 CHAPTER XIV. WITCH. David. Mr. Power received Christie so hospitably that she felt at home at once and took up her new duties with the energy of one anxious to repay a favour. Her friend knew well the saving power of work, and gave her plenty of it. But it was a sort that at once interested and absorbed her, so that she had little time for dangerous thoughts or vain regrets. As he once said, Mr. Power made her own troubles seem light by showing her others so terribly real and great that she was ashamed to repine at her own lot. Her gift of sympathy served her well. Past experience gave her a quick eye to read the truth and others, and the earnest desire to help and comfort made her an excellent almaner for the rich, a welcome friend to the poor. She was in just the right mood to give herself gladly to any sort of sacrifice, and laboured with a quiet energy, painful to witness, had anyone known the hidden suffering that would not let her rest. If she had been a regular novel heroine at this crisis, she would have grown gray in a single night, had a dangerous illness, gone mad, or at least taken to pervading the house at unseasonable hours with her back hair down and much ringing of the hands. Being only a commonplace woman, she did nothing so romantic, but instinctively tried to sustain and comfort herself with the humble, wholesome duties and affections which seldom fail to keep head sane and hearts safe. Yet though her days seemed to pass so busily and cheerfully, it must be confessed that there were lonely vigils in the night, and sometimes in the morning Christie's eyes were very heavy. Christie's pillow wet with tears. But life is never all work or sorrow, and happy hours, helpful pleasures are mercifully given like wayside springs to pilgrims trudging wearily along. Mr. Power showed Christie many such, and silently provided her with better consolation than pity or advice. Deed's not words was his motto, and he lived it out most faithfully. Books and work he gave his new charge, and then followed up that prescription with healthful play of a sort she liked and had longed for all her life. Sitting at his table Christie saw the best and bravest men and women of our times, for Mr. Power was a magnet that drew them from all parts of the world. She saw and heard, admired, and loved them, felt her soul kindle with the desire to follow in their steps, share their great tasks, know their difficulties and dangers, and in the end taste the immortal satisfactions given to those who live in labour for their fellow men. In such society all other aims seemed poor and petty, for they appeared to live in a nobler world than any she had known, and she felt as if they belonged to another race, not men nor angels, but a delightful mixture of the two, more as she imagined the gods and heroes of old. Not perfect, but wonderfully strong and brave and good, each gifted with a separate virtue, and each bent on a mission that should benefit mankind. Nor was this the only pleasure given her. One evening of each week was set apart by Mr. Power for the reception of whomesoever chose to visit him, for his parish was a large one, and his house a safe haunt for refugees from all countries, all oppressions. Christie enjoyed these evenings heartily, for there was no ceremony. Each comer brought his mission, idea, or need, and genuine hospitality made the visit profitable or memorable to all, for entire freedom prevailed, and there was stabling for everyones hobby. Christie felt that she was now receiving the best culture, acquiring the polish that society gives, and makes truly admirable when character adds warmth and power to its charm. The presence of her bosom care calmed the old unrest, softened her manners, and at times touched her face with an expression more beautiful than beauty. She was quite unconscious of the changes passing over her, and if any one had told her she was fast becoming a most attractive woman, she would have been utterly incredulous. But others saw and felt the new charm. For no deep experience bravely born can fail to leave its mark, often giving power in return for patience, and lending a subtle loveliness to faces whose bloom it has destroyed. This fact was made apparent to Christie one evening when she went down to the weekly gathering in one of the melancholy moves which sometimes oppressed her. She felt dissatisfied with herself because her interest in all things began to flag and arrestless longing for some new excitement to break up the monotonous pain of her inner life possessed her. Being still a little shy in company, she slipped quietly into a recess which commanded a view of both rooms, and sat looking listlessly about her while waiting for David, who seldom failed to come. A curious collection of fellow-beings was before her, and at another time she would have found much to interest and amuse her. In one corner a newly imported German with an Orson-like head, thumb-ring, and the fragrance of many Mierschamps still hovering about him, was hammering away upon some disputed point with a scientific Frenchman, whose national politeness was only equaled by his national volubility. A prominent statesman was talking with a fugitive slave, a young poet getting inspiration from the face and voice of a handsome girl who had earned the right to put M.D. to her name. An old philosopher was calming the ardor of several rampant radicals, and a famous singer was comforting the heart of an Italian exile by talking politics in his own melodious tongue. There were plenty of reformers, some as truculent as Martin Luther, others as beaming and benevolent as if the pelting of the world had only mellowed them, and no amount of denunciatory thunder could sour the milk of humankindness creaming in their happy hearts. There were eager women just beginning their protest against the wrongs that had wrecked their peace, subdued women who had been worsted in the unequal conflict and given it up, resolute women with no surrender written all over their strong-minded countenances, and sweet hopeful women whose faith in God and man nothing could shake or sadden. But to Christie there was only one face worth looking at till David came, and that was Mr. Powers, for he was a perfect host, and pervaded the rooms like a genial atmosphere using the welcome of eye and hand which needs no language to interpret it, giving to each guest the intellectual fare he loved and making their enjoyment his own. Bless the dear man, what should we all do without him, thought Christie, following him with grateful eyes as he led an awkward youth in rusty black to the statesman whom it had been the desire of his ambitious soul to meet. The next minute proved that she at least could do without the dear man, for David entered the room, and she forgot all about him. Here and at church were the only places where the friends had met during these months, except one or two short visits to the little house in the lane when Christie devoted herself to Mrs. Sterling. David was quite unchanged, though once or twice Christie fancied he seemed ill at ease with her, and immediately tormented herself with the idea that some alteration in her own manner had perplexed or offended him. She did her best to be as frank and cordial as in the happy old days, but it was impossible, and she soon gave it up, assuming in the place of that former friendliness a grave and quiet manner which would have led a wiser man than David to believe her busied with her own affairs and rather indifferent to anything else. If he had known how her heart danced in her bosom, her eyes brightened, and all the world became indurable the moment he appeared, he would not have been so long in joining her, nor have doubted what welcome awaited him. As it was he stopped to speak to his host, and before he reappeared Christie had found the excitement she had been longing for. Now some bore will keep him an hour, and the evening is so short, she thought, with a pang of disappointment, and turning her eyes away from the crowd which had swallowed up her heart's desire, they fell upon a gentleman just entering, and remained fixed with an expression of unutterable surprise, for there, elegant, and calm and cool as ever, stood Mr. Fletcher. How came he here was her first question? How will he behave to me, her second? As she could answer neither, she composed herself as fast as possible, resolving to let matters take their own course, and feeling in the mood for an encounter with a discarded lover, as she took a womanish satisfaction in remembering that the very personable gentleman before her had once been. Mr. Fletcher and his companion passed on to find their host, and with a glance at the mirror opposite, which showed her that the surprise of the moment had given her the colour she lacked before, Christie occupied herself with a portfolio of engravings, feeling very much as she used to feel when waiting at the side-scene for her cue. She had not long to wait, before Mr. Power came up and presented the stranger, for such she fancied him, never having heard a certain episode in Christie's life. Mr. Fletcher bowed with no sign of recognition in his face, and began to talk in the smooth, low voice she remembered so well. For the moment, through sheer surprise, Christie listened and replied, as any young lady might have done to ennumate acquaintance. But very soon she felt sure that Mr. Fletcher intended to ignore the past, and finding her on a higher round of the social ladder to accept the fact, and begin again. At first she was angry, then amused, then interested, in the somewhat dramatic turn affairs were taking, and very wisely decided to meet him on his own ground and see what came of it. In the midst of an apparently absorbing discussion of one of Raphael's most insipid Madonna's, she was conscious that David had approached, paused, and was scrutinizing her companion with unusual interest. Seized with a sudden desire to see the two men together, Christie beckoned, and when he obeyed, she introduced him, drew him into the conversation, and then left him in the lurch by falling silent, and taking notes while they talked. If she wished to wean her heart from David by seeing him at a disadvantage, she could have devised no better way. For though a very feminine test, it answered the purpose excellently. Mr. Fletcher was a handsome man, and just then looked his best. Improved health gave energy and color to his formerly sallow, listless face. The cold eyes were softer, the hard-mouthed swav and smiling, and about the whole man there was that indescribable something which often proves more attractive than worth or wisdom to keener-sighted women than Christie. Never had he talked better, for as if he suspected what was in the mind of one hearer, he exerted himself to be as brilliant as possible, and succeeded admirably. David never appeared so ill, for he had no clue to the little comedy being played before him, and long seclusion and natural reserve unfitted him to shine beside a man of the world like Mr. Fletcher. His simple English sounded harsh after the foreign phrases that slipped so easily over the other's tongue. He had visited no galleries, seen few of the world's wonders, and could only listen when they were discussed. More than once he was right but failed to prove it, for Mr. Fletcher skillfully changed the subject, or quenched him with a politely incredulous shrug. In the matter of costume poor David was worsted, for in a woman's eyes dress has wonderful significance. Christie used to think that his suit of sober grey the most becoming man could wear. But now it looked shapeless and shabby, beside garments which bore the stamp of Paris and the gloss and grace of broadcloth and fine linen. David wore no gloves. Mr. Fletcher's were immaculate. David's tie was so plain no one observed it. Mr. Fletcher's elegant and faultless enough for a modern beau-brummel. David's handkerchief was of the commonest sort. She knew that, for she hemmed it herself. Mr. Fletcher's was the finest cambrick, and a delicate breath of perfume refreshed the aristocratic nose to which the article belonged. Christie despised herself as she made these comparisons and felt how superficial they were, but having resolved to exalt one man at the expense of the other for her own good, she did not relent till David took advantage of a pause and left them with a reproachful look that made her wish Mr. Fletcher at the bottom of the sea. When they were alone a subtle change in his face and manner convinced her that he also had been taking notes, and had arrived at a favourable decision regarding herself. Women are quick at making such discoveries, and even while she talked with him as a stranger, she felt assured that if she chose, she might make him again her lover. Here was a temptation. She had longed for some new excitement, and fate seemed to have put one of the most dangerous within her reach. It was natural to find comfort in the knowledge that somebody loved her, and to take pride in her power over one man, because another did not own it. In spite of her better self she felt the fascination of the hour and yielded to it, half unconsciously assuming something of the dash and daring which Mr. Fletcher had once confessed to finding so captivating in the demure governess. He evidently thought so still, and played his part with spirit, for while apparently enjoying a conversation which contained no illusion to the past, the memory of it gave pecancy to that long tetetet. As the first guests began to go, Mr. Fletcher's friend beckoned to him, and he rose, saying with an accent of regret, which changed to one of entreaty, as he put his question, I too must go. May I come again, Miss Devon? I'm scarcely more than a guest myself, but Mr. Power is always glad to see whoever cares to come, replied Christie rather primly, though her eyes were dancing with amusement at the recollection of those love passages upon the beach. Next time I shall not come as a stranger, but as a former, may I say friend, he added quickly, as if emboldened by the mirthful eyes that so belied the demure lips. Now you forget your part, and Christie's primness vanished in a laugh. I am glad of it, for I want to ask about Mrs. Saltonstall and the children. I've often thought of the little deers and longed to see them. They are in Paris with their father. Mrs. Saltonstall is well, I hope. She died six months ago. An expression of genuine sorrow came over Mr. Fletcher's face as he spoke, and remembering that the silly little woman was his sister, Christie put out her hand, with a look and gesture so full of sympathy that words were unnecessary. Taking advantage of this propitious moment, he said, with an expressive glance, an effective tone, I am all alone now. You will let me come again? Certainly, if it can give you pleasure, she answered heartily, forgetting herself in pity for his sorrow. Mr. Fletcher pressed her hand with a grateful thank you, and wisely went away at once, leaving compassion to plead for him better than he could have done it for himself. Looking back in her chair, Christie was thinking over this interview so intently that she started when David's voice said close beside her, Shall I disturb you if I say good night? I thought you were not going to say it at all, she answered rather sharply. I've been looking for a chance, but you were so absorbed with that man I had to wait. Considering the elegance of that man, you don't treat him with much respect. I don't feel much. What brought him here, I wonder, French Salon is more in his line. He came to see Mr. Power as everyone else does, of course. Don't dodge, Christie, you know he came to see you. How do you like him? She asked with treacherous abruptness. Not particularly so far, but if I knew him I dare say I should find many good traits in him. I know you would, said Christie warmly, not thinking of Fletcher, but of David's kindly way of finding good in everyone. He must have improved since you saw him last, for then if I remember rightly you found him lazy, cross, selfish, and conceited. Now, David, I never said anything of the sort, began Christie, wondering what possessed him to be so satirical and short with her. Yes, you did, last September, sitting on the old apple-tree the morning of your birthday. What an inconvenient memory you have, well, he was all that then, but he is not an invalid now, and so we see his real self. I also remember that you gave me the impression that he was an elderly man. Isn't forty elderly? He wasn't forty when you taught his sister's children. No, but he looked older than he does now, being so ill. I used to think he would be very handsome with good health, and now I see I was right, said Christie with a feigned enthusiasm, for it was a new thing to tease David and she liked it. But she got no more of it, for just then the singer began to sing to the select few who remained, and everyone was silent. Leaning on the high back of Christie's chair, David watched the reflection of her face in the long mirror, for she listened to the music with downcast eyes, unconscious what eloquent expressions were passing over her countenance. She seemed a new Christie to David, in that excited mood and as he watched her he thought. She loved this man once, or he loved her, and tonight it all comes back to her. How will it end? So earnestly did he try to read that altered face that Christie felt the intentness of his gaze looked up suddenly and met his eyes in the glass. Something in the expression of those usually serene eyes now darkened and dilated with the intensity of that long scrutiny surprised and troubled her, and scarcely knowing what she said, she asked quickly, Who are you admiring? Not myself. I wonder if you'd think me vain if I asked you something that I want to know, she said, obeying a sudden impulse. Ask it and I'll tell you. Have I much changed since you first knew me? Very much, for the better or the worse, the better decidedly. Thank you, I hoped so. But one never knows how one seems to other people. I was wondering what you saw in the glass. A good and lovely woman Christie. How sweet it sounded to hear David say that so simply and sincerely that it was far more than a mere compliment. She did not thank him, but said softly as if to herself. So let me seem until I be. And then sat silent, so full of satisfaction in the thought that David found her good and lovely, she could not resist stealing a glance at the tell-tale mirror to see if she might believe him. She forgot herself, however, for he was off-guard now, and stood looking away with brows knit, lips tightly set, and eyes fixed yet full of fire, his whole attitude and expression that of a man intent, unsubduing some strong impulse by a yet stronger will. It startled Christie, and she leaned forward, watching him with breathless interest till the song ceased, and with the old impatient gesture David seemed to relapse into his accustomed quietude. It was the wonderful music that excited him, that was all, thought Christie. Yet when he came round to say good-night, the strange expression was not gone, and his manner was not his own. Shall I ask if I may come again, he said, imitating Mr. Fletcher's graceful bow, with an odd smile. I let him come, because he has lost his sister, and his lonely began Christie. But got no further, for David said, good-night, abruptly, and was gone without a word to Mr. Power. He's in a hurry to get back to his kitty, she thought, tormenting herself with feminine skill. Never mind, she added with a defiant sort of smile, I've got my Philip, handsomer and more in love than ever if I'm not deceived, I wonder if he will come again. Mr. Fletcher did come again, and was flattering regularity for several weeks, evidently finding something very attractive in those novel gatherings. Mr. Power soon saw why he came, and as Christie seemed to enjoy his presence the good man said nothing to disturb her, though he sometimes cast an anxious glance toward the recess where the two usually sat, apparently busy with books or pictures, yet by their faces showing that an undercurrent of deeper interest than art or literature flowed through their intercourse. Christie had not deceived herself, and it was evident that her old lover meant to try his fate again, if she continued to smile upon him as she had done of late. He showed her his sunny side now, and very pleasant she found it. The loss of his sister had touched his heart, and made him long to fill the place her death left vacant. Better health sweetened his temper, and woke the desire to do something worth the doing, and the sight of the only woman he had ever really loved reawakened the sentiment that had not died, and made it doubly sweet. Why he cared for Christie he could not tell, but he never had forgotten her, and when he met her again with that new beauty in her face, he felt that time had only ripened the blithe girl into a departed woman, and he loved her with a better love than before. His whole manner showed this, for the half-careless, half-condescending air of former times was replaced by the most courteous respect, a sincere desire to win her favour, and at times the tender sort of devotion women find so charming. Christie felt all this, enjoyed it, and tried to be grateful for it in the way he wished, thinking that hearts could be managed like children, and when one toy is unattainable be appeased by a bigger or a brighter one of another sort. I must love someone, she said, as she leaned over a basket of magnificent flowers, just left for her by Mr. Fletcher's servant, a thing which often happened now. Philip has loved me with a fidelity that ought to touch my heart. Why not accept him, and enjoy a new life of luxury, novelty, and pleasure? All these things he can give me. All these things are valued, admired, and sought for, and who would appreciate them more than I? I could travel, cultivate myself in many delightful ways, and do so much good. No matter if I was not very happy, I should make Philip so, and have it in my power to comfort many poor souls. That ought to satisfy me, for what is nobler than to live for others? The idea attracted her, as it does all generous natures. She became enamoured of self-sacrifice, and almost persuaded herself that it was her duty to marry Mr. Fletcher whether she loved him or not, in order that she might dedicate her life to the service of poorer, sadder creatures than herself. But in spite of this amiable delusion, in spite of the desire to forget the love she would have in the love she might have, and in spite of the great improvement in her faithful Philip, Christy could not blind herself to the fact that her head, rather than her heart, advised the match. She could not conquer a suspicion that, however much Mr. Fletcher might love his wife, he would be something of a tyrant, and she was very sure she never would make a good slave. In her cooler moments she remembered that men are not puppets to be moved as a woman's will commands, and that the uncertainty of being able to carry out her charitable plans made her pause to consider whether she would not be selling her liberty too cheaply, if in return she got only dependence and bondage along with fortune and a home. So tempted and perplexed, self-deluded and self-warned, attracted and repelled was poor Christy that she began to feel as if she had got into a labyrinth without any clue to bring her safely out. She longed to ask advice of some one, but could not turn to Mrs. Sterling, and what other woman friend had she except Rachel, from whom she had not heard for months. As she asked herself this question one day, feeling sure that Mr. Fletcher would come in the evening, and would soon put his fortune to the touch again, the thought of Mrs. Wilkins seemed to answer her. Why not, said Christy? She is sensible, kind, and discreet. She may put me right, for I am all in a tangle now with doubts and fears, feelings, and fancies. I'll go and see her. That will do me good, even if I don't say a word about my worryments, as the dear soul would call them. Away she went, and fortunately found her friend alone in the setting-room, darning away at a perfect stack of socks as she creaked comfortably to and fro in her old rocking-chair. I was just wishing someone would drop in. It's so kind of lonesome with the children to school and Adelaide to sleep. How be you, dear, said Mrs. Wilkins, with a hospitable hug and a beaming smile. I'm worried in my mind, so I came to see you, answered Christy, sitting down with a sigh. Bless your dear heart, what is to pay? Free your mind, and I'll do my best to lend a hand. The mere sound of that hearty voice comforted Christy, and gave her courage to introduce the little fiction under which she had decided to defraud Mrs. Wilkins of her advice. So she held herself to a very fragmentary blue sock and a big needle that she might have employment for her eyes as they were not so obedient as her tongue, and then began in as easy a tone as she could assume. While you see a friend of mine wants my advice on a very serious matter, and I really don't know what to give her. It is strictly confidential, you know, so I won't mention any names, but just set the case before you and get your opinion, for I have great faith in your sensible way of looking at things. Thank you, dear. You're welcome to my opinion, if it's worth anything. Be these folks you tell of young, asked Mrs. Wilkins with evident relish for the mystery. No. The woman is past thirty and the man most forty, I believe, said Christy, darning away in some trepidation at having taken the first plunge. My patience ain't the creature old enough to know her own mind. For I suppose she's the one with the quandary, exclaimed Mrs. Wilkins, looking over her spectacles with dangerously keen eyes. The case is this, said Christy, in guilty haste. The creature is poor and nobody, the man rich and of good family, so you see it's rather hard for her to decide. No, I don't see nothing of the sort, returned blunt Mrs. Wilkins. If she loves the man take him, if she don't, give him the mitten and done with it. Money and friends and family ain't much to do with the matter according to my view. It's just a plain question betwixt them, too. If it takes much settlin' they'd better let it alone. She doesn't love him as much as she might, I fancy, but she is tired of grubbing along alone. He is very fond of her and very rich, and it would be a fine thing for her in a worldly way, I'm sure. Oh, she's gonna marry for a livin' is she? Well, now, I'd rather one of my girls should grub the worst kind all their days than do that. Howsoever, it may suit some folks if they ain't got much heart, and is contented with fine clothes, nice vittles, handsome furniture. Selfish, cold, silly kind of women might get on, I daresay, but I shouldn't think any friend of your in would be one of that sort. But she might do a great deal of good, and make others happy even if she was not so herself. She might. But I doubt it. For money got that way wouldn't prosper well. Miserable folks ain't half so charitable as happy ones, and I don't believe five dollars from one of them would go half so far or be half so comforting as a kind word straight out of a cheerful heart. I know some thinks that is a dreadful smart thing to do, but I don't. And if anyone wants to go a sacrificing herself for the good of others, there's better ways of doin' it than startin' with a lyin' her mouth. Mrs. Wilkins spoke warmly, for Christie's face made her fiction perfectly transparent, though the good woman with true delicacy showed no sign of intelligence on that point. Then you wouldn't advise my friend to say yes. I'd say to her as I do to my younger sisters when their courtin' time come. Just be sure you're right as to their being love enough. Then go ahead and the Lord will bless you. Did they follow your advice? They did, and both is prosperin' in different ways. Gusty, she found she was well on it for love, so she married, though Samuel Buck was poor, and their happiness can be a workin' up together, same as Leisha and me did. Addy, she calculated she wasn't satisfied somehow, so she didn't marry, though James Miller was well off. And she's kept steady to her trade, and he never repented. There's a sight said and read about such things, continued Mrs. Wilkins, rambling on to give Christie time to think. But I have an idea that women's hearts is to be trusted if they ain't been taught all wrong. Just let them remember that they take a husband for worse as well as better, and there's a sight of worse in this tryin' world for some on us. And be ready to do their part patient and faithful, and I ain't a grain afraid but what they'll be fetched through, always providein' they love the man, and not his money. There was a pause after that last speech, and Christie felt as if her perplexity was clearing away very fast. For Mrs. Wilkins' plain talk seemed to show her things in their true light, with all the illusions of false sentiment and false reasoning stripped away. She felt clearer and stronger already, as if she could make up her mind very soon when one other point had been discussed. I fancy my friend is somewhat influenced by the fact that this man loved and asked her to marry him some years ago. He has not forgotten her, and this touches her heart more than anything else. It seems as if his love must be genuine to last so long, and not to mind her poverty, want of beauty, and accomplishments, for he is a proud and fastidious man. I think all of him for that said Mrs. Wilkins approvingly, but I guess she's worth all he gives her, for there must be something pretty genuine in her to make him overlook her lax and hold on so steady. I don't alter her side of the case one might, though, for love is love, and if she ain't got it, he'd better not take gratitude instead, but she'll often leave her for somebody else. Nobody else wants her, broke from Christy, like an involuntary cry of pain, then she hid her face by stooping to gather up the avalanche of hosiery which fell from her lap to the floor. She can't be sure of that, said Mrs. Wilkins cheerfully, though her spectacles were dim with sudden mist. I know there's a mate for her somewheres, so she'd better wait a spell and trust in providence. It wouldn't be so pleasant to see the right one come along after she'd went and took the wrong one in a hurry, would it? Waitin' is always safe, and time needn't be wasted in Fretten or Bewailin'—for the Lord knows there's a side of good work suffering to be done, and a single woman has the best chance at him. I've accomplished one good work at any rate, and small as it is I feel better for it. Give this sock to your husband, and tell him his wife sets a good example both by precept and practice to other women, married or single. Thank you very much, both for myself and my friend, who shall profit by your advice, said Christie, feeling that she had better go before she told everything. I hope she will return to Mrs. Wilkins as her guest went away with a much happier face than the one she brought. And if I know her, which I think I do, she'll find that Cynthia Wilkins ain't far from right, if her experience is good for anything, added the matron with a sigh, and a glance at a dingy photograph of her leasha on the wall, and a sigh that seemed to say there had been a good deal of worse in her bargain, though she was too loyal to confess it. Something in Christie's face struck Mr. Fletcher at once when he appeared that evening. He had sometimes found her colds in quiet, often gay and capricious, usually earnest and cordial, with a wistful look that searched his face, and both won and checked him by its mute appeal, seeming to say, Wait a little till I have taught my heart to answer as you wish. Tonight her eyes shunned his, and when he caught a glimpse of them, they were full of a soft trouble. Her manner was kinder than ever before, and yet it made him anxious, for there was a resolute expression about her lips, even when she smiled, and though he ventured upon illusions to the past hitherto tacitly avoided, she listened as if it had no tender charm for her. Being thoroughly in earnest now, Mr. Fletcher resolved to ask the momentous question again without delay. David was not there, and had not been for several weeks. Another thorn in Christy's heart, though she showed no sign of regret, and said to herself, It is better so. His absence left Fletcher master of the field, and he seized the propitious moment. Will you show me the new picture? Mr. Power spoke of it, but I do not like to trouble him. With pleasure, and Christy led the way to a little room, where the newly arrived gift was placed. She knew what was coming, but was ready, and felt a tragic sort of satisfaction in the thought of all she was relinquishing for love of David. No one was in the room, but a fine copy of Michelangelo's fates hung on the wall, looking down at them with weird significance. They look as if they would give a stern answer to any questioning of ours, Mr. Fletcher said, after a glance of affected interest. They would give a true one, I fancy, answered Christy, shading her eyes as if to see the better. I'd rather question a younger, fairer fate, hoping that she will give me an answer both true and kind. May I, Christy? I will be true, but I cannot be kind. It cost her much to say that, yet she did it steadily, though he held her hand in both his own, and waited for her words with ardent expectation. Not yet perhaps, but in time, when I have proved how sincere my love is, how entire my repentance for the ungenerous words you have not forgotten. I wanted you then for my own sake, now I want you for yourself, because I love and honour you above all women. I tried to forget you, but I could not, and all these years have carried in my heart a very tender memory of the girl who dared to tell me that all I could offer her was not worth her love. I was mistaken, began Christy, finding this wooing much harder to withstand than the other. No, you were right, I felt it then, and resented it, but I owned it later, and regretted it more bitterly than I can tell. I am not worthy of you, I never shall be, but I've loved you for five years without hope, and I'll wait five more if in the end you will come to me. Christy, I need you very much. If Mr. Fletcher had gone down upon his knees and poured out the most ardent protestations that ever left a lover's lips, it would not have touched her as it did that last little appeal, uttered with a break in the voice that once was so proud, and was so humble now. Forgive me, she cried, looking up at him with real respect in her face, and real remorse smiting her conscience. Forgive me, I have misled you and myself. I tried to love you, I was grateful for your regard, touched by your fidelity, and I hoped I might repay it, but I cannot, I cannot. Why? Such a hard question. She owed him all the truth, yet how could she tell it? She could not in words but her face did, for the colour rose and burned on cheeks and forehead with painful fervour. Her eyes fell and her lips trembled, as if endeavouring to keep down the secret that was escaping against her will. A moment of silence as Mr. Fletcher searched for the truth and found it. Then he said, with such sharp pain in his voice that Christie's heart ached at the sound, I see, I am too late. Yes, and there is no hope, none. Then there is nothing more for me to say but good-bye. May you be happy. I shall not be, I have no hope. I only try to be true to you and to myself. O, believe it, and pity me as I do you. As the words broke from Christie she covered up her face, bowed down with the weight of remorse that made her long to atone for what she had done by any self-humiliation. Mr. Fletcher was at his best at that moment, for real love ennobles the worst and weakest while it lasts, but he could not resist the temptation that confession offered him. He tried to be generous, but the genuine virtue was not in him. He did want Christie very much, and the knowledge of a rival in her heart only made her the dearer. I am not content with your pity, sweet as it is. I want your love and I believe that I might earn it if you would let me try. You are all alone and life is hard to you. Come to me and let me make it happier. I'll be satisfied with friendship till you can give me more. He said this very tenderly, caressing the bent head while he spoke, and trying to express by tone and gesture how eagerly he longed to receive and cherish what that other man neglected. Christie felt this to her heart's core, and for a moment longed to end the struggle, say take me and accept the shadow for the substance. But those last words of his vividly recalled the compact made with David that happy birthday night. How could she be his friend if she was Mr. Fletcher's wife? She knew she could not be true to both, while her heart reversed the sentiment she then would owe them. David's friendship was dearer than Philip's love, and she would keep it at all costs. These thoughts flashed through her mind in the drawing of a breath, and she looked up, saying steadily in spite of wet eyes and still burning cheeks. Hope nothing! Wait for nothing from me. I will have no more delusions from either of us. It is weak and wicked, for I know I shall not change. Sometime we may venture to be friends, perhaps, but not now. Forgive me, and be sure I shall suffer more than you for this mistake of mine. When she had denied his suit before he had been ungenerous and angry, for his pride was hurt and his will thwarted. Now his heart bled and hope died hard. But all that was manliest in him rose up to help him bear the loss, for this love was genuine, and made him both just and kind. His face was pale with the pain of that fruitless passion, and his voice betrayed how hard he strove for self-control, as he said hurriedly, You need not suffer. This mistake has given me the happiest hours of my life, and I am better for having known so sweet and true a woman. God bless you, Christy! And with a quick embrace that startled her by its suddenness and strength, he left her, standing there alone before the three grim fates. This has been a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER 15 OF WORK, A STORY OF EXPERIENCE This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Lee-Piquette. Work, A Story of Experience, by Louisa May Alcott. CHAPTER 15 MID-SUMMAR Now it is all over. I shall never have another chance like that, and must make up my mind to be a lonely and laborious spinster all my life. Youth is going fast, and I have little in myself to attract or win, though David did call me good and lovely. Ah, well, I'll try to deserve his praise, and not let disappointments sour or sadden me. Better to hope and wait all my life than marry without love. She often said this to herself during the hard days that followed Mr. Fletcher's disappearance. A disappearance, by the way, which caused Mr. Power much satisfaction, though he only betrayed it by added kindness to Christie, and in his manner an increased respect very comforting to her. But she missed her lover, for nothing now broke up the monotony of a useful life. She had enjoyed that little episode, for it had lent romance to everything while it lasted, even the charity basket with which she went her rounds, for Mr. Fletcher often met her by accident, apparently, and carried it as if to prove the sincerity of his devotion. No bouquets came now. No graceful little notes with books or invitations to some coveted pleasure. No dangerously delightful evenings in the recess, where, for a time, she felt and used the power which to a woman is so full of subtle satisfaction. No bittersweet hopes. No exciting dreams of what might be with the utterance of a word. No soft uncertainty to give a charm to every hour that passed. Nothing but daily duties, a little leisure that hung heavy on her hands with no hope to stimulate, no lover to lighten it, and a sore sad heart that would clamor for its right. And even when pride silenced, it ached on with the dull pain which only time and patience have the power to heal. But as those weeks went slowly by, she began to discover some of the miracles true love can work. She thought she had laid it in its grave, but an angel rode the stone away, and the lost passion rose stronger, purer, and more beautiful than when she buried it with bitter tears. A spirit now, fed by no hope, warmed by no tenderness, clothed in no fond delusion. The vital soul of love which outlives the fairest noblest form humanity can give it, and sits among the ruins, singing the immortal hymn of consolation the great musician taught. Christy felt this strange comfort resting like a baby in her lonely bosom, cherished and blessed it, wondering while she rejoiced, and soon perceiving with the swift instinct of a woman, that this was a lesson, hard to learn, but infinitely precious, helpful, and sustaining when once gained. She was not happy, only patient, not hopeful, but trusting. And when life looked dark and barren without, she went away into that inner world of deep feeling, high thought, and earnest aspiration, which is a never-failing refuge to those whose experience has built within them, the nunnery of a chaste heart and quiet mind. Some women lived fast, and Christy fought her battle, won her victory, and found peace declared during that winter, for her loyalty to love brought its own reward and time, giving her the tranquil steadfastness which comes to those who submit and ask nothing but fortitude. She had seen little of David, except at church, and began to regard him almost as one might as statue on a tomb, the marble effigy of the beloved dead below, for the sweet old friendship was only a pale shadow now. He always found her out, gave her the posy she best liked, said cheerfully, How goes it, Christy? And she always answered, Good morning, David. I am well and busy, thank you. When they sat together, listening to Mr. Power, sung from the same book, walked a little way together, and parted for another week with a handshake for goodbye. Christy often wondered what prayers David prayed when he sat so still with his face hidden by his hand, and looked up with such a clear and steady look when he had done. She tried to do the same, but her thoughts would wander to the motionless gray figure beside her, and she felt as if peace and strength unconsciously flowed from it to sustain and comfort her. Some of her happiest moments were those she spent sitting there, pale and silent, with absent eyes and lips that trembled now and then, hidden by the flowers held before them, kissed covertly, and kept like relics long after they were dead. One bitter drop always marred the pleasure of that hour, for when she had asked for Mrs. Sterling and sent her love, she forced herself to say kindly, and Kitty, is she doing well? Captly, come and see how she has improved. We are quite proud of her. I will if I can find time. It's a hard winter, and we have so much to do. She would answer smiling, and then go home to struggle back into the patient mood she tried to make habitual. But she seldom made time to go and see Kitty's improvement, and when she did run out for an hour, she failed to discover anything, except that the girl was prettier and more coquettish than ever, and assumed heirs of superiority that tried Christie very much. I am ready for anything, she always said with a resolute air after one of these visits, but when the time seemed to have come, she was not so ready as she fancied. Passing out of a store one day, she saw Kitty all in her best, buying white gloves with the most important air. That looked suspicious, she thought, and could not resist speaking. All well at home, she asked. Grandma and I have been alone for nearly a week. David went off on business, but he's back now, and, oh my goodness, I forgot, I'm not to tell his soul yet. And Kitty pursed up her lips, looking quite oppressed with some great secret. Bless me, how mysterious! While I won't ask any dangerous questions, only tell me if the dear old lady is well, said Christie, desperately curious, but too proud to show it. She's well, but dreadfully upset by what's happened, while she may be, and Kitty shook her head with a look of mingled mystery and malicious merriment. Mr. Sterling is all right, I hope. He never called him David to Kitty, so that impertinent little person took a special pains to speak familiarly, sometimes even fondly of him to Christie. Dear fellow, he's so happy he don't know what to do with himself. I just wish you could see him go round smiling and singing and looking as if he'd like to dance. That looks as if he was going to get a chance to do it, said Christie with a glance at the gloves, as Kitty turned from the counter. So he is, laughed Kitty, patting the little parcel with a joyful face. I do believe you are going to be married, exclaimed Christie, half distracted with curiosity. I am, but not to Miles. Now don't you say another word, for I'm dying to tell, and I promised I wouldn't. David wants to do it himself. Bye-bye! Mary and Kitty hurried away, leaving Christie as pale as if she had seen a ghost at noonday. She had. For the thought of David's marrying Kitty had haunted her all those months, and now she was quite sure the blow had come. If she was only a nobler woman I could bear it better, but I am sure he will regret it when the first illusion is past. I fancy she reminds him of his lost lady, and so he thinks he loves her. I pray he may be happy, and I hope it will be over soon. Thought Christie was a grown, as she trudged away to carry comfort to those whose woes could be relieved by tea and sugar, flannel petticoats, and orders for a ton of coal. It was over soon, but not as Christie had expected. That evening Mr. Power was called away, and she sat alone, bravely trying to forget suspense and grief in copying the record of her last month's labor. But she made sad work of it, for her mind was full of David and his wife, so happy in the little home which had grown doubly dear to her since she left it. No wonder then that she put down two dozen children to Mrs. Flanagan, and four knit hoods with the measles, or that a great blot fell upon twenty yards red flannel, as the pen dropped from the hands she clasped together. Playing with all the fervor of true self-abnegation, I hope he will be happy. Oh, I hope he will be happy. If ever woman deserved reward for patient endeavor, hard won submission and unselfish love, Christie did then. And she received it in full measure, for the dear Lord requites some faithful hearts, blesses some lives that seem set apart for silent pain and solitary labor. Snow was falling fast, and a bitter wind moaned without. The house was very still, and nothing stirred in the room but the flames dancing on the hearth, and the thin hand moving to and fro among the records of a useful life. Suddenly the bell rang loudly and repeatedly, as if the newcomer was impatient of delay. Christie paused to listen. It was not Mr. Powers' ring, not his voice in the hall below, not his step that came leaping up the stairs, nor his hand that threw wide the door. She knew them all, and her heart stood still an instant. Then she gathered up her strength, said low to herself. Now it is coming. And was ready for the truth, with a colorless face, eyes unnaturally bright and fixed, and one hand on her breast, as if to hold in check the rebellious heart that would throb so fast. It was David who came in with such impetuosity. Snowflakes shone in his hair. The glow of the keen wind was on his cheek, a smile on his lips, and in his eyes an expression she had never seen before. Happiness touched with the shadow of some past pain. Out and desire, gratitude and love, all seemed to meet and mingle in it, while about the whole man was the free and ardent air of one relieved from some heavy burden, released from some long captivity. Oh, David, what is it? cried Christie as he stood looking at her with this strange look. News, Christie, such happy news I can't find words to tell them. He answered, coming nearer, but too absorbed in his own emotion to heed hers. She drew a long breath and pressed her hand a little heavier on her breast, as she said, with the ghost of a smile more pathetic than the saddest tears. I guess it, David. How, he demanded, as if defrauded of a joy he had set his heart upon. I met Kitty. She told me nothing, but her face betrayed what I have long suspected. David laughed, such a glad yet scornful laugh, and snatching a little miniature from his pocket offered it, saying, with the new impetuosity that changed him so, that is the daughter I have found for my mother. You know her. You love her, and you will not be ashamed to welcome her, I think. She took it, saw a faded, time-worn likeness of a young girl's happy face. A face strangely familiar, yet for a moment. She groped to find the name belonging to it. Then memory helped her, and she said, half incredulously, half joyfully. Is it my Rachel? It is my Letty! cried David, with an accent of such mingled love and sorrow, remorse and joy, that Christie seemed to hear in it the death knell of her faith in him. The picture fell from the hands she put up, as if to ward off some heavy blow, and her voice was sharp, with reproachful anguish, as she cried. Oh, David! David! Anything but that! An instant he seemed bewildered. Then the meaning of the grief in her face flashed on him, and his own grew white with indignant repudiation of the thought that daunted her. But he only said with the stern brevity of truth. Letty is my sister. Forgive me! How could I know? Oh, thank God! Thank God! And dropping down upon a chair, Christie broke into a passion of the happiest tears she ever shed. David stood beside her silent, till the first irrepressible paroxysm was over. Then, while she sat weeping softly, quite bowed down by emotion, he said sadly now, not sternly, You could not know, because we hid the truth so carefully. I have no right to resent that belief of yours, for I did wrong my poor Letty, almost as much as that lover of hers, who being dead I do not curse. Let me tell you everything, Christie, before I ask your respect and confidence again. I never deserved them, but I tried to, for they were very precious to me. He paused a moment, then went on rapidly as if anxious to accomplish a hard task, and Christie forgot to weep while listening breathlessly. Letty was the pride of my heart, and I loved her very dearly, for she was all I had. Such a pretty child, such a gay, sweet girl. How could I help it when she was so fond of me? We were poorer than, poorer than now, and she grew restless, tired of hard work, longed for a little pleasure, and could not bear to waste her youth and beauty in that dull town. I did not blame my little girl, but I could not help her, for I was tugging away to Phil Father's place, he being broken down and helpless. She wanted to go away and support herself. You know the feeling, and I need not tell you how the proud, high-hearted creature hated dependents, even on a brother who would have worked his soul out for her. She would go, and we had faith in her. For a time she did bravely, but life was too hard for her. Pleasure too alluring, and when temptation came in the guys of love, she could not resist. One dreadful day, news came that she was gone. Her to come back, my innocent little letty, any more. His voice failed there, and he walked fast through the room, as if the memory of that bitter day was still unbearable. Christie could not speak for very pity, and he soon continued, pacing restlessly before her, as he had often done when she sat by, wondering what unquiet spirit drove him to and fro. That was the beginning of my trouble, but not the worst of it. God forgive me, not the worst. Father was very feeble, and the shock killed him. Mother's heart was nearly broken, and all the happiness was taken out of life for me. But I could bear it, heavy as the blow was, for I had no part in that sin and sorrow. A year later there came a letter from Letty, a penitent and ploying little letter, asking to be forgiven and taken home, for her lover was dead, and she alone in a foreign land. How would you answer such a letter, Christie? As you did, saying, come home and let us comfort you. I said, you have killed your father, broken your mother's heart, ruined your brother's hopes, and disgraced your family. You no longer have a home with us, and we never want to see your face again. Oh, David, that was cruel! I said you did not know me. Now you see how deceived you have been. A stern, resentful devil possessed me then, and I obeyed it. I was very proud, full of ambitious plans, and jealous love for the few I took into my heart. Letty had brought a stain upon our honest name that time could never wash away. David quenched my hopes in despair and shame, had made home desolate, and destroyed my faith in everything. For whom could I trust when she, the nearest and dearest creature in the world, deceived and deserted me? I could not forgive. Wrath burned hot within me, and the desire for retribution would not be appeased till those cruel words were said. The retribution and remorse came swift and sure, but they came most heavily to me. Still standing where he had paused abruptly as he asked his question, David wrung his strong hands together with a gesture of passionate regret while his face grew sharp with the remembered suffering of the years he had given to the atonement of that wrong. Christy put her own hand on those clenched ones and whispered softly, Don't tell me any more now. I can wait. I must, and you must listen. I've longed to tell you, but I was afraid. Now you shall know everything, and then decide if you can forgive me for Lettie's sake. He said so resolutely that she listened with a face full of mute compassion. That little letter came to me. I never told my mother, but answered it and kept silent till news arrived that the ship in which Lettie had taken passage was lost. Others had been tugging at my heart, and when I knew that she was dead, I forgave her with a vain forgiveness, and mourned for my darling as if she had never left me. I told my mother then, and she did not utter one reproach, but age seemed to fall upon her all at once and the pathetic quietude you see. Then but for her I should have been desperate, for day and night Lettie's face haunted me. Lettie's voice cried, Take me home! And every word of that imploring letter burns before my eyes as if written in fire. Do you wonder now that I hid myself, that I had no heart to try for an honorable place in the world, and only struggled to forget, only hope to expiate my sin? With his head bowed down upon his breast, David stood silent, asking himself if he had even now done enough to win the reward he coveted. Christy's voice seemed to answer him, for she said with heartfelt gratitude and respect. Surely you have atoned for that harshness to one woman by years of devotion to many. Was it this that made you a brother of girls, as Mr. Power once called you? And when I asked what he meant, he said the A-Rabs call a man that, who has a clean heart to love all women as his sisters, and strength and courage to fight for their protection. She hoped to lighten his trouble a little, and spoke with a smile that was like cordial to poor David. Yes, he said, lifting his head again. I tried to be that, and for Lettie's sake, had pity on the most forlorn, patience with the most abandoned, always remembering that she might have been what they were, if death had not been more merciful than I. But she was not dead. She was alive and working as bravely as you. Oh, how little I thought when I loved Rachel and she loved me, that we should ever meet so happily as we soon shall. Tell me how you found her. Does she know I am the woman she once saved? Tell me all about her, and tell it fast. Prayed Christy, getting excited as she more fully grasped the happy fact that Rachel and Lettie were one. David came nearer, and his face kindled as he spoke. The ship sailed without her. She came later, and finding that her name was among the lost, she did not deny it, for she was dead to us, and decided to remain so till she had earned the right to be forgiven. You know how she lived and worked, stood firm with no one to befriend her till you came, and by years of patient well-doing washed away her single sin. If anyone dares think I am ashamed to own her now, let him know what cause I have to be proud of her. Let him come and see how tenderly I love her, how devoutly I thank God for permitting me to find and bring my little Lettie home. Only the snowflakes drifting against the windowpane, and the wailing of the wind, was heard for a moment. Then David added, with brightening eyes, and a glad voice. I went into a hospital while away, to look after one of my poor girls who had been doing well till illness brought her there. As I was passing out, I saw a sleeping face, and stopped involuntarily. It was so like Lettie's. I never doubted she was dead. The name over the bed was not hers. The face was sadly altered from the happy rosy one I knew, but it held me fast. And as I paused, the eyes opened, Lettie's own soft eyes. They saw me, and as if I was the figure of a dream, she smiled, put up her arms and said, just as she used to say, a child when I woke her in her little bed. Why, Davey, I can't tell any more. See that when I brought her home, and put her in mother's arms, I felt as if I was forgiven at last. He broke down there, and went and stood behind the window curtains, letting no one see the grateful tears that washed away the bitterness of those long years. Christy had taken up the miniature, and was looking at it, while her heart saying for joy that the lost was found, when David came back to her, wearing the same look she had seen the night she listened among the cloaks, moved and happy with eager eyes and ardent manner, yet behind it all a pale expectancy as if some great crisis was at hand. Christy, I never can forget that when all others, even I, cast Lettie off, you comforted and saved her. What can I do to thank you for it? Be my friend, and let me be hers again, she answered, too deeply moved to think of any private hope or pain. Then the past, now that you know it all, does not change your heart to us. It only makes you dearer. And if I asked you to come back to the home that has been desolate since you went, would you come? Gladly, David. And if I dare to say I loved you? She only looked at him with a quick rising light and warmth over her whole face. He stretched both arms to her, and going to him, Christy gave her answer silently. Lovers usually ascend straight into the seventh heaven for a time. Unfortunately they cannot stay long. The air is too rarefied, the light too brilliant, the fair too ethereal, and they are forced to come down to mundane things as larks drop from heaven's gate into their grassy nests. David was summoned from that blissful region after a brief enjoyment of its divine delights by Christy, who looked up from her new refuge with the abrupt question, what becomes of kitty? He regarded her with a dazed expression for an instant, for she had been speaking the delightful language of lips and eyes that lovers use, and the old tongue sounded harsh to him. She is safe with her father, and is to marry the other one next week. Heaven be praised, ejaculated Christy, so fervently that David looked suddenly enlightened and much amused as he said quickly, what becomes of Fletcher? He's safely out of the way, and I sincerely hope he will marry some other one as soon as possible. Christy, you were jealous of that girl. David, you were jealous of that man. Then they both burst out laughing like two children, for heavy burdens had been lifted off their hearts, and they were bubbling over with happiness. But truly, David, weren't you a little jealous of P.F., persisted Christy, feeling an intense desire to ask all manner of harassing questions with the agreeable certainty that they would be fully answered? Desperately jealous. You were so kind, so gay, so altogether charming when with him that I could not stand by and see it, so I kept away. Why were you never so to me? Because you never showed that you cared for me, and he did. But it was wrong in me to do it, and I repent of it heartily, for it hurt him more than I thought it would when the experiment failed. I truly tried to love him, but I couldn't. Yet he had so much to offer, and could give you all you most enjoy. It is very singular that you failed to care for him, and preferred a poor old fellow like me, said David, beaming at her like a beatified man. I do love luxury and pleasure, but I love independence more. I'm happier poking in the dirt with you than I should be driving in a fine carriage with that piece of elegance, as Mr. Power called him, prouder of being your wife than his, and none of the costly things he offered me were half so precious in my sight as your little nose-gaze, now moldering away in my treasure-box upstairs. Why, Davy, I've longed more intensely for the right to push up the curly lock that is always tumbling into your eyes than for Philip's whole fortune. May I do it now? You may. And Christie did it with a tender satisfaction that made David love her the more, though he laughed like a boy at the womanly whim. And so you thought I cared for Kitty? He said presently, taking his turn at the new game. How could I help it when she was so young and pretty and fond of you? Was she, innocently? Didn't you see it? How blind men are! Not always. David, did you see that I cared for you? Asked Christie, turning crimson under the significant glance he gave her. I wish I had. I confess I once or twice fancied that I caught glimpses of bliss round the corner, as it were. But before I could decide, the glimpses vanished, and I was very sure I was a conceited coxcomb to think it for a moment. It was very hard, and yet I was glad. Glad? Yes, because I had made a sort of vow that I'd never love or marry as a punishment for my cruelty to Letty. That was wrong, David. I see it now, but it was not hard to keep that foolish vow till you came, and you see I've broken it without a shadow of regret tonight. You might have done it months ago and saved me so much woe if you had not been a dear, modest, morbidly conscientious bat. Said Christie, pleased and proud to learn her power, yet sorry for the long delay. Thank you, love. You see I didn't find out why I liked my friend so well till I lost her. I had just begun to feel that you were very dear. For after the birthday you were like an angel in the house, Christie, when you changed all at once, and I thought you suspected me and didn't like it. You were running away when Kitty came, confirmed my fear. Then in came that. Would you mind if I said confounded Fletcher? Not in the least. Well, as he didn't win I won't be hard on him, but I gave up then and had a tough time of it, especially that first night when this splendid lover appeared and received such a kind welcome. Christie saw the strong hand that lay on David's knee clenched slowly as he knit his brows with a grim look, plainly showing that he was not what she was inclined to think him, a perfect saint. Oh, my heart, and there I was loving you so dearly all the time, and you wouldn't see or speak or understand, but went away, left me to torment all three of us, cried Christie with a tragic gesture. My dearest girl, did you ever know a man in love? Do say or think the right thing at the right time? I never did, said David so penitently that she forgave him on the spot. Never mind, dear, it has taught us the worth of love, and perhaps we are the better for the seeming waste of precious time. Now I have not only got you, but Letty also, and your mother is mine in very truth. Ah, how rich I am! But I thought it was all over with me when I found Letty, as seeing no more of Fletcher I had begun to hope again, and when she came back to me I knew my home must be hers, yet feared you would refuse to share it if you knew all. You are very proud, and the purest hearted woman I ever knew. And if I had refused, you would have let me go and held fast to Letty? Yes, for I owe her everything. You should have known me better, David, but I don't refuse, and there is no need to choose between us. No, thank heaven, and you, my Christy, imagine what I felt when Letty told me all you had been to her. If anything could make me love you more than I now do, it would be that. No, don't hide your face. I like to see it blush and smile, and turn to me confidingly, as it has not done all these long months. She'd letty tell you what she had done for me, asked Christy, looking more like a rose than ever Kitty did. She told me everything, and wished me to tell you all her story, even the saddest part of it. I'd better do it now, before you meet again. He paused, as if the tale was hard to tell, but Christy put her hand on his lips, saying softly, Never tell it. Let her past be as sacred as if she were dead. She was my friend when I had no other. She is my dear sister now, and nothing can ever change the love between us. If she had thought David's face beautiful with gratitude when he told the happier portions of that history, she found it doubly so when she spared him the recital of its darkest chapter, and bade him leave the rest to silence. Now, will you come home? There wants you, letting longs for you, and I have got and mean to keep you all my life, God willing. I'd better die to-night, and make a blessed end, for so much happiness is hardly possible in a world of woe," answered Christy, to that fervent invitation. We shall be married very soon. Take a wedding trip to any part of the world you like, and our honeymoon will last for ever, Mrs. Sterling, Jr. David soaring away into the future with sublime disregard of obstacles. Before Christy could get her breath after that somewhat startling announcement, Mr. Power appeared, took in the situation at a glance, gave them a smile that was a benediction, and said heartily as he offered a hand to each. Now, I'm satisfied. I've watched and waited patiently, and after many tribulations you have found each other in good time. Again, with a meaning look at Christy, he added slyly. But David is no hero, you know. She remembered the chat in the strawberry bed, laughed and colored brightly, as she answered with her hand, trustfully in David's, her eyes full of loving pride and reverence lifted to his face. I've seen both sides of the metal now, and found it sterling gold. Hero or not, I'm content. For though he loves his mother much, there is room in his heart for me too. His old books have given him something better than learning, and he has convinced me that double flowers are loveliest and best. CHAPTER XVI Christy's return was a very happy one, and could not well be otherwise with a mother, sister, and lover to welcome her back. Her meeting with Letty was indescribably tender, and the days that followed were pretty equally divided between her and her brother, in nursing the one and loving the other. There was no cloud now in Christy's sky, and all the world seemed in bloom. But even while she enjoyed every hour of life, and begrudged the time given to sleep, she felt as if the dream was too beautiful to last, and often said, Something will happen. Such perfect happiness is not possible in this world. Then let us make the most of it, David would reply, wisely bent on getting his honey while he could, and to not borrowing trouble for the morrow. So Christy turned a deaf ear to her prophetic soul, and gave herself up to the blissful holiday that had come at last. Even while March winds were howling outside, she blissfully poked in the dirt with David in the greenhouse, put up the curly lock as often as she liked, and told him she loved him a dozen times a day, not in words, but in silent ways, that touched him to the heart, and made his future look so bright he hardly dared believe in it. A happier man it would have been difficult to find just then. All his burdens seemed to have fallen off, and his spirit rose again, with an elasticity which surprised even those who knew him best. Christy often stopped to watch and wonder if the blind young man who went whistling and singing about the house, often stopping to kiss somebody, to joke, or to explain with a beaming face like a child at a party, isn't everything beautiful, could be the sober, steady David who used to plod to and fro with his shoulders a little bent, and the absent look in his eyes that told of thoughts above or beyond the daily task. It was good to see his mother rejoice over him, with an exceeding great joy. It was better still to see Letty's eyes follow him with unspeakable love and gratitude in their soft depths. But it was best of all to see Christy marvel and exalt over the discoveries she made, for, though she had known David for a year, she had never seen the real man till now. "'David, you are a humbug,' she said one day, when they were making up a bridal order in the greenhouse. "'I told you so, but you wouldn't believe it,' he answered, posing long-stemmed rose-buds with as prodigal a hand as if the wedding was to be his own. "'I thought I was going to marry a quiet, studious, steady-going man, and here I find myself engaged to a romantic youth who flies about in the most undignified manner, embraces people behind doors, sings opera-airs, very much out of tune, by the way, and conducts himself more like an infatuated Claude Melneau than a respectable gentleman on the awful verge of matrimony. Nothing can surprise me now. I'm prepared for anything, even the sight of my quakerish lover dancing a jig. "'Just what I've been longing to do! Come and take a turn. It will do you good.' And, to Christy's utter amazement, David caught her around the waist and waltzed her down the boarded walk with a speed and skill that caused less havoc among the flower-pots than one would imagine, and seemed to delight the plants, who rustled and nodded as if applauding the dance of the finest double flower that had ever blossomed in their midst. "'I can't help it, Christy,' he said, when he had landed her breathless and laughing at the other end. I feel like a boy out of school, or rather a man out of prison, and must enjoy my liberty in some way. I'm not a talker, you know, and, as the laws of gravitation forbid my soaring aloft anywhere, I can only express my joyfully uplifted state of mind by prancing, as you call it. Never mind dignity. Let's be happy, and by and by all sober down.' "'I don't want you to. I love to see you so young and happy. Only you are not the old David, and I've got to get acquainted with the new one.' "'I hope you'll like him better than the frost-bitten old David you first knew and were kind enough to love. Mother says I've gone back to the time before we lost Letty, and I sometimes feel as if I had. In that case you will find me a proud, impetuous, ambitious fellow, Christy, and how will that suit?' "'Excellently! I like pride of your sort. Impetuosity becomes you, for you have learned to control it if need be, and the ambition is best of all. I always wondered at your want of it, and longed to stir you up, for you did not seem the sort of man to be contented with mere creature comforts when there are so many fine things men may do. What shall you choose, David?' "'I shall wait for time to show. The sap is all stir in me, and I'm ready for my chance. I don't know what it is, but I feel very sure that some work will be given me into which I can put my whole heart and soul and strength. I spoiled my first chance, but I know I shall have another, and whatever it is, I'm ready to do my best and live or die for it as God wills.' "'So am I,' answered Christy, with a voice as earnest and a face as full of hopeful resolution as his own. Then they went back to their work, little dreaming as they tied roses entwined similax wreaths, how near that other chance was, how soon they were to be called upon to keep their promise, and how well each was to perform the part given them in life and death. The gun fired one April morning at Fort Sumter, told many men like David what their work was to be, and showed many women like Christy a new right to claim and bravely prove their fitness to possess. No need to repeat the story of the war begun that day. It has been so often told that it will only be touched upon here as one of the experiences of Christy's life, an experience which did for her what it did for all who took a share in it, and loyally acted their part. The North woke up from its prosperous lethargy, and began to stir with the ominous hum of bees when rude hands shake the hive. Rich and poor were proud to prove that they loved their liberty better than their money or their lives, and the descendants of the brave old Puritans were worthy of their race. Many said, It will soon be over, but the wise men who had warned in vain shook their heads as the first disastrous summer showed that the time for compromise was past, and the stern reckoning day of eternal justice was at hand. To no home in the land did the great trouble bring a more sudden change than the little cottage in the lane. All its happy peace was broken, excitement and anxiety, grief and indignation banished the sweet home joys and darkened the future that had seemed so clear. David was sober enough now, and went about his work with a grim set to his lips, and a spark in his eyes that made the three women look at one another pale with unspoken apprehension. As they sat together, picking Lynn to her rolling bandages, while David read aloud some dismal tale of a lost battle that chilled their blood and made their hearts ache with pity, each woman listening to the voice that stirred her like martial music said within herself, Sooner or later he will go, and I will have no right to keep him. Each tried to be ready to make her sacrifice bravely when the time came, and each prayed that it might not be required of her. David said little, but they knew by the way he neglected the garden and worked for the soldiers that his heart was in the war. Day after day he left Christy and his sister to fill orders that came so often now, for flowers to lay on the grave of some dear dead boy brought home to his mother in a shroud. Day after day he hurried away to help Mr. Power in the sanitary work that soon claimed all hearts and hands, and, day after day, he came home with what Christy called the heroic look more plainly written on his face. All that first summer, so short and strange, all that first winter so long and hard to those who went and those who stayed, David worked and waited, and the women waxed strong in the new atmosphere of self-sacrifice, which pervaded the air, bringing out the sturdy virtues of the North. How terrible! Oh, when will it be oversight, Letty, one day, after hearing a long list of the dead and wounded in one of the great battles of that second summer? Never till we have beaten, cried David, throwing down the paper and walking about the room with his head up like a war horse who smells powder. It is terrible and yet glorious. I thank heaven I live to see this great wrong-righted, and only wish I could do my share like a man. This is natural, but there are plenty of men who have fewer ties than you, who can fight better, and whose places are easier to fill than yours if they die, said Christy hastily. But the men who have most to lose fight best, they say, and to my thinking a soldier needs principle as well as a weapon if he is to do real service. As the only son of a widow you can't be drafted, that's one comfort, said Letty, who could not bear to give up the brother-loss to her for so many years. I should not wait for that, and I know mother would give her widow's might if she saw that it was needed. Yes, Davy. The soft old voice answered steadily, but the feeble hand closed instinctively on the arm of her only son, who was so dear to her. David held it close in both of his, saying gratefully, Thank you, mother. Then fixing his eyes on the younger, yet not dearer woman, he added with a ring in his voice that made their heart answer with a prompt, Aye, aye, in spite of love or fear. Now listen, you dear souls, and understand that, if I do this thing, I shall not do it hastily, nor without counting well the cost. My first and most natural impulse was to go in the beginning, but I stayed for your sakes. I saw I was not really needed. I thought the war would soon be over, and those who went could do the work. You see how mistaken we were, and God only knows when the end will come. The boys, blessed their brave hearts, have done nobly, but older men are needed now. We cannot sacrifice all the gallant lads, and we who have more to lose than they must take our turn and try to do as well. You own this. I see it in your faces. Then don't hold me back when the time comes for me to go. I must do my part, however small it is, or I shall never feel as if I deserve the love you give me. You will let me go, I am sure, and not regret that I did what seemed to me a solemn duty, leaving the consequences to the Lord. Yes, David. Sister and sweetheart answered, bravely forgetting in the fervour of the moment what heavy consequences God might see fit to send. Good! I knew my Spartans would be ready, and I won't disgrace them. I've waited more than a year and done what I could, but all the while I felt I was going to get a chance at the hard work, and I've been preparing for it. Bennett will take the garden and the greenhouse off my hands this autumn for a year or longer, if I like. He's a kind, neighbourly man, and his boy will take my place about the house and protect you faithfully. Mr. Power cannot be spared to go as chaplain, though he longs too desperately. So he is near in case of need, and with your two devoted daughters by you, mother, I can surely be spared for a little while. Only one daughter near her, David. I shall enlist when you do, said Christie resolutely. You mean it? I mean it as honestly as you do. I knew you would go. I saw you getting ready, and I made up my mind to follow. I too have prepared for it, and even spoken to Mrs. Amory. She has gone as matron of a hospital and promised to find a place for me when I was ready. The day you enlist, I shall write and tell her that I am ready. There was a fire in Christie's eyes and a flush on her cheeks now as she stood up with the look of a woman bent on doing well her part. David caught her hands in his, regardless of the ominous bandages they held, and said with tender admiration and reproach in his voice, You wouldn't marry me when I asked you this summer, fearing you would be a burden to me. But now you want to share the hardship and danger with me and support me by the knowledge of your nearness. Dear, ought I to let you do it? You will let me do it, and in return I will marry you whenever you ask me, answered Christie, sealing the promise with a kiss that silenced him. He had been anxious to be married long ago, but when he asked Mr. Power to make him happy, a month after his engagement, that wise friend said to him, I don't advise it yet. You have tried and proved one another as friends, now try and prove one another as lovers. Then, if you feel that all is safe and happy, you will be ready for the greatest of the three experiments, and then in God's name, marry. We will, they said, and for a year had been content studying one another, finding much to love and something to learn in the art of bearing and forebearing. David had begun to think that they had waited long enough, but Christie still delayed, fearing that she was not worthy, and secretly afflicted by the thought of her poverty. She had so little to give in return for all she had received that it troubled her, and she was sometimes tempted to ask Uncle Enos for a modest marriage portion. She never had yet, and now resolved to ask nothing, but to earn her blessing by doing her share in the great work. I shall remember that, was all David answered to that last promise of hers, and three months later he took her at her word. For a week or two they went on in the old way. Christie did her housework with her head full of new plans, read books on nursing, made grol, plasters, and poultices, till Mrs. Sterling pronounced her perfect, and dreamed dreams of a happy time to come when peace had returned, and David was safe at home with all the stars and bars a man could win without dying for them. David set things in order, conferred with Bennett, petted his woman kind, and then hurried away to pack boxes of stores, visit camps, and watched departing regiments with daily increasing certainty that his time had come. One September day he went slowly home, and seeing Christie in the garden joined her, helped her finish matting up some delicate shrubs, put by the tools, and when all was done, said with unusual gentleness, come and walk a little in the lane. She put her arm in his, and answered quickly, You've something to tell me, I see it in your face. Dear, I must go. Yes, David. And you? I go too. Yes, Christie. That was all. She did not offer to detain him now, he did not deny her right to follow. They looked each other bravely in the face a moment, seeing, acknowledging the duty and the danger, yet ready to do the one and dare the other since they went together. Then shoulder to shoulder as if already mustered in, these faithful comrades marched to and fro, planning their campaign. Next evening as Mrs. Sterling sat alone in the twilight, a tall man in army blue entered quietly, stood watching the tranquil figure for a moment, then went and knelt down beside it, saying, with the most unsolderly choke in the voice, I've done it, mother. Tell me you're not sorry. But the little Quaker cap went down on the broad shoulder, and the only answer he heard was a sob that stirred the soft folds over the tender old heart that clung so closely to the sun who had lived for her so long. What happened in the twilight no one ever knew, but David received promotion for bravery in a harder battle than any he was going to, and from his mother's breast a decoration more precious to him than the cross of the Legion of Honor from a royal hand. When Mr. Power presently came in, followed by the others, they found their soldiers standing very erect in his old place on the rug, with the firelight gleaming on his bright buttons and brand-staring at him with a perplexed aspect. For the uniform, shorn hair, trimmed beard, and a certain lofty carriage of the head so changed his master that the sagacious beast was disturbed. Letty smiled at him approvingly, then went to comfort her mother, who could not recover her tranquility so soon. But Christy stood aloof, looking at her lover with something more than admiration in the face that kindled beautifully as she exclaimed, Oh, David, you are splendid. Once I was so blind I thought you plain, but now my boy am blue as the noblest-looking man I ever saw. Yes, Mr. Power, I've found my hero at last. Here he is, my knight without reproach or fear, going out to take his part in the grandest battle ever fought. I wouldn't keep him if I could, and I'm glad and proud to have him go, and if he never should come back to me I can bear it better for knowing that he dutifully did his best and left the consequences to the Lord. Then having poured out the love and pride and confidence that enriched her sacrifice, she broke down and clung to him, weeping as so many clung and wept in those hard days when men and women gave their dearest, and those who prayed and waited suffered almost as much as those who fought and died. When the deed was once done it was astonishing what satisfaction they all took in it, how soon they got accustomed to the change, and what pride they felt in our soldier. The loyal frenzy fell upon the three quiet women, and they could not do too much for their country. Mrs. Sterling cut up her treasured old linen without a murmur. Letty made comfort bags by the dozen, put up jelly and sewed on blue jackets with tireless industry, while Christie proclaimed that if she had twenty lovers she would send them all, and then made preparations enough to nurse the entire party. David, meantime, was in camp, getting his first taste of martial life, and not liking it any better than he thought he should, but no one heard a complaint, and he never regretted his love amongst the roses, for he was one of the men who had a principal as well as a weapon, and meant to do good service with both. It would have taken many knapsacks to hold all the gifts showered upon him by his friends and neighbors. He accepted all that came and furnished forth those of his company who were less favored. Among these was Elisha Wilkins, and how he got there should be told. Elisha had not the slightest intention of unlisting, but Mrs. Wilkins was a loyal soul, and could not rest till she had sent a substitute, since she could not go herself. Finding that Elisha showed little enthusiasm on the subject, she tried to rouse him by patriotic appeals of various sorts. She read stirring accounts of battles, carefully omitting the dead and wounded. She turned out, baby and all if possible, to cheer every regiment that left, and was never tired of telling Warsh how she wished she could add ten years to his age and send him off to fight for his country like a man. But nothing seemed to rouse the supine Elisha, who chewed his quid like a placid beast of the field, and showed no sign of a proper spirit. Very well said Mrs. Wilkins resolutely to herself, if I can't make no impression on his soul I will on his stomach and see how that'll work. Each threat she carried out was such skill and force that Elisha was effectually waked up, for he was partial to good vitals, and Cynthia was a capital cook. Poor Rations did not suit him, and he demanded why his favorite dishes were not forthcoming. We can't afford no nice vitals now when our men are suffering so. I should be ashamed to cook them and expect to choke trying to eat them. Everyone is sacrificing something, and we mustn't be slackened in doing our part. The Lord knows its precious little, and there won't be no stuffing in this house for a considerable spell. If I could save up enough to send a man to do my share of the fighting, I should be proud to do it. Anyway, I shall stint the family and send them dear brave fellers every cent I can get without starving the children. Now, Cynthia, don't be fierce. Things will come out all right, and it ain't no use upsetin' everything and bein' so darned uncomfortable, said Mr. Wilkins, with unusual energy. Yes, it is, Lycia. No one has a right to be comfortable in such times as these, and this family ain't goin' to be if I can help it. And Mrs. Wilkins sat down her flat iron with a slam which plainly told her Lycia war was declared. He said no more, but fell a thinking. He was not as unmoved as he seemed by the general excitement, and had felt sundry manly impulses to up an atom when his comrades in the shop discussed the crisis with eye-full brandishing of alls and vengeful pounding of sole leather, as if the rebels were under the hammer. But the selfish slothful little man could not make up his mind to brave hardship and danger, and fell back on his duty to his family as a reason for keeping him safe at home. But now that home was no longer comfortable, now that Cynthia had sharpened her tongue and turned to furs, and now, hardest blow of all, that he was kept on short commons, he began thinking he might as well be on the tented field and get a little glory along with the discomfort if that was inevitable. Nature pours a vacuum, and when food fell short patriotism had a chance to fill the aching void. Lycia had about made up his mind, for he knew the value of peace and quietness, and, though his wife was no schooled, she was the ruling power, and in his secret soul he considered her a very remarkable woman. He knew what she wanted, but was not going to be hurried by anybody, so he still kept silent, and Mrs. Wilkins began to think she must give it up. An unexpected ally appeared, however, and the good woman took advantage of it to strike one last blow. Lycia sat eating a late breakfast one morning, with a small son at either elbow waiting for stray mouthfuls and committing petty larcenies right and left, for Paul was in a brown study. Mrs. Wilkins was frying flapjacks, and though this is not considered unheroical employment, she made it so that day. This was a favorite dish of Lycia's, and she had prepared it as a bait for this cautious fish. To say that the fish rose at once and swallowed the bait, hook and all, but feebly expresses the justice done to the cakes by that long-suffering man. Waiting till he had a tempting pile of the lightest, brownest flapjacks ever seen upon his plate, and was watching an extra big bit of butter melt luxuriously into the warm bosom of the upper one, with a face as benign as if some of the molasses he was trickling over them had been absorbed into his nature, Mrs. Wilkins seized the prepidious moment to say, impressively, "'David Sterlin' hasn't listed?' "'Sure, has he, though? Of course he has, any man with the spirit of a musketeer would. Well, he ain't got a family, you see. He's got his old mither, and that's his sister home from fur and parts, somewheres, and Christy's just going to be married. I should like to know who's got a harder family to leave than that. Six young children is harder. If I went fiefin' and drummin' off, who'd take care of them I'd like to know. I guess I could support the family if I give my mind to it, and Mrs. Wilkins turned a flapjack with an emphasis that caused her lord to bolt a hot triangle with dangerous rapidity, for well he knew very little of his money went to the common purse. She never reproached him, but the fact netdled him now, and something in the tone of her voice made that sweet morsel hard to swallow. "'Peers to me, your own brother, I hurried to be a widder, since they've shoven me off to get shot in this kind of a way,' growled Lycia, ill at ease. "'I'd rather be a brave man's widow than a coward's wife any day,' cried the rebellious Cynthia, then she relented and softly slid two hot cakes into his plate, adding, with her hand upon his shoulder. "'Lycia, dear, I want to be proud of my husband, as any other woman be of theirs. Every one gives something. I've only got you, and I want to do my share and do it hardy.' She went back to work, and Mr. Wilkins sat thoughtfully stroking the curly heads beside him, while the boys ravaged his plate, with no reproof, but a half audible. "'My little chops, my little chops!' She thought she had got him, and smiled to herself, even as a great tear sputtered on the griddle at those last words of his. Imagine her dismay, when, having consumed the bait, her fish gave signs of breaking the line and escaping after all. For Mr. Wilkins pushed back his chair, and said slowly, as he filled his pipe, "'I'm blessed if I can see the sense of a lot of decent men going off to be froze and starved, and blowed up just for them confounded niggers.' He got no further, for his wife's patience gave out, and, leaving her cakes to burn black, she turned on him with a face glowing like her stove, and cried out, "'Lycia, ain't you got no heart? Can you remember what Hepsy told us, and call them poor, long-suffering creeders' names? Can you think of them wretched wives sold from their husbands, them children as clear as yarn torn from their mothers, and old folks kept slaving eighty long-hard years with no pay, no help, no pity when they get past work? Lycia Wilkins, look at that, and say no if you darsed.' Mrs. Wilkins was a homely woman, and an old calico gown, but her face, her voice, her attitude were grand, as she flung the wide door of the little back-bedroom, and pointed with her tin spatula to the site beyond. Only Hepsy, sitting by a bed where lay what looked more like a shriveled mummy than a woman, ah, but it was that old mother worked and waited for so long, blind now, and deaf, childish, and half-dead with many hardships, but safe and free at last, and Hepsy's black face was full of a pride, a peace, and happiness more eloquent and touching than any speech or sermon ever uttered. Mr. Wilkins had heard her story, and been more affected by it than he would confess. Now it came home to him with sudden force. The thought of his own mother, wife, or baby's torn from him, stirred him to the heart, and the manliest emotion he had ever known caused him to cast his pipe at his feet, put on his hat with an energetic slap, and walk out of the house, wearing an expression on his usually wooden face that caused his wife to clap her hands and cry out exultingly, I thought that would fetch him. Then she fell to work like an inspired woman, and at noon a grumptious dinner smoked upon the board, the children were scrubbed till their faces shone, and the room was as fresh and neat as any apartment could be, with the penetrating perfume of burnt flap jacks still pervading the air, and three dozen ruffled nightcaps decorating the clothes-line overhead. Tell me the instant you see Pa come in, and all dish up the gravy was Mrs. Wilkins' command as she stepped in with a cup of tea for old harm, as she called Hepsy's mother. He's a common ma called Gusty presently. No, he ain't. It's a trainer, added Anne Lizzie. Yes, just Pa. Oh, my eye! He's stun and cried wash, stricken for the first time with admiration of his sire. Before Mrs. Wilkins could reply to these conflicting rumors, her husband walked in, looking as marshal as his hollow chest and thin legs permitted, and, turning his cap nervously in his hands, said half proudly, half reproachfully, Now, Cynthia, be you satisfied. Oh, my Lycia, I be, I be, and the inconsistent woman fell upon his buttony breast, weeping copiously. If ever a man was praised and petted, admired and caressed, it was a Lycia Wilkins that day. His wife fed him with the fat of the land, regardless of consequences. His children revolved about him with tireless curiosity and wonder. His neighbors flocked in to applaud, advise, and admire. Every one treated him with a respect most grateful to his feelings. He was an object of interest, and with every hour his importance increased so that by night he felt like a commander in chief and bore himself accordingly. He had enlisted in David's regiment, which was a great comfort to his wife. For, though her stout heart never failed her, it grew very heavy at times, and when Lycia was gone she often dropped a private tear over the broken pipe that always lay in its old place, and vented her emotions by sending baskets of nourishment to private Wilkins, which caused that bandy-legged warrior to be much envied and cherished by his mates. I'm glad I done it, for it will make a man of Lycia, and if I've sent him to his death, God knows he'll be fitter to die than if he stayed here idle in his life away. Then the good soul openly shouldered the burden she had borne so long in secret, and bravely trudged on alone. Another great battle screamed the excited news boys in the streets. Another great battle read Letty in the college parlor. Another great battle cried David, coming in with the war-horse expression on his face a month or two after he enlisted. The women dropped their work to look and listen, for his visits were few and short, and every instant was precious. When the first greetings were over, David stood silent in instant, and a sudden mist came over his eyes as he glanced from one beloved face to another. Then he threw back his head with the old impatient gesture, squared his shoulders, and said in a loud, cheerful voice with a suspicious undertone of emotion in it, however. My precious people, I've got something to tell you. Are you ready? They knew what it was without a word. Mrs. Sterling clasped her hands and bowed her head. Letty turned pale and dropped her work. But Christy's eyes kindled, and she answered with a salute. Ready, my general? We are ordered off at once, and go at four this afternoon. I've got a three hours leave to say good-bye in. Now let's be brave and enjoy every minute of it. We will. What can I do for you, Davy?" asked Christy, wonderfully supported by the thought that she was going to. Keep your promise, dear, he answered, while the warlike expression changed to one of infinite tenderness. What promise? This. And he held out his hand with a little paper in it. She saw it was a marriage-license, and on it lay a wedding-ring. She did not hesitate an instant, but laid her own hand in his and answered with her heart and her face. I'll keep it, David. I knew you would. Then holding her close he said in a tone that made it very hard for her to keep steady as she vowed she would do to the last. I know it is much to ask, but I want to feel that you are mine before I go. Not only that, but it will be a help and a protection to you, dear, when you follow. As a married woman you will get on better. As my wife you will be allowed to come to me if I need you. But as my— He stopped here, for he could not add, as my widow you will have my pension to support you. She understood, put both arms about his neck as if to keep him safe, and whispered fervently. Nothing can part us any more, not even death, for love like ours will last forever. Then you are quite willing to try the third great experiment? Glad and proud to do it, with no doubt no fear to mar your consent. Not one, David. That's true, love, Christie. Then they stood quite still for a time, and in the silence the two hearts talked together in the sweet language no tongue can utter. Presently, David said regretfully, I meant it should be so different, I always planned that we'd be married some bright summer day with many friends about us, then take a happy little journey somewhere together, and come back to settle down at home in the dear old way. Now it's also hurried, sorrowful, and strange—a dull November day, no friends but Mr. Power, who will be here soon, no journey but my march to Washington alone, and no happy coming home together in this world perhaps. Can you bear it, love? Have no fear for me, I feel as if I could bear anything just now, for I've got into a heroic mood, and I mean to keep so as long as I can. I've always wanted to live in stirring times, to have a part in great deeds, to sacrifice and suffer something for a principal or a person, and to now I have my wish. I like it, David, it's a grand time to live, a splendid chance to do and suffer, and I want to be in it heart and soul and earn a little of the glory or the martyrdom that will come in the end. Surely I shall, if I give you and myself to the cause, and I do it gladly, though I know that my heart has got to ache as it never has ached yet, when my courage fails, as it will buy and buy, and my selfish soul counts the cost of my offering after the excitement is over. Help me to be brave and strong, David, don't let me complain or regret, but show me what lies beyond, and teach me to believe that simply doing the right is reward and happiness enough. Christy was lifted out of herself for the moment, and looked inspired by the high mood which was but the beginning of a nobler life for her. David caught the exaltation, and gave no further thought to anything but the duty of the hour, finding himself stronger and braver for that long look and to the illuminated face of the woman he loved. I'll try, was all his answer to her appeal, then proved that he meant it by adding with his lips against her cheek, I must go to mother and Letty, we leave them behind and they must be comforted. He went, and Christy vanished to make ready for her wedding, conscious and spite of her exalted state of mind, that everything was very hurried, sad, and strange, and very different from the happy day she had so often planned. No matter, we are well on her love, and that is really all we need, she thought, recalling with a smile Mrs. Wilkins advice. David sends you these, dear, can I help in any way, asked Letty, coming with a cluster of lovely white roses in her hand, and a world of affection in her eyes. I thought he'd give me violets, and a shadow came over Christy's face. But they are morning flowers, you know. Not to me. The roses are, for they remind me of poor Helen, and the first twerk I did with David was arranging flowers like these for a dead baby's little coffin. My dearest Christy, don't be superstitious. All brides wear roses, and Davey thought you'd like them, said Letty, troubled at her words. Then I'll wear them, and I won't have fancies if I can help it. But I think few brides dress with a braver, happier heart than mine, though I do choose this over wedding-gown, answered Christy, smiling again, as she took from a half-packed trunk her new hospital suit of soft grey woolen stuff. Won't you wear the pretty silvery silk we like so well? Letty asked timidly, for something in Christy's face and manner impressed her very much. No. I will be married in my uniform, as David is, she answered, with a look Letty long remembered. Mr. Power has come, she said softly, a few minutes later, with an anxious glance at the clock. So dear, I'll come directly. But first, and Christy held her friend close a moment, kissed her tenderly, and whispered in a broken voice, Remember, I don't take his heart from you, I only share it with my sister and my mother. I'm glad to give him to you, Christy, for now I feel as if I had partly paid the great debt I've owed so long, answered Letty through her tears. Then she went away, and Christy soon followed, looking very like a Quaker bride in her grey gown with no ornament but delicate frills at her wrist and the roses in her bosom. No bridal white, dear, said David, going to her. Only this, and she touched the flowers, adding, with her hand on the blue coat sleeve that embraced her. I want to consecrate my uniform as you do yours by being married in it. Isn't it fitter for a soldier's wife than lace and silk at such a time as this? Much fitter. I like it, and I find you beautiful, my Christy, whispered David as he put one of her roses in his buttonhole. Then I'm satisfied. Mr. Power is waiting. Are you ready, love? Quite ready. Then they were married, with Letty and her mother standing beside them, Bennett and his wife dimly visible in the doorway, and poor Bran at his master's feet, looking up with wistful eyes, half-human in the anxious affection they expressed. Christy never forgot that service, so simple, sweet and solemn, nor the look her husband gave her at the end when he kissed her on the lips and forehead, saying fervently, God bless my wife. A tender little scene followed that can be better imagined than described, than Mr. Power said cheerfully, One hour more is all you have, so make the most of it, dearly beloved. You young folks take a wedding trip to the greenhouse while we see how well we can get on without you. Then they were married. If it and Christy went smiling away together, and if they shed any tears over the brief happiness, no one saw them but the flowers, and they loyally kept the secret folded up in their tender hearts. Mr. Power cheered the old lady while Letty, always glad to serve, made ready the last meal David might ever take at home. A very simple little marriage feast, but more love, good will, and tender wishes adorned the plain table than is often found at wedding breakfasts, and better than any speech or song was Letty's broken whisper as she folded her arms around David's empty chair when no one saw her. Heaven bless and keep, and bring him back to us. How time went that day, the inexorable clock would strike twelve so soon, and then the minutes flew till one was at hand, and the last words were still half said, the last goodbyes still unuttered. I must go, cried David, with a sort of desperation as Letty clung to one arm, Christy, to the other. I shall see you soon, good-bye, my husband, whispered Christy, setting him free. Give the last kiss to mother, added Letty, following her example, and in another minute David was gone. At the turn of the lane he looked back and swung his cap, all waved their hands to him, and then he marched away to the great work before him, leaving those loving hearts to ask the unanswerable question, how will he come home? Letty was going to town to see the regiment off, and soon followed with Mr. Power. They went early to a certain favorable spot, and there found Mrs. Wilkins, with her entire family perched upon a fence, on the spikes of which they impaled themselves at intervals, and had to be plucked off by the stout girl engaged to assist in this memorable expedition. Yes, Lyche is a-gone, and I was bound he should see every one of his blessed children the last thing if I took them all on my back. He knows where to look, and he's a-gone to see seven cheerful faces as he goes by. Time enough to cry by me by, so set steady in boys, and cheer loud when you see Pa, said Mrs. Wilkins, fanning her hot face, and utterly forgetting her cherished bonnet in the excitement of the moment. I hear drums, they're coming, cried Wash, after a long half hours waiting had nearly driven him frantic. The two younger boys immediately tumbled off the fence and were with difficulty restored to their perches. Gusty began to cry, and Elizie to wave a minute red cotton handkerchief, and Adelaide to kick delightedly in her mother's arms. Jane Carter, take this child for mercy's sake. My legs do tremble, so I can't hiss her another minute. Hold on to me behind somebody, for I must see if I do pitch up into the gutter. Cried Mrs. Wilkins with a gasp as she wiped her eyes on her shawl, clutched the railing, and stood ready to cheer bravely when her conquering hero came. Wash had heard the drums every five minutes since he arrived, but this time he was right, and began to cheer the instant a red cockade appeared at the other end of the long street. It was a different scene now than in the first enthusiastic hopeful days. Young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by instinct, burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully ignorant of all that lay before them. Now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray, all grave and resolute, husbands and fathers with the memory of wives and children tugging at their heartstrings, homes left desolate behind them, and all before them the grim certainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps a captivity worse than death. Little of the glamour of romance about the war now, they saw what it was, a long hard task, and here were the men to do it well. Even the lookers on were different. Once all was wild enthusiasm and glad uproar, now men's lips were set, and women's smileless, even as they cheered. Fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes needed them, and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the acclamations of the crowd. All watched with quickened breath, and proud souls, that living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely glitter above, as it flowed down the street in a way to join the sea of dauntless hearts that for months had rolled up against the south, and ebbed back, reddened with the blood of men like these. As the inspiring music, the grand tramp drew near, Christy felt the old thrill, and longed to fall in and follow the flag anywhere. Then she saw David, and the regiment became one man to her. He was pale, but his eyes shone, and his whole face expressed that two of the best and bravest emotions of a man, love and loyalty, were at their height as he gave his new maid-wife a long-lingering look that seemed to say, I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not on or more. Christy smiled, and waved her hand to him, showed him his wedding-roses still on her breast, and bore up as gallantly as he, resolved that his last impression of her should be a cheerful one. But when it was all over, and nothing remained but the trampled street, the hurrying crowd, the bleak November sky, when Mrs. Wilkins sat sobbing on the steps like newby, with her children scattered about her, then Christy's heart gave way, and she hid her face on Mr. Power's shoulder for a moment, all her ardor quenched in tears as she cried within herself. No, I could not bear it if I was not going to.