou will bear me witness, nevertheless, Mr. Hanson,\u201d he said, \u201cthat I\nnever promised an easy life for those who came with me to Fraternia. I\ndeclared plainly that simplicity and poverty and roughness were to be\naccepted as necessary conditions.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is all very well,\u201d a voice replied, which Anna recognized as that\nof the Burlington architect, whose wife had evidently been working upon\nhim; \u201cbut when simplicity means starvation for delicate women and\nchildren, and poverty begins to look like bankruptcy, the situation\nstrikes me as pretty serious. All I have to say is,\u201d and the man\u2019s voice\nrose to a pitch of high excitement, \u201cyou are the dictator here, and you\nare responsible; you\u2019ve got us into this scrape, Mr. Gregory, by working\nupon our emotions, and all that, and now you\u2019ve got to get us out of it,\nsomehow!\u201d and with these words Anna heard the speaker leave the office\nwith rapid steps, and a moment after the outer door of the mill closed\nupon him.\n\nAnna had dropped the powders which she was dividing now into their\npapers, and had started to go to the door and close it that she might\nhear no more; but before she could do this a step in the corridor which\nshe knew sent her back to her place with a beating heart, and in another\ninstant John Gregory stood in the doorway.\n\nAnna had never seen his face changed by any mental agitation, nor was it\nnow, save for a touch of weariness and an unwonted pallor. There was a\ndeep, sunk glow in his eyes, which, together with the careless sweep of\nthe grey hair flung off his forehead, recalled with peculiar emphasis\nthe leonine effect Anna had often noticed. The habitual grave composure\nof his manner was in no way disturbed; and although he could not have\nknown of her presence in the dispensary, it did not seem to cause him\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cIs some one ill at your house?\u201d he asked with evident concern but\ncharacteristic abruptness. He was one of those few persons who do not\nfind it necessary to explain what is self-evident.\n\n\u201cMr. Burgess is not very well,\u201d Anna replied, hesitating somewhat,\nunwilling to strike another dart into the soreness of his spirit, which\nshe felt distinctly, for all his outward firmness.\n\n\u201cI fear,\u201d Gregory said thoughtfully, \u201cthat Mr. Burgess ought not to\nremain in Fraternia this winter. I am very much afraid that his health\nwill suffer. Both of you deserve a little change,\u201d he continued, with a\nslight smile, the pathos of which Anna felt sharply. \u201cFraternia is not\nso pleasant at this time of year. Why do you not go North for a few\nmonths? You would come back to us in the spring\u2014perhaps?\u201d\n\nThe apparent carelessness which he wished to convey to this question\ncontrasted strangely with the piercing anxiety of the look with which\nGregory\u2019s eyes searched Anna\u2019s face. She understood the instinctive\ndesire to forestall another attack, to take for granted an impending\nblow.\n\nQuietly working at her powders, laughing a little, by sheer effort of\nwill, since tears were near the surface, she replied:\u2014\n\n\u201cI could not be spared, Mr. Gregory, this winter. I see you are a little\ndisposed to undervalue my services. There are several cases of sickness\nnow, and I am vain enough to think I am needed. Besides, you know, I\nlove Fraternia. I do not want to go away from home.\u201d\n\nThe minor arts of coquetry were all unknown and foreign to Anna, but the\ngenius of her woman\u2019s nature and intuition was thrown into the last\nsentence with full effect.\n\nThe strong spirit of Gregory, which could meet the assaults and buffets\nof reproach and detraction without shrinking, and which would have\nrejected express sympathy, was mastered for a minute by the delicate\ncomprehension and implied fidelity of Anna\u2019s words.\n\nShe knew better than to see the momentary suspicion of dimness in his\neyes, or to note the silence which for a little space he did not care to\nbreak. When at last he spoke, it was to ask, in a wholly matter-of-fact\nmanner:\u2014\n\n\u201cHave I not heard that Mr. Burgess was a particularly successful public\nspeaker?\u201d Anna looked up quickly then.\n\n\u201cYou may have heard it, for I am sure it is true,\u201d she said. Another\npause for reflection, and then Gregory said:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is becoming urgently necessary that the purpose and future of\nFraternia should be promoted by some one capable of going about,\nparticularly in the cities, and presenting our aims publicly\u2014before\naudiences of people.\u201d\n\nAnna had gathered up her powders now and put them in her pocket and\nstood ready to go but she stopped, and her face kindled with swift\nrecognition and welcome of the thought in Gregory\u2019s mind.\n\n\u201cAnd you have thought that Mr. Burgess might do this, and so still serve\nthe cause and yet do it for a while under easier conditions?\u201d she\nexclaimed. \u201cMr. Gregory, I cannot tell you how glad I should be if this\nplan could be carried out. I am really a little anxious about my\nhusband. I am sure this would work well for every one, and it might\nsolve several problems at once.\u201d\n\nHe smiled, a little sadly, at her confident eagerness, said they must\nconsider it seriously, and then stood aside to let her pass out and go\nhome. It was not necessary for him to say, as he bade her good night,\nthat he wished it were expedient for him to walk home with her. She\nunderstood his theory of what was wise for himself in such matters. She\napproved it. Nevertheless, she found it hard to leave him alone just\nthen in the deserted mill. Half-way back she met Everett, plodding\nthrough the mud, with his hands in his pockets, and whistling, to keep\nhis spirits up, she fancied.\n\n\u201cBe extra good to Mr. Gregory to-night,\u201d she said, womanlike, unable to\nresist the longing to help, as he paused a moment.\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d he asked, frowning; \u201chave they been at him again?\u201d\n\nAnna nodded and passed on, afraid to say more.\n\n\u201cFools!\u201d he murmured between his teeth, and plunged on against the wind.\n\nBut Anna went home with a beatific vision to soothe her spirit, of Keith\ncomfortable at last in a good hotel, with menus and waiters, bells and\nbathrooms, in an infinite series.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXXIII\n\n                             \u201cLo, fool,\u201d he said, \u201cye talk\n         Fool\u2019s treason; is the king thy brother fool?\u201d\n         Then little Dagonet clapt his hands and shrill\u2019d,\n         \u201cAy, ay, my brother fool, the king of fools!\n         Conceits himself as God that he can make\n         Figs out of thistles, silk from bristles, milk\n         From burning spurge, honey from hornet combs,\n         And men from beasts\u2014Long live the King of fools!\u201d\n                                                     \u2014TENNYSON.\n\n        But yours the cold heart and the murderous tongue,\n          The wintry soul that hates to hear a song,\n          The close-shut fist, the mean and measuring eye,\n        And all the little poisoned ways of wrong.\n                                                  \u2014THE RUBAIYAT.\n\n\nEverett had improvised a studio in a low loft over the bachelors\u2019\nquarters, contiguous to the cabin which he and Gregory shared.\n\nIt was necessary, he said, for him to get down to hard work now. That\nhedging and ditching nonsense was great sport for a man\u2019s holidays, but\nhe had no more time to play; he must paint. The work he had produced in\nFulham had not been, often, especially salable or popular in its\ncharacter, a certain mystic quality pervading it not readily understood\nby casual observers. All that, he declared, was now to be rigidly\nexcluded from his painting; he should paint to sell\u2014cheap, pretty\nthings, picturesque, palpable. With this purpose he had set to work with\na will, and by February had a few hundred dollars to turn over to the\ntreasury as the fruit of his industry. His pictures were sold in the\nNorth through Keith Burgess as intermediary.\n\nHe was hard at work in the studio at nine o\u2019clock on a night in\nFebruary, laying in the outline for a bit of the valley which he\ndeclared he could paint now with his eyes shut, he had done it so often,\nhaving found it \u201ca good seller,\u201d when he heard Gregory\u2019s step on the\nstairs. That the boy had just brought the mail up from Spalding Everett\nknew, having heard the horse galloping over the bridge, and stopping\nbefore the house.\n\nGregory came in now with several letters in his hand, one open. He did\nnot speak at first, and Everett let him walk up and down the place\nundisturbed, seeing that he was peculiarly perplexed, probably by the\nopen letter, which Everett noticed was in Keith Burgess\u2019s handwriting.\nAfter a few moments he remarked slowly, but with an unusually incisive\nquality in his tone:\u2014\n\n\u201cBurgess is a singularly prudent little man. Did it ever strike you so?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has some capacity, however, for the opposite quality.\u201d Everett threw\nout this remark with no manifestation of especial interest, and it\nseemed to pass unnoticed.\n\n\u201cHaving it in his power,\u201d Gregory continued, with the same incisive\ndeliberation, \u201cto extricate us from our whole present difficulty\nhimself, with the utmost ease, he yet jogs about the country after a\ncomfortable fashion, presenting the subject publicly as occasion offers,\nand sends me back such letters as this.\u201d\n\nLifting the sheet in his hand, Gregory read from it:\u2014\n\n\u201cI held a meeting last night in Grand Rapids, to which I have been\nworking up carefully for over a week through the press, etc. The\nattendance was fair, and the people listened well. I regret, however, to\nbe obliged to report that the practical results of the meeting were not\nall that we could have wished\u2014\u201d and dropping the letter, Gregory added:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd so on, copiously, through nearly four pages of matchless ambiguity\nand polite phrases, which could all have been condensed to the usual sum\ntotal of his reports; thus far, nothing!\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, Mr. Gregory, we must remember that he did pretty well for the\nfirst few weeks.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Gregory, nodding a short assent, \u201cwhile he was covering the\nfield which was ready for harvest\u2014seeing the men already committed to\nthe cause. We can evidently expect nothing more from him. What kind of a\nspeaker is he, Everett?\u201d\n\n\u201cGood, really very good as a special pleader. He had very fair success\nwhen he was missionary secretary.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder at it,\u201d murmured Gregory,\u2014\u201ca mild, prudent little man like\nthat with his perpetual fears and scruples; I cannot fancy his ever\nletting himself go.\u201d\n\nEverett, unwontedly sober and silent, worked on. Gregory paced the room\nfor a little while. He wanted to ask Everett how Keith\u2019s marriage with a\nwoman like Anna could ever have come about, but he could not bring\nhimself to frame the question, and presently left the studio.\n\nHanging about the door below, Gregory found Barnabas Rosenblatt,\napparently waiting to speak with him.\n\n\u201cHello!\u201d said Gregory, not unkindly, but shortly. \u201cDo you want me?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, shust a minit, if Herr Gregory vas not too busy,\u201d and the little\nJew shuffled along by Gregory\u2019s side until they reached the door of the\ncabin.\n\nGregory brought his visitor in and gave him a chair, then stirred up a\nsmouldering fire and threw on a piece of pine, which, flaring up into a\nsudden blaze, made other light unnecessary. The reflection of the yellow\nflames played weirdly over the walls, and Barnabas seemed unable to\nwithdraw his eyes from the picture above the chimney.\n\n\u201cOur lady,\u201d he said simply, nodding across at Gregory, and closing his\neyes impressively.\n\n\u201cWell, Barnabas, what is it you want?\u201d asked his host.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s our lady,\u201d said Barnabas, sniffing quite vigorously; \u201cdas is it.\nHow she fall off!\u201d and he shook his head with a slow, mournful motion.\n\n\u201cFall off what? I do not understand, Barnabas. You are speaking of\nSister Benigna?\u201d Gregory\u2019s face changed.\n\n\u201cSo\u2014so\u2014\u201d and the little man nodded emphatically. \u201cShe\u2019s got awful poor!\nOh, my! Her bones comes right through zu next. My Kleine, she say our\nlady don\u2019t eat notin\u2019s, shust only leetle, leetle milk, an\u2019 work, work,\nwork, like a holy angel everywheres at one time, up an\u2019 down the valley;\nsick folks an\u2019 well folks, all derselbe. Light come all place she come!\u201d\nand Barnabas relapsed into meditative silence, having found his\nvocabulary hard tested by this prolonged statement.\n\n\u201cDo you mean that Sister Benigna is sick?\u201d asked Gregory, with slight\nsharpness.\n\n\u201cJa, ja, Herr Gregory; she has went home sick heut\u2019 abend from the sew\nclass down to der mill. When she go, all go. Fraternia ohne Sister\nBenigna,\u201d and the little man drew his shoulders quite up to his ears in\na characteristic shrug strongly expressive of a thing unthinkable.\n\nGregory rose, Barnabas following his example.\n\n\u201cI will go over and inquire,\u201d he said, taking his hat, and they left the\nhouse at once.\n\nThe night was cold, a light fall of snow lay over the valley, and the\nstars glittered from a frosty sky.\n\nWhen they reached the neighbourhood of Anna\u2019s cottage Gregory sent\nBarnabas up to the door, while he waited at a little distance. In a few\nmoments Frieda, who now shared Anna\u2019s cabin, joined him, while Barnabas,\nwith the action of a waiting watch-dog, humble, and yet with a due sense\nof responsibility, hung about near by. Frieda\u2019s account was reassuring,\nas far as immediate solicitude for Anna was concerned; she had come home\nill from the afternoon sewing class, and had a chill, headache, and\nfever. She was resting now, and would doubtless be up again in a day or\ntwo.\n\n\u201cNothing can keep her down, Mr. Gregory,\u201d Frieda said in conclusion. \u201cI\nam not frightened just now, but we all see plainly that Sister Benigna\nis killing herself by inches. She eats hardly anything, and yet works as\nif there were no limit to her strength. Sometimes I think she is just\nlaying down her very life for us here in Fraternia, and we\u2019re not worth\nit,\u201d and with this Frieda\u2019s voice broke a little, and without stopping\nto say more she hurried back.\n\nGregory bade Barnabas good night hastily, and then, instead of going\nhome, he walked rapidly down the rough road to the mill, unlocked the\ndoor, and went into his office and sat down at his desk. His face had\nchanged strangely; it had grown grey and his lips were tightly\ncompressed. He sat long in motionless silence, thinking intensely.\nAlthough he had himself watched Anna with growing uneasiness, the\nsuggestions of Frieda and Barnabas came upon him with startling effect.\nHe asked himself now with unsparing definiteness whether this was indeed\nthe final turn of the wheel of torture on which he was bound, or whether\nhe could wait for another. The conviction was upon him, stark and stern,\nthat in the end he should yield and seek the one means of escape which\nwas still open to him, and which he had been holding off with almost\ndogged resolution. He recalled the shaping of events in Anna\u2019s life\nduring the last few months, and his face softened.\n\nLate in November, when Keith went North, she had accompanied him, having\nbeen sent for by her sister Lucia. Their mother, Gulielma Mallison, upon\nwhom age and infirmity had increased heavily, had conceived a\ncontrolling desire to return to her childhood home, the Moravian town of\nBethlehem, to end her days. Anna had visited Haran therefore, and had\nbrought her mother back to her early home, establishing her there in the\nquiet Widows\u2019 House in peace and satisfaction.\n\nAt Christmas, when she returned alone to Fraternia, Anna had seemed to\nbring with her a new infusion of active and aggressive force. Relieved\nof anxiety for Keith, whom she had left in good spirits, and from the\nconstant ministration to his comfort, she was now wholly free to devote\nherself to the common good. With new and contagious ardour she had\nthrown herself therefore into the life of the discouraged little\ncommunity, cheering the faint-hearted and rekindling the flagging\npurposes of the fickle. She taught the girls and women quaint fashions\nof embroidery and work on linen which she had learned from her mother,\nand inspired them with the ambition to earn something with their\nneedles, thus dispelling their listlessness. She seemed at times to\npossess in her own enthusiasm and courage sufficient motive power to\nenergize them all; she worked and moved among them as if no less a task\nhad been given her, and with a sweetness and sympathy that never failed.\n\nAll who watched her wondered at the power in her, and many who had\nmurmured hitherto now declared themselves ashamed, and responded\nwillingly. John Gregory marvelled more and more at the qualities of\nbrilliant leadership which she now developed. Within him a voice, which\nhe could not always silence, sometimes whispered that if such a nature\nas that which had been gradually revealed to him in Anna Burgess, in its\nplenitude of power and its greatness of purpose, could have been allied\nto his own, a movement far beyond what he had even dreamed of in\nFraternia might have been possible.\n\nBut while a certain re\u00ebnforcement of courage had followed Anna\u2019s strong\ninitiative, and while in some respects the domestic conditions of the\npeople had been improved and their murmurings for the time partially\nsilenced, the gravity of the situation and of the prospects for the\nfuture as Gregory saw them remained unchanged. Keith\u2019s mission had\nproved unproductive, as the letter just received emphasized afresh.\nGregory himself could not leave Fraternia at this juncture without\nmanifest peril. Only his personal influence now availed to hold together\nmany discordant elements which were very actively at work and arrayed\nagainst each other. From no quarter could he discern any hope of\nsubstantial support.\n\nAnd now, last of all, she was laid low; worse, they told him she was\nlaying down her life in her devotion to his cause\u2014she, his one\nhigh-hearted, intrepid, dauntless ally! Bitterly Gregory said to himself\nthat she who had freely left wealth and station was starving and working\nto her death to save him from defeat, and all in vain, unless\u2014Should he\ncalmly sit by and permit the sacrifice? Great of heart as she was, all\nher work could not avail, nor his, unless aid of another kind could be\nfound, and that at once.\n\nAnd it could be found; of that he had little doubt. To find it he must,\nindeed, make a certain compromise, but it was one which involved only\nhimself, his own position,\u2014perhaps, after all, only his own pride. Had\nhe not himself preached against the subtle selfishness which underlies\nthe passion for individual perfection? Did not the common good and the\nlarger interests of his cause call for the sacrifice?\n\nGregory rose at last and went to the outer door of the mill. It was five\no\u2019clock of the February morning, and off to the east a faint yellowish\nlight was climbing up the sky. The mill pond lay dead in its stillness\nbelow him; the water fell quietly, stilled with ice, over the dam; the\nvalley stretched out white and cold; a mile below was the black belt of\nthe forest, and beyond, the dim plain, with the stars shining over. It\nwas pure and cold and pitiless. In sky or earth no sign of relenting, no\nsuggestion of a gentler day. But Gregory was not looking for signs, or\nreckoning with omens, save the omen which had come unasked and taken up\nits abode in his mind. He was thinking, not of the scene before him, nor\nof the sleeping village behind, nor even of the outline of the future,\nnor of Anna in her pain and patience.\n\nAn old story was repeating itself within him of the ancient king to whom\nthe sibyl came bringing nine books, which, being offered, he rejected;\nand of how, in the end, it had been the fate of the king to desire the\nthree which alone were left, and to obtain them at a threefold price.\n\nPresently the door of the mill was closed, and Gregory returned to his\ndesk. There was sternness in his face as he set about writing a letter,\nand self-disdain and humiliation; but he wrote on, and finished the\nletter, which he signed and sealed. Then, without further hesitation or\npause, he crossed the road to the mill stables, brought out and saddled\nhis own horse, a tall roan, fit to carry a man of his proportions,\nmounted it, and rode away down the valley toward Spalding. The letter\nwhich he chose to mail with his own hand was addressed to Senator\nIngraham, and it stated briefly that the writer had come to the\nconclusion that his rejection of the generous gift offered him on a\ncertain night known to them both was ill advised, and that if the same\nor any part of it were offered him now for the furtherance of his\nco\u00f6perative work, it would not be refused.\n\nA week passed, and Anna, protesting that she was as well as ever, had\nreturned to her regular round of cares. The only change in her\nappearance was a peculiar whiteness of the tints of her skin, such that\nher face at times seemed actually to emit light. The contrast of this\nwhiteness of tint with the masses of her dull, dark hair and the large,\nclear eyes, full of the changing lights which lurk in hazel eyes, gave\nher at this time a startling beauty, startling because it suggested\nevanescence. Most marked, Fraternia people said, was this phase of\nAnna\u2019s appearance on a night near the end of another week, when a large\ncompany was gathered in the hall over the mill for an entertainment.\nAnna had been much interested through the winter in a series of author\u2019s\nevenings, and this chanced to be the occasion for the closing programme\nof the series. The subject was Lowell, and prose had been read and\npoetry declaimed; the changes rung on all,\u2014humorous, pathetic, and\npatriotic. The little hall was full and the audience eager for the\nclosing number, because it was to be given by Anna herself, who had a\ncharming gift in rendering poetry.\n\nShe had chosen a number of passages from the \u201cCommemoration Ode,\u201d and as\nshe stood on the platform with its dark crimson background and drapery,\ndressed, as she was habitually when indoors, in white, her eyes kindling\nas she spoke the noble words of the noblest American poem, the audience\nwatched her face with an attention even closer than that with which they\nlistened to her voice. This, indeed, showed a slight weakness, but the\neloquence and energy of her spirit subdued it to a deeper pathos, while\nits impressiveness was most marked when she reached the close of the\nfifth strophe, every word of which to her meant John Gregory:\u2014\n\n                    \u201cBut then to stand beside her,\n                    When craven churls deride her,\n            To front a lie in arms and never yield,\n                    This shows, methinks, God\u2019s plan\n                    And measure of a stalwart man,\n                    Limbed like the old, heroic breeds,\n\n                   \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7       \u00b7\n\n            Fed from within with all the strength he needs.\u201d\n\nShe was half-way through the lines when a striking and incomprehensible\nchange passed over her. Her eyes dilated, then drooped, her breath\nalmost forsook her, and her quiet hands clasped each other hard. She\ncontinued to speak, but her voice had lost its tone and timbre. Almost\nmechanically she kept on to the close of the part she had selected, but\nthose who loved her feared to see her fall before the end. When she\nreached the room behind the stage, the faithful Frieda was waiting to\nreceive her.\n\nWhat had happened? Was it merely that Sister Benigna was still weak from\nher illness? As they broke up, these questions were repeatedly asked\namong the people. Some of them called attention to the fact that while\nshe was speaking a stranger had tiptoed into the hall so noiselessly\nthat only a few persons had been aware of his coming, but he was a man\nof so singular a physiognomy and an expression so repellent that a vague\nconnection was felt to link Anna\u2019s agitation with his appearance.\n\nThis man was Oliver Ingraham.\n\nAnna, with Frieda, hurrying out of the mill alone into the blackness of\nthe starless and stormy night, and turning homeward, heard steps\napproaching, heavy and hard. Some one passed them. Anna knew only by the\ngreat height and breadth of shoulder, dimly discerned through the dark,\nthat it was Gregory. She stopped, and he turned, catching a glimpse of\nher white face.\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory,\u201d she said, \u201cOliver Ingraham is here. What can it mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cHere already!\u201d he cried almost harshly. \u201cI have only this moment\nreceived a despatch!\u201d and he hastened forward, as if he might yet\ninterpose some obstacle to this most unwelcome arrival.\n\nThe words in the despatch, crumpled fiercely and thrust into Gregory\u2019s\npocket, were these:\u2014\n\n  \u201cMy son will be the bearer of the funds required. Trust you will\n  give him the opportunity he desires for study of social problems.\n\n                                                           \u201cINGRAHAM.\u201d\n\nIt was the first word of reply to his letter which Gregory had received,\nand it was a word which made him set hard his teeth and groan like a\nwounded lion.\n\n\u201cPerhaps it is fair,\u201d he said to himself, as he crossed the bridge; \u201cbut\nIngraham\u2019s Nemesis as the price is a higher one than even I expected.\u201d\n\nAbove, in the mill hall, Oliver was mingling with the people who were in\nthe habit of remaining together for an hour of social interchange after\nthe programme, on these occasions. He quickly found his old townsman,\nMr. Hanson, who seemed more amazed than rejoiced to greet him in\nFraternia.\n\n\u201cStopped over, eh, to see our village?\u201d he asked. \u201cOn your way North, I\nsuppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d said Oliver, smiling complacently; \u201cI have come straight from\nhome. I have a commission for your czar from my father, and I rather\nlook to throwing in my fortunes with you folks. I want to see how this\nexperiment works; study it, you know, on all sides. If I like it, I\nguess I shall stay.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, really,\u201d said Hanson, a little aghast.\n\n\u201cHow are you getting on, anyway?\u201d proceeded Oliver, craftily.\n\u201cRose-colour washed off yet? Has it been pretty idyllic this winter?\nSay, I should think catering for a crowd up in this valley would be\nquite a job. Don\u2019t get salads and ices every day, I take it.\u201d\n\nHanson shook his head impatiently, longing to get away from the\nquestioner.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Oliver, \u201cI suppose by this time Gregory the Great has\nissued his edicts and made all the poor people rich, hasn\u2019t he? and all\nthe rich people poor? That seems to be the method of evening up. I don\u2019t\nwonder the poor fellows like it. Should think they would.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will know better about us when you have been here awhile, Mr.\nIngraham.\u201d\n\nOliver nodded cheerfully. \u201cOh, yes, of course. I am going to take notes,\nyou see. Perhaps I\u2019ll write it up by and by,\u201d and he tapped the neat\nnote-book which protruded from a pocket of his coat. \u201cAre all the\nsinners saints by this time?\u201d he added.\n\n\u201cHardly.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, we\u2019ll put it the other way,\u201d said Oliver, with a peculiar\nsignificance in his high voice, \u201care the saints all sinners yet?\u201d The\nmalicious leer with which this question was accompanied seemed to turn\nit into a hateful insinuation, which Hanson, with all his\nhalf-suppressed discontent, resented hotly. He was about to make a hasty\nreply when Gregory came up and spoke to Oliver, to whom he held out his\nhand. His manner was as cold as could be with decent courtesy, and when\nOliver had shaken his hand he passed his handkerchief over it with the\nimpulse a man has after touching a slug or a snake.\n\nOliver noticed the gesture, and rubbed his long white hands together\nreflectively.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXXIV\n\n        Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;\n          I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;\n          Unto thine ear I hold the dead sea-shell\n        Cast up thy Life\u2019s foam-fretted feet between;\n        Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen\n          Which had Life\u2019s form and Love\u2019s, but by my spell\n          Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,\n        Of ultimate things unuttered, the frail screen.\n          Mark me, how still I am!\n                                                \u2014D. G. ROSSETTI.\n\n\nIt was mid-April and the afternoon of a day of perfect weather, of\nsummer rather than spring.\n\nThe hills around Fraternia were covered now in sheets of flame-colour,\nwhite and rose, from the blossoming of the wild azalea and laurel. The\nair was laden with perfume and flooded with sunshine.\n\nIt was at the close of the afternoon school when Anna, a company of the\nchildren with her, started to climb the eastern hill which rose a little\nbeyond the mill pond, to gather flowers.\n\nGregory, from the open window of his office in the mill, watched the\npretty troop as they threaded their way up the steep path and were soon\nlost to sight in the woods. He heard them speak of Eagle Rock as the\ngoal of their expedition,\u2014a favourite point of view, less than a mile to\nwalk, and nearly on the crest of the hills.\n\nAnna was dressed in the coarse white cotton of Fraternia manufacture\nwhich was the usual dress of the girls and women of the village in the\nhouse and out in dry, warm weather, simply made, easily laundered,\ncleanly, and becoming. Her tall figure, the last to disappear up the\nwoodland path, had attracted the eyes of another, as well as of John\nGregory.\n\nOliver Ingraham, in these two months grown an all-too-familiar figure in\nFraternia, finding his way stealthily and untiringly to every favourite\nnook and corner of the valley, had also watched the start from some\nlurking-place. It was half an hour later when Gregory noticed him\nsauntering casually along the foot of the hill, and with an air of\nindifference striking into the same path which Anna and the children had\ntaken. Gregory watched him a moment fixedly, his eyebrows knit together,\nand he bit his lip with impatience and disgust. Of late Oliver had shown\nan ominous propensity to haunt Anna, whose dislike of his presence\namounted well-nigh to terror. More than once Gregory\u2019s watchful eyes,\nwhich never left Oliver\u2019s movements long unnoted, had observed attempts\non his part to follow or to overtake her, to seek her out and attach\nhimself to her. Invariably Oliver found himself foiled in these\nattempts, although he had no means of attributing the interference to\nGregory. Thus far the intervention had been accomplished almost\nunnoticeably, but none the less effectively.\n\nThe afternoon was a busy one for Gregory. The mill, no longer silent and\ndeserted, was running now on full time; and, to the great satisfaction\nof a majority of the colonists, Gregory had withdrawn his scruples\nagainst selling the products of their manufacture at a reasonable\nprofit. He was finding it easier and easier to compromise with his\ninitial scruples. It had also become more imperative to try to meet, in\nso far as was reasonable, the demands of the people, since already\nFraternia had suffered serious defections. A number of substantial\nfamilies had withdrawn earlier in the spring, among them the Hansons and\nthe Taylors, who had taken the pretty Fr\u00e4ulein Frieda with them, to\nAnna\u2019s great regret. Others talked of leaving, and, in spite of the\ngreater financial easiness, criticism and jealousy were at work in the\nlittle company at first so united. The almost insuperable difficulties\nattending the experiment had now fully declared themselves.\n\nHowever, there was plenty of work to do, which was a material relief.\nGregory glanced now at the pile of papers before him on his desk, and\nthen once more through the window at the figure of Oliver, receding up\nthe hill. No, he could not run the risk of allowing him to overtake and\nannoy Anna. The work must wait. Taking his hat, he left the mill\nhastily; but, instead of choosing the path behind Oliver, Gregory turned\nand went up the valley a little distance, struck through behind the\nhouses, crossed a bit of boggy ground which lay at the foot of the hill\nin this part of the valley, and so mounted the hill below Eagle Rock in\na line to intercept Oliver before he could overtake Anna, if such were\nhis purpose.\n\nThere was no path up this side of the hill, but Gregory found no trouble\nin striding through the deep underbrush which would have swamped the\nwomen and children completely. Soon he reached a point from which he\ncommanded a sight of Eagle Rock, and a glance showed him the fluttering\ndresses of the children already on its summit. In another moment he\ndashed up on a sharp climb, for the hill was very steep at this point,\nand reached the path only a short distance from the base of the rock. He\nlooked up, but no one was in sight; then down the path, and in a moment\nOliver came into view walking much more rapidly than fifteen minutes\nbefore, when he had entered the woods. He slackened his pace as he\ncaught sight of Gregory slowly approaching down the path, and sought to\nhide a very evident discomfiture with his evil smile.\n\n\u201cYou got up here in pretty good time, didn\u2019t you, Mr. Gregory?\u201d he\nasked, as he reached him. \u201cI saw you, seems to me, in your office when I\ncame along. I\u2019ve taken my time, you see. A beautiful day for a walk.\u201d\n\nOliver\u2019s small green-grey eyes twinkled wickedly as he spoke these\napparently harmless words, for he saw, or felt, that beneath every one\nof them Gregory\u2019s anger, roused at last, reached a higher pitch. Oliver\nperfectly understood what he was here for.\n\n\u201cI have a word to say to you,\u201d said Gregory, stormily. \u201cYou will have to\nstop haunting the women and children, and annoying them with your\nattentions. I speak perfectly plainly, Mr. Ingraham; they are not\nagreeable and they must be stopped.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou rule with a rod of iron here, Gregory,\u201d said Oliver, his long\nfingers twining together; \u201cwhat you say goes. Still, you know, you might\ngo a little too far.\u201d\n\nGregory did not reply, but stood watching him as a lion might watch a\nreptile.\n\n\u201cI am willing to stay in Fraternia, under favourable conditions,\u201d Oliver\nproceeded, with hideous cunning; \u201cbut I should think, as I am paying\npretty well for my accommodations, I ought, at least, to get the liberty\nof the grounds. What do you say?\u201d\n\n\u201cI say, Go, this minute, or I\u2019ll throw you neck and crop down that\nbank,\u201d said Gregory, with unmistakable sincerity, at which Oliver,\nsuddenly cowed, and his weak legs trembling under him, faced about\npromptly and retreated down the path. He paused at a safe distance,\nwhile Gregory\u2019s hands tingled to collar him, and called back, in a loud,\nconfidential whisper:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou can have her all to yourself this time. That\u2019s all right,\u201d and with\nthis he hurried off, his thin lips writhing in a malicious smile, and\nhis hands clenched tightly and cruelly.\n\nFor a moment Gregory stood still in the path. A dark flush had mounted\nslowly even to his forehead. He was irresolute whether to follow and\nfind Anna, or to return directly to the valley. Something in Oliver\u2019s\nugly taunt acted like a challenge upon him, it seemed, for, turning, and\ncatching through the trees the glimmer of Anna\u2019s white dress, he\nhastened on up the path.\n\nHe found her sitting on a mossy rock at the foot of the cliff, where\nthere were trees and shade and a fair view of the valley, and the blue\nbillowing sea of the mountain ranges beyond. Her strength and colour had\nreturned with the out-door life of the spring, and she looked to-day the\nembodiment of radiant health. Greatly astonished at Gregory\u2019s\nappearance, she yet welcomed it with unaffected gladness, starting to\nrise from her low seat with the impulses of social observance which she\ncould not quite outgrow even in the wilderness; but he motioned to her\nto sit still. All around her the children had flung their branches of\nlaurel and azalea, running off to gather more and bring her, and the\ndelicate suffusion of colour made an exquisite background to the\npicture. The picture itself, Gregory thought, Everett ought to have\npainted for a Madonna; for in Anna\u2019s lap leaned a sturdy, fair-haired\nboy, with a cherub face, a child of less than four years, his head\nthrust back against her shoulder as he looked out from that vantage\nground with serene eyes at Gregory, while Anna held one round little\nhand in hers and looked down upon the child with all the wistful\nfondness of unfulfilled maternal love.\n\n\u201cDo not smile,\u201d said Gregory, with affected sternness at last, as she\nglanced up from the child to him with a questioning smile, expecting\nsome explanation for his presence here; \u201cI have come this time to scold\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cO dear!\u201d said Anna, with a gay little laugh of surprise. \u201cMy turn has\ncome!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, your turn has come,\u201d he continued gravely. \u201cDo you not know that\nwhen you come away on such long, lonely climbs as this, even with the\nchildren, you give us anxiety for you, and trouble? I have had to come\nall this distance to take care of you.\u201d\n\nAnna shook her head, much more puzzled than penitent.\n\n\u201cWhat is there to be troubled about?\u201d she cried.\n\nGregory did not answer at once. He found it impossible to make mention\nof Oliver in her presence. He fixed his eyes on the little child, who\nwas on his knees now, by Anna\u2019s side, pouring out into her white dress a\nsmall handful of scarlet berries, and letting them run like jewels\nthrough his fingers, laughing to see them roll.\n\n\u201cDo you not know,\u201d he began again, very slowly, \u201cthat we fear for your\nstrength, for your endurance, upon which you will never, yourself, have\nmercy?\u201d\n\nAnna began to protest a little, her colour deepening at some vague\nchange in his tone and manner.\n\n\u201cDo you not know,\u201d he continued, not heeding her interruption, \u201cthat you\nare the very heart of our life, here in Fraternia? that we all turn to\nyou for our inspiration, our hope, our ideal? Should we not guard you,\nsince without you we all should fade and fail?\u201d\n\nNever before had Anna heard this cadence of tenderness in Gregory\u2019s\nvoice, nor in the voice of man or woman; the whole strength of his\nprotecting manhood, of his high reverence and his strong heart, was in\nit, but there was something more. What was it? A tremor ran through\nAnna\u2019s heart. Could she dare to know? She lifted her eyes at last to\nmeet his look, and what she read was what she had never dreamed of,\nnever feared nor hoped\u2014the supreme human love which a man can know.\nReading this, she did not fear nor faint nor draw her own look away, but\nrather her eyes met his, full of awe and solemn joy; for at last, in\nthat moment, her own heart was revealed to itself.\n\n\u201cO Anna!\u2014O Benigna!\u201d\n\nGregory spoke at last, or rather it seemed as if the whole deep heart of\nthe man breathed out its life on the syllables of those two names.\n\nIn the silence which followed Anna sat quite quiet in her place, the sun\nand the soft shadows of the young oak leaves playing over her face and\nfigure. The child still tossed his red berries with ripples of gleeful\nlaughter over the whiteness of her dress, and not far away could be\nheard the busy voices of the older children as they ruthlessly broke\naway the blossoms from their stems. And in the sun and shade and the\nstillness Anna sat, while wave after wave of incredible joy broke over\nher spirit. For the first time in her life she knew love, knowing it for\nwhat it was. She had not asked to know it, nor mourned that she had\nmissed its full measure, nor dreamed that it could yet be hers; but it\nhad come, not stayed by bonds nor stopped by vows. It was here! The man\nwhose strong spirit, in its freedom and power, had cast its spell upon\nher mysteriously even before she had seen his face save in a dream,\nloved her, with eyes to look like that upon her and that mighty\ntenderness! Life was fulfilled. Let death come now. It was enough!\n\nThe moment, being supreme in its way, was not one to leave room for\noutward excitement, for flutter and trepidation. Anna rose now from her\nplace with perfect calmness, and bent to take the little, laughing child\nby the hand, while she went to call the others together. Gregory had\nturned away slightly, and with his arms crossed over his breast was\nleaning hard against the rugged wall of the cliff, his head thrown back\nagainst it, his face set, his whole aspect as of some granite figure of\nheroic mould, carved there in relief. Anna heard a sound like a groan\nbreak from his lips, and turning back, with an irresistible impulse,\nlaid her hand, light as a leaf, upon his arm.\n\nFrom head to foot Gregory trembled then.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d he said sternly, under his breath.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d asked Anna, confused at his sudden harshness.\n\n\u201cIt is the end,\u201d he said, with low distinctness and the emphasis of\nfinality.\n\nThen, only then, did Anna waken to perceive that what in that brief\nmoment of joy she had taken for glory, was only shame and loss and\nundoing, unless smothered at the birth.\n\nAn inarticulate cry broke from her then, so poignant, although low, that\nthe little child, pulling at her dress, began to cry piteously. She\nstooped to comfort him, gave him again the hand which she had laid on\nGregory\u2019s arm, then, turning, walked slowly away.\n\nGregory made no motion to detain her or to follow, but stood as she left\nhim, braced against the rock. Anna gathered her little flock, and they\nhastened down the hill in a gay procession, with the waving branches of\nApril bloom, and the merry voices of the children. Only Sister Benigna,\nas she walked among them, little Judith noticed, was white and still.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXXV\n\n        Then fell thick rain, plume droopt and mantle clung,\n        And pettish cries awoke, and the wan day\n        Went glooming down in wet and weariness;\n        But under her black brows a swarthy one\n        Laugh\u2019d shrilly, crying: \u201cPraise the patient saints,\n        Our one white day of Innocence hath past,\n        Though somewhat draggled at the skirt. So be it.\u201d\n                                                      \u2014TENNYSON.\n\n\nAt nine o\u2019clock that evening Barnabas Rosenblatt, working around the\nmill stables, was startled at the sudden appearance of Gregory, who\npassed him without speaking, as he went hurriedly into the stall and\nbrought out his horse. The day had been followed by a night of brilliant\nmoonlight, and Barnabas saw, as distinctly as if it had been day, that\nhis face, usually firm and composed, was drawn and haggard to a degree.\nHe started to speak to him, but an imperious gesture of Gregory silenced\nhim. Without a word Barnabas therefore assisted him in saddling the\nhorse, and then stood perplexed as he watched him gallop away down the\nvalley in the moonlight.\n\nStraight on through a narrow bridle-path which led by a short cut\nthrough the stretch of oak wood to the little hamlet of Spalding,\nGregory galloped. He had reached the outskirts of the woods, and was in\nsight of the level meadows and the cluster of lights of the village\nbeyond, when he suddenly perceived the figure of a man on foot\napproaching him from the direction of Spalding. A few steps more, and\nGregory saw, with surprise and strange perturbation, that it was Keith\nBurgess. He reined up his horse and stood motionless, until Keith had\nreached him, and called out a greeting as he stood in the path, looking\na pigmy beside the Titanic proportions of the horse and rider. The\nmoonlight showed Keith more thin and wan than ever. He had returned to\nFraternia once before this spring, in March, but, after a week, had been\nglad to go back to Baltimore, with some rather vague commission. His\nreturn at this time was wholly unexpected, even by Anna.\n\nKeith had long since come to stand to Gregory for something like a\nconcrete embodiment of his many disappointments and vexations, by reason\nof his lukewarm participation in his own purposes, his ineffective\nlabours, and his continual draft upon Anna\u2019s sympathies. As Gregory\nlooked down upon him, thrown at this moment so unexpectedly in his path,\na singular hardness toward the man came upon him, for he was hard beset\nby passion; and while he meant to have no mercy upon himself, he was not\nin the mood to have mercy upon another man, least of all, perhaps, upon\nKeith.\n\n\u201cYou are going back to Fraternia?\u201d he asked coldly, his tone striking\nKeith with chill surprise. The latter assented as a matter of course.\n\nThere was a moment of silence; Keith felt something sinister in the\nnature of it.\n\n\u201cWhy should you go back there?\u201d Gregory asked now, with the same\ncareless coldness; \u201cyou have no heart in Fraternia or its purposes.\u201d\n\nKeith was stirred, and answered pointedly:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have at least a wife in Fraternia, Mr. Gregory.\u201d\n\nGregory looked at him a moment with a measuring glance, noting his\nwasted and feeble appearance.\n\n\u201cI suppose you do need nursing,\u201d he said slowly.\n\nKeith Burgess turned ashy pale. Was this wanton injury? Did Gregory wish\nto insult him? What did it mean? Gregory did not know himself. He knew\nonly that, in the agony of that night, for he had fully resolved himself\nto see Anna no more, the sight of Keith Burgess worked like madness in\nhis brain.\n\n\u201cMrs. Burgess,\u201d he said now, with the deliberation of strongly\nsuppressed excitement, \u201cis more highly endowed for great issues than any\nperson I have ever known. It is almost a pity that she should not have\nfreedom to use her powers in the greater activities to which she is\nfitted.\u201d\n\nEach sentence, cruel with all the cruelty which the climax of pride and\npassion could inspire, pierced the heart of Keith like a shaft barbed\nwith steel. He stepped backward and leaned against a tree, breathing\nhard. The occult, mysterious quality of the moment\u2019s experience to him\nwas that he saw himself, distinctly and as if by an inexorable\nnecessity, turning away from Fraternia, and going back by the way which\nhe had come.\n\nWithout another word, Gregory tightened his rein and galloped on, out\nthrough the wood\u2019s edge and so down to the plain. He did not see, in the\nhigh excitement of the moment, the figure of a man lurking stealthily\namong the trees at no great distance from where Keith stood. When the\nsound of the horse\u2019s hoofs had died away, this figure stepped softly out\nfrom its shelter and passed along the bridle-path, peering inquisitively\nin the face of Keith as he still stood where Gregory had left him. But\nneither did Keith observe him, nor care who he was, and so he went on\nhis way toward Fraternia. He looked back once or twice. His last look\nshowed him that Keith had gathered himself together and was walking\nslowly away, in the direction from which he had come.\n\nKeith walked blindly on, not knowing why he went, nor where he went,\nlike a man who has suffered a heavy blow upon his brain, and moves only\nautomatically without thought or will. On the outskirts of the village,\nnear the railroad, he passed a barn, rickety and disused, but there was\nold hay in a heap on the floor of it, it offered shelter, and shelter\nwithout the contact with others from which he shrunk as if he were in\ndisgrace, and fleeing for his life. Accordingly Keith went into this\nplace, drawing the broken door together as far as he could move it on\nits rusty hinges, threw himself on the heap of hay, and slept until five\no\u2019clock in the morning. The one passenger train of the day passing\nthrough Spalding eastward was due at five o\u2019clock. Keith was wakened by\nthe long whistle announcing its approach, and came dizzily out into the\nchill and wet of a miserable morning.\n\nThe train slowed down as it neared the place where he stood. He swung\nhimself upon it with the brief but tense nervous energy of great\nexhaustion, sank into a vacant seat in the foul, unventilated car, and\nwas carried on, whither he did not know or care.\n\nAnna, coming back from the walk to Eagle Rock, had gone to her own house\nalone. Here she spent the earlier hours of the evening in the deepest\ntravail of soul she had ever known. The purity and unworldliness of all\nher life, both the life of her girlhood and that with Keith, had served\nto keep far from her familiarity with possibilities of moral danger. She\nwas as innocent of certain kinds of evil as a child, and the thought\nthat a temptation to a guilty love could assault her would, until this\nday, have appeared to her incredible. And now, in the fierce struggle of\nthis passion, the only one she had ever known, she knew herself not only\ncapable of sin, but caught at last in its power.\n\nNot that for a moment she dreamed of any compromise of outward fidelity;\nsuch a thought she rejected with horror as inconceivable either to\nherself or to Gregory, whom she firmly believed to be far stronger than\nshe. But the flaw in faithfulness had come already, beyond recall,\nbeyond repair. Her whole soul moved toward this man, who had so long\nsecretly dominated her inner life, with a mighty and overwhelming tide.\n\nHer relation to Keith had been that of gentlest consideration,\nkindliness, and affection. More it had never been; and to-night it\nseemed as powerless to stay the flood of passion as a wall of sand built\non the shore of an infinite sea by the hands of a child.\n\nSo Anna thought, so she felt. She went to the door of her cabin with\nthis thought mastering her, driven by restlessness, and longing to feel\nthe coolness of the night air on her face. For a moment she stood in her\nopen door, and saw mechanically that the moonlight was shed abroad in\nthe valley; she heard the voices of the men across the river singing in\na strong, sweet chorus.\n\nThen, suddenly, as if the words had been spoken in her ear, the thought\ncame to her, \u201cBut Keith needs me; he needs me now!\u201d\n\nWhat was it? She did not know. She never understood. The sense was\nstrong upon her that Keith was near her; that he was in some danger, and\nneeded her.\n\nWithout pause to consider what she did, Anna flew down the river path\nand reached the mill breathless. The pond lay in the moonlight,\nmotionless. The air did not stir. The mill was still and dark and\ndeserted. The woods were dim with their night mystery. She looked down\nthe valley, and up, and across the river, and everywhere was perfect\npeace, save in her own heart. Then in the silence she heard a step\napproaching from the direction of the woods below. She drew back hastily\ninto the protection of the mill porch and waited for the steps to pass.\nWhoever it was paused for a little time above the mill, and Anna\u2019s heart\nbeat hard with a sense of dread and danger. Finally she heard the steps\npass on, and when she returned to the road she recognized the\nunmistakable figure of the man now moving on in the unshadowed moonlight\nto the bridge above. It was Oliver Ingraham.\n\nSlowly Anna returned to her own cottage, not daring to do otherwise, a\nheavy oppression on her heart.\n\nEarly in the morning, which was cold and rainy, Oliver was at her door,\nand she answered his summons herself, full of a vague, trembling\nanxiety. He scanned her face narrowly; it was careworn and hollow-eyed,\nfor she had slept not at all.\n\nIn silence he handed her a letter, broken at the edges, and soiled with\nlong carrying about. She glanced at the address. It was Keith\u2019s, written\nby herself perhaps a month before; not a recent letter. She looked at\nOliver in speechless perplexity.\n\n\u201cI found that lying on the ground down near Spalding last night,\u201d he\nsaid, still eying her craftily, and with that hurried off, giving her\nnot another word.\n\nAnna went in, closed the door, and drew out the letter. It was\nunimportant, insignificant, simply an ordinary letter of wifely\naffection and solicitude, but one which had evidently been much read,\nbeing worn on the folds. Who could have carried it save Keith himself?\nHad he, then, been really near her the night before? Was he really\ncoming?\n\nAnna knew already that it was for this she longed supremely.\n\nNoon brought to Everett a special messenger with a letter from Gregory,\nwho brought with him also the roan horse ridden the night before to the\ncounty town, C\u2014\u2014, and evidently ridden fiercely. At C\u2014\u2014 was the bank\nwhere Gregory transacted all his business. This letter stated, first of\nall, that he had suddenly reached the conclusion that it was important\nand imperative that he should go at once to England in the interests of\nthe colony. He should not return to Fraternia before sailing. He wished\nto empower Everett to act in his place during his absence, which would\nnot be for more than three months.\n\nVarious items of business were enumerated, and the letter closed with\nthis remarkable statement: \u201cThe funds furnished by Mr. Ingraham of\nBurlington have been returned to him with the exception of the five\nthousand dollars already used, which I shall restore at my earliest\nopportunity. This removes the obligation from us of counting Mr. Oliver\nIngraham as one of our number, and I beg that you will signify to him my\nconviction that his continued presence in Fraternia is impossible. Do\nnot allow him to stay a day if you can help yourself, and keep him under\nyour eye while he remains.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXXVI\n\n                              I said farewell;\n            I stepped across the cracking earth and knew\n            \u2019Twould yawn behind me. I must walk right on,\n                      ... Fate has carried me\n            \u2019Mid the thick arrows; I will keep my stand,\n            Not shrink and let the shaft pass by my breast\n            To pierce another: oh, \u2019tis written large\n                      The thing I have to do.\n                                              \u2014GEORGE ELIOT.\n\n\nThe following morning Anna sent for Oliver. Word had reached her that he\nwas about to leave Fraternia. In the depth of her present distress and\nperplexity a thought which \u201chad no form, a suffering which had no\ntongue\u201d had arisen. Gregory, she knew, had left the village hastily that\nnight under stress of powerful emotion, perhaps in a condition of mental\nexcitement exceeding his own control. It seemed to her possible that\nsomewhere on the way from Fraternia to Spalding he might have\nencountered Keith. The letter brought by Oliver indicated, she was more\nand more convinced, that he had really been on his way to her. If this\nwere true, some event had interposed, something had occurred to hinder\nhis coming. What could it have been, supposing him to have been but two\nmiles away, save some mysterious, unthinkable effect of an interview\nwith Gregory, if such there had been? It was no longer possible, no\nlonger justifiable, to await events. She must herself discover all that\nOliver knew, even if the discovery were to mean despair.\n\nAlone, in her own cabin, she received Oliver. If Keith had been in\nFraternia, or John Gregory, it would not have been permitted; but her\nintense anxiety and suspense overbore her usual shrinking from contact\nwith the man, and Everett yielded to her wish to see him alone.\n\nOliver entered the cabin, noting its simple appointments with his\ncharacteristic curiosity. Anna pointed to a chair which he took,\nalthough she herself remained standing. Her face was as white as her\ndress, her eyes deeply sunken, her manner sternly imperious.\n\n\u201cYou are going away from Fraternia to-day?\u201d she asked, with swift\ndirectness.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Oliver, nodding with his peculiar smile; \u201cthis precious\ndemigod or demagogue\u2014whichever you please\u2014of yours, your imperial\nGregory, has issued a ukase against me, in short, has done me the honour\nto banish me from the matchless delights and privileges of Fraternia!\u201d\nThe last word was spoken with a slow emphasis of condensed contempt.\n\n\u201cThere is something really a little queer about it,\u201d Oliver continued,\nin a different tone. \u201cI am on to most of what happened between my father\nand Gregory, but I\u2019ve missed a link now somewhere. You see, the\ngovernor, in a fit of temporary aberration, offered Gregory a\nmagnificent contribution for his socialist scheme down here; but Gregory\nwas pretty high and lofty just then, and, \u2018No, sir,\u2019 said he\u2014I heard\nhim, though he and the governor don\u2019t know it\u2014\u2018No, sir, I couldn\u2019t touch\nyour money. I am just that fastidious.\u2019 The governor had been confessing\nhis sins to Gregory, the worse fool he! It seemed that his money had\ncome to him in a way that might make some men squeamish, and Gregory,\noh, dear, no! he wouldn\u2019t have touched those ill-gotten gains as he was\nfeeling then\u2014not with the tip of one finger.\n\n\u201cBut the joke is,\u201d Oliver went on, \u201cthat he had to come to it. Oh, yes;\nhe got down on his marrow bones to the governor here about three months\nago, and wrote to him that he had reconsidered the matter, and saw his\nmistake,\u201d and Oliver gave a low chuckle; \u201cso the governor had to come\ndown with the lucre, more or less filthy as it was, and I don\u2019t think he\nwas quite so much in the mood for it either as he was at the first, to\ntell the truth. But he sent it all the same, and sent me with it, don\u2019t\nyou see? I came as the saviour of Fraternia, although I have never been\nso recognized. The whole town has been run the last month or two on\nIngraham money, and it seems to have greased the wheels about as well as\nany other money, for all I see. But now comes the unexpected! Off goes\nGregory to England, sends back the governor\u2019s check, so I hear from\nEverett, and kindly writes me to take myself off. What brought him to\nthat is what I don\u2019t quite see through yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no doubt,\u201d said Anna, concealing her dismay at Oliver\u2019s malign\ndisclosure with a manner of cold indifference, \u201cthat Mr. Gregory had\ngood reasons for thinking it better for you to return to Burlington.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re right there,\u201d retorted Oliver, quickly; \u201coh, yes, he had\nexcellent reasons, the best of reasons. A man who knows too much is\noften inconvenient, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Ingraham,\u201d Anna asked hastily, apparently ignoring this insinuation\nalthough she trembled now from head to foot, \u201cI am not interested in the\nbusiness relations of your father and Mr. Gregory. It was not to hear of\nthem I sent for you. You brought me a letter yesterday which I think\nmust have been not long ago in my husband\u2019s possession. I wish you to\ntell me if, on the night when you found this letter, that is the night\nbefore last, you saw my husband in the neighbourhood of Fraternia?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d replied Oliver, as if it were quite a matter of course; \u201cwere\nyou not expecting him?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere did you see him?\u201d The question came quick and sharp.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Oliver, reflectively, \u201cyou would like me to be exact, I\nsuppose. Let me see, how shall I describe the place so that you will\nrecall it\u2014distinctly.\u201d\n\nThere was a certain cold deliberation in the articulation of these words\nwhich gave them a sickening cruelty. They called up strange visions of\ndread and dismay to Anna\u2019s tortured imagination.\n\n\u201cSpeak more quickly,\u201d she commanded, rather than asked, \u201cthe precise\nspot makes no difference.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was near the edge of the woods, on the Spalding side, that I saw him\nfirst. The night was quite bright with moonlight, if you remember. I had\ntaken a stroll down to Spalding myself for some of those little luxuries\nwhich Fraternia doesn\u2019t furnish, and was on my way back when I first\nnoticed Mr. Burgess. He was just striking into the path, there by that\ndead oak tree; you may remember it. I noticed it because it stood out so\nwhite in the moonlight, and it was just at the foot of it that I picked\nup that letter. I did not know that he had dropped it, nor whose it was\nuntil after I got home.\u201d\n\n\u201cUndoubtedly false,\u201d thought Anna; \u201cyou had not had the chance to read\nit, that was all,\u201d but she did not speak. Oliver too was silent, as if\nhe had answered her question, and was done.\n\n\u201cPlease go on.\u201d Anna kept her patience and control still.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d exclaimed Oliver, as if surprised, \u201cyou want to hear more, do you?\nAll right. I guess likely I\u2019m the only man that can tell you, being the\nonly witness, in fact.\u201d\n\n\u201cWitness of what?\u201d Anna cried importunately.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s it. That\u2019s what I\u2019ve asked myself more than once since\nthat night, and I rather guess as good a description as I could give\nwould be to call it a kind of moral murder; a moral murder,\u201d and Oliver\nrepeated the phrase as if gratified by the acuteness of his perception\nin forming it.\n\nHe watched her face closely, and beginning to fear from the bluish shade\nwhich tinged her pallor that Anna would soon be released from his power\nto torture by unconsciousness, hastily took another line.\n\n\u201cOh, you\u2019ve nothing to worry about, Mrs. Burgess, nothing at all. That\nwas just a little fancy of mine, just my metaphorical way of stating\nthings. It was a very simple little incident, nothing which need affect\na man unpleasantly in the least. It just happened, you see, that Gregory\nwas galloping down the path toward Spalding, and he met your husband,\nand they had a little talk together,\u2014a mere quiet conversation for a few\nmoments,\u2014and Mr. Burgess seemed to change his mind about going to\nFraternia just then, and turned back toward the village. That was all. I\nwatched him a little, to be sure he didn\u2019t need any help, you know,\nafterward. Gregory galloped right along; he was going to catch a train,\nI suppose, at C\u2014\u2014, and that made him in something of a hurry, of\ncourse.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should my husband have needed help, Mr. Ingraham? Will you be good\nenough to explain yourself clearly, and in as few words as possible?\u201d\nAnna spoke more calmly now, but her eyes were like coals of fire.\n\n\u201cCertainly, certainly. I cannot repeat Gregory\u2019s language, not\nliterally, but it seemed to cut Mr. Burgess up a good deal at the\ntime,\u2014at least I fancied so. That is what I meant by that little simile\nof mine awhile ago. He\u2019s all over it now, of course. It was only a few\nwords anyway. Just that Gregory said, in that short way he has once in\nawhile\u2014Probably you\u2019ve never heard him; he wouldn\u2019t be apt to speak so\nto you,\u201d and Oliver decorated the sentence with one of his most\ninsinuating smiles.\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory said\u2014?\u201d Anna asked, looking into his face with an\nunflinching directness, before which Oliver\u2019s eyes wandered nervously.\n\n\u201cWhy, he seemed surprised that Mr. Burgess should be coming back so\nsoon, and he gave him to understand that a man like him, who was sick\nall the time, and not much of a Fraternian, either, was rather a drag on\nsuch a woman as you, don\u2019t you see? and it might be fully as well if he\nshould keep away and give you your freedom most of the time.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid my husband make any reply that you heard?\u201d asked Anna, huskily,\nthis hideous distortion of unformulated traitor thoughts which had\nlurked in the background of her own consciousness confronting her now to\nher terror, and her heart doubly sick with the loathing of being forced\nto ask such information from such a source.\n\n\u201cHe said you were at least his wife, I remember that. I guess that was\nabout all. It struck me at the time that there was something in what he\nsaid, with all due respect for Gregory. He rules everything here, of\ncourse, though, I suppose,\u2014even to the relations between husbands and\nwives.\u201d\n\nThe last words were lost upon Anna.\n\n\u201cYou may go now, if you please, Mr. Ingraham,\u201d she said calmly. Her look\nand an unconscious gesture of dismissal were imperative, and Oliver, not\ndaring to disobey, left the place without another word.\n\nFor two days Anna sat alone and in silence, waiting for the summons\nwhich she knew by a sure intuition must come.\n\nOliver\u2019s story had been confirmed in so far that it had been learned\nthat Keith had been seen in Spalding on the night of Gregory\u2019s\ndeparture, and had been known to take an east-bound train on the\nfollowing morning. Nothing further was discovered regarding his\nmovements, and it was useless to try to follow and find him. Anna could\nonly wait.\n\nWhen the message came it was, as she had known it would be, urgent and\nominous. Keith was in Raleigh; he was very ill; she must go at once.\n\nEverything was ready, and with a strange composure and quietness as of\none carrying out a line of action fully foreseen, Anna went on her\njourney, so like and yet so unlike that other journey to Keith which she\nhad taken in her girlhood, ten years before. That had ended in their\nmarriage. How would this end?\n\nReaching the city in the afternoon, Anna was driven with the haste she\ndemanded to the address named in the message which had come, not from\nKeith himself, but from a physician. It was not that of a hotel, as she\nhad expected, but of a boarding-house of very moderate pretensions in a\nquiet street. Even the small details of the place, in their cheap\ncommonness, smote her heart. Was it in places like this that Keith had,\nafter all, been living, instead of in the well-appointed hotels in which\nshe had always fancied him?\n\nThe landlady, a kindly, careworn woman, plain of dress and of speech,\nreceived Anna with a mournful face, but forebore explanations, seeing\nthat it was time rather for silence, and led her down a long corridor to\nthe door of a dim and silent room.\n\nThere was a little stir as Anna stood in the open door; the physician\ncame out and spoke to her, and she saw a nurse sitting quietly by a\nwindow. But Anna did not know that she saw or heard them; her sense took\nin only her husband, with eyes closed and the shadow of death upon his\nface, lying upon the strange bed in this place of strangers.\n\nShe was by his side and his hands were in hers, when presently he opened\nhis eyes. Seeing her, a sudden light of clear recognition illuminated\nhis face, a triumphant ray of joy and satisfaction. He tried to speak,\nbut could not, but Anna felt the faint pressure of his hand.\n\nOnce more his lips moved, and Anna saw rather than heard the words:\u2014\n\n\u201cGood-by, darling,\u201d and with them the same look of ineffable love and\npeace. Then his eyes closed and he sank again into unconsciousness.\n\nThe physician, leaning over, said softly, \u201cHe will not rouse again. This\nwas most unexpected. He has been unconscious since morning.\u201d\n\nThe end came soon after midnight, unconsciousness falling into death\nwithout pain or struggle.\n\nOf the days which followed Anna could never recall a distinct or\ncoherent impression. Detached scenes and moments alone lived in her\nmemory.\n\nShe knew that Everett was there and that they started for Fulham.\nSomewhere on the way Professor Ward met them, and Foster, the old family\nservant. Nothing seemed strange and nothing seemed natural; all passed\nto her as in a dream.\n\nShe was at Fulham; she remembered afterward that she sat in the library\nwhich Keith had longed for so, and his body lay beside her, below the\nmantelpiece where she had so often seen him lean. The old servants,\nhastily summoned for the occasion, went and came, and looked at her, she\nthought, with eyes of cold respect and mute reproach. Then Everett stood\nthere, and she saw that tears were on his face as he looked upon his old\nfriend, but she did not cry. Only when Everett turned toward her she\nsaid, very simply, with a motion of her hand which signified all that\nthe place meant:\u2014\n\n\u201cKeith gave his life\u2014for me.\u201d Then Everett had looked at her as if\nalarmed at what he saw in her face, and had gone out hastily and sent\nsome woman to her, whom she did not want.\n\nThe incidents of the funeral seemed to pass by unnoticed. She remembered\nthe moment at the grave when at last she fully realized that this was\nthe end. Then she was at the Fulham railroad station, and Professor Ward\nhad come to her on the train and had held her hands strongly in his, and\nhad said with urgent emphasis:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou must always remember that Keith\u2019s physician and all his old friends\nbelieve that his life was prolonged rather than shortened by your living\nin the South. Do not for a moment dwell on the opposite thought.\u201d\n\nShe had felt her dry lips tremble then and her eyes grew dim, but she\ndid not speak. The train had moved out soon, and she knew that kind eyes\nwatched her, but she could not meet their look.\n\nOf the journey down into the West to her mother that night she\nremembered nothing, save that the incessant jar of the train seemed to\nfollow in a rhythmic endless repetition the familiar refrain of the old\npassion hymn,\u2014\n\n                      \u201cWas ever grief like mine?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXXVII\n\n         From the unhappy desire of becoming great;\n         _Preserve us, gracious Lord and God._\n                                       \u2014_Old Moravian Liturgy._\n\n  There is a time when religion is only felt as a bridle that checks\n  us, and then comes another time when it is a sweet and penetrating\n  life-blood, which sets in motion every fibre of the soul, expands\n  the understanding, gives us the Infinite for our horizon, and makes\n  all things clear to us.\u2014LACORDAIRE.\n\n\nOn the quiet street of the hill town of Bethlehem stands the quaint and\nancient building set apart in the Moravian economy as the Widows\u2019 House.\n\nIn the interior of the old stone house, with its massive walls and rows\nof dormer windows, are wide, low-ceiled halls, and sunny, sweet-smelling\nchambers, clean and orderly, chaste and simple, as those of a convent.\nHere in mild monotony and peace the women of the \u201cWidows\u2019 Choir\u201d live\ntheir quiet life, and here in September we find Anna Burgess, who had\nfled to this haven of her mother\u2019s abiding-place, as to a sanctuary.\n\nThe evening was warm, and the windows of Gulielma Mallison\u2019s room were\nopen to the sunshine and the sweet air. Flowers blossomed in the deep\nwindow-sills; the bare floor was as white as scrubbing could make it;\nthe appointments of the room were cheerful and refined, albeit homely,\nand the atmosphere was that of still repose. By the window Gulielma\nMallison sat knitting, her face beneath its widow\u2019s cap calm and strong\nin its submissive sadness. Opposite her on the sofa lay Anna, each line\nof her face and figure expressing the suffering of a stricken heart.\nThere had been months of slow, wearisome illness and of grievous mental\nsuffering, in which her days had been a Purgatorio and her nights an\nInferno; and now weeks of convalescence, which were bringing life back\ninto her wasted frame, still failed to bring healing to her mind.\n\nThe mother\u2019s fond eyes, glancing unperceived across her knitting, noted\nthe listless droop of the long white hands upon the white dress, the\nmarblelike pallor of the forehead from which the hair was so closely\ndrawn, the hollow cheeks, the piteous sadness of the mouth, the glassy\nbrightness of the eyes, fixed in the long, still gaze of habitual\nintrospection.\n\n\u201cSurely,\u201d sighed Gulielma Mallison to herself, as she had before a\nhundred times, \u201cthere is more than the bitterness of death in her face;\nwidowhood alone to the Christian brings not such havoc as this. It is in\nsome place of danger that her thoughts are dwelling. I should fear less\nfor her if she could only speak!\u201d\n\nBut Anna\u2019s grief could not find its way to words. How could her mother,\nin her sober, ordered existence, her decorous and righteous experiences\nof life and love and death, comprehend what it was to live with shadows\nof faithlessness, even of blood-guiltiness, for perpetual company? For\nto Anna\u2019s thought Keith had been driven to his lonely death by the\nhardness of Gregory, by words which had issued from the white heat of\nhis passion for her, a passion unrebuked by her,\u2014nay, rather, shared to\nthe full. Was she then guiltless of her husband\u2019s death?\n\nNot for a moment could Anna divide herself from Gregory in\nresponsibility for the action which Oliver had characterized as \u201cmoral\nmurder.\u201d Unsparingly just to herself, she bore to the very limit of\nreason all the fellowship which was imposed upon her by the mastery of a\nlove so long lived in its unconsciousness and silence, so soon cut off,\nonce perceived and acknowledged. It has been said that \u201call great loves\nthat have ever died, dropped dead.\u201d Anna\u2019s mighty passion had been\nstillborn, slain by the words which had sent Keith on his dim way to\ndeath. For she had never doubted that Oliver\u2019s rehearsal of the scene in\nthe woods between Gregory and Keith had been substantially true. She\nknew there had been spiritual violence done, and her soul recoiled from\nthe very strength and power which had once enchained her. Something of\ndiabolical pride seemed to her now to invest even the austere morality\nof Gregory. He would have spurned a yielding to the weakness of the\nflesh, his moral fastidiousness would have made it impossible; but he\nfought the fire of love fiercely with the fire of pride, not humbly with\nthe weapons of prayer. No shield of faith nor sword of the spirit had\nbeen his in the hour of temptation, for all his high ideals, but the\nsheer, elemental force of human will. He had conquered, or rather had\ngrappled with, the one passion; but the very force by which he had\nconquered turned again and conquered him, and his very power became his\nundoing.\n\nBeside this conception of Gregory which had now taken possession of\nAnna\u2019s mind, Keith\u2019s gentleness, his faithful, patient life, above all,\nthe greatness of the silent sacrifice which he had made for her sake\nwhen he embarked on the Fraternia adventure, became sacred and heroic.\nShe saw at last what his leaving his normal life had been; she believed,\nas she had said to Everett, that he had literally given his life for\nher, and the sense of his devotion, so little understood, so scantily\nrecognized, wore ceaselessly at her heart. Her one drop of balm was the\nmemory of Keith\u2019s last smile of triumphant love and faith; the bitterest\ndrop in her Cup of Trembling that not one last word had been given her\nto show her by what paths his soul had fared, and whether thoughts of\npeace had lightened his sufferings. Having loved her, he had loved her\nto the end,\u2014this only she knew. His faithfulness had not failed.\n\nWords which her father had spoken to her shortly before his death,\nvaguely comprehended at the time, haunted her now, \u201c_With greatness we\nhave nothing at all to do; faithfulness only is our part._\u201d\n\nIf only she had earlier discerned their meaning!\n\nSuch shape did these two men take to Anna now; the one who had moulded\nall her outward life and touched her inner life hitherto so faintly, the\nother who had mastered her in her innate longing for power and freedom,\nand controlled her inner life for many years: Keith seemed to her now\nlike some spirit of gentle ministration, humble, faithful, undefiled;\nGregory, like some proud spirit, even as Lucifer, son of the morning,\nwho had said, \u2018I will ascend into heaven,\u2019 but who had been brought down\nto hell, dragging with him all that was highest and holiest. And she had\nthought him so different! Like another, her heart would cry out:\u2014\n\n              \u201cI thought that he was gentle, being great;\n              O God, that I had loved a smaller man!\n              I should have found in him a greater heart.\u201d\n\nOnce, some weeks earlier, there had come to her a brief note from\nGregory, written soon after his return to Fraternia. It said only:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have sinned deeply, against God; against him; most of all against\nyou. I cannot even venture to ask you to forgive. I can only say to you,\nthe penalty is wholly mine to bear. You are blameless.\u201d\n\nHaving read the note, Anna threw it into the fire, and wrote no word in\nreturn.\n\nAnd for herself\u2014?\n\nThere was no softness of self-pity in Anna\u2019s remorse. Dry and tearless\nand despairing, she saw herself, after long years of spiritual\nassurance, of established and unquestioned righteousness, overwhelmed at\nlast by sin; not by the delicate and dainty and inconclusive discords\nwhich religious experts love to examine and analyze, but by a gross\nground-swell of primitive passion, linking her with men of violence and\nwomen of shame.\n\nLooking back upon her girlhood, Anna thought with sad self-scorning of\nher young desire for \u201ca deeper sense of sin.\u201d It had come now, not as\nthe initial stage in a knowledge of God, and of her relation to him, but\nas a tardy revelation of the possibility of her nature, undreamed of in\nher long security. The cherished formulas of the old system, its measure\nof rule and line applied to the incalculable forces of the human spirit;\nits hard, inflexible mould into which the great tides of personal\nexperience must be poured, seemed to lie in fragments about her now,\nlike wreckage after a storm. She remembered that Professor Ward had once\nspoken to her of her inherited religious conceptions as terrible in\ntheir power to mislead, to deceive the heart as to itself; she saw the\ndanger of a belief founded not on infinite verities, but on a narrow\nmedi\u00e6val logic. She knew sin at last, and knew that it was not slain in\nthe hour of spiritual awakening.\n\nShe thought of the night preceding her union with her father\u2019s church,\nand the recoil of nameless dread with which she had seen passing under\nher window the village outcast whom she supposed to be incredibly guilty\nand cut off from fellowship with all who, like herself, were seeking\nGod. And it was that very night that she had first dreamed of the mighty\npersonality, the embodiment of power and greatness, which she had\nthought to find in Gregory. Though late, she now clearly perceived that\nin no human being could that ideal of her dream find full manifestation.\n\nSuch thoughts as these were passing behind the pale mask of Anna\u2019s\npain-worn face, which her mother\u2019s eyes were watching. The impress of\nsuffering which they gave was hard to see, and a long involuntary sigh\nescaped Gulielma Mallison\u2019s lips.\n\nAnna looked up with eyes as sad as those of Michel Angelo\u2019s Fates.\n\n\u201cMother dear,\u201d she said, her voice strangely dulled from its former\nclear cadence, \u201cwhy do you sigh? Do I make you unhappy?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot comfort you, Anna Benigna,\u201d said the mother, sorrowfully. \u201cIt\nis for that I sigh.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d Anna said slowly, her eyes falling again from her mother\u2019s face;\n\u201cyou cannot do that, no one can. No one lives who can comfort your\nchild, mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have often thought, Anna, that you may have suffered,\u201d the mother\nventured almost timidly, \u201cas many others have, from the sad mistakes so\ncommon to people who regard the Christian life and the married life as\nends, instead of beginnings.\u201d\n\nGulielma noticed a slight quickening of interest in Anna\u2019s eyes, and\nwent on thoughtfully, with her simple philosophy of life:\u2014\n\n\u201cTo read the books that are written, and to hear the things that are\nsaid, young people can hardly help supposing that when they become\nChristians they will know no more of sin, and when they are married they\nwill have only joy and perfect union. To my way of thinking, these wrong\nideas are responsible for a great deal of needless unhappiness. The\nChristian life is really a school, with hard discipline and harder\nlessons. As for marriage\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Anna, as her mother paused, \u201cas to marriage?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt may be a crown,\u201d said Gulielma, slowly, \u201cbut it is sure to be in\nsome measure a cross. It is a testing, a trial, a discipline, like the\nrest of life. Only, whether it happens to be happy, or happens to be\nhard, it is equally to be borne faithfully and in the fear of God.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a little space, and then a laughing voice in the\nstreet outside, called:\u2014\n\n\u201cMrs. Mallison!\u201d\n\nGulielma rose and stepped to the window, looking out over the crimson\nand purple asters into the street. A young girl who stood there handed\nher up a letter.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know whether it belongs to Mrs. Burgess or not. The address has\nbeen changed so many times, but the postmaster said I was to ask you.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d was the answer, and as Gulielma turned back, a letter in\nher hand, she found Anna sitting up, leaning upon her elbow, her eyes\nstrangely eager. She held out her hand, not speaking, and received the\nletter. The upper line, which struck her eyes instantly, was her own\nname, and it had been written by Keith. She could not be mistaken. The\nmother\u2019s anxious eyes saw every trace of colour ebb away from Anna\u2019s\nface and lips, and then stream back until the faint flush rose to her\nforehead. She had not stopped to decipher the many addresses written\nbelow, crossed and recrossed by many pens, but, seeing her own name\nwritten by the dear dead hand, she pressed the letter hard against her\nheart and so lay a moment, silent.\n\nSoon she looked up and met her mother\u2019s eyes. A wistful, heart-breaking\nrequest was in her own, which she hardly dared to speak.\n\n\u201cMay I be all alone, mother?\u201d she asked faintly; \u201cmy letter is from\n_him_. It has gone wrong, but it has come to me, you see, at last. In\nthe morning I will see you. I will tell you then\u2014all.\u201d\n\nIn another minute, the door quietly closing, Anna found herself alone.\nBreaking the seal, she saw that the letter had been written three days\nbefore Keith\u2019s death. An error in the original address, doubtless due to\nhis exhaustion, had sent it far astray. The letter said:\u2014\n\n  MY OWN ANNA,\u2014I am here in Raleigh in a comfortable house, and with\n  kind people, but I fear that I am very ill, and that the end is now\n  not far away, and I want you as soon as you can come to me. I hope\n  there will be no need of alarming you with a telegram, for I know\n  that you will start as soon as this reaches you, and that will be in\n  good time.\n\n  Do not think that this crisis is sudden and unforeseen. The\n  physician in Baltimore told me plainly that I could have but a short\n  time to live, and when I knew that I hastened to reach you as\n  quickly as I might. It was for you only, Anna, in all the world that\n  I longed. I believed that a few weeks of quietness were for us, not\n  harder than we could bear, being together.\n\n  I think you will know that something turned me back almost at my\n  journey\u2019s end. John Gregory is honest, and he will tell you, if\n  indeed he knows himself.\n\n  I do not know now what he said to me, I do not care to remember.\n  Whatever it was it should have had no weight, being spoken, I know,\n  under some strong excitement, but with it there went that strange,\n  irresistible influence which Gregory exerts over me, and before\n  which I was, or seemed to myself, powerless. I felt his will was for\n  me to go back, not onward to you, and I yielded as if unable to do\n  otherwise. I do not know, I cannot understand. I wish it had not\n  been so, but rather for him than for myself, for I know that in his\n  higher mood the thought of that night must be hateful to him.\n\n  I want to say now while I can that neither you nor he must look upon\n  these events in a way to exaggerate or overemphasize their\n  importance. I can see that you with your sensitive conscience and he\n  with his great moral severity may judge over hardly. The difference\n  to me has not been great. The end was very near, and is not\n  hastened, and I shall see you yet before it comes. If I had not been\n  weak I should have kept on my way. It was my weakness that sent me\n  back rather than the outward compulsion.\n\n  I shall not want to talk of this when I see you, Anna, and so I will\n  write to-day some things which have come to my mind this winter, for\n  I have come to see many things in a new light.\n\n  John Gregory loves you. I do not blame him for that, nor wonder. \u201cWe\n  needs must love the highest when we see it.\u201d He is a man of great\n  power and of the highest spiritual ambition. He is far nearer to you\n  in ability than I; he could enter more deeply into your purposes and\n  sympathize in fuller measure with your intellectual life. I believe\n  you could have loved him, if you had been free, and that the union\n  of two such natures would have been nobly effective for good. But I\n  found you first, and with my fond dream that a sign was given me,\n  won you for my wife. What then?\n\n  It fell to my part, although not of my own will, to give your life\n  the shape it has taken. Sometimes I see plainly that I, a poor,\n  pale, colourless fellow, wholly beneath both you and John Gregory,\n  have maimed both your lives, so much stronger and more potential\n  than mine could ever be.\n\n  And yet, Anna, for all this I cannot wish the past undone. I claim\n  you wholly, heartily, for my own, and whatever the future may hold\n  for you, and however the past has tried you, I believe in your love\n  for me, and in the union of our spirits. My heart is at rest. My\n  trust in you is absolute and beyond hurt or harm, and all the joy my\n  life has known has come through you, my true and faithful wife.\n  Never doubt this if you love me and would honour my name.\n\n  I wish to lay no hint of limitation or direction upon your future.\n  Wherever you go, the dear Lord will go with you, and you will bring\n  peace and consolation. You cannot go astray, nor your work be\n  brought to naught, for God is with you. All that I have is yours\n  without reserve or condition, beyond the few legacies I have named\n  in a letter to my lawyer in Fulham. Use what was ours together\n  freely wherever you will, whether to establish Fraternia, or in any\n  line of effort which appeals to you. My keenest regret is that\n  heretofore I have withheld from you what you desired. Forgive me.\n  Those scruples look small and mean to me to-day.\n\n  Good night, my Anna\u2014my Benigna, my highest grace and blessing.\n\n  Do not think of me as left comfortless. I am not alone. The King is\n  at the door, and I hear his voice. He has even come in and will sup\n  with me and I with him.\n\n  Let his peace be upon us both.\n\n                                                                KEITH.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was morning.\n\nEntering her room, Gulielma Mallison found Anna fully dressed, standing\nin a stream of sunshine, with a brighter light than that of the sun upon\nher face.\n\n\u201cOh, mother!\u201d she cried, stretching out both her hands, \u201cI can live. I\ncan sleep. I can even cry now. Oh, these tears! how they have fallen\nlike rain on a thirsty ground. See, mother; after all I am young still\nand strong. Feel my pulse, how full it is this morning, how strong and\nsteady! I am at peace. The peace of God has come to me at last. Keith\nhas comforted me.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n                            CHAPTER XXXVIII\n\n    Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun,\n    To spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won\n    God out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain\n    And sight out of blindness and purity out of a stain.\n                                                    \u2014SIDNEY LANIER.\n\n  While we are not to forget that we have fallen, we are not always to\n  carry the mud with us; the slough is behind, but the clean, clearly\n  defined road stretches ahead of us; skies are clear, and God is\n  beyond. We were made for purity, truth, and fidelity, and the very\n  abhorrence of the opposite of these qualities bears testimony that\n  our aspirations are becoming our attainments. The really noble thing\n  about any man or woman is not freedom from all the stains of the\n  lower life, but the deathless aspirations which forever drive us\n  forward.... Better a thousand times the eager and passionate fleeing\n  to God from a past of faults and weaknesses, with an irresistible\n  longing to rest in the everlasting verities, than the most\n  respectable career which misses this profound impulse.\n\n                                                                \u2014ANON.\n\n\nIt was Easter morning in Bethlehem. The stars still shone in the sky,\nand the little town lay in the hush and stillness which precede the\nearliest dawn, when suddenly, far off, like a whisper from the sky, the\ntones of the trumpets could be heard announcing the risen Christ.\n\nDown through the quiet streets passed the solemn choir, the trombones\nblowing their deep-breathing melody in full and thrilling power. They\nstopped for a little space upon the bridge, and as their herald choral\nswelled and grew and filled the air, lights came out in visible response\nhere and there throughout the sleeping town; and as they passed on down\nthe streets, under the starlit sky, groups of men and women joined them\nin quiet fashion until the procession grew to a great though silent\nthrong.\n\nFrom the Widows\u2019 House Gulielma Mallison and Anna came out and stood\ntogether for a moment in the dusk, watching the approaching stream of\npeople as it moved forward in the gloom, and listening to the strains of\nmusic which called to their ears:\u2014\n\n\u201cRise, heart; thy Lord is risen!\u201d\n\nSoon the procession had reached their door, and, joining it with humble\ngladness, mother and daughter followed with the rest, greeting their\nfriends and neighbours in simple, heartfelt kindliness.\n\nThe church was reached, and within it a solemn service was begun, and\ncontinued until the brightening of the eastern sky gave token of the\nsunrise. Then, as with one accord, and with the quietness of dear and\nfamiliar custom, the great congregation streamed out into the twilight\nof the early dawn, and, again forming in procession, moved forward up\nthe winding hill to the cemetery, the choir with the pastor leading the\nway.\n\nIt was an early spring, and on the air was the thrill of awakening life.\nAs she stood in the midst of the reverent throng now waiting, as if\nexpectant, in the still churchyard, Anna felt the deep significance of\nthe time as it had never been given her to feel it before.\n\nAgain the trombones poured forth their deep, yearning music in the\nancient Easter hymn, the people singing in full chorus:\u2014\n\n            \u201cAmen! Come, Lord Jesus! Come, we implore thee;\n            With longing hearts we now are waiting for thee;\n                          Come soon, O come!\u201d\n\nThen followed, in slow, rhythmic chant, the noble words of the old\nMoravian liturgy:\u2014\n\n  \u201cThis is my Lord, who redeemed me, a lost and undone human creature,\n  purchased and gained me from all sin, from death and from the power\n  of the devil;\n\n  \u201cNot with gold or silver, but with his holy, precious blood, and\n  with his innocent suffering and dying;\n\n  \u201cTo the end that I should be his own, and in his kingdom live under\n  him and serve him in eternal righteousness, innocence, and\n  happiness;\n\n  \u201cSo as he, being risen from the dead, liveth and reigneth world\n  without end.\u201d\n\nWith awe and joy came back the great volume of the response:\u2014\n\n  \u201c_This I most certainly believe._\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep us, oh Lord,\u201d came then the prayer, \u201cin everlasting fellowship\nwith those of our brethren who since Easter Day have entered into the\njoy of their Lord and with the whole Church triumphant, and let us rest\ntogether in thy presence from our labours.\u201d\n\nThe sun rose. The quiet God\u2019s Acre was gilded with its misty beams, and\nthe pale opal tints of the morning clouds reflected its glory. From the\nwhole assembly burst forth the mighty hallelujahs of the hymn of praise,\nborne up by the deep diapason of the trumpets:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe Lord is risen. He is indeed risen.\u201d\n\nAs Anna came out of the churchyard in the sunrise light, the peace of\nGod was in her look, and the victory of the Resurrection morning shone\nin her eyes.\n\nHardly had she reached the street, when some one who had stood, awaiting\nher coming, put out his hand and greeted her. It was Pierce Everett.\n\n\u201cI saw you in the churchyard,\u201d he said. \u201cI wish to speak to you now, if\nI may.\u201d\n\nAnna welcomed him with quiet gladness, and they walked on together\nthrough the street, until they were beyond the crowd. Then Anna asked:\u2014\n\n\u201cDo you come from Fulham?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d was the answer, \u201cfrom Fraternia, or from what was Fraternia.\nMy home is there now, and will be.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not know,\u201d Anna said simply, not finding it easy to say more.\n\n\u201cThere is little left there now of the old village or of the old life.\nEven the name is gone. They call it Gregory\u2019s now.\u201d\n\n\u201cI heard that the land had gone into the hands of the man who held the\nmortgage.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it is all gone now; all except the bit of ground that Mr.\nGregory\u2019s house stands on. The house and land we have kept for our own.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd there you live alone? Are all the others gone?\u201d\n\n\u201cNearly all. Some stay and work in the cotton mill, which has been\nenlarged, but the cabins are mostly used now by the coloured people who\nwork the land, and are employed also in the mill.\u201d\n\nThey were silent for a moment, and then Everett said:\u2014\n\n\u201cWe have heard that you are going soon to India. Is it true?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I go next month.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs a teacher?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, partly, but I am also to be connected with a hospital. You know\nthat is work which I have always liked, and this is to be a new\nhospital, bearing my husband\u2019s name.\u201d\n\nEverett was silent, and Anna noted as she had not before the profound\nsadness of his face. Presently he looked at her with undisguised anxiety\nand asked a question which she had already begun to dread.\n\n\u201cWould you be willing to see Mr. Gregory before you go?\u201d\n\nA painful change passed over Anna\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cI cannot,\u201d she replied quickly; \u201cit is not necessary. Is he here, Mr.\nEverett? Did he come with you?\u201d and he noticed that she trembled and\nlost colour.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he answered very gently; \u201cdo not be troubled. He is not here. He\nwill not seek to find or follow you. He will never leave Fraternia\nagain.\u201d\n\nHer eyes questioned his face, for it was impossible not to detect some\nmelancholy significance in his words.\n\n\u201cMr. Gregory has received a severe injury,\u201d Everett went on, as if in\nanswer to her look. \u201cIt was a month ago. He was at work with the\nlumbermen up in the ravine. He was working midway of the river, which\nwas unusually high, and he slipped and fell. Before he could get to his\nfeet, a heavy log which was carried forward very swiftly by the current\nstruck him with tremendous force and stunned him. We were near enough to\nreach him almost immediately, but the blow was on the spine, and it\nproduced instantaneous paralysis. He will never walk again.\u201d\n\nSwift changes had passed over Anna\u2019s face. In a softened voice she\nsaid:\u2014\n\n\u201cHow strange, how very terrible. Is he himself in other ways?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerfectly. His mind was never clearer nor more active. I think he was\nnever stronger in spirit. His body is a magnificent wreck, that is all.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd he does not wish to leave Fraternia?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I think nothing could suit him so well as our little stronghold in\nthe solitude there. He does not mind the changes even, as one would\nexpect. There is no bitterness. He is too large-minded for that. He\nacknowledges himself defeated, but his faith is still strong in his\ncause.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how about yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am with him, heart and soul,\u201d Everett answered, with strong emphasis;\n\u201cnothing could take me from him now,\u2014unless my presence ceased to be\nacceptable to him. He is, in spite of all that has passed of failure and\ndefeat, my leader, and will be to the end. He is imperfect, being human;\nperhaps there are men least in the kingdom of heaven who are greater\nthan he. Nevertheless, he is the bravest man I have ever known and the\nmost sincere,\u2014I would almost add, the humblest. So we live on together.\nHe writes, I paint. Barnabas takes care of the house for us, and little\nJudith gives us the touch of womanhood we need to humanize us. An oddly\nassorted family perhaps, but we are satisfied.\u201d\n\nAnna listened with intense eagerness to every word, and found sincere\nsatisfaction in the simple picture which Everett had thus drawn for her.\n\n\u201cAnd you have come to Bethlehem\u2014\u201d Anna hesitated, and Everett took up\nthe word quickly.\n\n\u201cI have come all the way from Fraternia to ask you to go back with me\nand see John Gregory once more. He may live for a number of years, but\nit is hardly probable that you ever will see him again. He asks this as\nthe greatest kindness you can do him, but he told me to say that, if you\ndo not feel that you can go, he will still be perfectly sure that you\nare doing right.\u201d\n\nSomething in the new note of humility, of submission, in the implied\nfinality of the request, most of all the vision of the strong man in his\npresent helplessness and acknowledged defeat, wrought powerfully upon\nAnna\u2019s resolution.\n\nThey walked on silently for some moments, and then, turning abruptly to\nretrace her steps into the town, Anna said:\u2014\n\n\u201cYes, I will go with you. We will start to-morrow morning.\u201d\n\nIt was late on Tuesday afternoon when they reached the valley. As they\ndrove past the mill Anna gave a sudden exclamation of dismay as she\ncaught a passing glimpse of a well-remembered figure which she least\nexpected to see again in Fraternia.\n\n\u201cThat could not be Oliver Ingraham,\u201d she cried, \u201cand yet no other man\ncould look like him.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was Oliver himself,\u201d said Everett, smiling a little.\n\n\u201cHow can it be? What has happened?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo begin with, I should tell you that Mr. Gregory succeeded in paying\nback, even to the last dollar, Mr. Ingraham\u2019s contribution.\u201d\n\nAnna\u2019s face grew brighter.\n\n\u201cI am glad,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYes, it was better, I am sure. But when this was accomplished a sense\nof compunction seized him toward Oliver for some fancied harshness in\nthe past. Six months ago he sent for him to come if he would, and he\nappeared promptly. Mr. Gregory had conceived the idea that something\nbetter could be made of the man under right influences, and he\ndetermined to make the attempt.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan you see any change?\u201d asked Anna, still incredulous.\n\n\u201cIt was rather hopeless for a time, only that he so evidently, for all\nhis former spleen and spite, came to have a regard for Mr. Gregory,\nhimself, approaching worship. But when the accident happened up in the\nwoods and he saw Mr. Gregory helpless as he is now, it seemed to produce\nan extraordinary change in the fellow. He is softened and humanized in a\nmarvellous degree. He can never be wholesome exactly to ordinary\nmortals. I sometimes think he is a snake still, but a snake with its\npoisonous fangs drawn. Yes, Mr. Gregory has made it possible to hope for\ngood even from Oliver.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly a great nature could have made that possible,\u201d said Anna,\nmusingly.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d responded Everett, \u201cand only then a great nature which had\nlearned obedience by the things which it suffered.\u201d\n\nAnna was silent. This action of Gregory\u2019s seemed very great to her, so\nwholly was it in opposition to his deep, instinctive antipathy toward\nOliver. This man had seemed to embody in himself the evil forces which\nhad entered Fraternia to destroy all of highest hope and purpose with\nwhich it had been established. And now Gregory had stooped to lift up,\neven to draw to himself, the man in all his hideous moral ugliness.\nIdealist as Anna had ever been, she saw in the nature thus revealed to\nher, in spite of failures and falls, a more robust virtue, a higher\nspiritual efficacy, than any of which she had known or dreamed. Again\nshe found herself convicted of a too narrow and partial view of the\nworking of the human spirit in her passionate withdrawal from Gregory in\nhis time of temptation.\n\nThey had crossed the bridge now, and up the wooded slope Anna saw\nBarnabas and little Judith standing before the door of Gregory\u2019s cabin.\nWith simple and unaffected delight they welcomed her, and then suffered\nher to enter the house alone.\n\nWhen the door had closed behind her, Barnabas came up quietly and took\nhis place upon the rude steps which his hands had laid, and so sat,\nthroughout the interview, as one self-stationed, to keep guard.\n\nThe interior of the cabin was as it had always been, with its rude\nfurniture and its one picture, save that a broad and capacious couch\ncovered with leather stood with its head just below the south window. On\nthis couch, with a rug of grey foxskin thrown over his limbs, lay John\nGregory, his head and shoulders propped high, his powerful hands lying\nby his sides with their own expression of enforced idleness.\n\nHe lifted his head as Anna entered, and leaned forward, raising his\nright hand in a pathetic salutation of reverence and gratitude.\n\nOvercome by the new and more august repose of his face and by the pathos\nof his look and gesture, Anna crossed to where Gregory lay, and fell\nupon her knees by his side, her tears bathing his hand, although this\nshe did not know.\n\nFor a space neither spoke nor moved. Then, as she rose from her knees,\nAnna said under her breath:\u2014\n\n\u201cLife is greater than I thought.\u201d\n\n\u201cLife is great,\u201d returned Gregory, \u201cbecause we live in God.\u201d Then he\nasked humbly, all the fire of his earlier habit of speech quenched,\u2014\n\n\u201cDo you then forgive me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I have forgiven you,\u201d she said softly. \u201cI could not until, months\nafter my husband\u2019s death, a letter came to me from him, which had been\nlost long in reaching me. It was so noble, so great, so reconciling,\nthat it sufficed for all\u2014even that,\u201d she added, with unsparing\ntruthfulness. Then, even more gently:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is altogether from him that I am here to-day. I could never have\nseen you again if it had not been for that letter.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I owe to him the greatest mercy of my life,\u201d said John Gregory,\nsolemnly, \u201cand it is fitting that I should. He was a gentler man than I,\na better man. I did not rightly appreciate him when he was among us.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe had no noisy virtues,\u201d Anna said. \u201cI think none of us perceived\nfully what he was until he was gone.\u201d\n\nThen with great delicacy she told Gregory all that the letter had\nbrought of reconcilement, and especially the word to him. He heard it in\nbrooding silence, and his face grew very calm.\n\n\u201cI wanted you to know,\u201d Gregory began after a long pause, \u201cthat my\nfeeling toward you has not been evil or base or wholly selfish. From the\ntime I first saw that picture,\u201d and he pointed to that above the\nfireplace, \u201cyou became to me a kind of religion. You stood to me for the\nabsolute purity of my ideal, untainted by self and sin and even sorrow.\nThat picture gave you to me as a virgin soul in the first dawning of a\ngreat and noble expectation. It was a picture which a Galahad might have\nworshipped. But alas! I was no Galahad.\n\n\u201cI was bringing the picture back to this country, and it happened,\nalthough you never knew it, that I crossed on the same ship with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow could it have been,\u201d cried Anna, \u201cthat I never saw you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was with my East London people in the other part of the ship. But I\nused often to see you with your husband and with the many friends who\nalways made a circle about you, and I fancied I saw a change in your\nlook,\u2014a change which betokened a gradual dimming of your higher vision,\na fading of your ideal. I thought the people about you were changing you\nto their own likeness in some degree, and the thought haunted and\ndisturbed me more than I had a right to let it.\n\n\u201cI came to Fulham with the picture, which I had promised to return to\nEverett. When I reached his house late in the evening, his mother\nreceived me and told me that he and \u2018all the world\u2019 were at a great\nreception at your house. She further told me that your husband\u2019s mother\nhad confided in her her hopes and her confidence that a new era of\nsocial leadership was now before you, and added that you were indeed\nalready quite \u2018the fashion\u2019 in Fulham\u2019s aristocratic circle.\n\n\u201cI had hardly an hour in Fulham\u2014hardly a moment to reflect. I acted on\nmy impulse and sought you and called you out from your brilliant\ncompany. You know what I said. My motive was pure, I think, whether the\naction were well judged or ill. When I saw you before me in that brief\ninterview, in your loveliness, and in the docility which underlay your\nfrank and candid joy, a strange impulse arose in me to gain some\nspiritual control over you, to have an essential influence over your\nthinking and to direct your development and your activity as I believed\nwould be noblest and best.\n\n\u201cNaturally I had no opportunity to carry out such an impulse for a long\nperiod, but I think it never left me. When I saw you that night in the\naudience at Burlington, I knew that you would go to Fraternia. I\ndetermined in my own heart that if it could be right, you should. There\nwas no thought then or for many months that anything could arise between\nus which could impair our faith and duty. Indeed, I never knew myself\nthat it was you who had wholly mastered me rather than I you, until that\nday on Eagle Rock. When I left Fraternia that night, I knew all\u2014to the\nvery depth. I understood the blindness and tyranny of my passion, and I\nleft, meaning never to see you again. Benigna, I did not have it in my\nheart to do you wrong, least of all to do wrong to your husband. It was\nthe suddenness of his coming before me, and the struggle I was myself\nundergoing, which threw me at the moment into a kind of still frenzy of\nevil impulse. Gladly would I have died to atone for it.\n\n\u201cNow, looking back, I almost think I can see that I was permitted, so\nfar as my individual life was concerned, to reach some climax of pride\nand passion, that I might be brought low in my humiliation. Perhaps in\nno other way could I have learned the way of the Cross than through\nseeing the failure of my own strength, in which God knew, I see now, I\nhad taken an unconscious pride.\n\n\u201cThere is nothing left of it. No drop of the wormwood and gall has gone\nuntasted. But I believe solemnly to-day in the forgiveness of sins, and\nrest in a good hope of salvation through our Master, Christ.\u201d\n\nAgain silence came between them, a silence which was full of peace, and\nthen, with something of his old abruptness, Gregory said:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd now you will tell me about your going to India. You are glad to go;\nso much I understand.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Anna replied, \u201cit is a great fulfilment. I have lived a whole\nround of life since I first felt the call to this service, and now I\ncome back to it with a purpose and conviction even deeper than those\nwhich first inspired me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen the larger hopes of final destiny do not, in the end, weaken the\nmissionary motive, you think?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no. That fear belonged only to the time of transition. The message\nI have now is a far mightier and a more imperative one than I had at\nfirst. I know something now of the reality of sin and its terrible\nfellowship, and at least far more than in those old days, both of law\nand of love. I have learned also a greater reverence for man as well as\nfor God.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said quietly; \u201cit is true. You have been in training for your\nwork.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am gladder than I can tell you,\u201d continued Anna, \u201cthat I was withheld\nfrom going out on such a mission with the hard and narrow message which\nwas all I had then to give. It was you, Mr. Gregory, who opened to me\nthe great truth of the unity of the race, you who taught me to see that\n\u2018redemption is the movement of the whole to save the part.\u2019 I share the\nburden of sin and suffering with all my fellow-men, and I simply seek to\nlift that burden so far as I may where it presses most sorely. Can there\nbe any doubt that this is where Christ is not known,\u2014among pagan\nnations?\u201d\n\nJohn Gregory thought for a moment before he replied. \u201cI believe you are\nright,\u201d he said finally. \u201cThe needs there are grosser than here, and\nthey are actual and intolerable; inherent in the system, not artificial.\nYou have the gift of high ministry. You used it without stint for our\npeople here in Fraternia, but the issues were inadequate to your powers;\nfor the conditions were, after all, abnormal, being produced voluntarily\nrather than by necessity.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen do you feel, Mr. Gregory, that the message of brotherhood, of\nequality, cannot be spread by such means as we tried in Fraternia?\u201d Anna\nasked timidly, and yet without fear.\n\n\u201cI believe that such isolated, social experiments, for many years at\nleast, will be as ours has been, premature and ineffective. They are\nsymptoms rather than formative agencies. They have significance as such,\nbut are otherwise unproductive.\n\n\u201cI have not learned this lesson easily,\u201d he added with a faint return of\nhis rare smile, and the swift, strong gesture with which he had always\nbeen wont to dash the hair from his forehead. Anna knew without words\nthat in the fall of Fraternia his dearest hopes, his most cherished\nplans, and highest pledges had fallen too. It was not necessary to open\nthe old wound that she should know his pain.\n\n\u201cThere are more steps between the clear perception of a condition and\nthe application of remedial measures than I supposed before I started\nour colony here. I was in a hurry, but God seems to have plenty of time.\nThere must be years, generations, perhaps\u2014I sometimes fear it\u2014centuries\nstill of education and training before men understand that they are not\ncreated oppressors by the grace of God, nor oppressed by the will of\nGod. I read this the other day,\u201d he continued, taking a book from the\ntable beside him; \u201cit will show you what I mean: \u2018When a man feels in\nhimself the upheaval of a new moral fact, he sees plainly enough that\nthat fact cannot come into the actual world all at once\u2014not without\nfirst a destruction of the existing order of society\u2014such a destruction\nas makes him feel satanic; then an intellectual revolution; and lastly\nonly a new order embodying the new impulse.\u2019\n\n\u201cThat is good,\u201d he commented, laying the book down, \u201cbut what is said\nthere in a few sentences may, in actual fulfilment, require several\ncenturies.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is hard to wait,\u201d said Anna.\n\n\u201cYes, it is hard,\u201d Gregory repeated, his eyes resting on her face with\nthat sympathetic response to her thought which, she was startled to\nfind, could still stir the old warm tremor in her heart; \u201cbut I can\nwait, can\u2019t you? You can if you believe, as we are bound to believe, in\na \u2018divine event toward which the whole creation moves.\u2019 I believe, I\nthank God, also, that, unworthy and powerless as I am in this marred\nsoul and destroyed body of me, I can still hope, still work, still greet\nthe unseen and expect the impossible.\u201d\n\nThey talked long, and Anna rose at last to go.\n\n\u201cOh, you will be leaving now!\u201d John Gregory cried, as if he had\nforgotten that she did not belong to Fraternia.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Anna said gently, \u201cI am to return to Spalding in an hour for the\nnight, and I start home from there in the morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, \u201cthat is right. You must go;\u201d but with the thought all\ncolour left his face, and his breath came hard and fast. She saw the\nphysical change in him then. She had hardly seen it before.\n\n\u201cCan I help you? Can I bring you anything you need?\u201d she asked quickly.\n\nHe pointed to a glass on the mantel, and said, smiling faintly:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt is so new to make others wait on me. It is not quite easy to lie\nhere and submit to be served,\u2014even by you, Benigna.\u201d\n\nAs she brought him the glass, the simple act of service bore with it a\npeculiar power of suggestion and produced upon Anna herself an effect\nfar beyond its apparent importance; for, as she thus served Gregory in\nhis helplessness, a wave of yearning compassion and pure womanly\ntenderness broke over her heart. He would lie here for years, perhaps,\nprostrate, defeated, suffering, and she who had so loved him would go\nher way and leave him alone and uncomforted! Could it be right?\n\nBefore the imperious power of this question all other motives lost their\nsignificance.\n\nGregory had recovered from the sharpest effect of his agitation, and\nraised his eyes again, full of patient and quiet sorrow.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d she cried low and breathlessly, \u201cshall I stay? I said I\nwished only to go where was most need of me. Is it here? Oh, I trust you\nwholly now, John Gregory! If you need my service, I will serve you while\nwe both live.\u201d\n\nThen, as they faced each other with looks of solemn question, Anna saw\ninto the depth of the man\u2019s strong spirit, and she was prepared for what\nwould follow.\n\n\u201cThat might have been,\u201d he said very slowly, and as if he were\npronouncing his own doom, \u201ceven that unspeakable joy; but I myself, my\nchild, made it impossible. Do you no longer see the great gulf fixed\nbetween you and me?\u201d\n\nHe was holding both her hands now, and his own were firm and steady, but\nhis face reflected the stern agony of the moment, while that of Anna was\nwhite as death. A throbbing silence filled the room, and all the air\nseemed to vibrate with the fierce pulsations of their hearts, for in\nboth the cry arose that their punishment, self-inflicted, was greater\nthan they could bear.\n\nThen calmness fell, for as with one consent their eyes met again, and\neach perceived the light of a final spiritual conquest, and the shadow\nof an ultimate renunciation.\n\nAgain, as once before, John Gregory said, \u201cIt is the end,\u201d and thus,\nmost quietly, they parted.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was evening when Anna left Fraternia. As the road entered the woods\nwhere the valley widened to the plain, she turned and caught a last\nglimpse of the solitary light which shone from the lowly house on the\nriver\u2019s farther side.\n\nThrough all the years and changes which remained to her, never did Anna\nlose the vision of that light, shining apart in the high valley. But\nJohn Gregory she never saw again.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.\n\n 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.","title":"A Woman of Yesterday","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":99287}