The cable | Project Gutenberg (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73770 ***

[8]

A GROUP of small boys stood on the corner,looking anxiously down the shaded street.They ranged from eight to twelve years in age;from grimy hands to universal griminess in uncleanliness;from comfortable meagreness toragged poverty in clothing, while in race they werepolyglot, but they were identical in the impatiencewith which they scanned the sidewalk, vision-length,and found it empty though there were frequentpassers-by.

“Gee! What’s the matter wid her?”

“Say! She wouldn’t go th’ udder way?”

“Th’ odder way nothin’! Don’t she know we’rewaitin’?”

The tallest, but also the raggedest, boy of thegroup made a fine gesture, drawing a nickel watchfrom somewhere between his bagging shirt andtight trousers. “’Tain’t so late,” he said, displayingthe watch’s candid face. “Twenty to one bymine, an’ I set her by the city hall when de balldropped’t noon. She ain’t so late.”

[10]“Whatjer bet she’s got, sour balls ’r peanuts?”asked the smallest boy.

“Pennies, maybe!” hopefully suggested a youngIsraelite not without guile; he was saving up foran excursion.

“Git out! She don’t hand ’em out less’n shedidn’t have time to buy nothin’,” a boy scornfullyrebuked him. “Didn’ she tell us she hadn’t nouse fer money presen’s less’n she was up againstit fer time?”

“I bet she’s got somepin!” declared a roundlittle colored boy. “We’d ought t’ be gittin’ downtown; mos’ in gen’ly she’s here by now, an’ we’sgotter git our af’ernoon ’ditions.”

“Oh, chase yourself, Coony! ’Tain’t near two.Dere she is!”

The last speaker ended in a triumphant yell,wildly pointing down the street as he jumped upand down, his bare feet thudding on the pavement;his comrades echoed the yell with IndianWar Dance gestures.

The cause of this suspense and final excitementwas a slender young figure, tall for a girl, butlooking taller than its actual height because of itsboyish lines, the straight short skirt and straightloose jacket which clad it.

The girl wore light-weight summer tweed, severalcolors blended in its weave to a tone of warmbrownish drab. Her gloveless hands were thrustinto the jacket’s side pockets; she wore a sailorhat, pushed back somewhat from her brow, buteven if it had been set on her head straight, it[11]would not have confined her masses of brillianthair; they wreathed her face in lawless rings whichhad the effect of a halo worn in jest.

She walked with a free, careless grace, a stridethat was businesslike, yet springing, as of one whoenjoyed the business which claimed her. Her face,which was not pretty, yet was compounded ofmany irregular charms, enhanced by a perfectlyregular beauty of skin, was bright with smiles asshe espied the shabby, yelling band awaiting her;the smile displayed an unbroken row of strongwhite teeth between full red lips. She waved herhand at the lads with a gesture which was liketheir own as they waved back at her, a straight-outmotion from the brim of her hat, then flungwidely out to the right.

“Gosh, ain’t her hair red!” cried one of theboys, struck by the glow of the rings under thesailor hat in the sunshine.

“Red nothin’! You shut up!”

“Sure it’s red! What is it, then?” The questionin derision, not for information.

“It’s—it’s hair.” The defender was at a loss,not being accustomed to define.

“You bet! Red hair! Awful red hair!” Thetriumphant tone was for victory, not because therewas any desire to disparage this newsboys’ goddess.

“Red hair yourse’f! Your mother’s red-headed!”This was a shot in the dark; acquaintance betweenthese boys, being confined to the streets, did notembrace knowledge of family tints.

“Sh’ ain’t! Black!” The wiry little Italian[12]struck his opponent a hard blow on the mouthwith the back of his hand, and, with a growl liketwo puppies, they clinched.

The approaching figure broke into a run andcame down upon them, the hair under disputeglowing to the utmost justification of its accuser,but the girl did not come like an avenging angel;her smile had widened and her eyes laughed withher lips, though it was a strong grasp that seized ashoulder of each combatant and swung them apart.

“Here, you young heathens, what’s the matterwith you? Fend fighting!” she cried in a breezy,clear young voice. “Tony Caprioli, slow down!Mike McGinty, what’s wrong with you? Breakingthe law! Fend fighting, you know, you scalawags!”

“He said you’d got red hair. I said ’tain’t,”muttered Tony, not yet “slowed down.”

“He hit me first. I didn’t mean nawthin’ but—itlooked red.” Mike delicately altered thestatement that he was about to make, implying thatthe appearance of the hair was a thing of the past.

The girl threw back her head and the brillianthair seemed to scintillate as she laughed a jollylaugh.

“Tony, your name means goat—Caprioli—andI’m afraid you’re it! Shame, my dear, when you’redoing your best to bleach my hair, but Mikescores! My hair is red, hot red, and what’s moreI’m not sorry it is! Shake, boys, and stop yourscrapping! Red hair is what gives me pep, andpep is what makes me hustle around—when I’mlate, too!—and buy toffy squares for the crowd![13]So it’s all right, friend Tony, though I’m muchobliged to you for standing up for me! Catch,fellows! I bought a box, two boxes, three squaresapiece, and good luck to you all! Hurry up! It’salmost one o’clock, and I’ll have to run the restof the way, or the girl I relieve will fight me!”

The animosity in the air cleared up like magicunder the spell of this girl’s merry laughter ofeyes and lips. She rapidly dealt out sticky squaresof toffy to the crowd, and boyishly, though daintily,licked her finger tips when the last square hadleft them.

“Enough of that!” she cried. “Suck it; don’tchew it! You’ll get no more toffy till cool weathercomes! I was a dunce to buy anything so messy.Balls, or peanuts, or anything neat for mine—andso for yours!—till September! So long, boys,dear; I’ve got to hustle. Hope you’ll each sellmore than any of the rest! Every last paper youtake out. Good-bye!”

She waved her hand to the adoring group; eachboy waved back again and shouted: “Good-bye!”in spite of the difficulty of enunciation caused bya large, soft toffy square in the roof of the mouth.

The girl hurried away, not running as she hadthreatened to do, but walking so fast that runningwould have been easier.

The group of boys melted around the corner,in the direction of the shortest way to the newspaperoffices, and the funny little daily event wasover for the time being. The red-haired girl hadformed the acquaintance of this young mongrel[14]band, and it had been her kindly whim to makefor them a daily small joy to anticipate. Shevaried her gifts, but she never failed them; thatthey adored her and exalted her into an incarnateproof that human trustworthiness and kindnesswas truth, not fiction, she was keen enough to seewas the best result of her action.

No one but herself and the boys knew about“this freak philanthropy,” as she called it to herself;it took but a few minutes of her time andnot a great expenditure of money. “It was worthit,” so she told herself, “to let her red hair lightup the poor little snipes’ noon hour.”

The girl swung into a tall building at a tremendouspace, her hands out of her pockets now, herarms swinging to speed her action, not at all breathless,but softly whistling: “Silver Threads amongthe Gold,” a little twist around the corners of herlips as she considered how distant that state ofthings was from her own radiant locks.

She burst out of the elevator and into the greatroom of the telephone exchange almost with onemovement, covering the intervening space betweenone and the other door on a sort of slide.

“Well, Cis Adair! If I didn’t begin to wonderif you’d get here!” cried a small, extremely-ornamentedyoung person waspishly, as the boyish red-hairedgirl appeared, throwing off her hat andjacket and hanging them up rapidly, smiling hergay smile at the small person whom she succeeded.

“Sure—ly, Amelia! Don’t I always get there,whether it’s to work or to play? I’m only five[15]minutes late, anyway,” cried the newcomer, harnessingher ears.

“Five minutes is five minutes when you’vegot to get home, eat and dress. I’ve got a date,I’d have you know, Miss Cicely!” retorted Amelia.

“Lucky you! Fruit market’s always closed forme; can’t even get a date, not ever!” sighed Cicelywith a pensive droop of the head and an inimitablelittle wink at the girl on her farther side.“Sorry, Amelia! I’ll come five minutes early to-morrow,so get another date ready. Might I hintthat you’d get there sooner if you started, now Iam here, than if you lingered to reproach me?”

The other girls laughed, and Amelia Dayflounced away with a toss of her head. It wasrecognized in the office that there “was no sort ofuse in trying to get ahead of Cis Adair.” Mostof the girls liked her, a few of them were herdevoted admirers, so it was only Amelia who everreally longed to damage her happy-go-lucky confidencein herself and in all her world.

“Funny little old Amelia!” Cis said after Ameliahad gone. “Seems to disagree with herself so likefury, and not to be able to cut herself out of herdiet.”

“Oh, Cis!” murmured Nan Dowling, Cis’s nextneighbor, at whom she had winked. “You do saysuch ridiculous things, and such just-right ones!You ought to write. That’s Amelia all over; shedoes disagree with herself—little sour ball!”

“Thought we agreed not to fuss about her,”hinted Cis. “I don’t have to, as long as my shift[16]follows hers; I don’t have more than a ships-that-pass-in-the-night,au revoir intercourse with MissDay.”

“No, but I do! I have her from nine to one,except during lunch, right in your place! Whyaren’t you on all through my shift, you blessedold duck, Cis?” cried Nan.

“Never could answer whys, Nan; nothingharder,” said Cis cheerfully. “Be glad you’vegot the chance to sun yourself in the light ofmy hair from one to six! And that we don’t geta whole lot of calls on our wires, usually, till afterthree, so we can ‘chin.’”

“Amelia is raving jealous of you, Cis, and youknow why!” said Nan. “She’d have your scalp,if she could get it.”

“If she could get it she’d be welcome to it,”declared Cis imperturbably. “Anyone that lets aperson get her hands on her scalp so she can liftit, deserves to be scalped; that’s what I say! Ameliacan’t harm me as long as I do my work and tendstrictly to my own affairs. If you mean thatAmelia Day is still stewing because that puffyHarold Brown thought he’d enjoy thinking thathe thought a lot of me—” Cis shrugged her shouldersto conclude her sentence. “Stuff!” she added.

Nan laughed, but she looked anxious. “All thesame, Amelia would love to get you out, Cis,” shesaid. “Of course you don’t care a rap what HaroldBrown does—”

“Care!” Cis interrupted her. “Ever see a chestnutworm?”

[17]Both girls went off into a spasm of laughter,subdued, not to disturb their companions. HaroldBrown was large, plump, puffy and abnormallywhite; nothing was needed to point Cis’s rhetoricalquestion.

“Oh, Cis!” sighed Nan, as she sighed many timesa day, in fervent, admiring delight over Cicely’shigh spirits. “Such a Cis!”

Nan had a call just then, but when she hadanswered it and was free again, she turned to Cis.

“It’s not only Harold Brown, Cis; you don’tseem to care about any of them,” she said.

“Meaning boys and men?” asked Cis. “Wrongyou are, my Nanny: I love ’em all.”

“Yes, like one of themselves!” retorted Nan.“But not the way they do you! You’re like ajolly boy yourself, friendly as anything, but youdon’t—And there are lots of them crazy aboutyou! You make them sort of crazy over you, Cis,with your come-on-stand-off way, and your sort of—headycharm, like champagne!”

“Oh, say!” protested Cis. “Much you knowabout champagne, kid dear! You got that out ofa novel; own up! The price of it per bottle, andthe Eighteenth sitting on the bottles, shows that’sa pure flight of fancy! Stick to facts, AnnaDowling! Me heady! I should say not!”

With that Cicely had a call, followed by fiveother calls, which kept her busy plugging in andattending to the time for awhile. When this wasover, a lull followed, and Cis turned again to Nan.

“That was a coincidence, a sort of coincidental[18]run,” she said, “The first call was Parkway 58—andwe know what that is, don’t we, Nanny?”

“Of course; Miss Lucas,” said Nan promptly.

“Neither of us ever thinks of any other Lucasbut Miss Jeanette Lucas; we always forgetthere are other Lucases, a father, a mother, ayounger sister, and a few boys, too young tomatter, scattering along,” commented Cis. “Butit was for Miss Lucas, and what is more, it washer betrothed calling her. I always know his voice.To be truthful, I don’t half like it; it’s sweet,cloying, yet it isn’t sweet—sounds the way maplesyrup tastes when it’s just beginning to work. Atour house maple syrup always seems to work beforeit gets eaten; I don’t know how often MissSpencer puts it on the table like that! It’s anawful sell when you pour it over cakes! Well,about Mr. Herbert Dale’s voice. I’m nuts onvoices; I think they give their owners away morethan anything else, and I don’t like that voice overthe ’phone. Hope I’m wrong, because MissJeanette Lucas is a fine girl. I met her once,though she wouldn’t remember it, probably. She’sa gentle, sweet, ladylike, old-fashioned sort of girl,and I imagine she’s the kind that loves a manadoringly, when she gets about it.”

“That’s the way to love the man one marries,”declared romantic Nan.

“No disputing the proposition, but it’s dangerous,because most men are quite a good dealhuman,” Cis observed dryly.

“You needn’t talk! If you ever fall in love,[19]you’ll pave the path of the man with your wholeself!” cried Nan.

“Heavens! Not so loud, Nan! That’s nothingto tell a crowd! Besides I would not!” whisperedCicely.

Then with a swift abandonment of her position,she said aloud, with a suppressed vehemence:“Well, what would be the fun of loving any otherway?”

“Not much fun, either, when you take it likea fatal disease,” said Nan. “Where was the coincidencein Mr. Dale’s calling up Miss Lucas, Cis?”

“Nowhere. But the coincidence was that therest of those calls I had were Miss Lucas callingup Oldboy’s store, and a dressmaker, and a jeweller,and a garage,” Cis explained.

“She would, she does every day. Of course shewould, now that she is getting ready to be marriedas fast as she can,” murmured Nan, disappointedthat there was no more in Cicely’s mystery.

“Yes, of course,” agreed Cis. “I merely saidthat she called these people as soon as her betrothedrang off. Ever notice the way he calls?I’d not only know his voice over a wire in China,but he gives the number so peculiarly: ‘I’d like toget 58, the Parkway, if you please.’” Cis imitatedan oily, smooth voice, unctuously used, and Nanlaughed.

“That’s he!” she cried. “You’re a mocking birdas well as a tanager, as you call yourself, Cis!The paper last Sunday had Miss Lucas’ picture onthe society page, with Mr. Herbert Dale’s, and said[20]they’d be married on the 10th of next month, inour church, with a Nuptial Mass. Is Mr. Dale aCatholic, Cis?”

“Not enough to notice, I think,” said Cis. “Hispeople are. The Lucases are strict; I suspect thatsweet Jeanette will make him toe the mark whenit comes to the wedding. Probably she’s got acandle burning all the time before the Lourdesshrine, and means to make him a saint at the endof six months. Wish she may! I’m sure I don’treally know but he’s going that way on his own,but I honestly hate his voice!”

“Aren’t you queer, Cis? You don’t often getdown on anyone; you’re pretty sure to give everyonethe benefit of the doubt,” cried Nan, wondering.Then she hesitated, and whispered: “Did yougo to the seven o’clock yesterday, Cis, dear?”

Cis shook her head, her color mounting slightly.

“I didn’t see you at the eight o’clock Mass, asusual,” persisted Nan timidly, for Cicely lookedforbidding.

“Good reason why,” said Cis shortly. “I wasn’tthere. And I didn’t go to Late Mass, so don’t goon to that, Nan; I didn’t go at all.”

“Oh, Cicely dear!” Pain crept into Nan’s words,though they were whispered.

“Well! Oh, Nan dear!” Cis tried to laugh ather. “Yes, I know I’m bad, but I was so tired!I was out till after one, danced, and ate such asupper! I did mean to go to the eight, but I turnedover, stretched and—” Cis made a slight gesture[21]that conveyed the suggestion of a passage beyonddaily affairs.

“Cis, oh, Cis! And you are so fine, so splendid!Why don’t you make it perfect? You’re aCatholic,” sighed loving Nan, her gentle eyesclouded.

“I’m nothing else, at least, Nanny, but it doesn’tbother me a great deal, all this that has to do withsuch far-off things! I’m sorry, nice little Nan! Iwill brace up, I promise you, and go to Mass Sundays.When I get there, it’s hot and crowded, andI’m just there in my body, and not my mind,and it’s a mighty uncomfortable body, I cantell you that! I wonder if it makes muchdifference whether you go or not, when you golike an oyster? Sorry, Nanny,” Cis said again,seeing how grieved Nan looked. “I didn’t haveyour training; maybe that’s it. I went to publicschool and high school, and my mother died whenI was eight, and my father was no good, and wentoff to his own ways when I was a baby, so I’mkind of a hybrid Catholic-heathen! Sorry, nicelittle Nan!”

“You’re the biggest girl I know, the truest andfinest, and I’m sure God will pull you to Him.You’re too great to miss the Greatest,” said Nan,with such earnestness in spite of her muffled voice,and with such a light in her eyes, that carelessCicely was impressed.

“Put your candle beside Miss Jeanette Lucas’,”she said, knowing that the look in Nan’s eyes foretoldprayers for her beloved Cicely’s safety.

[22]“You two girls have talked enough in duet forone day,” remonstrated another girl, a little distancedown the table from Cis and Nan. “We like awhack at Cis ourselves, Nan Dowling!”

“Won’t get much more chance to talk, duet orchorus,” said Cis. “Half past two, and the afternoonbuzz is beginning.”

It was a particularly busy afternoon in this uptownexchange. Nan went off duty at five, but shewaited that night to go out to supper with Cis,whose hours did not end till ten at night, and whosupped in the restaurant on the top floor of thebuilding, and returned to the exchange to finishher eight-hours’ shift.

Cis did not know what fear was; she went aboutthe quiet streets after ten o’clock at night, when shewas returning to her boarding place, with the samecareless assurance with which she walked thestreets at ten o’clock in the morning. There wasthat about her carriage, her free, graceful walk, herfaultless complexion, her glowing, abundant, strikinghair that made her a conspicuous figure; yetthere was also in her entire effect that indifferenceto notice, that light-hearted frankness, that absenceof self-consciousness, which reveals the Una-likegirl who walks the earth fearing no man becauseshe seeks no man’s admiration.

It is the glory of our American curious compound,that such a maidenly girl is rarely molestedif she keeps within decent neighborhoods at nottoo-late hours, and Cicely Adair went and came as[23]safely as if she were a child playing in her father’sgarden.

“I hate to leave you, Cis, but nothing ever doeshappen to you,” said Nan, after they had supped,and Cicely was preparing to return to the office andNan to go home.

“You wouldn’t be a mighty protection, smallNan,” laughed Cis. “Nonsense, child! I’m off byten, and that’s only an hour after nine, and nineis curfew hour, so that’s all right! I’ll go back tothe office and join up the rest of the world on wires,and go home as I always do. Don’t you know, noone would dare molest a red-haired girl? I fly adanger signal on top, and they turn out for me!”

CIS resumed her place at the long table, andslipped what she called “her bridle” aroundher head with the cheerful philosophy customaryto her at this end of her eight-hours’ employment.She had somewhere in the back of her brain a suppressedconsciousness that there were pleasanterways for attractive and lively youth to spend anevening, but this was “her job.” “My job”summed up in Cis’s mind and on her tongue awhole unformulated, yet distinct code of duty.What was one’s job must be done, that was clearenough, and done well, no shirking, still more, noneglect. If one took a job, fidelity was impliedin its acceptance: “Take it or leave it, but if youtake it, take it down to the ground,” Cis wouldhave put it. She despised a shirker and a slacker;she “played the game straight,” whatever game sheentered upon. “Her job” stood for the flag in asoldier’s hand, the pledge of an obligation. “Ifyou take a man’s money deliver the goods,” Cistold another girl who was not serving well heremployer’s interests. It was not a bad code to steerby, as far as it went; if it did not imply supernaturalmotives, it was a good foundation uponwhich to build them.

[25]The girl who had taken Nan’s place while Ciswas out, was by no means Nan; she was an unattractiveperson to Cicely. Indeed, there was noother girl in the room for whom friendly Cis, whofelt kindly disposed to them all, ready to obligeand amuse them, cared in the least. Cicely, whohad been graduated from high school, and Nan,the devout little product of the parochial school,were better educated than any of their companions.Neither Cis nor Nan had time, nor desire for muchreading; they were far from being cultivated girls,but they were well taught, and they found littleto attract them in the foolish interests, badly expressed,the tiresome conversation of their workingmates.

So when Cis resumed her place, she nodded inreturn to the nod from the bobbed hair now besideher; said a few words which set the girl to whomthey were spoken, off into a giggle, and turned herattention to her switchboard, as a hint that businessonly was her end in view.

In this uptown exchange early evening calls weremany; there would not have been the opportunityfor talk, had Cis desired it, which she and Nanusually found in the afternoon. Cis plugged-inrapidly; answered questions—rather more thanwas her office—corrected errors, untangled thedifficulties of the old gentleman who turned inmany calls every night and regularly called wrongnumbers, till nine o’clock was recorded on the wallclock regulated by telegraph from Washington, andCicely Adair drew a long breath.

[26]“One more hour!” she said aloud. “Went fastto-night!”

“Someone meetin’ you, Cis?” asked her neighbor.

Cicely shook her head. “I’m the cat that walksby herself,” she said lightly. “Not a man willbother with me—but, as to that, none will botherme going home, so it works good and bad!”

“Yes, I guess so!” her neighbor derisively replied.“Pity ’bout you! Us girls are on to you,Miss Adair! The fellers’d tumble for you if youdidn’t jack ’em up!”

“Fiddlesticks! But I won’t have anyone callingfor me; puts you under obligations,” said Cis impatiently.

“You said a mouthful!” the girl endorsed her,then added significantly: “I got one comin’ afterme, but I don’t get off till one, Q. T. Dang’rousgoin’ alone at that littlest hour!”

The girl laughed and Cis looked disgusted, drawingaway with a slight, involuntary movement beforeshe recalled herself. Then she said:

“One is a lot later than ten, more than the fourhours later. Glad you’ve someone to see you safe,Mimi.”

Cicely turned back to her switchboard, refusingto share the humor of Mimi’s being escorted home,and as she did so she received a call.

“I’d like to get 12, the Boulevard, if you please,”a voice said.

Cicely said sharply: “What number did yousay?”

She recognized the voice and the peculiar form[27]of its call. It was the oily, yet sub-acid voicewhich Cis had said was like maple syrup beginningto ferment, the voice which she distrusted, thevoice of sweet Jeanette Lucas’ betrothed, to whomher marriage was imminent.

“What number did you say?” Cicely thereforesaid sharply; could he have possibly mistaken hiscall? Parkway 58 was the Lucas call, and this,Boulevard 12—Why, in the name of all that wasgood and loyal was this Herbert Dale calling Boulevard12?

“I’d like to get 12, the Boulevard,” repeated thesuave voice, this time with its sub-acid quality lesssubmerged.

Cicely plugged-in for the required number, buther wits were working quickly, her warm heart wasbeating fast, sending the blood up to her brighthair with a generous, pitying indignation for thegirl whom she admired at a distance, whom she hadset up in a sort of shrine as the ideal maiden.

Cicely was not in the habit of indulging curiosityby “listening in”; indeed, she felt little curiosityas to other people’s affairs, but now what shefelt was not curiosity, but a burning sympathy forthat other girl. Therefore she listened in. Onlya few moments did she listen to the conversationbetween Herbert Dale, on one end of the wire, andsomeone at Boulevard 12 on the other. She heardenough to satisfy her that her favorite theory ofvoices being indicative had a solid foundation infact. She jerked herself away from her eavesdropping,let her hands fall into her lap, nervously[28]twisting her fingers, her head bowed as she rapidlyexamined herself as to what she meant to do aboutit.

“For the love of Pete, Cis Adair, your face’sredder’n your hair; you’re all red! You listenedin! What’s up?” cried her neighbor, putting outher hand to follow Cicely’s example.

“Keep off! It’s my business!” ordered Cicelysharply, and the girl thought it better to abandonher plan, warned by the flash in Cis’s eyes.

“Just hold your tongue, Mimi, a bit; I’ve got tothink,” Cis added, and again Mimi obeyed her.

“She won’t thank me,” Cis told herself. “Notnow, anyway; may later. But it’s not a square dealto keep her in the dark. If she chooses to go onwith him, it’s her business, but she ought to havethe chance to choose; that’s it! She’s no sort ofidea. She’s a little idiot if she marries him, knowinghe can’t be trusted when such a girl’s that hasset the 10th for the wedding. But that’s her affair.I’ll not deal straight with her if I don’t let her inon what I know. It’ll hit her hard, poor kid, butit might be worse, only she won’t see that now.It will cost me my job. Mimi’s sure to tell Amelia;she’s thick with her. I’ll be giving her my scalp,sure and certain. Well, what of it? What’s myjob, beside the whole life of a mighty fine girl?Mimi may hold her tongue—No, she won’t! Well,if it makes me pay, what’s that to do with the rightsof it? I’d take it pretty cruel if another girl didn’tstand by me in Miss Lucas’ place. I’m going to doit!”

[29]Cicely set her plug in Parkway 58; her handtrembled as she did so. Mimi, watching intently,saw it shake. She was suspicious. To let anyonein on a wire to listen to a conversation was to breakone of the fundamental laws of the company.

Mimi suspected that Cicely Adair was breakingthat law now.

“Is this Miss Lucas? Miss Jeanette Lucas?” Cisasked. “Please hold your receiver. I’m connectingyou on a wire. It’s something you must hear.Go ahead.”

Then Cis dropped her face into her hands andsat quite still, as if she were waiting for the strokeof fate. No stroke fell, however; the call forBoulevard 12 was rung off; Cis noted the excessrate, which was considerable, and notified the publicstation whence the call had come, of the amountdue. She half expected to be called by JeanetteLucas, impersonally, as “Central,” but no suchcall came, and when the office clock pointed to ten,Cicely arose, doffed her “bridle,” and turned toMimi.

“See here, Mimi,” she said, “I never did thinkthere was much use in asking a girl for a solemnpromise to keep a secret. If you tell her you don’twant something told she won’t tell it, if she’s white;if she’s any other color all the promises this sideof Jericho won’t stop her talking. Now, of courseyou know I did something to-night that’s deadagainst the rules, but I tell you that it was the onlydecent thing to do, and whatever happened I knewI had to do it, and I’d do it again this minute,[30]because it was right. I’ve had time to think itover, and I’m surer every instant that I did thesquare thing. That’s all I can tell you, or anyone,because the rest is none of our business. Idon’t want you to tell a living soul what you sawand heard; I ask you not to. And that’s all Ican do about it. If you keep your tongue betweenyour teeth I’ll not forget it of you, and I’ll doyou a good turn the first chance I get. Signed:Cicely Adair.”

Mimi laughed. “Sent special? All right; I gotit. Say, Cis, Amelia ’n me ’s pals, but I’m notwith her ’bout you. She’s jealous, that’s what’seatin’ ’Melia. I ain’t; I don’t haf to be! I won’ttell. It’s a rich one, but I won’t tell; honest, crossm’ heart! The comp’ny wouldn’t do a thing toyou if they heard it, I’ll tell the world! Don’t youworry, Cis; I like you; you’re a great one. I’llnever give you away, don’t you fret! Gee! Whatd’you s’pose ’Melia’d do to you if she had youdown like this! She says you think you’re the cat’smiauw. She’d give you a miauw, I’ll say shewould!”

“Thanks, Mimi. It’s straight of you to keep thisto yourself. Good night,” said Cis, and went away.“Little snipe! Sure she’ll tell Amelia!” shethought as she walked rapidly down the quietstreet.

The next day passed without anything unusualto mark it, to Cicely’s surprise. She felt that anythingand everything were imminent, but nothingmore exciting befell her than being one bag of[31]peanuts short in her noon distribution to her gaminfriends, owing to the unforeseen appearance ofTony Caprioli’s little brother, who had to be compensatedwith a nickel. It was a perfectly satisfactorysubstitute, Cis found to her relief, mainlybecause Tony divided his peanuts with the youngLuigi, who thus came out well ahead of the game.

The second day, however, Cicely’s bright headfell under the guillotine, a martyr to a certain kindof nobility which makes the figure of the guillotinenot unsuitable.

When Cis came into the office, nearly ten minutesahead of her schedule, there fell upon all thegirls that significant hush which eloquently declaresby its silence that the newcomer has beenthe subject of conversation up to the moment whenthe door swung. Amelia’s face was red beyondand additionally to the paint which franklyadorned her cheeks and lips; she looked malevolentand triumphant. Nan was flushed, almostpurpling; her eyes were nervously excited and tearful.All the other girls looked uncomfortable, andmost of them looked regretful, Cis was glad to see,for she instantly knew what had happened.

“I’m workin’ double shift, Cis; no need yousettin’ down. I’m doin’ your shift till the nextorders. You’re to go to th’ office soon’s you showup,” said Amelia gloatingly.

“Well, they were slow about it!” exclaimed Cisswinging around. “I thought I’d hear this yesterday.”

“Oh, Cis, Cis, dear!” moaned Nan.

[32]“Nobody’s to blame but yourself, Cis Adair!Mimi didn’t want to tell on you, but when shetol’ me, I said she’d ought to come out with it, notlet nice girls that kep’ the rules get looked atcrooked for what they wouldn’t do, not for nothin’.What I say is, it’s easy rule to keep; simply tendto your own bus’nuss. Listenin’ in ain’t whatint’rusts me; it don’t girls that’s got gentlemenfriends an’ ev’rything. I’ll do your work to-day,Cis Adair, but the comp’ny won’t let me overdolong, I’ll tell the world! You’re wanted in theoffice, Cis Adair, an’ it’s a cinch you’re not wantedelsewheres!” Amelia delivered her speech explosively.

Cis laughed lightly as she went toward the door.

“Do you honestly think that I didn’t know preciselywhat would happen when I—when I—danced,would you call it? I knew what the fiddlerwould cost,” she said. “Don’t weep for me,Amelia! Nancy, stay down and have supper withme, will you? I’ll be waiting for you in the drugstore.”

Nan nodded, speechless, and Cis went off, withoutoutward sign of perturbation, to meet the managerof this office, who had always been her friend,as he had proved in many trifling ways.

“Ah, Miss Adair, I’m sorry to have to see youto-day, and for the reason which made me summonyou. Please be seated,” he said. “I think youmust know that reason?”

“Not much use in play-acting, Mr. Singer, so[33]I’m not going to pretend I don’t! Yes, I know,”said Cis.

“One of our subscribers reported to us yesterdaythat a girl in our exchange had connected anotherof our subscribers with a conversation which hewas holding. This action has, justly, too, infuriatedthe gentleman whose conversation was thusoverheard. He has demanded that we find andproperly punish the offending operator. Heraction has led to the most disastrous consequences,in fact to great loss and grief to the gentleman—”

“No! Has it, though?” cried Cis almost springingto her feet. “Then she was game; she didhave sense enough to throw him down!”

“Evidently, Miss Adair, your action was intendedto work harm to the gentleman. Do youknow him personally, or the subscriber whom youconnected with his wire?”

Mr. Singer, Cis felt sure, was controlling a desireto laugh.

“No, indeed, but when a nice girl is gettingfooled—”

“Now, Miss Adair, that will do. Let us avoidopen allusions. Knowing you, I am inclined tothink that you acted from a sort of mistakenchivalry; that you yielded to an impulse to saveanother girl from what you feared would be greatersorrow than you were inflicting upon her. Yousee, I give you full credit for good, even for ratherfine motives, and I acknowledge that it is refreshingto find a girl with ideals such as this reveals.[34]But it won’t do, Miss Adair, it won’t do! Thetelephone company is not in business to guardmorals, nor its subscribers’ welfare; it is in businessto transmit messages and to see that theirprivacy is secured to their subscribers. You havebroken one of the fundamental, inviolable rules ofyour office, and there is nothing for me to do butdismiss you.” Mr. Singer ended with regret inhis voice.

“Sure, Mr. Singer!” Cis agreed. “I knew itwould come out, and I’d be thrown down. Sorry,but I’d do it right over again this minute.”

“I quite believe that!” Mr. Singer allowed himselfa sound of laughter in his throat that did notpass his lips. “You have been a good operator,Miss Adair; quick, yet patient; faithful, punctual,and—until now—highly honorable. I’m exceedinglysorry to lose you, sorrier to dismiss you. Iwish that you had not felt it necessary to load yourgun and take a shot at birds, which were, afterall, not in your field.”

“If you had a daughter, or a sister, a nice, alovely girl, all innocent and—and well, white, Mr.Singer, wouldn’t you give her a chance to keep outof a regular sell, wouldn’t you put her wise andlet her have her chance, at least? I bet you would,and I did!” cried Cicely.

Mr. Singer arose, holding out his hand in farewell,not otherwise replying to Cicely’s question.

“Good-bye, Miss Adair, and good luck. If I canbe of use to you, let me know. But in your nextposition keep to your rules, and don’t let your imagination[35]lead you into quixotic scrapes,” he said.“The cashier will give you your check. I’ll gladlyrecommend you to anyone whom you may send tome, but I cannot condone your disobedience here.”

“Of course not!” Cis heartily agreed. “Thanks,Mr. Singer. I knew I’d lose my head, so don’tfeel sorry about it. You know red heads getthrough worse thickets than this one. You’ve beendownright dandy to me; much obliged, honest!Good-bye; sorry to say it to you, but I’m glad aboutthe rest of it.”

“We had a little difficulty in identifying theoffender, but at last we did so, through one of thegirls whose friend had been a witness to your imprudence,”said Mr. Singer, politely holding thedoor open for his unrepentant employee to leavehim.

“There weren’t many between whom to choose;all you had to do was to ask me; I’m on till tenon that section. I’d have told you I did it, if you’dasked me,” said Cis, halting in the doorway.

“You certainly would have, Cicely the Sincere!”cried Mr. Singer, and this time he laughed aloud.

Nan hurried from the exchange at five o’clocksharp, and around to the drug store where Cicelywas awaiting her.

“We don’t eat to-night in the Tel. Restaurant,Nancy Bell; we eat at Hildreth’s, one of his regularold ripping platter suppers: lobster; little neckssitting around him; broiled finan haddy, relishes—whominds being a Catholic on Friday whenshe’s got the price of Hildreth’s about her?” cried[36]Cis, seizing Nan’s hand and tucking it into herarm. “Drew my last check from the Tel. Co., soit’s on me, and a treat at Hildreth’s, just to celebrate!”

“Oh, Cis, Cis, what are you going to do next?”sighed Nan, yielding, yet disapproving this extravagance.

“After the supper? I hadn’t thought. Movie?But we don’t care for movies!” Cis pretendedto meditate.

“You know I don’t mean that! What sort ofwork will you try for? Where will you go—”

Cis interrupted her by whistling blithely, as wellas any boy could whistle, as indifferent as a boyto passers-by: “Oh, boys, where do we go fromhere?”

“Wait till after lobster, Nan, and I’ll tell you,”Cis then said, seeing Nan’s real distress.

“Oh, that means something that would spoil myappetite!” cried prophetic Nan.

After a delicious supper in the famous sea-foodspecialty restaurant, to which Cis did fuller justicethan Nan, Cis lay back in her chair, her small cupof black coffee before her, her eyes on the contortedshoulders of the ’cellist of the orchestra offour pieces which “helped float the fish,” Cis said.

“Going to tell me?” hinted Nan.

“I hate to, Nan, because I know you’ll hate it,and so do I, when I think of you. But I’m goingto get out of here, altogether; I’m going to Beaconhiteto try my luck,” announced Cicely.

“Beaconhite! Whatever for?” gasped Nan.

[37]“Never could tell you,” said Cis airily. “Alwayswanted to try that little city. Spells its name socrazy, that’s one reason; must have been BeaconHeight once, of course. I always had an idea I’dlike it; it’s hustling, yet settled. I’ve some moneysaved up; not much; enough to carry me on tillI get to earning, and I’m dead sick, dead tired ofhere! Not tired of you, little Nan, but of theplace. I think I’d better move up a square ortwo; ’tisn’t good to cork up too much fermentation.Honest, Nan, it’s lucky I’ve not taken upthat vitamine bug they’re all rushing so! If I ateyeast cakes, like the rest of ’em, I’d fly to pieces!I’m going to Beaconhite and show it what a red-hairedgirl can do to it! Nanny, don’t look sosorry! And don’t cry, dear! That lobster shellhad enough salt water, and too much hot water!”

“You’ll forget all about me, and I love youdearly, Cis,” faltered Nan.

“I’m just as fond of you as you are of me, nicelittle Silly!” cried Cis. “Only I’m not keen onmushiness. You’ve got to allow me one virtue: Istick when once I’m stuck; no waving around tothis solid body! We’ll be just as good friends, andwe’ll get together again, here or there, but it’s thetruth, Nan; I’ve got to break off, and break outnew, or my red hair’ll blaze up like a fire balloon,and there’ll be no more of Miss Adair! I hatedto tell you, but I’m glad it’s done! If this hadn’thappened in the office I’d have left next October;now it has happened, I’m going right off—orsooner.”

[38]“Right off? How soon, Cis?” faltered Nan.

“This is Friday; don’t you think Monday is agood day to start a new record? First day of theweek, first week day of the week, and washingday?” Cis suggested.

“I don’t suppose any other day would be easier,”admitted Nan. “Will you stay with me Sundaynight, start from my house? Oh, Cis, Cis! Thereare only two days before Monday, and I neverdreamed, never once dreamed this morning thatI’d ever lose you!”

“I’m not dreaming it now, Nanny dear. We’refriends for keeps. You can’t lose me; I’m not thatsort. Come along, Nan. I’m fed up on lobster,and I’m much more fed up on those fiddlers three—likeOld King Cole’s. But I seem to miss ajolly old soul in this crowd of two!”

Cis jumped up, paid the reckoning, and tuckedNan under her arm after her usual custom, herheight and Nan’s being adapted to this arrangement.

Thus they left the restaurant, Cis humming anold song which she had picked up from one ofher elders: “You can’t lose me, mah Honey,” asappropriate to her assurance, to Nan, and as if shehad not a care in the world.

CIS spent Saturday forenoon picking up her belongings,packing certain things in a large oldtrunk, others of more immediate emphasis in aperfectly new, smaller trunk, leaving pictures andthe few pieces of bric-a-brac which she owned, tobe boxed.

She was entirely cheerful over these preparations,whistling softly between closed teeth, sometimesbreaking into a snatch of song; it was evidentthat change was by no means unwelcome to her.

Nan Dowling, on the contrary, sat on the edgeof the bed, avoiding physical comfort as her bodydropped from extreme mental discomfort, watchingCis with her hands clasped, hanging forwardbetween her knees; her lips drawn down, her eyesgloomy. She had the forenoon free because shewas going on duty at one, Cis’s old time, havingmade an exchange with another girl who gladlyaccepted the chance to have an evening off, especiallySaturday evening.

“Cis, don’t take everything you own with you!”remonstrated Nan. “Pack a trunk to leave at myhouse.”

“I wonder why?” said Cis absent-mindedly.“Believe I’ll give this blouse to the waitress. It’s[40]a bit tight for me, though it’s still as good as ever,but that poor little lean thing will like somethingdecent, and she’ll be able to lap it over the wayit was meant to go; I can’t.”

She held up a pretty linen shirt-waist, turningit by the shoulders, considering it in the sunshine’sstrong light.

“You wonder why you should leave a trunk withme?” Nan persisted, ignoring Cis’s suggestion ofthe gift. “Because it looks so horridly final whenyou’ve taken everything with you; you may wantto come home again. At least you might let mehope that you will, let me feel I had a link withyou.”

“I won’t come back next winter, Nanny; I’llpush on farther if Beaconhite doesn’t appreciateme—or I appreciate it. I don’t say I’ll never comeback, but I know I’m going to keep away a while,”declared Cis. “So there’s no telling what I couldget on without. And as to that word ‘home’ youused, where’s my home? In those trunks! A girllike me, without kith nor kin, boarding or lodging,hasn’t a home. Of course, I’ll always call this oldtown home, because I was born here and grew uphere, but that’s nonsense, when you come to thinkof it. You’re the only thing here to come backto; I don’t need to leave a trunk to hitch me upto you, small Person! So your silly Cicely takesall she owns with her. Say, Nan, why do yousuppose they didn’t nickname me Silly, instead ofCis? Comes just as straight from Cicely!”

“Oh, dear Cis! You always make me feel as if[41]you were a kite and the rope was slipping throughmy fingers! You’re the friendliest thing, yet youdon’t care one bit for people—unless it is for me?”sighed Nan. “Aren’t you going to say good-bye toFather Lennon? And—and—go to confession thisafternoon before you start?”

Cis shook her head hard. “Not time for confessionfor me yet; not for quite a long while. I’llturn up somewhere by Easter, maybe at Christmas!Don’t look bothered, good little Nan! I’m goingto be honest whatever else I am. I often wonderif I’m honest to go at all. You don’t think Godcan like us to pretend, do you?” Cis turned unexpectedlyserious.

“I think He likes us to hold on hard when weare tempted to let go, and that we can be honestin wanting to hold on, at least,” said Nan slowly.“I’m pretty sure this idea you have of being honestis dangerous. Isn’t it just as honest to receive thesacraments because you know you ought to, as becauseyou happen to feel like it? And there’s moremerit in it, so it is sure to earn the feeling for youafter a while?”

Nan spoke hesitatingly; she stood in awe of Cis,of her cleverness, her reserves, and also her unreserve,which was likely at any time to shock Nan.

“Maybe, nice Nanny,” Cis assented lightly. “I’mso full of pep that I don’t crave anything that lifecan’t give, and I don’t think I’m a great sinner,honest! I’m pretty square; I tell the truth; I hatelowness; I don’t harm people, I even like to oilother people’s springs when the going’s hard. I[42]don’t know exactly what religion does mean to me;I’ve got some, at least I’d never be anything butCatholic, but I can’t see why I’m not living a decentlife, better than some people’s who are at confessionevery couple of weeks or so.”

“Of course, Cis, and you’re a peach; you knowwhat I think of you, part of it, anyway. But that’snot all of it. I’m no good at explaining, but allthat’s just this world,” Nan faltered; she couldhave made her meaning clearer, but she shrankfrom preaching to Cis.

“This world it is, Nancy Bell! Where else isour address? I’ve heard about it; you mean whatthey say in church about ‘natural virtues.’ Well,I’d like to know who created nature, what’s wrongwith natural virtue? It’s a nice, natural thing tobe jolly, and kindly, and not jealous, or hen-minded—hen-mindedand snake-acting! Andyou’ve got to own up that some pious people arejust as jealous and harsh as can be, wouldn’t dealhalf as decently with other folks as Cis, the Sinner!So that same Cis can’t feel she’s so awfully asinner! As to saying good-bye to Father Lennon,why on earth should I bother him and myself,now I’m going away, when I never saw him totalk to him when I was here?” Cis flicked ascarf into Nan’s face, adding:

“Smile awhile, Nancy! I may be headed wrong,but I’m not dying, and perhaps I’ll brace up andturn saintly before Father Lennon—or someoneelse—comes to say good-bye to me for good andall!”

[43]“You’re so big and brave and daring; you’relike a soldier! I can’t bear to have you miss connections,Cis.” Nan said softly. “Not enlist.”

“Nice Nanny!” Cis began again, then held upher hand.

“Footsteps on the stairs, strange ones! Nan,they’re coming this way! Think the company issorry, and is sending me an appointment in themain office?”

Cis opened her door to a boy who knocked, amessenger boy.

“Miss Cicely Adair,” said the boy, glancing fromone to the other girl. “Answer. I wait—R. S.V. P., see?”

“I see!” cried Cis, smiling at the boy in perfectsympathy with his boyhood.

“I’m the lady you seek! Sit down—but forgoodness’ sake don’t sit on my best hat! I’ll read,then I’ll write—maybe!”

She tore open the envelope addressed to her inan unknown, feminine hand, an unusual hand, fullof character and refinement; she drew forth itscontents.

“Well, Nan!” exclaimed Cis. “It’s from MissLucas! Here, read it!”

Then she threw on the floor a pile of articleswhich covered a straight chair’s seat, shoved backother things from the table end, and wrote:

[44]She addressed an envelope, folded her tiny note,sealed it in the envelope, and handed it to the boy,who rose to go.

“You’re one!” he said admiringly. “That’s thekind o’ letter! Don’t have to hurt your eyes overit! Mostly they writes tons. Had the deuce ofa time findin’ you!”

“Don’t blame you one bit!” said Cis cordially.“I have an awful time finding myself! But Ithink it pays in the end.”

“Yeh,” the boy grinned, instantly, like all boys,in perfect sympathy and understanding with Cis.“So long. Much obliged, but it’s paid, both ways.”

“Of course it is, but an ice cream cone does noharm, and that’s outside your day’s wages,” retortedCis, letting him out. Then she turned toNan.

“What do you suppose she wants of me? Is itto bless, or to curse me? I’ve got to go, couldn’trefuse and wouldn’t want to, but at the same timeif you want to play my part I’ll lend you myclothes, Nan,” she said.

Nan laughed; she would have tripped on Cis’sskirt, short though skirts were, and fallen throughher jacket.

“Your clothes are not a good fit for me, Cis,and I’d be less of a fit in your place at Miss Lucas’.I’ll never be able to wait to hear what happensthere!” said Nan.

“Pity you’re on duty all this afternoon andevening! But I’m going to Mass to-morrow, sure. If[45]you go to the eight I’ll meet you and tell you allI know,” Cis suggested.

“All right; that’s fine!” Nan’s face brightened.“It’s time I went home to lunch, if I’m to be atthe office by one. Remember, you’re to spend to-morrownight with me. Oh, Cis! Your lastnight!”

“Oh, I don’t know! I look forward to manymore nights, Nanny, and some of them with you!”laughed Cis, persistently cheerful.

Cis dressed for her call on Miss Jeanette Lucaswith more trepidation than she would have beenwilling to acknowledge. She looked exceedinglywell in setting forth, all in white; plain-tailoredlinen skirt; fine hand-wrought shirt-waist; a simplewhite hat of soft straw, with a soft white bow on oneside its sole trimming; her masses of glowing, shiningred hair emphasized by its snowy setting.

Cis noted her effects in the mirror with approval.

“Not so bad, Cicely, my dear,” she said aloud.“Neat, but not gaudy—except your hair! You’renot in the least a beauty, but you look kept-together,and I’m not ashamed to walk out with you,Miss Adair!”

She nodded at her reflection in the glass, sighedas she took up gloves, which she detested, and randownstairs, dreading her coming call, yet afraid ofbeing unpunctual.

The Lucas house stood back from the street behindits tall trees, screened from its surroundings,although its neighborhood was the best in town.[46]“The old Lucas place” was a landmark, builtshortly after the building of the Republic; it hadbeen finished in time to entertain Lafayette whenhe had returned to see the new order which hisyouthful love of adventure had helped to establishon the western continent. It had been deemed apity that the old estate was exposed to the dangerof ultimate transformation into a Roman Catholicinstitution by the conversion of its presentowner to the Faith of France, a Faith which mightdo very well for French heroes, born to it, butdid not do at all for unheroic Americans.

It was an unwarranted anxiety that apprehendedsuch a transformation for the stately house; besidesJeanette, his oldest daughter, Robert Lucas had anolder married son, three younger boys and twoyounger girls, so that heirs were not wanting tosave the house from a Sisterhood, nor was its neighborhoodfalling off to bring about a desire on thepart of the Lucas family to sell it.

Cis went up its broad front walk to its wide,simply beautiful front door, impressed and quietedby the repose, the certainty of fundamental things,which reached her even on the exterior of thehouse.

A soft-footed, soft-voiced maid, with perfectmanners, responded to Cicely’s summons. Shesaid: “Please come in, Miss Adair. If you don’tmind, will you go right up to Miss Jeanette’s room?She is expecting you, and gave those orders. I willshow you the way.”

She led Cis up a long flight of stairs—the house[47]was remarkably high-ceiled—its steps low, mountingat the easiest possible angle, yet with a broadmahogany handrail to aid in progress. There wasa deep recessed landing more than half-way up, anarched window lighting it, a splendid old clockstanding back against the wall in its corner.

The maid knocked on a door that stood slightlyajar at the rear of the hall on the second floor, andinstantly pushed it open.

“Miss Adair, Miss Jeanette. I brought her rightup to you as you told me to,” she said.

The maid stepped back and withdrew down thehall. A girl about Cicely’s age arose from a lowcouch on which she had been reclining, and said,speaking low, lifelessly, as if speaking were aneffort:

“Please come in, Miss Adair. You were kind tocome. Will you take this chair?”

She drew forward slightly a deep chair, softlycushioned in dark blue, and herself dropped backon the couch, sidewise among its piled pillows, notlying down, but resting on her elbow. Yet, listlessthough her attitude was, her left hand clutched thecorner of a pillow, wrinkling it tautly in a nervousgrasp.

She was dark eyed, dark haired; Cis thought thatshe had never seen anyone so pale; her olive skin,naturally beautiful in tint and texture, was almostgreenish in its livid tint; there were great circlesunder her eyes which looked sunken, as if they hadbeen staring wide open into the dark for sleeplessnights. Cis forgot her embarrassment, her uneasiness[48]as to what might be before her because of hershare in what had befallen this girl, in an overwhelmingpity for the grief which had thuswrecked her loveliness.

Miss Lucas suddenly spoke, clasping and twistingher fingers, her hands thrust forward on herknees, her eyes burning as they stared at Cis.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said.

“I was introduced to you at a benefit for theOrphans; I served cream. I didn’t expect you toremember me,” Cis answered.

“You have a face to be remembered,” JeanetteLucas said. “We had hard work tracing you. We—I,rather—wanted to find the girl who——” shebroke off; her low, husky notes gave way to astrident tone in her voice. She waved her handsas if she were throwing something away. “Seehere, Miss Adair, we’ve got to talk frankly, as onegirl to another. There has been too much betweenus to beat about the bush, to try for foolish, futiledisguises of speech.”

“I never like them,” said Cis.

“Then—why did you do what you did? Do youknow—have you ever known—Herbert Dale?” demandedJeanette, speaking with such eagerness thatshe could hardly enunciate.

“Never. I’ve seen him,” replied Cis.

“But you knew that night who he was; you knewit was something concerning me nearly, horribly,tragically nearly. How?”

“He called you often; we get used to voices andways on the wire, Miss Lucas. All the world knew[49]from the papers that you were to be married; that’seasy to explain,” Cis answered gently.

“What was your motive? Why did you connectme with that wire? Did you hate him, or me?”asked Jeanette.

“Oh, Miss Lucas, why do you say that? Can’tyou see why I did it?” cried Cis distressed. “I’dbeen admiring you; you’re so pretty, so fine, sogood, so stainless! It made me sick to think thatyou might be walking into unhappiness, blind,tricked. I did what I’d want done for me in yourplace; I put you where you could know, and thenwhatever you did, you’d do with your eyes open.I wanted you to have a square deal, dear MissLucas.”

“At first I loathed you, I would have punishedyou,” cried Jeanette. “But even at first I knewthat I could not marry him. I tried to think Icould, that I’d be a St. Monica, but no, oh, no!I could not see him; I could not think of him; hewas a painted mummy case that held another body,not the body in which my heart was buried. Itwas not hatred, it was worse—distrust, horror!He was not only wicked, but he was deceiving. Oh,Cicely Adair, when you put me on that wire youkilled innocent, poor young Jeanette Lucas! Idon’t know what it has done to me; I shall go on,but never again the girl who answered your callthat awful night. We don’t lightly break a promiseto marry, we Catholics, but Father Lennon saidthat I could not marry a man from whom I shrankwith horror. I am not going to marry. But I’m not[50]blaming you. I have been blessing you throughlong, black hours of day and night, all alike dark!I should have died if I had discovered that my husbandwas a liar, wicked. I thought that I shouldcure his one defect, his indifference to religion. Iknow now that he was false to all things, to me aswell as to God! Cicely Adair, you’re a Catholicgirl; remember this lesson when you think of marrying.I am grateful to you, but, oh, I loved him,I loved him, and he never lived! I can’t mournthe loss of the man I loved; there was no such man.You can put flowers on a grave. I myself am theonly grave I have: I am dead, but the man I lovednever lived. Oh, me, oh, me!”

“Dear, dear Miss Lucas! Oh, I’m sorry!” criedCis, beginning to tremble.

“No! Be glad! I’m glad; indeed I am glad andgrateful that you saved me from worse! My fathernever trusted Herbert Dale. Mother liked him,but father was afraid. He blesses you for what youdid. It was fine for one girl to stand by another,unknown girl like that! I sent for you to tell youthis. I hear the company found out, and dismissedyou. There was a fearful scene when I gave backmy ring and told Herbert that I knew him at last.He guessed—not at first, but after a while; I’m toodull to keep a secret against his experienced questioning—heguessed how I found out. He sworehe’d have the girl dismissed who had put me on hiswire. I know that he succeeded. I am profoundlysorry. I owe you what cannot be repaid, but—willyou let my father help you in some way? He told[51]me to say to you, when I told him that I meant tofind you and thank you, that you would be stillmore generous and unselfish than you’ve alreadybeen, if you would let him help you to your feetagain. He said he would be honored in recommendingyou to any position, a girl with such finekindness and loyalty and true standards as yoursare! Will you be frank with me, please, dear?I’ve spoken to you without the thinnest veil overmy face!”

“Bless your dear, sweet soul!” cried Cis. “I’mall right. I’m leaving town to-morrow, going toseek my fortune, if you can imagine it!”

“Oh, no! Are you? It’s worse than I thought,”cried Jeanette aghast. “What a pity, what ashame! And all for me, to save me from being awretched wife! How could you be so kind to me?Indeed, indeed you must let us do something aboutit!”

“Dear girl,” said Cis, leaning forward, takingone of Jeanette’s burning hands in her firm, cool,shapely ones, “you mustn’t take that hard. I’m arestless fish; I’ve been wanting a change. I couldfind a job here, but I’ve been wanting to go away.I’m taking the chance the company’s given me topull up stakes; that’s all. I’m going Monday, toBeaconhite, just for sport, so don’t you worry overit, you dear!”

“Beaconhite? Oh, father could help you there!His brother is the president of the biggest bank inthe city, and if you had a letter to him he’d giveyou something splendid, I know he would! Will[52]you let father give you a letter to Uncle Wilmer?Please, please say yes!” Jeanette pleaded withhands and eyes, leaning forward eagerly.

“Sure I’ll say yes!” laughed Cis. “And then I’llsay thank you! It’ll be great not to be without aplank on a new ocean. But all I ask is that youand your father will quit feeling that you owe meanything. I knew the company would drop me,but that’s nothing! I tell you I’ve been fidgetinglately. Anyway, what’s that beside marrying thewrong sort? I’ve been fond of you this good while,Miss Jeanette Lucas; I’ve taken comfort in makingbelieve I knew you, and that we were friends.Funny, maybe, but all girls have sort of far-offcrushes, I guess! Then, when I’d a chance to be afriend to you in good earnest, you’d better believeI liked it! So that’s all there is to that, my dear!”

Jeanette looked at Cis hard and long, then sheleaned over to her and kissed her. “Strange,” shesaid slowly. “You have come into my life deeplywith one stride. No other girl is bound up intomy life as you are. As long as I live I shall rememberyou, the girl who saved me. I shall keep yourface, your wonderful red hair, in my mind whenI am old and feeble—if I live to be so! It doesn’tseem as though I could go on living, but I knowpeople can’t die because they no longer really live.We are friends, dear, and your sweet, queer dreamof me came true.”

“I’m so sorry about you, I ache,” said Cis simply.“What are you going to do, what will become ofyou? Don’t talk of dying!”

[53]“Father is going to take me to Europe for sixmonths. That’s all I know of a future,” said Jeanette.“I’m stunned; it doesn’t seem true most ofthe time. Then it is the only truth in all the world,and I reel under the feeling that all else, all Itrusted and believed, is false. I never knew wickedpeople, and if the one who seemed noblest, best, istreacherous, wicked, how do I know, how do Iknow? I’m not easy to transplant, Cicely; my rootswon’t take hold again. But your clear, changing,warm, pitying face looks true. My father and mymother are good, good and dear! I must find myway. Don’t you think I shall?”

“Stop brooding over it,” advised Cis, out of hercomplete ignorance. “There’s not a man bornworth worrying over. Set it down to experience,and quit thinking of it.” Jeanette looked at herwondering, then a faint smile passed over her face,hardly more than the shadow of one, but Cis rejoicedin it.

“That’s good advice, dear,” she said quietly.“But if you have poured yourself, all of yourself,your life and all its parts, into one vessel and it isbroken—how do you go on, how gather it all up,into what? Tell me this, brave, wise, ignorantCicely Adair! Don’t love anyone, Cicely; it hurts!”

“Well,” said Cicely, “I hope I sha’n’t. I likepeople lots, but I never wanted anyone so I layawake five minutes wanting them. I must go now.You’ve been mighty good to me. I was afraid youmight almost hate me. I think I could love you.”

“You could love someone, and find it as hard as[54]I do; you are the sort that can love,” said Jeanette.“I think I’m fond of you, Cicely Adair. I’m toonumb to feel anything but the one pain that absorbsme, but I’m sure I’m fond of you. Fatherwill send that letter to you to-morrow. I’m glad it’sto be Beaconhite, where he can introduce you, butI’m sorry, sorry you are suffering through me.”

“Not a bit of it! I love to go, honest! I wasbrought up by strangers; my mother died long ago;I live in lodgings; what’s the difference? Good-bye,you dear, dear, lovely Miss Lucas! Go tosleep; you look all in. When I think I made youlook like that——”

Jeanette shook her head, and took both ofCicely’s hands.

“It was a blessed deed, dear,” she said. “I sentfor you to tell you I’m grateful; not to thank you,because I can’t. We are friends, Cicely. We can’tbe parting for always; we have been drawn tooclose. Will you let me know what happens toyou, if letters aren’t too burdensome to you?”

“I’ll tell you, if you care,” said Cis. “Good-bye.”

Jeanette followed Cis to the head of the stairs,and rang for the maid to show her out. Cis lookedback, smiling up and waving her hand half-waydown.

Jeanette leaned over the broad mahogany rail,her soft silken negligée drawn around her, her eyesburning in their pallid setting, her dark hairloosely shading her face, her white lips pitifullypulled into a smile for Cicely.

[55]Cicely, boyish, unscathed by suffering or desire,yet knew that the girl, Jeanette Lucas, whom shehad idealized, had died under that surgery bywhich she had cut off from her what would haveslain her.

Cis walked slowly down the street, ponderingthe mystery of this contradictory truth.

CIS spent her last night before setting out totry her fortune, Sunday night, with Nan inthe Dowling, pleasant, somewhat crowded littlehouse.

Mr. Lucas had sent to Cicely the letter of introductionto his brother in Beaconhite, promisedher by Jeanette. Briefly, but forcibly, it expressedMr. Lucas’ conviction that Cicely Adair was a personwhose ability and fidelity were of the highestorder; that he, therefore, felt no hesitation inasking his brother to place her to her advantage, inacknowledgment of a debt which Mr. Lucas owedher and which he did not hope ever fully to cancel.

Cis read the unsealed letter with an elated senseof being armed to meet her new, experimental venture,and hurried around the corner to the publictelephone station to call up Miss Lucas, thank herand her father, and tell her that now she knewthat she was all right, though she had never beenfearful, and to bid Miss Lucas good-bye again, withthe injunction not to worry over her. “Or anythingelse,” Cis added as an afterthought.

Then she went back to her lodgings, finishedputting into her suitcase the articles which sheneeded for that night and her first night in Beaconhite,[57]took a quick, humorous survey of her room,which embraced its every detail, and waved herhand to it, nodding farewell.

“Good-bye, good luck, friend Room,” she said.“You’re not much of a home, but you’ve been mineover two years. Hope you get on well with yournew chum, and get dusted regularly, and that shewon’t make a fuss over that loose board, nor thebroken blind fastening. Wonder if I’ll sleep aswell in my new room as I’ve slept in you? Onething, I’ve never in my life had anything to keepme awake nights, so far!”

She took up the suitcase, waiting beside her—itwas not light, though it held no heavy articles,but there never was a light suitcase, howeverpacked—and went down the stairs.

Her landlady was awaiting her; she came out ofthe dining room when she heard Cis’s step, to wishher good luck and bid her good-bye.

“I hope you won’t be sorry, Miss Adair,” shesaid, without any indication that she considered thehope well-founded. “Personally, I think no onecould find a better place than the city we live in,but maybe Beaconhite ain’t so bad. You’ve beena good lodger; always pleasant; prompt with yourpayments; reg’lar in hours, and you never abusedthe light priv’lege with an iron, or any such. I’msorry to lose you; I can truthf’ly say that much,and I wish you well, wherever it may be.”

“Thanks, Miss Spencer. We’ve got on fine, takeit as a whole, and I hope the next one in my roommay be taken wholier—holier might easily mean[58]two things!” laughed Cis. “Good-bye, good luck!Look after the cat; I like that cat, and she’ll missmy petting. Animals need more than mere food.Good-bye!”

“Now I’m launched!” thought Cis, going offdown the street, having shut the front door forthe last time with her customary vigorous slam.“No, I’m not! Supper at Dowlings’ and the nightthere first, then I’ll really be launched! I like Nanheaps, but her mother is quite advice-full!”

Mrs. Dowling was not perfectly sure about Cis,as Cis was sharp enough to perceive. She did notlike her indifferent brand of Catholicity, but asidefrom that, she found nothing to condemn in thegirl, or had not so far. “So far” summed up Mrs.Dowling’s attitude toward Cicely; when Nan toldher mother that she knew no other girl so intrinsicallyupright and pure-minded, Mrs. Dowling alwayssaid: “I hope she is!” and Nan was helplessto defend Cis against a charitable hope, howeverdubiously expressed.

Cis was too attractive to men to be wholly trustworthy,Mrs. Dowling felt, with the bias of therather dull woman who has married the one manwho ever noticed her. She could not understandthe vivacity that drew others, combined with thenature that allowed no one to pass within definitebarriers.

Then young Tom Dowling, only a year and ahalf Cicely’s junior, found her far too charming;it was bad enough that Nan was her humble adorer,but Tom was another matter. Mrs. Dowling was[59]one of the many women who mistake jealousy forlove of their children. Down in the bottom of herheart, Mrs. Dowling felt sure that the act of Providencewhich removed Cicely Adair from her presentfield was easily understood, corroborative ofher secret misgivings.

Nan and Cicely were bedfellows that last night;like true girls they talked far into it of their views,their hopes, Cicely’s adventure, of Jeanette Lucasand the risks and promises of marriage.

Cis declared that she did not want to marry, norever would marry unless there came into her lifea man who so filled it that she would be maimedand crippled, lacking him. That man, she added,she did not believe existed. Cis felt self-sufficient,rejoicing in her ability to take care of herself.

Nan, on the other hand, did not mind acknowledgingthat she thought that she could be quite fondenough of a man to marry him and be happy withhim without a cataclysmic passion; he must begood, she added, like a wise little second Eve, because,chiefly, she hoped that she would have manychildren and she would want their father to be anexample to them.

Cis laughed aloud at this, and Nan smotheredthe laugh in the bedclothes, fearing to disturb hermother at one o’clock.

“I don’t believe many girls pick out a man forthe sake of their children; I’m dead sure I’d pickhim for myself,” declared Cis.

“I don’t care; they ought to,” maintained Nanstoutly. “How can you bring up children well if[60]their father is bad? And if he’s a good father,he’ll make his wife happy. All women are firstof all mothers of souls, like the first woman.”

She admitted to Cicely’s gleeful questioning thatshe had derived this idea from a mission sermon;in return for which admission Cicely admitted thatshe had no doubt it was quite right; that shecouldn’t object to it as long as she herself didn’thave to marry posterity’s ancestor.

Breakfast was somewhat hurried. Beaconhitewas distant over a hundred miles, but its inaccessibilitycounted for more hours’ travellingthan the miles. To reach it Cis must go to NewYork; cross there to another railway station, andstart again for her destination, therefore she wasto take an early train to New York.

Tom and Nan were going to see her off. Mrs.Dowling put up a delicious lunch for Cis, andgave it to her with the utmost kindness, and muchexcellent advice as to conditions and conduct ofwhich young Cicely, accustomed to the world andto make her way in it from her childhood, knewten times as much as the older woman, and hadpractically and instinctively formulated her ownrules.

“And, my dear,” Mrs. Dowling ended, “I wishyou’d at once go and call on some fine priest, gethim interested in you. You’re a girl that needsit, though all do who are alone like you. Andwhere’ll you stay to-night, till you find a nice room,in a decent house? And how’ll you know whatany house’s like in a new place, unless you call[61]on the priest and he sends you to the right one?You can’t be too careful, Cicely; you heed whatone who is old enough to be your mother tellsyou.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say to the priest ifI called on him, Mrs. Dowling,” laughed Cis. “I’llstay at a hotel, pick out a good one. I’ve made upmy mind to take a week off, not present my letterto that other Mr. Lucas for a bit. I’ll get a hotelfor five dollars a day, I’m sure, and I’ve decidedto spend thirty-five dollars on myself laying off,sizing up Beaconhite for a week. Then I’ll rollup my sleeves and pitch in. I may get acquaintedwith some decent young fellow of my own age.You take a risk when you pick up a girl, but witha boy you don’t. Then a boy never misunderstandsyou; you can be honest and friendly with a boy,and he’ll always see it if you’re straight, and playright up to you, good chum-fashion, not looking fortrouble, nor for anything behind your jolly goodtimes. I’ll try to find a nice boy, first, in Beaconhiteand he can steer me to his sister, or his cousins,and other girls. Isn’t that all so, Tom?”

“Right you are, Cis!” cried Tom. “Fellowsknow what girls mean—worse luck! It wouldn’tbe half-bad if a chap couldn’t always dope you outso easy.”

“Cicely Adair, I wish you had a mother!” criedMrs. Dowling.

“Don’t you suppose I do?” Cis exclaimed. “Theright sort; but we always think our mother wouldhave been the right sort, if we’d had her, of course![62]You’ve been kind, Mrs. Dowling; indeed I thankyou for it. Don’t worry about me. I don’t believeI’ll take a plunge; I sort of believe in myluck. I’m going to keep in mind that I’ve got tobe the old maid godmother to Nan’s children, andthat she’ll expect a perfect lady for the part!Isn’t it time we were getting off, children? If youmake me lose that train you can stop down in townand order crepe for your mother to put on!”

“Loads of time, Cis,” said Tom. “However, wemay as well mosey along. No use putting off amputation;hurts any time.”

He picked up Cicely’s suitcase, went outside,pulling his hat down over his eyes, to wait with agloomy face while Cis bade good-bye to his motherand the rest of his family.

“Rotten! No sense in her going!” muttered Tomunder his breath.

At the station there were many others waitingto see Cicely Adair on her way.

Young Tom had no chance for a tender leave-taking,for which Cis was devoutly grateful. Nowthat the time to go had come, Cis found herselfmoved by the parting. After all, one’s native placeand lifelong acquaintances mean a great deal, evento self-confident youth.

Cis wrapped little Nan in a close embrace andher bright eyes were dimmed by the tears whichdid not fall; Cis was not a crying girl. Nan weptaloud, in spite of Cis’s promise to return.

“You’ll never come back, not the same, anyway.[63]We’re too young to part and join on again withoutchanges,” sobbed Nan, unexpectedly far-seeing.

Cis settled into her seat next the window witha long breath of relief; she disliked feeling emotionallyupset, it puzzled her and offended herwith herself; she was unaccustomed to distress ofmind.

She took off her small close hat, rumpled herbright locks which it had flattened, and leaned herhead against the window to watch obliquely as longas she could see them, those whom she was leaving.Then, when the last handkerchief and waving strawhat had been lost to view, Cis burrowed in herhand-bag for a tiny powder box and puff, heldup a small mirror and dusted her eyelids and thetip of her nose, restored the vanity articles to theirplace, pulled a magazine from the straps ofthe suitcase at her feet, selected the box of candyof the five beside her which promised her keenestpleasure, and settled herself for the journey toNew York. If there were no use in crying overspilled milk, neither was there any use in spillingtears over partings which she herself had chosenshould occur.

It was half after four that afternoon when Cisfound herself being pulled slowly into the stationof the city which she had selected as the scene ofher winter residence, chiefly on the whimsicalground that it spelled its name Beaconhite whenit obviously should have been Beaconheight.

There was a better approach to this small city[64]of some hundred thousand inhabitants than iscommonly found along railway tracks, and thestation, with its roofed-over platforms covering outlyingtracks, and flower beds along its banks ateither end, was attractive.

“You look quite spiffy, Beaconhite, my dear, buthandsome is as handsome does; we’ll wait to findout what you do to me!” thought Cis, playing withherself after her usual fashion.

Cis “grabbed a bus in the dark,” as she told herself,one of three which bore the names ofhotels, this one being “The Beacon Head,”which hit Cis’s fancy: it chanced to be the besthotel in town; not the most pretentious, but themost dignified and well-conducted.

“Luck’s holding!” thought Cis, having registeredand been assigned a room at her limit of price, andfinding the room comfortable, well-furnished, itstwo windows giving, one on an enclosed court, butthe other on the main street.

Cis went to bed early, after a remarkably well-cooked,nicely served dinner. She debated goingout in search of amusem*nt, but decided for earlysleep and a long night.

“If you re going to spend a week loafing, mygirl, you’ll have a hard enough job putting in thetime, and when you’ve got to work at enjoyingyourself, don’t make the job harder by plungingthe first night, using up scanty materials for fun,”she advised herself, taking the lift to her room onthe second floor merely for the luxury of it, thoughshe preferred walking up stairs.

[65]Cis awoke early, thoroughly refreshed, but shecarried out her principle of compelling herself tobe luxurious by not rising till after eight. Then,bath and breakfast over, she sallied out to see thecity.

Cis found Beaconhite greatly to her liking; shecame back to the Beacon Head with a good appetite,and the conviction that here she should like tostay. She would not defer presenting her letterof introduction till the end of the week; she wouldpresent it to Mr. Wilmer Lucas the day after to-morrow.It was not likely that she would at oncestep into employment; she must allow time for aposition to be found for her, so she would be prudent,and use her introduction sooner than she hadintended doing. In reality, one forenoon of luxuriousidleness had shown active Cis that manydays so spent would undermine her spirits and herpatience.

On the third day after her arrival in Beaconhite,Cis made herself trig and trim in the well-cutsuit which she was wearing that summer, witha fine fresh shirt-waist, and her simple white hat.She had dressed carefully and looked her best; shesallied forth to call on Mr. Wilmer Lucas less hopefulthan confident.

She found the bank of which Mr. Lucas waspresident, to which Jeanette Lucas had directed herto find her uncle, a really impressively magnificentbuilding, its furnishings and finish declaring itsassets; its architecture and material announcing itssecurity. Mr. Lucas, she was told, did not come[66]to the bank every day; this was one of the morningson which he was to be found in his law office.It was not far from the bank; Cis turned her stepsthither, and was shown into Mr. Lucas’ privateoffice after a sufficient time had elapsed for himto read the introductory letter from his brother,which Cis sent in to him by the messenger whocame forward to her in the outer office.

“Miss Adair?” said Mr. Lucas as Cis entered.“My brother has spoken of you in the highestterms, as you probably know. Will you be seated,if you please?”

Cis took the straight chair before the desk, soplaced as to give Mr. Lucas the advantage of thelight from the window above it, full on her face.He looked at her keenly, and what he saw seemedto satisfy him, for he nodded almost imperceptibly,with a softening of his glance that betokened acceptanceof Cis. Cis’s bright, irregular face, withits straightforward look of humorous kindlinessinvariably won for her friends, and, from elder,experienced people, appraisal and trust.

Cis on her part saw a man older than the Mr.Lucas whom she had often seen at her home; alarge man, greyed around the temples, with a facethat was harder than his brother’s face; an intellectualface that might reveal selfishness, but didnot indicate self-indulgence. Cis felt a little afraidof him, yet to herself she characterized him as “thereal thing,” and decided that it would be agreeableto be in the employ of such a fine gentleman.

[67]“My brother tells me that you would like a position,Miss Adair, or implies that. What can youdo?” Mr. Lucas asked.

“I write a clear hand, that can be read; I amquick at figures; I know shorthand and can type.I can do as I’m told,” Cis added the final statementwith a twist of her lips, a sudden, crookedlittle smile that revealed her strong white teeth.

“Great virtue, that last,” commented Mr. Lucas,his eyes reflecting Cis’s smile.

“My brother speaks of his obligation to you;may I ask in what way you have put my brotherunder obligations to you?”

Cis shook her head. “Sorry, Mr. Lucas, but thatcan’t come into my dealing with you, if I’m luckyenough to deal with you. It wasn’t such a greatobligation; it wasn’t doing anything worth talkingabout, but you’ll see that I can’t talk about otherpeople’s affairs, even your brother’s, or—” Ciscaught herself up short.

“‘Or’? Well, Miss Adair, I suppose that youare within your rights in refusing to answer me,but you will see that I, also, have rights; that Ishould know all about a person whom I employ?”said Mr. Lucas.

“It’s not so much within my rights, Mr. Lucas,as within my duty,” said Cis, with her sunny smileof good fellowship, as if she expected Mr. Lucasto understand and sympathize with her. “I’ll tellyou anything under the sun that you want to knowabout myself.”

[68]“Why have you left your home? Why were younot able to find employment there?” asked Mr.Lucas, his voice intentionally made harsher.

“I left my home for no reason at all, just becauseI wanted to shake myself. I think I couldhave found employment there; I didn’t try. Iwanted a change,” said Cis promptly. “But I’mgoing to tell you that I was employed in the TelephoneExchange and was dismissed for breakingan important rule. So now you know the worstthey’d tell you of me at home.”

“Broke an important rule? Yet you this momenttold me you could obey. Did you break itdeliberately?” demanded Mr. Lucas.

“Yes, Mr. Lucas, and I knew they’d bounce—dismissme. Please don’t ask anything more aboutit, because the rest of it doesn’t concern me; itconcerns someone else.” Cis looked at Mr. Lucasappealingly, yet with a frank certainty that hewould trust her.

“H’m,” Mr. Lucas murmured. “I am a lawyer,Miss Adair; my specialty is collecting and weighingevidence for my firm. Let me see: You werea telephone girl; you broke an important rule; youwere dismissed, as you foresaw that you would befor that disobedience; my brother feels profoundlyindebted to you; his daughter, Jeanette, is the verycore of his heart; she was to have been marriedshortly; she is not to be married, I hear; she discoveredthat her lover was perfidious, unworthy;how did she discover it? Heh?” He bent his keeneyes, frowningly, upon Cis.

[69]“The newspapers said that the marriage was off;they didn’t tell us anything else about it,” saidCis, but she turned crimson and looked alarmed.

“Did you ever see my niece, Jeanette Lucas?”persisted Mr. Lucas, and as Cis nodded, he added:“Lovely girl, lovely in mind as well as body!”

“I saw her at a bazaar, spoke to her, and I’veloved her ever since; she’s the loveliest thing!”cried Cis fervently, then stopped, confused as shesaw Jeanette’s uncle smile.

“Very well, Miss Adair,” he said, pushing oversome papers on his table and leaning back in hischair as if to indicate the end of the interview.“I will see about your application. I suppose youare applying for a position with me? I may tellyou that I need someone who can be trusted, ratherunusually trusted, with matters which must beabsolutely and completely buried within thesewalls. I need a confidential clerk who will takedown notes for me, write letters, and whose honormust be beyond suspicion, beyond the reach oftemptation by bribery or cajoling, whose discretionmust be equal to her—or his—honor. I may saythat I am inclined to forecast the use of the femininepronoun; it has been my experience thatwomen are loyal to the death, if they are capableof loyalty at all, and that, when they are to betrusted, there is less danger of advantageous offersto betray winning them over, than there is of men’sbeing so led away. If I took you on could youbegin next Monday?”

“That would just suit me. I thought I’d like[70]a week off before I took up anything, though it’sgoing to be long enough, too!” Cis laughed atherself.

“Habits are our masters, Miss Adair; work getsits iron hold on us quite as tight as any othervice,” observed Mr. Lucas. “Learn to loaf whileyou’re still young.”

To his satisfaction Cis laughed up at him—theyhad both risen—her eyes spilling over fun, herlips parted, a hitherto unrevealed dimple appearingin one cheek.

His solemn warning was not mistaken by her forserious earnest.

“I think she will do; I think Robert has estimatedher justly. She would not tell me anythingthat might betray confidence, or her inside knowledgeof the other Lucas family’s affairs. I needa girl who can hold her tongue, and be loyal.Somehow, she is the source of Jeanette’s discoveryof her lover’s perfidy. I think she’ll do exceedinglywell.”

These thoughts ran through Mr. Lucas’ mind ashe politely bowed Cis out of his office, but all thathe said to her was:

“You shall hear from me not later than Saturday.At the Beacon Head? I see you wrote thataddress on the envelope which you sent in to me.Good morning, Miss Adair. Not later than Saturday;sooner, I think. Good morning.”

“Luck still running strong, Cis dear!” Cis gailytold herself as she walked fast away from the office.“He’s going to take you on. He’s like a duke and[71]the Tower of London, combined with a magnifyingglass which shows how you’re working inside, butI think I’ll like the combination, especially theduke part of it! I must go back and write Nanall about it; she’ll be worrying over lucky me,little goose!”

BY FRIDAY of the week of her arrival inBeaconhite, Cis found herself a burden onher own hands. Five days of what had becomecompulsory idleness and pursuit of pleasure, weretoo many for the nerves of active Cis Adair, trainedby her lifelong habit into ways of industry.

Beaconhite did not offer enthralling pleasure todwellers on its surface. There were theatres, oneprincipal one, two insignificant ones, a vaudevillehouse, but even to the best of these, first-classcompanies did not come; this week the third-classcompany which was giving a metropolitan successfor six nights and a matinée in Beaconhite, hadalready been seen by Cis when they were doingthe same thing in her native city. There were“movies,” but Cis happened to be one of thosepersons to whom silent drama is annoying; shewanted the spoken line, and disliked the necessaryexaggeration of the pictures. She went one nightto see again the play which she had already seen,and another night to the moving pictures; here shefound a film showing, which she had seen twicebefore, and this, added to her dislike for this formof entertainment, sent her back to her hotel in abad temper.

[73]She had hoped to hear from Mr. Wilmer Lucasby this time, founding the hope upon his suggestionthat he might communicate with her beforeSaturday, but no word came from him.

“Looking up my record at home, maybe, thoughMr. Robert Lucas’ letter ought to be enough forhim,” thought Cis. “Goodness, if he shouldn’ttake me at all! I’ll be dippy if I hang aroundafter Monday; all I can do to hold out till then!If I don’t get into Mr. Lucas’ office, I’ll have totake a job at anything, good or bad; I’ll kick thestall out if I’m left standing any longer. Besides,I can’t stay on at $5.00 per, at the Beacon Headlonger than that; $35.00 is my limit to spend onloafing—and I haven’t had my money’s worth sofar!”

Cis realized, as she had not done, how much shehad depended upon companionship. She hadearned her living among girls, some of whom shehad liked, some disliked, to the great majority ofwhom she had been indifferent; but they werequick-witted, full of life and spirits; “they keptthings moving,” Cis told herself, and the daysspent without anyone to speak to except a hotelclerk, a chambermaid, waiter and bell boy, grewoppressive.

Cis tried to talk to some of the attractive girlswho were always to be met in the lobby, the elevator,in the dining room, but all of them frozeup when she made advances to them; all but onereplied to her small talk, but replied so forbiddinglythat Cis did not persist.

[74]“Afraid I may be the wrong sort and that it’llcome off!” thought Cis. “Idiots! How do youever get anywhere in this world if you tote a shellaround, like a snail? Miss a lot if you don’t trypeople out first, and freeze up afterward, providedyou find them the kind that needs dropping! Iwanted to jar poor Mrs. Dowling when I saidwhat I did about picking up boy acquaintances,but it’s the truth, nevertheless. I’m going tolook around for a nice fellow and try him out,see if he won’t be bold enough to risk a decentanswer. I’ve got to get someone started, that’ssure! This hotel and town are getting to feel likea diving bell, ’way down below human noises.”

With deliberate intention to carry out her plan,purvey to her need, Cis scanned the male portionof her fellow-guests in the hotel for the rest ofthat day and evening, but none measured up toher requirement. They were a lot of averageyoung Americans, but the frank face, the businesslikeair, the quality of manliness that conveyedthe ability to understand and meet her like afellow-being, not like a girl seeking attentions,seemed to Cis wanting to them all.

She went to bed lonely and discouraged, somewhatinclined to tears, but so healthy-minded thatshe quickly fell asleep instead of crying. Her lastwaking thought was that if Beaconhite showed herno jolly, sensible girls, no friendly, chummy boys,it was no place for Cis Adair, and that she mightmove on by Monday, Mr. Lucas or no Mr. Lucas.

Friday morning found Cis refreshed and ready[75]to postpone her decision to move on, also quitesure that before the day was over she should hearfrom Mr. Lucas that he was ready to test her inthe highly honorable position of his confidentialclerk. Therefore her merry face was as bright asever when she had finished her toilette and camedown to breakfast like a sun maiden, all in white,her red hair gloriously shining above her snowyraiment.

Two young men breakfasting together lookedsmilingly up at Cis as she passed their table, unmistakablyready to leap out into acquaintances atthe least sign of welcome from her; indeed oneof them slightly pushed out the chair next to him,leaning forward with an ingratiating smile. Cisknew the type and “had no time for it,” she wouldhave said. “Call themselves men!” Cis once hadexclaimed to Nan.

After her solitary breakfast, which she enjoyedas a hungry girl should, Cis turned her mind uponthe problem of how to dispose of that day; shefound it insoluble. “May as well take a trolleyand ride till it stops, but of all stupid things,sliding along past a lot of houses is the worst!Wish I had my bunch of little newsys here! Wonderif they miss me badly, poor little scraps! Imade Tom Dowling promise he’d do somethingfor them.”

Cis left the dining room and went to the desk.Here she found two letters in the pigeonhole thatbore the number of her room, but neither wasfrom Mr. Lucas, as she had been sure one must[76]be. There was a brief note from Jeanette Lucasin reply to one which Cis had written her, tellingher that she had seen her uncle and that he heldout hope of a position for her. Miss Lucas saidnothing of herself beyond that she was to sail forEurope the following week. She wrote to Cis withmuch more than the politeness of a slight acquaintance;the short note breathed warmth of feelingfor Cis, and a personal sadness that depressed Cis,though she could not have said wherein it lay.

The other letter was a long one from Nan, fullof love and longing for Cis, and all the trivialnews of the office, her home, their common acquaintances,which are such important items to anexile, just because they are so homely and unimportant.Cis folded this letter and slipped it intoher pocket with homesick heaviness of heart thatsurprised her. “Of course there’s nothing to preventme from going back if I want to,” she remindedherself.

Deciding against the trolley trip, Cis arose fromthe leather seat upon which she had been sitting,and began to stroll up and down the lobby, anddown its adjacent corridors, returning on her beat.One of the corridors had shop-like rooms up anddown its length, rented for various sorts of business—alittle toy shop, candy shop, book shop,flower shop, a shop for fancy work materials, allsorts of attractive things offered for sale; whilea manicure, a chiropodist, a barber and a bootblackwere lodged there, in their respective rooms, to[77]minister to the personal comfort of the patrons ofthe hotel, and people from beyond its walls.

The bootblack’s establishment especially attractedCis’s eye; it was the apotheosis of the elevatedchair and foot rest and the active little Italianministrant, to be found on street corners. Herewere several chairs, better said, thrones; the wallswere panelled in attractive colors; there werehangings of deep yellow, framing the casem*nt ofthe door and one window at the rear; a table, withpapers and magazines upon it, in its centre a well-shapedvase holding two perfect yellow roses.

Cis looked into this palace of charity to waywornshoes, admiring its perfection. There were twoor three assistants at work on as many customers,and there were two other customers waiting tohave their shoes polished. In a chair unmistakablycomfortable sat one of these waiting customers;he was reading a magazine. As Cis loitered,looking in at the open door from the hotel corridor,this customer turned over his magazine,which he held doubled over for convenience inreading it, and his eyes met Cis’s eyes.

He was exceedingly good looking, dark haired,blue eyed, fresh tinted, with well-cut features, butit was not for his good looks that Cis instantlydecided that here was the person for whom shehad been seeking. It was rather for an indescribableair of man of the world about him; theease of his excellent clothes and their manner ofwearing; his steady, unembarrassed gaze, that did[78]not intrude upon her, yet seemed to take Cis inas to her every detail, to approve her and like her,be ready to meet her friendliness on its ownground; “be a human being,” Cis would havesummed it up. But there was no denying that thisyoung man possessed decided good looks and instantcharm which were not a necessary part ofthe qualifications upon which Cis had insisted asa part of the outfit of the person whom she shouldadopt as the one who should make her wildernessblossom with comradery.

Cis Adair had never hesitated to take anythingthat she wanted, nor, if it did not come after her,to go out after it. She had never wanted anythingthat was forbidden by the highest, nor thelower laws, but she invariably reached out afterwhat she wanted. Now she glanced down at hershoes, which were shapely, fine as to leather, andwhich she decided were enough in need of polishingto warrant her treating them to it. She enteredthe attractive shop.

The customers happened at that moment to beall men, but Cis had no shyness with men; shewas nearer to shy with women. She came in withoutembarrassment, though every eye turned onher. The young man who had innocently trolledher hither at once got upon his feet; the other waitingcustomer did not move.

“This is the most comfortable chair,” he said,indicating the one which he had just vacated forCis. “Please take it; I’ll sit here.” He dropped[79]into the chair next beyond his former one, whichCis took with a hearty “Thank you,” and a brightsmile. His voice was quite beautiful, soft, rich,mellow, caressing, like a musical cadence, as hespoke these few words.

“I never saw a bootblacking place like this,” Ciscommented.

“No. There can’t be many as nice. There’sone in Chicago that—well, we won’t say it is better,because we ought to be loyal to our own city,but it’s by way of peachiness,” said the young man,and his smile was as gay and bright as Cis’s own,and it revealed two dimples to her one.

“I don’t have to be loyal to Beaconhite,” saidCis. “I’m a stranger, staying in this hotel, but Idon’t mind sticking up for its bootblack.”

“I fancy you’d be good at sticking up for anythingthat you felt belonged to you,” said theyoung man, and Cis suddenly perceived that hewas not as young a man as she had at first thoughthim. His brilliant coloring, his grace and charmgave him the effect of greater youth than was his.Cis decided that he was well on in his twenties,if not just beyond them, and this somewhat checkedher readiness to take him on in the capacity of goodfellowship. Yet this was silly, she told herself;a good fellow was one at any age. What did itmatter if this one were anywhere from five to tenyears her senior?

“You aren’t a Beaconhitette then?” he went on.“That’s hard luck. Now I am. I wasn’t always;[80]came here last year, in fact, but I’m living here, andmay go on living here, till I cease living altogether.You’re a jolly girl; you ought to stay.”

His eyes were keen on Cis’s face, handsome eyes,softly blue, somewhat veiled by dark lashes, yetseeing eyes that could be keen as they now were,studying this singular girl who was so ready to talk,yet did not strike him as bold, but rather asmaidenly. “Boyish sort, I think, but you never canbe sure of them at first,” thought the man.

“I may stay on,” Cis was answering meanwhile.“I came to stay, if things worked out; got tired ofthe place where I’d always lived, and jumped off.I’ve a letter to Mr. Lucas, here, and he may havea position for me by Monday.”

“You’re one of the independent army, then?”asked the young man. “Well, you don’t look like apampered, spoiled one! (This partly explainsher”) he thought. “Do you mean Wilmer Lucas?Dear me! Your letter was addressed high up inthe line of this town; Wilmer Lucas is the big manof Beaconhite!”

“That’s the way he struck me,” agreed Cis.“There’s a chair vacant for you.”

“Certainly not; you take it,” protested the youngman.

“Not a bit of it! You were here first; I’m notone of the sort that wants to grab privilege, becauseI’m a girl. I’m in the world like a man, and I likegive and take; straight play. Besides, I’m just killingtime; I’ve nowhere to go, nothing to do till Iget my position—if I do!” said Cis.

[81]The young man glanced down at Cis’s shoes,which were not badly in need of polishing. Hewas far too attractive not to have known long agothat women liked to talk to him, admired his faceand manner. Had this girl come in because shesaw him, and wanted to make the acquaintance ofso personable a young man? She had said that shewas killing time. He speculated upon Cis while hetook the chair which she refused, and the attendanttreated his shoes, which sadly needed it.

The next chair vacated was Cis’s in justice; theother man who had been waiting a turn had precededCis’s acquaintance; his shoes had been attendedto and he had quickly gone out.

Cis mounted her chair, and another attendantdressed and polished her shoes, which her neighborand acquaintance viewed with approval.

He was through before Cis, but he lingered; inan instant, after hesitating, he turned to her, andsaid:

“You are merely killing time, and I’ve nothingon this morning; I’m going to wait for you.”

“That’s nice of you!” cried Cis heartily. “Ihoped you would. It’s pretty punk being alone, astranger in a strange land.”

She paid her charge, dismounted, and went outinto the hotel corridor, followed by her new acquaintance,still somewhat uncertain how to takeCis, but considerably helped in an accurate estimateof her by the boyish frankness with which shehad acknowledged hoping that he would wait forher.

[82]“How about going into the tea room and fittingon our labels?” suggested the young man. “There’snot likely to be anyone there at this hour, and Ifeel it in my bones that we’ve not met just to part,so we ought to waste no time in learning whomwe’ve met, each of us. Names matter less; they’reonly labels, but I’d like to have you tell me allabout yourself. You’re not like most girls.”

“All right; tea room is all right,” assented Cis.“It won’t take me long to tell you about CecilyAdair; she’s just like other girls!”

“That’s never your name! Why it’s a song!”cried the young man.

“Mine, though!” laughed Cis. “I’m called Cis.Haven’t you a name; chorus or hymn, if mine’s asong?”

“Yes, but it’s just a name, nothing in the musicalline. Hope you don’t mind names parted in themiddle? My name is George Rodney Moore, butI use the middle name, sign G. Rodney, you know,”said the young man, and he looked as if he reallyhoped that Cis would not disapprove his name.

“Gee! Rodney!” cried Cis, but quickly added,as if she feared to hurt him by what was not ridicule,but unavoidable nonsense:

“Rodney is a fine name; I like it. I don’t blameyou for shedding the George, and using it. I supposeI’d drop George altogether, and keep only Rodney,but you can do that later, if you want to. Oh,do you like stuffy tea rooms? Why not go out intothe air—that is, if you really want to lighten mygloom?”

[83]“It’s the other way about, Miss Adair. I shouldlike being out on this fine day, but you surely havebeen taught by this time that you are sent into theworld to lighten the gloom of any man whom youwill tolerate,” G. Rodney Moore said experimentally.

They had turned toward the side entrance of thehotel; in the doorway Cis stopped short.

“See here, none of that; cut it out, if you please,”she said. “I like boys, but I don’t like them onebit when they forget I’m not one, and you wouldn’tsay that sort of thing to a boy, now would you?”

“No, I’m free to confess that I would not!” criedMoore, and he chuckled. “All right, old chap,you’re the kind that makes it jolly for a pal—better?”

“Heaps!” said Cis, and laughed. “You lead;you know the country and I don’t.”

“Like to walk? Because I know a nice place,but it’s fairly far, and taxis grow in this soil, ifyou’ll have one,” suggested Moore.

“I’m a walker; I’ll risk the distance,” repliedCis, and they started out.

Three miles from the Beacon Head they cameinto a pretty glade, wooded, suggestive at a glanceof song birds and flowers. Here they seated themselves,Cis on a bank, G. Rodney Moore just belowher. All the way there they had talked, Cis withher customary frankness, till, on their arrival,Moore had justly decided that she was exactly whatshe seemed and announced herself to be; a single-minded,honest girl, of extraordinary directness[84]and simplicity; lonely, wanting comradeship, nothesitating to take it where she should find it, withconfidence that she would find understandingwhere she found congeniality, and without thesmallest shade of coquetry, or of hidden purpose.

“Mighty odd, quite unique, but the gods weregood to me when they let her decide that I’danswer for a stop-gap till she got acquainted inBeaconhite. Never saw her equal! It will be myown fault if I let her drift away from me, and Iwon’t!” he told himself, listening to Cis’s merrytalk, watching her changing face, all gay laughterand wholesome sweetness, its red hair framing it inan aureole, wind-made.

Cis told Rodney all about herself; he told hersome things about himself. They were friends atthe end of the little excursion, “pals,” Cis liked tocall it, finding this “pal” more delightful than anyother she had known; clever, humorous, charming.She did not hesitate to speak of this charm.

“I didn’t know anyone but a girl had your kindof fun; boys don’t usually know how to play yourway,” Cis cried delightedly. “You’re lots of fun,and you’re really as nice as you can be!”

“I’m not a boy, Cicely,” Rodney replied, a triflesadly—they were Cicely and Rodney by this time.“I don’t suppose I played this way when I was aboy, but I had the material in me and experiencecultivated it. Glad you like me, jolly Cicely.”

“Yes, I do. It was luck that made me find youto-day; I knew luck was running my way when Icame to Beaconhite! Aren’t you a boy, quite[85]young, anyway? You haven’t told me that,” saidCis.

“I’m thirty, shall be thirty-one next spring, andthat’s beyond boyhood. Why do you lay suchstress on boyhood, my dear? Neither it, nor girlhoodlasts,” he said.

“I shall be twenty-two on Christmas Day,” saidCis slowly. “I don’t know why, but I belong withboys; I don’t belong with grown men.”

“Only with this grown man. We’re friends, anddates don’t alter it,” he said quickly. “Were youborn on Christmas Day? What a sell! Shame,Pal-Cicely.”

“Shame? Why is it? I always liked it a lot;nice day to be born on, seems to me,” cried Cis.“The whole world glad on your birthday, and——”she checked herself.

“Does you out of a separate festa, and additionalgifts,” said Rodney. “But your magnificent hairwould serve for Christmas decorations; I never sawsuch hair, Cicely! I’m going to call you Holly; doyou mind?”

“Not I!” Cis laughed delightedly. “It isn’t thatkind of red, but it’s pretty flaring.”

“It is glorious; copper, gold and pure flame!Wouldn’t Titian have had a fit over it! Holly, Ihate to say it, but if we’re to lunch, we’ve got to begetting back to it,” suggested Rodney.

“I am hungry,” agreed Cis. “I’ve had a finemorning; much obliged. You’ve no idea howlonely I was beginning to feel, and the girls I triedto creep up toward poked me off with icy finger tips,[86]wouldn’t stoop to use a whole palm! Are yougoing to introduce me to some nice girls?”

“Want another pal already?” Rodney said reproachfully.

“Oh, no; you’re all-around satisfactory, but I dowant to know girls, too. Please let me know yournicest friends,” begged Cis, laughing, but in earnest.

Rodney considered. Rapidly he passed in mentalreview the girls whom he knew; society girls,young matrons, some of other rank. None towhom he could compare this dewy, sweet, merry,daring, innocent Cicely, none with whom he couldthink of her in combination.

“I’ll look some up, Cicely,” he said. “I had asister, but she has been gone these many years, andwould have been too old for you; older than I am.We’re all right as we are for the time being, aren’twe?”

“Happy as clams!” cried Cis. “Now if I get myposition, with a pal in town, and a place like that—howabout it?”

“Nifty!” cried Rodney. “Will you go to a showwith me to-night? I know of private theatricalsfor a charity, and they won’t be half-bad. Will yougo, dear young pal of mine?” He sang the refrainof the song, one word appropriately altered.

“Yes, but Dutch treat!” cried Cis, and as he wasabout to expostulate, she added: “Or not at all.If I’m to be a real pal, then I stand on myown, just as real pals do and should. Dutch treat?Say yes, and I’ll say yes, with pleasure.”

[87]“Yes, then, but you’re a girl all right; girls insiston their own way,” grumbled Rodney.

Cis laughed, and threw her hat into the air,catching it deftly.

“Best of both parts, the girl’s and the boy’s,that’s what this Cis Adair is out for, and independencecomes both ways,” she triumphed.

COMING back into the lobby of the BeaconHead, Cis darted ahead of Rodney Moore andup to the clerk’s desk. Here in her particularpigeonhole, held down by the key of her room withits broad, portable mooring displaying the samenumber as the pigeonhole, lay a letter, fallenalmost flat. Cis saw at once that the upper left cornerbore the name she sought: “Lucas and Henderson,”in exceedingly clear-cut small Roman letters,the firm address engraved below them.

“My key and mail, please,” said Cis, trying toappear casual, in reality stirred by hope and fear.Somehow she did not want to leave Beaconhite;suddenly she found it desirable to stay on here, andthis letter might compel her to travel on, unlessshe were able to stumble upon employment bystrangers, to whom she had no introduction.

Cis walked back to where Rodney Moore awaitedher beside a small leather-covered sofa, turning theletter in her hands.

“My verdict has come in; my lawyers have notifiedme,” she said, dropping on the brown seat, tippingher head back against the sofa-back, unconsciousthat the dark brown leather made a perfect[89]background for her copper-red hair. “Wonder ifit is that I’m to go farther?”

“No, sir! Too certain that you’d fare worse!”declared Rodney promptly. “You’re not going aninch out of Beaconhite, that’s flat! I can put youinto something; poor enough, but enough to holdon by till you find what you want. Open up,Cicely; read your offer of $10,000 a year!”

Cis “opened up,” slitting the end of the envelopewith the point of her bar pin, prolonging the operationin a way unlike herself.

The communication which she unfolded wasbrief, compactly typed in the middle of a largepage. It read:

“Great little old snarled up signature!” commentedRodney, whom Cicely had permitted toread the letter with her. “Wouldn’t be easy toforge! Not a bad salary, my Holly friend, and the[90]increase will be swift, or else you won’t stay. Notbad. We’ll have a supper after the private theatricals,to celebrate; just we two!”

“Let me off from the theatricals, please, will you,Rodney?” asked Cis. “I’ve been sorry I said I’dgo, anyway; it’ll be kind of a cross between a placewhere you’ve a right to go, and a place whereyou’re intruding. I know ’em; they’re always likethat! All the friends and relations of the performersare there—like a funeral!—and they talkacross to one another, and look at a person as ifthey wondered how on earth you broke in—sellingtickets for a charity doesn’t calm ’em. But what’smore, I ought not to go anywhere to-night, exceptto boarding houses. I’ve got to find a place to live,if I’m going to stay in Beaconhite; can’t stand $5.00a day at this hotel, wouldn’t leave much for—well,for having my shoes polished, for instance!” Shestopped to enjoy her own allusion with the liquidgurgle of laughter that did not pass her throat, forwhich Rodney Moore had already learned to waitwith anticipation.

“But it is a nice salary to begin on, isn’t it? Iknew Friday was my lucky day! Found a jollypal who suits me fine, and got my job! Wonder ifChristmas fell on Friday the year I was born?”Cis ended with another little suppressed laugh.

“What a girl! You don’t mind letting a chapknow that you think he’s all right, and are glad thatyou found him, do you?” cried Rodney, puzzledbut admiring, somewhat piqued, nevertheless; suchfrankness was prohibitive as well as welcoming.

[91]“Don’t mind anything that’s honest! Besides,pals don’t flirt. You didn’t say whether you’d letme off from the movies—I mean the theatricals?”Cis said.

“What else can I do?” retorted Rodney. “If youdon’t want to go, I’m not going to force it. But asto boarding places, what’s the matter with comingwhere I am? Funny old girl keeps it, but herheart’s so big she has to cover it up. She sets agreat table, and neat’s no word for her! You couldbe as happy with one of her old-fashioned dinnersserved on the floor as on the table, and herkitchen’s shining clean! You’ll never find anotherplace as good. I’ll speak to Miss Gallatin, and engagethe place for you; I know there’s a roomempty now, though it doesn’t often happen.”

“Good boy, Rodney Moore!” Cis approved him.“Then I won’t go hunting board, but I don’t wantto go to the theatricals. I’ll write Nan and MissLucas.”

“You’re not bidding me run away and play bymyself this first evening, are you?” Rodney madea great show of consternation, but watched Cis.

“Not if you want to play with me,” Cis told him.“But how about those theatricals? Thought youwere booked for them.”

“Oh, bother the theatricals! I’ve bought twotickets and that’s all I’m obliged to do about them,”declared Rodney. “I’d rather play with you;you’re a discovery, Miss Cicely Adair.”

Then he remembered the handsome girl who wasplaying the leading part in the theatricals that[92]night, the girl who had social position, wealth andglorious beauty, though not charm, nor more thana somewhat minus allowance of brains, but in regardto whom G. Rodney Moore had definite plans.He was surprised to find that he had forgotten GertrudeDavenport till Cis indirectly reminded himof her; remembering her now, her beauty did notseem so glorious as usual as his eyes rested on thevaried expression of Cis’s face. There was nodenying that this new girl had charm and to spare.

“A discovery? Well, if it comes to that, I’m notas sure as I’d like to be that I’m the discovery; Isuspect that I discovered you. Come around, ifyou want to, and tell me what your Miss Gallaghersays about taking me to board; get her terms, andthe whole thing. But if you change your mindabout the theatricals, it’s perfectly all right. Callme up, though, please, because if I’m not going toyour boarding house I’ve got to hunt up another,start out early in the morning. I’ll look for youat half past eight or so, but I’ll not mind a speckif you go to your private theatricals. So don’t feeltied up.” Cis spoke with crisp cheerfulness, havingrisen and begun moving toward the stairs, hereyes on the clock behind the desk.

“H’m! Pleasant to be told you’re as welcome tobe absent as to be present, that you don’t matter awhoop!” grumbled Rodney, and meant it. “I’llbe around, Miss Cicely, and don’t you forget it!I’d come, if it was only to begin your lessons infinding me necessary! Congratulations are inorder, by the way; I forgot to offer them. You[93]landed a big fish when you landed the private secretaryshipto Wilmer Lucas! We’ll celebrate—when?To-morrow? Sunday?”

“Not to-morrow; I’ve got to get settled livingsomewhere, permanently,” said Cis.

“Sunday, then? Do you lie late Sunday? Anyobjections to a pleasant time on that day? I don’tsuspect you of Puritanism! I myself get up aboutnoon on Sunday, but I’m ready to forego myneeded rest and trot you out in the forenoon. Ifnot, we’ll lunch somewhere, and go for a jolly timeafterward,” suggested Rodney.

“Time enough to talk about Sunday,” returnedCis. “I usually get up fairly early; Sunday, too,but I don’t spend the day psalm reading. Runalong; I’m busy. Let me know about Miss Gallagherby telephone, or otherwise.”

“Otherwise; at eight-thirty sharp. By the way,it’s Gallatin, not Gallagher. Good-bye, Holly.You’re a peach, and I’m glad we had our shoespolished!” cried Rodney.

Cis laughed, and ran up the stairs, scorning theelevator. At the landing she caught a glimpse ofRodney standing where she had left him, watchingher. She started to turn back to wave him a supplementaryfarewell, but checked herself, and wenton without betraying that she knew he was stillthere. She finished her journey up the second sectionof the stairway, wondering at herself. Neverbefore in all her life had she refused herself theexpression of a friendly impulse. Was it shyness?Could it be coquetry that had held her hand from[94]that last salute? She had never been shy; shescorned coquetry. “Air of Beaconhite doesn’tagree with you, Cis, my dear old chap!” she warnedherself.

Miss Hannah Gallatin was a character, as Rodneyhad implied. She was tall and gaunt, almoststern in manner, curt of word, severe, but there wasno kinder creature in the world than this lonelymaiden woman who had no one of kith nor kin onwhom to lavish love, who therefore, perhaps, hadtaught herself not to express it except by ceaselessdeeds of kindness, done as if they were penal.

She was a convert to the Catholic Church, onethat would not have been predicted, but FatherMorley, of St. Francis’ church, himself the son ofa convert to the Old Faith, had many converts tohis credit; among them Hannah Gallatin, who, ifshe did not grace it in one sense, certainly was anhonor to it in all essential senses.

To this fine, though eccentric person G. RodneyMoore repaired upon his return from the BeaconHead. In the course of his walk, meditating uponCicely Adair, he had warmed into a great admirationfor her wit, her charm, her kindliness, her unmistakablepurity of thought and deed below herboyish daring, which might easily be misunderstood.Therefore the enthusiasm he felt for Cisescaped into his eyes and voice as he laid beforeMiss Gallatin the need that “a friend of his” hadof a good home, a comfortable room, nice surroundings,“not the ordinary boarding house,” headded, feeling himself diplomatically clever. “This[95]Miss Adair,” he went on to say, “is precisely thekind of girl whom Miss Gallatin would like about;he felt proud to be the one to offer such a perfectfit, from both points of view, for Miss Gallatin’scozy room, now vacant.”

“Oh!” said Miss Gallatin, regarding Rodney attentively.She did not wholly like this one of herboarders, though she knew no justification of herdistrust. He had come to her, a stranger in thecity; had been regular in his goings and comings;orderly in the house; agreeable to his fellow-guests;he never went to church, but Miss Gallatinknew that in the present generation of Protestantsthis proved nothing worse than that they had letgo of the illogical anchorage of their fathers; shedid not know that G. Rodney’s last name had beendrawn from that green sod wherein church-goingwas a totally different matter. If she had knownthat this Moore had been an Irish name in the timeof its present possessor’s great-grandfather, shewould have exclaimed: “There!” triumphantly,but she had no suspicion that Rodney Moore hadbeen brought up to go to Mass. “He did not showit,” as she might have said. “Oh!” Miss Gallatinnow exclaimed, adding at once: “Ah! Friend ofyours, you say? Schoolmate? How long’ve youknown her? Live in Beaconhite?”

“She is going to live here,” said Rodney, flushing,annoyed, trying to hide it in order not tofrustrate his own ends. “She has just come here,five days ago. She is to be Wilmer Lucas’ secretary;his brother sent her to him, and she’s not the[96]sort of girl to chum in with all sorts. She’s anawfully nice girl, Miss Gallatin; just your kind!”

“Like me?” hinted Miss Gallatin. “Character orlooks? About my complexion and figure, I’ll beta dollar! Can’t be quite my age. How long didyou say you’d known her?”

“Not long,” said Rodney. “But I know her well;she’s that frank sort that hasn’t a thing to hide;fearless, straight, boyish, but not tom-boyish—getthe idea? I’m perfectly sure you’ll like her beyondanything. I’ll bring her around this evening; she’sat the Head. You can let her see the room, arrangeterms, give her a look over with your eagle eye—andthe thing’s done! I’d like her in the house, ofcourse; she’s the kind of girl that is like a nicesister, chummy, helpful, if you get me? But forher own sake I want her here, where you’ll give herjust what she needs in every way. I’ll bring heraround; I told her I’d see her after dinner to-night.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” declared MissGallatin. “You told me you had tickets for thetheatricals. Isn’t Gertrude Davenport in ’em?Forgotten all about it? Met this new girl for thefirst time to-day, I’ll wager! She must be somethingof a cyclone! You needn’t bring her around,Mr. G. Rodney Moore; I’m not going to let myvacant room to her, whether all you say of her istrue, or whether it isn’t!”

“You’re not willing so much as to show it to her?To meet her? Strange way to act, Miss Gallatin![97]I am justified in resenting it,” said Rodney withdignity.

“Nothing of the sort!” cried Miss Gallatinbriskly. “Don’t have theatricals here; better go tothem. She may be a nice girl, but the nicer she isthe more reason for keeping her out of the samehouse where the young man boards whom she gotacquainted with, dear knows how! I wouldn’t considertaking her, not if every room but yours wasvacant! So that’s settled.”

“She is a fine girl, I tell you! She’s not exactlypretty, but she has the sort of face you like towatch, and her hair is a wonder; loads of brightcoppery red hair, and she is full of jolly, kiddishfun, straight and good. I respect her like everything.Good gracious, Miss Gallatin, I’m overthirty; do you suppose I don’t know a nice girl whenI see one and talk to her unreservedly? I respectMiss Adair as much as I admire her!” cried Rodney,surprised later on to find how much he caredabout the defence of Cicely.

“Right! Keep on respecting her,” said MissGallatin. “Send her to Mrs. Wallace’s; she keepsa good house, sets a good table, good’s mine. Iwon’t have her here. Hold on a minute, Mr.Moore! Send her around to talk with me to-morrow,sometime. I won’t let her board here, butI’ll take her to see Mrs. Wallace. If she can’t cometo-morrow, send her Sunday. Don’t you take herto Mrs. Wallace’s; I will. She’s a stranger here,going to work for Mr. Lucas where she’ll be noticed.[98]Don’t start her wrong by escorting her to lookup her boarding place. People are queer things;they’re more than likely to hope for the worst.Send the girl to me. I won’t take her in here, butI’ll do by her as I’d want done by me, if I was ayoung Hannah Gallatin, setting out to earn myliving in a strange place. From what you say ofher, she’s a conspicuous sort of girl that people withkeen palates for gossip will be likely to lick to geta flavor of delicious suspicion! That’s the best Ican do and say, so take yourself off, Mr. Moore, ifyou please; I’ve got my weekly accounts to makeup, and it’s always a trial to my eyes, and mynerves, also my temper—of course, after the othertwo!”

There was nothing for Rodney to do but to acceptdefeat with as much grace as he could summon.There was consolation in the thought thatMiss Gallatin was willing to see Cicely, thoughonly to conduct her to a rival house. He hopedthat seeing her, Miss Gallatin might yield her position;he felt entire confidence in Cicely’s ability towin anyone’s complete trust and liking. There wasno denying that Miss Gallatin was a wise and kinddragon in her guardianship of this girl whom shehad never seen.

Sunday morning Cicely betook herself to Massat eight o’clock, keeping up her old hour, reflectingwith a sense of bewilderment that only the previousSunday she had heard Mass in the only churchwhich, up to this time, she had ever known, andthat Nan was with her, and that she had returned[99]with her into the familiar Dowling household,where young Tom gloomed over their near partingand Mrs. Dowling lectured her on probable dangerswhich clearly implied her own deficiencies. Andnow she was beginning life in Beaconhite, uprooted,yet already replanted, on a larger salary,in promising conditions. She had a new friendwith whom she was to do something new and pleasantthat afternoon. She was a lucky Cis, shethought, kneeling, without much concentrationupon it, before the altar, well in the front of thechurch of St. Francis Xavier at the eight o’clockMass.

The priest who said this Mass was not young; hewas remarkably tall, his shoulders contracted fromthe reading habit; his hair grey; his eyes deep-setand glowing with singular light; his nose large andhandsome; his mouth finely cut, somewhat sad, yetready to smile, as Cis found out when he turned tohis people and began to speak after the reading ofthe Gospel. A remarkable man, whom Cis beganto watch intently, feeling at once attracted and repulsedby him, as if she sensed in him the implantedpower of the Holy Ghost which all whoknew Father Morley said was his gift, the powerthat reads souls and irresistibly draws them.

Once Cis was sure that the priest’s eyes met herown, full and steadily; that he knew her for astranger, and measured her. She liked him, yet shefeared him; coming out of the church slowly, borneby the pressure of the immense throng into theouter air, she was conscious of relief, and was glad[100]that it “was not her way to know the priest; thatone was——”

Someone touched her arm, a tall, thin, sternlooking woman, with clear, kindly eyes, at whomCis looked questioningly, her formulation of FatherMorley suspended. “Are you Miss Adair, Iwonder?” asked the woman.

“Yes; Cicely Adair,” replied Cis.

“I saw you were a stranger. Taking your hair,and all together, I thought you must be the girl Mr.Moore talked to me about taking. I’m Miss Gallatin,Hannah Gallatin. Come home with me; I’mgoing to get you a good boarding place, but not inmy house. Fasting?” said Miss Gallatin, speakingwith a sort of crisp rapidity.

“No; I had breakfast at the hotel as soon as thedoors were opened,” said Cis. “Mr. Moore said youdidn’t want me, because he knew me, or words tothat effect.”

“Neither do I, though I see he judged you right;G. Rodney always struck me as a man who couldjudge a woman accurately,” said Miss Gallatin.“Didn’t suppose you’d turn out to be a Catholic.Convert, like myself?”

“No,” said Cis. “I was born one; I’m severalkinds of races, all Catholic, except my mother, andshe had English blood; half of her blood was EnglishProtestant. But none of my people came fromtheir old countries lately; they were all great orstill greater grandparents who came over here, soI’m quite thoroughly American, as things go.[101]Goodness, I don’t care a rap about such things!I’m here, Cis Adair, and what do I care!”

“Verse?” asked Miss Gallatin.

“No; worse! Just a fluke; it does rhyme, doesn’tit?” laughed Cis. “Rod said you wanted to steerme to a house you knew about, though youwouldn’t have me in yours. Kind of you, MissGallatin—at least half of it is!”

“It surely is, and it’s the half you don’t mean!”agreed Miss Gallatin. “I’ve had no breakfast.Come with me, and after I’ve seen to my household,and eaten, I’ll take you to Mrs. Wallace. Mr.Moore never gets up till noon, Sundays; you won’tsee him. You call him Rod; known him long?”

“Mercy yes! Forty-eight hours!” Cis’s laughrang out. “You see, Miss Gallatin, I’ve been out inthe world, earning my living since I was old enoughto earn it, and that was early, because I was alwaysquick to learn, and I was about twenty when I wasfourteen. I’ve always had boy friends, and I’m nota bit afraid to chum with them. I’ve some goodgirl friends, chiefly one, but it’s the nice boy whoalways takes you as you want to be taken. So whenI met Rod Moore we fell right together; I was gettinggreen-lonely, and I’m pleased as pleasure tohave him like me and see me on my way.”

“I see!” Miss Gallatin evidently did see, yet Cisfelt that her agreement was noncommittal, involvingsomething that she did not understand. “Ilike you, too, Cis—did you say Cis?—Adair, and Ihope you’ll let me help you out, if ever Beaconhite[102]gets too tight for you; presses on any sorespot.”

“Haven’t one!” cried Cis. “Thanks, Miss Gallatin;I like you, and I didn’t like you one bit till Isaw you! I suppose it’s all right of you to shoveme off, but it isn’t sensible, either; I could boardin the house with all my boy chums, be the onlygirl in the offing, and it would go as smooth as silk.”

“You may have knocked about the world, as yousay you have, Cis Adair, and you may have beentwenty at fourteen, but at twenty-two—I’d guess?—youare four in some ways, and your experienceis by no means rounded out,” said Miss Gallatinoracularly. “Prudence is one of the gifts of theHoly Ghost, my dear, as your catechism taught you,and it’s one of His most valuable gifts to attractiveyoung women, left alone in the world.”

“I don’t remember much catechism, Miss Gallatin,”said honest Cis, with her happy laugh. “Ilearned some of it when I was confirmed, but I’mnot much of a Catholic. Of course I’d never be aProtestant,” she added hastily, “but my religiondoesn’t bother me much.”

“No; it wasn’t founded for that purpose,” returnedMiss Gallatin. “I wonder how you will betaught to value it? You’ve got to learn, of courseyou know that.”

Cis looked at her startled, and she was silent fora moment in which her mind went out toward aninvisible, infinite track, down which sorrow andsuffering, vague, threatening, nameless, moldingevents, were advancing upon her. Cicely Adair,[103]fearless, free, strong, independent, would be tamed,bound, caught, crushed, perhaps; signed by thecross, and thus learn its meaning.

Cicely shook off the fear that gripped her, thefirst fear that in all her life had ever assaulted herdeep in her heart. Why had it thus assailed her?What had made her vulnerable to a shaft from thehand of this gaunt woman, past middle age, whoseeffects were almost grotesque? Cis threw back herradiant head with a short, unmirthful laugh.

“Did they name you Hannah because you weregoing to be a prophetess, Miss Gallatin?” she asked.

CICELY had been three weeks in the service ofMr. Wilmer Lucas, four weeks a resident ofBeaconhite. Although it lacked three days ofbeing a calendar month the time seemed to her tostretch indefinitely backward into such length, thatshe had to stop to reckon up how long it actuallyhad been. New experiences were crowding uponher, filling each day with interests so absorbing thatthe hours sped by, yet left a residue of the effect ofmore than twice their duration. Cicely was consciousof changes wrought upon herself by theseswiftly passing days, changes so far undefined, yetnot the less perceptible.

For one thing, her new friendship was provinginteresting as none other had ever before interestedher. Cicely had had many friends among the boys,and, later, among the young men of her acquaintance,but though they had been “jolly good fun,”as she put it, they were not especially interesting.She was easily the dominant one in every case; thechief interest afforded her by these youths waswhen they temporarily spoiled her theory of perfectcomradeship between the sexes, which wasdevoid of sentiment, by falling in love with her,but this, although it interested her, displeased her.[105]She invariably swung back into her faith in thepossibility of a chum of the opposite sex, but it wasannoying to find it so often a theory that failed onlyin its workings.

In G. Rodney Moore, Cicely had a friend of atotally new sort. He was older than she was, forone thing; he had seen immensely more of theworld than she had, for another; he had read morethan she had, let alone than any of her previousmale friends. Most of all, he had an easy certaintyof himself; an amused toleration of her insufficientlygrounded opinions; a ready wit; greatcharm of face, voice and manner, so that, for thefirst time, Cicely found herself by no means able tohold the ascendency over him with which she hadset out dealing with him, which had always, heretofore,been hers in dealing with young men. And,being essentially feminine beneath her boyishways, she liked the man who dominated, while headmired her. There was much of the excitementof exploration for her in advancing constantly fartherinto friendship with this man.

Her work was also opening out new vistas toCicely, daily demanding from her hitherto dormantcapacity, skill of hand, but far more quickness ofbrain, judgment, discretion, all-around intelligence.It was transforming her day by day; althoughshe did not definitely recognize this, yet itseffect upon her was to increase the bewildermentof mind with which she was adjusting to new conditions,and to what was to prove the greatestexperience of her life.

[106]Cicely had been well educated with reference topractical ends; she and Nan had been superior tothe majority of the girls amid whom they wereemployed; their position in the telephone exchangehad been honorable, but not dignified. Now Cicelyfound herself surrounded by the portentous dignityof the private office of a lawyer who was, atthe same time, a bank president, the great man ofthe city.

Solid men, both physically and financially solid,came to consult Mr. Lucas; Cis was gravely salutedby them as they entered and departed; she heardmatters discussed which her keen wits soon showedher were of gravest importance in the money market,even in national affairs. All her former dayshad been lighted by nonsense for which she foundopportunity among her companions; fun and nonsensewere as the breath of life to Cicely Adair.Now from nine till four there was not only a completedearth of opportunity to play, but the merethought of trifling within those solemn, mahoganywainscoted walls, intruded like a profanation.

Cis was expected to be well-dressed, perfectlygroomed—but this was natural to her. She wasexpected to take down any sort of dictation correctly,even to the dictation that she be elegantlycorrect in manner, reserved, silent, yet devoted,and this dictation was never given her directly butby the assumption that she was all these things.“I’m getting turned into a regular heavy damask,ten dollars a square inch,” she told Rodney.

It was true that this outward pressure inevitably[107]had an inward effect upon the girl, yet nothingcould ever quite subdue her native sense of humor,her frank friendliness to all the world.

“Miss Adair,” said Mr. Lucas one morning, “Ihave waited till we were mutually assured of yourpermanence in this office before initiating you intoone of its secrets. You are quite sure that youdesire to remain with me?”

“If I suit you, Mr. Lucas,” answered Cis. “I’mhappy here, but I’m not sure how I’m coming on.”

“Satisfactorily, Miss Adair. On my part thereis no question of severing the connection. Are yousettled upon continuing?” Mr. Lucas looked atCicely kindly, and she blushed with pleasure.

“Yes, Mr. Lucas,” she said. “I’m settled uponsettling.”

“Ah!” her employer smiled. “Then I am goingto ask you to learn the office code.”

“Code?” repeated Cis.

“We are often involved in cases which would bedisastrous to great interests if they were known tothe public. The mails are safe enough, and yet,like all human arrangements, they may sometimesmiscarry. Mr. Henderson; our senior clerk, Mr.Saunders; our office in Chicago, and Washington,and myself use a code in relation to these affairsknown only to the principals in our Chicago andWashington offices, and the three persons in thisoffice whom I have mentioned. We have decided tohave you learn the code, to use it when occasionarises in correspondence with our other two offices.Will you learn this code, Miss Adair, and are you[108]willing to give your solemn pledge that under nocirc*mstances, to no human being, will you everdisclose it?” Mr. Lucas explained, and waited forCicely’s reply.

She looked at him with widening eyes, her brillianteyes, dark, of a color that was hard to determine,varying with her mood and as the light struckinto them.

“Sounds like a dandy detective story!” Cis saidinvoluntarily. “Yes, I’ll learn the code, providedI can learn it, and of course I’ll never teach it toanyone else. How do I learn it?”

“It is set down in a sort of chart; you will studyit here, of course; the chart must not go out of theoffice. There is an alphabet connected with it; Iam afraid that you will find it troublesome, but Ishould like you to master it. By the way, mybrother has become a Roman Catholic; his familyis brought up in that religion; do you happen to bea Romanist?” Mr. Lucas frowned slightly as heasked the question.

“Yes, Mr. Lucas; I’m a Catholic,” said Cis.“Why, please?”

“Always running to confession? Asking adviceof the priest on every known and unknown point,I suppose! What about the code and its secrecy?”said Mr. Lucas.

Cis laughed outright. “Never asked a priest’sadvice on anything in all my life; don’t go to confessionmore than twice a year. I don’t know whatyou mean about the code, Mr. Lucas,” she said.

“You Romanists are a difficult lot to adjust to,”[109]said Mr. Lucas. “I strongly object to the principlewhich is fundamental with you, of laying downyour liberty of thought, being subject to a man,taking your opinions from an elevated priest overin Rome and acting on them at the dictation of alot of half-educated common priests over here.Yet when you don’t keep up with the practices ofyour Church, you are a worthless lot, not oftentrustworthy. I make an exception of you, MissAdair; I am satisfied that you are trustworthy,though, apparently, you are what I’ve heard yourco-religionists call ‘an indifferent Catholic.’ Perhapsyou are on your way out of Romanism? Itwould be a consummation devoutly to be wished.As to the code and its secrecy, what I meant is this:Suppose a priest wanted to get hold of it—they aregreat people for dipping their oar into otherpeople’s waters and muddying them! Suppose amatter concerning politics, or the like, were afoot,and a priest heard of our code, in which we shouldcorrespond on such affairs—they are great peoplefor finding out things that no one could ever haveimagined their knowing! Suppose this priest, asI was saying, heard of our code and bade you inthe confessional reveal it to him, what would youdo?”

Again Cis laughed, this time with such heartiness,such manifest enjoyment of an absurdity thatMr. Lucas was already answered by her mirth.

“Why, Mr. Lucas,” cried Cis, “you don’t knowhow funny that is, really you don’t! I go to confessionat Easter, usually at Christmas; it’s my[110]birthday, too. And there’s a regular mob; it’s allthe priests can do to get them all heard. Imagineone of them holding up the line while he talkedcode to me! How would he know I was in youroffice, anyway? I wouldn’t have to confess that;you only have to confess sins, and it’s not a sin tobe employed here, Mr. Lucas! Why the poorpriests try to get in a word of advice to you, andtell you what your penance is, but they can’t alwaysdo much more than say about ten words to you!No fear of the code getting talked over! Honest,Mr. Lucas, that’s funny!”

Mr. Lucas looked as though he were not sure thatthis was not impertinence on Cis’s part, but he decidedto accept it for what it actually was, bubblingamusem*nt over a mistake that struck her as absurd.

“Well, I’ve certainly never confessed,” he admitted,“nor ever shall, but I still think, though mysupposition is outside your experience so far, thatthe case is entirely possible. What I want to knowis what you would do if such a demand arose?”

“Hold my tongue, of course; what else could Ido?” replied Cis with convincing promptitude.“He’d have no right to try to get it out of me, andI’d have no right to tell him.”

The code was put into Cicely’s hands the nextday, her duties so arranged that she should havetime for its study. To her chagrin she found itdifficult, although her difficulty was usually inlearning too fast to be secure of retention, ratherthan in acquiring her tasks.

[111]The third day of work on the code left her stilluncertain of it when she quitted the office at fouro’clock to go with Rodney Moore on a part aquatic,part walking expedition up the river in his boat,out through a lovely wooded country to a knowinglittle restaurant whither Beaconhite people lovedto repair to dine. A letter from Nan had come toadd to Cis’s depression; she set forth with a markeddiminution of her usual blitheness, although thisexpedition with Rodney, in the height of the foliageseason in October, had been anticipated by her fortwo weeks. When Rodney met her at Mrs. Wallace’she instantly marked the shadow on Cis’sface; he was quick to note every change in thatvariable face which was rapidly becoming the goalof his feet, the image hourly before his memory.

“Anything wrong, Holly-Berry? You haven’t somuch of your usual effect of Christmas-all-the-year-around!I thought of that last night, Cis, thatyou were a sort of perpetual Merry Christmas;your joyousness was probably a birthday gift toyou,” Rodney said, pulling her hand through hisarm with unmistakable satisfaction.

“That’s nice, Rod!” Cis cried. “I’d like to bea Merry Christmas sort of thing. No, there’s nothingwrong. I’ll tell you when we get to the placewhere you’re taking me, or while we’re rowing.”

“Tell me exactly how there’s nothing wrong,Holly? I knew your lights were slightly dimmed.How you show your feelings!” Rod laughed withsatisfaction in this proof of their intimacy, that hecould instantly discern Cicely’s moods.

[112]“Caught me that time! But it’s nothing, truly.That old code bothers me; never tackled anythingelse that wouldn’t stay by me over night! Thealphabet is ridiculous; little scriggles going oneway, crossed by little scriggles going the other way—andthey’d all look exactly as well, or as crazy!—reversed!I get to wondering why they don’t gothe other way about, and then I can’t rememberwhich way they do go! But of course I’ll get themfastened down soon; it’s not worth bothering over,Rory, my pal.” Cis beamed on Rodney, liking hissympathy.

“Rory?” queried Rodney.

“Sure-ly! Rory O’Moore, don’t you know?That’s really your name; it came to me this morningwhile I was getting ready to go out!” Cislaughed softly.

“Oh, by jiminy, Cis, I don’t care what you callme if you’ll think of me so frequently. It meansI’m getting on the inside!” Rodney’s delight wasunmistakable. “Are you Kathleen bawn?”

Cis shook her head. “Why?” she asked, thenblushed fiercely as the words of the old song cameto her: “Rory O’Moore courted Kathleen bawn.”

Before she was called upon to speak, just asRodney murmured:

an extraordinarily handsome girl, sumptuouslydressed, beyond the strict propriety of a walking[113]costume, swung around the corner which they wereabout to cross and almost ran into Cicely andRodney.

“Why, Gertrude—Miss Davenport!” exclaimedRodney.

“Oh, good evening, Mr. Moore; I beg your pardon.”The handsome girl’s glance swept Cis fromhead to foot. “Glad I wore my pongee,” thoughtCis, reflecting with satisfaction on the lines of hertailor-made skirt and gown, its fine linen collar andcuffs with their exquisite hand-wrought scallop andcorners.

“Awfully glad to meet you, Miss Davenport,”Rodney continued. “I’ve wanted you to meet MissAdair. Please waive convention, and let a mangive you two girls a street introduction. MissDavenport, this is Miss Cicely Adair, a recent andgreat acquisition to Beaconhite. Cicely, this is ourcity’s pride, which is not at all the same thing ascivic pride.”

Rodney knew that he was speaking nervously,and that his would-be cleverness halted at its intention.

Gertrude Davenport nodded, a crisp nod, herhead held sidewise, an amused smile on her lips.

“Delighted to waive ceremony, of course. Hopeyou like Beaconhite, Miss Dare. We may meetagain; hope so. I’m not going your way, and amin a hurry. Good evening, Mr. Moore, I began tothink you were no more; glad to see you are stillin town, alive, you know. I’ve been awfully occupiedlately, but I’ll receive you if you wish to come[114]to the house where you heretofore spent practicallyall your time; dad’s rather grateful for one lessto disturb him! He says he’s glad he has onlyone daughter!” Gertrude Davenport laughed, buther large, full eyes flashed fire.

“He couldn’t hope to have two like Gertrude;his other one, if she’d been born, would have hadto wait till Gertrude was out of the way to be visible.Thanks, Miss Davenport; I’ve been waitingmy chance, but I’ll get it soon, and you’ll see medisturbing the pater!” Rodney assured her, withan unfortunate note of condolence in his voice.

“Thanks; so good of you! Good-bye!” AgainGertrude nodded crisply, sidewise, without morenotice of Cis than another swift, comprehensiveglance. Then she went rapidly on in her originaldirection.

Rodney laughed and tucked Cis’s hand into hisarm. He had been weighing in his mind the overwhelmingattraction which Cis possessed for him,against the great advantages which a marriage withGertrude Davenport included: Wealth, social position,solid business connections, through herfather; not least a wife so handsome that whereverhe appeared with her all the other men would turnto look at her, envying him. But now that Gertrude,in all her splendor of face and form andraiment had suddenly appeared beside Cis, Cis’sirregular, winsome face, her merry kindliness, herclear-eyed purity of heart, mind and purpose soovertopped all Gertrude’s advantages, that he knewat once that there could be no more debate in his[115]mind as to which girl he wanted to marry. Debate!Why, what was gold beside Cicely’s copper hair?What social position beside such a comrade? Whatregular beauty beside Cis’s charm? As to money,he could earn all that he needed. Rodney knewthat his mind was made up for him by the gravityweight of Cicely Adair, drawing him; to do himjustice he was suddenly glowing with an unworldlyand genuine love for the girl, resolved to win herwith such desire that there was no question of sacrificefor that end.

“Miss Davenport doesn’t like red hair, perhaps?”hinted Cis demurely.

“Perhaps not, Holly. Perhaps she likes to doher own liking, solo. But if you ask me, I don’tthink it matters to the value of one of those redhairs, what Miss Davenport doesn’t like, nor—whichis far more important—what she does like,”Rodney said.

Cis raised her eyebrows; she had not missedsymptoms, and she was accurate in their diagnosis.

“It’s a world of changes, Rory O’Moore,” shesaid. “A wise girl accepts them, and, if she’s stillwiser, she looks for the next change.”

“You young sinner! Do you mean—”

“Sinners aren’t prophets, Rod; never mind whatI mean,” Cis interrupted him.

Rodney pressed her hand in the crook of hiselbow; they both laughed and went on their wayrejoicing, Rodney exuberantly light-hearted, as ifhe had just fallen into a fortune, or had escapeda threatening danger.

[116]Arrived at their ultimate destination, after apleasant row up the river, Rodney inducted Cicelyto the pretty glade of which he had told her, andplaced her comfortably upon a low knoll. Theblaze of autumn-tinted maples, oaks and sumacswas all around them, so beautiful that Cis caughther breath, then laughed to cover the emotionwhich dimmed her eyes.

“I wonder how it can be so much more beautifulthan we can take in!” she said. “It gives meno chance at all, though; makes even my hair lookdrab!”

“Drab! I’d say so!” agreed Rodney derisively.“Cis-Holly, how about that code? I’ll help youwith it, if you like; I’m a bird at things of thatsort.”

“Can’t be done, Rod! I’m under the solemnest,swearingest vow to keep that to myself. I’ll masterit by to-morrow; I’m sure it will jump into mybrain suddenly when it gets ready,” Cis answered,thanking him with a smile.

“Something else is shading you,” Rodney remindedher. “Said you’d tell me here.”

“It’s nothing to shade me, really; I ought to beglad: it’s Nan,” Cis said slowly.

“Nan? Anything wrong with her?” Rodneyasked; he knew Nan by repute.

“No. But there is a youth, quite a nice youth,who has been tagging on after her for some time,and I’ve noticed that he was overhauling her, creepingright up on her. And she has written methat he has asked her to marry him, and she has[117]told him that she would give him his answer ina week; she wants me to tell her which answer togive,” Cis spoke disconsolately.

“Must be a great girl if she has to ask anothergirl whether she wants to marry a man or not!”exclaimed Rodney. “He’d be tickled pink if heknew it, probably! What shall you bid her say?”

“Oh, as to that, she knows what she is going tosay; that’s only a natural balking, natural to Nan,anyway!” Cis smiled. “I’ll tell her to say yes.She’s fond of him, and he truly is all right; everso much better than most fellows.”

“What do you know about ‘most fellows,’ Holly?Then, if it’s all right, why do you look downcastover it?” Rodney naturally inquired.

“Silliness,” responded Cis promptly. “But I’mfond of Nannie; no girl likes to see her best friendmarry. It isn’t grudging her happiness, it’s, it’s,—Idon’t know what it is, but it hurts.”

“Well, heaven knows, marriage is a bad thing togo into in half the cases, and at least half of theother half are dragging, defeating, miserable endurance.It isn’t the girl that needs all the pity andanxiety; believe me, marriage is rough on a man,too. The only comfort is that it’s easy enough toslough it off; you can usually get a divorce, luckily!”Rodney spoke so bitterly that Cis stared athim.

“Is marriage so awful?” she asked. “It isn’tbecause I ever thought that it was such a fearfulrisk, that I’m sorry about Nan; it separates us morethan my coming to Beaconhite does. But divorce[118]is horrible, at least Nan would never think of it;she’s a devout Catholic, and so is Joe Hamilton,whom she’ll marry. Have you known marriagesthat turned out so bad as you say?”

“Rather!” Rodney’s brevity made his answermore emphatic, and Cis wondered at the grim lookupon his face. “Poor Rod, it must have been hismother! I’ve thought that he didn’t want to talkof her,” she told herself. Then, to banish thatgrimness, she jumped up and cried: “Let’s explorea little, Rod; then we must start back; already itgets dark early, and I’m going to be hungry in sixand a half minutes, precisely!”

“You can’t have anything to eat for fifteen minutes!”Rodney laughed, throwing off seriousnessand triumphing in Cis’s surprise that food werewithin a quarter of an hour’s accessibility. “Didyou observe that camera, as you thought it, thatblack case? It holds a light supper, my ruddyHolly, to preserve your life till a solid one is tobe had. Now tell me I’m careless of your comfort,am mean, and not a good provider!”

“Never shall I tell you that, Rory O’Moore! Inever knew anyone so thoughtful. It’s fun to takea snack out here, but, please, I don’t want to staylate, Rod!” Cis said.

“Will you go out on Sunday for the whole day?Start early? I’ll get up at half past six; we’ll beoff before eight—and I can’t give a stronger proofof how I rate the privilege of a day with you inthe autumn glories!” Rodney smiled, yet meant it.

“I couldn’t start before—let’s see! Eight, nine—about[119]quarter to ten, Rod. I’d love to go,though,” Cis answered.

“Too late; the train we’d take leaves at 8:20.Why can’t you get off as early as I can? You riseearly Sundays, you told me; I don’t.” Rodneylooked vexed.

“Well, there’s Mass,” said Cis. “I always go ateight; it’s the first one.”

“Mass!” Rodney fairly shouted the word. “Goodheavens, Mass! I never once suspected you of that!Are you a holy Roman?”

“Not holy; just a Roman,” Cis corrected him.“Neither did I suspect you of prejudices, of mindingwhat I was. I used to miss Mass once in awhile, but I knew better, and when I came awayI promised Nan I’d go every Sunday, unless I positivelycould not go. I don’t bother much with religion,but I keep inside the Church, sort of onthe last step, in the vestibule!”

“Cut it out, Cicely!” cried Rodney. “Drop thething. You aren’t the girl to let stuff that no oneknows a thing about get hold of you. It’s silly tohang on to a chimera, and it’s dishonest, cowardlyto be afraid to chuck it. Make a break right here,Cis, and come with me early next Sunday morning.I used to learn catechism myself; I’ve learned nowthat no one has any right to try to teach it. Chuckthat nonsense, brave, free, honest Cis; believe me,you’d better! And it only means being honest withyourself; if you believed in it, you’d never hangaround that last step of yours.”

[120]Cicely looked at him gravely, with troubled eyes.Then she said slowly:

“I’ve often thought exactly what you say, Rod;I’m afraid I’m not honest. Then again I think Iam honest in trying to keep hold. You knowthere’s something in the Gospel about there beingvirtue in the hem of the garment; I don’t like todrop the wee edge I’m holding. It’s somethinglike the code, you know, Rodney dear; I can’tlearn it easily, but I’d never think of giving it away—don’tyou see?”

“Cis, Cis, Cis, drop it! It’s a danger; it’s yourenemy, it’s my enemy! That horrible system willwreck your life! Cis, for my sake, in pity sayyou’ll come with me on Sunday, and cut out theMass! Cis, it’s a test, Cis; you must come! Cis,Cis, for my sake?” Rodney spoke quite wildly,crushing her hands in his.

Cis looked at him, frightened, and then a greattenderness flooded her face, a look that it had neverworn before.

“All that isn’t true, Rod; it is sheer nonsense, butone Sunday can’t matter. I’ll go with you, if youcare so much to have me,” she said gently. Thenas if a new fear came upon her, she added: “Dearold pal of mine!” hiding behind a phrase.

THAT night Cis took the pins out of her hairand let it fall around her, like a screen ofmolten metal which miraculously could envelopand not sear her. It shone above her white petticoatand over her bare arms and shoulders so resplendentthat it was a pity that there was noneto see it, though Cis felt no such regret. She didnot consciously see herself as she stood before hermirror, letting down her Brünhilde-like tresses;her mind was filled with other thoughts, and sheturned from the glass to switch off the electric lightthe better to follow out these thoughts and theirconclusions.

She went over to the window and seated herselfin a low chair, her right foot boyishly resting onher left knee that she might easily remove its shoe,but having removed it she absent-mindedly let itdrop on the floor and stroked her silk-stockingedinstep, forgetful that normally one takes off itsmate when one shoe has been removed.

Cis was reliving her outing with Rodney thatafternoon; it gave her food for new and seriousthought. Rodney had definite and adverse viewsin regard to religion from her views and, apparently,he was especially adverse to hers, to the Old[122]Faith. This surprised her. She had thought ofhim as indifferent, with an indifference not greatlyunlike her own, the difference being that she wasindifferent within her faith, while he was indifferentoutside of any faith; the difference betweentwo persons without an appetite, one seated at atable, the other resting in an ante-room. Yet thiswas an exaggeration of the situation as she hadpreviously conceived it. Cis meant to keep herFaith, somewhat as one keeps a valuable piece oflace, not letting it get lost, but not often getting itout of its storage drawer. Rod, however, hadpleaded with her, speaking with impassioned earnestness,not to adhere to the Church, to cast itoff as a shackle. She had been amazed to find thathe cared, violently desired to get her to drop outof her Church. Why did he? What differencecould it make to him that she held to it, providedthat it did not get in the way of their friendship?If she bothered him with it, tried to convince himof its truth, let it come between them in any way,behaved about it as Nan would, for instance, Rodmight justly consider it a nuisance, but as it was,why did he mind? He had said that he had oncelearned catechism. What catechism? Episcopalian?Cis thought that Lutherans, and Presbyteriansalso, had a catechism, but she was not conversantwith the ways of the Protestant sects. Itcould not have been the Catholic catechism? Inthat case Rod himself had once been to Mass, hadprobably been instructed and received the Sacramentsas she had. But this was not likely; Cis[123]did not believe that G. Rodney Moore had everbeen within the Church. Perhaps poor Cis foundit hard to believe that anyone who had ever beenactually within her could ever be actually outsideof her.

She had promised Rod to go with him out intothe country early on Sunday morning, to do whichshe would omit Mass. A mortal sin? That waswhat she had been taught, but she had missed Massbefore, for less cause. Poor Rod! He had soeagerly begged her to do this for him! He showedsuch intense feeling about it; it seemed to matterto him beyond the intrinsic importance of takingthat special train, going to that particular place onthis coming Sunday. Again: why? But how couldit be a mortal sin to gratify the dear fellow? She wasnot going to give up the Church, of course, but itdid go rather far in some things, notably in thematter of turning meat-eating on forbidden days,and Mass-omission on commanded days into a mortalsin. She intended to remain a Catholic, but itcould hardly be that missing Mass deliberately ona Sunday would shut one out of heaven if shedied that night unshriven, uncontrite. She hatedto break her promise to Nan for the first time;she would write Nan in the morning and tell herthat she should not be at Mass on Sunday, but notto mind; she would go other Sundays. It was fairto let Nan know that she was breaking her promise;letting her know seemed to lessen the breach offaith with nice Nannie. She must also hastento advise her to marry Joe Hamilton. Funny little[124]Nannie! As though she would not marry him anyway!Nan was fond of him, Cis was sure of that,fond enough of him to predict the marriage happy,but Cis thought that she might have been equallyfond of another nice boy; Joe was a nice boy. Itwas all right for Nannie; Cis recognized in herthe woman whose children would be the absorbingdevotion of her life, her husband would besure to drift pleasantly into second place. It wasall right for Nan, but it would not do for Cis!If ever she married it would be a man whose presenceblinded her to all other creatures; whose lifeand death included her own; she would worshiphim, live for him, breathe in him, count nothingcostly that contributed to his welfare, even tohis pleasure. She would be good to her children,love them, look after them to the bestof her ability, but—weigh them in the scalewith her husband? Preposterous! She wouldbe first of all what Eve was to Adam, hismate superaboundingly. Why had that handsome,bad-tempered Davenport girl acted as shehad acted? She wanted Rod. Why did she?Cis felt a fierce sort of fury toward her, andclutched Rod in her thoughts; she gloated over himand over the thought that the Davenport girl couldnot take him from her. She had never before beendominated for even an instant by an unreasoning,overpowering hatred for a person, as if she wouldcut her down as she stood, if she moved hand orfoot upon her preserves. Her preserves! Whatdid it mean? Jealous? But what did that mean?[125]Of all things, what did that mean? She, free,frank, comradely Cis Adair, whom all the boys hadliked, who had liked them all in return, whosepulses had never quickened at the thought or sightof any one of them, much less her heart contractedas hers did now in thinking of this.

Cis was not stupid; she knew what it meant.With a great wave of terror, of resistance, of joy,of triumph, of profound humility, she laid herhead down on her bare white arms, folded on thewindow sill, and her splendid red hair fell overher as the outward symbol of the royal garmentwhich she had donned, the vestment of her womanhood.For Cicely knew that she had come intothe kingdom of her own self, her life’s crisis. Neveragain should she be the old careless, free, light-heartedCis. A loss, perhaps, but at what a gain!She lifted her face, wet as the light of the streetelectricity fell upon it, and pushed back her massesof red-gold hair from her hot cheeks.

“Miss Mass for him! Yes, oh, yes! I’d lose mysoul for him, if it would make him happy!” shecried aloud, rising to her full height and stretchingher arms upward with a royal gesture, as thoughshe at once renounced and received.

Cis arose early the next morning to carry out herintention to write to Nan. She wrote rapidly, atgossipy length, on a writing case resting on herknee, seated at the window where she had sat longon the night before.

She told Nan all about events in the office; herstruggles with the code; about women boarding at[126]Mrs. Wallace’s, whose idiosyncrasies she touched offto the life, with merry ridicule which was keen, yetnot unkind. Only at the end of the letter sheturned serious. “Nannie, dear,” she wrote, “ofcourse I say marry Joe, though I’m mean enoughto be a little sorry to let you marry anyone. Ifyou love him, that is all. You must love him, oryou would not consider it at all. He is a luckyfellow, but he is all right himself. You have myblessing. It is everything to love someone withall your heart, but if he loves you, too—Oh,Nannie, you are in luck, my dear! Though Ishould think a great, tearing love would always bereturned; simply melt the other one. I’d neverhesitate over anything if I loved a man—you sillylittle thing! I’ll see you some day, before you’remarried, I hope. By the way, speaking of nuptialMasses, I’m going to cut church next Sunday;wanted to tell you I’m breaking my promise thisonce. I’ve got a fine pal here—I told you abouthim—he wants me to do something; go off tooearly Sunday morning to get in Mass, too, and hewants it so badly that it’s right to give him thehappiness. I’d do more than that to make himhappy. I don’t suppose it really is a damning sinto miss Mass, but I guess I’d go to hell, if it wouldmake things easier for him. So now you can seehow I feel about this pal o’ mine! There was oneof him made, and then the mold was broken! I’mhappy, but I’m not at all sure he’d go as far aspurgatory for me. Your loving Cis.”

[127]Cis read her letter over with her cheeks aflame,her eyes wet, her breath short.

“Well, she won’t show the letter, that’s one thingsure, and I never could see why it is anything tobe ashamed of that you love someone like mad!You can’t begin to love a man the instant he asksyou to! Nan will say: ‘She’s still honest Cis, that’sone sure thing!’ Poor little mouse; she’ll worryher head off; probably think he’s a Jew with aCalvinistic mother, or something!”

The hours that must pass before that early trainstarted from Beaconhite on Sunday morning spedfast for Cis, in spite of her eagerness for the timeto come. The feeble undercurrent of regret forher choice of man instead of God, for her brokenpromise to Nan, she stifled; indeed it hardly neededher attention, so eager was she now for a whole daywith Rodney, so sure that he was going to take herinto pleasant and beautiful places, show her howto grow ever happier with him.

She arose much earlier than was necessary,dressed carefully in the golden brown tailored suit,with its accompanying smart, small hat of goldenbrown beaver, a bright wing of henna-orange laidon its brim its sole trimming, the new suit whichwas her pride and which Rod had said made herlook “like the twin sister of Phoebus Apollo.”

Cis went out of the house and ate a hasty breakfastat a restaurant because she was leaving beforeMrs. Wallace’s regular breakfast hour. She hurriedso fast that she had considerable spare time[128]on her hands and walked to the station to fill itin; Rod had asked her to meet him there becausethere was risk of missing their train if he came tofetch her from her boarding place.

Cis was surprised to see that there was a look ofrelief, as well as great joy on his face when sheappeared; he was already waiting for her.

“Ah, my Autumn Maiden!” he cried, seizing herhand tightly. “I don’t know why, because you’rea girl of your word, but somehow I was afraidyou’d get cold feet at the last minute and not turnup! Awful glad you didn’t, Holly! You’re aMaple Tree Symphony in that rig! My, but you’restunning, Holly!”

“Nonsense, Rod! As though I didn’t know Iwasn’t pretty!” cried Cis, her whole face spillingover rapture.

“Pretty? Perhaps not; I said stunning! Youdon’t give a fellow time to consider whether you’repretty or not,” rejoined Rodney. “You’re mightyeasy to look at! No, you’re not, by jiminy! It’shard afterward, anyway!”

“If you talk stuff to me, Rory O’Moore, I’ll turnaround and go home,” cried Cis.

“Then I won’t, not till the train gets to pullingfast! Had anything to eat? It’s a beastly time toask you to turn out, but I’m not regulating thisrailroad!” Rodney said.

“Had my breakfast outside, not to bother Mrs.Wallace,” Cis told him. “Ate oodles.”

“Doubt it. Never can trust a girl to feed herselfwhen she’s got anything better to do,” Rod[129]corrected her. “I’ve provender in that basket yousee at my feet; some pretty nifty sandwiches, fruit,candy, iced coffee, in a cold thermos. It will holdyou alive till we get dinner. We’ll have one dinner,that I promise you! Ever hear of PioneerFalls? They’re seventy miles from here, throughas pretty a country as you’d ask for, and the fallsare as good as they’re advertised to be. But themain consideration is that there’s a hotel therewhich sets up the best dinner I ever ate anywhere,and let me tell you I’ve knocked around some, andI’m a connoozer of food! So don’t you worry,Holly, that you’ll wither and fade away in myhands!”

“Not a worry, Rod! I’m not afraid of what willhappen to me in your hands,” Cis assured himwith a gay little laugh, but her eyes expressed somethingremote from laughter.

“By all that’s truthful, Cicely, if anything unhappy,or unfortunate ever came to you at myhands it would be because you would not let myhands work freely for your good,” Rodney said,with such emphasis that Cis looked startled, buthe immediately added: “Our train’s made up,Holly: Let’s get our places; better than standinghere.”

He led her through the gates, his tickets readyin hand; selected seats on the shaded side, luckilythe one which gave the better view of the countrywhich they were to traverse; arranged her coat ona hook; had the porter bring a footstool to lay beforeher chair; settled himself; swung his own chair[130]full in front of hers and sank back to gaze at herwith eyes which needed no tongue to interpretthem.

Cis knew that the intimacy of this early journey,with all the world excluded from their consciousness,with its inevitable suggestion of other journeys,always together, especially of one other journeywhich this almost might be, so fast, so blissfullyher heart was beating, Cis knew that it wasto Rodney, as to herself, a new rapture, poignant,almost unbearably delicious in its present, and inits future promise. She knew as well as if he hadspoken, that Rodney Moore loved her and intendedto tell her so; to ask her to go with him on allhis ways till death.

She realized that this day was to be filled tooverflowing with that tremulous, delicate blisswhich preludes those unspoken words, when bothman and woman know that they are to be spokenand how they will be answered, a bliss that almostsurpasses the joy of full possession, as anticipationalways must surpass fulfilment, the mystery ofdawn be lovelier than the full noontide.

“Shall we go to Niagara instead, Holly?” askedRodney, bending toward her.

“No, indeed! I would rather see Pioneer Falls!Niagara is too big,” Cis said quickly, catching thesignificance of his allusion to the conventionalbridal-tour point, resolved to keep this day underthe glamor of what was to follow it, not to let himspeak yet. “Besides, I couldn’t get to the officeat nine-thirty from Niagara! Rod, I haven’t seen[131]you to tell you! The code straightened out forme yesterday, just as I knew it would, suddenly,sometime! I’ve got the horrid thing so it will eatout of my hand!”

“Good for you! You’re a great one, Hollydear!” Rodney answered, settling back into hischair, following her lead.

The train took them through beautiful scenesof farmland, valleys and hills, beside a peacefulriver, through small forests, everything, everywhereglowing with October colors, “like Cis,” as Rodneysaid. Neither Rodney nor Cis were inclined totalk; it was too beautiful for comment, too sacredfor small talk, this lovely setting of their romance,also rapidly nearing its destination.

Pioneer Falls was the name of the station. Rodneypicked up his basket and preceded Cis to asmall motor car, billeted: “For hire,” which tookthem to the falls.

Here they climbed steep paths, and descendedlong, narrow steps, to see the falls from above andbelow, hushed by the wild and solemn beauty oftheir setting, chilled by the evaporation of theirheavy waters, the dense shade of their surroundingpines and hemlocks.

“It’s not half-bad to get into a dining room afterall that, is it, Holly?” asked Rodney when they hadseated themselves at a small table tête-à-tête, andthe waiter had withdrawn, after sending Cis’s bloodto her hair by asking whether “Madame would takelettuce, endive, or salade Romaine?”

“It’s not the smallest fraction bad, Rod,” replied[132]Cis, grateful to him for not taking advantageof the waiter’s mistake. “And I’m ravenous inspite of your lunch!”

Over the demi-tasse at the end of dinner Rodneylighted a cigarette and smoked silently, scrutinizingCis.

“What?” she asked him, looking up to catch hisgaze.

“I was wondering if you didn’t think that it hadbeen better, wiser, more natural, after all, to comeoff with me, when we like so much to be together,without going to church? Don’t you honestlythink, little Holly-Cis, that we hallow this day?”he promptly answered.

“Well, Rod, I’ve been perfectly happy,” Cisanswered. “I suppose, maybe, once in a way—”She stopped. “Funny you brought that up,” shewent on. “I’ve been thinking ever since that dayof what you said. What catechism was it, Rod,that you studied? What are you?”

“The penny catechism, my dear; Third PlenaryCouncil of Baltimore, I believe they said it was.Who made you, et cetera,” replied Rodney.

“Catholic? Are you a Catholic?” cried Cis.

“Now, Holly, do I look it, or act it?” demandedRodney. “No, my dear; I’m nothing, but they didstart me on the same catechism you had; my peopleare all Catholics.”

“Left the Church?” Cis looked startled.

“You funny child! When you don’t care tuppenceabout it!” Rodney laughed at her.

“I dropped it; that’s better said. I don’t believe[133]in it. They tried to control me in mattersof my personal rights as a man. They would interferewith me now if they could. They willwith you, if you let ’em. They’ll ruin your life,my Cicely. All wrong, all wrong! I want you todrop it, too. Cicely, believe me, it will warp you,destroy your God-given instincts and desires; ruinyour life, Cis! I am free now to do as seems goodto me; I want you to be free with me. I believethere’s a God, though I never heard anyone proveit who tried to, but I believe it. You keep yourfaith in Him, if you want to, but drop this Churchbusiness, with its laws. Cicely, I am afraid, afraid,I tell you, to think of your sticking blindly to allthat! Let it go. You needn’t abjure it, do anythingformal, but let it go. Go around to lectures,Sundays, or, what’s better, come with me out intoclean, still places and we’ll read the poets and philosophers,and have music—I play the violin fairlywell, Holly, dear; you haven’t heard me—yet!Drop it, Cis, for both our sakes, I beg of you!This is one of the things I brought you here to-dayto say. I’ve studied; I know the thing from topto bottom. Nonsense!”

“Why do you care so much, Rod? You lookhalf wild when you speak of it. Why do you care?What difference would it make to you if I kepton in my half-way Catholicity?” Cis asked morepuzzled than impressed by his plea.

“Why do I care?” Rodney burst out, thenchecked himself. “Oh, Cicely, because it separatesus! Child, you don’t know; I do! As sure as the[134]sun rises and sets it will break your heart andplunge me into wretchedness and despair if youcontinue, even in your half-way, as you call it.There is no half-way. Either you are a RomanCatholic, or you’re not. You may be a cold one,or a hot one, but one you are, unless you drop itwholly. It is a barrier between us.”

“Rod, what foolishness!” cried Cis. “We shallbe—friends—whether I’m in or out of the Church.Am I narrow-minded; are you? And if I weregood you might come back!”

“Not I! Never!” cried Rodney. “Cis, my Holly,my bright, hope-giving, joy-giving Christmas Holly,you’ve done for me what I never thought could bedone! I was wretched, and you have healed me.Will you plunge me down again?”

“No, Rod; I couldn’t do that,” Cis said simply,softly. “I don’t see how being a Catholic coulddo that, but if it did—”

“You’d give it up?” Rodney eagerly interruptedher.

“I don’t say that,” Cis spoke with slow consideration,weighing her words. “I don’t see how I’dever be able—But I couldn’t hurt you either, Rod!Can’t it just go on? I’m not one bit pious; I don’tsee how it could bother you if I went to MassSundays, and once in a long while to confession?”

Rodney looked at her long without speaking.“It’s up to me, I see,” he said at last, and Cis acceptedwhat seemed to be a concession to her, althoughshe had no conception of its terms.

And then there happened one of those trifling[135]things which so often sway human decisions andactions. Two shabby, dirty little Italians had beenlooking in at the door, unnoticed by Rodney andCis. Now there came the landlord, blustering, tochase them away with harsh words, and the childrenturned to go, the little girl bursting into frightenedtears, the boy muttering something, helplesslyfierce.

Instantly Rodney sprang up and hurried to thedoor.

“Here, come back here! Wait!” he cried.

He turned to the landlord. “What harm werethe little scraps doing? They may be hungry.Get them a half a pie apiece, and a lot of cake,and nuts, chestnuts! They’d be sure to like chestnuts!And coffee, big cups, plenty of milk andsugar, and some oranges, and put it on my bill,”he ordered.

“I won’t have dirty children in here,” cried thelandlord.

“Dirty! Dirty! Weren’t you ever dirty whenyou were a small boy? But who asked you tohave them in here? There’s room outside on thegrass. Good gracious, you have enough left overevery meal to feed half a dozen kids. Set ’emup on me!” Rodney ordered impatiently, and soonhe and Cis had the satisfaction of seeing each childblissfully struggling to circumvent the contents ofthe juicy half of an apple pie from attaining itsrelease, backward from the crust, as it was deeplybitten.

It was a small thing, yet it set Cicely’s heart[136]glowing with tender, admiring love for this big-hearted,gallant Rodney, who flew to the rescue ofthe helpless, and gave food and happiness to God’slittle ones. Illogically, it seemed to prove Rodright in saying that the Church and fidelity to itdid not matter. Had he not left it, and yet heshared with beggars, like a modern version of St.Martin of Tours?

“You are great, Rod!” Cis said proudly as shestood with her eyes on the children outside thewindow, and Rod, helping her on with her coat,watched them also, over her shoulder.

He had an uncanny way of reading her thoughts.Now he whispered into her ear, though there wasno one near to hear:

“You may give up the practices of religion, yetnot give up true religion, my Holly! I’m not allbad, though I don’t confess my sins!”

“THE only defect in this sort of a day is that ithas to end so early. It makes things seemthin and flat to pick up and start back on a trainleaving a few minutes past three,” grumbled Rodney,putting Cis into her car chair and bestowinghimself opposite to her, as they had come up toPioneer Falls.

“Oh, no, it doesn’t!” Cis contradicted himhappily. “Don’t be greedy, Rory! Greedy andungrateful. Think what a beautiful day, and—four,six, ten—it will be more than ten hours longby the time we get home!”

“Ungrateful I’m not; but greedy? Well, whyshouldn’t I be? Hungry people are greedy, especiallyfor the kind of food that best nourishesthem. Philosophy is all very well, but it’s notalways a satisfactory symptom! Don’t you be tooeasily satisfied, Miss Holly Adair! One daycouldn’t satisfy me; it whets my appetite!” Rodney’seyes were literally devouring, his voice sharp.

“Oh, well, Rod!” Cis said softly. “I’m not exactlyeasy-going. One day at a time! They singa silly hymn at church, all about not praying foranything, not even to be good, except ‘just for to-day,’[138]when of course we’re saying all the time:‘Now, and at the hour of our death,’ and we’remade to pray for final perseverance! But ‘just forto-day’ comes in all right now; this is our day,and a pretty nice one! I’ve been happy all daylong, and we’re still happy, with two hours anda half ahead, and I love to ride on the train. Awhole day happy is a big thing!”

“Cis, you speak as if you were afraid! Thereare years of happy days ahead, my girl! When Ifirst knew you, Holly dear, I thought I’d never seena creature who had passed the twenty-first birthday,who was so absolutely without a thought ofthe morrow as you were.” Rodney looked at Cisquestioningly.

“Ah! When you first knew me!” Cis breathedthe words so softly that Rodney leaned forwardto catch them. “I’m changing fast, Rod; I havechanged; I’m getting tamed. Happiness scares youwhen you know you’re happy. Before I came hereI was happy, but it was the way kids are happy.I didn’t know I was happy; just went along as ifI was a boy, whistling. Now—I think about it.”Cis pulled herself up short, then she added: “Theytell you that life isn’t particularly happy when youget well into it, that happiness is not meant to last.I suppose what everybody says is true; how can Ihelp being afraid? But it’s a queer thing: I’mhappier when I’m afraid than I was when I wasn’tafraid one bit!”

Rodney smiled on her, well-content with herunconscious revelations, or was it that Cis was so[139]trusting, so honest that she was conscious of revealing,yet did not mind it?

“Do you believe that you will not be happy,Holly dear? That we shall not be happy? Do youbelieve all these croakers who try to make youthink life is a dismal thing, and all true happinessis beyond the grave? That’s religion’s talk! Don’tyou heed it. Of course no clock strikes twelveevery hour, but you’ll see what bliss life holds, andthat we’ll keep tight grasp on it, provided you steerstraight. Why, little kid Cicely, you’ve no morenotion of what bliss is ahead of you than a smallbrown bunny out in those woods yonder! Believeme, you glowing, gorgeous-tinted Holly, you willlaugh at your fears when you get over the drunkennessof the joy you’re going to have!” Rodneysmiled at Cis with flashing eyes.

Cis smiled back at him, her breath a little short,but her candid eyes looked into his unafraid.Whatever Cis feared or dreaded, it was nothingwithin the compass of Rodney’s control; to himshe trusted herself completely.

She leaned back in her chair, her hat in herlap, luxuriously rumpling her hair by rolling herhead slightly on the chair’s plush back. Her facegrew grave and sweet as her thoughts travelled onwardfrom Rodney’s promise of lasting happinessto her own conviction that sorrow must come. Itdid not matter greatly as long as fundamentals held.Rodney’s “we” destroyed fear. Womanlike, shefelt that sorrow that was shared would in itselfhold a sweeter joy than happiness; that if she could[140]lighten a burden for Rod there would be no weightin the heaviest burden upon herself. The prescienceof the woman showed Cis the profoundmeaning of a true marriage; not, first in importance,to be happy together, but to learn to behappy in being unhappy together.

“Cis, I did not know that you could look likethat!” cried Rodney suddenly. They had beensilent for a little space, and he was watching Cis’schanging expression with awe and wonder, unableto follow her mental processes, yet guessing theircourse.

“You look at me so strangely, yet as if youhardly saw me.”

“I see you, Rod, but farther than in that Pullmanchair. How did I look at you?” Cis asked.

“As if I were a baby, or a bird with a brokenwing; I know you’d look like that at either of thosethings!” Rodney answered slowly.

“I was thinking,” she said simply. “Then, afterward,I was thinking how dear and good you wereto those forlorn children, and how fine it was tobe good like that, yet strong and brave, and whata lovely day you’d made for me, too!”

“Sweet Cicely! I don’t believe that you’ve theleast suspicion of your own value!” Rodney cried,sincerely moved by her humility, which was lesshumility than the lack of all self-seeing.

He lay back, still watching her, while she lookeddreamily out of the window at the flaming treesrushing past them in units of beauty, massed intoa splendid whole. He was thinking: “She has[141]been utterly content and happy the livelong day!She will soon get around to thinking that the daywas complete, and completely innocent, withoutMass; I’ll have no trouble turning her away andholding her fast!”

Rodney had a strong reason for wanting to getCicely to drop her Church, as he had done; hewas delighted to believe that there would be noobstacle before him there. But Rodney was wrongin thinking that Cicely was tending toward easyweaning from it. She was remembering that shehad deliberately stayed away from Mass that morningin order to gratify Rodney; she was determiningthat she would not do so again. Hitherto shehad not felt any more longing for God than hadone of His young four-footed creatures; she hadplayed in His sight, innocently as to the actionscondemned by man, careless of His service. Shehad made her First Communion with awe andfaith to a degree, but without the enkindling of hersoul. It did not mean much to her, although shewould have answered correctly any question in thecatechism relating to the two sacraments for whichshe had then been prepared. She had no mother,no one to whom her approach to her God matteredvitally, as it must to a mother whose twofold lovefor her God and her child breathlessly watchestheir compounding. Cis had gone on through herbrief years to the present, sound in mind and body,wholesome and true, but with not much morespirituality than a kitten. Now she began to gropefor God, afar, dimly; she wanted to find Him to[142]give Him to Rodney. For Rodney she wanted thebest. Like Portia, she began to reach out aftergreater values with which to deck herself that shemight stand high in his regard, be fit thus to stand.And she took her first, actually seeking steps towardGod to find Him, the one, all-embracing Godin order to give Him to Rodney. Rod had driftedaway; he was not like her; he had deliberatelyturned from his Church. Well, she had heard ofa woman, a saint—her name was something thatsounded like Money—who had brought her soninto heaven. Surely! St. Augustine, it was, andhis mother, Monica! She, Cis Adair, was by nomeans a saint, but she might do that, too, if Rodneyloved her well enough. And he did love her!How he looked at her, with eyes that made herown drop and her cheeks flush, and then with suchgentle tenderness that she could weep. He was notgoing to tell her to-day that he loved her; she wasglad of that; she would like to hold off that revelationin spoken words a little longer. It was sobeautiful to look up and surprise its revelationin his handsome, dear face, and pretend to herselfthat she had not been sure that she shouldsee it there! She was a bad girl to have indulgedhim by omitting Mass that day, yet how happy ithad made him, and how happy it made her tomake him happy! Perhaps it was not so bad, justthis one time! After this she would keep to Massfaithfully and coax Rodney there with her. Curiousthat the Beaconhite church where she went,the one nearest to her boarding place, had no Sunday[143]Mass before eight! She thought there werealways earlier Masses. It was partly the fault ofSt. Francis Xavier’s church that she missed Massto-day; if there had been one at six she could haveheard it before she took the train. She did notpush herself to state in her thoughts whether shewas entirely sure that she should have done so.

“You have not spoken for a half hour, Holly!”Rodney rebuked Cis at last. “What are you thinkingabout? We’re getting into Beaconhite, andyou’re cheating me!”

“Thinking—thinking—Oh, about something likethe suffrage; woman’s influence!” cried Cis arousing,puzzled at first how to answer, then answeringwith laughter in her eyes, her one dimple playingjust beyond the deep, sweet corner of her lips.

“Great trick not to be precisely a pretty girl, yetlook so much better than pretty ones, Holly!” criedRodney involuntarily, remembering GertrudeDavenport and her tiresome perfection of beauty.

“Let’s walk to the house, Rod,” suggested Cis,when they came out of the station into Beaconhite’smain street.

“Let’s walk to the restaurant first of all!” Rodneyamended her proposal. “I’ve no notion of beingconveyed to the hospital on an ambulance call,perishing in the street from inanition!”

Accordingly they walked briskly toward thesmall hotel in a cross street, several blocks from thestation, where, Rodney affirmed, “there was themost decent chef in Beaconhite.”

They came upon a block where there had been[144]a fire; cordons were stretched across the sidewalk,into the road; within them a blackened mass ofstill smoking débris was all that was left of whatthat morning had been a block of small houses,each house divided into four- and five-room tenementsat low rentals. Just as Cis and Rodney cameup there emerged from the side street, evidentlycoming around from the rear of the burned block,a tall, thin figure in a long black coat; Cis instantlyrecognized Father Morley, and as quickly he recognizedher, at least for one whom he had been seeingat the eight o’clock Mass. He possessed the naturalgift of retaining faces in his memory, a gift heightenedto the highest degree by the training of hisOrder, and his intense interest in the soul behindeach face.

Cis, meeting his deep-set, keen, gentle eyes,bowed instinctively. The priest instantly returnedthe bow with a smile that lit up his ascetic face asif a light had been thrown upon it, but in this casethe light came from within, outward.

The Jesuit stepped up to Cis’s side, taking it forgranted that he was welcome.

“Good evening, my child,” he said, and his voice,which always thrilled Cis when he preached his fiveminutes’ sermon from the sanctuary, was still moremoving heard in conversational tones at her elbow.She saw, too, that his face, thin, ascetic, worn, asshe had seen it at the distance intervening betweenthe church pews and the sanctuary, was moredeeply graved with fine lines than she had seen;[145]he looked like a man who had found life a seriousmatter, and whose bodily health was not the best.

“Good evening, Father Morley,” Cis replied.

“I do not know your name, but I know that youbelong to me,” said Father Morley. “I am surethat I have not met you. I see you at my Mass, ateight o’clock. Have you been long in Beaconhite?”

“No, Father. I came early in the summer. Myname is Cicely Adair; I am Mr. Lucas’ privatesecretary. You never have spoken to me before,”said Cis. “Father Morley, this is Mr. RodneyMoore.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Moore,” said FatherMorley with a quick, comprehensive look at Rodney.“English More, or Irish Moore?”

“My people on the Moore side came from Ireland,”said Rodney, uneasy, and omitting the courteoustitle at the end of his reply to Father Morley.

“That’s good!” said the priest, as if Rodney deservedcredit for his ancestry. “Though, to besure, the English More once meant great things,when the lord chancelor bore the name who wouldnot betray his God to save his head! Not that wewould not all reckon martyrdom a splendid prizefor which to hold out! You are in another parish,not St. Francis’? I don’t recall your face.”

“I’m in the St. Francis Xavier parish,” said Rodneyshortly.

The fine face of the priest changed slightly as hecorrectly interpreted this answer.

“I missed you this morning, Miss Adair,” he said.[146]“You know, a priest gets into the way of unconsciouslylooking for familiar faces when he turns togive the notices and read the Gospel; you areweekly in the same place. I am glad that you arenot ill.”

“No, Father,” replied honest Cis, making noexcuse to gloss her absence. “I did not go to Mass;I wanted to take an early train.”

“Good for her; coming straight out, no cringing!”thought Rodney, misinterpreting Cicely’shonesty.

Father Morley shook his head. “And not makethe effort required to go to six o’clock Mass first,or even to the Mass at two? It is worth considerableeffort to keep from offending God,” he said.

“Six o’clock? The eight o’clock Mass is the firstone, isn’t it?” cried Cis.

“No, indeed! Who ever heard of such a latehour for the first parish Mass in such a largeparish?” exclaimed Father Morley. “We have aMass at two a. m. for the newspaper men and othernight workers, trolley men, railroaders, all thosepeople. The next Mass is at six. Then ours is notthe only church in town! There are nine churchesin Beaconhite, all told.”

“Bad influence, danger ahead!” thought the wisepriest. “I like the girl!”

“I could have made the six o’clock at St. FrancisXavier’s; I might have asked if there was one, butI didn’t,” Cis looked straight into the priest’s keeneyes. “I’m a careless girl, Father; I never thought[147]so much about these things as Nan—that’s myfriend at home—did.”

“Difficult to think too much of things which areunending,” commented the priest. “I approve ofNan and am glad that you have so good a girlfriend.”

He smiled, with a slight sigh, and walked onwardin silence beside Rodney, taking it for granted thatthey would continue together as their ways lay inthe same direction. Rodney was at once uncomfortableand angry, angry that he was uncomfortable.There was a silent power in this priest thathe felt and resisted; it annoyed him to see that Cisfelt it and did not resist it. It was impossible tosay wherein it lay, but it was there, strong and asunmistakable as it was indefinable. That it wasthe manifestation of the sum total of the gifts ofthe Holy Ghost did not occur to him, nor would hehave admitted it, but just as those recorded in theGospel cried out against that Power to which theywould not yield, so Rodney in his heart cried outagainst this quiet person, walking beside him unintrusively,saying nothing remarkable, certainlynothing in direct rebuke. Yet every fibre of Rodney’sbeing rebelled, and he felt that Cis wasaccepting and readjusting to that implied reproach.

“Must have been quite a fire,” Rodney said, tryingto introduce a topic that was indifferent.

“Indeed it was, a shocking fire,” Father Morleycorroborated him. “It was a gasoline fire in a tenement;could anything be worse? The young[148]daughter of one of the tenants was cleaning gloves,I understand, in a room which was dark, using alighted lamp, and there was not much air in thestuffy place. She did not realize how far the fumeswould draw to heat where there was so little oxygen.Not only that tenement burned, but theentire block. Most of these people had keroseneoil in cans. Ah, it was a frightful fire! The firemensaved every life, but several people were badlyburned, dangerously so, and a child was nearlytrampled to death. One of the firemen was hurt;I came to anoint him and one or two others, butnone will die—thank God!”

“Well, I suppose ‘thank God’ is the conventionalphrase, but it doesn’t always fit,” said Rodney witha bitter, short laugh. “I suppose, too, that all thesepeople had palm in their houses, blessed especiallyfor protection against fire, lightning and generalviolent catastrophe!”

The Jesuit frowned slightly; Cis looked half-amused,and he saw it.

“‘Thank God’ is appropriate to whatever befallsthose who trust in Him,” he said. “I wouldimagine the blessed palm was in those tenements,since, in spite of carelessness and ignorance, againstwhich we cannot expect protection from theirlighter consequences, no lives were lost. I am gladthat you recognize the Providence that intervened,Mr. Moore; many people miss the province of itsworkings.”

“I think that I recognize its province precisely,Father Morley,” Rodney said. “It is distinctly[149]limited. I would say that, if there be a God, Hesets things going, and then leaves them to themselves.I am not a Catholic, though my peoplewere.”

“I would hardly have mistaken you for a Catholic,my poor son,” said the priest quietly. “Youhave left the Church of your fathers? Better cometo confession; remove the impediment to faith, andfaith will revive. Strange to throw away that treasureto acquire which so many sacrifice everythingearthly! My father, for instance, was an Episcopalclergyman. He came into the Church and sufferedactual want, besides the cruel persecution whichonly near and dear kindred can inflict, in order topossess the Truth and the sacraments. But youare young and God’s arm is long; you will comeback. A good friend can do a great deal for us!”

The priest smiled at Cis, who looked up at himwith a smile in return, yet a troubled look.

“A good friend can, Father, but lots of peopledon’t have good friends—like Nan!” she said, withemphasis on the adjective.

“All goodness is comparative, my child,” FatherMorley said. “I see that you regret your own deficiencies,which is a most healthful symptom! Itis everything to be honest, and more than everythingto be humble!” He laughed at his intentionalclumsiness of word. “It must be a littlelonely for you, a stranger here? You say you areMr. Lucas’ secretary? I know Mr. Lucas’ brother.”

“It was he who gave me my letter to Mr. WilmerLucas,” cried Cis eagerly.

[150]“Really? He is a noble man; I don’t wonderthat Mr. Lucas welcomed you,” Father Morleylooked pleased; he was beginning to feel cordialliking for Cis, with a perceptive anxiety for hersafety. “I know Mr. Lucas, this Mr. Lucas, but heis not my friend, as his brother is.”

Father Morley did not explain that he had instructedMr. Robert Lucas and received his submissionto the Church, and that this new instanceof the Jesuit wiles had made Mr. Wilmer Lucascross the street from that day to this whenever hesaw Father Morley coming.

“I have a club of fine girls, all self-supporting,a jolly, delightful lot, they are! How would youlike to come to one of their ‘open nights’? That’swhat they call the nights when outsiders are admitted.You’d enjoy them, and they’d take youright in. No need of being lonely, my child! Let’ssee: Thursday, Holy Hour; Friday the League;Monday night their private, members-only night;Wednesday! That’s it! Come on Wednesday, andsee my fine girls!” Father Morley beamed at histriumphant conclusion.

“Thank you, Father,” said Cis, and meant it.“I’m not lonely. I am happy in Beaconhite; Idon’t have much spare time. But you are good toask me.”

“Not a bit good!” said the priest. “The club isfor girls, isn’t it? And you are a girl, aren’t you?I turn off here. Good night. Good night, Mr.Moore.”

[151]He held out his hand and Rodney unwillinglytook it.

“God bless you, my poor lad,” said the priestgently. “Help and bless you.”

He turned to Cis with great kindness, a sweetgravity, a steady look that told her that he fullyunderstood her situation and recalled her to herduty with something of the infinite pity of God andHis love for souls which grope. She knew that thepriest saw that she loved Rodney, and that hisprophecy of the outcome of that love would notaccord with Rodney’s own forecast of her perfectbliss.

Father Morley held out his hand and Cis puthers into it, lifting her eyes to the deep-set onesabove her, which rested upon her as if they woulddraw her up through their light into the HighestLight.

“Good-bye, my child. Remember that we hearconfessions at St. Francis’ regularly on Fridays andSaturdays, afternoon and evening, and at any othertime when we are called out, and that a mortal sinshould not rest an hour upon the soul. Come tosee me in the house; I should like to know you,”he said, ignoring Rodney, whose anger flamed intocrimson in his cheeks and flashed in his eyes.

“Thank you, Father Morley,” replied Cis, ill-at-ease,conscious of Rodney’s annoyance, devoutlywishing that “Father Morley wouldn’t,” yet respondingto his summons with a half perception ofits value to her. “I shouldn’t know how to call on[152]you; I never knew a priest, not that way. AndI don’t get time, really.”

“And you are not lonely now, and would rathernot have an old Religious bother you, my dear?Very well; but remember that when you need him,Father Morley is waiting, and, when things get toohard to bear, or the strain is too strong for youryoung hands to hold back on the ropes, come tohim and he will help your feebleness. Don’t forget,Cicely Adair, that I shall be watching for you.”

So saying, the Jesuit raised his hat with a courtesythat included both the young people, and wentoff down the side street with a long, striding gait,his hands thrust into his coat-sleeves, his shouldersbent forward like a man so accustomed to meditationthat the instant that he was released from talk,from attention to the needs of others, he was offand away to other realms than this.

“The old meddler!” exclaimed Rodney. “Don’tyou go near him, Cis! They’ll make you into oneof their idiot women, crazy for novenas and churchwork, always lighting candles and trotting aroundto ask a priest whether roast pork really is indigestible,or whether all-wool flannels are better thanhalf-wool, or whether it is a sin to use a mud wormfor bait, because it looks like flesh, and the fisheats it, and we eat the fish on Friday! Idiots! I’dbeat a woman, if she belonged to me, and gotfeeble-minded in that particular way!”

Cicely moved slightly as if she were awaking;her eyes were fixed on Father Morley’s retreating[153]figure; she had not heard Rodney’s diatribe againstpiosity.

“He is good,” she murmured. “I feel as thoughthe statue of St. Joseph in the church had beentalking to me! He’s like that, like something thatlooks like a man, but is ’way beyond one. And he’skind, like St. Joseph; he must have been kind!And he’s ready to do anything for you, but he nevercould be common human! I wish——” Cischecked herself. “Oh, Rod,” she said, turning tohim with a flooding blush upon her face and clutchinghis sleeve as if she feared to lose him, “Oh,Rory, dear, you are hungry; you said you were!Let’s get a supper for you; I’m not hungrier than abox-of-crackers supper!”

“Crackers nothing!” growled Rodney, but hetucked Cis’s hand into his arm. “That restaurantis right around the corner. The old chap has halfspoiled my appetite! Come along, though, Holly,and hang on to me; I’ll feed you well!”

THERE was a matter of state and interstate, ifnot of national importance afoot, a livelycorrespondence in its regard flying between theLucas and Henderson offices in Chicago, Washingtonand Beaconhite. A franchise was in questionwhich must pass, not only the legislatures of threestates, but at last be established or annulled by thepassage of a Congressional Act which would reactupon the state legislatures’ decisions on the franchise,making it effective or practically withoutvalue. Energetic and clever lobbying to insure thisfranchise was vehemently carrying on in the capitalsof the three states concerned, and at Washingtonas well. Millions were at stake upon the issue;immense sums being spent for the passage of thebill; greater sums waiting those lucky stockholderswho should profit by the enterprise when it wasin working order, notably those who “got in on theground floor,” who took up as much of the stockas was put out on the market for sale, at a pricebeyond which shares would rapidly soar once theinevitably profitable scheme was proved successful.There would not be much, or comparatively littleof the stock offered upon the market; the corporation[155]behind the enterprise was made up of solidmen who could afford to wait for their future bigpercentage, secure to them if the thing wentthrough. They did not purpose to let the generalpublic share the chippings from the shell of theirgolden egg, except in numbers enough to forestallenmity to it on the ground of its being a privateprofit, maintained through public tolerance, via theCongress and legislatures. Correspondence in regardto this important matter passed in great bulkthrough Cicely’s hands; she was interested in it tothe highest point. The newspapers were full ofallusions to the franchise, opposing it, supportingit, according to their bias for or against the politicalparty favoring the measure. It amazed inexperiencedCis to find that this was the basis of newspaperinfluence, never the abstract benefit or harmto the public at large, which seemed to her mindthe only ground upon which to favor or oppose thefranchise.

Rodney laughed at her, and called her “DonnaQuixote,” a name that Cicely liked because it waslinked with tender mockery in Rodney’s eyes; shehad never read “Don Quixote.”

The correspondence in regard to the franchisewhich assailed Cicely’s desk in Mr. Wilmer Lucas’office was couched in the code that had at first beensuch a stumbling block to her, but which she nowread and wrote with complete fluency. It was excitinglypleasant to get inside information upon asubject that was occupying so much public attention.

[156]“I feel as biggity as Brer Rabbit to be so deep inthe know!” she told Rodney. Therefore on theMonday morning after her Sunday spent at PioneerFalls, Cicely started out for Lucas and Henderson’soffice with her mind joyously attuned to anticipation,the anticipation of an interesting day superimposedupon the delicious certainty that Rodneyloved her as well as she loved him, better perhaps,and that it was a matter of a few hours before shecould be his promised wife.

Perhaps she should have been that now, had theynot met Father Morley the previous evening. Thepriest had intruded upon the perfect oneness ofher comradeship with Rodney; he irritated Rod,and, though Father Morley impressed her as asaint, and attracted Cis herself powerfully, yet Rodsaid that priests “were good things to keep awayfrom,” and if he felt so, then one could not expecthim to find Father Morley’s inopportune intrusionupon them agreeable.

But how beautiful had been Rodney’s mannerto her, Cis thought, as, in the knowing little hotelto which he had taken her, he had ordered andpressed upon her delicious food for which she hadslight appetite, yet of which she ate, coaxed intoeating by the wondrous delicacies and Rodney’sministrations to her.

They had not talked upon disturbing subjects,pleasant or the reverse, but had chatted happily, incomplete harmony, laughing over their own nonsense,telling each other new bits of confidences,those insignificant-significant trifles of past experience[157]which, taken together, make up a mosaic ofcomplete mutual knowledge. There was nothingfor Cis to tell except school scrapes and triumphs,funny or piteous things which she had encounteredon her short road so far through life; stories ofpeople whom she had known, pleasures and annoyances;her reactions toward them. They weresimple tales to which Rodney harkened with profoundinterest, deriving from them an accurateestimate of this clean-minded, gallant Cis wholoved him, as he saw; whom he meant to marry,and not Gertrude Davenport with her money,realizing that in Cis he had found the woman whoseexistence his experience had led him to doubt.

In return for her confidences Rodney told Cissimilar stories of his boyhood, of his merry collegedays, of victories which he had won on the fieldsof sport, and, later, in the field of business competition.That there was much that Rodney did nottell her, honest Cis never suspected, still less thatthere was a side of his life, parallel with his advancementin business, upon which he did nottouch. She listened breathlessly to Rodney’scharming recitals, treasuring up his every word,so that it surprised him later to find how conversantshe was with his boyhood and youth; proudlyrecognizing him as the cleverest and the best oflads whose present perfection had been clearlyforeshown, missing nothing, because she looked fornothing beyond his revelations.

The remembrance of these intimate confidencesof the evening before, lay warm at her heart; the[158]picture of the close-drawn crimson sash curtains inthe leaded window beside them; the cream-whitetable, with its heavy cut work doilies; its delightfulcopper candlesticks, their parchment shades decoratedby a skilled hand in Persian colors and designs,made a poetic background for her memories.Cis went out on Monday morning, whistling in hermind, her breath keeping up the air soundlesslyagainst her motionless lips—Cis, the secretary, nolonger whistled in the street as Cis, the telephoneoperator, would have done—and she almost raninto Miss Hannah Gallatin.

“Good morning!” they cried together, as Cisswerved to avoid a collision.

“I sort of hoped I’d meet you, Miss Adair; I hadan idea you went out about this time,” Miss Gallatinsaid, and added: “Mind if I walk along totalk to you?”

“Glad to have you, Miss Gallatin,” Cis repliedtruthfully. “I’ve thought of you lots of times, andof how kind you were that morning when you askedme home with you, and advised me about boardingat Mrs. Wallace’s.”

“But haven’t felt the need of a friend yet, sohaven’t hunted me up, as I told you to in case youever did need one?” Miss Gallatin commented.

“I’ve been busy, learning all sorts of new thingsin the office——”

“And out of it,” Miss Gallatin interrupted Cis.“See here, my dear girl, let me ask you bluntly:Are you engaged to my boarder, Mr. Moore?”

“No, Miss Gallatin, but I am really engaged[159]without being! It is exactly the same thing, andI’d have been engaged when you asked me, if youhadn’t asked me to-day!” Cis laughed, but MissGallatin shook her head violently, having beenshaking it gently as a running accompaniment andcomment from the first syllable of Cicely’s answer.

“Girl alive, it’s not in the least the same thing!”cried the gaunt woman energetically. “Makinglove to a girl, and tying up to her under bonds areby no means the same! Men flirt and flit; wooand walk, and the girls think that there’s so muchhonor back of warm looks that they’re as securebehind a bow as a vow. Now, my honest CicelyAdair—for I know you’re as straight a girl as walks—thesewords may sound alike, but their soundsand sense are quite different. I’m going to tell yousomething about G. Rodney Moore; he was runninghard after Gertrude Davenport a while ago; she’sa rich beauty, and now he’s dangling after you.Honorable?”

Cis laughed long and merrily; it is not unpleasantto have victory over another girl attributed tooneself, however humble-minded and gentle-heartedthe conqueror may be. Cis began to singthe once popular song:

“H’m!” grunted Miss Gallatin. “That’s no[160]answer, though it’s been given as one ever sinceNoë’s grandson went gallivanting! Miss Adair,you’re a good girl not to slap me and bid me goabout my own affairs, but I suppose you know thatI want to befriend you. I know that you go offseeing the country with my captivating lodger, andit worries me. I don’t trust that fellow; I neverhave. Now you will slap me! You’ll put up withmy meddling, but not with my misjudging yourhero; is that so?”

“Well, I don’t like it,” said Cis, “but I’m sureyou mean it kindly, and can’t help seeing Rodcrooked. In reality he’s splendid, true as steel,kind—splendid, that’s all!”

“He tells me that he shall not stay with me allwinter, that he is looking about for an apartment, asmall one. Know anything about that?” Miss Gallatindemanded.

“Oh, the absurd fellow!” cried Cis, blushingfuriously to the roots of her brilliant red hair.“This winter! Mercy! No, Miss Gallatin, I don’tknow anything about it, but I suppose—This winter!Just imagine!”

“I do hope there’s a deaf and dumb saint whointercedes for girls in love!” cried Miss HannahGallatin impatiently. “It would be the only onewho could thoroughly understand her! Evidentlyyou think the apartment means that G. Rodneyexpects to cage his bird, but I think that’s by nomeans certain. You blind, honest little bat, itmight mean anything else but that! Cicely Adair,I found out lately, accidentally dropping a book[161]out of which a card tumbled—one of G. Rodney’sbooks—that he was once a Catholic!”

“Yes, he was,” Cis said carelessly. “I knew that.He doesn’t believe in any form of religion; hethinks it’s all nonsense, but I’ll learn to be a goodCatholic myself, and then Rod will get straightenedout.”

“Cicely Adair, look out for the man that is nottrue to his faith; disloyalty to his God is a mightypoor argument for his loyalty to a woman. And doyour converting before, not after you marry him!Something there I don’t like; never have. I’mafraid for you, Cicely Adair. I wish I had proof—orelse no doubts!” Miss Gallatin looked troubled.

Across the space of several months JeanetteLucas’ voice reached Cis as Miss Gallatin spoke;it said again to her:

“I thought that I should cure his one defect, hisindifference to religion. I know now that he wasfalse to all things, to me as to God! Cicely Adair,you’re a Catholic girl; remember this lesson whenyou think of marrying.”

Cicely shivered involuntarily, and the chill ofthe memory of this warning from the girl whomshe had revered, then pitied, drove out the quickanger with which she had heard Miss Gallatin’s lastwords, and made her answer quietly:

“I think you mean to be good to me, Miss Gallatin,and I appreciate it, but, please, nothing moreagainst Rodney Moore to me. I ought not to havelet you say one word! He loves me, as I love him,and he trusts me as I trust him. I don’t know what[162]he will say when I tell him that someone warnedme against him and that I let them—of course Imust confess it to him! I shall marry him. Thereisn’t anything else to do when the whole worldwould be black-empty without him! Even if I’mto be unhappy, still I must marry him. But I’mnot afraid of being unhappy. How silly, howwrong, but still more how silly, to suspect peoplewithout a grain of reason! You haven’t the leastproof of Rod’s being anything but what I’ve foundhim, the best, as he is the dearest, cleverest, kindest,biggest, truest man in all the whole wideworld!”

“Forgive my meddling, Miss Adair,” said MissGallatin humbly. “No one ever rescued a girl inlove from her fate, even though she brought tonsof proof against the man. And I have none; you’reright. Nevertheless—But I’m to say no more! Ilike you, my dear; I truly like you, and I’ve knownwhat it was to love a man madly, trust him utterly,and find him false and evil! If G. Rodney leavesmy house for that apartment and you’re not domiciledin it, will you come to board with me? I’dlike to have you under my roof. And the day maycome when you’ll find queer, lean, ugly HannahGallatin better than no one. Like Mrs. Wallace’s?”

“Oh, yes; it’s all right,” said Cis, glad to be letoff from answering the previous questions. “It’sclean, and she gives us lots of good food, but—Mrs.Wallace’s women boarders are not all my fancymight paint them!”

“Fancy sketches ’twould be!” returned Miss[163]Gallatin. “Women boarders are a species by themselves;idle, censorious, meddlesome. Hers aren’tpeculiar to Mrs. Wallace; she’s not to blame for’em; mine are just the same! They’re all alike,mostly, and when they’re different from the rest,heaven help the different ones! The things I’veseen women, who were supposed to be ladies whenthey were away from a boarding house table, doto get the hearts of the celery—gracious! I’m surethose at Mrs. Wallace’s pick at you; you’re too gayand independent to escape! Too young, besides!Well, that would be the same anywhere, but cometo me if ever there’s a chance. You can’t comewhile G. Rodney’s in the house; I won’t have you!Now, good-bye, my dear! I do like you, and,somehow, the thought of you anxiously haunts me.Believe me, if you are happy with G. Rodney andcan bring him back to his faith, if he’ll be to youwhat you expect him to be, no one will be moreglad than queer Hannah Gallatin! So don’t holda grudge in your memory of me, and come to seeme some Sunday—if you have spare time!”

Cis heartily shook the worn hand which thispeculiar, but sterling woman held out to her. Sheresented her suspicions of Rodney, yet in spite ofthem, she liked her cordially, and left her with asurprising warmth for her in her own heart, and apity that recognized the tragedy which Miss Gallatin’sbrief allusion to her own perfidious lover revealed.

Cis walked on thoughtfully for a short distanceafter leaving Miss Gallatin, her thoughts grave,[164]almost somber. It was gloomy to know that oncethis woman had been young like her, full to overflowingwith the joy which now filled Cicely, joywhich had congealed under the cruellest ice, thecold of disappointment and disillusionment. Butthe perfidy of that older lover did not involve theperfidy of Rodney. Rodney! The word “perfidy”was an absurdity in connection with his name!Cis threw off her depression, squared her shoulderslike a boy, and broke into a swinging pace, softlywhistling: “But I never knew, dear,” the songwhich she had hummed replying to Miss Gallatin.This time, casting aside her dignity as Mr. Lucas’private secretary, Cis whistled aloud in the street,albeit softly.

There were piles of letters waiting upon her deskwhen Cis sat down to it, letters in ordinary long-handand typed letters, but the majority of themwritten in the code peculiar to that office and to thesecrets of its clients and associates.

Cis plunged into them, reading and assortinginto piles letters relating to legal affairs, cases inwhich Lucas and Henderson, as a firm, were retained;letters relating to Mr. Lucas’ personalclients, people who retained him as advisor in theiraffairs, rather as a wise man of sterling integritythan as a lawyer; letters of appeal, or asking information;last of all, letters in the code relating tothe matter of the pending franchise; reporting itsprogress in the three states dealing with it, andwith Congress; the likelihood of the bill passing[165]which would make it possible; suggestions of meanswhich would further its success. The mail relatingto the franchise, as well as his personal correspondence,Cis laid upon Mr. Lucas’ desk; he would notcome in before eleven, or possibly noon that day,having first gone to the bank to conduct that partof its business which fell upon him as its president.

Then Cis plunged into correspondence from yesterday’snotes, which she must write up and dispatch.She was immersed in this when Mr. Lucasentered.

“Good morning, Miss Adair,” he said and passedher to take up the papers which she had laid down,awaiting him.

He read rapidly, putting aside a few letters fora second reading, but he merely glanced throughthe letters which were not written in the code,stacking them for a return to them later on; evidentlythe one absorbing, pressing matter of thatday was the franchise, soon to be decided.

“Miss Adair, you know a great deal that the outsideworld is eager to learn,” said Mr. Lucas, lookingover at Cis as she busily wrote at her desk, ashort distance from his own. “There are manypeople’s hopes hanging upon this pending franchise;many waiting to snatch up the shares of thenew enterprise, to get them at the lowest possiblefigure. What would they not give to know nowthat the franchise is secured? They could buy to-dayat 32¼, and sell within two months at fifty percent above par! A profit not to be despised! And[166]within a year that profit will at least double. Thenewspapers are agog for inside information, for atip as to the probabilities of the outcome, partly tosecure a scoop over other papers, partly to servepolitical ends. What do you purpose doing withyour knowledge, Miss Adair? Sell out to the highestbidder? Offer your knowledge, say, to a NewYork paper, and make it do something handsomefor you, in return for the advantage you offer it?”

Mr. Lucas spoke with a smile that showed thathe considered Cicely far beyond the reach oftemptation thus to betray confidence. His face alsoexpressed great satisfaction, even relief. As thepresident of a national bank, it might prove unpleasantfor him if the failure of the franchise disclosedhim deeply concerned in its success. Mr.Lucas was playing with Cis and the fancy of herbetraying him, under the necessity for some outletfor the satisfaction which his face revealed.

Cis looked up and smiled.

“No; I won’t sell you up, Mr. Lucas,” she said.“Is it settled then? Is the Big Deal on? Is thefranchise secured?”

“I thought you read the letters, Miss Adair. Youaren’t forgetting the code, are you?” Mr. Lucaslooked half-annoyed, half-amused. “I want you togo over the mail carefully, and I surely want youto read the code straight.”

“I did read the letters, Mr. Lucas, and I understoodthat they were favorable, but—to tell thetruth, I understood what I read enough to do the[167]right thing with them, but the letters did not makemuch impression on me; I had something importanton my mind,” candid Cis explained.

Mr. Lucas laughed outright. “A girl is a girl,clever or stupid, faithful or unreliable! I’d wagerI could shrewdly guess the important subject. Important,mark you! The franchise being a merebagatelle! Well, well, Miss Adair, I’ve no doubtthat you did precisely as you say you did, read andunderstood, and forgot for really ‘important matters’when you had read! The franchise is assured,Miss Adair, and great events are afoot! I am as delightedas I have been anxious about it. We shallall profit, but it is my honest conviction that theprofit to the public will exceed the money returns.Be careful not to know all this, if you please; theinformation must not leak out yet, not for twomonths more,” Mr. Lucas warned Cis.

“I’ll keep quiet, Mr. Lucas. I’ve been approachedby a few Poll Prys, but—nothing doing!”Cis laughed gaily, permitting herself a relapse intothe slang which her new dignity had been makingher eschew.

That evening Rodney met Cis just beyond thedoor of the building which housed the Lucas andHenderson offices, when she came forth at nearlyfive o’clock.

The sight of him, handsome, faultlessly dressed,debonair, smiling happily as they came towardeach other, set Cicely’s pulses bounding joyously;his presence was the sufficient answer to the doubt[168]of him suggested by Miss Gallatin, repudiated byCis, yet, like all doubts, hard to silence completely,even when downed.

“Oh, Rod, I’m glad!” cried Cis almost runningover the short distance intervening between them.

“Oh, Cis, I’m gladder!” echoed Rodney. “What’samiss, Cis? Amiss-Cis; goes along slick, but Cis isnever amiss!”

“I want to confess to you, Rory,” said Cis, asRodney turned to walk with her.

“The only one I want you ever so much as tothink of confessing to,” Rodney said approvingly.

“Someone warned me that it wasn’t safe to playwith you, Rory O’Moore, that I’d be sorry later on,that you weren’t quite, quite all right, trustworthy,you know. I didn’t really listen; I did not believe,and I said that sort of talk had to stop, but it wassaid, Rod, and I’m ashamed of myself that I letmore than your name get past. I didn’t listen, Ididn’t truly, but too much was said.” Cis pouredout her confession eagerly.

“Who was it? Who was she? Safe to say she, ofcourse! What else did she tell you? Anything Iought to know—and that you ought not to know?”Rodney looked furiously angry, and somewhatalarmed.

“Don’t ask me who it was; I won’t tell. I won’tsay it was a woman; may have been a man. Andnothing was said, more than I’ve told you; that theperson doubted your being safe for me to playwith,” cried Cis. “I’m sorry I heard more than oneword.”

[169]“The old gal, I’ll bet! Funny old Gallatin; shealways suspects me,” cried Rodney. “Why, Cis;why, Holly, my darling, there’s no one on earth halfas safe as I for you to play with! How dares shethink I’d harm you, grieve you? Never any otherman loved a girl as I love you. I’m mad about you,Cis, you—you glowing Holly-berry! I neverdreamed there was such a girl on earth. Whenwe’re married—My heavens, when we’re married!Cis, oh, Cis, you can’t dream how happy we’re tobe! Did she think maybe we wouldn’t marry?Cis, we shall, we must! You’re going to marry me,aren’t you, my darling, my glowing ruby-jewel?”

Cis looked up, trembling, forgetful of fear, ofdoubt, responding to the call of this love thatblotted out the world with as much ardor as itssummons held. “Yes, oh, yes! I’d die else,” shesaid.

Rodney drew her to him oblivious to the highwayand its many passers-by, but Cis came to hersenses, and eluded his arms.

“Oh, Rod, Rory dear, we’re engaged!” she almostsobbed. “We are really, truly engaged, and isn’tit beautiful! Do people get engaged like this, withoutmeaning to, just sort of talking, and then thereyou are? And it’s so public, and so queer! But,oh, Rory O’Moore, it’s so beautiful! What can itmean, it’s so beautiful?”

“It means that by your birthday, by Christmas,my Holly-berry, you’ll be in your own home, inmy home, my wife, and that no cold nor stormsshall ever touch my Christmas bride! Oh, Holly,[170]Holly of my heart, red and glowing, thorns for allelse, but for me the crimson fruit of your love!”cried Rodney, stammering under an emotion whichunconsciously turned back to the phrases of hisCeltic forbears for its expression.

“I  SEE the whole world through your tresses,Holly! They cover my eyes as a veil andeverything glows, shines with glory!” Rodney hadsaid to Cis.

It was true of them both that a joy past realization,past expression, filled and flooded their waysand their days. Cicely gave herself up to the raptureof a love so mighty that it was almost pain;gave herself with the generosity of a nature honest,fearless, intense. Rodney found her love for himfar exceeding his expectation of it, and he had expectedto be endowed beyond the average man bythe love of a woman who, more than any that hehad ever known, asked nothing for herself but tobe allowed to submerge herself.

He was delirious, breathless at times when shebared to him her rare, sublimated passion, yetthere was in her a quality which awed him, whileshe enkindled him. Cis loved him with all theforces of her royal human nature, yet with it shealso loved him with a purity of soul that frightenedthe man, ten years her elder, versed in the ways oflesser women. Crimson as a flame fed by her lifebloodburned her love upon the altar she erectedto it, but over and above the red flame of human[172]love, burned a white flame of utter devotion, idealization,spiritual detachment; it dominated andsublimated the love that, though it was rare, yetwas lower than this, its supplement. Wonderful ina girl whose life had not trained her for the highestform of love, was this purity of aim which Rodneyrecognized at all times in her.

Rodney himself arose to reverence this idealizedlove, to defer to it. He was not a man whose lifewas notably better, nor was it worse than the averageman’s life. He had thrown off his religion becauseit would have thwarted him; because its lawbore heavily upon his particular case; because itnever had meant much to him, and this world fullyengrossed him. He meant to be both rich andhappy; he had intended to marry ambitiously, butCis had come, with her red hair, and it had burnedlike dross everything that would have stood betweenher and him. He had fallen in love withCicely Adair passionately and honestly; to get herand hold her his he was more than ready to throwover any other woman, however full her handsmight have been when he had espoused her. Afterhe had won Cis, Rodney was ready to stake anythingon himself; he felt that he was sure to get theworldly goods which he craved. Cis must be first.Now that he had Cis, he knew that, even if hemissed the riches, he should be rich. She filled hishorizon, filled his eyes and heart, yet she held himindescribably above himself; she humbly worshippedhim, abasing herself with wonder that suchas he should love her, yet never descended to what[173]Rodney himself knew was his natural level, norever for an instant suspected that she held himdown while she lifted him up by assuming that hewas the type of man whom Arthur tried to formto sit at his Round Table.

Cicely mystified Rodney; she was at once flameand starlight. He could not understand that theflame was of the sort that burned away dross; thatCis loved him with such overwhelming love thatshe walked under a sense of consecration. Hecould not understand, yet he recognized this anddeferred to it in a way that amazed himself whenhe came to think it over. He could not risk lettingCis find him less than she believed him. Her trustin him, her idealization of him, humbled him andintrigued him. Could he marry Cis, deceiving her?Could he undeceive her? After they were marriedCis would learn to accept things as they were; shewould not love him less; she would love him more,tremendous as her love now was, for then therewould be the complete blending which was marriage.Cis was not the sort of woman to criticiseher husband. She would understand and justifyhim when she was his wife, nor would her slenderhold upon the dominant Old Church be maintainedagainst the clutch with which she would hold toher husband. Rodney’s fingers tightened as hethought how he would hold his wife, althoughRome itself were hurled upon his grasp that heldher. He knew that his love now flooded Cicely’swhole being with joy; when he was married to herhe would show her that she had known no more of[174]joy than the bird in the shell knows of the sunlightawaiting it.

Cis had received her engagement ring from Rodney,not the conventional diamond.

Rodney had a friend who was a dealer inprecious stones; from him he had obtained a rubyperfect in color, beautifully cut, and he had himselfdesigned its setting. Holly leaves laid oneupon another, points resting each upon the followingleaf, formed the ring; four leaf points convergedto hold the wonderful ruby high to catch thelight. It glowed and pulsated upon Cicely’s slender,nervous hand as if it refracted the light withinher, the glow of her love for her lover.

“Oh, Rod, my dearest, it’s beyond words topraise!” sighed Cis, turning her hand to give theruby light upon every side. “It’s too wonderfulfor me!”

Rodney caught her head between his hands andkissed and kissed her red hair. Then he crushedher face against his and held her lips to his in along kiss.

“I deserve it,” he said releasing her. “Theruby is you; how can it be too wonderful for you?No white diamond for you, but a ruby, like thisone. You are my Holly, my glowing, ruby-redHolly! My Christmas Gift! Cis, we shall be marriedon Christmas Eve? Cis, I beg of you, don’task me to wait longer! That’s almost two fullmonths! I’ve found the apartment; I haven’t toldyou, but it’s a little bit of all right! Christmas Eveour wedding! Christmas morning, when the bells[175]ring, to say for the first time: ‘Good morning, mywife!’ ‘Good morning, Rod, my own man!’ Andour Christmas breakfast in our own home—notrips away then; perhaps later!—but I yours, youmine, wholly, forever, my Holly upon my ownwalls! Cis, in mercy—say yes!”

“Rod! Rory, my darling!” Cis caught herbreath, her words almost a cry. “I want to comeand I can’t! It’s too soon, Rod dear! Only twomonths; not quite that! I could leap with you intofire when you call me, yet I can’t marry, not sosoon! Girls—girls—Oh, yes! Girls have to getready, get clothes and things, and it takes time,Rod!”

“Cis, you’re a royal princess, a giver by rank andnature! Would you put me off with such a mean,a dishonest excuse? Do you know what you askwhen you ask me to wait? You, the generous, theunselfish, the royal giver! As though you hadn’tclothes! If you have enough to go to Lucas andHenderson’s every day you have enough to live inyour own home, hidden from all eyes but mine—andthey won’t see your clothing, my Holly! We’lllive only about seventy years, all told; less thanfifty more! Will you waste time? How dare youwaste time, youth time, too! We should have beenmarried these four years, at least. You could havebeen married at eighteen, if I’d have known youthen—No, we couldn’t! I couldn’t have marriedyou then, my own. You are my own, Cis! Nothingelse is mine! Cis, I’ve had a harder life thanyou know; I’m going to tell you when we’re in our[176]home, sitting down all alone, you in my arms, yourdear red head on my shoulder! But don’t be anigg*rd with me, generous Cis! Make up my hardluck to me. Oh, make it up to me! You’ll wipeout memory of the word hard luck! Cis, how canyou think of delaying life together? It’s cowardly,unfair, cold love, and these things are not in you!Christmas, Holly?”

Rod had pleaded with such quivering earnestnessthat Cis paled and trembled before it, sweptbeyond her power to hesitate, even beyond deciding.

“My poor Rory! Were you so badly off fouryears ago?” she murmured. “But I’d have marriedyou, if you were a beggar with a little dog on astring! I’ll come home to you at Christmas, then,my own Rodney; I’ll keep my birthday with myhusband in my own home. Oh, Rory O’Moore!”

For Rodney had fallen at her feet and was kissingher hands over and over again, kissing the rubywhich he had placed upon one of them, as if hefeared his own joy, and for the moment dared notrise to the level of the girl who had shackled herbrave freedom for his sake, who so trusted him andsacrificed for him.

Three days later Cis received an invitation fromMiss Gallatin to dine and spend the evening withher. Rodney had told his eccentric, but fine landladyof his engagement and speedy marriage. Indefault of relatives on either side Miss HannahGallatin felt it incumbent upon her to do somethingas a mild celebration of what had happened,[177]the more that she had doubted Rodney, and, forlack of anything else upon which to hang thatdoubt, had feared that he was playing with Cis,would never marry her. Besides this, with theardor of her own strong, and comparatively recentadherence to the Catholic Church, she was anxiousabout Cicely’s marriage to a renegade from it,Cicely, whose own lukewarmness was only too evident.

Miss Gallatin was not an ordinary boardinghouse keeper; queer as she was in appearance,uncouth and almost shabby in attire, she had comeof good stock; her youth had passed in refined,even luxurious surroundings; she was well-read,clever, was what used to be meant by “a gentlewoman.”She was dependent upon her own exertionsfor a livelihood because her patrimony hadpassed from her wholly into a brother’s hands,owing to her father’s conviction that nothing of hismust ever be administered by one who would belikely to use its smallest fraction to benefit thatmenace to American institutions, the Roman CatholicChurch.

Miss Gallatin did not invite Cicely to dine at thecommon table; it was not covenable to expose ayoung girl to criticism among her lover’s fellow-boarders;she was so far from being their concernthat they were sure to watch her closely and later tocomment on her violently.

A small table was spread in a cozy room near thegeneral dining room and in it Cicely and Rodneywere to dine with their hostess, and a gentleman[178]whom Miss Gallatin explained to Cicely in private.

“I feel honored to entertain him, the gentlemanwhom you’re to meet at dinner, Miss Adair,” shesaid. “He’s a great man, doing great things as ifthey were less than little ones. He has a fine estateand plenty of money; is not married. He is not somuch a good Catholic, as an enraptured one; heconsistently puts his faith before all else. He hastravelled everywhere, speaks several languages, hasa great library, reads much, writes, too, a little, Ibelieve; essays, articles on current questions, givingthe Catholic point of view. He is organizing Catholiclay men and women to be ready to serve theChurch wherever it is needed, and his quite splendidbig house is the headquarters for this league ofhis. He has people staying there all the time whoneed what he can give; a chance for a convert toget on his feet, for instance, one who is impoverishedby coming in, and a chance to find friends ifhe is alone, lonely, needing countenance and advice.He has a teacher of Italian there, to fitpeople to stem the tide of theft of Italian immigrantsthrough bribery by the Protestant sects. Allthese sorts of things he does. He is well on towardforty; a knight riding to rescue, if ever there wasone! I call him Sir Anselm—not to his face! Infact, I rarely see him. He’s in town, and I’m gratifiedto death that he’s going to stay here. He’scome to see Miss Miriam Braithwaite; she’s a greatfriend of his, one of his sort, a convert. His nameis Anselm Lancaster.”

[179]Cis heard this long tale of the man whom she wasto meet, without actually hearing it; she felt nosmallest interest in this fine gentleman, nearingforty, who was spending his days, strength andmeans for his Church and hers. If she thought atall of what Miss Gallatin told her as she made herhair tidy for dinner, it was that he “must be fustyand musty, pokey and dull to fuss over things likethat.” In the attractive little room where shedined, Cis was introduced to Mr. Lancaster. Shesaw him tall, slenderly built, elegant in dress, fineof feature, handsome, perhaps, and with a gleamof pure humor in his eyes which was unexpected toher in an extremely devout man. Then she forgotall about him, for Rodney began to talk to MissGallatin, the stranger joined in, and in listeningto Rodney, who did talk well and fluently, Cis forgotall else, her eyes as well as her cars feastingupon Rodney’s perfections.

Occasionally Cis spoke, uttering one of her characteristicquick speeches, much to the point, witha humorous turn and a keenness of insight thatmade Mr. Lancaster look at her attentively, smilingupon her as if he were ready, desirous more correctly,to draw her into conversation, but Cis didnot see this, nor did she respond beyond the requirementsof civility, to the remarks to this endwhich he addressed to her. It came out that Cis wassecretary to Mr. Lucas, and when he heard this Mr.Lancaster turned to her with alacrity.

“Mr. Wilmer Lucas?” he cried. “Lucas and Henderson?That office is deeply concerned with the[180]franchise now before the legislature and Congress.Everybody is agog to know how it is going. I,myself, am imploring all the saints to get it through!It will matter greatly to my plans, if it succeeds.I’m going to be able to found an Italian colony, ifit goes through; give employment to many heads offamilies, and save no end of bambini from proselytizingsocieties for their destruction! You mustknow something about the way the matter is tending,Miss Adair. Please admit that it is trying, tofeel that the knowledge one needs is just across thetable, but wholly inaccessible, enclosed by thenimbus of your hair, sacred as a trust.”

“I know all about it,” said Cis. “I handle thewhole correspondence, but I’m not talking.”

“Don’t imagine that I would suspect you of betrayinga trust, still less that I would want informationat that price,” said Mr. Lancaster. “It mustsoon be decided and made public. Interesting tosee the inner wheels go around, drop a little acceleratingoil on them in a hidden corner!”

“Yes,” agreed Cis. “I like wheels, things gettingdone. But I don’t care more about that franchisethan anything else, except that everybody seems tobe wild about it. Rather sport to be the only onein the know, except your principals! What I’d liketo find out is who’s going to carry off the World’sSeries Championship!”

Mr. Lancaster laughed, with a friendly and admiringlook at unconscious Cis, who was laughingat Rod’s assurance that he could tell her, only shewouldn’t believe him. They had a bet on the result[181]of the baseball season, on the chances of whichthey differed.

After dinner there was music; Mr. Lancasterplayed the piano remarkably well, and Rodney hadbrought his violin; he played with brilliant excellencemusic that was sometimes sentimental, sometimesfrolicsome, always popular, and never classical.Cis had a pleasant voice and sang with naturalexpression and taste, but she could not be inducedto utter a note.

“I don’t want to sing where I can be heard,” sheexplained. “Padded cell, solitary confinement formy concert hall!” and again Mr. Lancaster laughedat her; he evidently found her unaffected gaietyrefreshing.

At last the evening was at an end, and Miss Gallatinwas helping Cis into her coat preparatory toher leaving.

“So it’s all settled, Miss Adair—let me call youCicely, will you?” said Miss Gallatin.

“No, but say Cis; I like it!” Cis responded tothe affection in the rugged, patient, lonely face overher shoulder. “Yes, it’s settled! See the ring?I’m to be married at Christmas, if you please!My birthday.”

“Are you a Noël maid?” asked Miss Gallatin. “Inoticed the ring; most beautiful! Now I understandthe holly leaves and the ruby single hollyberry. A marvellous ruby, a significant and beautifuldesign for a Christmas girl!”

“Rod made the design; he calls me Holly,” saidCis proudly. “He’s a great Rodney!”

[182]“Has he come back to the Church to thank Godfor you where He should be thanked?” asked MissGallatin softly. “I want to be sure of your happiness,my dear.”

“Dear me, no, he hasn’t, Miss Gallatin!” Cislaughed, but she spoke impatiently. “He is so goodas it is, that I’m sure he’s all right. I can’t seemto worry over Rod!”

“You’ve got to build your house square with itsfoundation, if it’s to stand,” said Miss Gallatin.“Dear Cis, I do hope you’ll be happy; be blessed,which is more. I suppose it may be that you’reto be the torch bearer, lead G. Rodney Moore toheaven. God sees farther than we can! Did youlike Mr. Lancaster?”

“Who’s Mr. Lancaster? Oh, that man downstairs?He seems all right, plays like a dream,though I always think it is a little queer for a manto play the piano. Isn’t he sort of religious-crazy?All right to be a Catholic, but you can’t keep atit all the time, as if it was a hurdy-gurdy and thepennies would stop if you stopped grinding it!”Cis laughed at herself, and gathered up her gloves,ready to go.

“Oh, my child, can’t you see the difference betweengrinding at a thing and being permeated withit?” cried Miss Gallatin. “You don’t grind at thethought of Rod; you feel him, you breathe him,though you are not consciously thinking of him.So it is with the love of God; God is, and youexist in Him; there is nothing that is not of Him[183]in all your actions and thoughts, though it maybe only that His presence is beneath it all, notconscious every instant to your mind. Thus AnselmLancaster loves God.”

Cis stopped short in her passage to the door, andstared silently for a moment at Hannah Gallatin.Then she said slowly:

“I never stop thinking of Rod; he is ceaselesslybefore my eyes; I breathe him, not air. Do youmean to say that anyone ever feels like that to God,to God, Whom you do not see, Who is—well, faroff, not part of us, just—Oh, how shall I say it?Just God, heard about in church, not very wellknown?”

“Who is ‘just God.’ You said it well, poor Cis.Who is our Beginning, our End, in Whom ‘we live,and move and have our being’; Saint Paul answeredyou before you asked your question. Imean that He is loved in that way by many, andthat unless you share in that love to a degree, allother love will fail you, and life be wretchedin its course and in its end,” said Miss Gallatinsolemnly.

Cis stared at her for another instant, then sheturned to go.

“I never once thought that piety meant that,”she said. “Yet of course God is what you say.It’s quite nice; I never thought I liked piety much.Perhaps if you hang on tight when you don’t getit, God lets you get it later on. But you musthang on awfully tight when you don’t feel[184]like hanging, I suppose! Well, I certainly don’tget it now! Thanks, Miss Gallatin. And thanksfor the dinner and nice evening.”

On the way to Mrs. Wallace’s Rodney broke along silence by saying:

“That man was interested in you, Holly; he satup and took notice when you spoke.”

“Did he? Who did?” asked Cis, emerging fromher thoughts.

“Who did! How many did you meet? I’d thinkyou were playing off, Cis, if you ever played tricks,off or on! That Lancaster stained-glass ecclesiasticalpiece, to be sure!” retorted Rodney. “Gracious,what a fool a man makes of himself—woman,either!—when he or she get going on religion!Thank the gods, we are free from humbug!Say, Cis, how much do you love me?” Rodneysought her hand to punctuate his question.

“Kids say: ‘More’n tongue can tell!’ I suspectthat’s the answer, Rory O’Moore!” said Cis.

“I want you to prove it, my treasure!” said Rod.“I’ve been thinking of it for some time. I sawwhen you were talking to-night of that franchisethat the matter was already decided, that you knewwhich way it was going. Cis, I’d never ask you tobetray that code of your firm’s; I’d never ask youto do a thing that was wrong, but I more than ask,I beg of you, give me a hint, tell me whether thefranchise is going through or not. Cis, listen beforeyou answer! I’ll never, I swear to you, letanother person have a hint of what I know, norwill anyone ever guess I’ve had inside information.[185]I’ve a little money, a few thousands; that stock canbe bought for, say .33, brokers’ commissions andall told. It will sell for 200 within a year, if itgoes at all. Tell me only this: Shall I take thestock to the limit of my capital, or is it hands off?See? I don’t ask for a word directly on the franchise,but shall I buy or let it alone? Tell me,Cis; it’s for us both, you know.”

That last appeal stiffened Cis. She cried impatiently:

“Do you think I want to profit by dishonor?”

“Cis, Cis, my Holly-bride, my wife in eightweeks, do listen to me!” implored Rod. “Itisn’t wrong to give me the tip; I won’t letanyone else share it; you wouldn’t be betrayingconfidence, but you would share your knowledgewith your full self. You and I will be one personmonths before that franchise matter is public,likely. Only this, Cis: Shall I buy that stock, ornot? Just nod yes, or shake your head, no. Makeme by a nod, or save me by a shake of the head;that’s all! I need money, Cis. You hesitate!Fine old love yours is!”

“Oh, Rod, I can’t! Don’t you see I can’t?” beggedCis. “Don’t ask me, don’t! Mr. Lucas—they alltrust me. I never played anyone false in all mylife——”

“Except me!” cried Rodney bitterly. “You’re mywife, or as good as that, with all yourself pledgedto me, yet when you can serve me, merely by atiny nod when I ask: ‘Cis, shall I buy that stock?’you are stiff-necked and indifferent; you won’t by[186]the tiny inclination of your head help me upon myfeet! Shame, Cicely Adair! It’s not what I calllove; it’s not what I counted on in you! I thoughtyou’d die for me, if need were! It’s not the money,not first! You fail me, Cis; you refuse to helpme!”

“Oh, Rod, oh, Rod!” cried Cis in torture. “Youknow, you know it’s all false! I—can’t! Oh, Iwill, I will! Oh, Rod, don’t look like that, not atme; not at Cis! I’ll die for you, I will! I shall bedead if I’m no longer trustworthy, but I’d die foryou! Buy the stock. The franchise is decided; itis going through! Oh, Rod, Rod! Oh, what haveI done!”

“Right, my precious, my darling! Anyone wouldsay you had done right. No one will be the worsefor it, and I’ll be far, far better! We’ll be better!Bless you, my Holly girl, my brave, true, loyalHolly girl!” cried Rodney triumphantly.

“Don’t call me loyal!” Cis gasped. “And plan soI’ll never profit by that money. Rodney, it is heavento love you, but, oh, it can be hell to have anyoneso necessary to you that everything goes down beforethe dread of paining him!”

Rodney left Cis on the steps of Mrs. Wallace’shouse, looking wan and pale, grief and terror inher wide eyes, but he did not pity her. He was surethat she would soon throw off what he consideredher morbid exaggeration of her failure to keep heremployers’ secret.

“Fancy her not telling me! The silly darling!”Rodney thought, striding away, whistling loudly[187]the air with which he serenaded Cis when hepassed down her street at night; he was sure thatshe was still standing within the open door; listeningto his receding steps and his merry whistling.

“I’ve got her where I want her! Exactly where II want her! She’d throw over this world, and thenext, and everything in them for me! There’s notanother like her; all mad love for me, yet crystal-clearin soul! Oh, soul! It’s not that; it’s her honesty,her truth, her selflessness! I can’t seem to facefooling her; I guess I’ll have to lay the cards on thetable in front of her, before Christmas, too! I don’twant to fool Cis Adair! And there’s not the slightestrisk in doing it, not now! Probably there neverwas. She’s no doddering slave of ignorant prejudice!Besides, I’ve got her where I want her;to-day proved that! Dandy good thing it happened;tested her, gave me pluck to start in squarewith her, and honesty’s the only policy with Cis,that’s sure! Just where I want her! My splendidgirl! It hurt, but she stood pat! Conscience won’tmake a coward of brave Cis! And afterward I’llknow how to salve the conscience if it happens tosmart a little. After Christmas I’ll be her conscience!Just where I want her, that gorgeous Cisof mine!”

Rodney went on glowing with triumph, thehaunting dread of his past weeks almost laid, andCis, when the last echo of his going had died away,closed the door and went up stairs slowly, for thefirst time in all her life seeking her bed with aheavy heart.

THERE was a new element in life for Cis, achord in its accompaniment that jarred, thoughshe tried not to hear it. For the first time since shehad been old enough to deal consciously with otherpeople, Cis had done something in relation to anotherof which she was ashamed. When she omittedMass on days of obligation, when it occurred to herthat her infrequency at the sacraments was not toher credit, she was a little sorry, half resolved to dobetter, but she was not ashamed; she indirectlycounted upon “fixing it up.” It is a noteworthyfact that people who do less for God expect Him todo more for them; they read the text: “because shehas loved little much is forgiven her.”

But in relation to question of honor, “dealingstraight” as she put it, Cis was acutely sensitive.She told herself that it would be too much to expectof anyone not to give her betrothed informationwhich she possessed and which would not gofarther, which would, without harm to another,greatly benefit him. The fact which she could notargue down as it faced her frowningly, was that Mr.Lucas had made no exception to his prohibitionagainst disclosing the secret which her positionnecessitated her knowing, that she had given her[189]pledge to keep it—and had broken it! For the sakeof Rod, only, of course, to whom she owed her besthelp, but she had broken it!

The knowledge that she had failed in honor forthe first time in her life shamed her, afflicted her.And back of this shame was a more poignant painwhich she did not admit in her thoughts. It wasRod’s pleading, his making this a test of her devotionto him, to which she had yielded. Rod hadbeen indifferent to her duty when it stood in theway of his advantage. Was Rod, could Rod be—Cisnever went farther, but that was far enough toleave her weary in mind.

The visible result of her inward torment was tomake her more demonstrative of love for Rodney;he was surprised to see in her daily new proof of itsstrength, of her disregard of the reserve which, upto this time, had tantalized him in her, while itwhetted his delight in the expressions of feelingwhich he wrung from her. Now she adored himopenly, frankly, with a feverish eagerness which hemight have correctly construed if his understandingof this type of girl had been more profound.He thought it was due to the rapidly nearing date oftheir marriage, and it made his head swim to thinkwhat Cis would be to him in her own home if theapproach to its threshold so multiplied her sweetways.

A letter had come to Cis from Nan in reply tohers announcing her marriage on Christmas eve, aNan-like letter, full of love for Cis, but no less fullof anxiety. “It seems so quick, Cis darling!” Nan[190]wrote. “To think that you’ll be married beforeme, and I’ve known Joe almost all my life! Youhave not said that your Rod is a Catholic, but Mooreis sometimes Irish, so I suppose he is one. Youwould not marry anyone who was not a Catholic?We’ve so often decided that it is madness to set outon a certainty that there’ll be something serious todiffer upon, when it’s so hard, at best, for people togrow close together, so easy to differ. Besides, it’swrong; for the children’s sake it’s wrong—but youalways said that yourself, so I’m sure Rod Mooreis a good Catholic. Dearest Cis, I never could tellyou how I hope and pray for you! For I’m alwaysfonder of you than of any other friend I have. Lovingly,Your same old, Nan.”

“Wonder what she’d say if she knew Rod hadbeen a Catholic and given it up? Nan would farrather he’d always been Protestant, of course; itwould be better, too. Wonder what in all theworld she’d say if she knew he was determined toget me to give it all up myself? Nan would takethe first train on here, carrying a big jug of HolyWater, and she’d simply souse Rod and me to driveoff the devil—bless her heart! But I’m not goingto quit. To be sure I did miss Mass last Sunday,but I go pretty regularly; I’ll go every Sunday afterI’m married, because it will be up to me to set agood example, bring Rod back. A person musthave some religion, and it’s silly to have one madeby Luther, or Henry the Eighth, or someone; Icould make one myself as well as that bunch! Isuppose it would be easier to convert a Protestant[191]than turn Rod back; he’s awfully down on it,really! I wonder why? That’s not like being slackand lazy-minded! ‘For the children’s sake,’ Nansays! Well, I hope I’ll have children, certainly,but I’m not going to marry to please them, I’ll tellthem that right now! They’ll have to take whatthey find, and if they’ll grow up as splendid asRod is, Church or no Church, I’ll be proud ofthem! Funny little Nannie!”

“Rory O’Moore,” Cis said that evening to Rodney,“I’ve got to ’fess to Mr. Lucas!”

“You’ve got to do nothing of the sort!” Rodangrily exclaimed. “Cis, don’t be an idiot! Whatgood would it do? Could you take back whatyou told me? You’d be a miserable sinner if youwould, provided you could! Mr. Lucas is happywhile he is ignorant; let him alone in that form ofbliss! No harm is done, nobody wronged, nobodythe wiser. What good would you do by telling onyourself? All you’d do is to mess up the situation.You’ll be married and out of the office soon. Mywife isn’t going to keep on in business! Thanks toyour tip, my dearest, we’ll have a nice little increaseto our income.”

“I can’t answer one of your common-sense statements,Rod,” said Cis slowly, “but I can’t go alongwith them. Mr. Lucas thinks what isn’t true. Truthis the only basis for dealing with anyone. I’ve gotto tell him exactly what I did; I can’t breathe in hisoffice while I know that when he looks at me he seeswhat isn’t there. I don’t care to own up, Rod dear,but when there isn’t solid rock-bottom of truth[192]under my dealings, my relations with a person, Ifeel like that Irishman who didn’t like aeroplanesbecause ‘when they stopped there wasn’t any placeto stand to crank the thing!’ When someone is deceivedin you, if you don’t make it straight, it’sworse than playing with ghosts—they touch youand you touch them, yet neither of you is there atall!”

Rodney looked at Cicely for a long time, an inscrutableexpression upon his face. She made alittle grimace at him, twisting her lips and showingher dimple, but he did not respond with a smile.She thought that he was displeased with her, andagain coaxed him with pursed-up lips, but Rodney’seyes were steady, clouded; he looked bothered,plainly was deep in thought.

“I’ll put off telling, Rory O’Moore,” Cis said,misunderstanding him. “If you hate to have metell, I won’t tell right away, but I’ve got to tellsometime, please, Rod!”

It was a week later that Rod said to Cis: “Willyou come with me to the apartment to-morrow,Holly? I’ve had sent in a few odd chairs, and atable that hit me exactly where I live, and I’d likeyour opinion of them, Mistress-of-the-Mansion-elect!”They had agreed to pick out the furnishingsof their home together, but Cis looked delightedat this departure from the bargain on Rodney’spart, and gladly said that she would go withhim to see his selections.

They had changed rôles for the week that hadjust passed; Cis, relieved by her definitely announced[193]plan to confess her wrong-doing to Mr.Lucas, felt better about it, and had been bubblingover with fun and high spirits. Rodney, on thecontrary, had been cast-down; Cis repeatedlycaught him looking at her with such a sober andapprehensive look, that she had once been movedto expostulate with him.

“For pity’s sake, Rory O’Moore,” she cried,“stop looking at me as if you were saying: ‘Doesn’tshe look natural! Poor thing, she was so young,and with all her faults I love her still! Not so stillas this, though!’ I’m not nearly as dead as I mightbe; in fact I’m quite lively, I think. What’s wrongwith me—or you—old chap?”

“I’m deciding something, Holly-berry,” Rodneyanswered, not smiling at her nonsense. “I’m wonderingwhat you’d want me to do about a certainthing, on which I can’t consult you without givingthe thing away, so you never would have a chance todecide it, after all. Sounds mysterious, but it’s thebest I can do by way of answering you. I’m wonderinghow you’d react under something I’ve amind to do. You’re the frankest human being Iever knew, Cis; you never have hidden meanings,nor lay a plot; you act outright and talk right out!Yet I’m not one bit sure of what you’d do underuntried conditions; you’re capable of doing one oftwo completely opposite things.”

“Well,” said Cis lightly, in too contented aframe of mind to pay close attention to what Rodneymight be implying, “I’m glad you can’t tellwhich way I’d jump. Sounds quite impressive, but[194]probably it’s something like whether I’d go back onmy bronzey little library and go in for red, after I’dsworn no red should come into my happy home!I’m more interesting if I’m uncertain; that’s whyyou like women, you men, my Rory; they keep youguessing! I’m dreadfully afraid you do know all Ithink, and what I’d do, but it’s dear of you to pretendI’m a nice sphinxy-sphynx!”

Rodney laughed; he had instantly regrettedspeaking as he had spoken, and he was glad thatCis’s incorrigible light-heartedness prevented herfrom taking him seriously, gave him longer to decidewhether he should pursue his original plan,and tell Cis the secret which he meant to tell herafter their marriage, or put himself at her mercyby telling her at once. He knew that this was theonly honorable course; he knew that, if their placeswere reversed, Cis would deal thus with him.

It was the last Sunday in November, the firstSunday in Advent, and Cis and Rodney were happilyon their way to look at the three chairs of unusualdesign, and the beautiful mahogany tablewhich, so Rodney delighted to put it to Cis, he “hadsent home.”

The day enveloped them with the caresses ofSaint Martin’s Summer; warm sunshine; gentle airthat brushed over them as they walked, like wingsthat bore blessings; a cloudless sky, veiled withhazy warmth that softened, yet did not conceal thebright blue that stretched from horizon to horizon.

“The winter of our discontent is turned glorioussummer by our sunny walk,” said Rodney, making[195]an attempt to retain the sound and not the sense ofthe quotation which was lost on Cis. “Almost Decemberfirst, only two days distant, and even thislight-weight overcoat a burden! It’s what my grandmotherused to call a weather-breeder.”

“I don’t see why people want to take the polishoff of a day like this!” cried Cis. “A day like this is apresent from heaven, and I don’t like to look a gifthorse in the mouth. Rory O’Moore, don’t youthink it came just to rejoice with us and strew ourpath to our new little home?”

“Like a wedding flower girl? Oh, Cicely, youbride of brides! I’d think any day would smile andlook pleasant when it came up at dawn to find ustogether,” Rodney spoke with a little laugh in hisvoice, but it trembled too.

The apartment did not include many rooms, butthey were—for apartment rooms—spacious. Therewere two excellent bedrooms, a small room for themaid, and its accompanying bath at the rear, asmall kitchen, a pretty dining room, and a reallyfine living room, besides a tiled bathroom whichwas so white, so modern and perfect in its appointmentsthat Cis found herself unexpectedly housewifelyevery time that she saw it. Mentally shescrewed bright nickle fixtures upon the slabs builtin for them, and hung heavily initialled towelsupon glass rods, as she stood in the doorway, takingin the details of this room devoted to the practiceof the virtue which is next to godliness.

“I’m going to turn out well, Rory O’Moore!” Cisannounced, swinging around to face Rodney, who[196]had come up behind her and placed his hands uponher shoulders. “You always knew I’d be agreeableto have around, but you never dreamed I’d be areal, dyed-in-the-wool domestic character! Neitherdid I, but I shall be; I feel it coming on! I yearnto scrub this white floor and polish the faucets!The kitchen, with that white sink and drainingboard, and the cunning cupboard, goes to my headtill it fairly spins with rapture! Oh, Rod, it’s thesweetness of doing for you! I’ve been half scaredto be married, even to you, but this apartment takesit all out of me! It’s home and home-making; it’sliving for, and with, and in each other! Oh, myRod, I’m not afraid, I’m not! I’m glad, glad I’mcoming here to be with you, and scrub your rooms,and wash your dishes!”

“Holly, my blessed Holly!” Rodney breathed thewords almost inaudibly into Cicely’s ear, all thatwas fine in him moved and awed before her sweetness.

Voluntarily Cis threw her arms around his neckand kissed him, and caresses were rare with her,yielded only to his implorations. Rodney understoodthat she was betrothing herself anew, and hemet her spirit in tune with it. Why did he fear totell her his secret? This rare, deep-hearted Cicelywould not fail him for a chimera!

The new table awakened little less than rapturein Cis; it was exactly to her mind. The three chairsno less; deep-seated, low, at once “impressive andhome chairs,” Cis pronounced them.

[197]“Suppose we use them for awhile, Cicely dear,”Rodney proposed. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“All right; I’m ready to talk, or to listen,” agreedCis, dropping into the chair which she had at oncepronounced “made for the lady of the house.”“Sounds queer to hear you call me Cicely, Rodney!”she added, laughing at him.

“I’ll have to learn to call you that in case weever have company,” returned Rodney. “See, here,Cis, I sort of dread to say what I’m going to say;please help me to it. I thought I’d tell you afterwe were married, but you’re so keen to have thingsclear between you and Mr. Lucas, you’re so straight,I thought—Cis, if you were anyone else, anythingelse but what you are, I’d follow my own judgment,but you’re so crystal-clear—Cis, try to understand,and for pity’s sake don’t be prejudiced—There’sno sense in building up false theories of life—”

Cicely was sitting erect and still, her lips parted,her very muscles eloquent of tensity of mind.

“What are you stumbling over, Rod? What areyou going to tell me?” she demanded.

“When I talked to you about my life, told youabout it, you did not notice that I said nothingabout three years of it, when I was in Chicago,”said Rodney.

Cis shook her head, groping backward in hermemory to recall what he had said.

“Only that you were there for three years; that’sall I remember,” she said.

“How do you feel about second marriages, Cis?”[198]asked Rodney. “Would you hate to be a secondwife?”

“Oh!” Cis gasped, and sank back in her chair.

“It’s not—not so nice,” she said hesitatingly.“To think you were married, actually married,fixed up a home before this one, brought a girl intoit, loved her—Oh, Rod, were you? Were you—married—before?”

Rodney nodded. “Yes, Cis, I was. I had to tellyou; please, please, don’t mind, Cis!”

For a few minutes Cicely was silent, shading herface with her hand; Rodney waited breathlessly forher to speak.

At last she pushed back her hair with the handthat had rested against her forehead, smiledbravely, with a visible effort, and put out that handto Rodney.

“Poor dear!” she said softly. “I’m sorry! Itrather knocked me up at first, but I won’t let itbother me long. All girls like to be the first, youknow, but it’s really all right, as long as you loveme dearly now. You told me that you’d fanciedothers before me, so I did half-way know, but marriageis different. I didn’t know you’d loved onewell enough for that. I wish you’d told me sooner—Butit was awfully hard to tell me at all, I seethat, so I’m grateful to you for making yourselfspeak of it now. It is right to have told me beforewe were married; I don’t know just how I shouldhave felt if I’d found it out later; I’m so keen onhonesty.”

Rodney winced. “I know, Cis; that’s why I had[199]to tell you. But that time was nothing like this;don’t you imagine I ever felt for any other girl whatI feel for you!”

“Ah, poor Other Girl!” murmured Cis. “I don’tlike to have you say what she would have hated!Better let me be a little bit sore, because I’ll fight itdown, and I’m alive, and it’s like taking an advantageof a dead girl to say what you did. Do youmind talking of her, Rodney dear? Would you tellme about her? Does it hurt to speak of her? Whatdid she look like? Dark hair and eyes, becausemine are not. Was she little and sweet, or tall andsplendid? Rod, oh, my poor Rod, you suffered,you must have suffered when she—died! And Icould not be there to help you! I’d have helpedyou, dear. Will you tell me all these things? Canyou bear it? Does it still hurt, Rod? If it does,oh, if it does, then this is not altogether my home!It is part hers, and so are you!”

“I don’t care any more for her, Cicely Adair,than I care for your friend Nan’s cat—if she hasone! Don’t you get notions! It was a mad infatuation;I might have known how she’d have turnedout, but I was young, and—well, Cis, I got allsnarled up with her. That’s not much like my lovefor you!” Rodney cried.

“Oh me, oh dear!” Cis half sobbed. “I don’tknow whether that makes it better; I’ve got to getused to this, and go off to think it out by myself.When did she die? Where did you bury her?”

“In the Chicago divorce court,” said Rodney savagely.

[200]“In—the—” Cis stopped short, her eyes dilated,staring at Rodney, her hands clasping the arms of“the lady of the house’s chair.” “Rodney Moore,she is not dead? She is alive? You—you!—havea living wife?”

“No, no, no! Not yet, not yet, Holly! At ChristmasI’ll have,” cried Rodney springing to his feet.“I am free, free as you are, free! I’m not married!I divorced her; she was as bad as they come, andI’m freed by my decree to marry. I’m no moremarried than you are.” He took a step toward her,but Cis held out both hands, warding him off.

“She is alive. Don’t touch me!” she cried. “Sheis alive. No decree kills her; your wife is alive,”she gasped.

“Cis, listen to me!” Rodney began, dropping onhis knees beside Cicely, compelling her horror-strickeneyes to meet his eyes. “That girl was notfit to be any man’s wife. Do you understand? Mymarriage was a mockery from the first, and soon Ihated her as much as I had been fascinated by her.From sly, hidden beginnings, she soon passed intoopen evil. She disgraced me while I was her husband,and since I have been free of her she has goneinto utter degradation. There was not an instant’squestion of my getting rid of her; court and commonhumanity would grant me my decree of divorce.Are you going to tell me that I have a livingwife? I have no wife. Would you make all mylife desolate because she was what she was? Onlythe Catholic Church forbids marriage under myconditions. Do you see now why I want you to[201]shake off her laws, which do violence to everynatural instinct of justice? Am I to suffer, livealone, denied wife and children? I suffer, whowas not the offender? Is that sense? Plain commonsense forbids such foolishness. Throw offyour prejudices; come out into freedom and happiness,my darling! Only your ridiculous RomanCatholic tyrants forbid it; God is on our side, notthey! The reverend mayor, or a reverend aldermancan marry us as tight and as sacredly as thatthin Jesuit can whom we met coming back fromPioneer Falls that Sunday. You’re not actually aCatholic. Cis, I’ve suffered enough. Make it up tome! With you my wife there won’t be a scar left ofthese wicked wounds! Cis, don’t you love me?Stop staring at me so, as if you’d never seen mebefore! Cis, don’t you know I’m Rory O’Moore,unchanged? That this is our home, and you myHolly-bride?”

Cis did not move. She stared at Rodney stonily,trying to force her mind to grasp this thing that hadfallen upon her when her happiness was at itsheight, made sweeter and holier than before by hernew sense of the meaning of home-making.

“Was this woman—your wife—was she a Catholic?”Cis managed to ask.

“Well, I’ve no love for the Catholic Church, butI wouldn’t wish her on any Church,” Rodneylaughed bitterly. “Religion wasn’t in her line, buther people were Catholic; she’d had baptism.”

“You knew that, because you were married by apriest,” Cicely groped in her mind for what she[202]wanted to say. “They ask—about baptism. Youwere married by a priest?”

“Yes. But, good heavens, Cis—” Rodney criedout. “What of that? These things have no powerover us unless we give them the right to it. Priestor no priest, the laws of our country freed me; isn’tthat enough?”

“You have a living wife.” Cis repeated thewords, changing her formula, but clinging to thesole idea that took shape in her stunned brain.

“Cicely, Cis, my Holly, don’t, don’t, for the loveof justice, for the love of me, benumb yourself withsuch idiocy! I have no wife! Cis, listen! I—have—no—wife!Will you leave me?” Rodney cried,leaping to his feet, for Cis had risen. “You can’t!Throw over the Church! Come to me! You loveme; I worship you. I need you. Cis, are you utterlyheartless? Church or me, and you hesitate!Me, your husband! Oh, Cis, look at this home ofours; stay in it!”

Cis lifted both arms toward heaven with a great,tragic gesture, and turned in silence toward thedoor. Rodney leaped to reach it before her, butshe raised her hand and looked at him. Herblanched face, surmounted by her glowing hair wasdeathlike and awful; it made Rodney fall back tolet her pass, afraid to check her.

“I will go away to think. I can’t think now. Iwill send you word when I know. I may comeback. I cannot think. You have killed my brain.I don’t know—but you have a living wife! I willgo away to think. Let me go, alone. I must go—alone.[203]There is not even Cis Adair left to go withme. How strange to come alive and go out dead!Your wife is alive. Good-bye. Let me pass.”

Cis spoke slowly, with great difficulty, yet clearly,and Rodney, awed and conscience-stricken to seeher thus, fell back and let her go. Afterward hemarvelled that he had done so, and cursed his folly,but under the spell of Cicely’s eyes he could not dootherwise.

CICELY came out into the golden weather of thatbelated St. Martin’s Summer day which shehad said had been sent to bless her path to her newhome. The sunshine was as warm, the air as soft,the sky as beautifully blue as when she had crossedthe threshold of her paradise, from which horrorand her stumbling conscience were driving her, butshe saw nothing of the beauty around her.

Shut into her own mind, she walked unseeing,unaware, the interior darkness not lifting even somuch as to reveal to her what and why she suffered.Or did she suffer? Something had happened toher; everything was obliterated; pain was not consciousto her, nor loss, but in a vacuum that forbadebreath, in a pit without ray or exit, she walked theBeaconhite streets, not knowing where she went,nor whom she passed. Something repeated ceaselessly:“A wife. A wife, alive; he has a wife. Heis married.” She did not know why she so insistedupon this; it tired her, and many men had a wife.Who was it that had one whose having one so matteredto her?

She could not think; she must think. That was it;she must think. Never before had she felt the needof thinking, but there was something that she must[205]think out. What it was, or why she must thinkabout it, she could not tell, but the immediate,pressing necessity was to think; she must find aplace to think in. Not her own room at Mrs. Wallace’s;she would not go there. The park? Thatmight do, though she would like to go where no onecould come near her, and the park would be full ofstrollers on such a Sunday as this. Solitude, a placeto think, to gather up vague horrors which werelurking at the back of her brain, waiting to be assembledinto definite agony. Cis dimly felt thatagony was upon her, beginning, yet almost it wouldbe better than this strange bewilderment whichheld for her but two cogent impressions. They roseup out of her chaos like spars of a shipwreck:Someone, Rodney Moore—but she could not quitegrasp who Rodney Moore was, why his affairsaffected her—had a living wife. And she must findsolitude and think; there was something that shemust clearly see, upon which she must decide.

She turned the corner of a street, going on aimlessly.The church had not occurred to her as aquiet place in which she could think, still less did itoccur to poor Cicely, who had few of the habits ofdevotion, to seek the church for enlightenment,guidance, strength. She had never formed the customof making visits to the church, so now, bewildered,benumbed, there was no deep-seated instinctto lead her thither when her brain was not directingher steps. Yet before her, as she came downthis street into which she had turned, stood thechurch of St. Francis Xavier, the church to which[206]she repaired nearly every week for her compulsoryMass of Sunday.

“That ought to be a quiet place,” Cis told herself,and ascended the church steps. It was a largechurch, fine in architecture, not tasteful in decoration.It was much too strong-colored, too bizarre inthe designs of its interior, yet it contrived to get aneffect of splendor, in spite of its offenses against thecanons of art, and it needed no contriving to give aninstant sense of cheerfulness, of homelikeness, ofkindness, and, withal, of devotion to those who enteredit.

There were but few people in it at this hour,when dinner and the companionship of the weeklyholiday occupied most of its frequenters. Thosewho were there were kneeling at the farther end ofthe deep building, before the shrine of Our Ladyof Lourdes, or the Sacred Heart altar, or before thePietà that stood near the sanctuary rail, just withinit. A half dozen, or less, knelt before the candelabrumwhich held the votive candles; they had eachlighted one, and were praying raptly that the boonwhich they implored by whispered prayer and representativelittle candle might be granted.

Cis went into a pew close to the door, and fromhabit, but without consciousness of her action, kneltand made the sign of the cross because she had justcome into church. She had long ago fallen into theway of thus kneeling on entering, and, first of allprayers, repeating the Act of Contrition.

Now she began slowly, without knowing what shesaid, to whisper: “In the Name of the Father, and[207]of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. O my God, Iam heartily sorry that—” Her lips ceased moving;she could go no farther. Heartily sorry—for what?

Rodney Moore had a living wife; he was unhappyabout it. So was she. She was sorry thatthis was so. There was that nice apartment whichhe had shown her, and those chairs; one was thechair for the lady of the house. What hurt her so?Was it her head? It did not seem to her that shehad brought it with her, yet she felt a terrible pain;it seemed to be in her head. What was it she had tothink about? Rodney was not dead. Why did shefeel as though he were dead? Or was it that therewas no Rodney? He had a wife, alive. He hadnone, so he had said, but if she were alive? Hemust have forgotten, poor Rodney, that when one’swife is alive—there she is: alive! Still the wife.She was not thinking, and she had come here tothink; it was quiet, deeply, peacefully quiet, andsomehow quieting, as well. She would be able tothink here.

Cis knelt staring at the altar, her face so whitethat an old woman, entering, turned as if to speakto her, then changed her mind and went on, shakingher head pityingly, saying to herself: “God pityand help her, the poor young creature!” as sheducked her edition of a genuflection toward the altarand knelt in a pew, rattling big brown rosarybeads, supplemented by several large medals, onthe back of the pew against which she rested hergnarled hands.

Was it that the benison was effective? It was not[208]long before the strange submergence of her consciousself which had overwhelmed Cicely on hearingRodney’s knell of her joy, broke and rolledback, leaving her soul bare to an agony that sawonly too clearly, grasped only too acutely exactlywhat had befallen her.

She was promised to marry within four weeks aman whose wife was still alive!

Under the law of the country Rodney was entirelyfree. It was the woman, not he, who hadbroken the marriage vow, who had desecrated themarriage, sinned against herself, against Rodney,against God. No one would ask a man to condoneher sin, unrepented, persisted in. The state issuedlicenses to marry; it protected the legality of marriage;under its laws children were made legitimate,their rights protected; marriage was a civilinstitution, the foundation of decent living, ofhomes which were the unit of the state; it was essentiallythe bulwark of civilization. When itceased to be the foundation of decent living, whenthe sin of a parent endangered the legitimacy ofchildren, when the home was corrupted, the yokebecome a galling chain, even disgrace, then thestate, which had approved the union and licensedit under its laws, revoked it, dissolved it, allowingthe innocent partner of the union to go free, tomake another marriage if he, or she, so desired; beperfectly free to enjoy the rights of every citizen,“life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

If there were states which went so far as to allowequal privileges to the guilty spouse; which gave to[209]one who had debased one marriage, freedom to contractanother, or even others, that was all wrong, ofcourse, but that consideration was uncalled for inthis case. Rodney was wronged; he had been madefree of the person who had wrecked his happiness,and that was just.

Ah, but what was this, this other side to thedivorce question? The teaching of Christ Himself,of His Church, continuing His teaching, practisingit, though it bore ever so heavily upon a case peculiarlyputting forth pleas for its exception; holdingit irrefrangible though it cost a kingdom, andplunged a whole noble and religious nation intoheresy?

Cicely’s mind was as keenly awake now as it hadbeen benumbed at first. Teaching that she hadheard without realization of hearing it, came to life,stored up within that memory which is one of thesoul’s component parts.

The Church’s laws were not flexible on fundamentalquestions; they were made for all, andwhether they were brought to bear upon a casewhich seemed to deserve the severity of their fullapplication, or whether—as now—they seemed toocruel, they admitted no indulgence. Rodney Moorehad married a girl who was baptized in the CatholicChurch, as was he. He had married unwisely, fromunworthy motives, but that did not lessen the guiltof the wife who had betrayed him. The Churchwould not insist that the union of marriage bemaintained in such a case as this, but Rodney andhis wife had spoken the vow which precludes the[210]taking of another man or woman in espousal tilldeath has ended the duration of that vow. Thestate could annul the civil marriage which it hadmade, but far beyond its province lay the sacramentalmarriage, so far beyond it that not even theChurch, with its divinely delegated authority tobind and to loose could annul a marriage to whichthere was no impediment according to her laws;performed by her authority under God; vowed toGod directly; sealed by her sacramental seal whichcannot be broken till death has broken it.

This knowledge of the Church’s position as tomarriage came clearly before Cicely’s mind as sheknelt, her eyes fixed upon the altar, which she didnot see. With such vivid remembrance of what shehad been taught by sermons, by reading, by acquaintancewith Catholics like the Dowling family,whose talk on divorce she had heard and shared,for it is a subject that no modern American can escape,Cis marshalled the facts of the CatholicChurch’s attitude toward divorce. She had heardwords which returned to her, and she knew who itwas that had uttered them. “For this cause shall aman leave father and mother and shall cleave to hiswife; and they two shall be as one flesh. And hethat shall marry her that is put away committethadultery.”

Strange that she should remember this! Cis wonderedat it; she could not ordinarily repeat texts.There was no divorce, not within the Church. Cicelyknew now why she had repeated wearily those horriblewords: “He has a living wife.”

[211]Rodney had a living wife, and while she livedCicely Adair could not be his wife, however wickedhis wife had been—not in the eyes of the CatholicChurch!

There was the crux of the matter. In the eyes ofthe state, of the average American society, CicelyAdair, and still another after her, might be RodneyMoore’s wife for all his first misadventure!

Rodney implored her to come out of the Churchinto freedom. Ah, yes, and more, far, far more—intohis arms, into his home, into that lovable,cheery, blessed little apartment waiting for them!

She had but to go to him, tell him that she wasready, that she would leave all to follow him—Shechecked herself; even in her thoughts she could nottravesty the divine words which related to marriage,but to the sacrament of marriage. Not to leaveHim did Our Lord bid His followers leave all tocling to a wife, but rather to come after Him and,thus coming, derive strength to cleave to one spousein a union transcending the weakness of nature.

Back upon its track Cicely’s mind travelled,leaving the thought of Our Lord’s teaching. Rodneybade her prove her love for him. He had remindedher of how indifferent a Catholic she was.It was true. She rarely thought about her faith; itdid not form an integral, vital part of her days. Shekept to it, but she did not enjoy it, nor did she oftendraw near to its heart, nor know much about its devotions,live in its calendar year. She dimly knewthat some people did these things; Nan came nearer[212]to it than Cis realized, she imagined, but as a rulethese things seemed to be fit for nuns.

She need never take a definite step, like renouncingher faith overtly. All that she had to do was tomarry Rodney. She would have to be married by acivil officer, or a minister; no priest could marryher, of course, and that would put her outside theChurch. After that she would go into her ownhome, and live her life of complete devotion toRodney. If she had children she would widen outto embrace them in her heart, but Rodney first!Always, always Rodney first! She—they—couldteach their children to be upright, kind, good citizens,good moral men and women. Rodney said itwas ridiculous to delude yourself into thinking thatmore than this was needed, or that anyone reallyknew anything more about life and death than thata man must live in the world decently, and thenwhen he died, if there was anything more for him,he’d be sure to get the good coming to him, becausehe had not made the world a worse place for anyoneelse. And if there were nothing beyond but along, dreamless sleep, and pretty flowers springingout of your ashes—well! Then that’s all there wasof it, and you would have played your part creditablyand gone out leaving an honored name.

Cecily saw Rod’s handsome, laughing face in hermemory as it had looked when he had said this, andshe heard his jolly, infectious laugh! Oh, how shewanted him, wanted him! The longing for himswept over her like physical sickness, and she shuddered,turning cold. She had left him miserable;[213]she had deserted him. Deserted him in the homehe was making for her; she was wrecking his homea second time as that other woman had wrecked hisfirst home. She, Cis, was respectable in the eyes ofthe world, and that other was not, but was she anybetter than the outcast?

Cicely raised her ring to her lips and kissed overand over again its glowing ruby. “The color of herlove, of the warm blood of her great heart,” Rodhad told her the ruby was. And she had been cold-heartedtoward him, had failed him when he trustedher. He might have deceived her, have marriedher and not told her till afterward. How splendidhe was to be truthful, honorable toward her!Should she punish him for his virtues? Even achild is told that if it tells the truth it shall not bepunished, but how cruelly, how wickedly she waspunishing Rod, Rory O’Moore!

She would go to him and beg his forgiveness; hewould forgive her, remembering that she, too, hadsuffered, that his secret had shocked her beyond thepower to think at first; Rod was always big, andkind.

She would marry him. Even though a magistratemarried her and by so doing expelled herfrom Catholic communion she would marry him.Excommunicated! It did sound fearful! But wordsdid not matter! She would not strike Rodney inthe face, drive him from her with a blow upon hisheart!

Cicely’s eyes, fixed upon the altar, unseeing, theirgaze turned inward, suddenly saw. Her gaze turned[214]outward, and she saw the small golden door uponwhich her set eyes had been resting, saw it, and sawthe crucifix above it, a tall, vivid crucifix over thetabernacle door, under the tabernacle dome. Andsuddenly Cicely began to tremble violently and hericy hands clutched at the back of the pew beforeher.

Who, then, would she strike in the Face? UponWhose Sacred Heart would she deal the blow whichdrove Him from her?

Never again should she see that golden door openand her Lord come forth to her. Never again woulda priest turn to her and bid her “Behold the Lambof God.” Seldom, ah, seldom did she let the wordsbe addressed to her now, but—never again? Excommunicated?

She was a poor Catholic, cold, indifferent, ignorant,but she was a Catholic. She had held to herFaith, after a fashion, and she had known that shecould never substitute another faith for it. ForRodney’s sake she would leave it, go to him, gofrom God! She would heal Rodney’s wounds, butshe would join the rabble in the Garden, and betrayher Lord! She would not kiss Him, as Judas hadkissed Him, but she would kiss in bridal kiss theman whose acceptance meant her Lord’s rejection.

Rodney, or her Lord? One or the other; neverboth. She had not thought just what it meant, thisdecision which she had reached upon a flood ofhuman longing and love. She wanted Rodney. Shecraved for him as the body craves for food, theparched throat for water; she agonized remembering[215]his present pain, that she had inflicted it in returnfor his honorable dealing with her.

But now—she saw the Tabernacle. With hersoul she saw it, and she felt by prescience the desolationof the closing of its door, sealed by her ownaction. To be an outcast, excommunicated!

Her mind, her torture could go no farther. Inthat throe her soul was born, but she could endureno more.

How long she had knelt in the church she had noidea; she took no cognizance of her body, of itsstrained position upon the knees on the narrowkneeling-rest. It was growing dusk in the church;she must have been there long. There were morepeople moving up and down the aisles, and beforethe shrines; several were making the stations, somecoming down the middle aisle, others going towardthe high altar. Cicely saw none of these.

She swayed on her tired knees, her aching spineno longer supporting her, and she crumpled upsidewise, falling over the back of the pew uponwhich her arms had rested, her head upon them insuch wise that no one noticed that she had fainted.Father Morley had come out through the sanctuary,into the church, summoned by the little electricbell, its button placed under the rail, near the votive-lightscandelabrum. It called a priest of thatCommunity to hear a confession when a priest wasneeded at another time than the regular days andhours upon which confessions were heard.

A man had gone into the confessional whenFather Morley took his place in the centre, and had[216]kissed and assumed the narrow stole which hadhung across the door. The penitent took long, solong that some of the pious women kneeling at theside altars were interested in his case, and watchedto see him emerge, speculating on the nature of hisstory; some of them said a little prayer for him thathe would “come out all right,” for good women arealways intensely interested in the reform of a possiblybad man.

At last the absolution had been given, the penitentlingered for a final question or two and FatherMorley’s answers, then he departed to say his penanceand pray his prayers before the great Pietà—whichthe interested pious women thought symptomatic.

Father Morley folded his narrow stole, hung itagain on the confessional door, and came out, closingthe low door carefully and noiselessly behindhim. He came down the fast darkening church,walking with his long, easy stride, peering into thepews as he passed with his near-sighted gaze, lookingvainly for a small book which he had lent tosomeone, and which that someone had telephonedhim to say that she had left in a pew in the mainaisle of the church, instead of returning it to thelay-brother at the house door, as she had set out todo.

Thus Father Morley came up to Cicely as she lay,fallen over the pew back, held up from a completefall by her arms across the back of the pew in frontof her, and her back wedged against the pew inwhich she had knelt.

[217]“My daughter, are you ill?” asked the priest,pausing at Cicely’s side. As she did not answer,nor move, he bent down and touched her. Thenhe looked startled and turned her face toward him,lifting her slightly as he did so. “Cicely Adair!”he exclaimed aloud, instantly recognizing her, andremembering the name which she had given him.“My child, can you hear me? Are you ill?”

The easing of her position, her raised head,brought Cicely to part consciousness. With the helpof Father Morley’s hands, supporting her beneathher arms, she got upon her feet, looking at himdazed, white, staring.

“Come out into the air, my dear,” said the Jesuitgently. “You are suffering. It is not bodily sickness,my poor girl! Let me help you out. Here,my hand under your elbow, so! That’s better. Nowslowly; courage! Come into the pure, good air,Cicely Adair!”

He led Cicely slowly and carefully out of thechurch, down the steps, through a small gate besidethem, into a grassy yard.

“This is not cloister,” Father Morley said. “Ourparochial school children’s playground. Sit here,my child, on this bench. There is a bell; I’ll ringfor Brother Feely to bring you a cup of coffee and afew biscuits. Don’t try to speak; you can tell mewhat you will later.”

A lay-brother with a pale, patient face, and hairas red as Cicely’s own, came in response to FatherMorley’s call, and quickly returned with a cup of[218]the steaming beverage, and a few thin sweet biscuitson a plain white plate.

“Sip this, my daughter,” said the Jesuit, with hisbenignant smile; “you are exhausted.”

Cicely gratefully drank of the coffee, and revivedas it coursed through her chilled body. She sat upafter she had eaten and drank, and tried to smile atthe priest. “You are very kind, Father Morley,”she said. “I must go. Thank you.”

“Without giving me something in return?”hinted Father Morley. “Aren’t you going to giveme a wee bit of your confidence? What has gonewrong with you, my child?”

Cicely looked long into the steady, keen, sad,kindly eyes looking down into hers. She did notwant to speak, but, characteristically, spoke thetruth when she felt compelled to speak.

“I’m shocked by what I’ve found out to-day,” shesaid. “I’ve got to decide something. I may leavethe Church; I don’t know. It’s that, or hurt someonedearer to me than my life.”

She waited for an explosion of protest from theJesuit, but none came. Instead he said quietly:“Not much comparison, is there, between hurtinga human being, and losing Almighty God, betrayingyour Master and damning your soul! But no oneshould decide a great matter hastily; you’ve feltthis is the greatest of great matters, I see. That’ssomething. You couldn’t marry a man who had aliving wife; all your decent Catholic womanhood,as well as your religion, is against it.”

Cicely sprang to her feet.

[219]“Father Morley, how could you know?” shegasped.

“Not hard to guess. I’ve been a priest, hearingconfessions these twenty-five years, my child. Onlyan insuperable obstacle to your marriage couldpresent to you the alternative you described. Younever will call yourself any man’s wife, when youknow you are not a wife,” replied Father Morley.“But this is no time to talk; you’re tired, and Idine in a short time. Think of it over night; ‘thenight brings counsel,’ and pray to the Holy Spirit.You’ll not go home to your lonely struggle, ofcourse; that would never do. I’m going to send youto Miss Miriam Braithwaite for to-night. She is anelderly woman; the cleverest, most entertainingperson imaginable, but, what is far more important,she comes near to being a saint underneath her disguiseof it! She is my great friend and reliance.Once more I summon Brother Feely, and he willtelephone Miss Braithwaite, and she will drive overfor you. You’ll enjoy your visit.”

Father Morley made no opening for demur onCicely’s part, but she tried to make one.

“Father, I don’t know her! Oh, no! I can’t go!I’m going home,” she cried.

“You’ll meet Miss Braithwaite within fifteenminutes, and know her within twenty minutes,” declaredFather Morley, with a slight wave of thehand that dissipated Cicely’s attempt to resist him.

He called Brother Feely, and bade him telephoneMiss Braithwaite.

“Tell her I want to send Miss Cicely Adair to her[220]for the night. She is worn out, tell her; a thoroughlygood girl, whom she will like. Ask her tocome over after her as soon as she can, please; MissAdair is needing rest.”

Cis sank back, unable to object; indeed she foundthis arrangement something of a relief. Shedreaded a night alone in her room, and dreadedwhat she knew would lie before her, an interviewwith Rodney which would be beyond her strength.It was only much later that she realized that FatherMorley had foreseen the same thing, and preventedit. He had the priest’s intuition which enabledhim to know a great deal that he had not been told.

CICELY waited the coming of her yet unknownhostess without much interest in the arrangementwhich Father Morley had not only made forher, but, so to speak, had carried by assault. Shewas so utterly tired in body and mind, so prostratedby the intensity with which she had been feelingfor the past hours that the ability to feel was, forthe time, burned out of her.

She sat back against the garden bench, restingsidewise so that her arm lay across its back; herhead drooped forward on her shoulder, waitingquiescent for Miss Braithwaite to come to fetch heraway.

Father Morley waited with her, but he did notspeak to her. He paced the grass slowly, his openbreviary in his hand, his lips moving as he readeach syllable of the sonorous Latin, not slighting it,but dwelling on its beauties, now that he had timeto read it leisurely.

Cicely lightly dozed as she waited, falling intothe half-submerged, half-conscious sleep of a sickperson; she was spent with excess of emotion.

She did not have long to wait, however. MissBraithwaite evidently was accustomed to sudden[222]summons from Father Morley, and to respondingto them without demur, nor question as to what heasked of her. She told Cis later that “when it cameto a call from Father Morley she was always preparedfor the worst.”

Now she stopped her coupé at the gate beyondthe schoolyard’s high wall which shut the roadfrom view. Cis did not arouse to hear her, butFather Morley heard the soft purr of her engine;its cessation and the slight jar of her brake; shifteda ribbon in his breviary to mark the place at whichhe stopped reading, closed his book and wenttoward the gate to welcome his adjutant.

“Lost, strayed or stolen?” Miss Braithwaite thusasked of the Jesuit a statement of the present caseupon which he had called her.

“Neither—yet. Liable to stray, and finally to belost. Badly strained by a contest in which she isneither victor nor vanquished, so far. You’re totake her home and arm her anew, as well as to treather wounds; hospital case. Interesting and valuablematerial,” murmured the priest, turning backtoward Cicely.

She aroused at the sound of their voices. MissBraithwaite had nodded comprehendingly toFather Morley’s summing up, and had said aloud:

“I nearly ran over a child coming here! Littlesinner ran directly before my wheels after he hadalmost reached the curbstone, and I had made surethat I might safely go ahead! I do wish, even ifpeople don’t highly value their children, that theywould keep them out of the road. It’s most unpleasant[223]to run one down! This bold buccaneerwas about three years old, I fancy.”

Cicely sat up and dropped her hands into herlap, staring at Miss Braithwaite. She saw a smallperson who, at first glimpse, gave the impression ofbeing topped by a head out of proportion to herheight, but this was due to the remarkable cast ofher countenance, not to the fact. She had a broad,noble brow; keen, dark eyes, deep-set and notlarge, but so alive, so flashing and penetrating thatthey held anyone’s attention who saw them for thefirst time. Her nose was well-cut, somewhat large,thin, with a high arch, and her lips were stronglydefined, the upper one meeting the lower one in acentral point. It was the mouth of a person not unsweet,but not given to what might be called professionalsweetness; her chin was square-cut, andit lifted in a decided way as she talked. Her voicepenetrated Cicely’s consciousness before she fullysaw her, a voice of the highest cultivation, usedwithout the least taint of affectation; neither lownor high, with pleasant, throaty notes, yet with aresonance that made it insistent, even at a distance.She spoke every syllable clearly; beautiful Englishpronunciation, with inflections suggestive of Italian,speech so delightful that, though Cis was in nocondition to get pleasure from it, it did enter hertired brain soothingly, and it drew her to thewoman who was coming toward her with a friendlysmile and a penetrating look.

“Miss Braithwaite, this is Miss Cicely Adair.Cicely, my child, this is Miss Miriam Braithwaite.[224]The most that I shall tell you of her is that she isthe best prescription in my pharmacopœia; you’llhave plenty of occupation in finding out just howthe prescription acts. Cicely Adair is not happy,Miss Braithwaite; not fit to go to her boarding placealone to-night; she needs mothering. I’ve told herthat you would take her home with you and put herto sleep in one of your spacious rooms,” saidFather Morley.

Cicely arose, not quite steadily, and put her coldhand into Miss Braithwaite’s hand, which took itinto a warm clasp.

“My dear, Father Morley has great confidence inthe most single of single ladies to impute to hermothering qualities, now hasn’t he? But I’ll be delightedto have you with me to-night; my maid isaway, and I’m scandalously dependent upon her;not for service; for companionship! So if you’lllet me have your youth near me to-night it will bemost opportune and welcome,” said the little lady,whose whole effect made absurd the idea of herbeing dependent upon anything created.

“Thank you, Miss Braithwaite,” said Cis. “I’mnot sure I ought to go; I ought not to bother a perfectstranger, but Father—”

“Perfect stranger! When we have the sameFather? God, to be sure, but also Father Morley!”cried Miss Braithwaite. “Why, we’re sisters; you’remy little sister! Let me whisper to you, my dear;Father Morley must not hear, though he’s not at alldeaf. Father Morley looks mild; perhaps not toostrong, but he’s an out-and-out tyrant! I do everything[225]he tells me to, nervously, on the bidding, lesthe fall upon me and flay me! Of course you lethim arrange everything for you; so did I when hehad me called to fetch you! But it’s an all-aroundgood arrangement, we have to acknowledge that.He’s a beneficent tyrant; likely would behead youif you disobeyed him, but puts into your headthings to do that make you better enjoy having ahead.”

Cicely smiled faintly, and turned to the priestwith the suggestion of dawning ease and affectionwhich this sort of talk was admirably adapted toawaken. She also felt singularly at home with thisbrilliant little woman, with the eyes that sawthrough one, the nose of a general, the lips andvoice and hand of a generous soul.

“Father Morley is very good to me; so are you,”she said simply.

“Then shall we go home immediately and beginto rest you, my dear?” asked Miss Braithwaite, takingCicely’s hand with a strong, yet gently persuasivegrasp and turning toward the gate again.

Father Morley walked beside Cis, bending hishead toward her, not speaking, but as if he werecommuning with her without words.

“Good night, my child,” he said when they hadreached the gate. “I will not see you before elevento-morrow; you will need to sleep late. After yourfirst sleep you may waken for awhile, and then youwill sleep into the morning. Miss Braithwaite willbe within call; if you find yourself waking, summonher.”

[226]The wise priest well knew the greater likelihoodof complete confidence in the night, rather than theday.

“I will see you at eleven. If Cicely Adair is ableto come here, bring her to me, please, Miss Braithwaite.If not, call me up and I will go to see herat your house.”

“Do you want to see me, Father Morley? Butthere is the office; I must be at the office by halfpast nine anyway,” said Cis.

“Call Mr. Lucas, and tell him, what is strictlytrue, that you are not able to report for duty to-morrow.I would tell him for you, but that an explanationfrom me would bias him against your absenceso powerfully that he’d rather send an officerto hale you to his office than permit your stayingaway.” Father Morley laughed, a quietly amused,inward laugh of enjoyment.

“Lucas? Wilmer Lucas? Oh, I’ll attend to that!”cried Miss Braithwaite. “He and I clasp hands, inspite of the Roman shackles on mine. He knowsthat my grandfather was intensely Protestant, andhe allows me a slight latitude for the sake of hishonored memory. We often meet in Beaconhiteaffairs, and he regards me as a good citizen, whichalso helps to fumigate me! He owes me several smalldebts for favors received. I’ll call him up and tellhim that I have his bright-haired secretary—areyou his secretary? I didn’t know—in my keepingand will return her when she is better. Then MissAdair will come to you at eleven, Father, unless I[227]call you up. Good night, Father Morley. Thankyou for giving me a companion for to-night.”

Father Morley opened the gate for them, andtook Cicely’s hand in his, holding the gate openwith his left hand.

“Good night, my child,” he said gently. “MayGod have you in His keeping, and do you hold Himtight, keeping to Him. Only say in your heart:‘God help me!’ and it is done! No fear of failure,wrapped around in His light and His might!”

Cis bowed her head instinctively to receive theblessing which this wonderful man gave to her, hisface tender and pitiful, grave yet triumphant, as hefeared for her, yet confidently hoped that shewould let God have His way with her at last.

Miss Braithwaite put Cicely into her car and followedher, placing herself behind the wheel, liberatingthe brake and setting the engine running.

“Good-bye, Father,” she said. “Send St. Michaelaround to my house to watch over us through thenight after you’ve said your night prayers, please.Thank you for letting me have this Cicely Adair.”

Miss Braithwaite drove steadily, swinging into afifteen miles an hour speed, and varying it butslightly as she turned from street to street, andstruck out to a side of the city which Cis did notknow well. There were dignified houses along theway, their grounds increasing in extent, their treesgetting more abundant and taller as the coupé carriedthem farther from the street of the Jesuitchurch. Miss Braithwaite did not attempt to talk[228]as she drove, and Cis lay back restfully against thegrey corduroy upholstery, finding it grateful to bein motion, borne, she did not know whither, withouteffort or responsibility on her part. MissBraithwaite turned into the broad gateway of oneof the finest houses which Cis had seen, and drewup before the entrance to the house, having traverseda long, shaded driveway.

“Here we are, Miss Adair, at home quite safe andsound. I’m vain of driving, because they say it’shard to teach an old dog new tricks and I learnedonly last year. I don’t do the idiot things men attributeto women drivers. Jump out, my dear, andtell yourself you’re coming home. You haven’tforgotten how to play house, have you? My manwill come to take the car around to the garage.Come into the library; there’ll be a log fire on thehearth there. Here we are! Ah, I love to comehome!” Miss Braithwaite, talking cheerfully, ledthe way across and half-way down a great entrancehall. She threw open one of a pair of doors, lettingCis precede her into a high-ceiled, wainscotedroom, with high book shelves built around it,bronzes and beautiful marbles on their tops,shadowy pictures above them, a glorious fire ofthree-foot logs glowing lazily on the hearth, its lightplaying over the bindings of the three thousand ormore books which ranged every side of the room,except the space occupied by the fireplace.

“Oh!” exclaimed Cis. “How beautiful!”

“That’s right! You must love this room orthere’s no saying how violently we may quarrel before[229]the night is over,” said Miss Braithwaite, pullingup a deeply upholstered semicircular chair beforethe fire, and gently pushing Cicely into it. “I’mso fond of this room that I’m debating how to get abill before the legislature to give me more hours inthe day to sit in it. I’m a busy woman, my dear,and sometimes I think I’m that old person inMother Goose who ‘scarce ever was quiet.’ I hopeone of these days to make myself a visit, spend aweek quietly browsing beside this fire! My grandfatherbuilt the house, and began the library; myfather added to them both. I’ve added only to thelibrary, but isn’t it nice? Throw your hat and coatover on that straight inglenook chair, and lie backand watch the flames. Would you like to poke upthe fire? It’s a harmless passion, but it takes stronghold of one! Take this poker and let air get betweenthe logs; it’s great fun! We will have supperin here, beside the fire, and play we’re in a mountaincamp. Do you make believe? It keeps onegoing, I assure you. I wouldn’t dare let sensiblepeople know what silly things I do! I’m supposedto be a dignified, executive, getting-elderly lady!But you look much too nice to be sensible! I thinkI like you, my dear. Hair like yours is enough towarm up the first liking! It is glorious, child!Then your name—Cicely Adair! Might be one ofthe seven sweet symphonic names in ‘The BlessedDamosel’!”

Miss Braithwaite had chatted on, precluding theawkwardness of Cicely’s entrance into a strangehouse, the guest of an entire stranger.

[230]Miss Braithwaite was supremely indifferent tothe effect of her charm, but she could not helpknowing that she had the gift of winning to heranyone toward whom she elected to put forth herpowers to please. She had travelled far and livedlong in Europe; had read all her life; was agracious, vivacious hostess; had moved in the bestsociety, the truly fine society of her own land andEngland, and, though not beautiful as a youngwoman, had been one whom all men honored, admired,and whom many had sought to wed. Hermind was brilliant and—a rarer quality in awoman’s—was logical, with a true sense of justiceand proportion. She was one whom only infinitycould satisfy, and, becoming a convert to the CatholicChurch before her thirtieth year, she had givenover her great gifts to its service, was a factor in itswork, showing it to many another, making herhouse, her wealth, her gifted self its consecratedtools. The priests used her for work which thewomen garbed in religious habits could do less well,which they themselves could not always compass.Her house had become a sort of perpetual salon;to it repaired people from distant cities; in it wereorganized many movements for good, and inMiriam Braithwaite the Church had a daughterwhose mere existence sufficiently refuted slanderagainst the Church, since she could neither be deluded,nor tolerate anything less than the noblest.

Now Cis, worn and terror-stricken, unable to feelwith the keenness of some hours earlier, yet belowher congealed surfaces reaching out after Rodney,[231]turning to him, pitying him, hungering for him,discerned in Miss Braithwaite the qualities whichwere hers so supremely, and began to lean out toher with a blind desire to get from her what washers to give.

“Please call me ‘Cis’—that’s what I’m called—‘Cicely,’if you like it better,” Cis said. “I thinkI ought to tell you all about myself.”

“Surely!” Miss Braithwaite agreed cordially.“Do you know anything so fine as to have someonetrust you enough to confide in you? But supperfirst, my dear! I’ll ring for it, and we’ll eat here,as warm and cozy as two ladybugs. I hope you’renot too young to care about tea?”

“Twenty-two,” said Cis, with a tiny smile.

“Well, that’s true, what you imply!” cried MissBraithwaite, rising to touch a bell. “It’s not theyears, but the palate. Tea is the most refreshinglyrestorative thing I know. Ah, Ellen,” she added asa maid entered. “Will you serve us supper here?Miss Adair is staying with me. Let us have the coldchicken, lettuce, small biscuits; the cream cheese,tea—without cream? Now that’s a sensible girl,Cicely!—fruit punch, with considerable grapefruit in it, and a dash of the claret; cake, the whitecake, not the solid one. Perhaps that’s all; perhapsnot. It will do to begin with. Place the tablethere, Ellen, please; push away the couch. Andwill you please bring the roses from the diningroom?”

Cis was amazed to find herself enjoying this supper,served beautifully by the quiet-footed, deft[232]Ellen, before the deep red glow of the smoulderinglogs. She ate heartily, and lay back in her low,cozy chair afterward, feeling better able to copewith life. But with the return of strength, camethe revival of her longing for Rodney, the convictionthat, cost what it would, she must return tohim. “Now I must tell you, please,” Cis said toMiss Braithwaite, and she replied: “Now you may.It is better to tell me before you try to sleep.”

She sat without looking at Cis, shading her facewith her hand, which was one of strong individuality,rather than actual beauty; not speaking, butgiving the impression of absorbed attention to thehistory which Cicely was giving her. She brieflypassed over her early phases, amply telling MissBraithwaite her pitiful love story. “And now Imust decide,” she ended. “Rodney or the Church.It’s not fair, aside from anything else, to leave himwhen he was so truthful to me. But I want him!I must go to him! I left him in our home, alone!When I was in the church I thought, perhaps, I’dstick to the Catholic Church, but no, no, no! Tellingyou about him has made me see. It must beRodney; I’m his wife. See, that’s his ring, madefor me, Miss Braithwaite.”

“Yes, dear,” said Miss Braithwaite quietly. “Aruby. The Church wears red on the festivals ofher martyrs. How good God is to you, how He lovesyou! In choosing Him you will save the poor fellowwhom you love, but whom God loves more, myCicely! Your sacrifice will bring Rodney back atlast. Don’t you know that is the way these miracles[233]are wrought? How fine that it was such as youwhom Rodney loved when he was an outcast fromGod! It might so easily have been a weak girl whodid not love Rodney truly, tremendously, as youcan, as you do, and so who would have renouncedher Faith; sealed Rodney’s doom; gone with himinto sin, degradation, the awful hatred of eachother which waits upon those who debase love.With a living wife Rodney cannot marry. Cis, dear,you are not really hesitating! You are not goinginto that horrible abyss. It is only your torn heartcrying out, but your will is God’s. Little Cicely, beglad that you can suffer for Our Lord. It is HeWho stands between you and the breaking of Hisunmistakable law. He is going to bring Rodneyback because you will ask it, who have offered Himthe sacrifice of a broken heart. Don’t let yourselfimagine that you are hesitating in your loyalty toOur Lord! Fancy, turning Our Lord out of yourlife for the sake of anyone, or everyone whom Hehas made! Wouldn’t it be a lonely world, dear, ifwe drove out of it that great white Figure whichtowers above us, just before us at every step? CicelyAdair to say: ‘Go away from me, Lord Jesus, withYour wounds and beauty! With Your love, beyondanything that I can mean by love!’ Unthinkable,child! Come now, dear one; come to bed. Sleepand rest, for never, never will you be a traitor, betrayyour Lord. We won’t talk longer to-night.You’re nearly exhausted again. I’ll put you to bed,child, and thank you for letting me shelter someonewho wears a ring of the martyr color, and is going[234]to suffer to the end for loyalty to Our Lord Whodied for her—and me!”

Miss Braithwaite had gone on at length, forCicely was sitting erect, wide-eyed, her face changingas she listened, and Miss Braithwaite knew thatshe was winning her to great heroism. It was notthe first time that Miriam Braithwaite had foughtand won a like battle for the right.

“Ah, don’t, don’t! I can’t!” Cicely cried, but shearose and threw herself on her knees before MissBraithwaite, clasping her tight, shaking with sobswhich brought no tears; broken, weak, yet with adawning strength.

Miss Braithwaite helped Cicely to her bed,brushed and plaited her abundant hair; it fellaround the girl in red masses of glory. Then sheput Cicely between fragrant sheets, switched offthe strong lights, switched on a low reading lamp,its hooded screen turned toward herself, darktoward the bed, and began to read the story of thePassion from St. Matthew’s Gospel. “She cannotdeny her Lord in the morning if she sleeps withthis in her ears,” Miss Braithwaite thought, readingin her beautifully modulated voice the infinitepathos of those selfless hours.

Cicely slept deeply, wakening but once, and thennot to lie awake as Father Morley had foreseen herdoing, but falling off again into the profound sleepof complete exhaustion.

She arose in the morning steadier in nerves; thefirst poignancy of her agony laid for the moment,but sure to leap up again to tear at her.

[235]After a delicious breakfast in Miss Braithwaite’spretty morning room, her hostess arose.

“It will soon be eleven, Cicely dear. You arequite fit to go to Father Morley? I need not askhim to come here?” she said.

“I could go there, but why does he want me?”asked Cicely.

“I never ask why Father Morley wants me; I’mtoo grateful to be allowed to see him,” said MissBraithwaite smiling. “He is the most saintly personI have ever known, and his father, a convert,once an Episcopalian clergyman, was a confessor ofthe Faith, who suffered for it. This saintly son washis reward, one of his rewards! I’ll write three tinynotes, Cicely, then we’ll go in my coupé to askFather Morley himself, what he wants of braveCis!”

At half past ten Miss Braithwaite and Cis setforth, “not to risk keeping Father Morley waiting,”Miss Braithwaite said.

“I’ll leave you here, and return for you,” shetold Cis, stopping her car before the Jesuit houseand school. “I have two people whom I ought tosee this morning, if it is at all possible. I’ll be backhere not later than noon, I hope. But wait for me;I won’t fail you. One never is able to make a positiveengagement to the minute, when a car is involvedin its keeping.”

THE lay-brother who responded to Cicely’s summonson the bell was old, slow moving, kindly,but remote from daily affairs. He was probably inuredto the coming of harassed people in hothaste to see one of the priests, and had learned tofeel that haste was unnecessary, trouble but fleeting.

“Father Morley is expecting someone; he told meto say that he could not see anyone but her till afterdinner. Would you be her? Cicely Adair was thename,” the old brother said.

“Yes. Father Morley told me to come at eleven,”replied Cicely.

“It’s prompt you are,” commented the brother,raising his hand for Cis to listen to the slow strikingof a clock. “Go into that parlor yonder, the thirdone down; the first two are occupied.”

Cis obeyed, and found herself in a narrow room,longer than was in good proportion to its width,furnished in a strictly utilitarian manner. A tablestood in the centre, its top inset with green leather,a drawer running its length. Three cane-seatedstraight chairs, and one cane-seated armchair constitutedthe furniture of the room; on one side ofthe wall was a copy of a Murillo Madonna with a[237]pretty, blank face and too little chin; opposite to itan engraving of the then-reigning Pope.

Father Morley did not keep Cis waiting five minutes;he had been awaiting her. He entered witha smile, gave her one sharp look, and held out hishand.

“Good morning, my dear. You look better; Ihope you are somewhat rested?” he said.

“Yes, Father. I slept hard. Miss Braithwaitewas very kind,” Cis said.

“When was Miriam Braithwaite otherwise, Iwonder!” Father Morley said. “Tell me exactlywhat you think of her house and of her.”

“Oh, the house!” Cis regained something of heranimation as she repeated the words. “It is themost beautiful, and at the same time the dearesthouse in the world! That library! Full of books!”

“It surely is. Have you found out that ‘thelibrary’ in many houses has no books in it?” FatherMorley smiled at Cis as if he were sharing a pleasantbit of humor with her. “The Braithwaites havebeen book-lovers for generations. Well, and yourhostess?”

“She is wonderful,” cried Cis heartily. “She isthe finest lady I ever saw, but she doesn’t botherabout it one bit. She makes you feel as thoughshe’d do anything, and not be afraid; she’s daring,as if she was riding a spirited horse, yet she is pious—well,I don’t know exactly how she is pious! Asif she rode that horse of hers right up to heavenand nothing could stop her!”

Father Morley flashed upon Cis a look which she[238]could not understand; it was surprised and delighted.

“My dear child, that is an inspired characterization!”he cried. “You have precisely hit off MiriamBraithwaite. If you can see that, we shall have youriding after her, her squire, upon her knightly errantryto eternity. Admirable, my child! I thinkyou, too, are one who would greatly dare. You areto be a force for God in a world that needs that.And now, are you ready to tell me all about it, andlet me give you a hand into the saddle for yourown brave riding heavenward?”

“Yes, Father. I’d rather not tell you, but if Ihadn’t made up my mind to it I wouldn’t have cometo see you,” said Cis. “Do you remember that Imet you one Sunday coming away from the fire inthose tenements in Harvest Street? And that I waswith a young man?”

“Who was good looking and ready-tongued,whose name was Moore, but who told me that hehad left the Church? Naturally I remember findingone of my girls under those influences,” theJesuit said.

“I am engaged to him,” said Cis. “We were tobe married on Christmas eve; my birthday isChristmas, and we have a lovely little apartmentpartly furnished. But—” Cis stopped.

“Yes? But, my child? You were to have beenmarried? Past tense? You have learned that youcannot marry?” suggested Father Morley.

“Rodney has been true and honorable; he couldnot bring himself to marry me without telling me,”[239]Cis cried with a piteous look of appeal to the priestto acknowledge this fineness. “He had been marriedbefore; he is divorced. But his wife is dreadful;he couldn’t stay married to her. He has an absolutedivorce; he can marry again.”

“Of course you know that he cannot,” the Jesuitquietly corrected her. “He has the legal right tomarry, I’ve no doubt, and we all have the tragicpower to cast off our allegiance to God, but he cannotmarry as you and I understand marriage. TheChurch does not demand the continuance of marriedlife when it is outrageously degraded by one ofthe spouses, but you know that it is not within herpower to annul the relation which lasts till death.Rodney Moore must endure his lot under the lawwhich no pope nor council promulgated; God Incarnatedeclared it solemnly. Laws are for the generalgood, my child; they often bear hard on the individual,but that does not abrogate them. Moorewas married to a nominal Catholic? Both baptized?Married by a priest?”

Then, as Cis bowed her head to each interrogation,Father Morley shook his head. “I am profoundlysorry for you, my daughter, but let us rejoicethat the young man had left alive in him thedecency not to deceive you. You are saved from aposition which you would have assumed innocently,not knowing that the man was married, yetwhich would have been unfathomable wretchednesswhen you discovered the truth, that you wereunmarried; only sheltered by the feeble arm of thestate, which has no jurisdiction over the sacraments.[240]My child, I hardly know whether to bemore sorry for your present suffering, or more gladthat you are saved from far, immeasurably far,worse torture.”

“Father Morley, you don’t understand,” Cis protested.“You talk as if it were all off; it isn’t! Ileft Rodney after he told me, and I promised himto think it out, and tell him what I decided. I wasshocked, horrified; I don’t mind owning that, buthe is perfectly splendid. I love him, oh, I lovehim! He says we build up all these ideas; that it isridiculous to torment ourselves with these laws ofthe Church. He says God is not so unjust; he saysthat we should be truly—and, oh, how happily!—married.He wants me to come out bravely andmarry him in the mayor’s office, or somewhere, andbe with him forever.”

“You mean for years, when you say forever,”Father Morley reminded her, allowing no note ofdisturbance to creep into his voice. “‘Forever’is precisely the wrong word there. In point offact it would be strictly a temporal union; Idoubt its outlasting to old age, but it would mostcertainly not be forever, eternal! You know, MissAdair, that people easily drift into the habit ofdivorce. This man would not be bound to you bystronger bonds than his inclination. The marriagemade in the mayor’s office can easily be set aside inone of the lower courts. The Church, you see,alone safeguards the woman. Wicked though thisyoung man’s wife may be, probably is, still hermarriage is safeguarded for her to repent within its[241]walls. Her husband can repudiate her degradation,but he cannot replace her. You, if you wentto live with him, pronounced his wife by a cityofficial, would not be safeguarded at all, althoughyou might not be the scorned woman that his wifeis. Look you, Cicely Adair, you would not be betterthan she! With full knowledge you would rejectyour God and profane your own soul by thebreaking of His law.”

“Father Morley, do you mean that I—that Iwould be—would be—like her?” gasped Cis.

“Perhaps far worse,” said the priest. “You donot know her temptations, her enlightenment, herinstruction; she may have been weak and wretched,rather than deliberately wicked; you don’t know.But you, clear-eyed, instructed, independent, ableto look after yourself, you are dallying deliberatelywith good and evil, weighing both. If you deniedyour God what excuse would you give Him whenyou saw Him at last? That man tells you to comeout from the Church bravely! Bravely! Faugh!That is not courage; it is cowardice, the coward whowill not face pain for the sake of the Lord Whobore so much for her! A coward, I tell you! Anddo you realize that this country of ours is honeycombedwith the divorce evil? That homes arewrecked, children made destitute, men and womensunk into vileness because they will not be deniedtheir successive fancies, and that they profane marriagebecause they will not bear the brand of theirtrue label? Will you tolerate the idea of joiningtheir ranks, of helping to spread the poison which[242]eats away the very foundation of civilization? Andthen call that brave? Benedict Arnold tried to betrayWashington and the gate to the north. Whatwould your treason betray? You are disloyal, evento your land, when you do not set your face againstthat which is undermining her. Don’t let yourselfcall your temptation by pretty names. It is notcourage, but cowardice. It is not being married bya magistrate, for they cannot marry; it is beinglicensed to be called Mrs. Rodney Moore, but remainingthe shamed Cicely Adair.”

“Father Morley,” poor Cicely’s voice shook withdry sobs, “don’t you see? Rod is great; he is notbad. Didn’t God Himself give him to me to love?”

“Possibly; I don’t say no,” said the priest gently.“There are many strange ways by which souls areled home. But decidedly God did not give Rodneyto you to marry, for he is not free to marry, andGod does not want you to help Rodney to go lower.Perhaps he is given you to love and to save by sacrificingfor him your happiness; it looks to me probable.Evidently Rodney has good in him, or hewould not have told you that he was married, untilhe had you in his power. I can see how you lovehim when you can entertain an idea so repugnantto you as denying your Faith for him. This is yourway of salvation, and in taking the right turn youcan offer to God your pain; it will plead for gracefor Rodney, cut off from it by his own act.”

“I thought of that, Father,” whispered Cis. “But,oh—never to see him? Never, never? This is my[243]engagement ring; Rodney made the design; I am aChristmas child.”

The priest bent forward better to see it; hisvision was short.

“A beautiful ring, my child; a beautiful design,beautifully wrought, but I see in it far more thanthe Christmas thought of your nativity which RodneyMoore meant to embody. It is the ring ofprophecy. Red, the color of the martyrs; theheart’s blood upheld by thorns, but therein glowingand burning celestially. Yes, my child, it is indeedyour betrothal ring!”

Cis lifted her hand closer to her own eyes,dimmed with tears, and studied the ring as if itwere new to her. Her hand shook so that the beautifulruby emitted gleams of light, emphasizingthe priest’s interpretation of it. Its wearer’s griefmade it more beautiful.

For some time there was silence in the bare littleparlor. Father Morley spoke no word; he left Cicelyto absorb the words which he had spoken to her,spoken in his low, thrilling voice, straight to hersoul. He ran through his fingers the beads of therosary which hung from the black braid girdle thatstrapped his cassock, not speaking, praying for thesoul before him fighting, tossing on black watersinto which he could not enter. As each soul muststruggle alone in mortal danger, seizing or rejectingaid, so this priest could only stand on the shoreready with powerful help, but he could not forcethe issue.

[244]At last Father Morley arose and crossed the narrowroom. He took from the wall a crucifix whichCicely had not noticed in taking account of its furnishings;it hung back of where she was sitting. Itwas a rare, a wonderful crucifix; the livid Figureupon it was marvellously carved with an expressionof utter agony, dominated by a supreme love. Thiscrucifix the Jesuit took from its nail, and, comingback, he bent over Cicely, holding out to her thecross.

She dropped her shaking hands into her lap, andlifted her eyes, first to the crucifix, then, piteously,to the kind, insistent face above it which lookeddown on her with pity yet with the assurance ofawaiting good in the deep-set eyes.

“See, Cicely Adair, what was done for you. Canyou count what you bear for Him? Can you refuseHim, especially that He promises surely that Hewill fill your soul with such joy as you have neverknown, if you hold to Him? Look, child, at thewounds; are you going to clinch your hands, like anigg*rd of the gift He asks? See the Side, riventhat you may know what His Heart is! Will you goout from Him into shame, be an outcast from Hisaltar, excommunicated? Cicely Adair, these lipsare still athirst for the draft you hesitate to givethem. Are you going to hold up to them vinegarand gall—again? You must give up Rodney; youmust not betray your Lord; you must put thatblood-red ruby at the foot of the cross. You mustnot delay. What is your answer, my child?”

Cicely remained silent, trembling so that her[245]whole body shook, but tearless, and all the timeFather Morley waited, holding before her eyes theeloquent crucifix to plead with her.

Suddenly Cicely cried out with a long, low, heart-wrungcry, and sprang up, falling on her knees, herface bowed in her hands.

“I can’t—I can’t—leave Him!” she said.

Father Morley misunderstood.

“Child, you must!” he said. “You must leavehim.”

Cicely looked up, and a queer, dazed smilepassed over her miserable face. “Oh, you don’tmean that! You mean Rodney! I mean God. Ican’t, I can’t leave God,” she cried, and caught herbreath in a strange little laugh, wholly like the Ciswho could not help recognizing humor, howeverunmerry her tragic mood.

Father Morley smiled. His relief was unspeakable;he had won. He knew that if this girl choseshe would abide by her choice; he knew that CicelyAdair was safe. And he felt a new, moving pity forher that she could smile at his urging her to forsakeGod, misunderstanding her pronoun, though thelips which twisted into the attempt to smile had justspoken the doom of her longing love for her lover.

“God bless you, my daughter, my brave, truegirl!” the priest said. “Come, rise up. How reallyyou have arisen! Shall we go into the church? Ithink we both should thank God, thank the HolySpirit that has guarded you and inspired you. Willyou not go to confession, Cicely? To-morrowmorning you must receive the Lord to Whom you[246]have remained faithful. And then come to Him asnearly every day as you can, for He will carry youover the dark patch of roadway before you, intothat bright light just beyond. Come, my dear, intothe church. Shall I ask one of our Fathers to hearyour confession? There are two or three in thehouse, I’m sure.”

Cis let Father Morley help her to her feet, as shesaid:

“Don’t you hear confessions, Father? I don’thave to go twice, do I?”

“No, my dear; only once to-day!” Father Morleysmiled at Cis, who, this time, did not know why helooked amused. “I thought you might prefer someoneelse to me. Come, then.”

“Miss Braithwaite said she would come after mehere,” said Cis. “Perhaps I ought to wait for her.”

“To be sure; she would come after you!” FatherMorley cried admiringly. “She never half doesanything! I’ll tell the brother where you are; she’lllook for you in the church, though I’m quite sureshe would look for you there anyway, even thoughno word were left for her.”

Three quarters of an hour later Miss Braithwaiteturned her car around before the church.Cicely sat in the corner, her elbow on the top ofthe upholstered box which was behind the driver’sseat, her head supported by her hand. She wasquiet, but Miss Braithwaite hardly needed the reassuringsmile which Father Morley gave her fromthe church step where he was seeing them off to tellher that Cicely was at peace. Her face was worn[247]and profoundly sad, but there was a new quality inits sadness, the serenity of a right decision.

On the way to her house Miss Braithwaite hardlyspoke. Cis had feebly protested against returningthere, but Miss Braithwaite had decisively told herthat there was no question of her going elsewhere,at least till after New Year’s. For one thing, hermaid would be away for the rest of that week andMiss Braithwaite wanted someone to talk to; afterthat she expected to have grown so accustomed totalking to Cicely that she must keep her on.

Cis smiled, seeing the kindness that wanted toavoid thanks; too weary to discuss it; at heart relievedthat she might stay in this peaceful andnoble house, under the spell of its noble, thoughsomewhat eccentric mistress.

At lunch Miss Braithwaite told Cis about thetwo cases which had occupied her that morning,and she succeeded in interesting the girl in spite ofher preoccupation with her own thoughts. MissBraithwaite’s incisive English, clear-cut, finished,like a collection of cameos and intaglios in words,fascinated Cicely’s ear, drawing her mind on to interestin the matter behind the speech.

“Would you rather go to your room, or will youkeep me company before the fire in the library,Cicely?” asked Miss Braithwaite as they arose fromthe table.

“May I talk to you awhile?” asked Cis.

“All the afternoon; I’ve nothing on, and hopedyou’d linger with me,” replied Miss Braithwaite,putting her arm around the girl.

[248]Thus she led her into that dusky, glowing roomwhich had so charmed Cis on the preceding evening,and again put her into the deep chair of thatfirst acquaintance.

“Miss Braithwaite, I’ve been to confession,” Cissaid abruptly.

“That accounts for the new quiet, an atmosphereof peace about you, Cicely dear,” said Miss Braithwaite,leaning over and putting her hand on thegirl’s bright hair. “You have enlisted! Thank Godfor that. Don’t imagine the victory is won, butyour side can’t lose, you know; it’s only a matter ofdays and weeks! Then your banner on the tower!”

“Yes, Miss Braithwaite,” said poor Cis somewhatforlornly. “I am thankful, you know. Only—Whatmust be done I’d better do as quickly, as fastas I can. I promised to let him—let Rod hear fromme. He has no idea where I am. He will havelooked for me everywhere that I might have been,but he’ll never guess I’m here. He is half mad bynow. I must write him and send him this ring. Imust tell him it is good-bye. Miss Braithwaite, Ican’t see him! I couldn’t bear what he would sayto me. I’m afraid to see him, that’s the truth, butit would kill me to say good-bye, see him go away—Ican’t stand it!” Cis’s voice rose on a hard, sharpnote, and Miss Braithwaite laid her own hand overCicely’s.

“I know, I understand. I’ll keep him off you.Write him here, now, dear Cis, and inclose the ring.Don’t harass yourself by writing a long letter; thewhole matter can be condensed into a few words.[249]You have chosen God; you are true to your firstpromises; that is all. But be sure to tell him howfully you appreciate his truth in dealing with you,albeit he spoke tardily, for we do not forget that wewant to bring Rodney right, and it will infuriatehim if he thinks that you do not attribute to himthe good that was in him when he gave you thechance you are taking to free yourself from a wrongposition,” said this good woman, patting Cicely’shand as mothers pat their babies to sleep.

“Yes, Miss Braithwaite; I’d thought that wouldbe what I must do,” said Cis. “I have nothing withme, you know. Have you a pen that won’t bespoiled by another person’s using it? It ruins pensto lend them; I know that.”

“Plenty of pens, besides the one that I guard likea seven-headed monster!” declared Miss Braithwaiterising with an alacrity that forbade Cis’s consideringthe coming note in its proper light. “Cometo my desk over here, and take any pen you like,save that one.”

Cis followed her, and took the straight chairwhich stood before the desk.

She wrote slowly, pausing often, passing her handover her eyes frequently, as if she could not see,but there was no moisture on the fingers afterward.

She laid before Miss Braithwaite the completednote, saying only:

“Please tell me if it is wrong in any way. I hopehe’ll know that it is hard to write him this. December1st, isn’t it? Christmas eve is very near.”

Miss Braithwaite read; she had never seen[250]Cicely’s writing before, but she knew that this irregular,wavering hand could not be the usual writingof this extremely definite girl with the strong,vivid face, the bright, radiant red hair.

“Dear Rodney:” the note ran. “I cannot marryyou because you cannot marry me. It cannot be amarriage so I must go away, never come to the dearapartment again. I will not disobey God. If Hehelps me, I will die first, and, Rod, oh, Rod, this islike dying! You will be angry, and say that I donot love you, but if you try to remember me as Iwas, you will know that I love you. Perhaps if Iloved you less I might not care so much to do right.I am sending you the ring. It was not a holly berry,but the heart’s blood of your Christmas Cis that theruby meant. Dear Rod, I bless you for yourtruthful dealing with me, that you would not trickme into the marriage which would never be a trueone in the eyes of either of us, for we were bothCatholics. I will try to be a better one so that Godwill hear me beg Him to bless you and bring youback. Will you please not try to see me, dear?Nothing that you could say would make me believethat it was right to marry you when you have a livingwife, but the struggle to keep right is too hardon me, and I could not see you go away forever andlive through it. I’ve borne all I can. So don’t seeme, my dearest, but don’t forget me. Good-bye—itmeans God be with you, you know. Cis.”

“It is quite right, dear girl,” said Miss Braithwaitegently, touching the piteous little letter softly,as if it were a dead child.

[251]Cis drew off her ring and kissed it many times.Then she dropped it into Miss Braithwaite’s lap.

“Will you wrap it up in the letter and send it forme?” Cis said. “You are good to me, Miss Braithwaite.Will you teach me how to be this new Cis?The world used to be full of sounds; it seems to bequite still and empty. I suppose when you’re deadit’s like that. I don’t know which way to walk.”

MISS BRAITHWAITE had to waken Cis in themorning to get her up in time to drive withher to St. Francis Xavier’s for Mass.

It was a Mass of renunciation and espousal, acommunion that pledged Cicely to turn from herforbidden love for Rodney to allegiance to God,yet she felt this but dimly. She went through theMass dutifully, but humbly; she realized that shewas vowing herself and that her vow was then accepted.Her will acquiesced, but at least one of theother powers of her soul was atrophied. Below hersurfaces pain waited her awakening; she willed hermartyrdom unfalteringly, but there was for hernone of the martyrs’ triumphant joy. Yet she receivedthe Lord Who had once raised a maiden fromthe dead, and, groping for Him, found Him, howtruly she did not then know.

“I must go to the office,” Cis said suddenly toMiss Braithwaite at breakfast. “I wonder why I’veonly just thought of it? How could I forget! It ishalf past nine already. Miss Braithwaite, what shallI do? Ought I telephone Mr. Lucas first, ask himif he still wants me to come? You had me excusedfor only one day.”

“No, my dear, I didn’t,” said Miss Braithwaite[253]promptly. “I didn’t specify the length of your absence.I told Mr. Lucas that Cicely Adair was notat all well, could not possibly take up her duties,but that if she weren’t able to resume them in lessthan a week he should hear from me again. He wasentirely amiable, bade me let him know, also, ifyou needed anything that he could procure for you.So you are perfectly all right to be absent againto-day. If you feel like going down to-morrow I’lldrive you down myself; we shall see!”

“How good you are to me, Miss Braithwaite!”cried Cis. “And I never shall be able to do theleast thing for you!”

“Don’t be too sure of it!” cried Miss Braithwaite.“I have designs on you! A girl of your sort can dono end of things for me, a proxy me, who is farmore important than the me direct. There are severalthings near and dear to my heart which aremore interesting and important than a fusty, agingmaiden lady, Cicely Adair. For instance, I canimagine you giving my ragged hoodlum lads a royalgood time when you’re ready for it; my little scalawagboys whose qualities are a plaid; black andwhite, good and bad, fairly evenly mixed, though Ido believe that the black has white hair lines in itsblocks!”

“Orphan asylum?” asked Cis listlessly, yet hereyes had brightened slightly.

“Industrial school, orphans or half-orphans,little boys whom we Catholics must hold tight; ifwe relax in the least the devil will slip a claw inunderneath our loosened fingers!” replied Miss[254]Braithwaite turning toward her maid, then bringingin the mail of the first delivery of that day.

“I was great pals with a funny bunch of newsiesat home,” said Cis, biting her lip and glancinganxiously at the small clock behind her as the sightof the letters reminded her of the note which Rodneymight then be reading. Or had not MissBraithwaite sent it out the previous night? She hadnot asked, she did not ask now, but the letterswhich Miss Braithwaite was assorting gave her thesickened feeling with which one hears the firstclods fall upon a casket which the guy ropes havejust let down forever.

“I knew you’d be great pals with that sort ofyoungster, Cicely,” returned Miss Braithwaite,cheerfully adopting Cis’s terms. “Letter for you,my dear; I had your mail sent here, from Miss Wallace’s.”

“Oh, it’s Nan!” cried Cis. “Thank you, MissBraithwaite.”

She read her letter with a moved face and laid itdown softly, stroking the pages.

“She’ll be married on Christmas; she has hurriedher arrangements because she wants us married together.Dear little Nannie! Good little Nan! Sheis happy, but she deserves to be. I hope she willbe, always,” Cis murmured, her face wistful, sad,but a gentle smile in her eyes.

“Well, dear, happiness is a term of comparison,but it usually takes years to teach us this,” saidMiss Braithwaite. “If your little bride-friend isgood, with the sort of goodness you convey an impression[255]of, she is likely to be happy. Enkindledpeople rise to rapture, but they sink into wretchedness;it’s safer to shine by refraction than to be enkindled,my dear.”

“How do you know the things you understand,Miss Braithwaite?” cried Cis. “I have hardly talkedof Nan to you, yet you have her measure! I mustwrite her, tell her. It will make her most unhappy!I don’t know how I can tell her I’m not to be married,after all. Nan will feel like a thief to behappy when I’m not. And she has taken the sameday, so that we could be happy together, thoughapart. I won’t tell her anything except that my planis all off, done with forever. I bought some lovely,perfectly beautiful damask, Miss Braithwaite;three table-cloths, napkins for each, and I’ve beendoing hemstitched hems. They were for me, youknow, for—Luckily they’re not marked yet. I’mnot much good at embroidery, though I drew thethreads and hemstitched quite decently. I wasgoing to have them marked, embroidered letters,you know—‘C. A.’ I’d better have them markedA. M. D.—Anne Margaret Dowling—and sendthem to Nan, hadn’t I? Would that be nice? I almostfeel as though anything of mine might bringher bad luck!”

“There’s no such thing as bad luck, Cis child!”cried Miss Braithwaite, trying not to let Cis see howmuch her quiet renunciation of her sweet hopes,stitched into her linen, moved her. “I am sure thatyour damask would bring Nan blessing; it is a clothfrom an altar of sacrifice! It would be a beautiful[256]gift, child, and Nan need not know, not now, atleast, that it was at first intended for anotherhome.”

“I’ll go around to Miss Wallace’s to-day andget it then,” said Cis with a grateful look forher hostess. “And, Miss Braithwaite, I’ve got toplan. I’ve a good position here, I like Beaconhite,and I’ve got to live somewhere, but—I’ll always beafraid to walk out; I can’t meet Rod. Don’t youthink, perhaps, I’d better go away? Not home;somewhere? And, oh, do you think Rod will tryto see me? Miss Braithwaite, I can’t see him!What shall I do?”

“I’ve been considering these points, Cis, mydear,” said Miss Braithwaite, evidently equippedwith a decision upon them. “I am sure that RodneyMoore will try to see you once. I think that he willcome here; he will hardly attempt to say to youwhat he will want to say in the street, meeting youon your way to and from the Lucas and Hendersonoffices. You need not see him here; I will see himfor you. After that, I am hopeful that he will letyou alone. I do not know him, but I know humannature, and I believe that after I have seen him foryou, he will let you alone. As to keeping on withthe office, that is as you please. But, Cicely, I havea proposition which I want you to consider; to betruthful, I do not want you to consider it, but totake it up at once. I am a solitary woman in thisgreat house, with no one but servants around me.I want you to spend the winter here, with me. Ihope for your help in my schemes; Father Morley’s[257]girls’ club, my tatterdemalions, other things. Youare young, attractive, bright; you can do all sorts ofwork for these objects. Then, for me, you can domore! Be a little fond of me, talk to me, companionme. And, last not least, for yourself; readmy books—perhaps not every one on those shelves,but many of them; play a little, study a little, thinka great deal; you went through school, now giveyourself a little riper, deeper, higher education!And, Cis, dear, learn your faith! It seems a pityto miss its beauty, the joy it has for you, whenyou’ve bravely embraced unhappiness for it! Asif you had risked your life for one almost a stranger,as you thought, and suddenly discovered it wasyour dearest, beloved friend! You’ll be delightedwith the Church, my dear, when you get acquaintedwith her beauty! Dear, you’ve missed happinessand it’s hard, but happiness more profound andlasting is within your reach; I promise it to you!Now, Cis, will you stay with me?”

“Oh, Miss Braithwaite, I’d just dearly love to!”cried Cicely, springing up to throw herself on herknees beside Miss Braithwaite, her radiant head onher shoulder, sobbing a little, yet with the first rayof comforting hope penetrating her despair.

Cicely arose the next morning to resume life onits new basis, yet under its old routine. This is,perhaps, the hardest strain imposed upon anyonewho is newly bereft, by death or by the cruellerdeprivations of life. To go once more amid the familiarsurroundings, greet the accustomed faceswith a surface smile, seeing with bewildered amazement[258]that the eyes smiling back recognize one forthe same person that they have always seen thoughone feels like a shade walking the earth in thesemblance of life, this is to deepen that painfulsense of remoteness from common experience,which is the lasting hallmark of profound suffering.

It was decided that Cis was to spend the winterwith Miss Braithwaite. She was glad to accept theshelter of this house, yet more glad of the homeopen to her in the affections of this clever andspiritual gentlewoman than of the actual shelter ofher dignified roof. For Cis, to her own bewilderment,found herself with little of her natural self-reliance.Beaten down by her recent struggle,though she had emerged victorious, she was scarredand torn by wounds still bleeding; she had accuratelydescribed herself to Miss Braithwaite as notknowing “how to walk.”

Miss Braithwaite’s hand guiding her was strongand warm; she sustained her stumbling feet,poured the wine of her wholesome, humorous pointof view into her wounds, and, at the same time,taught her to see the Perfect Beauty which by itsperfection made all else worthless.

Beyond her winter with Miss Braithwaite, Cislaid no plans; she was not sure whether or not sheshould continue in Mr. Lucas’ office; for that matter,she was not sure that she might do so. She haddetermined to confess to Mr. Lucas her fault in givingto Rodney Moore the hint he had asked for asto the final outcome of the franchise which wasagitating the public mind. She would not stay on[259]with him unless Mr. Lucas knew the worst of her;after he knew it the decision about her staying wasin his hands. She had notified Mr. Lucas that shewould leave him before Christmas to be married;he probably had supplied her place from that timeon. Well, all this was as it might be. Dressingslowly, with long intervals of absent-minded gazingout of the window, Cis was sure only that she wasgoing to the office, confess to Mr. Lucas, do the onething left her honorably to do; after that—nothingmattered greatly, anyway. She did not know, normuch care what came after that.

Cis would not acknowledge to herself that shefeared, with positively curdling fear, meeting Rodney.She felt sure that he would try to waylay herwhen she resumed her daily trips to and from theoffice. It seemed to her that if she withstood him,his reproaches, but much more his appeals—andshe was sure that she could withstand them—thatafterward the feeble ray of courage within herwould be extinguished; that she had borne to hercapacity.

Therefore it was an unspeakable relief to findthat Miss Braithwaite was taking her down thatmorning in her coupé and planning to bring herhome at night.

“You’re not quite at par, my dear, though youintend to take dictation in regard to soaring investments,”she said. “I’m going in all sorts of directionsthis morning; the Lucas and Henderson officesone of them, so you’re to be deposited at their doorwith no exertion on your part.”

[260]“Oh, Miss Braithwaite, I’ll never be able tothank you!” cried Cis. “How you do see throughpeople! But I don’t mind your knowing I’m acoward.”

“A certain sort of cowardice is the highest courage,child; the courage to acknowledge danger andflee from it. Come along, Cicely Adair! Did youever see that ridiculous Dollinger ballad? All aboutthe dangerous voyage of a canal boat of which oneDollinger was captain? The refrain of each stanzais: ‘Fear not, but trust in Dollinger and he willfetch you through.’ It doesn’t matter; only oldfogies know it, I suppose. Regard me as Dollinger,for I mean to fetch you through! Come, then!”

Miss Braithwaite slipped her hand into Cis’s armand took her out to the waiting car. Then shestarted off and drove Cicely to her destination,where she left her with a heartening pat on hershoulder and the promise to return for her at five.

Mr. Lucas looked up with a smile of greetingwhen he heard Cis’s light touch on the handle ofthe office door, but the smile died on his lips, replacedby a look of concern, as he started to his feetat the sight of her.

“Why, Miss Adair, I had no idea that you hadbeen seriously ill; I did not get that impressionfrom Miriam Braithwaite. Pray take my chair tillyou are rested. I am profoundly sorry to see youso white and weakened,” he cried, kindly comingforward to take Cicely’s hand and gently force herinto his own armchair.

“No. Mr. Lucas, thank you,” said Cis, resisting[261]his kindness. “I have not been ill. Something happened—Ihad a shock—I’ll be all right soon. Mr.Lucas, before I begin to work, before you say anotherword to me, there is something that I musttell you.”

“Ah!” murmured Mr. Lucas, experienced inhuman nature, and instantly guessing something ofwhat he was to be told. “I am ready to listen, MissAdair.”

“I was engaged to be married; I told you that Iwas to have been married at Christmas; I resignedfor that date for that reason,” said Cis, plunging,without letting herself delay her confession. “Rod—Mr.Moore, the one I was to marry—begged meto give him a hint about the franchise. He hadsome money; he wanted to buy that stock if thefranchise was going through. He swore he wouldnot let a hint of it get beyond him; I’m sure hewouldn’t—”

“Why is everyone sure that everyone else will bemore honorable in keeping a secret than he—orshe—is?” asked Mr. Lucas dryly. “I see that youparted with mine.”

“Yes, Mr. Lucas, but indeed, indeed I held outlong against it; I didn’t want to do it; I’ve alwaysbeen quite straight,” cried Cis. “But Rod beggedso hard; he told me that I was standing between himand success. I didn’t mind scolding, but when hewas hurt—Well, at last I gave the hint he beggedfor, and I’ve been eating my heart out ever since.Now that you know, I’ll feel better, and of courseI’ll go right away now; not wait till Christmas.”

[262]“Just a moment, Miss Adair. I do not think weshould be weak, any of us; it is the ideal to be graniteshafts of principle, but the sweeter and truer thewoman, the harder for her to resist the sort of pleamade you. I can see that it was hard; if it had notcost you pain to yield you would not be confessingyour misstep to me now. I must forgive it, MissAdair; it was a hard pull, and I’ll credit you withresistance. It has not harmed me, you’ll be glad toknow. I wondered, rather, why there were noticeablesales of that stock on a recent date; your lovermust have had considerable to invest in it. Thatchapter is closed; put it out of your mind. Now,my child, you were sent me by my brother, as afriend, in a sense, of my niece Jeanette’s, and Ihave a greater interest in you than that of a mereemployer. Will you let me express it in a question?You have spoken of your engagement, yourmarriage, in the past tense. Are you not still engaged,still to be married at Christmas?” Mr. Lucasasked his question gently, pity in his eyes.

“No, sir; it’s all over,” said Cis.

“Not because of this franchise matter? You’renot a morbid girl to do penance, and punish a manfor a thing of that sort?” cried Mr. Lucas.

“No, Mr. Lucas,” said Cis. “Rod was married;I could not marry him. He was splendid; he toldme about it. He was not going to tell me, but I loveeverything straight so much that after all he toldme. And then we could not be married, you see.It was splendid; Rod was good, but still I could notgo on with it.”

[263]“Go on with it? Rod was splendid, you say? Totell you, to tell you he was married, after he had entrappedyou into an engagement, into loving him asI see you loved him? Well, hardly splendid! Hedid stop short of crime, but to stop on the edge ofbigamy, and to make a girl like you suffer! I’dhardly call that splendid!” cried Mr. Lucas fiercely.

“Bigamy?” repeated Cis. “Well, I don’t believethey call it that, but of course it is, if you stop tothink. I hadn’t thought about it just that way. Rodwas divorced; his wife was worse than dead, but shewasn’t dead. I suppose it is bigamy.”

The word seemed to hold a horrid fascination forCis.

Mr. Lucas fell back in his chair and stared at Cis,trying to get his bearings.

“Divorced?” he echoed. “Oh, but, my girl, that’sanother matter! Of course remarriage is not bigamywhen the state has freed a man. Then he has nowife, so his marriage to a second one is not bigamy;it is as if the first one were dead.”

Cis shook her head. “No, Mr. Lucas,” she said,“it really isn’t; how could it be? Suppose I werewalking with Rod, had married him, and we methis first wife. It wouldn’t be the same as if she weredead, would it? There’d be two of us, both alive.How do you suppose I’d feel; how would any decentgirl feel? Besides, Mr. Lucas, Rod was marriedby a priest, and no one can break those marriages.I’d have had to give up God to marry Rod,and how could I?”

Mr. Lucas frowned angrily.

[264]“It’s that abominable Roman tyranny again,” hecried. “How in the name of all that’s sane do thosepriests get hold of minds the way they do? Youpoor little victim of man-made laws, posing for Divineones, have you wrecked your life and a man’slife for this nonsense?”

“No, Mr. Lucas,” said Cis with a weary little gaspfor breath, but not in the least shaken. “You areever so much wiser than I, but I know that is nottrue. Our Lord Himself said that a divorced personcould not be married, and what can you dowhen He tells you anything? I think I can see whyit has to be, because outside the Catholic Churchpeople keep going in and out of marriages till you’dthink they’d be dizzy. And then there are thechildren. No, Mr. Lucas, it’s all right, even thoughit hurts. And, anyway, how could I turn my backon the Church? God’s there.”

“You told me once that you were—what’s theirterm for it?—an indifferent Catholic. That youweren’t devout like some friend of yours, or was itJeanette Lucas? Yet you make the choice of yourChurch instead of your happiness! I see what ithas cost you; your face betrays your suffering. You,who could not stand firm against your lover’s pleadingto you to put him in the way of making money,only of making money; who did violence to yourhatred of not ‘being square,’ as you put it, you leavehim, throw him over, infuriate him, wound hispride, as well as his love of you—for no man woulddo less than curse a woman for thus failing himafter he had let her have the chance to choose—all[265]for an idea; for allegiance to a system; to keepwithin a Church which was not especially dear toyou! And this when the laws of your countrywould justify your choosing the man, would placetheir seal upon your position in society as his wife!My heavens, Cicely Adair, what is it, what can it bethat can so mold you into a Christian martyr, singingas the wild beasts rend her?”

Mr. Lucas sat erect, frowning heavily, his eyesflashing, for the problem before him stirred him tohis depths. He had already encountered it in hisbrother’s conduct; he resisted the one explanationof it which his reason presented to him.

Cis smiled her pitiful, funny little shadow of hernormal bright, amused smile, and looked up at Mr.Lucas, saying:

“I’m not singing, Mr. Lucas, not so you’d noticeit! But I wouldn’t want the wild beasts to go offand lie down, not if it would turn me back. Yousee, it’s quite easy. I mean to understand. I’ve gotto stand by, if I want God to stand by me, and whatshould I do if He didn’t? And that’s not all of it.I love Rod, but God is different; you can’t get onwithout Him. I think He’ll teach me to get onwithout Rod, somehow. I suppose I had more faiththan I knew I had. It’s all faith, isn’t it, Mr.Lucas?”

“Yes! It is all faith, Cicely Adair!” cried Mr.Lucas, springing to his feet. “You’ve testified toyours! I don’t mind telling you that I think it is agreat thing that you have done. I suppose I’m intelligentenough to recognize what the loose marriage[266]laws are doing in this country. As a lawyer Iknow their effect on morals, the stability of home,the legitimacy of children. But that a slip of a girlshould willingly throw over her strong love, herdearest hopes; a poor, pitiful little bead of clay setherself against the mighty torrent of evil, all becausea Church tells her to, promises her heaven ifshe does—good Lord! We Episcopalians discountenancedivorce, but our ministers may or may notmarry divorced people, according as they areminded. The opposition of bishops and clergy totheir doing so is straw, because there is nothing toenforce it, but you, who were not devout, you embraceyour hard lot at the bidding of your priests!As there is a God above us, Cicely Adair, what isthe power of Rome that still can make confessorsand martyrs of soft virgins?”

“The God above us, isn’t it, Mr. Lucas?” saidCicely.

Mr. Lucas stared at her a moment, then he said:

“And now it turns you into an apologist! Youranswer covers all sides of the question, admitting apremise! And the premise almost annihilates thenecessity of admission! I will look into it—” Hechecked himself quickly, and said with a change ofvoice: “You will stay on in my employ, Miss Adair?You will not now leave me at Christmas? Do youfeel fit to resume your desk to-day?”

“I came to work, Mr. Lucas, if you don’t mindhaving me after I told the secret—”

“A closed book!” Mr. Lucas interrupted her,raising his hand prohibitively. “I’m not afraid of[267]the honor that would not let you rest till you hadacknowledged your weakness. I hardly think thatwhat I know of you would justify my doubting yourfidelity.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lucas. You are as good as youcan be to me! I’ll go to work then, now. May Ihave till New Year’s to decide how long I’ll behere?” asked Cis, going over to put her hat and coataway, and then dropping into her desk chair.

“New Year’s will be time enough to decide,”said Mr. Lucas, also resuming his desk chair. Tohimself he said, with an inward smile: “I wonder ifthat glowing hair was given her for a nimbus?There are easier martyrdoms than hers!”

IT WAS pleasant to come out from the great officebuilding at half past four to find waiting amotor coupé of the most correct and up-to-datetype. It was still pleasanter to find the car doorheld open by a small hand in a grey glove that managed,in spite of its smallness and other occupation,to give a welcoming pat with two fingers on Cicely’sshoulder as she entered the car; to meet a warmsmile in a pair of appraising eyes, and hear a beautifulvoice say heartily:

“Well, child, the morning and the evening werethe first day! Was this first one hard, or was itrather agreeable to pick up the threads again?”

For the first time in her life Cis had a sense ofbelonging, and it warmed her with a thrill of actualpleasure, the perception that in spite of all andafter all, it might be good to be alive.

What a beautiful thing this elderly gentlewomanwas doing, Cis thought, thus to feed the hungry!There were many who limited that corporal workof mercy strictly to its proper bounds; few who fedthe hungry of heart, mind, and soul in Miss Braithwaite’sway, and yet it was more like feeding than itwas like a ministration to the soul. To take Cisinto her home, to warm her into renewed life, to[269]open up to her hitherto unknown resources for themaintenance of life’s true values, this was MissBraithwaite’s divinely inspired dealing with Cis.The girl knew that Miss Braithwaite was an aristocratto her finger tips, exclusive in her friendships,withdrawn by instinct; that she wisely and justlychose those whom she would admit into her home.How fine it was then to fly at once to the rescue ofCicely Adair at the summons of Father Morley,mothering her as he had asked her to! Plainly,Cicely Adair must repay this goodness by its successwith her; she must be good and happy; putaway grief; grow in the directions which MissBraithwaite indicated. Now that, for all the rest ofthe winter, Cis was to be an inmate of this idealhome—well, after all and in spite of all, Cis oughtnot to find her share of the days hard to fulfill.

Miss Braithwaite would not let Cis tell her anythingof the events of her day during dinner.

“Dinner should be eaten to the accompanimentof chat, but not of long, nor of too absorbing tales,my dear,” she declared in her crisp little dogmaticway, half-amused with herself, yet entirely in earnestas to her dictum. “You will not eat properlyif you recount to me the history of Mr. WilmerLucas and his reception of his secretary’s confessionof crime! I know perfectly well that yourwishbone will not be scraped clean if you are tooabsorbed in talk—it is chicken to-night! Beside thehearth, Cis; that’s the place for a long narrative!The table for brief comments and flashes of wit.At the table I disapprove of discussions, monologues,[270]anything that too greatly distracts from thebusiness in hand!”

Later, “beside the hearth,” Miss Braithwaitehanded Cis the tongs, and lay back in her deepchair with a breath of content. She looked likesome sort of bird, tiny, alert, her quick, keen eyesflashing behind the eyeglasses resting on her thinarched nose; her hands making sudden small movementscharacteristic of them, not unlike the upliftingof a wing, its outspread and infolding.

“There are times that I doubt my own nobilityof soul, Cicely Adair,” she said, her mobile lipstwisting with a tiny mocking smile. “But when I’mbefore the hearth fire, and hand someone else thetools to stir and mend it, then I know that I am fitto rank with the noblest Roman matron! PerhapsI mean Roman ladies living in the catacombs; I’veno doubt that they were more self-sacrificing thanthe Mother of the Gracchi and the rest of ’em! Dolift that log end, Cis! It’s wasting there, smolderingout; make it blaze.”

Cis obediently lifted the charred end of a log intothe heart of the fire, and then, at: “Now tell me!”from Miss Braithwaite, told her story of Mr. Lucas’reception of her confession to him, and his commentson her obedience to her conscience.

Miss Braithwaite sat erect as she listened, herface expressing her interest.

“My dear child, you never can tell!” she criedas Cis ended. “Robert Lucas became a Catholicabout ten years after I did; he is fifteen yearsyounger than I. Wilmer Lucas was no less disgusted[271]than he was angry. He said that Roberthad made a fool of himself, that with his mindcontinually hovering over kisses upon the pope’stoe he never could get anywhere, amount toanything! Wilmer always enjoyed vigorous symbolicallanguage! In point of fact Robert Lucashas gone far, has amounted to a great deal. He isnot involved in national politics, as our lawyer Wilmeris, but he is a successful man, and no one everspeaks of him without paying tribute in the highestterms to his lofty character. Wilmer Lucas is honorableand honored, but it is Robert, not he, whosegoodness seems to impress people over and abovehis other qualities. Wilmer Lucas has been mostintolerant of the Church all these years; he isprotestant, not only against her directly, but againsther intrusion into his family. He is exceedinglyfond of Robert’s daughter Jeanette, by the way. Ihave always seen that in the case of Father Morley,whom he avoids; my own case; his unwillingness toallow his brother ever to speak on the subject, WilmerLucas betrays his perception of the impregnableposition of the Old Church, that he pays hertribute, though it is in a form not unlike the tributeto her Founder recorded in the Gospel. He is aman of logical mind, highly trained to sift evidence;he cannot fail to perceive the immense differencebetween her consistent logic and the shifting sandsof mere opinion outside of her, nor can he accountfor her hold on men’s souls down through the agesby natural means. Now, to-day, you have startledhim by a new instance of the power of conscience.[272]I am glad that you look pale, Cis dear, that youshow suffering! And how it must have impressedhim that, though you could not withstand Rodney’spleading with you to do what you held wrong in alesser matter, you have held your Faith against allpressure from without and within! Evidently Mr.Lucas is impressed, the more so that he had notthought you particularly devout. Perhaps it willset him thinking, farther and hard! As I set out bysaying, you never can tell!”

“Oh, Miss Braithwaite, it isn’t likely that Mr.Lucas would pay attention long to no-consequenceme!” cried Cis.

“You—never—can—tell!” repeated Miss Braithwaiteemphatically. “Usually a train of circ*mstances,some of them trivial and hardly noted, leadmen to the Truth; it is like a sort of Divine hare-and-hounds;tiny scraps of paper flutter along thetrail, unconsciously seen by the players, till at last!The goal and the game won!”

“That’s great, Miss Braithwaite!” cried Cis withquick appreciation of the figure. “I wish I werethat sort of a scrap of paper, but it’s not likely.”

“Never can tell!” Miss Braithwaite harped onher premise. “I’ve always noticed that when Godbreaks us, my dear, it’s to use the pieces in newcombinations, and for good. It is as if we were picturepuzzles, with reverse sides. We’re somethingquite pretty at first; then the pieces are tossed anddisplaced by a great experience, and, if we submitand wait, behold God’s Hand puts us all togetheragain, the reverse side up, and the picture is no[273]longer merely a pretty thing, but a beautiful, shiningillumination, of which all who run may readits meaning which is at once a magnet and a mapof the way.”

“Miss Braithwaite, you tell me wonderfulthings!” cried Cis softly. “If I’m here all winterwith you I ought to amount to something; I’ll try to.It’s strange that I don’t hear—from Rodney. Doyou suppose he isn’t going to say one word to me? Iwas sure he’d try to see me. Do you think he’sgiven right up like this?”

“From my experience of men I’d say decidedlynot,” said Miss Braithwaite. “However, it is strangethat he makes no sign. Perhaps he’s the exception;that his anger will prevent him from claiming tohear his verdict from your lips, but very few menwould submit to banishment on the strength of abrief note from you.”

“I will not see him; he can’t hear the verdictfrom my lips!” cried Cis. “What would be theuse? Only miserable pain; parting all over again.I’m so afraid of meeting him! You can’t drive meeverywhere I go. I truly think I ought to leaveBeaconhite; I think perhaps I must.”

“Well, well, we’ll see! Not to-night, at least!To-morrow is also a day. I like those wise old sayings.I hope that you may stay on; you need FatherMorley for a while. Yes, Ellen; someone to seeme?” Miss Braithwaite turned toward her maid, enteringwith a card on a small salver.

“No, Miss Braithwaite, for Miss Adair. He—thecaller—was determined to walk right in, but I[274]made him go into the reception room,” said Ellen,who, like most good and faithful servants, was perfectlyconversant with household affairs; took carethat whatever happened under the roof should, insome way, transpire to her.

“Miss Braithwaite, see him! Hide me! I can’t,I can’t!” gasped Cis, snatching at the card, instantlydropping it and looking wildly around.

“G. Rodney Moore,” Miss Braithwaite read. “Goout that door, Cis; I’ll see him. Ellen, take MissAdair through the little passage to the back stairs.Then go down and show Mr. Moore up here. Bequiet, Cicely; this is your last trial, my dear. Goup and say your beads and fear not, my child.”

Cis escaped, hurrying away, yet everything in hercalled upon her to stay. An instant, and she couldsee Rodney; a word, and they would never part.

Rodney Moore came half stumbling into MissBraithwaite’s library. He found that little ladystanding to receive him beside her hearth; the positionof the chairs told him that she had not beenlong alone.

Although Miss Braithwaite had never seen RodneyMoore before, she recognized upon his face,in his disordered clothes, the marks of unhappydisturbance of mind. He stopped short seeing her,and said:

“I want Cicely Adair.”

“I know you do,” said Miss Braithwaite, andthere was pity in her voice. “Sit down, Mr. Moore.Miss Adair has asked me to see you for her. She[275]will not be able to endure anything more than shehas borne.”

“The devil she won’t!” burst out Rodney. “Whatabout me? I don’t count, eh? She can write me acool note and expect that to satisfy the man whosaw her last in the place he was fitting up for her tolive in with him? Not much! I’d have been herebefore, but I didn’t know where she was. She leftme; walked off like an oyster, with no heart nortongue in it, and, when I tried to connect with her,she was gone. They couldn’t tell me anything abouther at her boarding house. I found out that wasthe truth, too, and then I went off to see her oldfriend, Nan Dowling; I was sure she had run offto her, but no one had seen her there. I read allthe papers—you know what I was afraid I’d see inone of ’em! I came back here, half crazy withfear, and I found that damned cool, calm note waitingfor me, my ring in it! That Holly ring! Sohere I am. Bring Cis here. I’ve a right to see her.Don’t you try to keep her off!”

“Miss Adair was in this room when your card wasbrought up, Mr. Moore. She ran away, praying meto keep you from her; she will not see you. It isshe, not I, who decides,” said Miss Braithwaite.

“You lie!” cried Rodney hoarsely. “Do you supposeI don’t know Cis? Nothing cold-heartedabout her! I’ll go through this house till I find her,and when I find her—” He stopped, unable to goon; he had risen, and stood holding to the back ofa chair, as if he might flay Miss Braithwaite with it.

[276]“You will remain precisely where you are untilyou leave my house,” said the tiny woman quietly.“You will not step your foot beyond the boundaryto which I admit you. You do well to threaten me,and to threaten a suffering girl whom you love! Beseated, Mr. Moore, and listen to me. I am trulysorry for you; it is hard, harder for you than forCicely, for she suffers for a righteous cause, and yousuffer because you are a traitor to that cause.”

“None of your sermons!” cried Rodney. “If Ihated the Roman Catholic Church before, and wasglad I was shunt of it, how do you suppose I like itnow that it is stealing my wife? Cis is a girl; girlsare easy fooled; they’re all alike when it comes topriests and stuff. I could have held my tongue andmarried Cis; this is what I get for being straightwith her. Is that fair?”

“You could not have married Cis; you mighthave succeeded in ruining her life. Be thankfulthat you had the grace to stop at the crime you contemplatedtoward her,” Miss Braithwaite said. “ButI truly believe, Mr. Moore, that this is not all thatyou get for being straight. I believe that good iscoming to you, unforeseen good, because you conqueredthe temptation to trick her into a legal marriagethat never in her eyes—nor at the last issue inyours, either—would have been a marriage. For somighty is truth, so strong its hold upon us, that wecan never free our souls from its blessed bondage.Our lips and our actions may deny it; what we havebeen taught persists in our souls, often saving us, at[277]last. Now do one last, fine, atoning act: go awayand leave Cis to find her way back into peace. Yousay she wrote you calmly, coldly. I saw the notewritten, there, at that desk. She wrote it in agony.Surely you could read agony there if you were notblinded with your own pain! Pain, but also anger,Mr. Moore! Remember your pang is partly thewrath of defeat.”

“See here, I’m not calling on you. You may bea duch*ess, which you act like, but I’m not yourserf!” cried Rodney. “I won’t take this from you.Cis has to refuse to see me. Send her here. Howdo I know you haven’t got her locked up somewhere,you and a priest?”

“Because you are not a fool,” said Miss Braithwaitecontemptuously. “Take a sheet of paperfrom that desk, at which Cicely sat to write to you,and write upon it any message you please. My maidshall take it to her. After that, if she will not seeyou, you will leave my house and I trust be manenough to torment the girl no more.”

“You’re a high-handed little labor leader, if youare a fine lady, aren’t you?” cried Rodney, almostadmiringly, in spite of his rage.

He crossed the room, took up a piece of paperfrom the desk, shook down the ink in his own fountainpen, and wrote several lines. Then he took anenvelope, laid his note inside and sealed it.

“Servants are curious,” he said. “Are you goingto call yours?”

Miss Braithwaite rang, and Ellen appeared.

[278]“Please take Mr. Moore’s note to Miss Adair, Ellen,”said Miss Braithwaite. “Wait till she has readit, and bring back her reply, please.”

“No! I’ll go with you! Take me—I’ll followyou, Ellen; go ahead,” said Rodney, starting towardthe door.

“Rodney Moore, you forget yourself! Stay whereyou are. Ellen, do as I have told you; this youngman will wait here for your return.”

Miss Braithwaite drew herself up to her full fivefeet of height, but there was in her eyes and voicethat which no one ever lightly disobeyed. Mutteringsomething, Rodney fell back, and stood besidethe library table, fumbling the magazines upon itwith shaking hands.

There was perfect silence in the room for astrained quarter of an hour of waiting. A log onthe fire broke and fell apart; Rodney jumped, hisnerves quivering from sleepless nights and days ofbaffled will, together with fear as to Cicely’s fate.Then Ellen returned and handed back to Rodneythe note which he had sent to Cis. Upon it she hadwritten, almost illegibly, across the final page:

“Rod, dear, I can’t see you, truly I can’t. It wouldbe harder for us both. I would give up anything onearth for you, but I will not give up God for you.Please, Rod, don’t try to see me, never, oh, never!And please, please, Rod dear, not so much forgiveme as say to yourself: Poor Cis—Holly was right.It is right to serve God first. And be a good boyyourself, Rod, my beloved, and come back, too, sothat after a few little years we’ll be together forever[279]and ever. But till then, please let this be good-bye.Cis.”

Rodney crushed the poor little note in the palmof his hand, then he smoothed it out, laying it flaton his hand. Then he looked down on it, standingquite still. Then he bent down to it and kissed it.Miss Braithwaite knew that the long, silent waitingfor it; the reaction from his harrowing fear, nowthat he knew Cis was safe; his proximity to her; hisbetter self, perhaps the graces of his boyhood, hadconquered. Rodney had struck his colors and accepteddefeat.

“This settles it, Miss Braithwaite,” he said.“There’s nothing more to hang around for. You areright; Cis decides it herself. I beg your pardon formy impertinence, but—”

“I shall not remember it, Mr. Moore; you havebeen sorely tried. I do not wonder that your nervessnapped. Will you let me say to you that with allmy heart I wish you well? Happy, too, though Iknow the word sounds mocking in your ears to-night?”Miss Braithwaite’s voice was exceedinglykind; her heart went out to Rodney, whose statewas immeasurably more to be pitied than Cicely’s.

“Thanks,” said Rod miserably. “It does soundwhat you might call far-fetched. You might tellCicely, if you will, that I’m going away; I won’t stayin Beaconhite. I haven’t the heart to stay; I’d bealways looking along the streets for her. Tell herI’ll stick with the same concern, and, if she everneeded me for anything, to address me in care ofHammersley and Rhodes, Chicago. That’s the head[280]office, and they’ll forward anything. Good night,Miss Braithwaite. Is Cis staying with you long?”

“I hope all winter,” said Miss Braithwaite. “It’sonly fair to her to tell you that she has gonethrough utter agony; her victory over herself hasbeen hard won, so don’t underrate it, and try to seethe value of eternal things, if such a girl as ourCicely Adair can turn from joy and love for theirsake. Cis could not go to you into the wrong; cometo her into the right. And God bless you, poorlad.”

“Thanks,” said Rodney again. “I’m done withChurch, but I’m much obliged; you mean it well.I hope Cis will stay on; you’ll look after her. Idon’t understand how she came to be here; I supposeyou’re one of these befriending women. Good-bye.Tell Cis—No! What’s the use? You can’tsend messages that do any good. I wish I could kissher good-bye. She’s—she’s a wonder! Oh, goodGod, what’s the use? Good-bye, Miss Braithwaite.”

Rodney turned and dashed toward the door. Hecollided with the end of the bookcase nearest it, fellback, begged its pardon, and with a second dashwas gone. Miss Braithwaite drew a long breath,and turned toward the fire, picking up the tongs tomend it, under the necessity of action; she was considerablydisturbed.

“It’s most wearing to have love affairs, even byproxy,” she told herself. “He’s not without attraction,and I can see that he’s remarkably handsomewhen he has slept, and eaten, and shaved. Dear me,what a singular thing it is that with all the millions[281]of people there are in the world one can become sovitally necessary to another that the loss of him—orher—is cataclysmic in effect! I wonder how thesaints endure all the human disturbances unloadedupon them for their help! I find it exhausting. Butthen I have not died, and thus gained the largerpoint of view! And, furthermore, it’s barely possiblethat I’m not a saint! Now for my poor Cis!I can imagine her state with Rod downstairs andher polarized will holding her upstairs, forever separated,yet with but twenty-five feet betweenthem!”

Miss Braithwaite went upstairs. She found Cis onher knees at the balustrade, her face pressed to thespindles, which her fingers tightly clasped.

It was a wet face that she raised to Miss Braithwaite,but she was glad to see it so; tears were healing.

“I heard his voice; I saw him go out, Miss Braithwaite!He will never come to me again! Oh, MissBraithwaite, Miss Braithwaite!” Cis sobbed.

“Well, as to that,” began Miss Braithwaite in acustomary formula of hers, as she lifted Cis gentlyto her feet and led her into her chamber, “I’m notso sure. You see, even though we live only aboutseventy years, it’s amazing the things that can happenin that time, things which we declared impossible!I have a notion that you may not be throughwith Rodney Moore, and his affairs, but I doubtthat they will always mean to you as much as theydo now. He behaved well, my dear—at the last!I’m bound to say that he seemed ready for personal[282]violence upon me at first. He accepted your decisioncompletely, quietly, and nicely. He told me tosay to you that he was leaving Beaconhite, but maybe reached through the main office of his firm inChicago if ever he could serve you. And that is behavingprettily, my dear, and it is a real relief to usnot to dread your meeting him. So now, my Cicely,will you go to bed and to sleep, resting peacefullyon your knowledge that your fight is fought, yourvictory won, and that God is tenderly blessing yourtrue heart with the love of His Heart?”

Miss Braithwaite left Cis on her pillow in herpretty room, ready to sleep from weariness, relaxed,as Miss Braithwaite had suggested to her, by theknowledge that this chapter in her life was closed.

At the foot of the stairs Miss Braithwaite met Mr.Anselm Lancaster, just coming to call upon her;they were great friends.

“You look tired, dear Miss Miriam,” he said atonce as they shook hands. “Anything wrong?”

“No; on the contrary, something wholly right,”she replied, leading the way into the library. “I’vebeen watching the Great Cable strain, but, thankGod, it has held, and I know a little bark that hasall sails set for the Beautiful Land.”

“NOW, my dear, you must turn toward the eastwhen you say your prayers,” Miss Braithwaitebriskly said to Cis the next morning at breakfast.

Cis smiled inquiringly, missing her meaning; itwas one of Miss Braithwaite’s highest assets that hermeanings were not always obvious; they stimulatedcuriosity and held attention.

“I don’t suppose you really mean that I’m to turnto the east?” Cis said.

“You are to face the coming day, keep your eyeson the rising sun, your back resolutely turned onthe setting day,” explained Miss Braithwaite. “Thatis called orientation, and it is your best attitudenow. Indeed I don’t know anyone who can affordto take any other—eyes toward the orient ‘whencecomes the light.’” Cis was considering this hintfrom Miss Braithwaite all day.

“Anyone else would tell me to brace up, or letbygones be bygones, or something of that sort, butMiss Braithwaite gives everything she says a turnthat makes you begin to do what she advises, evenwhile you’re listening to her,” she thought. “I’lllook eastward! I’ll wear blinders so I can’t see, except[284]straight ahead! But I’ll be glad when Christmasis over.”

Miss Braithwaite involved Cis in preparations fora Christmas totally unlike any that she had hithertoknown. There was to be a tree for her “scalawags,”and it was not hard to interest Cis in this. She wentwith Miss Braithwaite to see her little ragged boys,and capitulated to them at once, as they did to her.It refreshed Cis to play with them, to talk to them,falling back on the vernacular which she hadlearned from her newsboys in those old days, hourlybecoming more and more unreal to her. There wasa small, peaked lame little creature of nine whowon and wrung Cis’s heart. She immediately begana glorious warm crimson sweater for him, on whichshe knit frantically every evening when she was notoversewing tarlatan candy bags with bright worsteds,or assembling and gluing into place the figuresfor the little, but perfect “Cribs” which eachchild within Miss Braithwaite’s orbit was to receiveto take home at Christmas. She would set up a“Bethlehem” in wretched places, far enough removedin squalor and vicious ignorance from thelight of the Star, the chant of the angels.

Every one of Father Morley’s girls in his clubwas to receive a book and some of the useless,pretty things which girls covet.

“It’s downright brutal to give only utilitarianthings at Christmas!” declared Miss Braithwaite.“It’s a joyous time, and who can be joyous overblack stockings and initialed handkerchiefs? Thegirls must have nonsensical things; dangling, silly[285]vanity-feeders along with their substantial giftsfrom Father Morley, else Merry Christmas wouldbe mockery said to them.”

She put Cis at assorting these gifts, and, being agirl herself who was to be but twenty-two on thissame Christmas, she enjoyed her task.

Mr. Lancaster often dropped in after dinner, andnot infrequently to dine. They all three drew upbefore the vast hearth, with its jolly fire lighting upCicely’s red hair, turning it to gold-with-copper-alloyon its surface coils; making a dark warmthbelow its surfaces, like a low fire on a forge.

Cis did not talk much, but she listened, and, listening,found new worlds opening out before her.Both Miss Braithwaite and Mr. Lancaster had beenmuch about Europe; they knew unfrequented cornersof it as one knows the places beloved in childhood.

“Do you remember, Anselm?” Miss Braithwaitewould begin, and then would follow eager reminiscencesof dear, queer, crooked streets; a shrine ina cathedral; a room in an ancient palace, or, moredelightful still, a sleeping village and the sweetways of its peasants all informed with faith, therealization of God, and utter trust in Him.

Or Mr. Lancaster would exclaim: “Oh, MissMiriam, do you recall that little wounded kid whichwe saw the summer you and I met in the Tyrol, andhow its sad-eyed little owner carried it—at such aneffort!—out to the Calvary on the hillside, and laidit at the foot of the crucifix? There was faith that[286]the God Who suffered to save souls would also pityHis small four-footed creatures!”

“Indeed I could not easily forget it, Anselm! Itwas so sweet, and so piteous,” Miss Braithwaite hadanswered. “I’ve always been most thankful thatyou came along just then! I am sure that there isone young creature in Switzerland who will carryto the grave the conviction that, together with theguardian angels, Americans are the instruments ofGod’s mercy in answer to prayer! What a happychild that was when you bound up the kid and setit* leg!”

Cicely, sitting silent on her side of the fireplace,raised her eyes and met Mr. Lancaster’s look, like aboy’s who has been found out in gentleness, alwaysmore mortifying to an American lad than detectionin naughtiness—together with her impressions oflife amid venerable, yet vividly existent faith, shewas getting the revelation of two beautiful souls,the elderly woman’s, the twenty-seven yearsyounger man’s, who knew and loved these thingsbecause they were part of them.

Sometimes something came up in these desultory,aimless talks which made Mr. Lancaster springup, take a book from the shelves—Miss Braithwaiteseemed to know exactly where to send himfor any volume of the three thousand or so in thisroom—turn to a passage or a poem bearing on whathad just been said, and read it aloud.

This was almost the best of all. Anselm Lancasterhad a beautiful, flexible voice; he had beenan Oxford man and had brought home with him[287]the perfect modulations and pronunciation of Englishwhich Oxford gives her sons, and he read withthe feeling that an artist and lover of literaturebrings to a book. Cis, listening, felt that her educationwas just beginning; she realized what MissBraithwaite had meant when she suggested to herthat she should spend this winter in this way. Heretoforeshe had learned facts; now she was learningwhat the facts stood for, what had called them intobeing, and no array of facts can compare with thisknowledge. It is the clothing of the dry boneswhich are meaningless until the spirit prophesies tothem and makes them alive.

Best of all, though, were those times when AnselmLancaster went over to Miss Braithwaite’spiano, standing with its narrow end toward a book-filledcorner, its keyboard toward the room, and,there in the shadow, played such exquisite musicthat it obliterated conscious thought, leaving noroom for anything but the delight of harmonies. Itwas hard to go on working at these times. MissBraithwaite’s work would fall into her lap, her facerest upon her hand while she gazed into the firewith eyes that seemed to look beyond the boundsof flesh, her expression unutterably wistful. Cis,who did not understand what she heard as MissBraithwaite did, yet was engulfed by it. Never inher short life had anything so seized her as did thismusic, yet, while in the elder woman it woke thelonging that nothing on earth can satisfy, in thegirl it called out new resolution to live and to do.

Cis talked little during these pleasant evenings,[288]yet she never felt, nor was excluded. Miss Braithwaite’ssmile was always ready for her; Mr. Lancasterincluded her with small services renderedher as she worked, and his eyes rested upon heras he talked, leaving her free to reply or not as shechose, and thus she, though silently for the mostpart, made a third in the conversation.

On the eve of Christmas Eve Mr. Lancaster camerather later than usual; Cis had decided that he wasnot coming and was a little disappointed. She wasrestless; it was hard to keep her fingers steadily employed,her mind off the thought that the morrowwould have been her wedding day. SomewhereRod was remembering this. She sent a prayer outtoward him wherever he might be, that he might beblessed.

When Mr. Lancaster came in Miss Braithwaitewas more than usually glad to see him.

“Welcome indeed, Anselm!” she cried. “I amglad to see you, I heartily detest telephoning, but Imust arrange the details of our Christmas with you.You know that the Jesuits have High Mass at midnight?Father Morley needed persuading to it, buthe yielded to our clamor for it. My ragamuffinshave their tree to-morrow, at five in the afternoon—thoughI don’t suppose you’d have suspected meof the morning five o’clock! As you’re to be mySanta Claus, you’ll meet me at the hall, I suppose?The tree should be all over by seven. Then you’llcome home with us; we’ll have a cozy dinner—maigre,for the vigil!—and quietly wait for thetime to start for Mass. I’ll drive you and Cis; the[289]maids are to be sent in another car. Then, afterMass, we’ll wish one another a blessed Noël, andCicely a birthday of the best gifts, and go our waysto our well-merited slumber. Do you like my programme?”

“Only an ingrate could say no, Miss Miriam,”cried Anselm Lancaster. “I’ll do my best to fulfilmy part of it. I’ve an idea! Do you mind if Icostume as St. Nicholas, instead of Santa Claus, andtell the boys in a few simple words who I am, whatI’ve always done for children, and, in a word, whata fine thing it is to have a saint for their friend, insteadof a fake? I think I can get it over to them,and it’s rather a chance to steer them toward realities.What says the great little lady? And herlieutenant?”

“The great little lady highly approves, Anselm;it takes you to see chances to bolster up faith andmorals incidentally to a frolic!” cried Miss Braithwaite.

“And—?” hinted Mr. Lancaster, waiting for Cis.“The lieutenant?”

“If I’m the great little lady’s lieutenant, shethinks it’s fine,” Cis said. “It will be good for me,too, because I don’t know much about St. Nicholas,except that somehow he stood for Santa Claus’portrait, and it didn’t come near the original.Queer, but I never liked Santa Claus as well asother children did; he’s too fa-stout! I hated thatline that told about his shaking when he trottedaround! Maybe I’d have liked him better if I’dbeen one of a family, and a lot of us had got acquainted[290]with him together, waiting for him tocome down the chimney.”

Anselm Lancaster looked pleased at this unusuallylong speech from Cis. Sometimes Cis wonderedif he knew her story and were sorry for her.She did not mind if he knew, nor resent his possiblepity. He was so simply and truly a fine gentlemanthat no knowledge that he possessed of anothercould ever seem like an intrusion.

“Good! Then St. Nicholas appears, permissusuperiorum!” he cried. “Miss Braithwaite tells methat you are to sing, Miss Adair; out of sight, impersonatingan angel, probably. I didn’t know yousang.”

“I don’t; I’m just going to do it,” Cis laughed. “IfI impersonated an angel I’d be out of sight, that’ssure!”

“In a slang sense?” suggested Mr. Lancaster.“Will you sing now what you’ll sing then to thechildren, please, Miss Cis!”

“Oh, goodness!” sighed Cis, but she promptlyarose. “All right; I will. It’s the quickest way toprove I can’t! But I can’t play; Miss Braithwaiteplays it.”

“Not when Anselm is here,” said Miss Braithwaite.“Play ‘The Snow Lay on the Ground’; playit in F, and harmonize it beautifully, because I intendyou to play it for Cis to-morrow night.”

Anselm Lancaster sat down before the dark instrumentthat reflected the fire and electric light inits shining case. He struck a few chords meditatively,then he went on to play the simple, lovely[291]air over and over, surrounding it with new harmonies,varying it, not as a fantasia, but by holdingto its simplicity, its lyric pathos, enriching it withall the possibilities of a choral.

Cis stood listening, entranced.

“Isn’t that wonderful?” she sighed. “It’s allthere, and yet nothing is there till you bring it out!I love that hymn!”

“There’s a pretty allegory tucked away in whatyou just said, Miss Adair, if you look for it. Nowwill you sing it for me?” said Mr. Lancaster, softlytouching the keys.

Cis sang, and Anselm Lancaster for the unnumberedtime in his knowledge of her, applaudedMiss Braithwaite’s wisdom. Cis had a fresh, trueyoung voice, round and sweet, with the quality init of a boy’s; she had no method whatever, but sangas it had been given to her to sing, yet no artistcould better have conveyed the effect of an unearthlynarrator, telling the story of the FirstChristmas. It was a song like the flow of a mountainspring, or the shape of a northern pine, translatedinto sound.

“My dear Miss Adair, that was most beautiful!”Anselm cried sincerely. “It is exactly what it shouldbe. You sound like one of the shepherd boys whosing that hymn on the mountains beyond Rome, oreven like one of their pipes! And you speak everyword so that the dullest boy will get it.”

“I want them to know what it tells them,” saidCis, and Mr. Lancaster noted that she made no disclaimerof his praise, as she made no pose as a[292]singer. She did what she was asked to do as bestshe could; there it began, there it ended.

“Of course they can’t understand the Latin,Venite adoremus Dominum, but they are all baptized,and I think we catch a little Latin then, don’tyou? It seems to stick to us. I know Latin neverseems like something I don’t understand, evenwhen I’m not understanding it, and at high schoolit never bothered me a bit.”

“Do you know the Missal?” asked Anselm Lancaster,interested in this Cis, suddenly friendlytoward him and at ease with him.

“Miss Braithwaite has been showing it to me, andall about the colors, and the vestments’ meaning;I’m so glad that she has!” cried Cis eagerly. “It’sso splendid, so beautiful, so big and so old! It’s asif I’d been a miserable little scrap of a beggar girland someone had taken me into a palace with roomsand rooms, and told me it was all mine! Do youknow, Mr. Lancaster, it’s scandalous to confess it,but I always thought there was just one Mass; everyday the same, three hundred and sixty-five times ayear. And here all these collects and prefaces—mercy!”

Cis waved her hands as she ended; her delight inrecovering her inheritance was unmistakable.

“Now I know what Santa—I mean St. Nicholas!—mustbring you!” cried Anselm Lancaster, exchanginga glance of pleasure with Miss Braithwaite.

Weary, but triumphant, having brought “herragamuffins’ Christmas tree” to a successful conclusion,[293]Miss Braithwaite took her guests home in hercoupé to dine on Christmas Eve. It was another Cisfrom the one of the night before who sat, pale, withdrooping eyes, in her golden gown with its slenderline of brown fur, opposite to Mr. Lancaster, talkinglittle, eating indifferently, her face grave, ratherthan sad, her smile sweet and ready, with a kind offriendly patience new to Cis.

Miss Braithwaite saw that Anselm watched her,and she, also, watched her covertly. The girl waschanging fast; she was growing, deepening, expanding.At this rate she would soon be a gracious, attractiveand valuable woman.

A thought new to her mind occurred to MissBraithwaite, but she instantly dismissed it. AnselmLancaster had seen many lovely and lovablewomen, in many lands; Cicely Adair could not attracthim beyond his sympathetic interest in a girlwho had done what she had done, had been faithfulto the cause nearest his heart.

And if Cicely had been capable of attracting sucha man as the scholarly and accomplished AnselmLancaster, he was so far from her thoughts in thisregard that she would never put forth the innocentwiles which are every girl’s for the man whom shefeels may love her, by which she awakens and feedshis attraction, according to the plan of the CreatorWho made them male and female. Cis withdrewfrom Mr. Lancaster as a rule, as from one outsideher orbit, and when she approached him it was withthat admiration and trust that frankly announcedher sense of remoteness. Yet it was a sweet, a[294]womanly Cis, with new depths in her eyes, andstrength and goodness being graven upon her paleface, who sat so quietly across from Anselm Lancasterin her golden, brown-furred gown that Christmaseve at dinner.

After dinner, as usual, Miss Braithwaite repairedto her library fire. The night was cold; a sleet rainwas falling, turning to ice as it fell; the fire was welcome,its warmth and its cheer needed.

“Anselm, before you begin to smoke, will youcall the garage? I detest telephoning. Tell Leo toput the chains on my car, and not to fail to have ithere by half past eleven; I will not drive faster thanten miles an hour to-night. Then you may lightyour cigar, and draw up to be agreeable to us,” MissBraithwaite commanded her guest. “Cicely, dear,is it to be for you an order that keeps perpetualsilence?”

“I’m afraid no order, of any sort,” said Cis arousingherself. “Fancy me not talking! But we wentto confession, you see, and after that I can’t saymuch for awhile. I’m thinking about Nannie,married to-morrow, and wondering what my birthdayresolutions ought to be.”

She spoke softly, sitting close beside Miss Braithwaite,but Anselm Lancaster heard her low, yetresonant voice.

He hung up the telephone receiver, and cameback to the hearth. As he slipped into his waitingchair he laid on Cicely’s knee a package; evidentlya book.

She untied the cord and disclosed a translation[295]of the Missal, bound in tooled red leather, threeribbons hanging from its pages.

“Oh!” cried Cis rapturously. “Oh, Mr. Lancaster,how fine, how beautiful! Is it—” Shechecked herself, but, fluttering the leaves, her arrestedquestion was answered. On the fly pagewas written in the close, small hand of one whowrote and thought much: “Cicely Adair. Her Lord’sbirthday and her own. Christmas 1922.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” cried Cis. “Youcan’t know how much I wanted it! Nor how Ithank you! Truly, Mr. Lancaster, I’m so gratefulI can’t say it. To think of your bothering withme.”

“Oh, but, my dear Miss Adair! I protest! Botheringwith you! How dreadful! And not grateful,you know! Aren’t we friends? You must not begrateful to a friend! But I hope you’ll like yourMissal; of course you will! Now I’m talking nonsense,too! I wanted you to have it for the MidnightMass. You told me you’d never been to amidnight Mass! It’s supremely beautiful; theAdeste, and that fourth stanza at midnight: ‘Ergoqui natus die hodierna.’ Will you say one tinyprayer for the Missal-giver?” cried Anselm Lancaster,so boyishly that Cis, as well as Miss Braithwaitelooked surprised, and Cis said with the greatestfriendliness, out of her own boyish side:

“I’ll say a big one! I’ll put you in with MissBraithwaite and Nan. I’m going to receive forNan; to-morrow is her wedding day. And someonewho needs it most of all. I’ll put you into my intention,[296]and if I mayn’t be grateful, Mr. Lancaster,I’ll be entirely ungrateful, but I’ll think you’re sogood to me that I would be grateful if it weren’t terriblywrong to be anything but ungrateful!”

Anselm Lancaster threw back his head andlaughed aloud, and Miss Braithwaite joined him.Cicely’s nonsense delighted her watchful friend; itwas a symptom of health. Anselm Lancaster hadnever seen her mischievous; he found it delightful.

The church of St. Francis Xavier was crowded,but pews were held till ten minutes after midnight,and Miss Braithwaite had brought her two gueststhither ten minutes before midnight tolled outfrom the clock on the adjoining house and schoolbuilding.

The Mass was beyond words solemn and beautiful:the vestments of cloth of gold; the myriadlights; the scent of forest and incense; the greatorgan, the hundred choristers, the sublime music,the Adeste Fideles, sung with such fervor that allover the church people were sobbing with love forthis inexpressibly dear hymn. With this the Massmarched on to its supreme moment, the greatest,the most inconceivable, the one infinite action offinite man, which encircles all creation, from Adamto the last born at the consummation of the world,performed in time, going on eternally.

Cicely was wrapt into something like ecstasy.The Christmas eve which she had dreaded had becomethe highest hour of joy which she had everknown. She was swept beyond herself into the[297]rapture of the angels who first sang this Gloria towhich she listened.

God had tested her; she had not failed Him.Now He was rewarding her with a reward beyondher comprehension. She received this communionwith her face wet with tears of joy. At last, at lastshe knew in Whom she had believed, blindly, yetfaithfully believed.

The rain had ceased when Mass was over; thecongregation came out into starlight and an ice-cladworld, shining under the light.

“Oh, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, dear,dear Miss Braithwaite, Mr. Lancaster!” cried Cisturning back on the lower step of the church withradiant face. “Merry, merry, merry! For it’sblessedly merry to be a Catholic on Christmas andto be at Mass when the little Lord comes down!”

AS THERE are fifteen minutes between tideswhen the ocean lies quiet at neither ebb norflow, so the world seems to rest between Christmasand the New Year; preparations for holidays over,active work not resumed.

Cis had decided to continue as Mr. Lucas’ secretary,at least until spring. Affairs in which he wasinterested had taken on sudden activity in ways anddirections which would have made it hard for himto begin a new secretary at that time; entire fidelityto him and complete silence as to what had to transpireto his secretary were especially required nowin her who filled that office. Cis knew, in spite ofher lapse for Rod’s sake, that her successor mighteasily bungle things, as she never would, or intentionallytalk, to her employer’s detriment. In viewof Mr. Lucas’ proved interest in her, Cis felt inhonor bound to stand by for the present, if shecould do so. Yet there was upon her a restlessnessof mind that impelled her to change, any change.“It was growing pains,” Miss Braithwaite told her,and Cis knew that she was right. She was growing,and the expansion of her powers called to her togive them scope.

Yet Cis was growing steadily happier in Miss[299]Braithwaite’s home, and she knew that MissBraithwaite thoroughly enjoyed having her there.Her sense of humor, which never could long bedowned, was coming to the surface again; she madeher hostess laugh with chuckling delight over hernonsense. Once more she was growing to be thefrank, boyish Cis, who was excellent company andattractive to all sorts of people. With this revivalof her old charm, Cis was acquiring the charm ofone who lives intimately in the best companionship.She read eagerly, with Miss Braithwaite to guideher choice of books; she listened no less eagerly,and began to share talk as valuable as her reading.She met interesting people, and heard discussedmeasures of great import, helpful to individualsand to her country. She began to drift up to theedges of these things and to help in them, ever solittle, but learning to do, to plan; being, unknownto herself, inducted into the great things now waitingon every hand for lay men and women to perform.

Father Morley came often to see Miss Braithwaite;he relied on her acumen, her remarkablepowers for help in his undertakings. He, a tiredman, not particularly strong, delighted in the refreshmenthe received in her restful library, fromher own wit and gracious talk; from her brainwhich understood at a half word much that hecould not say. She put at his disposal all her resourcesof talent and wealth and social position.

Father Morley was himself a person of rare cultivationof mind; he had been an omnivorous reader[300]from his childhood; his remarkable educationbegan long before his seminary days, exceeded textbooks.

He found Cis interesting; he recognized in herthat capacity to soar which so far surpasses the sufficientgoodness of excellent souls, and he made ithis affair to help Miss Braithwaite to hold upCicely’s opening wings. She grew deeply attachedto this tenderly kind, austere Jesuit, and yieldedherself gratefully to his molding.

Thus the winter swung into its steady pace afterthe New Year, and Cis was amazed to find that herdays were not only peaceful, but full to overflowing,and that they were happy. There was an achein her heart for Rodney; she did not forget, yetbeing an honest Cis, she realized that if he wereto return to her he would not satisfy her as he haddone; that in severing herself from Rodney Mooreshe had leaped over on to a height beyond him, andthat from that hour she had gone on ascending.

How strange it was that in doing right she hadgained in time the good that had been promised heronly for eternity! There was that ache in herheart for Rodney—what woman would not mourna lost love, perhaps the more that she began to seethe loss in its true light—but the Cis who had beenfor a quarter of a year the inmate of Miss Braithwaite’shouse, associated with her and her friends,had grown beyond the girl who had been satisfiedwith Rodney Moore.

As the winter evenings grew cold and drear, AnselmLancaster sought no less frequently the cheerful[301]fireside, the laden shelves, the grand piano ofMiss Braithwaite’s library; still more the delightfulfireside talk of its mistress, whom he admiredwith all his might.

And Cis herself? Did he find her an attraction?Sometimes Miss Braithwaite thought so, but Cissurely did not. However, she had grown friendlyand at ease with Anselm Lancaster, chatted withhim, showed him her natural gifts, as well as thesupernatural ones developing in her; was her frank,sunny self, and of course Anselm was not so stupidas not to find her likable, admirable. But therewas no ground for seeing more in it than that, MissBraithwaite decided, perhaps with relief.

He talked to Cis of the things which interestedhim; of his work, his plans. Of his home, whichhe made a temporary home for those who had lefthome and relatives for conscience’ sake, whoneeded a foothold upon which to stand to catchthe breath of the new atmosphere when the old hadbecome too vitiated for them to continue to breatheit. Of his Italian classes, his organized effort tohold the immigrant against assault in the new land;of all the ramifications of his lay army to fightagainst Lucifer, the once-beautiful, the foreversubtle and attractive.

Cis listened enkindled.

“It is splendid, glorious!” she cried. “If I stayin Beaconhite will you teach me how to do, and putme at something? I’ve got to pay back, a little,somehow!”

“You could do anything with the Italians, Miss[302]Adair. Will you study the language? It isn’t hardto learn it. And you could do much else; you’rea dynamic creature. But ‘if you stay in Beaconhite’?Aren’t you sure of staying?” cried Mr. Lancaster.

“Not a bit,” declared Cis. “I don’t knowwhat I may do, but this isn’t quite my own life. Ilove Miss Braithwaite a little more each day; I’dbe thankful to go on here forever, if she needed me.She is greater than any other woman; there’s justone of her! But I don’t mean much here. I thinkthere must be a place for me somewhere that willbe my very own, something that I was meant to do.Sometimes I think I’ll go home where I came from,but that isn’t sensible, either. Oh, I don’t know!I’ll know, I suppose, when the time comes.”

“That’s good sense and good theology—which istantamount, though lots of people don’t know it,”said Mr. Lancaster. “It seems to me that you havea decidedly real place here, as you put it. MissBraithwaite is strong and active, but at sixty-fivethe goal is in sight. It seems to me that to stay onhere, companion her, look after her, work in withher in her numerous ways of usefulness till you cancarry them on alone as she drops out, is an opportunityanyone might welcome. Miss Braithwaite isa power for good; there is no one whom I admiremore, and everyone, from the bishop of the dioceseto that small lame boy in whom you are interested,turns to her for help. To prolong such a life andmake it happier—of course there is no better wayto prolong life than by making it a happy life—it[303]seems to me I’d think several times before I decidedthat was not a worth while chance for a young thinglike you!”

Cis returned the smile that Mr. Lancaster bentupon her, but she said:

“That all sounds beautiful, and it is more thanworth while; the only trouble is that I can’t imaginemy doing it! I wonder where Miss Braithwaite is?Don’t I hear Ellen bringing someone in here?”

Ellen pushed open the heavy doors of thelibrary.

“Miss Lucas and Mr. Lucas, Miss Braithwaite,”she announced, and Cis looked up to see Mr. WilmerLucas coming forward, and behind him JeanetteLucas.

“Oh, Miss Lucas!” Cis cried, and ran forward togreet Miss Lucas on a sort of track of red wool,trailing her crimson knitting by a needle caught inthe fold of her gown, the little lame lad’s sweaterwhich she was just finishing.

“Oh, Miss Lucas, I am so glad to see you! Ellen,please find Miss Braithwaite; she may be in herroom. How kind of you to bring your niece here,Mr. Lucas! You know Mr. Lancaster? Miss Lucas,this is Miss Braithwaite’s friend, Mr. Lancaster.”

“I’m truly glad to see you, Miss Adair,” said MissLucas in that unforgettable sweet voice of hers.“And to see you so happy here. Uncle Wilmer hasbeen telling me that he is grateful to father and mefor sending you to him.”

The two girls stood, their hands still clasped,looking at each other, both remembering where and[304]how they had parted, the singular bond that unitedthem, all that had come to pass since they had met.

Jeanette Lucas looked years older; her face hadlost its sweetness; it was as beautiful as ever—Cisthought that she had forgotten how lovely it was—butolder lines, which barely escaped being bitterones, had been graven on each side of her delicatelips, and her eyes were introspective, no longermeeting other eyes with ready sympathy. Herwound had gone deep, the cruel wound of findingunworthy someone whom one has utterly trusted,and of learning to unlove. She had withdrawn intoherself to hide her hurt.

Jeanette Lucas saw the girl who had been merry,frank and free, grown older, too, but in every waybettered by it. Never precisely pretty, Cis’s facehad sweetened and softened; its whole effect was ofa face that had been clarified and ennobled. Dressedin soft dull gold and brown, her wonderful hairtopped the harmony of color like an aureole; inundefined motions, intonations, Cis had refined, becomeone of the world in which Jeanette Lucas hadbeen born and always lived.

Miss Braithwaite, hurrying in, interrupted thisunconscious scrutiny of each other which absorbedthe girls in oblivion to all else. She welcomedJeanette cordially, even affectionately, putting herat once into Cicely’s chair close to hers before thefire.

Anselm Lancaster dropped into his usual place;Mr. Lucas, in a capacious chair in the middle. Fora moment Cis hesitated, then she took a low stool[305]and put herself close on the other side of Jeanette.It seemed to her that Anselm Lancaster found MissLucas interesting, and instantly Cis’s busy brainbegan to weave a plot to which the happy endingwas intrinsic.

“Father is perfectly well, thank you, Miss Braithwaite,”Jeanette was replying to Miss Lucas. “Wewent abroad on my account, but he profited from itmore than I—except as it added to my knowledge.Father already had enough knowledge of picturesand architecture. We had a delightful trip, yes,thanks; England, France, Italy; Spain, to a limitedextent. I’d like to go back. Why not go with me,Miss Adair?”

“I am going; I’m saving up to go,” said Cis unexpectedly;Jeannette had not been in earnest. “I’mgetting ready for it in other ways; Miss Braithwaiteand Mr. Lancaster talk about Europe so muchthat I almost know which corner to turn to buyshoe-strings, or to see the best pictures in the gallery!I’ll show you the way around Europe, MissLucas, if you will let me go with you.”

“Miss Adair can show you many other things besidesthe way around Europe, Jeanette!” Mr. Lucascorroborated Cis. “If ever the day dawns that I’mnot involved in crises of several corporations andpublic affairs, simultaneously, I’ll take you bothabroad; Miss Braithwaite shall go as duenna andMr. Lancaster as cicerone.”

“A contract, before witnesses!” cried Mr. Lancaster.“I want to show you a picture in Florencefor which you might have sat as model, Miss Lucas.”

[306]“How delightful! I’ll keep the appointment,Mr. Lancaster,” said Jeanette. “Miss Braithwaite,do you know why I’m here to-day?”

“Because you knew how glad I’d be to see mylittle Jeanette again?” suggested Miss Braithwaite.

“Dear Miss Braithwaite, I hope you are!” saidJeanette, touching Miss Braithwaite’s hand. “That’sdear of you, but that’s not why. We are in desperatestraits for a housekeeper. She must not bean ordinary person, but someone quite extraordinary.Father is going away, to be gone a year;possibly more. Mother is in wretchedly badhealth; father will not leave to me the responsibilityfor that great house of ours, the children andthe servants; rightly or wrongly, he doesn’t considerme competent to it. He wants a woman higherabove suspicion than Cæsar’s wife; competent totake charge; good, and she should not be a commonperson, or the servants will not obey her, andI doubt that the children would; they’re keen-eyedlittle animals! I suggested to father that he hadthese qualities compounded in a laboratory, andthe form containing them somehow galvanized intothe semblance of a living human being, but he said:‘Before we resort to such extreme measures to getthe unlikely person we want, you run over to visityour uncle at Beaconhite, and see Miss MiriamBraithwaite. She is a such a good Roman that shehas acquired some of St. Peter’s quality of fisher ofmen; she has all sorts of ramifications out, and noend of all kinds of people on her lines. Quite possiblyshe may know precisely the person we need,[307]and one who equally needs us.’ So here I am, MissBraithwaite, at your mercy.”

“Dear me, that’s a hard order to fill! Can yousuggest anyone, Anselm?” began Miss Braithwaite,when Cis interrupted with an exclamation.

“Miss Gallatin!” she cried. “Nice, queer, splendidMiss Hannah Gallatin!”

“The very person! But why do you think she’dgo, Cicely?” said Miss Braithwaite. “She takesboarders, and is going on well, I think?”

“I’m sure she perfectly detests taking boarders,”insisted Cis. “I believe she’d love to be with peoplelike the Lucases, with children to help bring up,and someone she’d love, like Miss Jeanette! I’msure she’s horribly lonely; she was dear and goodto me; she would adore Miss Jeanette. Wouldn’tit be all right to ask her?”

“I am sure that Miss Adair has hit it!” cried Mr.Lancaster, rising. “I know Miss Gallatin well, andshe is lonely, and she does loathe her present surroundings.I’m going home; I pass near her house.Would you like me to sound her for you, MissLucas?”

“I’d be most grateful,” returned Jeanette.“Though it makes my head whirl to find the impossibleright around the corner, turning possibleunder my eyes! I had no idea of getting so much asa clue to a person!”

“This is the House of the Thaumaturgi; you seeyour friend, Miss Adair, is getting their powers;this suggestion was hers,” said Mr. Lancaster, andsaid good night.

[308]“Now you two children take each other off somewhere,and compare notes on these past monthssince you met,” ordered Miss Braithwaite. “I suspectyou want to see each other, and I know that Iwant to talk to Mr. Lucas, now that he has deliveredhimself into my hands!”

“She doesn’t realize how little I really knowyou,” Cis said apologetically, as she led Jeanetteto her own room.

“Neither do I!” retorted Jeanette. “I think weagreed that circ*mstances had made us friends beyondcommon measures of time and opportunity.May I speak like an old friend? May I call youCis; will you call me Jeanette? That’s right! Youhave changed a great deal, Cis; you are wonderfullychanged. So am I, but not for the better, like you.My uncle has told me what you have done. Mydear, my dear, I am proud of you, and ashamed ofme! You have been brave, faithful, and you arenot whining! I’ve been bitter, awfully, horriblybitter, Cis! I hope it’s better now. I’ve been feelingthat it wasn’t fair, what happened to me. I suspectit hurt my pride. I felt insulted, dragged down,as if God had dealt unfairly with me.”

“Oh, my, no!” cried Cis. “God doesn’t deal unfairly;why would He? You wouldn’t. But anygirl would feel insulted in your place; it’s a shame!I thought so then, and I’ve been thinking so eversince. But it wasn’t God’s fault, you know. Don’tyou suppose God saved you from worse sorrow?”

“Yes, I do! He sent you, true-hearted andcourageous, to interfere for me!” cried Jeanette.[309]“Cis, I’ve blessed you before every shrine I visitedin Europe and here!”

“Then it’s likely that you saved me in your turn,Jeanette. I might easily have slipped my cable;likely you helped me hold,” said Cis simply.

“Do you know what you have done, Cicely of theburnished hair? You have impressed my uncleWilmer by your action, coming as it did on top ofmy great father’s choice of the Old Church, MissBraithwaite, and other people and things. He islooking into the Church; he never would before!He told me he was going to satisfy himself just whatthis strange power rested upon that made ordinarypeople martyrs and saints! He is a prejudiced,strong-willed man, Cis, but he is an honest one,and you know what happens when honest peoplebegin this study. Your hand set this in motion,Cicely Adair!” cried Jeanette.

Cis looked up, then she looked down, for tearsstood in her eyes.

“Would you really call it my hand?” she asked.

“Ah, well, the nails which hold the wall togetherdo not drive themselves,” said Jeanette. “Cis, doyou remember Mr. Singer, of the telephone office athome? I saw him lately; he asked about you. Hetold me that, although he was forced to dismiss youfrom the office for what you did, because it was aflagrant break of their rules, still he admired youexceedingly for it, as well as for your qualities ashe knew them. He said that they were making adepartment of welfare work for their employees,and that he knew no one whom he would so well[310]like to have over it as you. He said that if I camein contact with you he should be grateful if I wouldtell you this, and ask you to communicate with him.He said that he wanted a girl of high character, integrity,kindness, and someone able to entertainand attract the girls whom she looked after; headded that you were the one above all others whomhe had in mind. So I’m handing on the message, inspite of disloyalty to Uncle Wilmer! You can thinkit over. At least your dismissal, Cicely, is thussquared off! Mr. Singer did not betray that heknew it was I who was involved in your violation ofthe rule of the company, but I’m sure that he did.Do you want to come home again, Cis? It’s goodfor you to be here, but I’m selfish enough to wishyou were at home again.”

“That was nice of Mr. Singer; thank you for tellingme, Jeanette. I don’t know what I want to do;I’m all at loose ends in my mind, but I think, afterI’ve boiled for awhile, I’ll settle down; not boilover,” said Cis.

“It takes a long time to get one’s bearings afteran earthquake,” agreed Jeanette. “I’ve beenwretched, unhappy, bitter, bewildered; I’m better.But, Cis, you don’t look like any of these things;you look good, sweet and good, and—well, clearis the word! It isn’t going to be a vocation, is it?”

“For a convent? Oh, no; I’m afraid not. I’mnot that sort; I’m active. Do you suppose there everwas a red-haired contemplative? Even though thehair was cut off when she was professed? I doubtit! You were always so good!” cried Cis.

[311]“I don’t know, I don’t know! I wish I might go,”cried Jeanette. “It seems mean to offer yourselfto God because a man failed you.”

“It wouldn’t be that; it would be that a manshowed you that only God was worth loving,” Ciscorrected her with the insight that was new to her.“If God wanted you, why would you care how Hegot you? I can see that there are all sorts of ways.”

“My dear, my dear, you have travelled far in ashort while!” said Jeanette; then sighed and smiled.“We have come to the end of our talk; there is nomore after that. Come back to Miss Braithwaiteand my uncle.”

“Anselm Lancaster called up, Jeanette and Cis,”Miss Braithwaite said as the girls came back intothe library. “He says that Miss Gallatin was overjoyedat the suggestion of getting away from her detestedbusiness and looking after Lucases of assortedsizes. She is coming to see you, here, in themorning, Jeanette. You are to stay the night; I’vearranged with your uncle, and I only hope that youmay carry off with you that pearl of great price,Hannah Gallatin.”

Miss Gallatin and Jeanette Lucas saw each otherwith perceiving eyes in the morning, and Jeanettewent with Miss Gallatin in Miss Braithwaite’s coupéto find Mr. Lucas in his office to arrange for thespeediest winding up of Miss Gallatin’s affairs.

“You had an inspiration, Cis,” declared MissBraithwaite when Jeanette Lucas had gone homeagain from Beaconhite, with all arrangementsmade for Miss Gallatin to follow her. “A lonely[312]woman, and a home that needs her. Jeanette Lucaswill gain much from Miss Gallatin, and HannahGallatin will be lonely no more.”

“I wonder—” Cis began, and stopped.

“Yes?” Miss Braithwaite waited.

“If I had another inspiration?” Cis went on.“May I say it? I wondered if Mr. Lancaster wouldnot fall in love with Jeanette Lucas, and whetherit would not be beautiful if he did?”

Miss Braithwaite stared, then she laughed.

“She’s a lovely creature, and I’d not blame anyonefor falling in love with her—you have fallena wee bit in love with her yourself! But, Cis, mydear, are you getting to be a matchmaker? That’s asign of old age, poor Cis! Why, I’m not nearly oldenough to try to pair people off—or am I oldenough to know it’s a risky business, besides beinghard to work? That would be a pretty pair, I admit,and suitable. Well, well; possibly! Then youthink my beloved Anselm is good enough even forJeanette Lucas?”

“For anyone; too good for almost anyone else,”said Cis promptly. “Miss Braithwaite, Jeanettesaid that she told you about the telephone welfaredepartment at home, and Mr. Singer’s selecting meto run it. What ought I do?”

“Come to dinner,” said Miss Braithwaite instantly,winding her arm around Cis to take her tothe dining room. “And stay where you are till youget marching orders which can’t be forged. Dearme, are young girls the only ones that have a claim?How about an old girl who needs you? Stay with[313]me, Cicely Adair, at least till you can endure me nolonger! You’re a bright spot of comfort, my child,and I like to see your red hair beside my red fire onthe hearth!”

THE winter slipped away, melting into spring,and Cis had not left Beaconhite. Increasinglyinterested in her completely transformed life,growing daily fonder of Miss Braithwaite, Cicelycontinued to serve Mr. Lucas happily in his office,finding the great matters constantly beneath herfingers more and more intriguing, going at nightback into that peacefully beautiful house, into itsbooks, its charming talk, its lofty ideals.

“I’m getting nicer and nicer!” Cis mocked herselfone night in her own room, before her mirror.It was perfectly true; she was “getting nicer” andwas becoming something far more than her adjectiveconveyed.

When June came Miss Braithwaite announced toCis that she was to take a vacation of three monthsand go with her touring the New England coast andthe White Mountains.

“I don’t know whether we shall go on up to Montrealor not; it shall be as we feel when the timecomes. We will stop where we please, for as long aswe please, and we will not measure our trip bymiles but by satisfactions,” Miss Braithwaite said.Cis caught her breath in delight.

“Gracious!” she exclaimed. “What a suggestion![315]It is rather flooring! But how can I go? I’ll losemy job! Mr. Lucas can’t hold on to a secretary whois flying all over New England!”

“Easily,” replied Miss Braithwaite. “If you canbroadcast a song by radio, you can broadcast a secretaryby automobile! I’m not one bit afraid ofyour losing your job; besides, I’ve sounded Mr.Lucas!”

Cis laughed. “Trust you to secure yourself—andme!” she cried. “Miss Braithwaite, I’ll probablydie of joy on the way; simply blow right up inthe car.”

“Let us hope that the car will not blow up withyou and me both in it!” retorted Miss Braithwaite,well pleased with Cis’s pleasure. “It is quite settledthat we are to spend the summer on wheels. I wantyou to see the ocean breaking over the rocks of thatcoast, you who have seen the ocean only as it comesup on New Jersey sands. I want you to hear it cannonadeinto those rock-caves, and retreat fromthem in foam and spray. You’re too enthusiasticto miss a note of that vast harmony. Anselm Lancastersays if we go he will drive after us and joinus somewhere for July and August.”

“How fine!” cried Cis, frankly delighted. “Thatwill keep us from missing the hearth, if we are inclinedto. Mr. Lancaster will make it homelike,and how nice it will be for you to have him thereto talk to!”

Miss Braithwaite was regarding Cis sharply; shesaid:

“Nice for you, too, will it not be? In case I’m[316]in a lazy mood, he can drive you to any point thatyou should see.”

“I’d hate to bother him,” said Cis. “But ofcourse it will be great for me to have him with us.He’s no end good to me, takes me right in, becauseyou do. Will he go alone?”

“He didn’t speak of anyone else; I don’t know.He’s extremely fond of that recent convert who wasan Episcopalian minister, Paul Ralph Randolph.Paul is having a hard time; perhaps Anselm willask him to go with him. Then it’s settled, Cicely.I’ve spoken to Mr. Lucas, but you’d better speak ofit to him in the morning.”

Miss Braithwaite turned away as she spoke, andmet Father Morley just coming in.

After a few words with him, Cis ran away towrite to Nan, and Miss Braithwaite laid before theJesuit her summer plan.

When she told him that Anselm Lancaster waslikely to be added to the party, Father Morley liftedhis eyebrows inquiringly, without a word.

“Yes, of course,” Miss Braithwaite agreed withhim. “I see, but I don’t know, truly. I do knowthat the idea never crosses Cicely’s mind, and so,though I understand how and why the approachesto her mind are guarded against the entrance of theidea, still, it does seem to me that there can’t beground for our entertaining it. It’s hard for me tobelieve in the novel heroine who has no suspicionthat she is sought until the hero plumps himselfdown on his knees at her feet! I think, as a rule,a woman feels even the dawn of interest in her, the[317]power of her attraction, before any onlooker cansense it.”

“If she doesn’t subtly suggest to him that he admiresher?” suggested Father Morley, with his quizzicalhalf-smile.

“You’ve been reading George Bernard Shaw!”cried Miss Braithwaite.

“Nonsense! I’m ashamed of you! Thackeraysaid it before he did, but in point of fact one needsto read neither of them to know that law of naturalhistory,” said Father Morley. “Well, and if Cicely’spreoccupation were wrong, and our half-formedsuspicion were right, how about it? Would it do?”

“At first I thought not, when it occurred to me,”said Miss Braithwaite. “I do not believe that twopeople can be happy together if the door to thedeepest tastes and feelings of one will not yield tothe hand of the other. To my mind it is madnessto expect life to be anything but galling when it islived in close proximity to a person to whom onemay not speak of the things nearest to the heartwhether for lack of sympathy in tastes or, stillmore, in principles. But I have come to think that,in this case, there would not be that lack; Cicelyhas an excellent mind, and rare perception; her bigheart and loyal truth are rare. I am coming to thinkthat it would do exceedingly well, and to fear thatit may never happen. Would you approve it,Father?”

“Oh, yes; yes, indeed! I make it a rule to approveeverything of that sort to which there is noactual objection. I’ve found that is the easiest way[318]to an end that is sure to be reached, whatever Isay,” replied Father Morley with his quiet smile,his eyes laughing at Miss Braithwaite’s chagrin athis provoking lack of enthusiasm.

“Well, I assure you it would be a lucky man whomarried Cis. She is a splendid girl,” Miss Braithwaitedeclared, as Cis came back in time to catchthe last five words.

“I hope you’re talking of Cis Adair?” she cried.

“As it happens, I was,” said Miss Braithwaite.

“At least I’m a fortunate girl,” said Cis quietly.

Father Morley smiled at her with genuine admiration.

“It is always a lucky person who may truthfullybe called splendid; assuming that it is luck thatcarves character, which is at least open to debate.”

“My funny little character lay down and let twoskillful pairs of hands carve it,” said Cis with agrateful smile for these two people who had sucha large part in her recent molding.

The summer passed in the way Miss Braithwaitehad planned, a summer of such delight to Cis thateach night when she lay down to sleep she wonderedif it were really she, Cicely Adair, who waspassing through scenes of natural beauty, such asshe had never seen, in a luxurious car, with a companionwho enhanced every beauty by her talk,linking it with other beauty, playing upon it withher wit and wisdom. When the mood was uponthem they halted in a fine hotel, where Cis cameinto contact with a world that she had not known;where at night she danced in her pretty, thin frocks,[319]her glorious hair the observed of every eye, movingto orchestras that played perfect dance music perfectly.

The girl drank deep of youthful joy and blossomedunder it. She moved with a new grace addedto her natural lissom, free carriage, and her face,alive with the interests filling her quick brain,transformed by suffering largely outlived, a temptationconquered, a soul at peace and knowing itsway, was so attractive that no one ever stopped toconsider whether or not she was beautiful.

Anselm Lancaster had fulfilled his promise andhad joined Miss Braithwaite on the north shore,beyond Boston, in July. His roadster sometimesfollowed, sometimes preceded Miss Braithwaite’slarge car, driven by her man, and Paul Ralph Randolph,the convert whom older Catholics were honoringfor his sacrifices for conscience, with theready admiration those born in the Church arequick to accord a convert, was Anselm Lancaster’scompanion on the trip. Sometimes Miss Braithwaiterode with Anselm, Cis and Mr. Randolph inthe big car; sometimes Cis went with Anselm in theroadster, while Miss Braithwaite welcomed Mr.Randolph to a place beside her and to the profoundsatisfaction which her wise talk gave the youngman, hard beset on the new-old road, from whichhe had no temptation to turn back.

Thus they went through the loveliness of theMassachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine coasts,turned off into the White Mountain region, butomitted for this time the Canadian possibility.[320]Thus they made their way leisurely down again,through the Berkshires, back to Beaconhite, just asthe children were trooping to school, and the hintof summer’s passing, autumn’s approach, was inthe air.

Miss Braithwaite was no wiser as to the futureevent which she had discussed with Father Morleythan she had been in setting forth. Of Cis she wasentirely sure; she had no thought in her mind ofthat which her friend considered for her. Of Anselmshe was less sure, yet he gave her no actualground for supposing that he perceived Cis in anydifferent light from that in which Miss Braithwaitesaw her as a dear, lovely, lovable and noble girl.Miss Braithwaite knew quite well that it is a totallyother matter to want to marry a girl, than to see inher all sorts of desirable traits.

They had not been back in Beaconhite quite twoweeks when two things happened to change the directionof Miss Braithwaite’s plans, and Cicely’s,no less.

An old friend of Miss Braithwaite’s, living inCalifornia, was desperately ill and begged herfriend to come to her. Miss Braithwaite was going;she could not, nor would not refuse.

Then Cis had a letter from Nan imploring herto come back to her old home in October. Therewould be a little boy, or a little girl, there thenwhose godmother Cis, and no one else, must be.Nan implored Cis to come to see her before herbaby was born, and to stay on to sponsor it at thefont. Miss Braithwaite had intended leaving Cis[321]her house and servants to look after while she wasgone, but this news from Nan focused Cicely’svague intention to return to her old home, and shedecided to go back when Miss Braithwaite wentaway.

“You will come back to me, Miss Adair?” Mr.Lucas had said when she told him that for a while,at least, she would not return to her desk.

“I hope so, Mr. Lucas; I suppose so,” Cis said.“Miss Braithwaite wants me to come back when shegets home. If her friend dies, as seems likely, shewill be saddened, and may need me a little bit whenshe comes home. I’m pretty sure to come back.”

“Whoever may be in your place, I will gladly exchangefor you when you come,” said Mr. Lucas.“Promise me not to tell Jeanette a secret when yousee her! I am not ready for them to know it, butyou have a right to be told before you go. Yourextraordinary choice of your Church when everythingcalled you from her, impressed me to such anextent that I made up my mind to find out what wasin her thus to raise people above themselves. Ihave been investigating it. I want to tell you,Cicely Adair, that I have found out.”

“Oh, Mr. Lucas!” cried Cis jumping up with aradiant face. “I’m so glad, so glad! And I musttell you that you’ve no idea how much you’ll likethe Church when you can stop investigating her,when you begin just to live with her! I’d no sortof idea how splendid she was! I’m so glad I haveher, that now I think I didn’t sacrifice a thing then—though[322]it did hurt at the time, and I came horriblynear slipping off.”

Mr. Lucas laughed. “That’s not a bad tribute toyour Mother, my dear,” he said, “though it’s a bitfunny. I’m quite sure that I shall find her preciselywhat you say ‘when I begin to live with her’!”

Miss Braithwaite went to California. AnselmLancaster took Cis to the train to see Miss Braithwaiteoff, and then, an hour later, put Cis on hertrain to return to her home.

“‘Always the best of friends,’ Miss Cis, like JoeGargery and little Pip, aren’t we?” he asked, holdingCis’s hand for a dallying moment of farewell.

“Yes, indeed, if you’ll keep up your half of it,though I don’t know Joe Gargery, nor little Pip,”Cis said.

“That doesn’t matter; they were the best offriends; that’s the salient point,” Anselm said.“And I don’t want you to forget that so are we.You’ll come back this winter, when Miss Braithwaitecomes?”

“I don’t know; I think so, if she wants me. I’llmiss her—and you—and the dear library; thewhole wonderful house and my life in it, and all thekindness I’ve had, and the untellable things I’velearned. Oh, I shall miss it all!” Cis choked.

“Only for a visit; you’re going only for a visit!Beaconhite holds you on the other end of a tether!Good-bye, Miss Cicely. I’m afraid the sunshinegoes out with your hair.” Anselm pressed Cicely’shand hard, put into her lap a book and a box ofcandy, together with a long box with a protruding[323]ribbon over one side, all of which Cis had pretendednot to see, though she knew quite well whattheir purpose was, and she felt a girlish satisfactionin being thus freighted and sped.

The train rolled out of the station, and Cis wason her way home.

It was a long, tiresome journey, but it gave Cistime to consider her history since she had made thesame journey in the reverse direction. A lifetimelay between the journeys, it seemed to her. Basicallyshe was the same Cicely Adair who had cometo Beaconhite to try her fortune; in her on thatday had lain the potential qualities and attitudes ofmind which these months had brought out, but sotremendous had been all that had happened to her,so far-reaching in its effect—reaching as far as alleternity—that it was by no means the same Ciswho was going back to Nan.

At the station, when Cis arrived in the growingdusk, a young man came forward to greet her. Hewas attired in such perfection that his effort to appearat his best positively screamed aloud to allpassers-by. Cis did not know him, and, though hewas bearing down on her, it was with a hesitation,in spite of his advance toward her, that spoke a likeuncertainty in him. Only when he came quite upto her did Cis cry:

“Well, Tom! Tom Dowling! To think of my notknowing you! Nice of you to come!”

“I wasn’t sure of you, Cis,” said Tom uneasily.“You’re—you’re awfully different!”

“That’s true, I am,” said Cis. “But you’ve grown[324]up since I saw you. You’re not bigger; I don’tmean that, but you’re grown up!”

“Right you are!” declared Tom with a slightswagger. “But I’m hardly any younger than you;don’t try to talk like a grandmother! Girls get oldquicker. You’ve what is it? Side?”

“Goodness, is it?” laughed Cis. “Aren’t we goingsomewhere, Tom? We aren’t going to stay here allnight, are we? It was good of Nan to send you tomeet me.”

“Good! Of Nan! To send me!” Tom cried ina series of small explosions. “Gosh! As though aman had no mind of his own! As though Nan sentme, like a kid! I tell you, Cis, I’ve hardly been ableto sleep since I heard you were coming, for fear I’dmiss meeting your train! I tell you, Cis, it’s beenhard sledding with you gone, and if I’ve grown oldit’s from missing you, if you want to know!”

“Well, Tom! That’s a dear boy to remember Cisso hard,” said Cis, falling back into her old boyishway of speaking, association with the place andwith the lad to whom she had returned, calling itout. But she found this earnestness of Tom’swearisome, and devoutly wished that he had notbeen so loyal to her memory.

“Come over to the taxi stand,” said Tom.“Here, give over that suitcase. Checks?”

“One check, one small trunk,” said Cis yieldingup her case and check to this protector.

Tom handed her check to an expressman, andgave him the address of Nan’s house. Then he resumed[325]his way toward the taxi stand, holding Cisby one elbow.

As he put her into the cab, and entered it himselfhe said:

“Say, Nan has a son; three days old, he is. Shewouldn’t let them telegraph you for fear you’d holdoff coming a little. But she told me to tell you thatshe was so crazy to see you that it would do hermore good to have you walk in than even to see thebaby! And heaven knows, she’s wild over him,though, honest; he’s not such a much! I never sawone so young, and I think age improves ’em more’nit does wine.”

“Oh, Tom, of course she’s wild over her babyson!” cried Cis. “I’m going to be wild over himmyself! He’s to be one third mine; Nan said so.He’s my godson, or will be, as soon as we can gethim made so. What’s his name?”

“Matt, Matthew, for Joe’s father; I’m not keenfor it,” said Tom. “Joe wanted it, and Nan alwayslikes to please him, so it’s Matt. Nan wantedhim called Cyril.”

“I like Matt better; Cyril is too dressy for Nan’sboy; she’s such a simple, dear little mouse!” saidCis decidedly. “Oh, Tom, here we are!”

“Well, Cis, dear, didn’t you think if the taxi wenton running we’d get here?” asked Tom, intendingto be humorous, and helping Cis out.

Nan held out her arms when Cis came up thestairs, running to her headlong.

“Oh, Cis; oh, Cis! I’m so glad!” Nan cried, andCis kissed her with tears, repeatedly.

[326]Nan a wife and now a mother! Not only for Cishad these months been full of changes. Nan had ason to praise God for, but Cis—what had she?Less? No; more! A son was another soul to rejoiceover, but Cis felt that the creation of her soulwas a wonder greater than ordinary birth.

Nan looked at her with appraising eyes, as Cisarose from her knees beside her, covered over theface of tiny Matt, held in the hollow of his mother’sarm, and fell back a step or two, looking down onNan.

“Cis, you have changed! But it is all for the better!”cried Nan. “You don’t look one bit unhappy;your eyes are lovely, dear! and you are—whatis it? Like a very fine, fine lady, Cis! You’vewritten me of your lovely friend, that wonderfulMiss Braithwaite, and her house, and her friends,but—what has happened to you?”

“Everything, Nan! I am happy, but I’m stillmore thankful. It has been a miracle-time for me,more so, even, than for you. I’ll tell you when Imay; you must not be tired. I’m quite all right,Nannie; be sure of that,” said Cis.

“You look it,” said Nan slowly. “It will not tireme to hear it all to-night. Mother is here. Godown and find her, and have your tea. Joe will behome in a few minutes.”

Cis went down. Mrs. Dowling greeted her withher old manner of uncertainty as to what Cismight be about to do next, but it rapidly gaveway to wonder, and then to constraint. Cis didnot intend to produce any such effect, nor was[327]she conscious that she did so, but about herwas the fine atmosphere of Miss Braithwaite’shouse, and her recent associations with mindsand souls informed with knowledge, divine andhuman. Mrs. Dowling began half to fear Cis,and then to entertain a hope that Tom, whose infatuationfor Cis had always distressed her, mightfind favor in the eyes of this charming girl, whosepretty clothes were worn with an air, whose prettymanners were wholly unconscious.

That evening Cis was allowed to spend an hourwith Nan; she drew a low chair beside her, laid hergodson, a roll of soft white wool, across her knees,and made ready to talk.

“Cis, dear, am I to know what happened?” askedNan timidly. “I saw Mr. Moore when he was here,looking for you. I could not understand, but evidentlyhe could not, either. What was wrong? Ordo you mind telling me?”

“No. I expected to tell you, Nannie. I did mindwriting about it. It is all right now; I am thankfulto say that I’m happy, as I told you I was, andI can talk about it.”

Then Cis told, simply, but completely, the storyof her engagement and its breaking, giving moreexpression to her own fight against temptation thanshe had ever done to Miss Braithwaite.

Nan listened with wide eyes, breathless, not interrupting.When Cis ended, with a long breathof relief that the story was told, Nan put out herhand and softly touched Cis, her eyes full of tears,but fuller of adoring love.

[328]“To think that I used to be afraid you were not agood Catholic!” she said. “To think that I imaginedthat I was a better one than you were, I, who neverin all my life suffered one little pang for my faith!Why, Cis; why, Cis, dearest! I’m so glad I knowyou! And I’m so glad that little Matthew will haveyou for a godmother! I am almost sure that hewill be a priest, and may be a saint!”

“You little ninny-Nanny!” cried Cis, jumpingup, almost forgetting the baby, but saving him froma fall by a clutch on the outer layer of his manyenvelopes. “You must be getting tired; a littlelight-headed! I’m going off. If ever you say anythingso silly to me as that again I’ll cut your acquaintance,and ungodmother your son! So there!”

She kissed Nan good night, gave her little son toher, and ran off to her own room.

“They’re nice, good people, and Nan is a darling,always was, but—Beaconhite seems like home, nothere, and no one here seems to me like anyone Iever knew well,” thought Cis; she looked sadly atherself in the mirror as she braided her glowinghair.

There is no exile so remote, no loneliness soprofound as the return to old associations whichhave been completely outgrown.

CIS stayed on, living on the surface of her littlenative city. Miss Braithwaite was still in California;she wrote that she could not tell how longshe might be detained; it seemed probable that itwould be for all of the winter, or its greater part.Her friend was dying slowly in the lingering agoniesof the most agonizing of all diseases; she clung toMiss Braithwaite, praying her not to leave her, andMiss Braithwaite had promised to stay to help herto die. Cis suspected it was also to teach her howto die; that she was less versed than Miss Braithwaitein the science of the saints.

With Miss Braithwaite gone, Cis had no desire toreturn to Beaconhite; it was not the place, it wasthat home and its mistress for which Cis longed, forthe lack of which she felt lost.

Mr. Singer had found out that Cicely Adair hadreturned, and he hunted her up, imploring her totake up his work with his telephone girls, help toorganize the measures which he was trying to puton foot for their welfare. Cis agreed to undertakethis work, but only with the understanding that shewas free to lay it down at any time. Her experienceunder Miss Braithwaite, in Father Morley’s Girls’Club, in the many good works which occupied her[330]Beaconhite friends, stood Cis in good stead now;she did well with Mr. Singer’s girls, and was interestedin them. It was strange and amusing tohave gone away, dismissed by the Telephone Companyfor a breach of law, and return to be placedover their employees’ pretty rooms for recreationand rest, installed as the hostess, friend and guideof these girls.

Cis visited Jeanette Lucas often; the two girlswere strongly drawn to each other; their friendshipdeepened and grew. Jeanette had come out of hertrial with a darkened outlook upon life. Cis hadcome out of her struggle and loss undismayed,strengthened, in a sense refreshed, reaping the rewardof her choice. Although there were momentswhen a simple tune whistled by a boy in the street,a phrase, a half resemblance stabbed her with pain,yet Cis was able truthfully to tell Nan that she washappy. By temperament and will she was framedto look forward, not back. Her optimistic couragewas inspiring to Jeanette; she grew fond of Cisand turned to her as to a tonic, a summons to do herbest also.

Nan was submerged in her house, in its masterand little Matt. She paid Cis her old loving worship,raised to an incalculable degree by her reverencefor Cis as for one who had given her proofs,but there was no time in any day to spare for anyonebut Joe and Matt. Nan and Cis met in the babymore intimately, more frequently than in eachother, outside this powerful little downy link.

To her amazement, Cis discovered herself a baby[331]worshiper; she had not known that she was a memberof that order, in one of its highest degrees.

Her godson was to her hardly less adorable thanto his mother. She hung over him, absorbing hisviolet-scented, milky sweetness as the odor of aflower; brooding over the miracle of his tinyfeatures, their curious twistings, the crooked smileof his sucked-in lips; the funny thrusts of his absurditiesof hands, doubled into fists and taking herin the eye, or letting her mumble them with kissesthat inclosed the wrinkles of his wrists, the blue-blueveins traced below the whiteness of the backsof those belligerent little hands. When he lookedinto her eyes and laughed aloud, clutching herwealth of hair, Cis was elated, humbled, flattered.In baby Matt she found a new joy that revealed herto herself; she knew now what she had renouncedwhen she had gone out of that pretty apartment,leaving Rodney there amid the ruins of his hopesand hers. Not for an instant did she regret, turnback in thought upon her right course, but she understoodthe void which ached in her, and often thebaby’s fine white tiny yoke was damp when his godmotherraised her face from it, while he was gurglingwith laughter because she had burrowed intohis neck, tickling him.

Cis boarded with Nan. “Of course you couldn’tso much as think of living anywhere else, as long asI have room for you and want you so dreadfully!Besides, there’s baby!” Nan had said, and therewas nothing to bring against her brief, convincingarguments.

[332]“It isn’t as though I were going to be here permanently,”Cis said. “I think no one ought permanentlyto live with a married friend, but just tillI go back to Beaconhite—or whatever I do next—Isuppose it won’t be too hard on you, Mrs. Nan!”

Tom Dowling was a model of fraternal devotionafter Cis was installed under Nan’s roof; he madeopportunities to visit his sister to an incredible degree.

“Good old Tommy is a dear boy, but I wonder ifhe really thinks I don’t see through him!” Nancried.

“Paraffine paper is thick beside his transparency;you’d be more than blind to miss seeing throughhim,” Joe answered.

Tom brought extraordinary things to the baby,toys which would require two more years of lifefor him to handle—a whipping top is not adaptedto a boy two months old, nor is a tin locomotive runby sand that flows upon its wheels from a revolvingsieve, hidden in its smokestack.

“Oh, Tommy, why, why!” Nan sighed one daywhen Tom produced a large cow, with a realisticmoo when its head was moved, from a large packagebeneath his arm.

“He’ll grow to it; something to cut his ambitionon, same’s you give him that bone thing to chew onfor his teeth,” explained Tom, unabashed.

“Tom’s really a dear, Cis,” Nan said that nightafter Tom had gone home. “Mother is perfectlydelighted that he has stuck to you so; she used tohope he’d see Louise Müller, a neighbor’s daughter,[333]but he never did. Now mother is worrying for fearyou won’t care about him. Do you think that youever could, Cis darling? Of course all these cows,and tops and engines are not for baby; they’re foryou, same as the candy is.”

“I don’t seem to enjoy the cow any more thanMatt does; must I play with it, Nan? Tom didn’toffer it to me,” Cis sighed.

“Not directly. I mean they’re all intended tomake you notice him. I’d almost die of joy, Cis, ifyou were my sister!” cried Nan.

“Adopt me, Nannie. We can make it as effectual,and I’m afraid it’s the only way,” Cis suggested.“Don’t look cast-down; Tom will be all right, andit’s better to have him imagine he cares about methan to be growing up without an object. He’ll findthe right girl later, and in the mean time it keepshim safe for her.”

“Growing up! He’s as old as you are, or sonearly it comes to the same thing!” cried Nan.“You don’t take Tom seriously, but he takes himself—andyou—seriously enough.”

“Boys do,” said Cis. “Don’t fuss, little grandmother;it’s enough to be a mother and bring upMatt. He’s learning to love me, too, by the way!”

As the days passed, however, Cis began to takeTom more seriously; he began to be a burden onher mind. He dogged her footsteps; wherever shewent Tom turned up. He watched for chances todo her small services, carried out her least suggestions,modelled himself upon the advice which shehad given him when she had first come back, before[334]she realized that she must not let him conformhimself to her ideas, before she began to look uponhim as anything more than Tommy Dowling, Nan’shonest and likable boy-brother.

“If only Miss Braithwaite would come back!”thought Cis. “I’d go away and he’d do somethingsensible with himself! All I can do now is to holdhim down, and hold him off, but I’m really beginningto be afraid it’s bad for him.”

One bright, frosty afternoon, when the earth waswhite and the sky brilliantly blue, Cis went offalone to walk in the park. A homesick spell wasupon her; she was homesick for Miss Braithwaite,for the shadowy library and its glowing hearth; forMr. Lucas’ office and its interests, the clever, keenmen who came there talking of great matters; hersense of being part of a world moved by levers hiddenin that office. And she wondered why it wasthat for some time she had heard no word of AnselmLancaster. He had written her several pleasantletters, had sent her a book at Christmas thatwas a delight to brain and eye. He had wished hera Happy New Year with a graceful note and alovely little Florentine print in colors, framed indull, dark, carved wood; a Botticelli Madonna surroundedby square-chinned, deep-eyed angels intunics, upon which their square-trimmed locks fellat shoulder length, while their long fingers claspedtall candles that revealed to the world a Babe uponHis Mother’s knee.

There was growing in Cicely a discontent that shecould not down; she grappled with it, hating it, for[335]no mood had ever mastered her, nor greatly annoyedher heretofore, and this restlessness was annoying;it got between her and her daily life; herprayers; between her and herself, her true self,brave and blithe and courageous. She wanted towalk briskly in the pretty park and think out whatwas wrong with her, take herself to task, and scotchthe head of this miserable little asp gnawing at her.But hardly had she gone half the width of the park,its longest way, than there was Tom Dowling, comingrapidly toward her, his face illumined, his rightarm saluting her.

“Oh, me!” sighed Cis inwardly. “Who wants ahuman being omnipresent? Hello, Tom!” shesaid aloud. “How do you happen to be here at atime when all honest folk are at work?”

“Nothing dishonest about me, Cis,” said Tom,joining her and turning to walk beside her as a matterof course. “Why, I got the afternoon, and Iwent to the house. Nan said you’d gone to the park.I went around the other way; thought you’d takethe north gate. Anyhow, I’ve found you!”

The satisfaction in Tom’s voice was complete.

“Yes, Tom, but—” Cis hesitated.

“You’d rather be by yourself?” cried poor Tom.“Oh, Cis, you’ve played fair with me! You’re niceto me, but you’re nothing more. I won’t be able toblame you, but if you won’t love me, what underthe heavens shall I do? Say, Cis, love me, can’tyou? I’m not such a much, but I ain’t so bad,honest! I don’t care how far you hunt, you won’tfind anything I’ve done to be ashamed of. I ain’t[336]fit for you lots of ways; you’ve got kind of fineladified, though I don’t mean you put on. You’reit, that’s all! But I’m not a bad chap, that’s straight,and if I was I’d tell you; I wouldn’t fool you for akingdom. I’m getting on; I make thirty now, andtwo people could live on fifteen hundred, easy—andthe sixty dollars would buy us each someclothes, and theatre tickets, or something! AndI’ll have more soon. My boss makes a point ofboosting married men—oh, gosh! A married man!Married to you, Cis! Say, Cis, don’t you think youcould see it, if you looked hard enough? Love me,I mean?”

“Tom, dear,” said Cis a little wistfully, for thehonest boy’s voice shook, and his eyes were as imploringas a dog’s eyes. “I like you heaps, betterthan before I went away. I didn’t know you sowell then, and besides you’ve come out a great deal.But I couldn’t love you, Tommy; not that way.I’m sorry, dear. You are a fine boy, and the girlwho does marry you will be lucky. It never willbe me, and it wouldn’t be right to let you think itever might be. Sorry, Tom! I wish you didn’tthink you wanted me. You’d be better off withsomeone else, and you’ll find her—”

“Cut it out!” cried Tom hoarsely. “Cut out thatline of talk, Cicely Adair! You’re the greatest girlin the world. There’s no one can hold a candle toyou, so cut it out! If you won’t, you won’t, butcut out all that talk. I want you, and I’ll keep onwanting you. If you don’t want me, and don’t wantme so much that you know you’ll never want me,[337]that settles it, but I want you. Oh, Cis, why can’tyou want me? What is wrong with me? How canyou be so infernally sure you’ll never think of it?Am I such a mess? Would you tell me why, Cis?”

Cis looked pityingly at Tom’s flushed, stormyface, listened with tender, pitying amusem*nt to hisincoherent implorations. She tried to explain.

“It’s not that there’s one thing wrong with you,Tom,” she said. “It’s I. I’m not thinking of marrying.I’ve grown years older than you are, Tom,and I’ve grown ever so far off from the old Ciswhom you first knew and liked. I suppose youknew I was going to be married? I’m glad, thankfullyglad that all that is over; I wouldn’t be happynow in the way I thought I’d be happy then, notwith the same people, interests. But I shall neveragain feel as I felt then, so glad to see someone coming,so—I’m afraid it is much the way you feel tome now, Tom dear! Truly you will get over it.It leaves you changed, older, not so light-hearted,but it leaves you; it has left me. I shall never somuch as think of marrying you, my nice Nan’s nicebrother; yet I am fond of you, and think you’refine.”

“I don’t want to get over it,” groaned Tom.“If I can’t marry you I can keep on loving you andthat way you do sort of get a person.”

“I think we ought to try to get over it, Tom, becausewe’ve got to play up, not go moping along,”said Cis. “Let’s forget you love me; in that way,at least, and let’s be glad you love me, or will loveme, more as you do Nan, just as I love you. It[338]makes the world a fine place to live in when weknow splendid people who are fond of us. Beaconhite,living in Miss Braithwaite’s house, ratherspoiled me for other places, Tom. You’ve no ideawhat a library that is, and what wonderful thingsI heard talked of before the fire!”

“Yes, so I’ve heard you say,” growled Tom. “Theold lady herself was a wonder, but how about thatman, that Lancaster who was such a highbrow?”

There was no missing the implication in Tom’swrathful voice. Cis felt her blood rush to her hairin a burning blush that rivalled the hair in brilliance,and which angered her, knowing the conclusionwhich Tom would draw from it. Characteristically,she grappled with the situation.

“If you mean to hint, Tom Dowling, that Mr.Lancaster was interested in me, any more than in agirl living under his old friend’s roof, or I in him,more than in the most splendid man I ever saw—exceptFather Morley, but priests don’t count—you’re’way, ’way off the mark! I never oncethought of such a thing as his really liking me, andyou’ve got to take my word for it!”

“All right, Cis. I’d take your word for anything,and I’m fearfully glad to take it on this,” said Tom.“I’ve been jealous of that chap, but that settles it,and him. If you won’t hold out a chance to me it’ssome comfort not to think someone else has achance. I guess you’re right that Beaconhite hasruined you. If only you’d never gone! You raninto the whole thing there.”

Cis knew that Tom meant that there she had met[339]and loved Rodney, and there had been separatedfrom her earlier friends by the higher things towhich she had grown up. It came over her withsudden force that in Beaconhite she had indeedfound her fate.

She looked across the park with eyes that sawBeaconhite, the dignified street on which MissBraithwaite lived in its most dignified house; thestreet where St. Francis Xavier’s church stood; thegarden of its adjoining school; Father Morley’s thinfigure with its drooping shoulders; the altar withinthe church, its lamp, her soul’s home. Beaconhitewas her true home. Some day, she thought,please God, she would go back.

And then her eyes became cognizant of her presentsurroundings. She saw at a little distance fromher, a tawdry, shabby woman sitting upon a parkbench, although it was cold, and her silken clotheswere thin. There was no mistaking her, even afar,for anything but one of those derelicts which sin,having floated them prosperously for a time, throwsup against the barriers of civilized society to bedashed to pieces, or caught up by a pitying lifeguard,as the case may be.

As Cicely noted her, bringing her thoughts backto what was before her, the woman covertly drewsomething out from the sleeve of her coat, andpicked at it.

A bottle! And she was pulling the cork!

Cis sprang forward and ran, not delaying for aword to Tom, flying toward the wretched being onthe bench. As she reached her the woman, who[340]had seen her fleeting toward her, raised the bottleto her lips.

Cis sprang; leaped the last lap of her race againstsuicide; threw herself, as a ball player throws himselfa*gainst the base, and struck the woman’s elbow.The bottle fell in myriad pieces on the walk, scentingthe air with the odor of peach stones. Thewoman crumbled up and slid to the ground. Forone instant she and her rescuer were beside eachother upon the walk. Then Cis regained her feetand stood looking down upon the degraded figurebefore her, horror, loathing, yet divine pity in herflushed face. This was the tableau which Tom,hastening after Cis, saw as he came up.

“For heaven’s sake, Cis?” he questioned herwithout formulating his question.

“Oh, yes, Tom, for heaven’s sake!” cried Cis. “Ijust made it. If the police come up and catch us,she’ll be taken in for attempted suicide. We mustget her somewhere, quick.”

“Well, what if she is taken in?” Tom disgustedlyasked, hating to see Cis in proximity to this woman.“She’ll be looked after by the matron.”

“Oh, no! She must be saved, if she can be. Arrestwon’t save her. Can you hear me? Answer me.Were you a Catholic?” Cis asked, bending over thecollapsed figure.

“Once I was,” the woman muttered.

Cis straightened herself triumphantly. “TheGood Shepherd!” she cried. “Tom, help me to gether up. You poor thing, get up! We are going totake care of you. Get up.”

[341]Tom reluctantly, yet admiring Cis, lifted thecastaway, and, staggering, she made out to stand.

“Let me alone; I’m sick,” she moaned.

“Yes, we know. Try to come with us. I’m afraida policeman will come along,” Cis urged her.

The word acted as a stimulant. “They’d run mein, vagrant, suicide,” she muttered. “What didyou stop me for? I’ll get it yet.”

Slowly, Tom supporting the woman with hishands under her arms, disgust and anger on hisface, while Cis walked behind, occasionally steadyingthe wavering figure by a hand upon her spine,they reached the confines of the small park. Cishailed a cab; they bundled the woman into it, andCis gave the driver his order.

“To the House of the Good Shepherd,” she said.

Then she added herself to the strange party, andthe cab started.

“The Sisters won’t thank us, perhaps,” mutteredTom.

“Surely they will! There’s no bound to theircharity, and no bound to hope, except death,” criedCis. “She is desperately ill.”

“Dissipation, dope, exposure, why wouldn’t shebe ill?” growled Tom. “It’s a great combinationfor you to hitch up to, Cis.”

“I don’t know. My guardian angel hitches upto me, and there’s more difference between me andan angel, than between this woman and me. Areyou comfortable? Do you hear me speaking toyou?” Cis asked.

“I hear. I heard. I don’t want to go to the[342]Sisters; I want to die, die, die! I’ve had enough,”the woman aroused herself to say.

“Poor soul, I’m sorry!” Cis’s voice was as sweetas Nan’s when she comforted her baby. “I thinkyou’ll be glad that we found you. Why, you’requite young, and you were pretty!”

“Pretty! Yes, that’s so. I’m twenty-eight ornine; I don’t know—” the quavering voice trailedinto silence.

“Do you remember your name? Will you tell itto me, so I can call you by it?” said Cis.

“Lots of names, lots of names; plenty names.Here I’m Pearl Molineaux. Out in ’Frisco I wasCarmin Casanova. Giddy Gay—that was somewhereelse; I forget. Home in Chicago I was MyrtleMoore; that’s while I was married,” the womansaid, speaking slowly.

“Chicago!” “Myrtle Moore?” Cicely’s heartgave a great leap, then stood still. Could it be?She was sure that it was! She was sure that it hadbeen given her to save from suicide Rodney’s wife.

She bent down over the woman who had saggedlow in the seat of the taxicab.

“You are the wife of George Rodney Moore?”she asked.

“No. Divorced. Rod and I were divorced,” shesaid.

“Oh, God help me!” Cis murmured, and Tomwas frightened by the pallor of her face.

“Oh, God, I’ll try! Please, help me! Help her;help me to help her!”

The cab stopped at the door of that beneficent[343]house wherein stainless women welcome withintheir consecrated walls the outcasts whose stains ofsoul their pure hands labor to remove; wherein thevirgin servants of the Good Shepherd carry back toHim His lost black sheep.

Myrtle Moore was reluctant to enter that portal,but her strength was spent, her will too enfeebledby illness to resist anyone who decided for her andforcibly executed their decisions.

Tom helped Myrtle up the steps; the SisterPortress responded to their summons on the bell,and they were shown into a small parlor, fromwhich Cis was conducted to another receptionroom, where a tall nun, in the beautiful white habitof her order, came to hear from her the story ofthis latest rescue and petitioner for her charity.

There was no question of Myrtle’s rejection. Anothernun came to take her away to the infirmary,and Cis left the convent with the promise to comeregularly to inquire after Myrtle, whose conditionthe infirmarian at once pronounced grave. Tomtook Cis’s hand and slipped it into his arm; shewas trembling.

“Great old adventure, splendid Cis?” he said.

“Oh, Tom, don’t talk about it; I can’t!” Cis almostsobbed. “You don’t know how wonderful itis!”

WHEN Tom put the key of Nan’s front doorinto the keyhole and swung the door openfor Cis to precede him into the house, she dartedforward and began swiftly to mount the stairs.

“Oh, say, Cis, hold on!” Tom remonstrated.“What am I to tell Nan?”

“Anything you like, but beg her to give me alittle time to myself to straighten out my thoughts.I’m—I suppose I’m tired, Tom,” Cis paused to say,then continued upstairs, not answering as Nancalled from the dining room:

“Cis, oh, Cis! Come in here a minute! I’ve justfinished the baby’s new coat and pressed it. Come,see it!”

Tom joined Nan, flushed and happy over theironing board, with baby Matt kicking and cooingin the clothes basket, liking the flavor of its edge,over which he had fallen and was chewing it.

“Say, Nan, what do you think?” asked Tom mysteriously.“Talk about melodramas and adventurestories! Life can give the best author cards andspades and beat him out on plots! Rodney Moore’swife was sitting on a park bench, committing suicide,all by herself, when along came Cis and yourbrother. Cis saw the bottle, ran like a Marathon[345]victor, jumped at her, knocked the bottle to smithereens,and then we took the lady to the Good Shepherd!She’s a wreck in every way a woman canwreck herself. How’s that? Rodney Moore’s ex-wife!”

Nan had dropped into a chair, her iron in herlap, and was staring at Tom with a horrified face.

“Tom, it can’t be!” she gasped. “That womandoesn’t live here.”

“Don’t know as to that, but she was certainly goingto die here,” insisted Tom.

“What do you suppose it means? If she hadtaken the stuff that chap would have been free; notdivorced, free. And Cis could have married him,if she pleased. Yet it was Cis hit the woman’s armand saved her! What about it? What does itmean?”

“It must mean that the poor wretch is going tohave a chance to repent and die decently some day,”said pious little Nan. “But Rodney Moore’s wife!And Cis saved her! What a story! Why, Tom, itmakes me shake! Oh, I must go to Cis! I’ll takethe baby up to her. He’ll comfort her.”

“No, no! Cis told me to ask you to let her aloneawhile, till she pulls herself together,” Tom said.“Nan, the woman looked about all in. If she dieswill Cis—?”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell,” cried Nan. “I hopenot. Yet I see it would do everything for that man.It may be the way he’ll come right. We never cansee ahead of the day. But, Tommy dear, don’tmind too much. I’m quite sure, whether it is Rodney[346]Moore again or not, that it will never be you.I’m sorry, buddy, but that is true.”

“No need of your saying so,” growled Tom. “Cissaid it herself, so plain that it doesn’t need footnotesfor me to get it. All the same—” Tomstopped, turning away.

“Yes, I say so, too! All the same I’d hate it tobe Rodney Moore. But maybe it is Cis’s work tosave his soul,” said Nan, picking up her son, findinghim an effectual restorative.

“Oh, his soul!” exclaimed Tom, and his tonesounded like an anathema. “I call it going prettyfar to make a nice girl marry a man to save hissoul!”

“We ought to be willing to die to save a soul,”Nan reminded him.

“I’m perfectly willing that lots of people shoulddie to save a soul, but I ain’t willing one girl shouldmarry to save one, not when the girl is Cis,” saidTom stalking off in disgust the stronger that he hadbeen badly shaken in nerves.

Up in her room Cis knelt before the window,staring out into the top of a spruce tree outsideNan’s little house. It was a long time before shecould think coherently. The horror of the suicideso nearly accomplished; the almost equal horror ofthe woman’s degradation; the unmistakable stampupon her of vice, upon her who was Rodney’s wife,yet who was not in any true sense his wife, norcould be the wife of any honest man, filled Cicelywith shuddering confusion. It was as if she had avision of what it meant when one said: “A lost[347]soul.” Pity for Rodney overwhelmed her, yet, unjustlyor justly, Cis felt as though he were stained bythe vileness of this bone of his bone, flesh of hisflesh. “And they two shall be as one flesh.” Thewords echoed within her mind, empty of connectedthoughts, tense with fragments of thoughts which atonce confused and tortured her poignantly.

After a time Cis began to realize fully what hadbefallen her. She had parted from Rod becausethis woman lived. She had chanced upon her atbarely the right time to secure her continuing tolive; she had saved her from suicide, kept her aliveto shackle Rodney, according to the law which hadbound them together, but had given her anotherchance for Eternal Life. Now she lay within thespotless physical and spiritual purity of the Houseof the Good Shepherd. It was Cicely Adair, whohad been so sore beset with temptation to marrythis woman’s husband, who had been allowed tolead her inside the Good Shepherd’s field where shemight, if she would, become that sheep which Hebore upon His shoulders into safety.

Cicely’s bright head bowed on the window sill;her breath came short; her cheeks grew wet withtears such as she had never before shed, as therealization came to her that this was her superaboundingreward. Because she had renouncedRodney for God’s sake, He was making her as thelittle crook which He laid around the neck of Rodney’serrant wife, compelling her to turn and return.

Cis rose up at last when Nan, unable to leave her[348]to herself longer, came softly knocking at her door,and, with a loving kiss, laid the baby in Cicely’sarms, offering her thus the best clue that she knewto the mysteries of life, the sweetest panacea forits ills. And as she did so, Nan, with a suddensinking of heart, was sure that Cis would marryRodney; that his wife would die and she wouldmarry him, because she had known what it was toworship at the shrine of this baby.

Cis had little to say to Nan of the tremendousexperience of that day; what was there tosay? It was far too great for comment, and ofthe possible import of it, its strange connectionwith her recent past, Cis had no desire to talkto Nan. She did go with it to Jeanette Lucas,whose understanding was perfect, but to her Cisfound herself unequal to say much. She wroteto Father Morley, and received from him a long letterthat formulated and expressed for Cis all thatshe had been trying to correlate in herself. However,it was in her daily visits to the House of theGood Shepherd that Cis received the best fruit ofthese experiences.

Every day Cis made time to go to see MyrtleMoore, and every day she sat for a while with thewhite robed nun whom they called Sister Bonaventure,properly so called her, Cis thought, for hercoming was always good for her.

She was wise with a wisdom that must have beenthe direct reception of that gift from the HolyGhost, for she “had entered religion,” she told Cis,at twenty-two.

[349]She had spent but one year at home after hergraduation from a convent school, so that she hadencountered nothing of the world’s wickedness andweakness, yet she seemed to have plumbed thedepths of the science of souls; her talk was illuminativeand tonic to Cis.

“Will she die, Sister?” Cis asked, speaking oftheir patient.

“Surely; we all shall,” smiled the nun. “Butyes; I think Myrtle will not live long. You see,she has used up all her capital of strength, burnedit like a fuel that yields cold, not heat. I think shewill not last long.”

“And will she die well—sorry, you know?” Cishesitated; she found it hard to talk of Rodney’swife’s state, even to Sister Bonaventure.

“My dear,” said Sister Bonaventure with hersmile, which Cis found at once illuminative andbaffling, “as to that we can only pray and hope;pray that she may have the grace she so sorelyneeds; hope that when she receives the sacramentsthey may have the soil to work on in which they alwaysare fruitful. The poor things who die in ourinfirmary rarely refuse the last offices, and we tryto make them fit to receive them; after that—”Sister Bonaventure waved her hands expressing theInfinite Mercy, and the incomprehensibility ofhuman minds. “I think they are probably sorry,and God is anxious to go half-way to meet a partingsoul. Habit dulls us all; perhaps God has tocome farther toward all of us than we think Hedoes, even to the best of us.”

[350]“What a miracle to be where Myrtle Moore was,yet to die with you Sisters praying around her!”cried Cis, tears in her eyes.

“What a miracle it is to die anywhere, yet withimmortality and infinity around us!” cried SisterBonaventure. “Cicely, we are so surrounded withmiracles, so accustomed to handling them, that weare obtuse! Now, my dear, this woman’s formerhusband, who is still her husband, for they weremarried by a priest, and their divorce does nottouch the fact—what about him? He should besent for, if she grows as much worse within a weekas our doctor and our Sister Infirmarian expectsher to. She does not know where he is, and we arecompletely at sea as to how to look for him. Couldyou make a suggestion?”

“Did you know, Sister, that I was going to marryhim, not knowing that he had ever been married?And that he would not deceive me, so, at the lastminute—our home was preparing—he told me thathe was divorced?” cried Cis.

“Was that the way of it?” asked Sister Bonaventureserenely. “No, I did not know anythingwhatever, but I surmised that there was somethingto know, that your interest in the patient was notfully explained by your rescue of her. Have youhis address, my dear?”

“He can always be reached through his firm, themain house, in Chicago,” replied Cis. “I have thataddress; yes, Sister. Shall I give it to you?”

She wondered at the matter-of-course way inwhich the nun received her brief statement that[351]she had almost, though innocently, married a manalready married. She had not dealt enough withthe Religious of her faith to know that they rarelyseem to be surprised by human vagaries, and stillmore rarely betray a shock.

“No, on the whole, I think it were better that youshould write,” said Sister Bonaventure. “Mr.Moore might not come if we wrote him. He hasdivorced the woman, and it is not likely that hefeels tolerant of her sins against him. If you writeto him, telling him how you saved her from deathby her own hand, and that he must come at once tosee her, bid her farewell, and forgive her, that shemay die in peace, hoping for a higher forgiveness,I think that he may come on. Especially that youhave a claim upon him for the wrong that he sonearly did you.”

“Oh, Sister, you don’t, you can’t ask me to writeto him!” cried Cis. “How can I write him? Andwhat may he not think? That I want to see him,even that I may—”

“You will write to him as a disembodied spiritwould write; you can easily show him your motive.You really cannot refuse to write. The poor womanwants to see him, to receive his pardon; she cannotdie in peace without it. I must tell you that we didwrite to him, to Beaconhite. We know that the letterwas forwarded, for otherwise it was to have beenreturned in three days. He has not replied in anyway. You must write, Cicely; you must still furtherhelp Myrtle to die. As to the man’s misinterpretingyou, that will not outlast his coming, and[352]cannot harm you. If I did not know that you werewholly free from personal desire in the matter, Iwould not let you write. I have watched you, talkingwith you, and I understand you. As it is, I askyou to write—at once.”

“I will!” cried Cis, swayed to Sister Bonaventure’swill by something in her eyes.

“Oh, Sister Bonaventure, if you know me—andyou do!—could I be one of you here? Or a nunanywhere? Am I fit to be? It is so lofty, so peaceful,so blessed!”

“You are entirely fit, my child, but not in theleast fitted,” said the nun, with the smile that drewhearts to her. “It is not that the best come here,but the called come. The life is all that you say itis, but peace is denied to no one who follows afterit. You do not belong with us, dear Cicely; not inany Community, but in a home whence you willoverflow to bring happiness and help into otherlives.”

“As though you nuns didn’t!” sighed Cis, risingto go.

“Ah, yes, I know. Little mirrors reflect whereverthey are hung! Good-bye, my dear. Writethat letter to-night and dispatch it,” said SisterBonaventure.

Cis wrote when she got back to her room atNan’s. She did not let herself pause for an instantto remember that she was writing to Rodney—again!

“Dear Rodney;” she wrote. “Myrtle Moore,your wife, is here, in this city. I came upon her in[353]the park just as she was putting to her lips thedeadly poison which was to kill her. I knocked thebottle from her hand. I took her to the House ofthe Good Shepherd. She is seriously ill there; dying.She cannot die without begging your forgiveness.Come on at once and give it to her. We shallall need mercy one day, as we have all done wrong.Come at once. Remember that Myrtle is still yourwife. Think of her as she was when you first knewher; she is now a wreck, suffering, wretched, dying.Do not lose a day. You must see in this the Handof God: that she had wandered here; that I cameback here; that it was I who saved her from suicideto die with the sacraments, hope and sorrow in hermiserable heart. If there is anything that I couldadd to urge you to come, I would add it, but whatmore is there? A woman whom you once loved, anoutcast, broken-down, dying, begging your forgiveness!It is miserably sad, but still more pitiable;you are kind, Rodney; you will not say no. AndGod let me save her from a dreadful end, me,Cicely Adair.”

Cis read her letter several times, then she took itto Jeanette Lucas to read.

“I can’t tell whether it is right or wrong,” Cissaid imploringly.

“I don’t think you could better it, dear. Whatcan you do except lay before him the facts? Hecannot refuse such a request as this, and from you!How strange it all is! Cis, when he comes—what?”Jeanette waited for Cis’s answer.

It came at last.

[354]“Yes, what?” Cis echoed. “I don’t want to seehim. Will you hide me, Jeanette?”

“But you know when this poor Myrtle is dead—”Jeanette stopped.

“No, no, no!” cried Cis. “What a curiouslytangled web! I wonder why?”

“It is not tangled,” Jeanette reminded her. “Itlooks so to us; I’m sure the tangle is part of the pattern.”

Three days must pass before Rodney could replyto Cicely’s letter, and that would be making thebest time possible for a letter to travel in each direction.It would be longer, if he were coming; timemust be allowed, in either case, for Cicely’s letter tobe forwarded to him. They were hard days to livethrough; dread, expectation, perhaps fear is not toostrong a word, were in the air that Cis breathed;she spent the hours in feverish nervousness. AndMyrtle was rapidly growing worse.

On the fourth day Rodney came. It was evening,and Cis was sitting with Nan under the lightof her reading lamp, in her sitting room, when theyheard Joe open the front door and tell someone to“walk right in.”

Before they had time to be startled by the realizationthat the step was not Tom’s, whom they hadexpected to see, Rodney Moore stood in the doorway.

Nan had seen him but once; however, she instantlyrecognized him and sprang up with an inarticulatesound that was almost a shocked cry. Cis[355]sat still, staring up at him, her work fallen into herlap.

Rodney had changed; he looked older, worn,hard. Cis instantly felt great pity for him, but itwas mingled with amazement that she had so latelyfound him all that was attractive in man. Somethingstood between them that was not the dyingMyrtle. Cis had learned, had absorbed otherstandards of excellence than Rodney’s since shehad parted from him; they asserted themselveswithout her volition, her consciousness of theirpresence.

“Cis!” said Rodney hoarsely, and Cis becameaware that she had not spoken.

“Yes, Rodney. I am thankful that you havecome,” Cis said.

She arose, went forward and gave Rodney an icyhand.

“I will telephone the Sisters and ask when youare to go to see Myrtle. She has sunk fast for twodays; I found her quite low when I went there thisafternoon, but they think that she is fighting tohold herself alive till you get here. Perhaps youmust go there to-night.” Cis turned toward thetelephone in the corner.

“For heaven’s sake, Cis, is this all that you haveto say to me after—” Rodney’s angry grief stoppedhis utterance.

“That I am thankful that you have come? ThatI will help you at once to accomplish what youcame for? What else is there to say, Rodney?” Cis[356]asked quietly, and took down the telephone receiver.

“Have I no claim? Am I no more than an undertaker,called in to lay out that miserablewoman?” Rodney almost shouted.

Cis turned toward him and raised her hand.

“I am waiting for my connection; please bequiet,” she said. “You have a claim upon my pityand help; I am giving you both.”

Rodney stared at her as she turned back to theinstrument and talked for a short time to someoneon the other end of the wire. Cis hung up, andcame back to the middle of the room, leaning herhand on the table as if she were tired.

“You are to go to the Good Shepherd to-night,”she said. “The Sister Infirmarian says that youhave not come too soon. If Nan will give you supperwe will start immediately after you have eaten.I will take you there, unless you prefer to go alone.”

“I can’t go alone; I’m afraid,” Rodney groaned.

Gentle Nan went over to him as she heard hisboyish cry. She began to hope that Cicely wouldcomfort him, as she alone could do, and lead himback to God, which seemed to her preëminentlyCicely’s grace.

“I don’t want any supper, but have you coffee?”Rodney asked, and Nan hurried away to make it,followed by Cis, who had no mind to linger withRodney alone.

Joe called a taxi; the coffee was quickly made onthe gas range, and drunk. Cis found herself whirling[357]as in a dream through the streets, beside Rodney.

He groped for her hand, but Cis withheld it.

“There is no you nor I, Rodney,” she saidsternly. “Myrtle is dying. Pray that you may beable to help her out of the world which she hastragically spoiled for herself, for you, and for whocan say how many others? Pray hard that you andshe, both, may be allowed to atone.”

“Do you think that I am partly responsible forher wickedness?” Rodney demanded fiercely.

“I don’t know, oh, I don’t know; I hope not,”said Cis wearily. “I’m beginning to see that weare almost always sharer in a wrong that is withinour own radius. We are so slow to see, so indifferentto save.”

The taxi stopped at the door of the House of theGood Shepherd, which opened at once to admit Cisand Rodney.

“Yes, very low,” the Sister answered Cicely’squestion. “They say she will die to-night. She hasmade her confession, and received the last rites;she is conscious and lies watching the door for herhusband to come.”

Rodney felt the word like a cord around him.None of these Catholics, whom he had tried toleave behind him, but who were again interwoveninto his life, heeded the decree of divorce whichannulled for him his title of husband. How unbending,everlasting, certain, were the ways ofRome even in all her least, most distant avenues!

“Oh, Rod!” Myrtle breathed his name as he entered.[358]“Now I’ll die. Maybe it’s true God willforgive me, if you can. You’re harder than God.I’m sorry, honest. Forgive me, Roddie?”

Rodney looked down on her; at the flutteringhand feebly extended toward him; at the face whichhe had known young and pretty, now wasted, consumedby Myrtle’s life, the life now panting towardits final breath.

A great pity came upon him. There, on theother side of the bed, knelt Cis, the stainless girlwhom he loved, her face white and tear-wet, sweetand grave with pity, and pain, and fear.

Who was he to condemn, to refuse mercy? Didhe not need it, too? Had his life been so far beyondreproach? Cis, kneeling there, thought thathe was worse than Myrtle, for she had sinned, butwas absolved. She had broken God’s laws, but hehad turned his back on God coldly, deliberately.And he had not confessed himself a sinner. Hewas not a hard-hearted man, and the awfulness ofwhat lay there before him, what awaited Myrtle,now hoping for Rodney’s pardon, so soon to standbefore God for His sentence, melted him, brokedown his anger against his wife.

Rodney knelt beside the bed, and took the flutteringhand, folding its feeble fingers within hisown.

“It’s all right, Myrtie; don’t worry,” he said. “I’llforgive everything, and I’m sorry if I ever droveyou an inch on your road. It’s all right, poor girl.Go to sleep and take your rest.”

“Well, God bless you, Rod!” sighed Myrtle.[359]“I’m going to sleep; pray I’ll rest.” Beside that bedfor three hours Cis, Myrtle’s divorced husband,who at last realized that there was no divorce butthe one Myrtle, slipping away, was giving him, anda Sister recited the prayers for a parting soul. Atthe first hour of the morning the soul quietly, witha few deep drawn breaths, parted.

Rodney went back to Nan’s in the taxi with Cis.They did not speak during the drive. But as Rodneyopened the door for Cis with her pass key, heput out his hand and Cis laid hers in it without aword.

“I’m going to the hotel. To-morrow I’ll attendto things, then—May I see you, Cis?” Rodneyasked.

“Yes. I’ll see you, Rodney—to say good-bye,”Cis answered.

“I’ve no right to complain of that,” Rodney saidhumbly. “You’re a good girl, Cis. Whatever hadbeen, you would have been too good for me. I’mthankful to you, Cis, for to-night.”

“I’m thankful to God. Good night, Rodney,”said Cis.

DURING the remnant of that night left for sleepCis slept deeply, too tired in mind and bodyto be wakeful.

Her hours at the telephone exchange were elastic;she had undertaken the organization work onlyon a provisory basis, unwillingly, with the understandingthat it might continue in her hands but ashort time. She called up her own department inthe morning and said that she would not go downuntil after lunch. She knew that Rodney wouldcome to see her, probably in the forenoon. Sheknew that she must not refuse to see him. He haddone right because she had asked it of him; theleast that she could do was to repay that debt bybidding him good-bye, this time, she was sure, forall the rest of her life. She dreaded the interview,yet dreaded it less than she had expected to. Herexperience with Rodney had been marked by extremesof emotion, even up to the previous nightwhen, by a strange combination of circ*mstances,she and he had watched his wife die while theyresponded to the prayers for mercy upon her. NowCis stood upon the plane of quiet. There remainedbut to drop the curtain upon this drama in her life,with a Godspeed for poor Rodney.

[361]Little Nan went about with an awe-struck, frightenedface as the morning hours passed and Cisawaited Rodney. Nothing dramatic had ever comewithin the sweet little woman’s orbit; she did notknow how to bear herself as a sort of fringe uponCicely’s tragic cloak.

“I’ll stay in the room, or keep away, just as yousay, Cis—I mean when he comes,” Nan said. “Idon’t know what is done in these cases.”

Cis laughed; being Cis she would always laugh atanything funny.

“I don’t believe they set down rules for ‘thesecases’ in books of etiquette, Nan! But I wouldn’tlike to give Rodney an audience; you and I are anothermatter,” she said.

“Thank goodness!” cried Nan fervently. “I’dbe so scared I’d probably crawl under the sofa!”

“Which would do no one else any good, and mussup your hair dreadfully,” Cis suggested.

When the bell rang it was nearly noon. Nanfled to open the door, and then to escape. Cis hadbeen holding the sleepy baby, and when Rodneyentered she had risen to meet him, little Matt heldin her arm, which could not quite support his whitekid-shod feet. His rosy face was pressed againstCis’s breast; his half-open eyes regarded thestranger with a languid interest that suggested averdict on him, rendered after a nap had been completed.

The doorway framed this sweet picture of poignantsuggestions; Rodney halted and stood gazingat it motionless, silent, his face working with pain.[362]He came forward and put out his hand. Cicely laidhers in it, then withdrew it and turned to resumeher chair, wondering if Nan would fetch away thebaby.

“Take that more comfortable seat, Rodney,” shesaid. “This is my godson; we are on the best ofterms.”

“I am going away on the train that leaves herefor Chicago at eight minutes to two,” Rodney said,ignoring all extrinsic subjects. “Myrtle’s peoplereplied to a telegram from me that she might beburied in their family lot; they live about fifteenmiles outside Chicago. The Sisters sent them wordthat Myrtle was in their hands, dying; they did notreply. Neither did I reply to a letter from theSisters. You made me come on. Queer, isn’t it,that I, who am no relation to her, and you whonever knew her, are the only ones to see Myrtle outoff the earth, and decently put into it?” Rodneyspoke with a visible effort.

“You are related to her; you two were made oneflesh,” said Cis.

“Well, Cis, I’m going to own up! The Churchis right. I’ve been feeling that. Myrtle separatedherself from me by a chasm that no honorable manwould cross; that’s all so. But the state did notdivorce me from her; it couldn’t. If marriageasserts itself, in spite of that impassable chasm ofdisgrace and infamy, as it surely does, then it’s beyondthe reach of the state. You were right; I waswrong. If we had been married last night, kneelingbeside Myrtle, neither of us could have borne[363]it. Curious, isn’t it? But you were right. Is itany satisfaction to you to have me acknowledge it?I hope it is. I was furiously, bitterly angry withyou, Cis, but you were right. I’m able to see nowthat it cost you high to choose as you did.”

“It hurt, Rodney,” said Cis simply. “I don’t supposeI should say now that it cost me high; I realizethat I made a tremendous purchase at a low rate.I’ve been thinking how strange it is: You are takingMyrtle’s body to Chicago, then to her ownpeople!”

“On that eight minutes to two,” Rodney corroboratedher.

“Yes. How strange it is that you have come tosay good-bye to me, and are going away with Myrtle,after all,” Cis completed her thought.

“But, Cis, it is not reunited to her,” Rodney protested.“It is recognition that the divorce did notset me free to marry you, but there was far morethan any decree separating me from Myrtle. Andtherefore there is no reason for conventionality, noreason for assuming that my wife has just died, andthat I am on my way to bury her. I am not; I amseeing her looked after and I grant you I could notmarry again on my divorce, yet there’s no wife ofmine newly dead, either. Cis, now I am free. Nowthe Church puts no barrier between us. You canbe as Catholic as you will, and yet marry me.There’s nothing to wait for; we’ve spent a long probation.When, Cis?”

“Never, Rodney,” said Cis quietly. “I hoped youunderstood that.”

[364]“I understood that you wanted me to understandit when you told me you’d see me to say good-bye.You couldn’t have expected me to go off on a hint!Why won’t you marry me, Cis? You have changedenormously, but I know you’re not fickle, not easilymoved, either way. You still love me?” Rodneypleaded.

“No, Rodney, I don’t,” Cis said. “It amazes meto find that you stir memories of feeling, but nofeeling. Don’t you think, perhaps, there is a reactionfrom intense pain that produces in the mindsomething like the immunity that a violent sicknessproduces in the physical system? I was dashed topieces, and the reassembled person has lost thevibration to your personality.”

“Merciful powers! Cis!” cried Rodney, honestlydisgusted. “You talking philosophy, or psychology,or some other rotten, cold-blooded analysis!You, glowing, red-haired, my Holly? Thathigh-browed crowd you’ve gone in with at Beaconhitehave cold packed you!”

Cis smiled faintly. “I’m no colder than I everwas—”

“Except to me!” Rodney interrupted her. “Don’ttell me that I don’t remember—”

“Except to you,” Cis interrupted in her turn, hercolor heightened. “I have grown up, and we are nolonger possible chums. It happens often enoughthat people grow apart, even when they’re married.When it has happened to two people who are free,there can be, there should be, no talk of marriage[365]between them. We must say good-bye, Rodney, asyou came to say it.”

“As you told me to come to say it; I didn’t meanto say it,” Rodney pulled on a chain from inside hisbreast, and held up to Cis her ruby holly ring. “Iwear it, but take it back, Cis!” he begged.

“Oh, the poor, lovely ring!” Cis cried. “I willnever take it back. Oh, Rodney, we had not plannedfor the true Christmas when I wore that! Give theruby to be set in a chalice, or sell it, and send themoney to take care of some helpless baby who maynever know that Our Lord was a baby! Let it makea trifling reparation for us both.”

Rodney stared, but this suggestion seemed to convincehim that between him and Cis stretched unbridgeabledistances.

“Well, you have got it bad!” he said slowly, notso much irreverently as in a puzzled way, expressinghimself in the vernacular of his custom.

“Don’t you think it’s natural to want to payback?” Cis suggested. “If the Church were nottrue, she could not be so beautiful, and you do ‘haveit bad,’ as you say, when you love anything that iswholly true and profoundly beautiful. Rodney,truly you don’t begin to know! I wish you would—atleast begin to know! Did you ever read aboutthose poor animals which have been shut down inmines, how they act when they come up into thesunshine, into green fields again? Quite mad withthe warmth, and brightness, and pasturage? I’mlike that. I went along, didn’t know what I wasmissing, but now I know what I have! Will you[366]promise me, Rodney, solemnly promise me, now,to-day when we part, that you will do your best tolearn what your birthright is which you threwaway?”

Rodney Moore looked long and mutely at Cis,frowning, biting his lip; she had silenced his pleasfor his personal desires. She waited for his answer.

At last it came.

“Yes,” Rodney said. “I will look into it thoroughly.It must be a big thing to do what it didlast night. And to you—though that’s anotherstory. It hit me when you would not marry me,stuck to the Church, though you didn’t seem tocare much about her. I know a chap who is aDominican in Chicago; he and I were confirmed together.I’ll hunt him up. It’s a promise.”

“Then God bless you, Rodney, and I’ll pray foryou hard. It’s good-bye, now, isn’t it? I heard theAngelus from our church faintly ever so long ago,”said Cis, rising.

Rodney pulled out his watch.

“I’ll say it was long ago!” he cried. “I’ll have toeat on the train. But it won’t take me long to connectwith my bag at the hotel. Everything else isdone. Cis, good-bye. Oh, Cis, good-bye! Not foralways? Let me come again!”

“Better not, Rodney. I’m not going to stay here,though; not long. I think this time it is for always,yet we may meet again; there should be many daysbefore we are old. Truly God bless you, Rodney,”said Cis, holding out her hand.

[367]Their hands met over the sleeping baby; heseemed like a figure of their complete separation,filling the place of the child who would never be.

“Kiss me, Holly,” Rodney whispered.

“Our hands hold all that we give,” Cicely answered,and once more he bowed to her will.

“I shall remember you looking like a madonna.Good-bye, good-bye, ah, Cis, good-bye!” Rodneylifted to his cheek the hand he held, then laid itupon the child’s breast, beside its mate.

Cis stood motionless after the front door closed,till Nan came creeping into the room and little Mattstirred with a complaining cry.

Rodney had gone, gone with Myrtle, dead, tobury her; deeper still to bury his hope and love ofCicely. Nothing was left of Rodney Moore excepthis promise to her. But that promise filled Cis withexaltation.

The next morning Cis made it on her way to heroffice to go to see Jeanette Lucas, though it was adétour that took her in the opposite direction forseveral blocks.

“Cis, I wanted to see you; did you sense it?”Jeanette cried as she came in. “I’ve somethingwonderful, marvellous to tell you. You rememberPaul Ralph Randolph?”

“Why, of course I do,” said Cis. “Didn’t hetour New England with Mr. Lancaster last summer,keeping with Miss Braithwaite’s car? I rode withhim lots of times, and had fine talks. He’s the convert[368]minister who has been so fine about it; I meansacrifices and all that.”

“Surely! Cis, he’s a confessor of the faith! He’salmost a martyr for it! He’s perfectly glorious!”cried Jeanette.

“You’ve heard all that; everybody has, of course.You don’t know him, do you?” Cis asked.

“Oh, Cicely Adair! He told me that he hadtalked to you of me!” Jeanette looked aggrieved. “Imet him in England; he crossed with us cominghome. He was received in England, because it waseasier. His father and mother behaved violentlyabout his coming over to the Church, when he announcedthat he intended to come, so he wentacross, and he was received by the Benedictinesover there. Don’t you remember? I must havespoken of it, and he himself told you that he knewme! What a girl! Did you remember everythinghe told you of Mr. Lancaster? Paul says—”

“Hallo! Who says?” cried Cis.

“Yes, that’s my news!” Jeanette triumphed overher. “Paul says, Paul, whom I’m going to marry!Paul Ralph Randolph, the confessor, and almostmartyr!”

“Martyr nothing!” Cis relapsed under the shockinto her earlier habits of speech.

“He’s no martyr if he marries you, JeanetteLucas! You’re too lovely to marry any mere man.I always did think you were superfinely fine! Butthis is great news, my dearest, and nobody isgladder than red-haired Cis!”

“Nobody is nicer than red-haired Cis!” retorted[369]Jeanette. “I was afraid you’d be a little shocked,because you knew I was engaged before. But, Cis,though it hurt me dreadfully when you let me discoverHerbert Dale’s character, and I was wretchedafter it, it was the sickness of disenchantment; theshock cured me of all love for him. I half hopedI might be a nun; I spoke of it to you once, but itisn’t my place. When Paul asked me to marry him—threedays ago; he wrote me—I knew how I lovedhim; I hadn’t realized it before. Oh, my dear, I’mso happy and so humbled!”

“I don’t mind how happy you are, but nothumbled,” Cis protested, kissing her over and overagain.

“And I want you happy, splendid Cicely,” Jeanettemurmured.

“Oh, as to that, I’m sure to be; it’s the temperamentof my hair,” said Cis, turning away slightly.“But I’d like to be useful, fill a place, find the rightplace to fill. Sister Bonaventure says no habit forpoor Cicely! I wonder what I’m meant for; nothingin particular, probably. Reliable secretary,run a typewriter accurately, get under the skins ofyoungsters when they need entertaining! Well, it’sat least a harmless life.”

There was a note in Cicely’s voice new to it.Jeanette instantly pounced upon her. “Lonely,Cis? Not perfectly happy? These past days madethings harder? They’ve been cruelly hard in themselves,I’m sure of that!”

Cis swung around to face her.

“It’s not that I still want Rod; don’t think that!”[370]she cried. “I knew I didn’t, but I know it betternow. These days were hard, but they were a comfort,too. I’m not lonely, not exactly; perhaps, alittle. I don’t know what I want. I miss MissBraithwaite, my life with her. Perfectly happy?I’m twenty-three; the ‘first fine careless rapture’is over then, I suppose. I want a place to fill; Iwant a work to do that will take every bit of me todo it.”

Cis quoting Browning? Cis half pensive, unsatisfied?Jeanette wondered.

“Poor Cicely! I suspect if we put a dynamo togrinding coffee it would find the grains small andthe dust they made too trivial!” Jeanette said. “Butyou take my engagement coolly! Aren’t youamazed?”

“I’m wholly amazed and surprised, and I take itless coolly than you think,” declared Cis. “It hasrather bowled me over. I suppose I dread to haveyou married. Where shall you live, Jeanette,dear?”

“In Beaconhite. Paul is going into literary workthere; he says I shall help him. And he is goingto teach Greek and Latin in that big boys’ school onthe outskirts of the city—Graycliff Hall—and he’llprobably lecture. It will be Beaconhite,” Jeanetteanswered.

Cis’s face had brightened as she listened.

“I know I’m going back there, somehow,” she declared.“That’s good news that you’ll be withinreach. I’m hungry for Beaconhite.”

“Uncle Wilmer is ready for you at any moment,[371]whoever he has as his secretary,” Jeanette assuredher. “He told me that he would pension his secretary,if he must, and would have you back anyday you’d come. He will be received into theChurch at Pentecost, Cis; Father Morley will receivehim, as he did father, and father will make apoint of being here in time for the ceremony.”

“Was there a secret about your father’s goingaway; ought I ask?” hinted Cis.

“He was seriously ill. We told no one, lestmother hear of it; things have such a way of leaking,unexplainably! He was supposed to be travellingon matters connected with important affairsof business. He has been in a sanitarium. He iscured, thank God! Even now don’t speak of this,Cis. Miss Gallatin knows, hardly anyone else.Hannah Gallatin is a great woman!” Jeanetteended with tears of gratitude and relief in her eyes.

“I never see her, lately; I wish I might,” saidCis. “I believe she could set me up again with myold sensible way of taking things!”

“She’s not here now. I’ll tell her you need herfor a—what do they call it?—a pick-me-up?” Jeanettelaughed.

That evening Tom came into Nan’s house as washis custom. Though Cis had bade him cease to hopefor her love, and Nan had confirmed the hopelessness,yet as long as Cis was free, it was hard forTom to give her up, and wholly impossible to stayaway from her.

“Well,” the boy began as he came in, “I sawsomething pretty decent to-night. A man came in[372]on the 7:56 train; I was at the station. He wasgreat, the kind everybody turns to look at; tall,well-dressed, about forty, maybe, and—I don’tknow! Great; that’s about the word. You wantedto speak to him, and shake hands with him. Hetalked something like an Englishman, not quite—”

“What did he look like?” cried Cis.

“Why, I’ve been telling you, haven’t I?” Tomspoke in an aggrieved tone. “I don’t know the colorof his eyes, or anything of that sort. Handsome,I’d say, but more sort of splendid. He had anotherman with him, nice chap, too. Well, sir,there was a raggedy old woman hanging around,trying to find out something about trains, or farming,for all I know; nobody could make her out.She had a bag as big as a Noë’s ark, and a regulareruption of bundles! A fresh boy thought it wasfunny to hustle her, hit up against her, and shedropped the bundles, bag, whole shooting match,all over everything! The bag bulged queer clothes—itburst open—and the bundles opened up, ortwo did, and out of one there sort of flowed a lotof carrots, and out of the other a white kitten gotaway! Don’t ask me how she had it done up, forI’ll never tell you! Everybody howled laughing,but what do you think that man did?”

“Helped her!” cried Cis, and she looked triumphantand excited.

“Rather! Caught the kitten and stroked it quiet;the little thing took to him as if he’d been themother cat! Gathered up carrots with the otherhand, and, in the mean time, talked to the old dame[373]in her own tongue—Italian—and put her wise towhatever she was trying to find out! I got in onbundling the clothes back into the bag, and thecarrots into the bundle, and the kitten into a basket,which my knight of distressed dames bought at thefruit stand; he tied it down so strong that the kittenis sure to arrive wherever it’s going! And I’m bettingthat most of the people around there felt goodand ashamed of themselves! It isn’t much to tell,but somehow it was a lot to see. There wasn’t aperson in that waiting room that didn’t think thatman was the greatest ever; you could feel the waythe thing grabbed ’em. I tell you the truth! Ofcourse I was sorry for the old person, and sorry I’dlaughed at her, and I did want to make good byhelping her out, but I wanted more to be workingwith that man so that he’d speak to me! He didspeak, too! And I leave it to you if a fellow likeme often feels that way to a man, a perfect stranger,just happening to come off the train in the station?”

“Magnetism,” murmured Joe.

“There’s only one man in all the world likethat!” cried Cis.

Tom turned on her sharply.

“Know him?” he demanded.

“Of course I can’t be sure, but it is exactly likeMr. Anselm Lancaster, and it is like no one else inall the world!” Cis said, her eyes bright, her faceflushed, her breath a little quickened.

“He is the one whom everybody looks at; whenhe comes into a room you feel him as much as yousee him. He can make anything trust him, kittens,[374]carrots, old women, anything! He speaks Italianas well as English, and he speaks English like anOxford Englishman. He would do precisely whatyou describe, be a knight errant as soon for a poorold immigrant as for a princess! It sounds like noone but Mr. Anselm Lancaster!”

PRECISELY because she wanted exceedingly tostay away from the girls and neglect the arrangementof their new rooms in the telephonebuilding, Cis arose betimes the next morning andwent out early. She could not rid herself of theconviction that the man whose chivalry had so impressedTom the previous night was Anselm Lancaster,and she wanted to stay in the house, hopingthat, if it were he, he would come to look her up.It had been long, and seemed longer to Cis, sinceshe had heard from Miss Braithwaite. Mr. Lancasterhad shown no remembrance of her existencefor months; it was now close upon May day, andspring in the air increased Cis’s restless dissatisfaction,filling her with a homesickness which wasfarther reaching and deeper than homesickness fora definite place.

She told herself that it was absurd to identifyTom’s hero on so slender a ground, and quite unpardonableto mope around the house expectingMr. Lancaster to call on her. “You never weresilly when it was the time to be silly; don’t begin itnow, Cis Adair,” she sternly told herself.

So she went down to look after her girls’ organizationearlier than usual, in order to rebuke her[376]own tendency to folly, but, like most of us, she compromisedwith her weakness.

“I’m not coming back to lunch, Nancy,” shecasually told Nan. “I’ve looked up that bunch oflittle ragamuffin newsies I used to chum with beforeI went away. I could not find them all, but I foundtwo or three, and they’ll find the rest—one, Tony,whom I liked a great deal, is dead, poor little chap;was run over by a motor truck, they tell me. I’vebeen thinking I missed my chance to do more thanamuse them and give them a little pleasure when Iwas here; I’m going to see if I can make amends.I told them I’d give them the price of their papersif they’d spend the afternoon with me, take a holiday.They didn’t seem to object! I’m going totake them out to the picnic glen on a hike, and givethem a good time—I hope! I went out there yesterdayand hid tin boxes, filled with candy, aroundin the rocks, and under the shrubbery, enough foreach to have one; they’ll have to divide fairly ifanybody finds more than one. And when they’veworked down some of their spirits I’m going to tellthem a story, and lead up to my point—missionarypoint, you know! Good plan?”

“It’s a dear plan, Cis!” cried Nan. “What a Cisyou are! I’d like to be good your way!”

“Fiddlesticks! My way is to try to make up theleast bit for not being half-way good, never oncecaring to give the little chaps a push in the right direction.You don’t have to pay up for lost chances,Nan,” cried Cis impatiently. “I could have donealmost anything with those boys then. Well, that’s[377]milk that is not only spilled, but soaked down intothe ground; no use crying over it. If you need me,Nan, if the baby begins to talk, or has the croup, oranything like that, you’ll find me at the picnicglen.”

Cis laughed, a little shame-facedly as she made itclear to Nan where not only she, but anyone elsewho happened to want her might find her.

At half past one Cis, with a fringe on her garment’sedge, of small boys, and a few larger ones,went briskly swinging out toward the pretty countrywhich surrounded the little city. They were boundon a four mile walk; they would end it, at the pacethey were taking it, in something over an hour anda quarter. Cis ordered her troop to sing, herselfleading the dubious chorus, sung in as many variationsof key and tune as was possible to the numbersinging. The words held most of the time inplace; even little flat-faced Jimmy Devlin, whosang on one note, situated in the depth of his diapraghm,kept valiantly to the time, so the torturedmusic held the feet to their task.

The glen was really pretty. It was damp andfragrant with the spring moisture and odors; withthe delicious earth newly released from frost, thelittle shoots, the new growths of bark; somewhereout of sight were violets, and on the rocks saxifrage,clustering tiny white stars on an erect stem.

The boys’ delight was satisfying even to Cis, whopassionately longed to put four hours and better ofunadulterated joy into these meagre little lives.They went on a violent hunt for her hidden boxes[378]of candy, unearthed them, every one, and willinglygave each boy who had been slower than the restthe share which he had failed to discover. Theyplayed games, yelling like mad, till, at last, theywere ready to drop down on the platform put upfor dancing, upon which Cis insisted as a seat becausethe high temperature of this summerlikeApril day had not had time to dry the wet ground.They subsided to munch candy and let her haveher way with them.

Cis had carefully planned her story, and shetold it well, the story of an imaginary little Romanboy, who might have lived, who dearly lovedSt. Sebastian. She told them how this brave youngsoldier and his little friend had died, for shemade her fictitious little citizen of the City of theCatacombs share the fate of the older youth, whosestory was true.

Then leaning toward the lads whose eyes werefixed upon her own, clasping her hands, her eagerface flushed and earnest, her glorious red hair shiningunder a ray of sunshine until it seemed to illuminethe shady glen, Cis begged her little adorersto hold fast to that for which Sebastian’s arrows hadbeen faced, for which those little lads of old—andmany since—had truly lived and gladly died.

Thus it was that Anselm Lancaster, coming downthe glen from behind her, found Cis, and paused towonder, with reverence added to the admiration hehad already learned to feel for her.

One of the boys discovered him, and started upfrom his prone position, with a threatening gesture.

[379]“Who’s de guy? Here, this is a private show;no buttin’ in!” he cried.

Anselm Lancaster laughed, and came forward asCis leaped up and faced him, knowing at the firstsyllable of her indignant little guest’s protest, whomshe should see.

“It is a mean trick to butt in, I’m afraid,” Mr.Lancaster said. “Miss Adair, will you tolerate alarger boy here?”

He stood smiling, tall and handsome, as differentfrom ordinary men as Tom had described him; asfar beyond them, Cis thought, seeing him anewafter so long a time.

“Mr. Lancaster!” she cried, as if she had not beenexpecting him all the afternoon; wondering in theback of her brain why he did not come; if it hadnot been he, after all, whom Tom had seen in thestation. “Where did you come from? And howglad I am that you did come!”

“Then you don’t resent what your small friendhere calls my butting in?” Mr. Lancaster suggested,looking no less happy than the smallest boy there.

“I went to see you, but your friend Mrs.?—Nan?—toldme that you were away, and how tofind you. She seemed to think I might come to theglen. You look well? Yes, I think you look well,but I’m not sure of it; you are not just as you werein Beaconhite, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” said Cis. “But I’m perfectly well.What of Miss Braithwaite?”

“She is at home again. She was going to writeyou, but when I suggested seeing you instead, she[380]jumped at the idea. She said it was because she detestsletter writing, but I think she wanted closercommunication with you, to get my report of you.I came on with Paul, Paul Randolph. He is goingto marry Miss Lucas—but she said that she hadtold you,” Mr. Lancaster checked himself.

“She did. I hoped—I mean I thought perhaps—Well,he is lucky, that’s certain. I’d be glad tohave him marry Jeanette if I were his friend,” Cisstammered, confused.

Anselm Lancaster elevated his eyebrows witha quizzical look. He quite well knew what Ciswould have said if she had gone on with the beginningof her sentence. But all that he said was:

“I suspect it is one of your secret employmentsto provide for your friends’ happiness! And aren’tyou glad that these two are engaged, being a friendof Miss Lucas? Indeed you well may be; PaulRandolph is a fine fellow!”

“Oh, I know he is! I admired him last summer,but Jeanette is fit for the best, and I’m glad,surely! She’s perfectly happy. Mr. Lancaster, I’vegot to see to the boys! Do you mind? I’d farrather not, but see that pair over there? Thattussle is getting too earnest.” Cis pointed to wrestlingthat was rapidly degenerating into a fight.

“I’ve done a meddlesome thing. I want to tellthe lads about it before I tell you, because then youcan’t betray how angry you are with me! But firstmay I show that pair—the others will not stand offlong!—a trick or two of Japanese wrestling? Don’tbe afraid; I’ll show them how to use it properly.[381]They won’t come to harm, and boys have to scrap;kittens and puppies do, too, you know!” AnselmLancaster began to take off his coat as he spoke, notwaiting for Cicely’s assent to his proposal.

She looked at him wondering. Was this the manwhom she had feared, even when she felt most athome with him and admired him? His nearly fortyyears had been thrown off as he was throwing offhis coat; he was like one of the older boys amongher guests, except that his body showed the finelines of breeding and training as he faced the lads,the wind blowing his silken shirt and rumpling hisbrown hair.

“Come on, boys!” he said tightening his belt andsettling the loose collar of his shirt. “I know athing or two about the way the Japs wrestle. Standup to me, you biggest boy over there, and I’ll giveyou some points which you’ll find good to know, ifever you’re in a tight place. I’ll teach the wholecrowd, but you come on first. And in case the ladyin whose charge we’re all here, she-that-must-be-obeyed,is afraid we’ll be too late getting home, I’lltell you that we aren’t going to walk it. I ordereda truck to come after us at six; it will hold us all,and get us back to town in fifteen minutes; less!How does it strike you?”

It struck them into silence for the space of abreath, and then into a babel of noisy approval.

“Oh, Mr. Lancaster, how kind you are! Andwhat a lark!” cried Cis, flushed with delight. “Boys,if you’re yelling, yell right! Three times three forMr. Lancaster! Come on; I’ll lead!”

[382]Cis bent over and waved her arms in the approvedmanner; she had led her school yells indays past. The nine cheers were given deafeningly,ending with: “Rah, rah, rah; Lancaster!” which theboys approved, though they missed its meaning.

Then Mr. Lancaster initiated the boys into thebeginnings of Jiu-jitsu till the big truck came intothe glen, and they all piled in warm, hungry, blissfullyhappy.

Mr. Lancaster stood on the running board andlooked the boys over.

“Going to stick to Mass every Sunday, and standby like good fellows, every one of you? Come now,that’s to be a promise! Don’t make it unless youmean to keep it, but make it and keep it; see theidea?” he said.

He put out his hand to each boy in turn, andeach boy put his grimy hand into it, and gave thepromise.

The truck made the four miles of homeward roadin less than fifteen minutes. When the boys had alldispersed, Mr. Lancaster turned to Cis.

“Fine party, Miss Cis,” he said. “Some day, afterthey’ve broken that promise, some of those ladswill remember it again and that you were a goodsport, yet loved God.”

“They’ll remember much more that the fine gentlemanwho could wrestle and jump was not a deserter,”retorted Cis warmly. “I can’t thank youfor making my party so splendid, the ride back andeverything, but you don’t want my thanks! Willyou come with me to supper at Nan’s? She’ll be[383]delighted if you will come. Or—where shall I hearabout Miss Braithwaite?”

“When I come for you to-night. We are tospend the evening with Miss Lucas—Paul being understood!”replied Anselm Lancaster promptly.“Will you be ready at shortly after eight? We haveimportant matters to settle; I’m an ambassador.”

“From Miss Braithwaite?” cried Cis. “Oh, Mr.Lancaster, I want to see her! I miss it all so much!”

“Good to hear that!” He smiled at her. “I won’ttell you my errand now, but you will walk slowlyand let me present my credentials from the LadyMiriam to-night?”

“Oh, yes!” Cis laughed from sheer pleasure.“I’ve been getting homesick. Nan is as dear asever, good, and sweet and dear, but she is so muchmarried!”

Anselm Lancaster laughed. “She met me witha handsome baby on her hip; I thought sheseemed to like him! But she assured me that youwere almost as fond of him as she is; this was whenI commented on his charms,” he said.

“Like him! Well, yes, Nan does like him!” Cislaughed also. “And I am nearly as mad over himas she is, but—” Cis hesitated.

“But the finest baby is not a career for any otherwoman save his mother! Then to-night? It isgood to see you again, Miss Cicely,” Mr. Lancastersaid.

That night Mr. Lancaster came to Nan’s door alittle before the appointed hour. “I seem to bearranging things to suit myself to-day,” he announced[384]to Cis when she appeared. “I called upMiss Lucas and said that I had to see you to-nighton behalf of Miss Braithwaite, and that we wouldnot spend the evening there. Instead, I have founda car like my own at the garage and have taken itfor the evening. It is a beautiful night, soft littlebreeze, pleasant-tempered little moon! I’m goingto drive you about and talk to you. Do you mind?”

“Not a bit!” Cis hoped that she did not betrayhow little she minded. “I must get a heavier wrap,though. Just a minute, and I’ll be ready.”

“Whither away?” asked Mr. Lancaster, when Ciswas disposed on the seat beside him, a light-weightrug over her knees.

“Anywhere! I don’t care where; I don’t knowmany roads beyond here, though I was born andbrought up here. I don’t think it matters muchwhich direction you take.”

“We’ll recklessly drive and turn corners, andafter a while have to ask the way back! Thatsounds alluring. I always wanted to be lost!” criedAnselm Lancaster.

“Oh, did you? So did I!” cried Cis. “I used totry to lose myself when I was a little girl, but I havean Indian’s sense of direction, and I always wentright!”

“Great thing to have a true sense of direction,and go right when roads are obscure,” said Anselm.

Cis did not answer; she heard a sub-meaning inhis voice, and wondered if he were thinking of herbewilderment nearly two years ago.

“Now, about Miss Braithwaite,” said Anselm,[385]getting away from her silence and her thoughts,which he divined, and from his own meaning whichhe knew that she had caught. “Miss Miriam’sfriend has died, after agony that must have directlyopened heaven to her. Miss Miriam stayed by herto the end; it was not easy to see. But there’s nouse dwelling on that, beyond resolving to make herreturn home as cheerful as possible. You knowwhat Miss Braithwaite is; she does not repine, andshe has met this torture in the spirit that is hers.It’s almost harder to see agony that can’t be relieved,except by anaesthetics daily losing theirefficacy, than it is to bear it. Miss Miriam is sixty-fiveyears old, dear Miss Cis. That isn’t old; weknow how unfailing her strength is, her strength ofcharacter, of mind, of efficiency, but old age maybe seen coming along at sixty-five, much as if shewere standing on the corner waiting for a trolleytransfer, and the other trolley which she was to takewere bounding down its track toward her.”

“I don’t want Miss Braithwaite to be old! Ican’t bear to think of it. She’s one of those personswho should never be old; so clever, so brilliant,so highly good!” protested Cis.

“And so vital,” added Anselm. “I can’t imagineher old. But it would be hard to deny her the rewardof the qualities which make us want to holdher fast; I imagine that, while she willingly livesand works, she will be glad to lay down this lifewhen she is permitted to. No one whose appraisalsare as accurate as hers can value life in itself. However,that’s beyond our authority. She is lonely,[386]dear Miss Cis, and she had grown fond of you, dependenton your youth, your sense of humor, yourmind, which in all its workings responds to hers.”

“Oh, me!” cried Cis. “Why, I’m only twenty-three,for one thing, and I’m not clever, nor travelled,nor well-read, so—”

“It isn’t nice to set up tenpins for me to bowlover,” Anselm teased her. “No one can safelydrive and bowl at the same time. You know quitewell that Miss Braithwaite was happy with you. Youwere a bright spot in her charming, but silenthouse. The proof of this is that she wants you back.She was going to write to you, but I’m her ambassador,as I told you this afternoon. She bids mebeg of you to come back, back to stay, to make yourhome with her permanently, unless you find somethingelse that calls to your true vocation as we boththink you will. She bade me say that if it madeyou happier to resume your secretaryship, she wasentirely willing, or for you to take up any otherwork, if you like to be occupied, feel independent.She says that this is not necessary; there would beno question of obligation to her, ‘she needs you toobadly’—that is what she said—but she will not opposeyou. ‘All that she asks is that she may seeyour bright head beside her hearth, know that youare coming home to her, as her daughter wouldcome, at the close of every day.’ That is literally hermessage, Miss Cicely. I do not think that you canfind it in your heart to say her no.”

Cis did not speak for a few minutes. Anselmwent on silently guiding the smooth motion of the[387]car, guessing that she was as deeply moved as sheactually was. At last Cis spoke, saying:

“You must know how this makes me feel, Mr.Lancaster. She has been so good to me; she is sowonderful, and now this! And I am alone. I don’tsuppose anybody, no matter how young and strongand jolly she may be, can help feeling alone whenshe is alone! It’s strange that Miss Braithwaitewants me now. I have been growing restless, unsatisfied;I don’t know what is wrong. I don’t enjoybeing here. I love the baby and Nan, but—I’mashamed, but Miss Braithwaite, and Father Morleyand you, and even the big things in Mr. Lucas’ office,have all spoiled me for nice, steady, dull little days!I’m not better than Nan in brains; not nearly asgood in the other sense, but, I’ve been fed onstronger food. Even her marriage—Joe is really agood boy; I do like him, but—Well, it isn’t whatyou’d think it would be; what I’d think it would be,anyway! It’s just like bread and butter three timesa day, every day in the year!”

Anselm Lancaster laughed, but he shook hishead.

“Don’t you get to craving things too far beyondcommon human experience,” he warned her. “Thefact that it is called common experience means thatit is the best lot for the majority. I’ll warrant thatto your Nan her husband is an oracle of wisdom,and a fount of charm! She’s safe, too; rememberthat’s no small asset in marriage. The sort of marriagethat you describe goes peacefully into old age,undiminished in satisfaction, while hundreds are[388]shipwrecked around it which started out to a gloriousfanfare of the trumpets of romance and unfoundedidealization. However, I grant you thatsort of life is not for you. You have outgrown yourchildhood comrades, the malnutritive food of littleminds. You’ve been living at high speed for threeyears, Cicely Adair; you’ve left behind you thethings of your childhood. Just how does all thisapply to Miss Braithwaite’s appeal to you to cometo her? I’d say that it made it most opportune.”

“It does, oh, it does!” cried Cis. “It takes mybreath away. To go back feeling that I’m wanted,maybe needed; that I’m to go to make a home there;that all that beautiful, helpful life for others willbe my life; that I’ll read, think, learn, have FatherMorley to guide me—Mr. Lancaster, I’ve spoken toyou frankly, just as I always did. I’ve always feltthat you would understand. You won’t think I wascriticizing dear little Nannie? I’d give my head tobe as good as she is; dear little soul, always puttingme up, and herself down! But—I want Beaconhite,and what I had there. Tell me truthfully, isit right for me to go? Ought I go?”

Anselm Lancaster let the car drop down to a lowspeed, and turned to look at Cis, with an expressionon his face which, though she saw it clearly in thebrilliant light of the interior of the car, she couldnot construe.

“Yes, Cicely,” he said. “Truthfully I think thatyour place is there. I love Miss Miriam dearly; sheis more to me than any of my kindred, more thanany other friend. If it were only that you can be to[389]her, now that she needs sustaining, what you can bewould seem to me enough reason for your going,you who are entirely free to go and do as you will.She has been a real power for good, an instrumentwhich has helped to carve out the way for othersto follow her into the Catholic Church, and onewhose charity has bridged many a poor wretch backinto a possible manner of living when hope seemedover for him. What can you ask better than torepay some of the debt God’s children owe thiswoman? And you say that she has done much foryou. I think that your place is in Beaconhite. Ifthe decision rests with me, I say: Come! Thriceover: Come! And may all that lies ahead of youthere, all that may come of it, be blessed andguided. How can I say aught else, save: Come?”

Cis looked up at him with a tiny smile, her underlip slightly drawn in, as a child who is half grieved,half glad smiles. She had many childish ways offace and hands; Anselm Lancaster and Miss Braithwaitefound them her greatest charm.

“How beautiful to have what you want most todo also your duty!” she murmured.

“It always is when she who desires is innocent ofwrong-doing, whose heart is God’s first of all,” saidAnselm Lancaster, his words barely audible abovethe softly purring engine. “Don’t you know, Cicelyof the red-gold locks, that desire is one of the marksof a vocation? It was the Puritans who put intoour heads the notion that it was praiseworthy tohate the thing one chooses. Love Beaconhite andMiss Braithwaite and choose them! Amen.”

IT WAS settled that Cis was to return to Beaconhite.Mr. Lancaster had gone back, and immediatelythere came a brief, warm, characteristicletter from Miss Braithwaite to Cis.

“You are to come home on any terms you choose,my dear,” she wrote, “as long as you come; thereare no terms to my wanting you. If you will establishyourself in this house for good and all itwill be transformed. My library is large, but notlarge enough to fill the vacancy in my life. Summeris coming, and I shall not be able to keep a fireon the hearth much of the time; can’t you see howthe library will need your hair in it? I need yourradiance, my child; you are a most vivifying person,Cicely Adair! Other fires than that on my hearthare burning low; I grow chilled. Anselm tells methat you are coming, yet hesitate on the heels of theresolve lest you may not make good—isn’t that theway to put it? Let me judge. You know how fullyI speak my mind; I suppose no one ever is doubtfulof my meanings! Then, when I say that comingto live with me will fulfil several of the corporalworks of mercy—feeding the hungry, comfortingthe sorrowful, visiting the sick—of mind, at least—itis strictly true. I am impatiently waiting for[391]you; come as soon as you can, please. And be surethat I am not only lovingly, but gratefully, Yourgrumpy old friend, Miriam Braithwaite.”

“You are glad to leave me, Cis—and baby!” Nanreproached her.

“You are so completely married, Nannie! AndI can’t claim my godson unless I do away with youand Joe,” Cis replied. “With Jeanette living inBeaconhite I’ll have one girl friend there. FatherMorley will teach me what I ought to know; he’struly a great man. You know what Miss Braithwaiteis; I’ve told you as much as can be told abouther. Life in that house is never far off from thegreatest, the eternal things, but it is also overflowingwith beauty of books, music, art—and MissBraithwaite does so love to play like a child, but awitty, wonderful child! It’s a beautiful life; I can’thelp being glad to live it. But you know I love you,Nannie!”

Cis took her small friend in her arms to kiss herhard.

“There’s no chance for Tom, Cis?” hinted Nan.“I thought, possibly, when you sent Rodney Mooreaway—I know you did send him!—that maybe—?Mother is so anxious for it; she’s going to talk toyou before you go.”

“Oh, Nan, don’t let her!” protested Cis. “That’sawful; second-hand wooing! If a girl were beginningto think about a man I’d suppose that it wouldturn her off to have his mother come to offer himto her! Don’t let your mother try that! And helpme to dodge nice young Tommy! Because I’ll[392]never in all this world marry the boy, so why botherabout it?”

“Why, indeed,” sighed Nan. “I’ll try to headoff my family. I think Tom is convinced that hestands no chance.”

“He knows I’m truthful and sure of what Iwant,” Cis said lightly. “Now I’m going to talk toMr. Singer. We’ve everything running in fineshape down there; it won’t be hard to fit someoneinto my shoes.”

“I wish Miss Gallatin would take it,” said Nan.

“I wish she could,” Cis said thoughtfully. “Butit ought to be someone younger, more ornamental.Girls forget that sort of woman made herself whatshe is by being the right sort of girl; they think theywere always elderly and were born with serious,decorous clothes on, common-sense shoes, and carryingan umbrella to be ready for storms—a figurativeumbrella against figurative storms, too! MissGallatin is going to stay on in the Lucas householdwhen Jeanette leaves it. After all, she has a bigfield there; all those children and an invalidmother! I wish I could get a Catholic woman intothe club of Bells—that’s what I call it, but Mr.Singer won’t let me use that nice name. Lots of thegirls are the kind of Catholics I was, need theCatholic woman, and she wouldn’t harm the others!Girls aren’t a bad lot, but it’s marvellous howcrookedly they see and think! I’d like to furnishthem all with folding pocket rules to measure upby!”

Nan laughed, then sighed. “You’d do for a[393]pocket rule for all of them, if you’d stay here,” shesaid. “A girl like you can do wonders. I’m sorry,sorry you’re going!”

“Let’s hope I’ll shine as a light to girls in Beaconhite;there are girls there, silly Nancy!” laughedCis. “Nan, I think they named that city expresslyfor my coming to it! Hasn’t it been a beacon onthe height to me?”

“It’s your post graduate college; it’s made yougrow up. Oh dear, Cis, I’ve grown up, too, in thesame time, but you have grown away from me!”

“Fast friends forever!” Cis corrected her, andpretended to mop tears out of Nan’s eyes with herhandkerchief.

Yet when it came to the actual parting it was Cis,not Nan, who cried tempestuously. She realizedthat this was a farewell that was final, however trueit might be that they were, as she had said herself,“fast friends forever.” Complete divergence ofpaths and interest ends, not the will to friendship,but its actuality. At their age Nan, married andsettled, Cis going on to meet life, would pass out ofknowledge of their common beginning. She andNan would contrive to meet occasionally, and, thusmeeting, find it difficult to talk together after thefirst exchange of news items was over. Cis recognizedthis, and felt it sad, but she attributed hercrying to little Matt.

“He will grow every day, and do something newand darling every day, and I shall not see him, andhe won’t know me when I do see him! If onlybabies wouldn’t grow up and begin to go to school[394]so soon!” she sobbed, mumbling her godson’s softcheeks.

“Mercy!” cried Nan, shocked by the suggestionthat her son would soon take his place in the ranksof those in the second age of man’s career.

Miss Braithwaite’s coupé was waiting at theBeaconhite station to take Cis home when she arrived.She jumped into it with a thrill of joy andreceived Miss Braithwaite’s quiet, warm welcomeshyly, yet with high delight. It seemed to her thatat last “she belonged,” as she told herself; that thiswas a true home-coming.

Miss Braithwaite looked tired; Cis saw it afterthey had reached the house and were settled downto tea-serving by Ellen in the splendid library. AtMiss Braithwaite’s age the effects of hard experiencetake the appearance of physical ills, and oftentheir form; it was less that Miss Braithwaite lookedas if she had borne grief since Cis had last seen her,than that she looked as if she had seriously overtaxedherself, her nervous strength.

“Oh, how good this is! How happy and howgood!” Cis sighed dropping her hat on the chairnearest to her, leaning back in the low chair whichshe occupied and rumpling her heavy coils of hairinto a looseness adjusted to the upholstery.

“I’ve been bad, Miss Braithwaite, restless, unsatisfied,not knowing what was wrong, but suspectinga whole lot of things! And the suspicion that it wasthis house and Beaconhite was right! I wanted tobe here.”

“We are going to talk later; now it is tea, then[395]rest, and this evening talk,” declared Miss Braithwaite.“Anselm wanted to come here to-night, butI forbade it; cloister observance for us this firstnight! Jeanette Lucas is to marry Paul Randolph,and be near by. Are you glad?”

“Indeed I am, only—Well, of course she wantsto marry Mr. Randolph,” Cis hesitated.

“Nothing wrong with him; I’d find him a bitdull,” declared Miss Braithwaite. “He’s intelligent,has a nice mind; can’t turn it into currencyto pay his way. I like a talker, as you know. Buthe is truly fine, and that he is nobly good he hasgiven proof. There won’t be lacking those whowill say that he recognized his opportunity; thatmarrying Jeanette Lucas was wise, and that his sacrificeof an income will be made up to him withoutmuch loss of time.”

“How contemptible!” cried Cis. “As thoughthere were need of looking beyond Jeanette herselffor a reason for wanting to marry her! If Mr.Randolph had that sort of worldly prudence heneed not have come into the Church at all! Whyare human beings so mean?”

“Because they are human, my dear. People mustbelittle fine actions when they are small people; bigdeeds are most annoying to small minds; they takethem as personal affronts,” returned Miss Braithwaiteplacidly. “It really does not matter about thechatter of parrakeets. If you are so partizan ofPaul Randolph why did you seem to hesitate justnow in approving the marriage?”

“I always hoped Jeanette would marry Mr. Lancaster,[396]you know,” said Cis promptly. “Butneither of them ever showed symptoms, so I don’tsuppose it’s Mr. Randolph’s fault.”

“Not in the least!” Miss Braithwaite laughed. “Isometimes think it may be another girl’s fault,though. I suspect Anselm of other wishes.”

“How exciting!” cried Cis. “Aren’t you going totell me? He seems so splendid, so interested inaffairs, it’s hard to imagine him thinking of marrying.”

Miss Braithwaite laughed again, but she held upher hands in horror.

“Now heaven forfend!” she cried. “Cis, are youtransforming poor Anselm into the hero of theearly Victorian novel? Solitary, superior, remote,a demi-god, with the human, half wishy-washy, artificial?Because it’s distinctly unfair of you, if youare! He is thoroughly a human being, but he hasmade his humanity what God meant a man to be.To my mind he’s forceful, strong and quick in feeling;a vital man. He’s precisely the man to thinkof marriage, and not to think of it coolly, but tobring to it a great love, such as would honor anywoman and make her happy.”

Cis stirred uneasily; she could not have said whyshe felt uncomfortable, ill-at-ease.

“I don’t think anything of him that you wouldnot want me to think, Miss Braithwaite,” she said.“I don’t know him as you do, of course, but I admirehim almost as much. If only you could haveseen him with those boys! And Tom said in thestation everybody stared at him.”

[397]“Boys? Station?” echoed Miss Braithwaite.“Tell me.”

And Cis told her the story, to which she listenedwithout comment.

The next day Cis spent happily picking up thedropped threads of her Beaconhite existence. Shewent to Mr. Lucas’ office and received a welcomebeyond her expectation.

“Ah, my dear!” Mr. Lucas cried. “Now I shallhave you back as soon as I can open the way foryou! You were a good secretary; I miss you. Butyou were also a good confessor of the Faith! Amazing,but it was you who first brought home to meunescapably what I’d been suspecting all along;that there really was something unaccountable onnatural grounds in the Old Church. I’m going tobe a Catholic at Pentecost, my dear Cicely!”

“Yes, I know; Jeanette told me. I’m so thankful!And I could cry when you say I was the onewho set you on!” Cis exclaimed.

“Nothing to cry over! We don’t cry Te Deums,and that’s your theme,” Mr. Lucas smiled at her.“When will you return to the office? As soon as Iprovide the space?”

“I think so, Mr. Lucas. Miss Braithwaite wouldrather I’d stay at home all the time, but I’m afraidthat’s a risk for a red-haired girl; they’re notcrickets on hearths! Miss Braithwaite promises meall that I can do, though. We’ll see. May I havea few days in which to adjust?” Cis asked. “NowI’m going on to find Father Morley.”

The Jesuit was at home; he received Cis with his[398]cordial, yet appraising look that took an inventoryof her days since he had last seen her. He seemedsatisfied with what he saw; his eyes softened andsmiled approvingly. He recognized in Cicely’s facea new expression of self-reliance, purpose; peacethat was not incompatible with the eager, wistful,unsatisfied look which her face also wore.

“Ready for the next thing,” he told himself, “andit’s not far ahead of her.”

But aloud he said: “I am glad, exceedingly gladthat you have come back to us, Cicely. Miss Braithwaiteis thankful; she is deeply attached to you.You wrote me of that remarkable sequel to yourfidelity to God’s law. Do you care to tell me moreabout it?”

“I want to tell you all about it, Father,” Cis answered.“I might have married Rodney withoutwrong-doing, but—Father, I couldn’t! Isn’t thatstrange? I didn’t want to. I’m not a fickle person,but I didn’t want to. He told me that I had beenright as to his still being married. He felt that therewas no divorce when he knelt by his dying wife.It’s all strange, isn’t it?”

“That isn’t,” said Father Morley. “It is strange,that you were the one who saved that poor creaturefrom suicide to die like a Christian, but it is notstrange that her husband recognized the indissolublelink between them. You will find it alwaystrue that the supernatural law does no violenceto the natural law, but, on the contrary, confirmsit, while elevating it beyond nature. To mymind that is one of the proofs of the Church.[399]Heretics have gone contrary to natural laws in allsorts of ways. The Church repeatedly proves thatthe hand of the Creator is also the hand thatfounded her. She has sanctified, ennobled, supernaturalized,not contradicted man’s natural instinctsand desires. Well, well! You’re not demandingher proofs! Why do I set poor little youup as an heretical tenpin to be bowled over? Whatis your next step, or do you not know it yet, CicelyAdair?”

“No, Father,” replied Cis wistfully. “I don’tknow a step; not the next one, nor any beyond that.Do you think I might be a nun? A Sister of Charitywould be more in my line; active, you know. Isthat what I’m made for?”

Father Morley looked at her gravely, yet with aquizzical twinkle in his eye, as if he were enjoyingwith himself a pleasant secret.

“No, my child, I do not think that is your vocation,”he said. “I think that you are meant to bea real helpmeet to a fine man; to do good in theworld, bear witness to the value of Catholic Faithand standards, and train up your sons anddaughters to carry on that noble inheritance, whilethey rise up and call you blessed. Perhaps one dayto see your son raise his hands before the altar,holding in them the Host, and to kneel, thankingGod with tears, that you upheld those hands forthat miracle.”

“Father!” cried Cicely, and was silent, tears onher cheeks. “If I might! I’d like that most of all,”she murmured after an instant.

[400]Anselm Lancaster came that evening to see Cis;he announced that his call was wholly for her. Cissaw him come into the library with amazement thathis presence so changed it. There was about hima buoyant happiness; charm went out from him,and purposeful assertion, which was far from conceit,sat on his every movement.

“Miss Miriam, Cicely Adair has never seen myhouse. I was offended last year that you nevershowed it to her, as much as you drove about,but I hid my wrath. Now I’m out for revenge! I’mgoing to show it to her myself, and not invite you!Cicely, I’ll be here at half past two to-morrow afternoon.Please be ready to drive with me, out tomy house—it’s a shame you’ve not been shown it!—andalso wherever the fancy takes us to go. Thisselfish and unfriendly Miss Miriam shall sit hereand languish, eating her heart out till we return!”

“Is it a matter so serious as a heart-consuming?”asked Miss Braithwaite.

She caught and returned the flash of a lookwhich Anselm darted at her.

“I’ll not pretend a virtue I lack; I hope so!” hesaid.

Cis was ready when he came for her; he helpedher into his car, and she cried out, almost reproachfully:

“A new car! Why are men always changingcars? What did you do with that nice one, theroadster?”

“Turned it in; I don’t need two. I thought whenPaul and Jeanette were married, and you were[401]here, we’d need the five passenger; we can takeMiss Braithwaite, too. But please don’t speak ofthat nice one; as if it weren’t this nice one! Let metell you I’m proud of this car!” Anselm said as heshoved out the brake and started.

“Of course you are! They always are! Boys ofnew knives; men of new cars! They are muchalike, aren’t they?” said Cis.

“Knives and cars? Oh, I don’t know; I couldalways distinguish the differences,” Anselm remarked.

“Boys and men! I never thought you would bestupid!” Cis said severely.

“I’ll prove to you I’m not, if you’ll wait a bit!”Anselm’s remark sounded like a continuation ofthe nonsense they were happily talking, but his looksilenced Cis, and set her nervously wondering whyit made her nervous.

The Lancaster house was far finer than Cis hadexpected to find it. She had known all along thatAnselm Lancaster had wealth; he used it generously,and it must have been considerable for himto accomplish with it all that he did. But ocularproof is another thing from hearsay. Here was ahouse of great dignity, standing in the midst of considerableland, approached by an avenue of oldtrees. Its solid doors, opening, revealed a statelyhall; in the rooms opening from the hall Cis foundold furniture, beautiful and stately. Pictures whicheven her untrained eye instantly knew for goodones, hung on the walls; bronzes, a tall clock, allsorts of beauty which was evidently the slow accumulation[402]by many people with taste and means togratify it, filled the house.

“How beautiful!” cried Cis. “Why, Mr. Lancaster,it’s what the novels call a mansion! It’s as fineas Miss Braithwaite’s house!”

“They are contemporaries. Her great-grandfatherand mine, and each generation since, havebeen friends. This house was built when hers was.My people were not Catholics, till my grandmothermarried a Lancaster and brought this house to him;she became a Catholic after she had married him.My father married a saintly woman; it is two generations—Ithe third—since the Lancaster housebecame a Catholic home. Now I try to make it ahome for converts who are put to too hard a testat first; a temporary home, of course. I’m morethan glad that you like my house, Cicely!”

Anselm spoke in a curious muffled voice, andCis smiled up at him, disturbed, at a loss to accountfor it, and for the disturbance which sherecognized in him. “How could I not like it?” shesaid.

“Will you come to see my dear mother’s sittingroom?” Anselm asked, going toward the stairs. “Itis up one flight. It is like a chapel to me; I’veoften wanted to make it into one, but there arenecessary sleeping rooms over it; I can’t use it fora chapel. It is the room in which I was happiestas a child, though I was always happy. It is theroom where I learned to love books and all beauty,and where my soul was born through the soul ofthat lovely creature who gave me physical life.”

[403]Cis followed him, wondering, deeply moved.This was not the Anselm Lancaster she knew, yetit was not the contradiction of him; rather it washis efflorescence. He led her into a small, lightroom, facing toward the sunset, which was not yet,nor for hours, due. Evidently the room had notbeen changed since it had been used by the motherwhom he had so dearly loved. Books, a work-basket,were on the table; a low armchair, considerablyworn, stood beside the table. Anselm gently putCis into it, and stood before her.

“My mother’s chair, dear Cicely,” he said. “Ilike to see you there. How you would have lovedeach other! Cis, dear, lovely, glowing Cicely, don’tyou know what I’ve brought you here to tell you?Don’t you know? Haven’t you guessed?”

Slowly Cis shook her head, looking at him intently,as if she were groping her way, her mind rejectingthe one explanation of his words that itcould present to her.

“Why, I love you, Cis! That’s what it is. That’seasy to guess, easier to understand!” cried Anselm.

“No, no, no! It’s impossible to understand!”cried Cis.

“You’re going to marry me, dearest; you’re goingto be here in my mother’s place, always. Can’t youlove me? I love you so much!” Anselm pleaded.

“I never once thought of it; never once!” Ciscried.

“You don’t have to think of it; just do it!” Anselmsaid boyishly.

“I think you are the best, the finest—” began[404]Cis, but he interrupted her with an impatient exclamation.

“Good heavens, Cis, stop! That’s nothing to tellme, nor to feel! Love me; don’t admire me!”

“Isn’t it? I think I couldn’t love anyone I didn’tadmire,” said Cis, trying to find her puzzled way.“I loved someone; you know that. I was crazy tosee him; it made my breath short when he came;I—One doesn’t love again, does she? But I knownow that I couldn’t love him last winter because Ididn’t admire him.”

“Cis, dear,” began Anselm, sitting on the edgeof the table as if he meant to argue it out, “I thinkwe don’t love again in that same first way; it’s thedream of youth. I had it, too, but I was only a ladof seventeen when I fell madly in love. You wereolder than I when it happened to you but you werenot much older, and you were no more experienced,and experience is what counts in these things.There is a glamor over everything that is part ofthat time of life, and we have our first love hard.But, dear, it’s not in the same class with our later,mature love. Do you imagine I felt for that littlefluffy girl of twenty whom I loved when I was seventeen,anything like what I feel for you? Nor wasthat first love of yours, which you so bravely conqueredfor God’s sake, the love you’ll feel for yourhusband, who will be one with you in all things ofsoul and body. Cis, honestly—though it may soundconceited—I am sure you love me. Will you besure of it? Father Morley, Miss Braithwaite, Jeanette,hope for it.”

[405]“Oh! Do they all know?” gasped Cis.

“That I love you? Surely. Blind little Cis notto have known it yourself! But now that you doknow it—”

“I couldn’t so much as think of marrying you!”Cis hastily interrupted him. “Why, I’d be—whatwould I be? One of the people brought into acountry to serve it, then deserting its flag—atraitor! That’s it! Miss Braithwaite imported meto live with her, be almost a daughter to her. Muchgood I’d do her if I—”

“Now, Cicely, can’t you trust Miss Miriam tome?” Anselm interrupted in his turn. “Do yousuppose we haven’t discussed my hopes? Haven’tI just told you that she wanted them fulfilled?Good mothers do not want to mortgage theirdaughters’ lives; they want them to find their ownplaces and happily fill them. Miss Braithwaiteshall not lose you if I win you, dear one! She ismost anxious for this marriage, Cis. ‘Cis must cometo me, Anselm; then you shall woo her at your best.She shall be in her home, the home that holds youpart of it, and I hope that will incline her toharken to you. But if not, then at least she is stillin her own home; the dear child will be made securehowever she decides.’ That is what she saidto me, Cicely beloved, before I went away to try tobring you back. Marry me, then there will be anotherbesides ourselves happy; Miss Miriam thethird rejoicing.”

“I don’t see how you can possibly mean that youwant to marry me!” said Cis slowly abandoning[406]Miss Braithwaite’s cause. “Don’t you think youmean someone else?”

“I distinctly think that I mean no one else!”cried Anselm. “Do I strike you as positively feeble-minded?There’s no difficulty in telling you fromall others. I can tell you apart literally, quite apartfrom all others created! And I’m not grave andsettled down; I’m only thirty-eight, darling! Areyou thinking of me as solemn, serious, almostelderly? No, no; I’m not! I’m your lover, Cis, andhe loves you more than he can tell you. Will youcome here, Cis, desire of my heart? Will you helpme in the beautiful schemes we’ve discussed? Takemy mother’s place, but fill only your own place, mywife’s place, my helpmeet’s place—and more; athousand times more!”

“You are meant to be a real helpmeet to a fineman.” Cis heard Father Morley’s voice again sayingthese words to her. He had known when hesaid it that Anselm meant to ask her to marry him;he wanted her to marry Anselm, though Anselmwas a great man, while she was only red-hairedCicely Adair!

It came upon her with an irresistible rush of convictionthat she did love Anselm, that she hadbeen loving him and had not known it. For howcould she ever have thought of his loving her?Yet this was why all other things, Nan, her oldhome, Rodney Moore seemed insufficient to her;this was why she had been restless, longing, unsatisfied.What a life it was that opened out before[407]her in this house, the wife of this man, his helpmeet,his beloved!

Distrust of herself, the magnitude of the joystretching out before her drove her into the truewoman’s dalliance with yielding to this unforeseenbliss.

She must hold off for a little while the glorioussubmergence of herself out of which she knewwould arise the truer, greater self which wouldforevermore be Cicely.

“Take me home,” Cis said rising. “I cannot answeryet.”

Obediently Anselm followed her toward thedoor, but he looked bitterly disappointed. Cishalted, wavering, on the threshold, as her heartsmote her for this look. This was Anselm’s mother’sroom, the sanctuary of his childhood, the shrine ofa tender love. It would be sweet to make him happyhere; he had brought her hither for this.

She was a generous Cicely, albeit a frightenedone. She turned fully and faced Anselm.

“I think I do. Love you, I mean. I’ll come,”she said.

He caught her, reverently, gratefully, yet mostlovingly in his arms and kissed her flaming hair,her white brow, her closed eyes, and at last, withthe bridegroom’s kiss, he kissed her sweet lips.

The great cable which had held her fast, had alsodrawn Cis safe into port.

THE END

Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73770 ***