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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 BY 
 
 PATIENCE WORTH 
 
 
 
 COMMUNICATED THROUGH 
 
 MRS. JOHN H. CURRAN 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CASPER S. YOST 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1918 
 
 Digitized by Microsoft® 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1918, 
 
 BV 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 Published May, 1918 
 
 THE QUINN A aODEH CO. PREW 
 HAHWAY, N. i. 
 
 Digitized by Microsoft® 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 On an evening, two weeks after the completion of The 
 Sorry Tale, its invisible author gave to Mrs. Curran the fol- 
 lowing lines on the nameless waif : 
 
 What art thou? A sinful thing. 
 
 Builded up of what? Sinister, hidden wishes, 
 
 Broken troths, folly-love; 
 
 Broken hearts, heavy, heavy hearts; 
 
 Empty days, days of waiting, sunless days. 
 
 Thou wast a night, a dreaded night ! 
 
 I'hou wast the sign of sin. 
 
 Man looketh upon thee and turneth him away, 
 
 Nor doth womankind smile upon thee. 
 
 But draw their cloak of virtue close, 
 
 And hide within it. They shut their eyes. 
 
 They hide from thee. They cast their pence 
 
 To build hideous walls to shut thee away. 
 
 They will not hear thee, for thou art 
 
 A sinful thing. And yet, I look upon thee, 
 
 Thou babe that laugheth unto answerless days; 
 
 That reacheth arms unto naughts; that waileth 
 
 Unto empty nights; that waiteth soothing 
 
 From hands that will not soothe, that comfort not; 
 
 That separate thee from thine, blindly lookiUg not 
 
 Unto the sundered hearts, the sundered lives. 
 
 Seeing but the sin. 
 
 Man hath writ law, and God undoeth it! 
 
 The kingdom of earth is shut unto thee. 
 
 Depart thee, then ; the open roadway waiteth, — 
 
 And He, thy Father, thine own! 
 
 Un-named, a nameless thing ! I cry me loud : 
 
 " Oh, Earth, hark ! Ye may not undo the writ of God ! 
 
 That that is, through Him, IS ! He hath writ it ! 
 
 iii 
 
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,v INTRODUCTION 
 
 And ye who in folly begot, hark ! 
 Ye have writ the script, the name, in Him. 
 Earth in folly playeth and forgetteth. 
 But He — never! 
 
 There had been nothing in the conversation of the eve- 
 ning to suggest this theme, nothing in the event of the day. 
 But apparently the subject was on her mind; had been, 
 perhaps, for some time, for a few evenings later she began 
 the story which composes this volume. She gave no hint of 
 her purpose, no intimation that she had any immediate work 
 of consequence under consideration. After an hour of 
 intimate conversation with two or three of her closest 
 friends she plunged abruptly into the story. Before she 
 had written fifty words there were exclamations of aston- 
 ishment. Mrs. Curran looked up, round-eyed and wordless. 
 For the first time in the more than four years' association 
 with her, Patience was writing in plain English of the 
 present day. Some of her poems have contained only those 
 archaic forms that are still permissible to poets and preach- 
 ers, but are none the less archaic. But this was prose, 
 without any flavor of the antique except in the quaint turns 
 of phrase that are characteristic of all the works of Patience 
 Worth, and just an occasional archaic word, seemingly to 
 remind the reader of the identity of the author. There 
 were, however, few of the grammatical irregularities of 
 her other productions. Apart from the individual peculiari- 
 ties of style the language did not materially differ in form 
 from that of any contemporary writer of standard English. 
 
 What was it? What did it mean? What was this new 
 road she was setting out upon? She had written perhaps 
 two hundred words when she interrupted herself to re- 
 mark: "I be a-wonderin'." "So are we," chorused the 
 little group about the board. She said no more at the 
 moment but went on with the story, to exclaim, a little 
 later: " Lor', this be nay trick! " Meaning, of course, that 
 it presented no difficulties. Then, after a few more words 
 of composition, she inquired demurely, " What think ye I be 
 
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INTRODUCTION v 
 
 at ? " No one would hazard a guess. " Tell us," they urged. 
 " Ye need nay fear," she said. " This be a wordish tale, 
 yea, and a good un. This be a babe's puttin'." A little 
 farther on she paused again to ask: " Be ye a-likin' of it?" 
 Being assured she continued, and wrote about two thousand 
 words without interruption. No other information did she 
 give at this, nor at any subsequent time, as to the nature or 
 extent of the story, or as to the working out of the plot, 
 except as revealed in the story itself. Not once did she give 
 any one connected with the production the slightest hint 
 that would help to a solution of the mystery in advance of 
 the composition. The constant discussion of the possible 
 development of the plot seemed to afford her amusement, 
 but it influenced her only in a negative way. That is to say, 
 if there was an expressed conviction that certain events 
 would occur, they most certainly would not. It has 
 been, from the first, an interesting, and often amusing, char- 
 acteristic of Patience, that she will permit no one to say, 
 with truth, that he has influenced the use of a word, a phrase, 
 or an action in her compositions. Nor, once written, will 
 any criticism induce her to alter the diction. She writes 
 what she will as she will, and, kindly but firmly, she gives 
 all and sundry to understand that she will permit no inter- 
 ference. Occasionally, but rarely, Mrs. Curran will allow 
 her own mind to get in the way of the transmission and 
 spells out a word of her coining, which Patience instantly 
 repudiates, with a quaintly worded admonition. 
 
 But to return to the beginning of the story. It was 
 quickly revealed that the scene was as modern as the tongue. 
 Patience, in The Sorry Tale, had written of the Judea and 
 Galilee and Rome of two thousand years ago. In other 
 works she had shown a strange familiarity with medieval 
 days and with the days of the Tudors and the Stuarts. 
 Now, with the same intimacy of knowledge, she had stepped 
 into an English village of apparently the mid-Victorian 
 period, and with that air of personal acquaintance and per- 
 sonal presence that so impresses one in The Sorry Tale, she 
 ■went on with the story from that beginning to its end, al- 
 
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vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 ways seeming to be absolutely sure of herself, sure of her 
 knowledge, sure of her theme. With the same rapidity of 
 composition, the same absence of hesitation, the same pause- 
 less continuity of thought that distinguished her productions 
 in older forms of English, she pressed the story to its com- 
 pletion, turning out as much as five thousand words in a 
 single evening. 
 
 The primary purpose of the story is indicated in the 
 poem here presented, but it has another purpose, and that 
 is to add to the accumulation of the evidence of her per- 
 sonality. " Ye see," she says, speaking of this book, " thy 
 handmaid setteth her a suredly made roadway. Behold, the 
 wise uns shall look upon her sorry put {The Sorry Tale) 
 and wag. But she would fill up the lovin' hearts with this 
 tale o' love. Then, thou shalt see, thy handmaid shall be as 
 flesh afore the face o' man. Yea, and her words shall be 
 more than man's flesh, for they may not become dusts." 
 
 C S. Y. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
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CHAPTER I 
 
 The glass had slipped thrice and the sands stood midway 
 through, and still the bird hopped within its wicker. I 
 think the glass had slipped through a score of years, right- 
 fully set at each turning, and the bird had sung through 
 some of these and mourned through others. The hearth's 
 arch yawned sleepily upon the black woolen table cover, 
 where yellow fruits cut of some cloth were sewn. It may 
 have been that I fancied this, but nevertheless it yawned. 
 
 The wick had been lighted, as it had been the score of 
 years, at the first coming of darkness. The kettle had 
 been hung within the yawning hearth, and sent its steaming 
 mists up the dark of the chimney's pit. I think the steam 
 knew the chimney's pit, for it had so often cHmbed the way. 
 The fire seemed fitful, sleeping almost to ash, then suddenly 
 flaming up as though to see the trinkets upon the what-all 
 or read the woolen sampler that told unto the coming guest : 
 " God is Love." 
 
 I may have fancied this, but I watched it long and I 
 think I am right; although it may have been it but longed 
 to reach the red deer that sped a purple field at the left. 
 Still, there was the castle beneath glass, made of quills. 
 No, I am sure it was not the castle ; for the deer was speed- 
 ing o'er the purple way, and I think the fire feared that 
 it might fall o'er the dizzy height. 
 
 I do not know that all of this matters, and yet when Mr. 
 Passwater arose and coughed behind his long thin hand, 
 I seemed to forget him and remember the fire. It was of 
 more importance, but he insisted, coughing, and walked 
 across the garlanded carpet that puffed beneath his feet and 
 seemed to raise within one the sounds of golden fields. 
 
 He was a tall gentleman who looked much as a robin, 
 his smalls tight upon his legs, and his rounded stomach 
 
 3 
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4 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 vested in magenta and specked of snuf5f. He moved in a 
 sort of hops, and his coat tails bobbed. As I remarked, 
 he coughed as though to apologize, and walked to an inner 
 room and knocked and called: 
 
 " Patricia ! My dear Patricia ! " 
 
 And was answered by a thin voice with a hook upon it. 
 Mr. Passwater coughed suddenly and started, almost as 
 though the door had been suddenly opened. Wheeling, 
 he brought the great chair up to the hearth and set the 
 hassock at its foot. 
 
 Miss Patricia opened the door primly, raised her skirts 
 ever so slightly, and tripped into the lighted room. Her 
 face had been young, I think, but she had forgotten it — ^not 
 her face, but her youth. No, I think Miss Patricia's face 
 was a thing that might whisper to one even in the dark. Of 
 course I may fancy this, but it seems true. I am sure Miss 
 Patricia had forgotten that her hair ever hung, for it was 
 netted in as though bound of steel, and pinned back until 
 her ears stood out pale and thin, showing the fire through 
 them. Her eyes were bright and round, like a rat's, and 
 her narrow chin was offset by two huge moles, sprigged 
 of hair. I do not think that Miss Patricia ever forgot the 
 moles, for she had a nervous habit of fingering them. 
 
 Her frock never wrinkled; indeed. Miss Patricia's back 
 never bended. She sat upon the armchair straight, and 
 her back never had been known to rest upon the tidy. She 
 sat, as I remarked, and rested the bowl that filled her hands 
 upon her thin knees. 
 
 Mr. Passwater watched her from the hearth's side, much 
 as a robin might watch a worm. Miss Patricia was sort- 
 ing candle ends, and her thin hands showed white at the 
 knuckles as she pried out bits of wick and cast them into 
 the basket upon the black table cover. 
 
 "Waste! Waste!" said Miss Patricia, "wilful waste! 
 My dear brother, why do you stand staring like a fool, 
 when you may see that your sister would save you from 
 ruin? Stand from the fire, Reuben, your woolens are 
 smoking." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 5 
 
 Mr. Passwater coughed and started as though a suddeft 
 pain had seized him. Miss Patricia rubbed her eyes with 
 her knuckles, daintily rubbed her finger tips one upon the 
 other, and stared in astonishment at the floor, starting up 
 and all but spilling the candle ends. 
 
 " Reuben Passwater ! Do you mean to say that you 
 would tread upon this carpet with wet feet?" 
 
 Mr. Passwater stood meekly, his head bowed and his 
 eyes seeking something to aid his agony. They seemed to 
 seek the red deer and I fancy — of course it is but fancy — 
 that he would have gladly gone o'er the dizzy height. 
 
 Miss Patricia stood rigid, her eyes round and her thin 
 lips hung open. Mr. Passwater gulped and let his eyes 
 seek the floor where they rested upon his wet feet, and 
 suddenly looked therefrom, as though fright had overcome 
 him; but Miss Patricia gave no sign of softening, and he 
 murmured meekly: 
 
 " But, my dear, my dear ! " 
 
 Miss Patricia tossed her head and sniffed: 
 
 " Don't ' my dear ' me, Reuben Passwater. Sit down ! " 
 
 Mr. Passwater sat suddenly upon the hearth seat only 
 to arise more suddenly, for Miss Patricia's knitting had 
 been upon the seat. It was at this point that I snickered, 
 and the bench upon which I sat within the shadow, creaked. 
 Miss Patricia whirled and faced the shadow, her eyes strain- 
 ing to see what had made the sound. I quaked. 
 
 Miss Patricia came to the shadow, and my bench, slowly, 
 her neck arched and her hands folded across her stomach, 
 as I had seen them every Sabbath at the chapel since I 
 could remember. She spoke no word to me, but reached 
 out one thin hand and took me by the ear and led me forth 
 to the light. I stood blinking. Miss Patricia stood waiting, 
 I blinked more. Miss Patricia drew herself up and seemed 
 to my youthful eyes to grow before me. Her thin lips 
 snapped open and she suddenly shot the words: 
 
 " Well ! what have you to say for yourself ? " 
 
 I quaked and looked to the red deer, but my eyes would 
 not stay and sought timidly to Miss Patricia's face. This 
 
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6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 to my own undoing. Miss Patricia looked horrified and 
 shook me by one shoulder: 
 
 " Speak ! Speak, numbskull ! " 
 
 But my tongue was tied. I saw nothing but the two 
 great moles. I seem to see myself now, as I write, scarce 
 higher than the table hung of the black woolen scarf ; my 
 small hands working in my woolen comforter; two flaxen 
 braids hanging out of the folds of green wool; white and 
 frightened, swallowing, and shutting my eyes not to see 
 those moles work. Even do I feel the dry throat and the 
 aching. Miss Patricia turned to Mr. Passwater and ad- 
 dressed him: 
 
 " Look you, Reuben Passwater, this is the brat of the 
 woman, Sally Trueblood." 
 
 Reuben squinted, his hands moved swiftly over his 
 magenta waistcoat, and he remarked vaguely: 
 
 " So it is. So it is. So it is." 
 
 Miss Patricia looked at Mr. Reuben Passwater in dis- 
 gust and sneered: 
 
 " So it is ! So it is ! Reuben Passwater, you are a fool. 
 Since our pa died it seems that the family name is to fall 
 upon a fool. Of course it is the woman's brat." 
 
 Here I looked to Mr. Passwater, but he feared to look 
 at me. I saw that he had two mild blue eyes, a small round 
 head, a mouth too thick, and ears like his sister. Miss Pa- 
 tricia, thin and pale and outstanding; but he had not the 
 moles. Again I turned my gaze to Miss Patricia only to 
 be undone, for the moles would work. Miss Patricia per- 
 ceived that I stared and shouted to me: 
 
 "What are you staring at? Come! what has brought 
 you?" 
 
 Miss Patricia looked thunders upon me and shouted once 
 more : 
 
 " What brought you ? " 
 
 I stammered : " Ma'am ? " 
 
 I swallowed hard and looked at the floor and timidly at 
 Miss Patricia, and the moles worked. 
 
 " Do they really move ? " I asked. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 7 
 
 Miss Patricia shrieked : " What ! " 
 
 " Move," I replied solemnly. 
 
 Mr. Passwater made a sound. It may be but fancy, but 
 I believe he laughed. Miss Patricia wheeled upon him. Mr. 
 Passwater sighed and sat down upon the hearth's bench and 
 stared into the fire. I stood waiting Miss Patricia's reply. 
 She seemed to forget my query and stooped down to un- 
 wrap my comforter. Her hands were cold and hard. She 
 scratched my chin and got her fingers mixed in my flaxen 
 locks. All of this I stood, intently watching the moles. 
 
 Miss Patricia arose, brought forth a small hassock and a 
 pewter plate, took me by the hand and led me to the 
 hassock. I sat upon its edge and she put the cold pewter 
 plate in my small pudgy hands. I remember that the plate 
 was bright, brighter than any I had ever seen, and that it 
 was heavy, and I wondered what she gave it to me for; but 
 I did not speak, "thinking in my young mind that it was 
 warm and Mr. Passwater was friendly. I waited. 
 
 " What brought you, now ? " said Miss Patricia, as she 
 sat down and took up the jar of candle ends. I looked at 
 her, but her head was turned and I answered : 
 
 " Rudy Strong told me about them." 
 
 " About what ? " asked Miss Patricia. 
 
 "The moles," I replied. "He said they moved." 
 
 Miss Patricia turned, her jaw hung open and she crisply 
 remarked: "Well!" 
 
 " They do," I sighed, fingering the pewter plate. " But, 
 I don't believe that your face sours the curds, nor that your 
 tongue licks every pot in the village." 
 
 Miss Patricia arose suddenly and the candle ends bounded 
 merrily in all ways. I stooped to gather them up, think- 
 ing what fine chewing they'd make. I bit one and it crum- 
 bled and the bits flew down my throat and I choked. Miss 
 Patricia came to the rescue, beating upon my back, and, I 
 may but fancy it, but it seemed that the beating upon my 
 small back was overmuch. Miss Patricia shrieked to Mr. 
 Passwater : 
 
 " Reuben, bring a bowl of water ! " 
 
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8 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Mr. Passwater looked dazed and his lips formed the 
 words : 
 
 "Water? Yes, my dear, yes. Water." 
 
 And he moved slowly to an inner room to come back 
 bearing the water and a flagon of port. Miss Patricia shoved 
 the bowl's rim between my teeth and let the water pour 
 over my frock's front, down my neck and even upon the 
 carpet, and I choked once more. 
 
 " Look here," said Miss Patricia, " youngens like you 
 should be abed. Rudy Strong shall hear from this." 
 
 " Yesum," I choked, " yes— um." 
 
 " Sit down," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Yesum," I answered, and sat upon the edge of the has- 
 sock. Miss Patricia went to the inner room and came back 
 with a Scotch cake and a plum. These she put upon the 
 pewter plate and gave to me. Then she seemed to forget 
 that I was there and I sat munching the Scotch cake and 
 protracting the occasion, thinking that the longer the cake 
 lasted the plum would last. 
 
 Miss Patricia went to the fireside and sat beside Mr. 
 Reuben Passwater. He was mulling port. He had removed 
 his shoes and loosened his waistcoat. Miss Patricia spoke 
 softly, and, as I write, I seem to smell the port and taste 
 the crumbly cake and see the shadows and the moths that 
 flickered about the lamp's wick. And bits of the conversa- 
 tion came idly to me, disconnected and meaning little, yet 
 much. 
 
 " The woman's a wanton." I remember Miss Patricia 
 said this, and I bit the plum. Mr. Passwater seemed to 
 listen, but never looked to Miss Patricia and his back was 
 turned to me. " It is shameful among Qiristians." I picked 
 the crumbs carefully off the pewter plate and wondered 
 
 what was shameful. " Her mother " Miss Patricia's 
 
 words sunk to whispers, and I swung my legs and licked my 
 fingers. I do not remember that Mr. Passwater spoke, but 
 there came to me Miss Patricia's words again. 
 
 " The man should be held up before the people. He is 
 clothed in the garb of the hypocrite." I sucked the plum 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 9 
 
 stone and wondered what a hypocrite was and if they were 
 upon the road at night. " Sally Trueblood's brat ! " I 
 looked to the sampler and read slowly, " God is Love." 
 And I wondered what a brat was. 
 
 Mr. Passwater seemed not to relish his port, and Miss 
 Patricia sipped hers gingerly. I sneezed and Miss Patricia 
 seemed not to hear me, but continued, " 'Tis shameful." 
 
 I got from off the hassock and tiptoed over to the castle 
 beneath the glass and stood wrapt. Beside it lay a book 
 of prayer. It was thin and flat and black, and I knew it was 
 Miss Patricia's. From this I went up to the what-all, and 
 the lights played o'er it and I stood before it filled with 
 wonder. Upon the third shelf was a china dog, with a babe 
 upon its back. Oh, to touch this ! I turned stealthily and 
 looked to Miss Patricia. She did not see. I reached forth 
 one hand and tiptoed and it was mine. I hugged it close to 
 make sure and the what-all shook and rattled. Miss Pa- 
 tricia was upon her feet in an instant and pounced upon me, 
 taking me within her grasp so suddenly that I let fall the 
 china dog. Miss Patricia gasped: 
 
 " A thief ! My dear brother William's pet ! Oh, that the 
 earth should be so sinful! Reuben Passwater, take this 
 brat out of this house ! Shut her out ! " 
 
 And Miss Patricia shook me. I whimpered, and stooped 
 to pick up the dog, tenderly, leaving my tears to fall upon 
 it, and offered it to her hand sniffling. Miss Patricia took it 
 and placed it upon the third shelf where it had stood and I 
 backed away staring, my fingers within my mouth and the 
 tears coursing down my cheeks. I knew what a thief was. 
 Miss Patricia stared at me and looked at my feet, crying out : 
 
 " Why does your worthless mother leave you free in 
 night's hour to visit Christian homes? Your feet are upon 
 the ground. Where are your better shoes ? " 
 
 "I haven't none, thanks. She has promised 'em at 
 Mayin'." 
 
 This seemed to send Miss Patricia into a storm, for she 
 rocked and shrieked and beat her bosom, crying out that the 
 tongues of the village were lashes and that no Christian 
 
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JO HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 might dwell among them, stopping only to shout : " Take 
 her away ! Take her away ! " 
 
 Mr. Passwater stooped slowly and took up a shoe and put 
 it on, then the other just as slowly. He arose and buttoned 
 his vest, sighed, went for his greatcoat and made a sign 
 to me to follow. We went out of a narrow hallway that 
 smelled of mutton. Mr. Passwater opened the latch and we 
 stepped into the night. I followed him, frightened, and he 
 did not speak. I did not seem to fear Mr. Passwater, but 
 the dark. He seemed silent, and, as I write, I see his dark 
 form stooped and hear him step heavily and my light foot- 
 fall following, pattering. I called : 
 
 " Mr. Passwater, they do move, don't they? " 
 
 He walked slowly for a long time, and I may fancy it, 
 but I believe that he answered softly: "Yes." I followed 
 for a time and Mr. Passwater turned and stooped in the 
 dark and asked : 
 
 " Where do you stay ? " 
 
 " In the eaves of the Gray Eagle," I replied. 
 
 Mr. Passwater made a sound, a sort of long sound — 
 " U-u-u-m." We went upon our way. I was weary and 
 I remember remarking: 
 
 " Mr. Passwater, your legs are long." And he suddenly 
 stooped and took me up. I never before had been so high. 
 Shall I ever forget it? I had seen the children of the vil- 
 lage tossed so by their sires, but I had not a sire. I sighed 
 and nestled down next to his shoulder, shutting my eyes 
 and dreaming and — of course this is fancy, but it seemed 
 to me that Reuben Passwater pressed his cheek to mine. 
 
 We had gone for some time so and I know that my tiny 
 arms wound about his neck, but the dream ended. 
 
 We came to the Gray Eagle and, though I had not opened 
 my eyes, I smelled it. It was dark and the dog barked and 
 roused some fowls that set up sounds. Mr. Passwater 
 loosened his hold upon me and I seemed to slip a great way 
 down. I felt so small. My feet were numb and I reached 
 up and held to his hand and pulled him down and I whis- 
 pered; 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD n 
 
 "Mr. Passwater, I like her." 
 
 He stood up and did not answer. I pulled him down 
 once more and whispered : " That beautiful worsted — did 
 she do that?" 
 
 Mr. Passwater seemed not to understand. I whispered 
 once more : " It says, ' God is Love.' Did she ? " 
 
 Mr. Passwater answered : " No." 
 
 "Who then?" I asked. 
 
 " My mother." 
 
 " Are you a brat, Mr. Passwater ? You know she called 
 me ' Sally Trueblood's brat.' What is a brat? " 
 
 Mr. Passwater stooped down and took me to him and 
 whispered soft : " A brat is an elf." 
 
 I knew what an elf was, for She had told me. I kissed 
 Mr. Passwater upon the hand and sped to the dark door- 
 way, calling out : " Good night ! " He seemed to tarry, then 
 walked slowly into the dark, and of course even this may be 
 fancy, but it seemed that the words came back soft to me, 
 " Sarah Trueblood." 
 
 The dog barked as I slipped up the quaking stairway to 
 the eaves and sought the cot. She slept and I sought her 
 side and laid one small hand upon her. She sighed and 
 caught my hand and kissed it, and I whispered, " Sarah 
 Trueblood, I am your brat." 
 
 She did not answer and I made ready for sleep and lay 
 wondering, seeming to see Miss Patricia's moles and I fell 
 asleep listening. I thought it was blowing without, for a 
 sighing sounded. But I know now she wept. 
 
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CHAPTER II 
 
 When I waked the rain roared upon the roof and the 
 chill of night filled up the room. I sat up in my cot and 
 rubbed my eyes open, yawned and looked to her cot. The 
 light was still pale. I shivered and arose to hasten to her 
 side. She lay huddled, shivering. I threw my small arms 
 about her and let my lips press her cold cheek, saying: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, I love you." 
 
 She did not wake and I crept to her side beneath the 
 covers that she might warm upon my body. I could not 
 sleep, but lay watching a small hole in the roof where the 
 rain dropped slowly through. I watched the gray-bright 
 that showed through and knew that though it was raining 
 the hour was late, and darkness was but the cloud. 
 
 Long we lay. I heard the dog arise and shake. He had 
 slept next the hearth. I wondered why he might sleep 
 there, and resolved in my small mind to watch the latch 
 and wait the Gray Eagle's sleeping at some future time and 
 sleep beside it, too. There was a high hearth in the Gray 
 Eagle inn and it smoked in the wet tides; but when the 
 days were crisp and cold it sparkled. I had watched from 
 the doorstep and seen the shadows skip the walls and floors, 
 and went upon wondrous travels in their changefulness. 
 
 I lay dreaming anew these dreams, and my back ached, 
 for I feared to move lest I wake her. It was chill, and she 
 coughed when the chill hung. Yes, this was a thing I knew 
 too well; this, and that her cheeks flamed and her eyes 
 seemed filled of tears. I turned my aching neck slowly to 
 see her. Yes, her cheeks flamed and her lips were dry. I 
 laid my cool hand upon them and touched her sweet locks 
 that clung in damp curls unto her white brow. Her lids 
 fluttered and opened and I kissed her and cried softly : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, it is morning ! " 
 
 i« 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 13 
 
 She did not smile, but this was no new thing. I waited, 
 but she did not speak but lay gazing up to the roof as 
 though she saw something there that I did not see. 
 
 " I think," I whispered softly, laying my cheek to hers, 
 "I think you are dreaming shadow-dreams, Sally True- 
 blood." 
 
 She did not smile. I stroked her burning cheek and won- 
 dered what to say. She drew herself up upon her elbow 
 and coughed, and I seemed to feel within me, deep down, 
 an aching. Suddenly I remembered and laughed, laughed 
 until the empty eaves rattled, and I cried : 
 
 " I know ! You are playing ! Look ! " And I puffed 
 out my cheeks making a sound with my small fists, pushing 
 out the air I had filled them with. She hid her eyes. 
 " Listen, Sally Trueblood, listen ! Hold out your white 
 hand." 
 
 She held it forth — all too white and shaking. I kissed it. 
 
 " Open up your eyes. Let me see the morning ! " 
 
 She opened them slowly. Oh, the thing I saw not then 
 is clear now ! 
 
 " I am hungry, Sally Trueblood, but listen ! I went 
 last night to Miss Patricia's. You know, she has moles 
 and they move, and she has Scotch cake and plums, and 
 Mr. Reuben." 
 
 My mother suddenly arose and clung to the coverings, 
 wrapping herself within them and coughing. She seemed 
 like a slender reed in the wind, the cough swayed her so. 
 I forgot Miss Patricia, for the doves awoke that nested in 
 the chimney comer. I heard them coo and flutter and I 
 sped to the spot, and found that they were wet. She 
 busied at the cupboard and brought forth a cold mutton 
 joint almost bare, and I knew that the Gray Eagle inn 
 had souped. 
 
 I watched her lay the table carefully, as though it were 
 a feast. Her slender hands laid the bowls lovingly, seem- 
 ing to fancy other things. The meat from the cold joint she 
 plucked daintily and put into the bowls, and she heated at 
 the new-kindled fire a brew of herb tea. I watched her. 
 
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14 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 and I seemed to feel that I was losing something. Her 
 cheeks were thinner, and her hands shook more. I 
 remembered when her step had been light, and when 
 she would throw herself upon me, hold me fast and 
 cry out happily, even though her voice seemed filled of 
 tears : 
 
 " Oh, my dream-baby ! Will you fade ? " 
 
 And she would arise and shut the door suddenly and look 
 fearful, and come back and hold me close unto her breast. 
 And I could hear her heart throbbing, throbbing, throb- 
 bing, and she told me it sung : " I love you ! I love you ! 
 I love you ! " 
 
 I left the doves and sped to her side and drew her down 
 and laid my ear upon her breast — and it stammered. I won- 
 dered was it singing, and asked her. She smiled and 
 coughed and held me to her and spoke softly: 
 
 "Wait! Wait the Mayin'." 
 
 " Will it sing in the Mayin' ? " I asked, and she kissed me 
 and smiled and whispered close to my ear: 
 
 " How may we sorrow when the buds burst ? " 
 
 I stopped and wondered, and asked : " Do you believe 
 that Miss Patricia's chin has budded?" 
 
 She laughed and pinched my cheek and said : " No, Miss 
 Patricia is a winter tree. Oh, my darling, the May sun is 
 upon you ! " 
 
 The brew was ready and steaming and she bade me sup. 
 I sat beside her upon the bench beside the table, my arm 
 around her slender waist, and I watched, for I knew she 
 would not eat. 
 
 We sat long. I watched her eyes. They looked heavy, 
 dull. Her hands lay motionless in her lap. I broke the 
 loaf of dry bread and supped the broth. She did not look. 
 I hugged her close and whispered : " Dearest." She started, 
 and I placed upon my lips a crumb, and she smiled and laid 
 her lips upon it, and I laughed, for she had smiled. This 
 was an old game, the game of doving. I brought forth 
 a bit of the meat and did the same and she ate it. I supped 
 the bowl of brew anew and offered it to her and she supped. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 15 
 
 This was too much. I crushed her within my small arm& 
 and kissed her sweet cheeks o'er and o'er. 
 
 We could hear the inn below awaking. I heard the 
 bolts turned and the stirring of the embers within the 
 hearth and the casting of new logs. Peter GofI slipped 
 scuffing over the sanded floor. I heard the scraping of 
 the brush broom as he righted up, and, suddenly, the shriek 
 of a goose, and I knew it would shriek no more. And 
 within me I resolved to make my way to the side of Delicia 
 Prue's pot and beg the giblets. 
 
 She seemed to read this upon my face, for she shook her 
 head solemnly : " No. No. No." I laughed and shook 
 mine : " Yes. Yes. Yes." 
 
 " It's a wet morning, Sarah Trueblood. You shall ven- 
 ture not forth. I shall send the coach and four for you 
 when the sun comes. Have you brushed your shining locks ? 
 Have you dipped your face? Are your robes waiting? Sir 
 Lilyfinger Dappergay will await you." 
 
 She spread her scant skirt and curtseyed and shook her 
 locks free, and held her arms open, and I fled within them. 
 She whispered: 
 
 " You shall say to Sir Lilyfinger that his lady is over- 
 come. You shall say that " she stopped and her cheek 
 
 whitened and she caught her breast and swayed. And the 
 aching away down deep within me came again. 
 
 I struggled with her limp form to the cot and she lay 
 upon it, white and panting. I hastened to the table and 
 brought the brew and offered it. She smiled wanly and 
 sat up that she sup, and I knew the brew would not 
 help. 
 
 I whispered : " I love you," and she smiled. I stood be- 
 fore her, clinging to her hands, and my heart was pound- 
 ing so that I feared she would hear it. 
 
 She lay long, and when she had rested until the panting 
 had ceased, she turned to me and whispered : 
 
 " Not today, dearest, not today. Go to the parish house 
 and tell Mrs. Gifford not today." 
 
 I ran to the basket beside the window and took up a bun- 
 
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i6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 die of small garments, and sat in the dim light wondering if 
 I might finish them. Even to this day within my chest is 
 one of these with many crooked stitches within it. As I 
 fingered the garments the tears started. I felt so lonely. 
 She was so still and the inn beneath did not stir. I looked 
 out the crack of the window shutter, and the rain still 
 trickled and dripped so that I scarce could see without. 
 Suddenly my small body was chilled and fear overcame 
 me. I ran to the cot's side and cast myself upon her 
 crying : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, you must not go ! I am lonely, Sally 
 Trueblood, lonely! Put your soft hand upon me! Kiss 
 me ! Oh, please, please, do not go ! " 
 
 She sat up smiling, and I see her thin hands push back 
 her heavy locks, and she smiled and spoke low : 
 
 " No, I will not go ! Tell Sir Lilyfinger his lady waiteth 
 him." 
 
 I shrieked with joy and jumped up and down. I bowed 
 tefore her and said: 
 
 " Sir Lilyfinger begs that his trusted servant oflfer thee 
 this." And I presented to her hand the plum pit of the 
 night before. She arose and made a stately bow, and her 
 eyes saw things I am sure that mine did not, for they 
 burned bright, and I felt that they knew me but burned 
 with the light I ne'er had seen. 
 
 "You shall rest, dearest, here upon the cot, and wait. 
 Oh, will you wait?" She seemed glad to answer "yes," 
 and lay down, and I may be but fancying but it seems now 
 to me that she shut her ears to a calling. 
 
 I rail to find my woolen comforter and bound my 
 head with it and still chattered as I made ready to go 
 below. 
 
 "I shall be back almost right now." I kissed her and 
 she gave me a treasure of a smile. I ran down the quaking 
 stairs, through the open archway, under the eaves, to keep 
 free of the down pouring rain, to the inn door and 
 knocked. 
 
 Peter Goif came hastily to the door and opened it with 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 17 
 
 his come-open-personally smile, but it stopped when he saw 
 me. He even made to shut the door and I called : 
 
 " Peter Goff , leave me in ! " 
 
 He left the door open, but walked to the hearth and did 
 not look at me. I shuffled my feet in the new-spread sand 
 and watched the long tracks my slipping feet made — like 
 a coach, I fancied. Peter Goff saw and made a dive at me, 
 catching me by the comforter and drawing me between his 
 knees. He was sitting upon the hearth settle, and the pots, 
 hung within it, already smelled. I sniffed and wiped my 
 mouth with the back of one hand. 
 
 " Get out ! " said Peter GofI, as he shoved me from him. 
 I looked at the dog that slept stretched flat upon the 
 hearthstone, then to Peter Goff. 
 
 " You like dogs, Peter Goff, don't you? " 
 
 " Dogs is dogs," Peter Goff replied, grunting. 
 
 " And I am Sally Trueblood's brat, Peter Goff." 
 
 He wheeled, and his eyes seemed to start forth, and he 
 laughed long and loud and shouted, " Get out ! " 
 
 "Then you don't like brats, do you, Peter Goff?" 
 
 " Brats is brats," Peter Goff replied. 
 
 I stood wondering, twisting my comforter end and 
 smelling long smells. Peter was dusting flagons and 
 ranking bowls and mugs. I watched him and finally ven- 
 tured : 
 
 " Dogs eat, don't they, Peter Goff?" 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " So do brats," I continued. He grunted and I sidled 
 up to him and pulled his smock. 
 
 "Which goose wailed?" I asked. 
 
 Peter Goff went on at his ranking and dusting. I sat 
 down in the sand and began to trace paths and mark off 
 palaces. Suddenly Delicia Prue and her pots entered my 
 mind. I arose and tiptoed stealthily to the kitchen way. 
 Delicia Prue! Why Delicia, I never knew, nor Prue, for 
 she was spare and lean and sour, and Delicia and Prue al- 
 ways brought up wonderful dreams of tarts and plum pies. 
 But Delicia Prue had a weak spot and this was Peter Goff. 
 
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-1 8 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 This I knew and when I had come to the pots and Delicia, 
 I looked up at her and whispered: 
 
 " Peter Goif thinks your broth is like none in the coun- 
 tryside." 
 
 Delicia Prue simpered. I knew the heart was mine, but 
 what for the liver and the sand-bag, the goose's grister? I 
 sat long wondering and at last I spoke : 
 
 " Delicia Prue, I know something that you would love to 
 know." 
 
 Delicia knew I had been in the inn's great room with 
 Peter Goff and Delicia wondered. She was paring marrow- 
 roots * and I watched her blade slip and the thin peel un- 
 wind. Delicia answered: 
 
 " The lights and fiUin's be yours for it." 
 
 I arose and went to the kitchen shelf and found the fiUin', 
 and when it was mine I ran to Delicia Prue's side and 
 whispered : 
 
 " There are lots and heaps of things that I know, Delicia 
 Prue, that you would love to know — but you shan't ! " 
 
 Delicia suddenly stood up, and the marrow-root spilled, 
 and I ran post haste to the inn's great room. I had in- 
 tended to flee to the eaves, but alas ! when I had come to the 
 inn's room the coach had drawn up before it and the pas- 
 sengers alighted. They were drenched and chilled. Peter 
 Goff had piled the logs high and the pots were steaming 
 merrily. The dog was awake and wagged his tail and 
 wormed among the guests. The fire was monstrous, leaping 
 like waves up the chimney's ope. It cracked and spat and 
 within my breast my heart danced. 
 
 There was a small gentleman in blacks and smalls. His 
 great hat ran small black rivers over his white frill. His 
 small face seemed shrunk to fit the opening at his neck- 
 band. His small hands seemed womanlike and his small 
 feet minced him about. 
 
 This gentleman bore the name of Strong. This was the 
 tincle of Rudy Strong, and I wondered if he had about him 
 the sacks of gold Rudy had told me of. There was a lady, 
 
 * Turnips. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 19 
 
 a beautiful lady, who sat upon a settle afront the fire and it 
 seemed that some sorrow was hers, for her eyes had the look 
 that She had shown me. And a gentleman was with her, 
 "Mr. Willoughby" they called him, and "Geneva" he 
 called her. I heard him address her so and minded it, that 
 I might tell Her. Geneva Willoughby! The very name 
 brought up within me a wonderful castle and lands rolling 
 away from the walls upon all sides, green and gardened. 
 Geneva Willoughby! Ah, to have possessed such a name! 
 I gazed in wrapped wonder upon her. Her eyes looked 
 afar; her cheeks were thin and their color pale. Her lips, 
 too, were thin, and scarlet, and her features showed her 
 high birth. I saw her reach her hands to shake the drops 
 from her locks and a warm glow swept me, for they were 
 white and thin like Sally Trueblood's ; but Sally Trueblood's 
 . hands were more beautiful, for they pleaded. And her locks 
 were not the fire's glow like Sally Trueblood's, but ashen. 
 Her robe clung her limbs, damp, and her feet were crossed 
 before the fire to dry the small shoes. I saw that they were 
 slim and arched, and I crossed my small legs and looked at 
 my worn shoes and wondered would I one day be so beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 I arose and slowly stepped over the sanded floor until I 
 stood before her. In my hand I grasped the bowl with the 
 goose's liver and heart and grister. What were these! I 
 had forgotten them. Here before me was Geneva Wil- 
 loughby. She turned haughtily toward me and raised her 
 brows. I was frightened, but stood steadily staring, and 
 raised mine. Miss Willoughby looked amused and pressed 
 her thin fingers over her lips and her eyes twinkled. I 
 pressed my free fingers over my lips and my eyes twinkled. 
 
 Miss Willoughby leaned forward upon the settle and held 
 her hand forth. I marched slowly up to her and offered 
 my bowl of giblets. Peter Goff spied me and made a start 
 toward the spot, reaching his hands out to grasp me, but 
 Miss Willoughby turned her steel-blue eyes up to him and 
 circled me within her arm. I stood up very tall and raised 
 my brows at Peter Goff. 
 
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20 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Mr. Willoughby was drying before the fire and Mr. 
 Strong minced about, first at this seat then at the other, 
 then to the fire, then to the shadows where the mugs were 
 racked. His great hat lay top down and dripping upon the 
 table slab, and Peter Goff eyed the guests as he heated 
 brews and poured mugs of smelly stuff. All of this I saw 
 as I stood circled in the arm of Miss Willoughby. Nor 
 did I care that without the winds howled and the rain 
 swept hissing upon the walls. 
 
 The fire lighted up the whole place, and it was warm, 
 and Miss Willoughby, of whom I had heard only from the 
 lips of Rudy Strong, held me, me! within her arms. I 
 sighed and timidly laid my head upon the shoulder of Miss 
 Willoughby. Miss Willoughby's arm tightened, and I heard 
 my heart singing. I reached my hand forth and smoothed 
 over the silken petticoat that still was damp, and Miss Wil- 
 loughby let her hand fall over mine and held it. I won- 
 dered what to say. 
 
 The dog arose and shook, and I remembered Peter 
 Goff's words and I repeated them. "Dogs is dogs," I 
 said. Miss Willoughby smiled, and I watched the fire- 
 light tint her cheeks and play sparkles in her eyes. She 
 answered : 
 
 " Yes, truly, dogs is dogs." 
 
 " And brats is brats." 
 
 Miss Willoughby started and did not answer. 
 
 " Do you know, Rudy Strong told me of you. You are 
 Miss Willoughby, and the countryside says your name be- 
 hind their hands. Do you know what brats be? " 
 
 Miss Willoughby shook her head, and I may fancy it, but 
 I believe she bit her lips. 
 
 " They are elves." 
 
 Miss Willoughby started. "They are elves," she re- 
 peated and patted my hand. 
 
 " Do you know Sally Trueblood? I'm her brat." 
 
 Miss Willoughby raised her hand up to her eyes and 
 rubbed them, and I believe her hand shook. 
 
 " Miss Patricia Passwater told Mr. Reuben I was her 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 2r 
 
 brat. You know Miss Patricia, don't you? She has moles 
 that run up and down her chin." 
 
 Miss Willoughby shook and I knew she was laughing, 
 but she answered: 
 
 " No, I do not know Miss Patricia, nor Mr. what did 
 
 you call him? Reuben? — Reuben," went on Miss Wil- 
 loughby, " nor Sally Trueblood. But if you are Sally True- 
 blood's — " Miss Willoughby hesitated — "elf, then I want 
 to know Sally Trueblood. Are you like her?" 
 
 My spirits fell, for I knew I was not. But I answered 
 bravely : " No. She says I am like him. You see, my eyes 
 are brown. She says his were brown, and true. Yes, my 
 eyes are his, she says. Hers are blue, blue, blue ! Oh, Miss 
 Willoughby, sometimes they are pale, and I fear them then, 
 for they look away, away, far, and sometimes they are just 
 blue, deep blue, and then is when she opens her arms and 
 calls me her dream-baby." 
 
 I had forgotten Miss Willoughby and went on : " Oh, 
 she is so beautiful when she kneels and takes me to her, and 
 I feel her cheek close to mine, and her lips seem to cling 
 to me, and her heart sings, ' I love you ! I love you ! ' She 
 has told me. Oh, she is thinner. Yes, I am sure of it. 
 And twilight lies beneath her eyes. I saw it, and she told 
 me it was twilight." 
 
 I had clutched Miss Willoughby and was brought to my- 
 self by drops that fell upon my cheek. I started and made 
 to go, but Miss Willoughby held me and whispered : " Where 
 do you go ? " I pointed to the rafters and whispered : " Up 
 there, beneath the eaves." 
 
 Miss Willoughby pressed me to her and whispered: 
 " Take me." 
 
 I was frightened and looked wide-eyed at Miss Wil- 
 loughby, and then to the fire that leapt high, and then up to 
 the rafters, and shook my head " no." 
 
 Miss Willoughby whispered : " Please ! " 
 
 And I shook once more " no," and answered : " She would 
 
 hide." 
 
 Miss Willoughby's cheek glistened in the firelight, and I 
 
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22 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 touched the drops and laid my cheek to hers. She spoke 
 softly : " Not from me." 
 
 I answered slowly : " Yes, she would. She never goes 
 except to Mrs. Gifford's. She goes there to sew." And I 
 whispered softer : " I am afraid. She takes something there 
 that she never brings back. When she goes in the morning 
 her cheeks are red, and she leaves the red there." 
 
 Miss Willoughby kissed my cheek and I started and 
 clutched my bowl of giblets and said : " I must go. Listen ! 
 Is that her?" 
 
 Miss Willoughby stopped and a lull in the wind and 
 rain left silence free, and She coughed. I heard it and my 
 great eyes sought Miss Willoughby's, for the cough was 
 ice to my heart. Miss Willoughby knew. Her eyes told 
 me so, and I shook my head "no," and pulled her close 
 to whisper : 
 
 " Do not come; it would hurt her. She has told me that 
 eyes hurt her." 
 
 Miss Willoughby suddenly stood up and her face was 
 white as she answered : " No, I shall not come, but say to 
 Sarah Trueblood : ' Miss Willoughby's compliments.' " 
 
 My heart leapt. Miss Willoughby's compliments! I 
 shall call Sir Lilyfinger Dappergay and tell him this. 
 I shall roll the words about! Miss Willoughby's compli- 
 ments ! 
 
 I stopped and set the bowl upon the floor and threw my 
 arms wide and swept upon Miss Willoughby. She stooped 
 and took me to her and I kissed her. I tucked my cheek 
 down into her sweet neck's curve and spoke : 
 
 " When you sleep there shall be an elf upon your pillow 
 and that is me. Oh, Miss Willoughby, I love you ! " 
 
 And I blushed crimson and took up my bowl and cast 
 kisses to her and fled. 
 
 The door was wind-heavy and dripped upon me. The 
 rain swept my cheek as I opened it, but I fled up 
 beneath the eaves where it was almost dry. There was a 
 beautiful puddle just beneath the stairway. I stopped and 
 took up a bit of broken wood and stirred it. This was a 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 23 ' 
 
 sea. I set a chip floating it, and the water oozed through 
 my shoes and I felt it trickle between my toes. I stood up 
 and watched the rain, and suddenly the bright inn came 
 to me. 
 
 Miss Willoughby was there. I started and went up the 
 stairway singing to the tune of my strides, " M-i-s-s W-i-1- 
 l-o-u-g-h-b-y-'s c-o-m-p-l-i-m-e-n-t-s." Here was the land- 
 ing. I stopped, panting. I seemed to remember that I did 
 not call all the letters, but I fancied I did. I stood listening, 
 but no sound came from within. I opened the door softly 
 and saw the room was lighted with the gleaming that told 
 that the mid-heavens were breaking and the sun would 
 come. 
 
 I tiptoed to the table slab and set upon it the bowl. I 
 did not raise my eyes but waited. She did not speak. I 
 shook my wet frock and unwound my comforter and called 
 in a pompous voice, " Sir Lilyfinger Dappergay ! " 
 
 She started and sat up. I think she had been sleeping. 
 She made a sign that I should come to her. I stood 
 watching her. Her eyes seemed not to see me and I called : 
 " Listen ! Listen, Sally Trueblood ! What do you think ? 
 The coach has come, and what do you think? " She seemed 
 to try to awaken and I went to her and stood beside the cot 
 with my arms about her. " Listen ! " I went on. " She is 
 down there." I pointed below. 
 
 "Who?" asked Sally Trueblood. 
 
 "Miss Geneva Willoughby." 
 
 She stood up suddenly and her lips seemed dry. She 
 licked them and laid her helpless hand to her brow and I 
 saw that it pleaded. She whispered, " Geneva Wil- 
 loughby ! " and sat down suddenly. 
 
 " Do you know Geneva Willoughby ? " I asked. 
 
 "No," she replied. "You say she is there?" 
 
 I watched her and answered, " Yes. And she is beau — 
 tiful! Her feet, oh! they look like the pony's back beneath, 
 and her hands, oh they are white, and her eyes, they are 
 blue, and her cheeks are pale and her lips red and she sits 
 so." I sat down and spread my frock so that it nearly 
 
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24 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 fell to the floor and made it cling to my limbs. " And she 
 held me close, close ! " 
 
 I looked at Sally Trueblood, and she was white and her 
 lips shook and she fell weakly back. I was frightened and 
 called her and begged that she come back and let me tell 
 . her all that I knew, but she did not wake and lay long. I 
 held her hand and it clutched and opened upon my own. I 
 knew that when she did this her heart hurt. I knew this 
 and that I should not speak until she bade me. So I sat 
 stroking her brow and waiting. 
 
 It grew darker. I heard the coach rattle and the horses 
 champ beneath, and I knew that they would be off. I knew 
 that it was growing later, though I was filled with such 
 an aching that I lost the time. I seem now to feel the tight 
 grip about my heart, the aching of my small legs from sit- 
 ting so long motionless. My hands grew cold, but my 
 brow sweat. I was hungry, and the brightness that had 
 shown was overcome by cloud and the rain settled down for 
 an all-night's singing. Still she did not stir. It grew 
 darker. I saw the inn's lamp lighted, and I sat watching 
 its reflection upon the wall. I was fearful of the great 
 dark comer-ways and kept my eyes upon the light that 
 swung dizzily o'er the ceil. 
 
 I smelled the inn's sup and my mouth watered. I leaned 
 over her and saw by the reflected light that swept her face 
 now and then that her eyes were open and they were star- 
 ing at me softly. 
 
 " Dearest, are you awake ? " 
 
 She answered : " Yes." 
 
 " Listen," I whispered. " Miss Willoughby held me close 
 and she bade me say — she spoke it with her own words, 
 so : ' Say to Sally Trueblood, Miss Willoughby's compli- 
 ments.' " 
 
 She threw herself down upon her face and sobbed long. 
 I was miserable. Why did she weep? I leaned over her 
 and laid my cheek close and amid my kisses whispered: 
 " Never mind. Your brat loves you." 
 
 She sat up and in the dim light sought my eyes and held 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 25 
 
 tny cheeks between her hot hands and called me : " Hope I 
 Oh, answer me, my Hope ! " 
 
 I trembled, for I did not know this Sally Trueblood. She 
 held me crushingly to her and then held me away, straining 
 to see me, and when I had watched and feared long, she 
 spoke softly: " Sit beside me and listen." Within me was 
 the desire to flee. " Say this slowly," she said, " slowly. 
 He is true. Say it." 
 
 I repeated : " He is true." 
 
 " He will come," she added. 
 
 I followed her : " He will come." 
 
 She waited and I heard her breathing loudly. Now she 
 raised to her elbow and leaned to me and whispered: 
 
 "Oh, my dream-baby, will you ever know? If, when 
 there comes a time when Sally Trueblood has gone — listen, 
 Hope, I am whispering — remember you were her sunshine, 
 her hope. Oh, my babe, Sally Trueblood would take with 
 her all the bitterness. Remember this, and if the day is 
 dark — listen, dear! — if there is no light— listen, dear! — 
 if you ever know — listen, dear! Sally Trueblood's smile 
 will show to you. Will you answer it? Will you? Will 
 you?" 
 
 She crushed me to her breast and I heard her heart 
 
 singing. 
 
 "Then you do not want Miss Willoughby's compli- 
 ments?" I asked. 
 
 She started and said slowly: "Hope," and she laughed 
 and coughed long, " one day you will know. Thank God, 
 the spring is upon you. Listen!— we shall play." 
 
 I cried aloud in happiness. Then she was well! " How? " 
 
 I cried. 
 
 "A wonderful game and you shall listen. There was once 
 a noble knight, ah, so fair, so young, and the great halls 
 of his castle burst ope of knightly kin. His sires and great- 
 sires and greater sires had warred and won. A noble knight 
 
 was he." . ,,,.,„ 
 
 "Oh," I sighed, "were his eyes steel-blue? 
 " No/' she answered softly, " brown, and true." 
 
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26 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 The game seemed familiar. Where had I heard of such 
 eyes? " Oh, let his eyes be steel-blue! " I begged. 
 
 " No," she answered, " they were brown, soft brown, and 
 true." 
 
 I sighed, and somehow, some way, it seemed the story 
 lacked. 
 
 " Did he have a courser? " 
 
 She did not answer, but her voice seemed to croon on: 
 " This noble knight was his blood's pride, and the ladies 
 of the land were before him to woo — beautiful, all silken 
 robed and wondrous fair. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " But his eyes are brown," I remarked, as though that 
 ended it. Was this then the end? For she suddenly 
 stopped. I stood up and smelled at the air and listened, 
 but she did not speak. I stretched slowly and said : " I am 
 hungry." 
 
 " Then we shall play another game," she called. " Come ! 
 Listen, Hope. If you were full of love, and it was May, 
 and you were a blossom upon the field, and no thing sought 
 you, and you stood longing, longing, and the days were 
 beautiful, and the flowers about were happy, yet apart from 
 you, and you were lonely, and the wind told you that a 
 hunter came, and he was a great bee whose sting would end 
 your day, and you waited long, and one day the bee came 
 and he found you, and he spoke words that made the dull 
 hours flame like morning dew — would you, would you, 
 Hope, leave your love go ? Would you ? Would you leave 
 it go ? Hoping — listen ! say it slow : ' I am not a brat.' Say 
 it slow." 
 
 I repeated slowly : " I am not a brat. I am hungry." 
 
 Now she coughed long and lay between the long cough- 
 ing silent, and I forgot that I was hungry. It was cold, 
 and I shivered, and was frightened, and the stories seemed 
 to tumble one o'er the other in my mind. I saw a blossom 
 and a bee and the knight fell over the bee and the ladies — 
 oh, dear, I was weary. 
 
 " It is a game," Sally Trueblood whispered, " called ' wait- 
 ing morning.' You shall sit and never a sound, and wait. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 27 
 
 and when it is light, go fast to Mrs. Gifford's and say, 
 ' Sally Trueblood is sleeping. Come and wake her ! ' Do 
 you hear me ? " She called, " Do you hear me ? Oh," and 
 she laughed like the tinkle of a young lamb's bell, " Oh, it 
 is spring! I smell the lilacs! Hope! Hope! Where are 
 you ? Wait ! No, I will not go ! No ! No ! " 
 
 My heart was thumping. " Is this the game ? " 
 
 She seemed to hear and said: "Yes, yes, yes! The 
 game ! Waiting morning ! Waiting ! It is tiit longest word 
 e'er spoken ! " 
 
 Then there was silence, and I shut up my eyes and 
 thought how I should wake her. I sat long and I believe I 
 must have slept, or dreamed, for somewhere come softly 
 now the words : " Tell Sir Lilyfinger Dappergay his lady 
 waits ! " It may be fancy, but I hope it was not. 
 
 I started up but remembered the game. She would not 
 forgive should I forsake the game and I sat rigid, listening. 
 It was very cold and I crept to the cot, whispering : " I am 
 playing, Sally Trueblood, but it is cold," and I huddled at 
 its side. 
 
 It rained without. I hear it yet, weeping, weeping, weep- 
 ing, and the winds sighing, sighing, sighing, and moaning 
 soft. I see the light dizzily playing the ceil and feel the 
 cramp and chill that filled me. I touched her hand. It was 
 cold, and I lay my cheek to it and then sleep came and I 
 dreamed that she was a rose and the wind had scattered 
 her, and the great bee hung over her. 
 
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CHAPTER III 
 
 The morning came still wet-swept. I remember waking 
 and the game was fresh upon me. I cried aloud : " It is 
 morning, Sally Trueblood, and I am playing ! " 
 
 I took my comforter, nor turned, just as she had told me, 
 and sped down the quaking stairs and out the rain-swept 
 way to Mrs. Gifford's. The gate was latched and the rain 
 made the latchet slippery. I fumbled at it and it opened 
 suddenly, swinging out upon me and shaking me full of 
 drops, I ran up the gravel way. I hear it now, wet and 
 soppy. The Gifford house stood well Tjack from the street's 
 way, and the roof was mossed. I stepped upon the wooden 
 step that led to the door, and I remember that it was rotted 
 and black and gapey. I remember, too, that there was a 
 beetle swimming in a puddle that stood in the rotted wood. 
 
 I knocked, and Teeny Giflford opened the creaking door 
 that stuck. I stepped up to the topmost of the steps, which 
 was a long stride, for one had rotted away. The rain 
 dropped from the doorsill, " top, top, a-top " — plunging in 
 the puddle where the beetle swam. Mrs. Gifford came to 
 meet me and looked surprised. 
 
 "Where is your mother?" she asked. 
 
 I stood looking at the table where the porridge steamed, 
 and Mrs. Gifford followed my gaze. 
 
 " Will you have some ? " she asked. 
 
 I did not answer, but unwound my comforter and went 
 to the bench that stood beside it and sat down and reached 
 for the bowl. Mrs. Gifford watched me and asked again 
 of her. 
 
 " You see," I said, " we are playing ' waiting morning,' 
 she calls it. She is sleeping and bade me run fast here and 
 tell you to come and wake her. It was a long game." 
 
 I fell to the porridge and my eyes roved the walls where 
 
 28 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 29 
 
 prints hung. Mrs. Giflford started up and called to Vicar 
 Gifford, who came in, long and black and slim and sleek. 
 I remember his face and that it always reminded me of one 
 who had seen the sins of the world and fainted. He wore 
 a huge black cross upon his breast and his white fingers 
 fumbled at it. His hair was thin and shone as though 
 oiled upon his head, hanging in pot hooks upon his shoul- 
 ders. He had pointed out sin until his forefinger was longer 
 than any man's. 
 
 Some of this I fancied, and some of it She had told me. 
 When she would come to the eaves at the evening, she 
 would often make a play and show me Vicar Gifford and 
 Teeny Vicar Gifford and Nebuchadnezzar Vicar Gifford and 
 all the Vicar Giffords. Teeny Gifford was possessed of a 
 slit lip and wailed through the day. She had told me this, 
 and it all went sweeping through my mind as I took the 
 porridge and watched the Vicar Giffords. You see, there 
 were the " Coffin " Giffords, and this, to Sally Trueblood, 
 was too much. 
 
 Mrs. Gifford spoke softly to Vicar Gifford and his thin 
 lips answered her, but I did not hear. Mrs. Gifford brought 
 out a shawl and bound up her head and cast her cape about 
 her shoulders and left us. The Vicar stood watching her 
 go, and then retired to his study. I sat licking up the last 
 of the porridge and Teeny Gifford watched me, her pale 
 eyes eating each mouthful. 
 
 " Are you a sneathen ? " she asked. 
 
 I hated her. She took up the porridge bowl I was finish- 
 ing and held it to her breast, and her eyes told me she 
 would meet me. I stood up from off the bench and stared 
 at Teeny Gifford. 
 
 " I want that porridge bowl," I shouted. 
 
 She stood her ground, still clasping the bowl and hissed 
 spitefully : " Are you a sneathen ? " 
 
 I stood gazing at the lips of Teeny, fascinated. 
 
 "What cracked it?" I asked. 
 
 Teeny Gifford glared back and suddenly threw the bowl 
 at my head. There was a rush and I remember that Teeny 
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30 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 and my small self were dreadfully mixed. We were sepa- 
 rated by the pious Vicar, whose thin hands closed upon my 
 shoulder and sent fear coursing up and down my spine. 
 Teeny sent up a woeful cry and although I was sorely 
 fretted, I remember that she called me a " sneathen," and I 
 recall the word " sthinn." I stood listening, my eyes upon 
 the cracked lip. Suddenly I was filled with the desire to 
 question Vicar Gifford as to this crack and I remember that 
 I shouted over the tumult that Teeny raised, " Did God 
 doit?" 
 
 He gathered the still wailing Teeny to his bosom and it 
 was then that Mrs. Gifford opened the door. Her face was 
 white and she was panting as though she had been run- 
 ning. The Vicar looked up and did not speak of the 
 difficulty between Teeny and myself. Mrs. Gifford did not 
 seem to see us, but went up unto him and whispered some- 
 thing. He made a sound like I had heard him make when 
 the elders pray, and started. 
 
 Teeny swept upon her mother, wiping her tear-stained 
 face upon Mrs. Gifford's skirt and continuing to weep. 
 Mrs. Gifford did not heed her daughter's woe, but con- 
 tinued speaking softly to Vicar Gifford and suddenly turned 
 to me, and I saw that her eyes were red. She came to me 
 slowly and asked would I have more porridge. I answered, 
 " Yes." She took up the bowl that Teeny had cast from 
 her when the rush had occurred and placed in it more por- 
 ridge. I sat that I sup, and Vicar Gifford took his daugh- 
 ter to his study and I heard the voice of Nebuchadnezzar 
 raised in wailing. 
 
 Mrs. Gifford left me and went to an inner room to return 
 with Nebuchadnezzar upon her arm. He was a doughey 
 child. He looked like a bowl of Delicia Prue's loaves that 
 had stood too long. His cheeks rested upon his breast and 
 his mouth hung open and long crystal streams dripped there- 
 from. His pudgy hands were tipped with dirty nails and 
 his legs wallowed over his shoe tops. He seemed possessed 
 of a bottomless wail and Mrs. Gifford did not seem to hear 
 it, but with her one free hand calmly went on with the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 3r 
 
 unwinding of her head free of the shawl and cape. I think 
 that Mrs. Gifford must have labored with one hand most 
 of the time, for her one arm was seldom free of 
 Nebuchadnezzar. 
 
 As I supped the porridge and dipped my bread into it, 
 I wondered if Nebuchadnezzar cried upon his in-take or his 
 out-go. There was certainly no mark between. Mrs. Gif- 
 ford called Teeny, who came and she delivered to her arms 
 Nebuchadnezzar, who remonstrated lustily. Teeny went 
 within to the study and the Vicar came and spoke softly 
 to Mrs. Gifford, and I saw, while I ate, that Mrs. Gifford 
 was unpacking a chest. I watched her as I munched and 
 supped and I recall that I had never seen so much black. 
 There comes to me, too, some of what they were saying. 
 Mrs. Gifford smoothed her hands over a shiny black gar- 
 ment and with a grim mouth spoke the words : 
 
 " No Christian will be there." 
 
 The Vicar shook his head slowly and remarked : " Alas 
 for sin! Sin hath its own wage." 
 
 Mrs. Gifford shook her head in acknowledgment and 
 went on: 
 
 " Not a garment of decent black. Such folly ! She had 
 been " Mrs. Gifford stopped and shot a glance to me. 
 
 The Vicar asked : " Yes, you say she had been " 
 
 Mrs. Gifford raised her brows and answered : " The walls 
 have ears, my dear." 
 
 Suddenly I remembered the game and I stood up and 
 wiped my mouth upon my pettiskirt's hem and went up 
 slowly unto Mrs. Gifford and spoke : 
 
 " Did you wake her ? Did you tell her I did not look ? 
 I am still playing." 
 
 Mrs. Gifford suddenly stood up very straight, holding 
 the shiny black garment, and answered me : 
 
 " She is awake. You may stay here until evening." And 
 she turned unto the Vicar and asked, " May she not? " 
 
 He nodded, and I remember that I had a feeling that the 
 game was not a good one. I watched Mrs. Gifford's face 
 and I knew that she was lying, for I had seen Rudy Strong 
 
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32 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 look as she did. Mrs. Gifford would not look at me straight 
 and I waited as I watched her bring out a white kerchief 
 and laid it upon the shiny black garment. 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford," I said, " are you a heathen? " 
 
 She whirled and faced me and cried : 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " You lie," I remarked calmly. 
 
 Mrs. Gifford looked to the Vicar and raised her shoul- 
 ders and said: 
 
 "You see, this is the outcome of sin." 
 
 The Vicar nodded slowly, "yes," and rested his long 
 forefinger upon his chin. I turned to him and asked : 
 
 " What do you do with heathens when you catch 'em ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gifford tossed her head and sniffed and the Vicar 
 raised his eyes prayerfully and shook his head solemnly. 
 I wondered just what was wrong, and I bethought me of 
 Teeny and I stood very straight and spoke to Mrs. Gifford, 
 saying : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood would not let me throw bowls, or call 
 bodies ' heathens.' I know God cracked her lip for it." 
 
 The Vicar gasped and Mrs. Gifford stood staring at me, 
 slowly folding the black garment and the kerchief, saying: 
 
 " You are not to return to the inn until evening," as 
 though she had forgotten what I had just said. 
 
 "Yessum. What am I to do?" I asked. 
 
 " Do as you please," she snapped. And turned to the 
 Vicar, saying: 
 
 " They have sent word to Pious for the box." 
 
 Box! I remember this, for within me came the vision 
 of a wonderful box filled up of beauteous ribbands and 
 trinkets, and a feather and two slippers that were Sally 
 Trueblood's. They seemed to forget me and the Vicar 
 returned to his study. Mrs. Gifford again took up her 
 shawl and cape and the garments before mentioned and 
 left, going toward the village. 
 
 I stood listening, and could hear Nebuchadnezzar still 
 wailing and Teeny singing something that dripped spit. I 
 looked out the shutters. It was still raining. I wondered 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 33 
 
 why she had sent word to me not to return to the inn, but 
 she had said it was a game. Then, perhaps, she was still 
 playing. I turned and walked over to a great chair where 
 the cat had curled up and was sleeping. It was a yellow 
 cat with a pink nose and his belly was white and I watched 
 it coming up and down. I pointed one finger and punched 
 it. It waked and sniflFed and stood up, arching its back to 
 rub its sleek sides upon my small shoulders and purr. I 
 sat down and held it close and it made little sounds like 
 "um— eh?" 
 
 " Um — eh — um," I answered. 
 
 It gaped and cuddled down in my lap. I sat long and no 
 one came. I could hear the creaking of the floor where 
 Teeny walked and sang. I was lonesome and wondered 
 what was the matter. I crept off the chair, still hugging 
 the cat, and went once more to the shutters. It was not 
 raining, but had suddenly stopped, and although the outside 
 seemed to drip, the sky showed it was clearing. 
 
 I let the cat down and went softly to the door. It was 
 unbolted. I opened it and stepped out and my eyes looked 
 to the inn's way, but something within me said : 
 
 " You are playing." 
 
 I ran a short way down the gravel walk and came upon 
 a bird that had fallen. It was wet and stunned with the 
 cold. I stooped over it and looked at it close and took it up, 
 and I was frightened, for it shut its eyes and opened them 
 slowly, and I had seen the look in Her eyes the night be- 
 fore. It fluttered in my hand and stretched and its little 
 feet drew up and it did not move. Suddenly I began to 
 cry. I breathed upon it, thinking I might warm it ; but its 
 head hung limp and its eyes had let down their white 
 curtains. 
 
 I started to run, thinking I would go to Ole Dodson's, 
 who kept a shop and had jars filled up with wonderful red 
 sugars and dried fruits. He had a fire-log on such days as 
 this and the villagers crowded about it. They would never 
 know that I was there. I remember that I was running, and 
 my throat ached, and I clutched the dead bird, within 
 
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34 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 me the desire to reach the fire of Ole Dodson and warm it. 
 As I ran some one called: 
 "Hi! Hi, Hope!" 
 
 It was Rudy Strong. He ran to meet me and said ex- 
 citedly : 
 
 " There's a deader in the village. They be a-coverin' the 
 box. See ? " And he held forth a handful of white fringe 
 and some bright nails. I stood staring at him and ice crept 
 about my heart. No, this could not be. No I 
 "Who is it?" I asked. 
 
 " Dunno," Rudy grunted, " but listen ! The red cow's 
 got a calf. Come on down to the mead." 
 I shook my head, and Rudy Strong spied the dead bird. 
 " Where are you goin' ? " he asked. 
 " To Ole Dodson's to warm it," I replied, stroking the 
 damp feathers with my warm hand. 
 
 " It's dead," he said. " It's dead. It won't warmv 
 Deaders don't warm." 
 
 " But it moved," I said, laying it to my cheek. 
 " Naw, it don't," said Rudy. " It's a deader. Throw it 
 away." 
 
 I looked at it and held it closer. 
 
 " Listen," said Rudy Strong, " do you know Philander 
 Strong is come ? And the Willoughbys ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " they came last night to the inn and 
 Miss Willoughby held me in her arms." 
 Rudy Strong bent double and laughed: 
 " Oh, my eye, she didn't. She hates 'em." 
 "Hates what?" I asked. 
 " What you be," he answered. 
 
 This was too much. I had been called a heathen and I 
 was sure Rudy Strong knew what a heathen was, and Miss 
 Willoughby had known. 
 
 "What am I, Rudy Strong? What does Miss Wil- 
 loughby hate? She loved me, I tell you, and held me 
 close." 
 
 Rudy Strong stood casting pebbles and sucking his 
 teeth. 
 
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'HOPE TRUEBLOOD 35 
 
 " Go on to Ole Dodson's, but if you want to see a real 
 somethin', go past Pious Gifford's." 
 
 I held the bird closer and thought long and shook my 
 head, " no," and went upon my way ; even though Rudy 
 Strong coaxed as I went and painted wonderful pictures 
 of the new red calf. I trudged slowly toward Ole Dod- 
 son's and I noted as I went that the villagers were excited. 
 Knots of them stood on the comer ways, and the women 
 hung over the fences and talked much. I heard one of 
 them, as I passed, whisper : " There she goes," and I knew 
 that they knew I was a heathen. 
 
 I passed on and my footfalls brought me to the chapel 
 house. I stood beside the high, wrought fence and pressed 
 my face against the openings, looking to the dripping tree 
 arches that bended over the white stones. I could hear the 
 birds fluttering in the dark wet green, and now and then a 
 chattering from their throats. I saw the sexton making a 
 new ope and I called to him. He stopped and wiped his 
 hands upon his sides and came to the gate. 
 
 " Leave me in," I said. 
 
 " What for ? " he asked, looking down upon me. 
 
 " Rudy Strong says it is a deader," I said and showed 
 the limp bird. " Leave me in." 
 
 He unlatched the gateway and I passed through and I 
 remember spelling off one of the stones, " Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby." The mound was high and I wondered if his 
 stomach caused it. I passed on and read upon a small stone, 
 " Willie Pimm Passwater," and I went up to the spot and 
 said aloud: 
 
 " I did not mean to let your dog fall. She shook me." 
 
 The sexton had followed me and I knew he was watching 
 me. I stooped down and touched the earth and it was wet. 
 I gathered some of the wet leaves and wrapped my bird in 
 them and walked down the briared pathway that led to the 
 old yard. Here the stones fell tipsily to right and left. 
 Some had sunk and their white faces looked like drowning 
 things. Larkspur spears nodded wet and I plucked some of 
 these and added to my wet leaves. I sat down upon a stone 
 
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36 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 that had fallen and found that I was facing a worn slab 
 that showed faint lettering. I read slowly: 
 
 " Felicia Trueblood," and beneath it a line : " Here lieth 
 the dust of Felicia Trueblood. Unto him who readeth, 
 know thee this : All bitterness hath an end." 
 
 Felicia Trueblood ! Was this Felicia Trueblood who had 
 lived behind the shutters, whose locks were like Hers? I 
 wondered and I went to the spot and stood before the stone 
 and spoke aloud : " Why do you make her weep ? " 
 
 The sexton was casting the wet earth out from the pit 
 he was making and I went to him and asked what he was 
 about. He did not answer and I leaned over the side and 
 asked : 
 
 " Would you please leave me put it here ? See, I have 
 wrapped it all in leaves and larkspur. Put it in here. It 
 may sing even there in the dark when it is warm." 
 
 He laughed and nodded, and with my small hands I 
 buried the bird, laying it gently in the deep pit and cover- 
 ing it with the wet earth. The sexton had lifted me in, and 
 I sat upon a stone and watched him, even after I had cov- 
 ered the bird. He cast the earth and made the pit deeper 
 and did not speak. After I had watched him long I remem- 
 ber I asked : 
 
 " What do you dig a pit for ? " 
 
 " For deaders," he answered. 
 
 " What are deaders ? " I asked. 
 
 " Moon's dust that falls on fools," he answered. 
 
 " Oh, I see," I said. " Then please lift me out. I am 
 cold and the sun is coming." 
 
 He lifted me up to his shoulder to the sod above. And 
 I sped down the path, keeping free of briars and plucking 
 larkspur and harebells. When I had come to the gateway 
 I saw that some of the villagers were coming that way and 
 they bore a long black box. 
 
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CHAPTER IV 
 
 I SEEM to remember the old yard and see that the sun 
 was come forth, and that the wet drops seemed to smile 
 and twinkle, and that o'erhead the sun shone in patches 
 through the thick trees' tops. I seem to remember all of 
 this, but before me comes a great cloud and this is the 
 black box. I did not know them that bore it. They were 
 villagers, but no friendly faces that I had known. I stood 
 watching, and idly played with the larkspurs that I had 
 been plucking. I remember, too, that great wonder filled 
 me. This, then, was a deader. I never before had seen 
 such a box. It was black and I was frightened, for the 
 faces of them that bore it were solemn. 
 
 The sexton, hearing their steps, came forth and pointed 
 the way. Something seemed to start in my breast, and I 
 do not know why, but Mrs. Gififord's words came to me: 
 " There will be no Christian there." 
 
 I seemed to connect the black box with these words. I 
 stepped along the wet path until I had come to the strange 
 group who bore the box and I timidly called. One of 
 them looked at me and I asked: 
 
 " Is this the deader ? " 
 
 They looked one to the other and did not answer. 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford said," I went on, " that no Christian would 
 be there. I am a heathen." 
 
 They smiled and I remember that their faces were not 
 kind, and that I had a queer feeling about the box, and I 
 felt that they were heathens, too. 
 
 " What's in there ? " I asked, and pointed to the box. 
 
 They stopped and I went up and touched it, and I re- 
 member the cloth was thin and I could feel the splinters 
 under the weave. I do not know why I did the thing that I 
 did do, but I suddenly laid my larkspur upon the box, and 
 
 37 
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38 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I remember that a great white butterfly soared above and 
 darted down and rested upon them. 
 
 They did not notice all of this, but went on and I followed 
 and they went to the new-made pit. I stood watching and I 
 remember that the sun had filled up the pit. I can hear the 
 birds now, singing snatches, and their whirring songs and 
 the falling of the sods that filled up the pit. I heard all of 
 this and I wondered what it meant. 
 
 A deader! I had never known of death save in flowers 
 and birds and beetles and small things. I recall that there 
 had been ones of the village that had died and when I had 
 asked Her she had answered : " Oh, wait the morrow." And 
 then the morrow came and I had forgotten. 
 
 They that came with the box had not remained to 
 see the pit filled, but I sat upon the sod beside the stone 
 that read " Felicia Trueblood " and watched. The sexton 
 had finished and still I sat, my hands idly clasped in my 
 lap, and I remembered that Sally Trueblood had told me 
 that Felicia Trueblood was arm-hungry. She told me this 
 and said: 
 
 " Oh, Hope, your arms would have driven away the 
 darkness ! " 
 
 I stood up and reached my arms wide and clasped the 
 stone, and the sexton saw and asked: 
 
 "What be ye at?" 
 
 " Oh," I replied, " I am filling up Felicia Trueblood's 
 arms." 
 
 He watched me, and I may fancy it, but I believe his 
 eyes were tearful. 
 
 He reached out his hands to me and asked : " Where be 
 ye goin' ? " 
 
 " To Ole Dodson's," I replied, " but I forgot." 
 
 He started and patted my head slowly and leaned over 
 me and laid one of his clay-stained hands upon my cheek and 
 said: 
 
 " Be ye lone, come yon." And he pointed to his sex- 
 tonage. 
 
 " But," I answered, " I am not lonely. Sally Trueblood 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 39 
 
 is waiting. We were playing ' Waiting morning.' It is a 
 long game and I shall go at the eve's hour and tell her about 
 the deader and the bird and Nebuchadnezzar and Teeny 
 Giff ord and the Vicar Giffords, and she will smile. She will ! 
 She will!" 
 
 And I danced up and down in glee even to think of her 
 smile. And I looked at the sexton and he said : 
 
 " Shoo, now. Run along to the Giffords and bid them 
 speak ye what ha'e been." 
 
 I turned slowly to look upon the new-covered mound, and 
 the sun was shining brightly. Some of the larkspur had 
 fallen from the box and lay withering. I looked up to the 
 sexton and asked: 
 
 " Will the deader be lonely ? Listen ! Don't you believe 
 the bird will sing?" 
 
 " Yea," the sexton nodded ; " be on now." 
 
 I skipped in the bright sun down the shadowed path, 
 plucking at the tall grass' tassels, and passed through the 
 great gate running up the path into the village. I had gone 
 well upon the way and had turned the corner to Ole Dod- 
 son's when I came upon a thing that frightened me. It 
 was tall and straight and upon its chin the moles. It waS 
 Miss Patricia, and I feared her. Yet within me was a some- 
 thing that warmed my heart. I think it was Mr. Reuben. I 
 ran up to her and held forth my hand, but she looked at 
 me as though she had never seen me. 
 
 " Miss Patricia," I ventured. 
 
 She drew up very tall and snapped : " Well ? " 
 
 " Don't you know me ? I am Sally Trueblood's brat." 
 
 She threw her hands up and then grasped me by the 
 shoulder and her voice rasped : " What are you doing on 
 the street?" 
 
 " I'm playing ' waiting morning ' with Sally Trueblood. 
 She is asleep. Mrs. Gifford said she told me to stay away 
 from the inn till the evening, but it's so long. Do you 
 think I might go? I would only creep in and not wake 
 her, and I would tell her about the calf and the deader and 
 Nebuchadnezzar and your moles." 
 
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40 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Stop your foolishness ! " said Miss Patricia, " you? 
 mother's dead." 
 
 My lips stiffened. I felt myself slip away. 
 
 "What?" I quavered. 
 
 " Dead," Miss Patricia snapped. 
 
 " Dead ? " I repeated. " Dead ? " And I laughed. " No, 
 she is playing. It is a game. Don't you understand ? " 
 
 " She's dead," answered Miss Patricia, " dead and 
 done." 
 
 I stood before her and I remember that the little me 
 that was so proud, so full of what she had given me, was no 
 more. I was but a frightened baby. I threw my arms wide 
 and held them up to Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Oh, hold me ! " I cried, " hold me ! " 
 
 I clutched her, but she was rigid. I grasped her hand and 
 held it hard upon my cheek and ran my small hand o'er 
 her thin arm and I was weeping. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia, say you lied ! Come, take me to the 
 inn ! I shall show you. She is lying upon the cot. I know 
 it! Her beautiful curls are damp. She is there, I 
 know." 
 
 I stopped and my eyes sought Miss Patricia's. Hers 
 were hard and small. She looked down upon me and I 
 shrank. 
 
 " Be on," she snapped, " to Gilford's and stop your snivel- 
 ing." 
 
 She swept on and left me standing dazed. I looked to the 
 inn's path and my little heart jumped and my body shivered 
 even as though a chilling wind had struck upon me. I re- 
 membered that the village houses seemed to be running 
 blurrily. I stepped and the earth seemed so far away. To 
 Gifford's? I turned sick. Then I sat upon the sod and let 
 my hands pluck up blades. I shut out the words of Miss 
 Patricia and thought of Teeny Gifford and her cracked lip 
 and wondered if the calf was sucking. 
 
 Then I arose and I laughed, for I was certain that Miss 
 Patricia had not told me the truth. I would go to the inn 
 and I would tell Sally Trueblood how they had lied to me. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 41 
 
 I would tell her of the deader, and suddenly at the thought 
 of the black box I quaked. What had been in the box? I 
 wondered. Just what was a deader? Not Sarah True- 
 blood. Her eyes shone like stars. She would laugh and 
 pinch my cheeks and call me her Hope. Yes, I would go to 
 the inn, and turning swiftly I ran down the path and as 
 I ran came upon Mr. Reuben. I saw him coming, bent and 
 slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, and although I 
 had seen Miss Patricia override him, I thought in my small 
 mind that if he would only stand up straight he would be 
 wonderful. I ran to meet him, holding my arms wide, and 
 I grasped him about the limbs and cried: 
 
 " Bend down, Mr. Reuben, and listen," and he bent low. 
 "What is a deader, Mr. Reuben?" 
 
 He stood up very slowly and rubbed his chin and cleared 
 his throat, and I saw that he had been weeping. 
 
 " Never mind," he answered. " Where are you going? " 
 
 " To the inn," I replied, " to the eaves. She told me 
 Sally Trueblood was dead and done." 
 
 I remember Mr. Reuben started, and I may be wrong but 
 I fancy he said, "God!" 
 
 " Come, Mr. Reuben," I went on, " come, and you shall 
 see that she is there. She is playing. She is waiting, I 
 know. And the doves are come to rest and are cooing. 
 Come! Oh, do come! I am afraid." 
 
 Mr. Reuben held his hand out to me. I remember that 
 the sun was golding for a glorious setting and that little 
 fish-clouds swam over the golden way. I forgot that I was 
 afraid. Mr. Reuben held my hand. He would go. We 
 stepped slowly upon the way and I remember that the vil- 
 lage eyes followed us. We came to the inn and Peter 
 Gofif was standing with his arms folded upon the hitchrack. 
 Mr. Reuben smiled and bowed and said something about 
 the bright evening, and Peter Goff spit and slowly 
 wiped his lips upon his hand, and scratched his head, set- 
 ting his long cap well back upon his head, and grunted. 
 Then he had put his hands beneath his smock and turned 
 and gone within, leering. I remember that Mr. Reuben 
 
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42 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 had flushed very red. All of this did not matter to me. I 
 was going to see and to show Mr. Reuben that she was 
 there. 
 
 " Wait ! " I said. " Do not come. I shall call you. She 
 would not want you. Wait ! And when I call, Mr. Reuben, 
 you will know that Miss Patricia has lied and you may 
 go. 
 
 I ran up the stairway and turned the landing. My heart 
 was thumping and icy. When I came to the door, I saw 
 that it stood open a little way. I touched it and it squeaked 
 and frightened me. I leaned close to the opening and 
 called : 
 
 "Sally Trueblood!" She did not answer. "Sally—" 
 
 I began to cry — " Trueblood ! Sir Lilyfinger " I 
 
 stepped into the room. It was lighted with a sickening 
 golden light, and it was empty. The mugs she had set the 
 morning before, stood dejectedly, one leaning almost top- 
 pled over upon the crust. Her shawl trailed gracefully 
 from the cot's edge, and it seemed to plead. I thought of 
 the doves. They would be waiting. I sped to the chimney 
 corner and they were gone. My little lips trembled and the 
 tears burst forth and I kept calling: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood ! Sally Trueblood ! We are playing ! 
 Oh, won't you answer?" 
 
 Then I stopped and laughed and flung my arms out and 
 skipped to the cot and cried : " I know ! You are playing ! " 
 And I peeped beneath the couch's cover, but it was dark 
 and empty beneath. I stood up very slowly and stared, 
 empty-eyed, all ways. In one corner I spied the box, the 
 box that came to my mind as Mrs. Gifford had spoken of 
 Pious and the box. I went to it and I saw all that I pos- 
 sessed folded carefully and packed within it. It was still 
 light and I sunk beside the box and my fingers sought 
 within it. I took up my worn cape and I saw that she had 
 mended it. Something rattled and I let my fingers seek it. 
 It was a scrap of paper pinned to the cape. I took it to 
 the shutter ope and spelled : 
 
 " It is a game of waiting, Hope. Will you play ? " 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 43 
 
 Then she was playing. I sped to the door and called; 
 " Mr. Reuben, she is here ! " 
 
 He made no answer and I forgot to listen. I sat down 
 upon the cot and wondered when she would come. Per- 
 haps she had gone to Giflford's and would come and tell 
 me of the Vicar Giflfords and who Mrs. Giiford had brought 
 the shiny black to. I got up and went over to the chair 
 that was a prized possession. It had a bulgy back and a 
 saggy bottom. She was always Lady Lilyfinger when she 
 sat upon this chair. I sat upon it and dreamed dreams, 
 but hunger came again. My old friend. I knew him. 
 
 I sniffed at the air and got off of the chair and went to 
 the shutter. It was growing darker; the small fish-clouds 
 had swam away and the sun had sunk. Still I was waiting 
 and she did not come. It grew darker and I lay upon the 
 cot, thinking I would wait until she stepped upon the stair 
 and go to meet her. I think I must have lain long and slept, 
 for when I waked it was pitch-dark and the room was silent, 
 yet filled of creakings and groanings. I was frightened. I 
 sat staring into the dark, nor did I arise, for fear had 
 frozen my limbs. I called in a small voice that quaked: 
 "Sally Trueblood! I am afraid." 
 
 I heard a step without and some one called softly. It 
 was a man's voice. It was Mr. Reuben. I sped through 
 the darkness, stumbling over the tables and benches, and I 
 heard the tipsy mug fall upon the floor. My lips opened. 
 I was chilled and fear-stricken. I called: 
 
 " Mr. Reuben, come ! She is not here ! " 
 
 I heard him open the door and I felt my way up to him. 
 His hands clutched me and he whispered, " Come," and 
 took me up. I was safe, but my heart was thumping. But 
 I shut my eyes that I see not the dark. I did not speak but 
 rested my head upon Mr. Reuben's shoulder, and I remem- 
 ber that he stumbled down the quaking stairway and out 
 the inn's arch. It was light without, for pale starlight 
 thinned the dark. I had opened my eyes when I felt the 
 cool air and knew we were out of the inn. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Reuben, what shall I do ? " I asked. " She is 
 
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44 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 not there and Miss Patricia has said she is dead, dead and 
 done." 
 
 He held me closer and did not answer and by the faint 
 light I saw that we were upon the way to the house of the 
 Passwaters. 
 
 "Why did you come?" I asked. And Mr. Reuben an- 
 swered : " I did not leave." 
 
 " But I called," I went on. 
 
 Mr. Reuben shook his head and answered : " I waited." 
 
 " Then you play the game, Mr. Reuben ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 " It is a long game, isn't it, Mr. Reuben ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " Yes, very, very long." 
 
 We had come to the gateway and Mr. Reuben opened it. 
 The light was lit and Miss Patricia was knitting, and I won- 
 dered, as we went within, was it her fingers or the needles 
 that clicked. Mr. Reuben did not speak but cleared his 
 throat and Miss Patricia started up and let her knitting 
 fall and stood rigid and screamed : " Reuben Passwater, 
 what does this mean ? " 
 
 Mr. Passwater did not answer her, but took me to the 
 smouldering fire and set me upon the settle. He stooped 
 and took up an iron bar and poked the logs. They smoked 
 green and yellow and it smelled and puffed into the room. 
 Then it suddenly blazed up. Mr. Passwater stood up very 
 slowly, and very slowly set the iron bar beside the hearth, 
 and I remember that ash fell off its point in a little circle as 
 he set it down. 
 
 Miss Patricia walked very straight-backed to the fireside 
 and again screamed : " What does this mean ? " 
 
 Mr. Reuben turned and his mild eyes were gone. His 
 lips shook and he answered: 
 
 " It means that she sleeps here." 
 
 " Never ! " screeched Miss Patricia. " Think of the vil- 
 lage! The tongues! And this brat in a virtuous house- 
 hold!" 
 
 Mr. Reuben shook his head and replied: 
 
 "You think of them, Patricia. I have other thoughts." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 45 
 
 Miss Patricia gasped and let her hands fall from her 
 stomach where they were crossed piously. " Sleep here ! " 
 she gasped once more. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Reuben, " in the guest room." 
 
 I was frightened, and Miss Patricia stood staring at me. 
 She began to speak and I suddenly had spied the bird that 
 was hopping merrily within its wicker and forgot to listen. 
 But I remember some of what she said. 
 
 " The village is agog. She did not give the man's name. 
 Her shame is before the people and she has now left the 
 brat to disgrace Christian people." 
 
 Mr. Reuben sat down and I looked to him. He hung 
 his head upon his clasped hands. Miss Patricia went on, 
 but I know he did not hear, for he sat long and then arose 
 and sternly said: 
 
 " Light the candle ! She shall sleep." 
 
 Miss Patricia fingered in her basket and brought out a bit 
 of candle, almost burned away, and held it in front of the 
 fire until it had melted and carefully stuck it upon a plate. 
 Her eyes were mutinous. Mr. Passwater spoke kindly to 
 me : " Go with Miss Patricia. She will make you ready." 
 
 Miss Patricia did not answer, but took my out-held hand 
 and jerked me toward the door. 
 
 Mr. Passwater said one word softly. It was " Patricia." 
 She sniffed and opened the door and pushed me in. I re- 
 member the bed was high-posted and canopied like a great 
 cave. There was a coverlid of white and linen sheets. It 
 was tall, like Miss Patricia, and had thin legs, and upon the 
 head posts were two protuberances. They were moles to 
 my small mind. I fully expected the yawning cave to snap 
 out, " Well ! " 
 
 Miss Patricia went over the bare flooring to where a mat 
 was spread before a table. Upon the table was a glass, a 
 reflector, which gave dizzy reflections. All of this I saw. 
 Miss Partricia came up to me, grasped my hands, looked at 
 them and rolled her eyes in horror. She cast them from 
 her as unclean and unchristian, and left the room to come 
 back with a basin. The water was chill and she plunged 
 
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46 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 my hands almost up to the elbows into it, and before I had 
 time to make an outcry she had wet my face. I tried to 
 speak, but the words sounded : " M-m — iss-Pat-tri — ^m-m- 
 pst!" 
 
 Miss Patricia snapped : " Less talk ! " She dried my face 
 and hands and began to undress me. I saw her eyeing my 
 clothing. The garments were coarse and patched, but whole 
 and clean, and my flesh was white and soft, for She would 
 bathe me, and kiss my flesh, for she loved it. Miss Patricia 
 brought out a shirt. I think it must have been Mr. Reu- 
 ben's. And when I was stripped she put this upon me and 
 I laughed and looked at her and said : 
 
 "It is too small, isn't it?" 
 
 " Be abed ! " she answered and turned back the cover- 
 lids. The sheets struck my flesh cold. They were hard, like 
 Miss Patricia's lap would be, I imagined. Miss Patricia 
 made to blow out the light. I sat up, for I was still fright- 
 ened and I called: 
 
 " Miss Patricia, you lied, didn't you ? She is not a deader. 
 She wrote upon my cape about the waiting. She is play- 
 ing. 
 
 " Nonsense," Miss Patricia answered. " She is dead." 
 
 " Dead ? " I asked. " Then where is she? Oh, Miss Pa- 
 tricia, you should have been at the deader's burying. They 
 brought a black box, a long one." 
 
 " That was her," Miss Patricia supplemented. 
 
 Horror froze me. Miss Patricia blew out the light and 
 left me. I lay afraid to move. Then the box was her. 
 No ! Yet the words of Mrs. Giff ord about the Christians, 
 the shiny worn black, the white kerchief 1 The whole day 
 swept through my mind. Was this Sally Trueblood, this 
 black box? Had they put her in the pit? Oh! I shivered 
 and sat up and my heart was hollow. I heard Mr. Pass- 
 water and Miss Patricia make the house secure and go to 
 rest. It was quiet, so quiet. 
 
 I whimpered and got out of the bed and sought my 
 clothes. It was lighter without now, for the moon was com- 
 ing. I dressed swiftly and unlatched the door and crept 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 47 
 
 carefully through the room where the hearth still smoul- 
 dered. I found the door and unbolted it and stepped with- 
 out. I do not know what I intended to do, but I sped like a 
 wild thing straight to the chapel yard and through the gate, 
 nor was I afraid, for Sally Trueblood was there. I found the 
 stone in the white light that read " Felicia Trueblood," and 
 I found the new mound. 
 
 With my small hands I began to lift up the earth handful 
 by handful, crying: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, are you there ? Answer ! Oh, I am 
 lonely ! Listen ! " and I put my cheek upon the mound : 
 " your brat loves you." 
 
 And frenzied I began to take up more earth, tearing at 
 it and weeping. And then weariness, the brother of sleep, 
 my old friend, came, and I nodded to him and lay down. 
 And I do not know why, but I fancied that I slept upon the 
 breast of Sally Trueblood. And I dreamed that the black 
 box was a dream and Sally Trueblood beckoned me to a 
 new land where it was Mayin'. 
 
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CHAPTER V 
 
 When I awoke the sun was not come. Silence hung 
 about, like unto a shroud, pierced but by some waking bird 
 that called to its mate. I sat up slowly and stretched. New 
 thoughts teemed my mind. The red calf, Teeny Gifford, the 
 great canopy bed, the inn, and hunger. I could not take 
 in the fullness of all that had been and rubbed my eyes 
 anew and yawned. I seemed to realize that I was upon the 
 mound and fright overcame me and I cried aloud. I heard 
 the door of the sextonage open and I blindly stumbled over 
 the sod and grasses to the spot. The sexton was watching 
 and flung myself upon him, crying: 
 
 " Take her out ! Take her out ! She is there ! " And I 
 pointed to the new mound. 
 
 He stooped and took me up and carried me within. The 
 room was barren, save for a cot and table slab and some 
 shelves. I smelled porridge and forgot that I had cried out 
 unto him. 
 
 " Shoo now," the sexton said, and patted my head when 
 he had let me down. " Come and porridge. Thee'lt be 
 a-better. Shoo now. Weep 'e not." 
 
 I looked great-eyed at him as he brought forth a mug 
 and set it upon the table slab and went to the fire that 
 crackled within a small hearth. He took off the pot of por- 
 ridge slowly and poured the mugs full. It was a meat 
 broth and I fell to it, breaking the loaf he offered and 
 never speaking a word. 
 
 " What brought ye sae early ? " asked the sexton. 
 
 I looked slowly at him and replied, amid my chewing : 
 
 " I — um — did not come. I stayed." 
 
 " Shoo now," the sexton grunted, " never ye stayed ! " 
 
 " Oh, but I did," I replied. " She is there. Come, bring 
 the thing yonder and take her out." 
 
 48 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 49 
 
 " Na, na, now. Run ye on to Gifford's and tell the 
 Vicaress to speak ye what ha'e been." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia told me, but she lied. Come, take 
 her out. She is playing. See?" And I held out the bit 
 of paper on which was written of the game. 
 
 " Na, na. Run 'long now. Ye be a-porridged. Run 
 along to Gifford's." 
 
 I turned from the table and watched the fire and I re- 
 membered there was a fire at the inn. It would be but 
 first embered now, scarcely leaping, weak and smoky. I 
 resolved to go to the inn, for within me was still the feel- 
 ing that Miss Patricia was lying. 
 
 I got off the bench and walked slowly to the door's ope. 
 The sun was well up. I watched the shadows play over 
 the paths and I wondered why people wept when they came 
 here. I had seen Miss Patricia weep, and Peter Goff, and 
 the Giffords, although I had always had a feeling well 
 down within me that the Vicar wept almost too freely. I 
 skipped out the doorway and I remember that the sexton 
 stood and watched me. I picked a larkspur and briar buds 
 and smelled the sweet morning's breath that still clung like 
 the ghosts of night beneath the deepest shadows. Suddenly 
 I started, for a stone had fallen just beside me. I waited 
 and another fell and a voice followed: 
 
 " Hi, Hope, hi ! It's up ! Come on down to the mead. 
 Its legs wobble, but it runs. Come and see ! " 
 
 I shook my head " no." 
 
 " Did you go to Pious Gifford to see the box ? " the voice 
 asked. And Rudy Strong came through the gateway, his 
 hands filled of stones and his smock ragged and filthed. I 
 shook my head " no " again. 
 
 " Say, Hope, Pious Gifford said Sally Trueblood was 
 dead and the box was hers ! " 
 
 I nodded slowly and somehow a feeling of pride arose 
 within me. 
 
 " Where is she ? " he asked. 
 
 I pointed to the new-made mound. Rudy Strong stood 
 staring at it and spit through his teeth, scratched one leg 
 
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50 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 with one bare foot, hitched his smock's neck with his finger, 
 and went on casting stones at imaginary birds. 
 
 I sat upon the sunken spot beside the stone of Felicia 
 Trueblood and looked mournful. Rudy shot a sidelong 
 glance to me and flushed. 
 
 " I guess you ain't no place to go," he remarked. 
 
 I raised my brows and did not answer. 
 
 "Where to?" he asked. 
 
 " Perhaps to Gifford's," I answered. 
 
 Rudy stopped and turned and shouted : 
 
 " My eye, no ! The Gifiords 'long here? You ain't goin' 
 to the Giffords. My eye, no ! Better as ye go to Ole Dod- 
 son s. 
 
 I rose and smoothed my frock that was much rumpled 
 from my night's sleeping upon the sod; carefully dusted 
 the spots that showed clay, and stood meditating. A step 
 sounded upon the path. I could hear the pebbles grating. 
 I looked, startled, for I suddenly remembered that I had 
 fled from the Passwaters'. Rudy, too, started but kept on 
 casting stones and said softly: 
 
 " It is the Vicar. You know it's Sabbat'. Let's go 
 down to the mead. Come on." 
 
 I did not answer, but stepped over the wet grass toward 
 the sextonage. I saw the sexton go toward the chapel 
 and I knew he was turning the great key to let the Vicar 
 see God. I had seen the Vicar sit, before the village came 
 to worship,' and I had watched his lips move and I had 
 often wondered what he was saying to God that he would 
 not say aloud. Somehow, I did not associate the Vicar's 
 God with Sally Trueblood's and mine, for when Sally True- 
 blood spoke to Him, her beautiful eyes seemed to light up 
 and her voice was never so sweet. I knew that she knew 
 Him. I remember she never spoke of Him except in en- 
 dearing terms, and I often had lain long and heard her tell 
 Him aloud of things that I did not understand, and always 
 within me was the feeling of comfort, for I knew that He 
 knew her. But the Vicar always shut his eyes when he 
 prayed and his voice seemed to tremble and I always had a 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 51 
 
 feeling of fear way down within me, for I knew that the 
 Vicar's God always frowned. 
 
 All of this swept through my mind as I played with a 
 web that some industrious spider had spread from the 
 top of the stone reading " Willie Pimm Passwater " to a 
 thorn bush that stood some distance away. It was a beau- 
 tiful web, and a little silver-winged moth was struggling to 
 free itself from its silken embrace. There were little drops 
 all beady upon the strands ot the web, but the moth, I 
 knew, wanted that it might flee and seek some shady spot 
 where the larkspurs nodded. So I loosed it and it clung 
 to my finger. Rudy came to see and suggested that we 
 peg it to a leaf, but I had no intention of doing any such 
 a thing, and I remember that I told Rudy so, and also that 
 I had bidden him to go and leave me. 
 
 I don't know why, but the great silence of Sabbath 
 seemed to make me lonely. The villagers were now com- 
 ing one by one to the chapel. They did not speak and those 
 of them that would have nodded brightly or spoken to me, 
 passed straight-backed and solemn into the chapel. I had 
 left the web and gone slowly, plucking grasses and flowers, 
 to the gate and sat upon one of the great stones that were 
 its base. 
 
 I saw the Vicar Giffords come down the path led by Mrs. 
 Gifford in her best black, and Nebuchadnezzar upon her 
 hip with his crystal streams still flowing. Teeny followed 
 and Sephira, the eldest, of whom the village knew little 
 except that she was wayward. She was a pale girl, tall, 
 like the Vicar. Her locks were dark and shiny. She was 
 dressed in black with a white band on the throat and sleeve 
 bands. I had heard of her. Sally Trueblood had told me 
 that she loved to play games, but not being sufficiently 
 prayerful, she was kept in the background. I saw them 
 pass and heard the whistle of Rudy Strong afar that told 
 me he had reached the mead. They passed me and did not 
 turn. I suppose they did not see me. I am sure that 
 Teeny's back did not bend, nor her eyes fall from the heights. 
 Then the " Coffin " Giffords passed, and I remember that 
 
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52 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 their eldest had an overskirt trimmed of white fringe such 
 as Rudy Strong had shown to me and some little glistening 
 buttons that reminded me of nails. Even " Coffin " Gif- 
 ford himself looked long and black like a box, and like his 
 brother, the Vicar, he was " powerful of prayer." Then the 
 Sniflys. Miss Snifly with her flounces bounced past, her 
 mittens primly exposed and a little feather in her bonnet 
 that whipped the air, pst, pst, pst! 
 
 I resolved to wait the outpouring following the meeting, 
 for I knew I should hear all the village knew. Miss Snifly 
 spied me, stopped, her flounces bouncing, raised her eyes, 
 pressed her lips firmly and ejaculated : " Well 1 '' and bounced 
 on. Mrs. Kirby followed her closely, and I saw a gleam in 
 her eye as Miss Snifly had stopped and spoken the word, 
 and I knew that they would discuss me. I wondered why 
 Miss Patricia did not come, nor Mr. Reuben, and I waited. 
 They were singing now, something very, very sorrowful. I 
 do not know why, but I w^ted to cry. It was something 
 about angels and singing, and I wondered if Sally True- 
 blood was an angel and if she heard, and I laughed, for I 
 knew if she was she was laughing. 
 
 I remember that many passed me and I forgot to watch, 
 playing with my blossoms and the little black bug that had 
 begun to run up and down one of the stems. I had not 
 realized that the chapel was well filled. Having recognized 
 my acquaintances, the other comers did not interest me. 
 
 Then I heard the Vicar's voice saying something about 
 children and suffering. I arose and I forgot the singing and 
 within me came a longing to be among people. I stepped 
 very slowly and timidly to the chapel. I had never been 
 within it. You see. She never went, for " eyes hurt her." 
 We had sung in the eaves, and she would read me all about 
 the wonderful things in the little black book. I had heard 
 how they sang at the chapel and had stood outside and 
 watched the Vicar through the window. I stepped through 
 the doorway and was frightened. They all seemed so quiet, 
 like things I never knew. Ole Dodson was there, but he 
 never sat like this beside the fire. Teeny Gifford sat primly. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 53 
 
 looking upwards, and I almost heard her say " sneathen " 
 and wondered if she was ill. Even Nebuchadnezzar was 
 chewing upon a book and did not wail, and Mrs. Giflford 
 looked pained. I wondered where I might sit. There was 
 no spot vacant, so I sought the shadows where I might 
 stand unnoticed. The Vicar raised his hands and his lips 
 opened and he said: 
 
 " Suffer little children to come unto me." 
 
 I walked very slowly down the aisle. The Vicar saw 
 me and his jaw hung open. I was soiled and disheveled, 
 but I clutched my blossoms and went straight up to him 
 and held them out. He reached out one white thin hand 
 and took the flowers, and he looked dazed but continued : 
 
 " For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 There was an awful silence. I was frightened and looked 
 up to the Vicar, who stood staring first at the flowers and 
 then at me. I saw the sexton start as though to come forth, 
 but the Vicar held up his hand. Then there sounded whis- 
 perings and rustlings and a commotion among the congrega- 
 tion. The Vicar stood very straight and silent. Then he 
 stooped and took rne up and sat me upon the great height 
 where the Big Book lay, and he turned very slowly to his 
 flock, and I looked at him and his eyes looked like Sally 
 Trueblood's. His lips were very grim and he said: 
 
 " Let him without sin cast the first stone." 
 
 Then he lay one arm about me and I remember he talked, 
 and his pale face flushed, and he said things about love and 
 gentleness and pity and giving and blind virtue. And then 
 he ceased and held his hand up to pray, and he did not shut 
 his eyes. And he said things softly, but clearly. And he 
 spoke endearingly, and when he had finished, I said clearly, 
 like I always said for Sally Trueblood : " Amen, dear God." 
 
 The Vicar bowed his head and held me to him. 
 
 The meeting was over and the villagers went out of 
 the chapel as one man. Never turning — even Mrs. Gifford 
 and her flock — they left us. The Vicar saw it and his eyes 
 glistened and I heard him whisper : " Father, forgive them, 
 for they know not what they do." 
 
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54 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I kissed him and whispered : " You see, I am Sally True- 
 blood's brat."' 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Yes, I see." 
 
 " She never came," I went on, " because she said eyes 
 hurt her." 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Yes, I see." 
 
 " Eyes do hurt, don't they, Vicar Gififord ? " I asked. 
 " Do you think God wanted me ? She told me He did and 
 when you said it, I just came." 
 
 He was fingering my blossoms. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Yes." 
 
 " She told me about the chapel. She told me how she 
 used to sit and love God, inside. Then she told me that 
 eyes had made walls that she could not climb, and then she 
 had made a chapel in her heart. We went in there every 
 day. But the village did not know." 
 
 He was listening and took out a linen and wiped his 
 eyes. The chapel was all quiet now. Even the sexton 
 stood without, waiting. I sat wondering, for I had never 
 dreamed that the Vicar might touch me. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " the Vicar asked. 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. " You see, she is out 
 there in a box. The ' Coffin ' Giflford made it. She is play- 
 ing a game called ' waiting ' with me." And I showed him 
 the little note. He read it slowly and did not look up. I 
 went on: 
 
 " Mrs. Giflford said there would be no Christian there, 
 but I was there. You see, I am a heathen. Teeny told me 
 and I think Miss Willoughby knows it. I saw Mrs. Gifford 
 folding up some shiny black. Do you suppose she put it 
 upon my beautiful Sally Trueblood? She wouldn't, would 
 she?" 
 
 The Vicar bit his lips and did not answer. I con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " I put a bird in the pit. She won't be lonely, for it will 
 sing when it's warm ; and I tucked larkspurs under the sods, 
 and you know she told me that every larkspur bell tinkled 
 fairy whispers. The pink ones were the love fairies, and 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 55 
 
 the white ones were angel fairies, and the purple were king 
 fairies." 
 
 " Yes," the Vicar murmured. " I see." 
 
 " She told me that one did not have to come to the chapel, 
 for these fairies sung every day when the bloom time was 
 and their little echoes came all the winter time. You see, 
 she says God does not want us lonely, so He talks all the 
 time. I think I shall just live here, if it's God's house. He 
 brought Sally Trueblood here. Yes, I shall stay." 
 
 The Vicar stood up slowly and took me by the hand and 
 led me without. The sexton came up and made to lock the 
 great door. They spoke softly one to the other and the 
 Vicar finally turned and said: 
 
 " This is God's house. You may stay." 
 
 They did not tell me how I was to stay, or where, but 
 I was happy and I ran down the path and said aloud over 
 the mound: 
 
 " Listen, Sally Trueblood, listen ! I shall live with God. 
 The Vicar says so. Do you hear? Do you? " 
 
 And there sounded such a beautiful song from a tall 
 tree near. I stood and listened and the bird sang and sang. 
 I was hungry and I started and leaned over the mound and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Listen, listen, Sally Trueblood ! I am hungry. Wait ! 
 I shall return almost now. Wait! I shall only go down 
 the roadway to Ole Dodson and ask him to give me a 
 sup. Wait! Wait!" 
 
 And I wheeled and stepped swiftly out the gate and into 
 the path that led to the village. I remember that the houses 
 seemed mournful. Even the smoke that curled was 
 black, and the children of the village sat stiffly within 
 the door's opes with solemn faces. I passed the house of 
 Rudy Strong and even Rudy was washed and shone and 
 I called: 
 
 "Hi! Hi! Rudy!" 
 
 But he shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "Why?" I called. 
 
 He cupped his hand and hissed hoarsely: 
 
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S6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " It's Sabbat', and the dame'd crack my neck if I bended." 
 I stood and watched Rudy's misery and laughed and 
 
 danced upon my toes and called : 
 " I shall go to the mead and see the red calf." And I 
 
 turned and ran swiftly toward the mead's way. 
 
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CHAPTER VI 
 
 I WAS well upon the path when I met " Coifin " Gifford 
 and saw that he hastened villageward. I stopped and won- 
 dered whatever had betided that caused " Coffin " Gifford 
 to hasten. I resolved to follow him and find out. He did 
 not see me and I followed, skipping hither and yon down 
 the deserted streetway. He turned when he came to the 
 shop of Ole Dodson and knocked upon the closed shutters. 
 Ole did not answer and I sat upon a sod and waited. He 
 knocked once more and the shutter rattled and Ole peeped 
 out. I heard " Coffin " Gifford speak kindly to Ole and it 
 was something about Reuben Passwater. I wondered if it 
 was a box they were speaking of, and I went over the way 
 and pulled at " Coffin " Gifford's long-tailed coat and 
 asked : 
 
 " Is Mr. Reuben a deader? " 
 
 He brushed me away, much as one would brush a fly, 
 and strode along the path swiftly towards the Misses Snifly. 
 Ole Dodson had shut the shutter with a snap and left me 
 staring. I followed " Coffin " Gifford to the Sniflys'. The 
 Snifly house looked very much like Miss Snifly. It was 
 flouncy, and had a little lattice window at the roof that 
 looked like Miss Snifly's two white teeth that protruded. 
 It was a wee-tiny-bit-little house and was like Miss Snifly's 
 bonnet at the roof and the smoke curled out like the 
 feather that went " pst, pst, pst." 
 
 " Coffin " Gifford stepped upon the step, and I know it 
 was fancy, but I seemed to see the house tilt up. He bent 
 his long neck when the door was opened and humped in. 
 I was disappointed, so I sat down and made a little house 
 of pebbles and waited. Sally Trueblood told me that wait- 
 ing was like water. When you were thirsty you drank and 
 when you was curious you waited. So I waited. After a 
 
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58 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 while the door opened and " Coffin " Gifford humped out 
 and Miss Snifly followed. Her flounces fairly trembled and 
 her cheeks flamed and I heard him shout to the deaf Miss 
 Snifly: 
 
 " Reuben Passwater has disappeared." 
 
 You see, Sally Trueblood was right. I had waited. I 
 sidled up the short path to the door and timidly called to 
 Miss Snifly: 
 
 "Where did he go?" 
 
 She did not answer, and " Coffin " Gifford walked very 
 fast down the streetway toward Passwater's. At this point 
 I noticed that the village was stirring, and streams of Sab- 
 bath blacks crawled toward Passwater's. I knew I did not 
 dare to follow. Miss Patricia with Mr. Reuben was bad, 
 but Miss Patricia without Mr. Reuben was worse. 
 
 I turned very slowly toward the inn, thinking of Delicia 
 Prue and knowing that my friend, hunger, was walking with 
 me. When I came to the old familiar spot, my little throat 
 swelled. I did not know why, but I wanted to throw my 
 arms wide and run right up the stairs and burst the door 
 open and just put my head upon Sally Trueblood's shoul- 
 der and tell her, tell her, tell her, all about the awful aching. 
 I would go. I started to run, and without stopping ran 
 up the stairway and through the still unlatched door into 
 the little room where we had loved. 
 
 It was bright and quiet, except for a little cricket that 
 chirped and chirped and chirped. Somehow it seemed to 
 cheer me. I sat down by the dead hearth and picked up 
 one of the broken branches that she had laid there. I re- 
 member her own fingers had curled about this very one 
 and I kissed it. I wondered had she put a little loaf upon 
 the shelf with perhaps some honey. I got from off the 
 bench and tiptoed over to the shelf. It was bare. I began 
 to cry and I said aloud: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, they don't want me. The Vicar 
 knows it. Their eyes hurt." 
 
 And I sobbed aloud. Then, drying my eyes, I went to 
 the little box and thought I should take it to God's house 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 59 
 
 where I was to live. I slipped my hand over the patches 
 in my cape that she had sewn there and began weeping- 
 once more. Then my hand fell upon a hood. It was a 
 blue one and had been beautiful. It was hers when eyes 
 didn't hurt her, and pinned to this was another note. I 
 unpinned it and crushing it in my hand, took my box and 
 fled. I would go to Miss Patricia's. Mr. Passwater had 
 said I should sleep there. So I trudged, bearing my box — 
 all that I possessed — to Miss Patricia's. 
 
 There was a goodly gathering about the door and when I 
 made my appearance there was a commotion. They did not 
 speak to me, but they spoke to each other. The door was 
 open and I stepped timidly through it, still holding to my 
 box. Miss Patricia was weeping and Miss Snifly and Mrs.. 
 Kirby were lending^ their kerchiefs. I do not know but this 
 is fancy, but it seemed to me that Miss Patricia looked hap- 
 pier weeping than I had ever seen her. She did not notice 
 me. I sat down my box and went up to her just as I would 
 have gone up to Sally Trueblood when she wept and I 
 said: 
 
 " Miss Patricia, I hope I did not make you unhappy. 
 You know they do move. Mr. Reuben said so." 
 
 She sat up very straight and spoke Sally Trueblood's 
 name and a word that I did not know, but those that heard 
 looked shocked and I felt ashamed. It was not one of the 
 words Rudy Strong knew. He knew three and he always 
 went behind something to say them. Miss Patricia said this 
 out right straight and told them to put me out. I turned 
 and took up my box and I said slowly : 
 
 " Never mind. I don't care, and Sally Trueblood shall not 
 know. You see, I am to live with God." 
 
 I trudged out with my box and I do not recall all that 
 I did that last part of the afternoon, but I do remember 
 that I went to Gifford's and found the doors shut and that 
 the inn had been locked when I returned. Then I had 
 gone to Ole Dodson's, but the shutters were up and by this 
 time it was most dark, and so quiet. I heard the cows low- 
 ing and the fowls making ready to sleep. There were no 
 
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6o HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 village children upon the streetway. I passed Rudy 
 Strong's, but it was dark. 
 
 I wondered where I should go. I put down the box and 
 sat upon it and wept. Then suddenly the little note in my 
 hand came to my mind. I opened it. It was very dim light, 
 but I read three words, " Are you playing ? " My heart 
 leapt. I was playing! I forgot! Then something hap- 
 pened. Something warm and soft rubbed against me. It 
 was Gifford's pink-nosed cat. I just took it up and loved it. 
 It was warm and felt like Sally Trueblood's hair, and I 
 said: 
 
 " Have you supped ? I smell mutton." 
 
 He made a long mew, and I stroked him and I said : 
 
 " Was it nice and brown? It smells like that." 
 
 He made another long mew. 
 
 " I guess you have sup at morning and mid sup and per- 
 haps eve sup ? " 
 
 It mewed. I sighed, for I never remember but one sup 
 and what Sally Trueblood had called " the evening's jest." 
 
 The cat strolled slowly down the path and I took up my 
 box and followed him. He went to the chapel and I saw 
 that the sexton had a light. It was dark by now and as I 
 went in the gate I was a little afraid. I followed the chapel 
 wall about until I had come to the sextonage where the light 
 shone. I looked through the shutter that was turned and 
 I saw the sexton bended over a great bowl of something 
 that steamed. I remember him now. He had high cheeks 
 and they were long and he had a mole, but it was a nice 
 mole, and he had a funny big nose just like a hump, and 
 long white hair. He was whistling. My heart felt lighter. 
 
 I knocked and I heard his steps coming swiftly, though 
 he was tottering a bit. "Damp," he told me after. He 
 opened the door and light streamed out from his candles. 
 The cat marched straight in and I followed. He went to the 
 fire. So did I. The sexton bolted the door and rubbed 
 his hands and his kind lips were smiling and he said : 
 
 " Noo, noo, now. I been waitin' long. What kep' ye ? " 
 
 "What?" I asked. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 6i 
 
 " What kep' ye ? " the sexton asked once more. 
 
 "Oh, lots of things," I answered. "Why?" 
 
 " Shoo now. I had the porridge steamin' 'alf evenin'. 
 Aye, since sunnin's out." 
 
 I looked at him wide-eyed and answered: 
 
 " But I did not know you had porridge. Oh, I am 
 hungry ! " 
 
 He came over to me and took my box and made a great 
 deal over it, saying: 
 
 " What now hast thee, little lady ? A box ? My, my, 
 my ! " And he patted my hand. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " It's my box." 
 
 " And what be in ut? " 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. " Sally Trueblood made 
 it up." 
 
 " Well, well now. Sally Trueblood. Well, well now. 
 Ye don't mean it! Not the beautiful lady, Sally True- 
 blood?" 
 
 I flung my arms out and swept upon him. 
 
 " Yes, yes," I cried. " Do you know her ? She is beau- 
 tiful, isn't she?" 
 
 " Shoo, shoo. But 'e be hungerin'. Come, lass, come." 
 
 I went up to the table slab where two pewter bowls 
 steamed and two gray loaves beside them. There were 
 ladles, too. I sat upon the bench he drew up, very primly, 
 and I ate very mincingly. He watched me and urged that 
 I take copiously. 
 
 "Fill'eoop. Gang. Fill'eoop!" 
 
 I raised my brows and said, looking as much like Miss 
 Willoughby as I could: " Sir?" 
 
 He looked rather puzzled. I sipped daintily. The cat 
 was rubbing about my legs that dangled down from the 
 bench. The sexton's lips, I believe, twitched and he said 
 slowly : 
 
 " P'raps I be addressin' one no' o' my station." 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " I am Lady Lilyfinger. My coach 
 was delayed by the shower. Be off like a good man and 
 bring a sup, say of some old mould." 
 
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62 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Eh ? " the sexton grunted and sat twirling his great 
 thumbs. " Aye, I see. Aye." 
 
 And he bowed very low and went to a half tub and took 
 out water and poured it in a mug and came back laughing. 
 I laughed, too. 
 
 " Then you play ! Oh, isn't it fun ? " 
 
 He sat down and looked into the low fire and did not an- 
 swer. I had finished and got off the bench and said : 
 
 " I think I shall go now, thank you." 
 
 " Where ? " the sexton asked. 
 
 "What?" I asked. 
 
 "Where?" the sexton asked once more. 
 
 " Well, I do not know. I think I shall sleep with Sally 
 Trueblood." 
 
 I took up my box and the sexton got up and lay his 
 hand, such a big hand, so gently upon me. 
 
 " Na, na," he whispered. " Bide 'e here." 
 
 " No, the Vicar said I should live with God in the 
 chapel." 
 
 " Na, na," the sexton answered. " Dwell 'e here. See ! 
 I'll kindle oop the fire and such a tale ! " And he made a 
 great mouth. I fell. 
 
 I stood waiting, a little loth to stay, yet fast failing in 
 my resolution to go. 
 
 " Is it about the sea ? " I asked. 
 
 " Na, na," the sexton said and shook his head slowly, 
 bending over the fast dying fire to throw on more wood, and 
 very slowly sat down upon the settle. " Na." 
 
 " Then I guess I shall go. I fancy the sea." 
 
 " Na, na," the sexton said. " I shall tell 'ee o' Obadiah 
 Willoughby." 
 
 I sat down upon my box and blinked. 
 
 " He is a deader," I stated and shook my head. " I don't 
 like deaders. Did Obadiah Willoughby have a long black 
 box?" 
 
 " Na, na," the sexton said. " Come." 
 
 And I got off my box and walked up to him. 
 
 " May I sit upon your knee ? " 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 63 
 
 He lifted me up. The cat leapt to my arms and we three 
 sat facing the fire. 
 
 "Is it a long story?" I asked. 
 
 " Na so long." 
 
 " Well, did Obadiah Willoughby have steel-blue eyes ? " 
 
 " Na, they be brown." 
 
 " Then, I don't want to hear of Obadiah Willoughby." 
 
 I was stroking the cat and the sexton cleared his throat 
 and stared long into the fire and said: 
 
 " A-e — ^yes, it is o' the sea." 
 
 " Well," I answered, " but his eyes are brown. Did 
 Obadiah Willoughby sail?" 
 
 The sexton shook his head. " Yea." 
 
 " Then did he come back with a chest of gold ? " 
 
 " Na, he ne'er did return," the sexton said. 
 
 "What?" I said. "But you told me he lay beneath 
 the big stone that reads ' Obadiah Willoughby. At Rest,' 
 and I fancied his stomach made the mound high. Well, tell 
 me about him, but do have his eyes steel-blue." 
 
 The sexton cleared his throat once more and I nestled 
 down and the cat tucked his head in my neck's curve and 
 purred. 
 
 " 'Ee see," the sexton said, " he war a wildish 'un and 
 there be them that called him a devil." 
 
 I sat up very straight and got down from the sexton's 
 lap. 
 
 " I shall not listen to such a tale," and took up my box. 
 The sexton seemed to understand and said: 
 
 " Then we roast apples, eh ? " 
 
 And he brought out two yellow ones with black specks 
 all dotty on them. I sniffed and he set them very deliber- 
 ately before the fire. I watched but would not go near. 
 They smelled beautifully. I licked my lips and wondered if 
 the tale was a good one. I sat down beside my box and 
 I just let my head rest upon it a little while. Then I for- 
 got and I was out upon a sea sailing upon one of the yellow 
 apples with my little note that read, "Are you playing?" 
 Then — well, there was not any then. 
 
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CHAPTER VII 
 
 I WAKED in the morning in a little cot. It was white and 
 clean and there was a lattice over it, with a little traily vine 
 that made the sunshine dance, and there was a bird swinging 
 upon it, and I sat up and said : " Who are you ? " 
 
 He eyed me but did not answer. And I climbed up to the 
 lattice and he flew away. I sat upon the side of the cot 
 wondering about the day before and where Mr. Passwater 
 was and why I was here. Then the cat came and I remem- 
 bered. I found my clothes folded very carefully and dis- 
 covered that I was in my sleeping garment. I hastened 
 and dressed and ran to the door, for the sexton was not 
 there. 
 
 I opened the latch and looked out. It was very early 
 and the sun was a beautiful rosy gold, all painting up the 
 white stones, and the tangled grasses glistened and sounded 
 out a chorus of scraping wings. I saw the sexton bending 
 over the new mound and went to the spot. He was digging 
 a pit and making ready to set a willow. 
 
 I watched his great hands lovingly spreading the mealy 
 earth about the slender root and his lips were smiling. I 
 shouted : 
 
 " It's morning, Mr. Sexton. Look, it's beautiful morn- 
 ing!" 
 
 He was still stooping over the willow and looked up and 
 his pale eyes were starlike. He smiled and reached one 
 clay-stained hand up to his cap and doffed it and stood up, 
 and I remember that the sun shone upon his white locks and 
 the wind blew them about his face and he pointed to the 
 willow. 
 
 " Oh, did you put it there for me?" I cried. " She will 
 love it and perhaps it will grow up to be a tall swayey tree 
 and the birds will nest in it." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 65 
 
 The sexton nodded and asked had I supped. I shook 
 my head "no," and he said: 
 
 " I ha'e set the bowls. 'Tis fresh milk and a white 
 loaf." 
 
 I ran swiftly within and caught up the bowl and loaf and 
 ran without and cried: 
 
 " May I sit beside Sally Trueblood and just eat this with 
 her?" 
 
 He nodded and turned slow and went to the sextonage. I 
 found a stone and sat down beside the new mound. I held 
 up the loaf and whispered: 
 
 " Think of it, Sally Trueblood, white bread ! And milk ! " 
 
 And I supped long and licked my lips. Two birds flut- 
 tered down and lighted upon the mound and I cast them 
 crumbs. I ate very slowly and drained the bowl of the 
 milk and sat watching the shadows and lights play like 
 living things among the stones and paths. I heard a step 
 leading to the chapel and sat the bowl down and swiftly 
 ran to the great gate. It was Miss Snifly and I called, 
 "Morning, Miss Snifly!" 
 
 She turned, stared at me, tossed her head and flounced 
 on. I was hurt and stood a long time watching her go her 
 way. The tears started up and I felt lonely. Then there 
 sounded the call of Rudy. I saw two dogs scurrying up the 
 roadway and the dust rising as they came, and following 
 them, his hair blowing wildly, and shrieking, was Rudy. 
 I climbed up the iron fence and pressed my face through 
 but did not call. Rudy spied me and shrieked : " Hi, Hope, 
 hi ! " I did not answer and with one hand wiped off my 
 cheek some of the drops that had slipped out. He left the 
 dogs and came running up to the fence where I stood and 
 held out a dead rat. 
 
 " Wuggles killed 'im," he stated, his eyes shining in pride. 
 I shuddered and hid my eyes. 
 
 " Aw, it's a big un. Look, he bit him through." 
 
 " Throw it away ! " I shrieked. " Oh, Rudy, throw it 
 away ! " 
 
 " Na," Rudy answered, " I'm goin' to put it in the path tO' 
 
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66 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Ole Dodson's shop. Oh, my eye, but won't the wimmin 
 dodge!" 
 
 Suddenly he saw that I had been weeping and he stood, 
 the limp rat in one hand and the other scratching his head. 
 
 " What's wrong? " he asked. 
 
 I began to whimper and answered : 
 
 " I don't know, but Miss Snifty passed and I called, 
 * Morning, Miss Snifly,' and she sniffed and did not answer." 
 
 "She is a rotter!" Rudy stated. "Hope, Rube Pass- 
 water's gone." 
 
 "Whereto?" I asked. 
 
 " Dunno, but they be sayin down at Ole Dodson's that 
 *he Vicar had no more 'an washed afore the Sniflys and 
 Kirbys and ' Coffin ' Giffords and all come on him. I heard 
 'em sayin' that they'd unfrock him." 
 
 I stood terrified. Unfrock the Vicar ! I saw him, in my 
 young mind, stark naked. 
 
 "They wouldn't, Rudy," I cried. "They wouldn't. 
 Miss Snifly would never get over it." 
 
 " Oh, I dunno," said Rudy. " Where you goin'? " 
 
 I stood staring toward Gifford's and did not answer. 
 
 " I found a cave up the meadow way. Come on." 
 
 " No," I answered. 
 
 " Aw, you needn't be proud cause the deader's yours ! " 
 
 " She's no deader," I answered. 
 
 "Yes, she is," Rudy taunted, and I flew at him. He 
 slipped through the great gate and I sped after. We ran 
 for some way down the village path, Rudy calling, " Deader f 
 Deader! Deader!" 
 
 I stumbled and fell. My knee was bruised and I sat 
 where I fell and gave vent to tears and sobs. Rudy did 
 not await my resuming the chase, but sped on and I did 
 not care to follow. The Vicar was upon my mind. I got 
 ■up rubbing my knee and dried my eyes when Mrs. Kirby, 
 upon her way to the shop, passed. I ran to meet her, still 
 rubbing my knee, and called : 
 
 " They would not unfrock the Vicar, would they, Mrs. 
 Kirby?" 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 67 
 
 " Mind your manners, and leave elders be," she answered 
 acidly. 
 
 I stood staring and my lip trembled. I turned very slowly 
 and walked back to the chapel yard, found the stone of 
 Felicia Trueblood and sat down in its shadow. I did not 
 wish to see any man or woman. I was hurt. The Giffords' 
 cat found me and slept a long while in my lap. I did not 
 want to play in the sunshine, but to hide away where I 
 could see Sally Trueblood's smile and dream of her. Some- 
 how within me it seemed, when I was near the mound, I 
 was with her. When the sun was high I could not stand 
 the heat and went into the sextonage. 
 
 The sexton was gone but there was a bit of hare and a 
 loaf upon the table. I wandered about the sextonage and 
 found many things that showed that some one had known 
 the sea who lived there. There was a beautiful mass of sea- 
 weeds and a great shell and some small ones and I found a 
 silver buckle upon which was traced faintly, " O. W." It 
 was wrapped in a linen kerchief such as gentlemen wore. 
 It was fine and soft and the buckle was a throat clas]i. 
 " O. W. ! " I wondered what this was and rubbed it upon 
 my woolen skirt. It shone beautifully and I pinned it upon 
 my breast. Then I went to the little chamber where I had 
 slept. The sun shone through the lattice faintly now, but 
 was glowing bright without. 
 
 I found my box and sat upon the floor to unpack it. 
 First, there was the blue hood upon which I had found the 
 note. I kissed it and held it up and from out its frill hung 
 one long trailey hair. It was Sally Trueblood's. I let it 
 lie upon my hand and put it carefully back in the hood. 
 Then there was the feather. It was not beautiful now but 
 long and wispy. It had belonged to the hood, Sally True- 
 blood told me. Then there were the slippers, white and 
 buckled of gold. They had such thin little soles. I 
 stretched out my leg and looked at my foot, then at the 
 slipper. My stockings were gray-knit, — she had made them, — 
 and my shoes were buskins. I slipped off my worn shoes 
 and donned the slippers. Then there was a locket, a little 
 
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68 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 flat locket. It hung upon a worn ribband. Its back was 
 silver and upon it was traced " G. W." I turned it slowly 
 over in my hand and faced a miniature, a gentleman whose 
 chestnut hair hung well upon his shoulders. It waved at 
 the temples and brow and his lips were fearless and smil- 
 ing. It was a pleasant face. I liked it and I looked to see 
 whether his eyes were steel-blue. They were not. They 
 were brown. Then I discovered the ribband and a note 
 pinned to it. I took it to the light and read : 
 
 " The great bee, Hope. Say it slowly : He will come." 
 
 I stood looking at the gentleman long and I liked him 
 very, very much. He seemed to just know me and I said : 
 
 " Mr. Bee, I am Sally Trueblood's brat." 
 
 Then I just kissed the gentleman and hung him about my 
 neck. There was a silken skirt, much frayed, but it had 
 a long tail, and a little ring of silver, two hearts linked. 
 Upon one was scribed O, and upon the other, S. 
 
 You see, Sally Trueblood had taught me to letter. We 
 had great games of spelling. When it was dark, she would 
 spell, H-O-P-E and I would call, "Hope"; L-O-V-E, and 
 I would call, "love"; Y-O-U, "you," I would laugh. 
 Then I would spell, and when it was light she would write 
 very, very much with a quill and stain. There was a small 
 book all written full in the box, but I did not seem to care 
 for this. Then there was the quill and some stain, some lit- 
 tle garments much too small for me, and a little curl, all 
 flaxen. This was all. 
 
 The sexton had laid out all of my clothing, which was 
 little. I took up the hood and the quill and took out from 
 the hood the trailey hair and wrapped it around the quill. 
 Then I packed back the box, except for the skirt of silk 
 with the long trail and the hood and feather. In these I 
 arrayed my small person. I preened long, lifting my 
 skirt as I had seen Miss Willoughby lift hers, though mine 
 was scant except for the tail. The hood was much too 
 large and flopped about my small face. So, gorgeously be- 
 decked, I stepped forth to the chapel yard. The slippers 
 would scarcely stay upon my feet and the skirt tripped me 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 69 
 
 many times, but I stepped as haughtily as all of these smaller 
 matters would permit, toward the mound of Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby. 
 
 Here I bowed and let down my long trail and strode 
 about, arching my brows. I spoke in a strained voice, asking 
 after Mr. Willoughby's health. Then I remembered I 
 moved regally toward the mound of Willie Pimm Pass- 
 water and I recall that I called him a good child and spoke 
 familiarly of his sister, Patricia. I seemed to relish this and 
 sneered the word " Patricia." I lost a slipper and sat flat 
 upon the ground in my silk to put it on, arising and mopping 
 my face, for the hood was warm. I remember watching my 
 shadow and how the feather, that I had stuck in it tipsily, 
 nodded. I passed on and found a shadow and sat to rest. 
 Then the thing that undid me happened. The Giflfords' cat 
 had caught a bird before my very eyes and I had made to 
 run and had fallen within a rose bramble. I fought blindly 
 and was scratched unmercifully. I cried aloud and finally 
 extracted myself from its thorny embrace much tattered 
 and bleeding. 
 
 Then the game seemed to vanish and I stood looking 
 every way, but no one was in sight. I could hear my 
 heart thumping and I went and hid behind the stone of 
 Felicia Trueblood. The evening drew on and still I sat 
 and I knew that the little me could never be the same. 
 
 I sat long, until the shadows had vanished and a gray 
 hung about the chapel walls and o'er the walls of 
 the sextonage. Still I feared to seek from my hiding, but 
 sat longer, waiting I know not what, still arrayed in the 
 silken skirt and hood, the feather hanging limp upon one 
 shoulder. I seem to see myself even now and feel the fear 
 that filled up my breast. I was filled of a great why, so 
 dark, so deep-rooted that its shadow would ever follow me. 
 
 Why had Miss Snifly turned and not answered my 
 "morning"? Why had Miss Patricia called me a brat? 
 Why did they bite their lips when I told them that I was 
 Sally Trueblood's brat? Why did the Vicar speak of cast- 
 ing stones and guilt and sin, and why had they gotten up 
 
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70 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 and left us, and why had the Vicar stood so white ? Was it 
 Sally Trueblood? What had she done? No, it was never 
 Sally Trueblood, for she was so beautiful, so very, very 
 good, so very, very patient. No, 'twas never Sally True- 
 blood. 
 
 I got up very slowly and walked to the new mound and I 
 knelt and whispered: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, are you listening? Why did you leave 
 me? Why do eyes hurt? They do, Sally Trueblood. Oh, 
 they do. Your brat knows it." 
 
 But silence answered me, and a great aching clutched my 
 throat, and I drew a long sob. Then the great chilling fear 
 crept over me and I beat my small fists upon the sods and 
 cried : 
 
 " You must not leave me ! You must not ! No, no, Sally 
 Trueblood! You must_not." And I sunk weeping. 
 
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CHAPTER VIII 
 
 I WEARIED and lay upon the sods looking up, and the gray 
 overhead became sparkling, and the sparkling cheered me. 
 I remembered the hole in the inn's roof and the little star 
 that sparkled there. Then I sat filled of wild thoughts. Miss 
 Patricia came to my mind, and I do not know why, but I 
 felt a great pity within me for her tears. I wondered 
 where Mr. Reuben was, and was she lonely, and my heart 
 ached. I foigot her moles and only remembered her 
 weeping. 
 
 The sexton had come from the village and lighted the 
 candles. I saw their pale light streaming through the shut- 
 ters, but Miss Patricia and her grief were upon me. I 
 would go to Miss Patricia. 
 
 I stood up from the shadow that clung to the stone of 
 Felicia Trueblood and looked about the chapel yard. The 
 stones tipped in ghastly whiteness this way and that. I 
 was fear-stricken and shivered and looked up. The stars 
 were sparkling and my heart leapt. I turned in my won- 
 drous robes and stepped into the pathway out the great 
 gate and turned into the path to the Passwaters'. I remem- 
 ber that a great loneliness crept over me. I seemed so 
 small. I heard a singing in some house deeper within the 
 village and I knew that some housewife was doing up the 
 pewter. I wondered why the whole village seemed so very 
 quiet. Pale lights streamed out of the shutters, but they 
 were not for me. I swallowed a great lump and I remem- 
 ber that my throat made a sound that was not a sob, but 
 a sigh clutched by an aching throat. I began to run and 
 tripped, for the slippers were very large, and I sat down 
 and took them off and ran in my gray stockings. I would 
 go to Miss Patricia. The very earth seemed to press lone- 
 liness upon me. I looked up to the sky and it seemed so 
 
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72 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 very, very, very high. I wondered where, up there, Sally 
 Trueblood was. Did she see me ? I made my lips speak her 
 name : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood ! Sally Trueblood ! Why do you not 
 come ? " 
 
 I turned down the path to the inn, and when I had come 
 to it, there was no light beneath the eaves, and I stood long, 
 my eyes very round, watching. Then the tears, hot and 
 stinging, filled in upon me and I wept. I could not keep 
 my lips firm. They trembled and my throat worked. There 
 was a light in the inn's great .room and Peter Goff was 
 stirring the great pot that hung, but the fire seemed dead 
 and the shadows were mournful — ^not the wonderful ones 
 that skipped that I loved to watch. There was no thing 
 about the inn that held me and I looked once more to the 
 eaves and blew a kiss. Then I turned with a quaking heart 
 and sped to Passwater's. 
 
 I remember that the little house was prim and straight 
 and rather thin, like Miss Patricia. There was a prim 
 little picket about the yardway and a gate that hung very 
 straight. I seem to recall it was the only one that hung so 
 in the' village. It was here that I became conscious that a 
 stone had worked its way into the foot of my stocking and 
 was hurting. I sat down upon the gravel way when I had 
 opened the gate and removed the stocking and the stone. 
 Then, in one stocking and the wonderful silken skirt and 
 hood and feather, the slippers clutched to my bosom and 
 the locket and pin upon my breast, I marched up to the 
 door of the Passwater abode and knocked. 
 
 I seemed to believe that Miss Patricia was sorrowful, and 
 away down within me came the fancy that if I should seek 
 her when she was sorrowful she would unbend. 
 
 I listened. There was no sound. I could hear my heart 
 thumping and I reached forth one hand and smote the 
 door once more. It snapped open and out from the dark 
 pit came one word, " Well ! " I echoed it tremorously, 
 " Well." A hand shot forth and clutched me and I was 
 dragged to the Passwaters' sitting room. There was a fire 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 73 
 
 smouldering and Mr. Reuben's comfort-feet * beside it. I 
 noticed this, and his house wrapper hung upon the back of 
 the great chair, and the hassock was drawn up. I also 
 remember that the bottle of port and the mulling cup stood 
 beside it. 
 
 I leaned over toward the fire, for the night air was chilly, 
 and Miss Patricia released her hold upon me and pointed to 
 the hassock. Then she saw that I was stockingless upon 
 one foot and she caught sight of something that seemed to 
 startle her, for her little round eyes popped out and then 
 in and then out again. She wheeled and brought forth two 
 new candles and I knew that something wonderful had 
 caused this. She lighted the candle from a taper she held 
 in the fire and placed them upon the table that was covered 
 with the woolen scarf. Then she turned very slowly and 
 snapped out : " Come here ! " 
 
 I stood up, blinking in the new light, and trod over the 
 garlanded carpet, and I remember that the straw beneath 
 tickled my soles. Miss Patricia clutched me and I remem- 
 bered a story that Sally Trueblood told me of a goblin that 
 had claws of iron. Miss Patricia's fingers seemed to sink 
 into my flesh. She stared not at me, but at my bosom, 
 and I heard her breathe very softly two words that were 
 not clear, but Miss Patricia's voice trembled and her eyes 
 were wet. She took one hand from my shoulder and it 
 shook, and she touched the locket that hung with the beau- 
 tiful gentleman's face toward her, as though it were hot. 
 I wondered what made Miss Patricia so very white and I 
 said: 
 
 " That is Mr. Bee." 
 
 Miss Patricia did not answer me, nor ask more, but sat 
 down in the great armchair and stared very long into the 
 .smouldering fire. I did not speak, for I knew Miss Pa- 
 tricia was like Sally Trueblood when she did not wish me 
 to speak. 
 
 I heard the bird hopping in its wicker and an ember fell 
 from one log and sent up sparks that were very merry, but 
 
 * Slippers. 
 
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74 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 even this did not start Miss Patricia. Her jaw hung 
 open and her moles were quiet. I sighed a long sigh and 
 cleared my throat, but still Miss Patricia did not move. 
 
 I arose, and I seem to see myself now as I write, one 
 bare foot and the gray stocking, still clutching the slippers 
 and the hood flopping about my face, with the feather now 
 hanging rakishly from the side. I went up to Miss Patricia 
 and set the slippers down very quietly. Then I laid my 
 stockings beside them and wiped my hands upon the silken 
 skirt. Then I touched one of Miss Patricia's hands and 
 crept up to her and laid my cheek upon her arm and said : 
 
 " We are twins, aren't we, Miss Patricia? You are sorry 
 and I am sorry. You are alone and so am I. Where is 
 Mr. Reuben?" 
 
 Miss Patricia did not bend nor answer. I crept a little 
 closer and I said: 
 
 " Would you just like to put your head right here ? " and 
 I laid my hand upon my breast. " Sally Trueblood said 
 there was sunshine here." 
 
 Miss Patricia still sat very straight and I looked to the 
 fire. There was a thin fire-log with a straight back and 
 it looked like Miss Patricia. I stood waiting and patted 
 her hand. 
 
 " You know you could just put your head right here and 
 I could love away the sorry." 
 
 Miss Patricia did not bend. Then my heart thumped and 
 I just threw my arms wide and flung them about Miss Pa- 
 tricia's neck and cried: 
 
 " I love you ! Oh, I love you ! " And I kissed Miss 
 Patricia's thin lips and then — it happened. 
 
 I never knew that Miss Patricia's cheek was so soft, nor 
 that she could hug, but it was soft and she could hug. 
 And there were beautiful shiny tears all over her cheeks. 
 I say they were beautiful because they were. They made 
 Miss Patricia's eyes young. I was afraid to move, so I laid 
 my cheek up to Miss Patricia's and I said : 
 
 " Let's cry." And we did. 
 
 It was very quiet and the smouldering fire sent such 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 75 
 
 little creepy shadows up and o'er the ceiling as my head 
 lay upon the shoulder of Miss Patricia. I was weeping, 
 and so was she. She sighed, so did I. I was afraid to 
 move, for I feared she would suddenly cry out, " Well ! " 
 And there was such a warm, warm feeling within my breast, 
 for I was with Miss Patricia and she held me and I knew 
 that she was not the Miss Patricia that snapped, but that 
 she was the Miss Patricia that loved and was lonely. 
 
 I sat very quiet, listening. The fire snapped and crackled 
 in its embering. I watched little thin blue smoke ribbands 
 climb up the chimney and waited. Then I looked to the 
 wicker where the bird was silent and saw that he was sleep- 
 ing, his head beneath his wing. Miss Patricia had loosed 
 her arms about me and sat now wiping her eyes. I wiped 
 mine and smiled, a sunshine smile, just like Sally Trueblood 
 loved. She did not smile, and I waited longer. She looked 
 to the locket and lay her hand upon it and whispered : 
 
 " How came you by it ? " 
 
 " It is Sally Trueblood's. It is Mr. Bee." 
 
 "No, no," said Miss Patricia. "It is Where did 
 
 Sally Trueblood get it?" 
 
 " I do not know," I answered, " but you see it was in my 
 box with this," and I touched the silk skirt, the blue hood 
 and the feather that now fell down my back. 
 
 Miss Patricia only now seemed to see that I was arrayed 
 in the beautiful robes of Sally Trueblood. She set me upon 
 my feet and arose and surveyed me from top to bottom and 
 her lips opened and she said, " Well ! " 
 
 "They are beautiful, aren't they?" I asked. "See! 
 This is her hood. You see, it was beautiful, she said, and 
 this feather hung long and flowing from the side. She 
 wore this before eyes hurt her, and this," and I touched 
 the locket. " I do not know the gentleman, but I like him. 
 He has such a smile. It makes one feel like laughing right 
 back. But his eyes are brown. I do not like brown eyes. 
 STou see, my eyes are brown, like his, she says. I like 
 steel-blue eyes. Oh, I wish his eyes were steel-blue! I 
 love steel-blue eyes. Don't you, Miss Patricia?" 
 
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76 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Miss Patricia did not answer me and I ran on : 
 
 " You see, Sally Trueblood loved brown eyes. They were 
 true, she said. I think she meant Mr. Bee's. They are 
 true, aren't they, Miss Patricia?" I asked, as I turned the 
 locket that I might look at the smiling face that showed 
 there. 
 
 Miss Patricia snapped, "No." 
 
 I started and said : " Yes — ^um, but I believe they are, 
 for she told me so and she never, never lied." 
 
 Miss Patricia would not look at the gentleman, but sat 
 staring at the fire. One arm still lay about me and I rested 
 my head upon her shoulder again, sighing. She did not 
 speak for a long while, and I remember that I sat wonder- 
 ing what the sexton was doing and if he missed me, but 
 he did not come. But I remember that within me came the 
 feeling that there was no one who missed me, or who would 
 welcome me. Then I stroked Miss Patricia's hand and 
 my eyes seemed heavy. I saw Mr. Reuben's house wrapper 
 waiting him and I felt that Miss Patricia was sorrowing 
 that he had gone. I remarked softly: 
 
 " Don't you think Mr. Reuben will come ? Rudy Strong 
 told me that he heard at Ole Dodson's that the village said 
 that he had ridden away upon your tongue, but of course 
 this is not true, is it, Miss Patricia? Of course it is not, 
 for I saw your tongue. I know you wonder why I came. 
 Well, listen! I knew you loved me. Do you know 
 how?" 
 
 Miss Patricia shook her head " no." 
 
 " Well, because you see you didn't have to give me the 
 Scotch cake or the plum. It was very nice Scotch cake." 
 Miss Patricia smiled. " I liked it. The plum was a big one. 
 And I said right down in me, ' Miss Patricia is like a thun- 
 der shower. The sun's there.' 
 
 " You see, Sally Trueblood always said we made our own 
 clouds. That was why we did not see the sun. Well, I 
 made clouds over you when I came to see your moles. I am 
 sorry, but they did move." 
 
 Miss Patricia sat very straight and did not vouchsafe 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 77 
 
 a reply. She let me down and went over to the candles and 
 blew them out. Then she stirred the embers and laid a 
 log on the glowing bed. It smoked and soon was burning. 
 She sat in the great armchair. She turned to me and said : 
 " Come here ! " 
 
 I went over to her and she sat me upon her lap, and I 
 remember that she smoothed my rumpled locks away from 
 my brow and her hand was not hard and she said: 
 
 " Tell me, when do you first remember Sally Trueblood ? " 
 
 " Always," I answered. " Always and always." 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " When do you first remem- 
 ber her?" 
 
 " I remember her," I said, " when they wore pinafores. 
 She told me they wore pinafores. She told me she had 
 two beautiful eyes and she was afraid of the dark. You 
 see, I used to play with her. She could make such wonder- 
 games." 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " No. You do not remember 
 Sally Trueblood in pinafores." 
 
 " Yes, but I do. You see^ you do not know, Miss Patricia. 
 I know." 
 
 " Yes, I understand," Miss Patricia answered, " but when 
 do you remember Sally Trueblood after eyes hurt her?" 
 
 " I did not know her then. You see, she told me that the 
 Sally Trueblood in pinafores had died. Then was she a 
 deader. Miss Patricia? I did not know what she meant 
 when she said that Sally Trueblood who wore pinafores 
 had died. She told me that and said she meant that the 
 pinafore baby had grown up, and then she said that tongues 
 had killed her. So we always whispered when we spoke 
 of the Sally Trueblood that eyes hurt." 
 
 MiSs Patricia was listening and nodded. 
 
 "You see, there was Sally Trueblood who hid in the 
 broken bowl. That meant she was ill." 
 
 Miss Patricia was listening. I was encouraged and 
 went on : 
 
 " You see the bowl was broken and she could stay just 
 as long as it held. Oh, but Miss Patricia it did not hold! 
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78 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 She has gone like Mr. Reuben and it doesn't do any good to 
 wait." 
 
 Miss Patricia hugged me close and I said : 
 
 " You are sorry, aren't you ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 It was growing late and yet we sat. Miss Patricia asked 
 after a bit: 
 
 " Who came to the eaves to see you ? " 
 
 " Not one soul," I answered. " Only the sun and the 
 moon. She said they were wise and knew no thing as 
 wicked. She said that when you could look straight at the 
 moon, you were sure that you never were forgotten and we 
 always waited the big moon, for it was company." 
 
 Miss Patricia was staring at me and I did not know how 
 to continue, but I was full of Her and I went on : 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia, you should just have seen her eyes 
 and her lovely locks and the lips where kisses grew in 
 bunches like grapes, all sweet and dewy, she said. She 
 always let me lie upon her bosom when night came." 
 
 "How?" said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Like this," I answered, and cuddled close. 
 
 " Then she kissed me," I ventured. 
 
 " How ? " asked Miss Patricia. 
 
 "Like this," I said, and I circled Miss Patricia's neck 
 and kissed her full upon the lips. 
 
 " Then I weighted her lids for sleeping." 
 
 " How ? " asked Miss Patricia. And I kissed both Miss 
 Patricia's lids. 
 
 "Then I prayed," I said. 
 
 " How ? " said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Like this," I answered, and I slipped to the floor and 
 knelt at Miss Patricia's knee, laying my cheek upon her 
 folded hands and looking into her eyes, as I did into Sally 
 Trueblood's. 
 
 " O dearest God, read my heart. It is all there. Bless 
 the hungered. Give ease to them that suffer. Make me 
 pure and keep Sally Trueblood." Then I whispered : " O, 
 please do not let the shadows follow her." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 79 
 
 Then I rose and explained : 
 
 " You see she told me about the shadows. She told me 
 and she said I should ask God to let His sun shine upon 
 them." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. " Yes. Kneel down." I did. 
 " Now," said Miss Patricia, " ask Him to let the sun shine 
 upon Miss Patricia." 
 
 I said it again and then I kissed her and I said : 
 
 " He will. Just wait." 
 
 Then she kissed me and took me up and I lay upon her 
 breast and watched her eyes. They were little, but they 
 were soft now, and very deep. I do not remember how long 
 we sat so, but after a time I heard a humming. It seemed 
 a long way off. Then I remember some one saying, " baby," 
 and that they kissed me, and I waked in the morning in 
 the guest room with Willie Pimm Passwater's china dog I 
 
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CHAPTER IX 
 
 I WAS bewildered and got from off the tall bed quickly 
 and sought the Passwaters' sitting room. The table was 
 spread for two. There was a bowl of warm milk and some 
 meal bread, flaky and nutlike. I was clad in one of Mr. 
 Reuben's shirts, but my heart was light, for I had a new 
 love. There was a new fire and the room was a little 
 chill. I remember drawing up my toes and sitting upon 
 the hassock with my feet beneath me, watching the fire, 
 with the china dog clutched to my heart. 
 
 The door opened and a dull person came in, a young girl 
 whose face showed that she was slow and sluggish. 
 
 " Mornin'," she nodded. 
 
 "Mornin'," I nodded back. "Who are you?" 
 
 "Tidy Timpkins." 
 
 " Tidy Timpkins," I repeated. " What a funny name ! " 
 
 " Yessum," she answered, and tittered. 
 
 She stood, with a great mug of steaming water held be- 
 iore her in both hands, staring at me, and did not move to 
 put it down. 
 
 "You had better put that down," I said. "Miss Pa- 
 tricia is coming. I hear her." 
 
 " Yessum," she answered, and set the mug of hot water 
 upon the table. Miss Patricia entered and looked with a 
 keen eye about. 
 
 I watched her and I knew that I did not dare to say, 
 " Mornin', Miss Patricia," and smile, but that I should 
 wait; for the grim Miss Patricia was back. She busied 
 about .the room, righting up. I saw her pick up Mr. Reu- 
 ben's comfort-feet and put them away. Then she came 
 back to the fireside and took up his house wrapper and 
 folded it very slowly. This she laid in a great chest that 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 8r 
 
 sat beneath the window's ope. Then she returned and took 
 the bottle of port and mulling bowl to the inner room. Still 
 I waited. 
 
 Tidy Timpkins sniffed, wiped her nose upon her hand's 
 back, pursed up her lips, whistled a long soft whistle and 
 went swiftly out. As she reached the door she turned and 
 winked and pulled her mouth comer down and whispered : 
 winked and pulled her mouth corner down and whis- 
 pered : 
 
 Then she closed the door and left me. The bird was 
 awake and fluttering wildly about in his wicker. I sat upon 
 the hassock, my feet tucked beneath me, and when Miss 
 Patricia returned she found me thus. She placed a stool 
 beside the table where the morning's sup was laid and 
 made a sign to me to come. I got from off the hassock 
 and she seemed to realize that I was not dressed. 
 
 " Bring your clothes," said Miss Patricia. " Run along 
 now. Hasten." 
 
 I ran barefoot over the garlanded carpet to the guest 
 room and returned with my clothes. Still I hugged the 
 china dog. Miss Patricia took it from me, went to the 
 what-all and placed it upon its accustomed shelf. She re- 
 turned to me and I stood waiting until she should speak to 
 me, not about clothes, but to me. She went about dressing 
 me and I remember that her hands were not hard; that she 
 fastened my garments tenderly and when she would finish 
 one, she patted my shoulder or my back. This encouraged 
 me and I whispered, as she leaned over me: 
 
 " I found the dog. Thanks." 
 
 She nodded and turned me slowly around until I faced 
 her. Then she brushed my locks very smooth and tied 
 them up with a cherry-colored ribband that she got from a 
 basket that stood upon the table. I sighed and looked up 
 to her and said: 
 
 " Is it mine ? Oh, it is beautiful ! " 
 
 She nodded and pointed that I should go and bring her a 
 bowl that stood in the guest room. I went and did as she 
 had told me with her nod and sign. She went without 
 
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82 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 and brought forth the bowl filled with water and a cloth 
 and washed my small face and dried it. Then she bent 
 down and left a very thin kiss upon my cheek. 
 
 " Thank you," I said, and sat down very primly at the 
 table and waited. 
 
 Miss Patricia came and sat down before me. I waited. 
 She poured some hot milk in my bowl and gave me a little 
 loaf of white bread. I still waited. Miss Patricia looked at 
 her bowl and picked at her loaf. Then she said, as though 
 she was not addressing me : " Willie Pimm always liked a 
 bit of salt in his porridge." 
 
 I tasted mine, a very little sup, and I said : 
 
 " Please, may I have salt?" 
 
 She handed me the salt and I said : 
 
 " Would you please just put in just what he would 
 like?" 
 
 Miss Patricia got up and came about to my side and 
 tucked in a bit of linen at my neck, then she took up the 
 salt and with her own hands put a pinch in my porridge. 
 I watched her and I saw that her hand shook and her lips 
 trembled. 
 
 " Thank you. Miss Patricia," I said. She did not answer. 
 
 I took up my loaf, as she sat down again in her place, and 
 I broke it and let its broken bits lie about my bowl. Miss 
 Patricia frowned. I started. I knew I was wrong. 
 
 "Willie Pimm wouldn't do it, would he?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " He ate from his loaf and 
 supped his porridge slowly without noise." 
 
 Miss Patricia had not taken porridge, but had taken 
 copiously of the hot water. She sat a long while crumbling 
 her loaf, and I saw and snickered. Miss Patricia reddened 
 and brushed the crumbs up in her cupped hand. Then she 
 arose and said: 
 
 " Call Tidy Timpkins. Tell her to rid up." 
 
 I called Tidy, who came rubbing her lips that still showed 
 circled of the white of milk and were crumby. Miss Pa- 
 tricia spoke a very few words to Tidy, who listened wide- 
 eyed, gulping. Then she bade me bring my hood forth 
 
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"HOPE TRUEBLOOD 83 
 
 and went to the inner room and came back with a shawl 
 over her head and her white apron. 
 
 I stood watching Miss Patricia tightly wrapping the shawl 
 about her smoothed locks, and I tied the beautiful blue 
 hood of Sally Trueblood as I watched. Miss Patricia 
 stiffened her back and opened the door. I watched her, 
 wondering would she bid that I follow her. She turned 
 when she had opened the door and made a sign and tossed 
 her head, so I knew she would have me follow. I walked 
 very slowly, watching Tidy Timpkins brush up the crumbs 
 and held out a small damp hand to Miss Patricia. She 
 took it very suddenly and drew me to her and I remember 
 that my neck cracked. I did not speak but followed on a 
 run, for Miss Patricia stepped swiftly down the village 
 way. I remember that I could not keep up and I feared 
 to speak, so I ran breathing hard and wondering where we 
 were going. Miss Patricia turned Gifford-way and I re- 
 member that as we passed the corner there were Miss Snifly, 
 Mrs. Kirby and Pious Gilford, and that they stood talking 
 and shaking their heads very much. 
 
 They saw us and drew close together. Miss Snifly raised 
 her brows and drew her shawl tighter, nor turned that she 
 speak. Mrs. Kirby arched her neck and said : " Good morn- 
 ing, Miss Patricia." 
 
 Miss Patricia sniffed and snapped : " Good enough ! " 
 
 Mrs. Kirby cast a sidelong glance at Miss Snifly, who 
 did not deign to look our way. Mrs. Kirrby ventured once 
 more: 
 
 " Where are you going this beautiiyiX morning. Miss 
 Patricia?" 
 
 " Well, I'm on my way," Miss Patricia retorted and 
 jerked me on. 
 
 Miss Snifly's flounces bobbed and trembled and she re- 
 marked one word very loudly and that was : " Well ! " And 
 her little bonnet's feather said : " Pst ! Pst ! Pst ! " 
 
 All of this I recall and that when we got to the Gifford 
 house the shutters were up and the yellow cat had come from 
 the sextonage and lay asleep in a new sunlight that had just 
 
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84 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 crept over the eaves. Miss Patricia horrified me by exclaim- 
 ing: "Scat! Scat!" 
 
 The cat arose, yawned, bowed very low and arched, then 
 rambled very slowly, leaving the steps, to Gifford's door 
 free that we might climb up and knock. Miss Patricia 
 knocked very hard, and pressed her lips thin as she knocked. 
 I remember that I wondered what all of this was about. 
 The door opened and Mrs. Vicar Gifford stood within it and 
 Nebuchadnezzar upon her hip. Miss Patricia did not speak 
 but went within. Mrs. Gifford's jaw hung open. I saw that 
 Mrs. Vicar Gifford had been weeping and I wondered had 
 they unfrocked the Vicar. I crept over to her side and 
 whispered : 
 
 "They didn't, did they, Mrs. Gifford?" 
 
 " What ? " she asked. And Miss Patricia snapped : 
 " Speak when you are spoken to ! " 
 
 I did not heed, but continued: 
 
 "But they just couldn't! Think of it. Miss Patricia!" 
 
 Miss Patricia did not listen and Nebuchadnezzar set 
 up a new wail and Miss Patricia's words and mine were 
 drowned. 
 
 The cat came in through the door that still stood open, 
 for Mrs. Gifford seemed overcome by our visit and a little 
 loth to speak. She watched Miss Patricia and hunched 
 Nebuchadnezzar to a new position upon her hip. Then she 
 spoke very slowly : 
 
 " This is too much. Miss Patricia. The village has seen 
 too much now of this child and her mother." 
 
 I remember that my heart shrunk up so very little. 
 Then I stood and listened as I heard it pounding. Mrs. 
 Gifford continued: 
 
 " It is not enough that a good man should hold up vice 
 before his flock, but that a virtuous woman like yourself 
 should bring her to the roof of a woman of family. It is 
 too much. We have seen too much of them both." 
 
 I stood and I remember that something that had never 
 filled up my breast filled it up, and after this I learned 
 to call it hate. I could feel my cheeks flaming and my 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 85 
 
 throat was dry and my tongue felt too big. Then I spoke 
 out and said: 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford, you never saw my Sally Trueblood. You 
 never knew her. You took her beautiful red from her cheeks, 
 and you let her sit in the twilight and sew, and her lovely 
 eyes were red and the twilight lay beneath them. I saw it, 
 and I asked her what the purple was and she told me it was 
 twilight. I saw it, and oh ! I saw the shiny black, and you 
 put it on her. I know it. I asked the Vicar and he bit his 
 lips. You did it, and you said there would be no Christians 
 there. And they put her in the black box, and oh ! you don't 
 know, Mrs. Gifford, how empty the eaves are! You don't 
 know ! And you don't know how lonely the shadows ! Oh, 
 oh, if you only knew ! " 
 
 And I recall that I was wringing my hands and weeping 
 and Miss Patricia stood very grim. Then she pointed to 
 me and said: 
 
 " Listen ! Now listen ! It will do you good." 
 
 I shrank and flew up to Miss Patricia, clasping her about 
 the limbs and weeping, right in the middle of her white 
 apron. Miss Patricia snapped again: 
 
 " What have you to say ? What have all you villagers to 
 say?" 
 
 There was silence. We stood, one looking to the other. 
 Miss Patricia spoke again: 
 
 "Well, what do you say?" 
 
 Mrs. Gifford seemed to be dazed still and sat down and 
 began to sway with Nebuchadnezzar. I waited fearful and 
 sunk my head in Miss Patricia's apron that I might not see 
 Mrs. Gifford's eyes, for they looked as though they would 
 hurt me. Then Nebuchadnezzar ceased his wailing only to 
 lay and make sounds that sounded like : " Gawk ! A-gawk ! " 
 Mrs. Gifford smoothed his fat head and murmured : " It's 
 a shame." 
 
 Then a thing happened which I shall never forget. Some- 
 thing within me burst and I was frightened with the thing 
 that was upon me. I began to scream in loud, cutting 
 tones : 
 
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86 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Oh, take me away ! Oh, take me away ! Oh, do not let 
 her look at me so! I know now what Sally Trueblood 
 meant. I know how eyes hurt. Oh, Miss Patricia, why 
 did she leave me? Why do they not want me? Why do 
 they not speak to me but leave me alone? Look! What 
 have I done, Miss Patricia? Take me up! Take me up! 
 Oh, take me to the Vicar. He knows that eyes hurt." 
 
 And I flew at Mrs. Gififord, my small fists clinched, and 
 I beat upon her knees and shrieked: 
 
 " Do not look at me ! Do not look at me ! You took her 
 lovely smile ! You took her beautiful eyes ! You took them 
 all I Give them back ! " 
 
 Then Miss Patricia came to me and bent down to where I 
 stood beside Mrs. Gifford, still crying, the tears streaming 
 down my small cheeks and my hands beating upon Mrs. 
 Gifford's knees. She took me to her just as Sally True- 
 blood used, close, so that I tucked my head upon her breast 
 and hid my tears. It was not a soft breast, but it was a 
 kind one and Miss Patricia's hands seemed lovely as they 
 stroked my rough locks. She whispered : " There ! There ! 
 There ! It is no use. Come ! " And without speaking to 
 Mrs. Gifford she swiftly took me to the Vicar's study and 
 opened the door unannounced. 
 
 I remember that the sun shone through the window and 
 the Vicar was at his desk and he did not hear us. His 
 head was raised and his hands were before him upon the 
 desk and he spoke endearingly and his eyes were open. I 
 do not know what he said to God, but it was ended with 
 the words : " Thank Thee for the light." 
 
 Miss Patricia waited, and when she saw that he was 
 speaking to God she bowed her head and I bowed mine. 
 The three of us seemed speechless. Then the Vicar turned 
 slowly and said: 
 
 " Miss Patricia, I see the harvest of thorns has no terror 
 for you." 
 
 Miss Patricia did not answer, but sat me upon a great 
 chair that stood in one corner and swept to the desk side. 
 Then I forgot them, for I found a print with beautiful pic- 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 87 
 
 tures upon it and sat wrapt in it. I remember some of 
 the words they spoke. They were about Mr. Reuben and 
 the village. I recall, too, that Miss Patricia spoke of Reu- 
 ben as though she knew he would return, but did not wish 
 
 him to. " He has gone," she said, " to see " Then the 
 
 words sunk to very little above a whisper and I did not 
 catch the name, but they spoke of the Willoughbys and the 
 going of some one who did not come back. Then Miss Pa- 
 tricia whispered something that I caught about the locket, 
 for she looked at it hung upon my neck and the Vicar turned 
 too that he see. I had a long wait, but finally Miss Pa- 
 tricia arose and came over to the great chair and laid one 
 hand upon my shoulder and I stood up and she said to the 
 Vicar : 
 
 " The child shall stay under Reuben Passwater's roof, 
 for when Reuben Passwater commands it means law. We 
 
 shall wait him " She bit her lip and I saw her eyes 
 
 hung of tears and her lips trembled. She hesitated and 
 went on: " — together." The Vicar nodded and said: 
 
 " It is the right thing." 
 
 Then Miss Patricia folded her shawl closely about her 
 and took my hand. She went on to the Vicar : 
 
 " I suppose that the village will wonder. Well, let 'em. 
 They take me with her or not. And I don't care 
 which." 
 
 The Vicar nodded and Miss Patricia went on : 
 
 "The poor baby! I suppose she cried her lovely eyes 
 dim up there, and we, oh Lord ! what did we do ? We buried 
 her alone— not a sister there ! For my part I shall go each 
 Sabbath to her grave before the village eyes, and what's 
 more, I shall not enter the Sabbath house until the village 
 comes for me unless she — " and Miss Patricia squeezed 
 my hand very hard — " is welcomed. I heard all of the 
 talk of the unfrocking, but I knew that the Willoughby bags 
 was a thing they could not move, so I did not fear for you. 
 Vicar." I wondered what this meant and Miss Patricia 
 ran on : " But listen. Vicar ! they can unfrock you of love^ 
 and God knows that's worse than clothes." 
 
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88 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 The Vicar stood up and folded his long, thin hands and 
 within them clasped his huge black cross. Then he spoke 
 and said: 
 
 " They may not deny me love." And he held up his cross. 
 " The scourging is naught, Miss Patricia." 
 
 " Right you have spoken," Miss Patricia said. " And we 
 shall stand, shall we not, before the village ? " 
 
 The Vicar nodded, and Miss Patricia snapped : " Then it's 
 done ! " 
 
 She wheeled and left the Vicar's study as swiftly as she 
 had entered it. I hung along by one arm, wondering where 
 we would go next. Miss Patricia did not stop in the Gif- 
 fords' sitting room, nor turn toward Mrs. Gifford, until she 
 had come to the door and opened it, and then she turned 
 and faced Mrs. Gifford, who sat, still clasping Nebuchadnez- 
 zar, who was busily chewing her kerchief and leaving it. 
 soak up his crystal streams. Miss Patricia pressed her lips 
 very thin and shot the words : 
 
 " You need not see me, Mrs. Gifford, unless you see her." 
 And she shoved me before her. " Good-by ! " 
 
 We swept down the Giffords' pathway to the gate, which 
 stood ajar, and the yellow cat followed us. I remember 
 that I thought of the fact that Miss Patricia had called 
 " Scat ! " to it, and I remember that I laughed, for it fol- 
 lowed her just as I had. 
 
 I followed Miss Patricia, still laughing within me. I 
 knew that I should not ask her where we would go from 
 the Giffords', so I kept my silence and waited. We swung 
 down the chapel path and I knew that Miss Patricia would 
 call upon the sexton and fear set within me. Would she 
 then deliver me to the sexton and leave me? Oh, if this 
 should be, just when I thought that Miss Patricia had let 
 the sunshine in that I had asked dear God to shed! Still 
 I felt that I should not speak, yet within me came the desire 
 to cry and my lips opened and I heard the words pouring 
 out: 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia, are you going to leave me with the 
 sexton? It is very lonely. Only Sally Trueblood in the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 89 
 
 chapel yard is there. The sexton is good, but oh, Miss 
 Patricia, he does not know the little, little girls ! " 
 
 Then I remember that Miss Patricia's hand closed very 
 tightly upon my own and she shook her head " no." Then 
 I forgot rny fear and I recall that the Giffords' cat ran 
 before us. This I recall and that it swept very swiftly past 
 to climb a small youngling tree that had been set along 
 the roadside, to up its sides and spat and run faster up 
 the way. 
 
 When we had come to the chapel yard, Miss Patricia 
 said very crisply to me, " Wait here ! " 
 
 I stood wondering, and I remember that I cleared my 
 throat that ached and said : 
 
 " Miss Patricia, when you come back, will you go to 
 Sally Trueblood with me ? " 
 
 " What ? " snapped Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Go to Sally Trueblood," I responded. " She is yonder, 
 just where the sun is dancing so, and the beautiful big 
 brown butterflies are playing." 
 
 Miss Patricia bit her lip and replied, " Yes." Then she 
 swept up to the sextonage and knocked and was let 
 within. 
 
 It was here that the shrill whistle of Rudy sounded. I 
 ran to the high wall of the sextonage and waited, making 
 the call shrill that he might hear me. He came. This time 
 he was bearing a basket filled of broken bowls and pottery. 
 Atop this were four small birds, each showing his oped bill 
 that looked as if he had just swallowed the yelk. Rudy was 
 triumphant. He breathed hard and I knew that this was a 
 wonderful adventure. His brow was covered with glisten- 
 ing drops and his hair clung damp to his head. His smock 
 was open almost to the waist and two beautiful bleedy 
 scratches showed upon his legs. 
 
 " Rudy Strong," I ejaculated. " Where have you been? " 
 
 " You could never guess," he answered, wiping his brow 
 upon his smock sleeve and stooping, with his free hand 
 taking up damp earth and smearing his bloody sores. 
 
 " You got them in the hollow in the thombush. You 
 
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90 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 did, Rudy Strong, I know you did, for you showed me the 
 nest long 'fore now ! " 
 
 " Naw," Rudy answered, spitting upon his sore and smear- 
 ing more earth. " Naw, I didn't." 
 
 "Where, then?" I begged. 
 
 He pointed to the tall tree that stood over the grave of 
 Willie Pimm Passwater. I flew at him. There was a dread- 
 ful mixture and the bowls and pottery were spilled. I came 
 out of the fray with two birds that were acting strangely. 
 Rudy held the others and they hung their necks very long 
 and one of them did not move. I cried aloud : 
 
 " Look you, Rudy Strong, they are all mussed." 
 
 " They're dead. That's what," Rudy shot at me, " that's 
 what ! You see, girls always make musses." 
 
 " Give them here this minute ! They belong to Willie 
 Pimm Passwater and he is dead. Yes, he is a deader, or 
 else he would lick you. Yes, he would, and you should 
 have four scratches." 
 
 I remember that the birds I clutched were in their last 
 struggle and I seemed to realize that they were dead. Rudy 
 threw the two he held to the ground and I swept upon 
 them, gathering them up and holding all four in my cupped 
 hands. Rudy was disgusted and did not mince words to tell 
 me so. I swept very haughtily to the grave of Willie Pimm 
 Passwater and Rudy shouted: 
 
 " Oh, my eye, but you will be just like her. The village 
 is boiling over and besides they say that Miss Patricia has 
 the yarn for the knitting of the whole thing." 
 
 All of this sweeps through my mind as I write. This, and 
 the queer feeling that was upon me. What would my new 
 life be with Miss Patricia? Would they teach her how 
 eyes hurt, just because I was Sally Trueblood's brat? 
 
 Then Miss Patricia came out of the sextonage with a 
 very grim face and a small sack. Rudy Strong saw her 
 and fled. I was still clutching the birds and Miss Patricia 
 came toward me, holding out her hand. 
 
 " Will you come now?" I said. " Come and I shall tell- 
 her all about the sunshine." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 91 
 
 Miss Patricia saw the birds and looked horrified. 
 
 " What have you done ? " she asked in her sharp tone. 
 
 " I saved them," I replied. 
 
 " Saved them," Miss Patricia gasped, " they are dead ! " 
 
 " Yes," I replied calmly, holding them to my cheek, " I 
 know, but I saved them." 
 
 " Put them down," she commanded. 
 
 " No," I answered. " They belong to Willie Pimm Pass- 
 water. They do." 
 
 "What?" Miss Patricia snapped. 
 
 " Yes, they do. Rudy Strong took them out the tall tree 
 yonder and I saved them." 
 
 " Then come along," Miss Patricia said, and we went to 
 the grave of Willie Pimm Passwater and I knelt before 
 the small mound. Miss Patricia stood very tall and straight 
 and I noticed that there was a long grave with a stone 
 that read : " Reuben Passwater." And another that was 
 simply carved : " Patricia." I watched Miss Patricia and I 
 saw that her eyes were glistening and I stood up and went 
 to her side and tucked my hand in hers and I whispered : 
 
 " Then you do know just how lonely it is, don't you? " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. " Come. I would see Sally 
 Trueblood." 
 
 " No," I answered. " I shall put the birds here upon Wil- 
 lie Passwater. Was he a tall lad. Miss Patricia ? " 
 
 " No," answered Miss Patricia, " he was very, very much 
 like you. Come." 
 
 "Was he very, very much like me. Miss Patricia?" 
 
 She wheeled and answered, " Yes." 
 
 "How did he So? Did he whistle like this?" And I 
 puckered my lips and made a faint whistling. 
 
 " No," she answered, " he was a very brave little lad and 
 stood with his legs apart and took long strides." 
 
 I resolved to stride very, very long hereafter. Then 
 I put the birds upon the mound and we turned toward Sally 
 Trueblood's spot. When we came to it. Miss Patricia stood 
 a long time looking upon the sunken spot that had been a 
 mound. There was no stone — just the little withered wil- 
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92 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 low that the sexton had set. Miss Patricia stooped down 
 and touched it. 
 
 " It will grow tall and sway," I said. " Now listen." And 
 I stooped over the mound and whispered: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood! Sally Trueblood! Are you listening? 
 Miss Patricia's eyes do not hurt. She cannot see you, but 
 listen, Sally Trueblood ! I asked dear God for sunshine for 
 her and He sent it. Didn't He, Miss Patricia? " 
 
 Miss Patricia answered : " Yes," and I may fancy it, but 
 I believe she spoke to Sally Trueblood. 
 
 " And listen, Sally Trueblood 1 We shall come often and 
 often, almost all the time. And Miss Patricia has beautiful 
 pewter all shiny and we had warm porridge at break-sup. 
 Warm porridge, do you hear? And Miss Patricia's cheek 
 is soft, and she can hug, just like you, only not so sweet. 
 Please," I said and looked up to Miss Patricia. 
 
 " No," she answered, " not so sweet. Not one-half so 
 sweet." 
 
 " You see, she is going to play with me while I wait. 
 Aren't you. Miss Patricia?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " play." And her lips smiled very 
 grimly. 
 
 I was kneeling upon the sod beside the mound and I re- 
 member that my hands slipped over the earth and I thought 
 of Sally Trueblood's curls. And I wondered if they were 
 there in the pit ; if her lips were there ; if she really, really 
 was there. Miss Patricia watched me and did not speak 
 more. I noticed that she was clutching a white kerchief 
 and that her other hand seemed to twitch. She was breath- 
 ing shortly. I looked up at her eyes and she answered me, 
 for I knew from out of them that my day was hers. 
 
 " Shall we just sit down here. Miss Patricia, and dream 
 shadow-dreams ? " I asked. " Oh, I am happy ! Yes, I am, 
 but there is still something, something, very, very empty 
 about me. Is she there ? " I said and fled to the mound. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Really, really, really?" I asked once more. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 93 
 
 " Oh, I cannot, cannot believe it, Miss Patricia," I cried, 
 getting up and running to her side. "Oh, let's dream 
 shadow-dreams, please! For Sally Trueblood said when 
 you were hungry you could fill up with shadow-dreams." 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia, "there is the bake and there 
 are many things to do. Come. Shadow-dreams must be 
 poor filling. That is what is the matter with your legs." 
 
 And Miss Patricia grasped my hand and we went swiftly 
 from the chapel yard, although I turned every now and then 
 to smile back to Sally Trueblood, and I whispered, " Not 
 for long, Sally Trueblood." 
 
 We went down to the main street of the village and I re- 
 call that Rudy was playing in the midst of a mob of youths 
 and as we passed he did not speak, but when we were on 
 our ways he called: 
 
 "Heathen! Heathen! Deader! Deader! Ya! Ya! 
 Ya!" 
 
 And the chorus took it up. Miss Patricia stopped, left 
 free my hand, stooped and took up a huge stone. This she 
 threw with great force among the lads and stooped for an- 
 other, but they had gone e'er this. Aside from this there 
 were no events upon our way to the house of the Pass- 
 waters, save that doors opened very slyly as we passed and 
 heads showed in the windows that were opened. I knew 
 that Miss Patricia knew this, yet she did not turn her head 
 and we went straight to the gate and into the Passwater 
 house. 
 
 When Miss Patricia had taken off her shawl and folded it 
 very carefully and laid it back in the chest, she called to me. 
 I marched up very slowly and stood before her. She took 
 my hand and went to the still lighted fire and drew up the 
 great chair. Then she unfastened the hood that I still wore 
 and she lay it upon her knees; then took my hands both 
 in her own and said very slowly : 
 
 " You are a keen child. Now, listen ! The first thing you 
 are to learn, is that you do not know. Do you hear?" 
 
 " Yessum," I answered. " Do not know what ? " 
 
 " That is it. Understand, you do not know." 
 
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94 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " But I do know lots and heaps of things." 
 
 " Yes," Miss Patricia answered. " That is it. And the 
 village must not know what you know. So you do not 
 know. Do you see?" 
 
 I learned to know that Miss Patricia often did this — did 
 not explain, but suddenly let herself speak out and sup- 
 posed that you knew. 
 
 "Oh," I answered, "then I am to tell them that I do 
 not know when I do know. This is not right. I cannot 
 do it, Miss Patricia. Sally Trueblood would call that a 
 lie." 
 
 " It is," answered Miss Patricia, " but — well, we must 
 lie, if that is lying. But I do not call building a fence 
 about one's ground a lie." 
 
 " I cannot build a fence. Miss Patricia. I don't know 
 how, but I do know a lie." 
 
 " Listen," Miss Patricia said, and I recall that she was 
 patting my hands. " You are to do this for Sally True- 
 blood." 
 
 " No," I cried. " She would never, never ask me to 
 lie." 
 
 " No," Miss Patricia answered. " I know she would not, 
 but listen ! She told the village nothing, and they killed her. 
 You told me that she said eyes hurt her. Now, listen! 
 lYou must keep your little tongue shut up close, like she 
 shut herself away. You see, you and I are playing this game 
 of waiting. Do you understand? There is something that 
 Sally Trueblood knew that the village wants, and we can 
 keep it, just you and Miss Patricia." 
 
 " Oh, I see," I said. " I know. It's the bum in her 
 heart. Oh, yes, and we must not tell of Sally Trueblood, 
 but just have her together. Oh, won't it be beautiful ! We 
 can talk to her and they will not know. Just as we used to 
 play in the eaves." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. " Yes. So you do not know, 
 do you?" 
 
 " No," I answered. 
 
 Miss Patricia sat a long while staring at the blue 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 93 
 
 hood and stroking my hands. Then she snapped sud- 
 denly : 
 
 " Where did your mother go at the evening when she had 
 finished the game with you?" 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. 
 
 " That will do," Miss Patricia remarked and got up, bid- 
 ding me to fold away my hood and put it away with my 
 clothes in the guest room, and return. And when I had 
 done this Miss Patricia had put on a fresh white kerchief 
 that folded over her breast and a white linen apron. Upon 
 her knees rested a new cloth and in her hands threads and 
 needles. 
 
 " What is that ? " I asked, as I came up to her. 
 
 " Your sampler," she answered. 
 
 " Oh, can I make ' God ' in red worsted ? " 
 
 " No, you had better build earth before you try to make 
 the sky," she answered. 
 
 She bade me sit and gave to my hand thread and needle. 
 Then she set me hemming. Oh, do I not recall the hem- 
 ming! I never knew how wonderful a hem was before. 
 There seemed to be lengths and lengths of it. Then there 
 was the backing, which was even worse. My neck ached 
 and the cloth was daubed with many spots of red. I sucked 
 one small finger until it shriveled, but Miss Patricia did not 
 see me and sat sewing, sewing, her needle clicking and 
 pulling, clicking and pulling. Then she would scratch 
 something with her needle's point and I recall that it made 
 little shivers run up my back. We had been sitting such 
 a long time that I forgot everything except the ache in my 
 neck. Then I sighed very long and I said : 
 
 " Miss Patricia, I guess, — of course I am wrong, — but I 
 guess you do not remember how it feels to be a little girl. 
 Do you?" 
 
 Miss Patricia stopped and laid her sewing in her lap 
 and answered: 
 
 " You may go now to the guest room and lay away your 
 sampler, then come with me." 
 
 I did as I was bidden and returned. Miss Patricia took 
 
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96 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 me to the inner room, which was a kitchen. It was so spot- 
 less I was afraid to step. I never saw such pewters and 
 brasses. Oh, they were lovely! And Tidy Timpkins was 
 rubbing and singing something about a lost brother. She 
 stopped as we entered and I remember that I wondered 
 how, in such a clean place, such a very dirty person could 
 be, but I did not ask Miss Patricia and she went to a tall 
 cupboard in one corner and opened it. Oh, the smell ! 
 
 Miss Patricia took down a sweet loaf, all spotty-plummy, 
 and cut a thin slice. My heart fell. Then she cut another 
 and I recovered. I reached out both hands and took a slice 
 in each, saying, " Thank you, please." Miss Patricia gasped 
 but said nothing and cut another slice. This she gave to 
 Tidy and I knew that Tidy knew that I had two, but I 
 afterwards found that I need not fear for Tidy. Miss 
 Patricia left us. Tidy sniffed at the nose and wiped it 
 upon her hem. Then she took up her slice and said : 
 
 " Tain't so much, but it's more nor nothin'." 
 
 I did not answer, but began to eat. Tidy sat upon the 
 floor and ate very slowly, pushing out the plums and licking 
 her dirty fingers. 
 
 " I s'pose you are to stay ? " she ventured. 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 "You don't?" Tidy sniffed again. 
 
 " No," I answered. 
 
 " Well, I guess Sephira GifFord won't know neither," 
 Tidy stated. " She is poppin' to know." 
 
 We sat still, eating, and Tidy ventured once more : 
 
 " You came from the eaves, didn't you ? " 
 
 I did not answer, and Tidy leaned closer and whispered : 
 
 " Sephira says that Reuben Passwater went to the eaves. 
 Did he?" 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. And I heard the inner 
 door close very softly. 
 
 Then Miss Patricia called me and I was bathed and 
 measured for some new garments that had a queer look. 
 The cloth was wrinkled and I think it must have been some 
 garment of Miss Patricia's. I know it was very much 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 97 
 
 like what she wore, and afterwards this was fashioned in a 
 style that was of Miss Patricia's youth. As she measured 
 I remember that I asked what it was and she answered, " A 
 pinafore." And I had been happy, for Sally Trueblood 
 wore pinafores ; but I know she did not look as I did. And 
 I have always hated pinafores since mine came to life. 
 
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CHAPTER X 
 
 The days that followed were spent in first the break-sup, 
 after a brisk cold wash. Then sampler. Then learning, 
 which was long, very long. It seemed mornings were 
 longer even than evenings. Then I was taught to smooth 
 the beds and brush and polish and given the linen keys to 
 count the stacks. All of this had settled down to be ex- 
 actly alike each day. Then the next Sabbath came. I was 
 not allowed to leave the house without Miss Patricia, and 
 when the Sabbath came I wondered would she go to the 
 chapel. 
 
 She dressed in her best black and arrayed me in a black 
 pinafore that was offset with some braid, and tied my 
 locks up with the cherry ribbon. I had put the locket about 
 my neck and Miss Patricia saw it and said crisply: 
 
 " Put that away." 
 
 I had found something very strange. I did not tell Miss 
 Patricia, but it haunted me. When Miss Patricia had shown 
 me the press in which to keep my clothes, I had taken out a 
 drawer to pack it and, slipped down at the back, was a little 
 ivory, thin and yellow. I turned it over and th,ere was a 
 laughing face upon it. Such a beautiful face, just like Sally 
 Trueblood! The hair was all tumbly curls and the neck 
 was slender and curved, but the eyes were brown. When 
 I had found it I kissed it and I said : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, I know you." And it laughed at me. 
 
 Who was she? I liked to put the beautiful man beside 
 her and just love them. But Miss Patricia, as all of this 
 was sweeping through my mind, bid that I follow her. We 
 went to the chapel and I expected her to enter, but she did 
 not. She swept before the village eyes into the chapel yard 
 and stood beside the mound of Sally Trueblood, holding 
 my hand. And we stood there all through the meeting. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 99 
 
 We had stood very long and I recall the singing and the 
 droning of the Vicar's voice and the moaning of them that 
 Virere " filled of the spirit." Still Miss Patricia stood staring 
 at the mound of Sally Trueblood. I pressed her hand and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Miss Patricia, you go within. I shall stand here. You 
 see, I have always been out here each Sabbath, but you 
 should go." 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia, and I feared to speak more. 
 
 Then they had stopped their singing and I heard the voice 
 of Vicar Gifford raised in the last word of the service, and 
 the tramping of their feet. Still Miss Patricia did not move. 
 I waited and I heard the door open and the Sabbath flock 
 stepping upon the gravel way. They did not turn into the 
 chapel yard, as was their wont on Sabbath morning, but 
 filed along the high fence and stared over at us as 
 we stood. Miss Patricia did not look up, but I did, and I 
 whispered : 
 
 " Miss Patricia, please wait and go in. The Vicar has 
 not come out." 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " This village knows Patricia 
 iPasswater, and they know her." 
 
 I was miserable, but I knew that my pleading was in 
 vain. I heard Teeny Gifford snicker as she saw my pina- 
 fore, and somehow I hated it less, for it seemed to me as 
 some part of Miss Patricia — some little part that was lonely. 
 Teeny nudged Sephira and they both snickered and I 
 haughtily arose and spread my scant skirt and curtseyed. 
 They swept past and then something very strange happened. 
 Miss Snifly came through the gateway of the chapel yard 
 and came toward us. Her head was very high and I recall 
 that her nose was lifted up as though she scented something. 
 Her little feather was not psting, psting, but was trembling. 
 And the fringe upon her Sabbath shawl trembled, too, in the 
 shaking of her flounces. Her hands were crossed upon her 
 stomach and she trod daintily down the grass-grown path. 
 Miss Patricia did not see her, but I did and did not speak 
 of it to Miss Patricia; for I knew what I knew. Miss 
 
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lOO HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Snifly came to the side of Miss Patricia and stood very 
 straight, her nose still up and said haughtily: 
 
 " Patricia, my dear, I crave your pardon, but you are a 
 fool!" 
 
 Miss Patricia bristled and turned sharply about and 
 snapped : 
 
 "Well, who asked j/oM?" 
 
 Miss Snifly did not deign to answer. Miss Patricia 
 glared and went on: 
 
 " That is no new thing. It is something that I have known 
 for a long time. There's some excuse for me if I am a fool, 
 but how about you, you up-nosed saint? Patty Snifly, you 
 are not steeped in wisdom that I ever heard of. This shows 
 it," and Miss Patricia touched the flounces. " It's time that 
 you pruned." 
 
 Miss Snifly gasped and opened her mouth to speak, but 
 Miss Patricia left her no time, but shot more at her, saying: 
 
 " When Patricia Passwater wants your opinion. Miss 
 Snifly, she will call upon you for it, and I may as well tell 
 you now, I know why you are here and I shall save you 
 the trouble to speak. If I choose to worship in the cow's 
 pen, I shall do so and you needn't seek me. Is that clear? " 
 Miss Snifly gasped again. " Well," went on Miss Patricia, 
 " if it is finished, good morning ! " And she grasped me by 
 the hand and swept me past Miss Snifly out the chapel gate- 
 way and on the roadway home. 
 
 I recall this, and that I had a feeling that they were 
 showing Miss Patricia how eyes hurt. We went silently 
 through the gateway and down the little path, and I remem- 
 ber that my heart warmed, for it was home now. We went 
 in the little house and Miss Patricia took her shawl from 
 her head as she always did, and folded it as she always 
 did, and put it in the chest as she always did, and sat down 
 in the great chair as she always did, and then she turned to 
 me and called. 
 
 I went to her and she saw I was fighting tears. She un- 
 loosed my Sabbath pinafore and I recall that her hands 
 rather clung to it. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD loi 
 
 " Miss Patricia," I said, " I love my pinafore. Do you 
 know why?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " Why ? " 
 
 " Because you love them. I can tell. I saw it when you 
 held this one up and looked at it. Do you know your eyes 
 looked shiny and your cheeks were red and you bit your 
 lip. Yes, you did. Miss Patricia ! " And she blushed. 
 
 I hugged her then. I stood before her very sober and 
 I said: 
 
 _ " Miss Patricia, listen ! Don't keep me here. Just let me 
 live with God. God don't care about eyes. You see, they 
 look at you now. Why, Miss Patricia? Why? I cannot 
 understand. Sally Trueblood never, never hurt them. Did 
 she?" 
 
 "No," said Miss Patricia. "Never mind. You need 
 not live with God as long as Patricia Passwater has a roof. 
 If He objects, I guess He will take the roof down. Run 
 along now. You may dream those dreams if you wish to. 
 I shall see to the sup." 
 
 I turned slowly and went over to the what-all and lay 
 iny hand upon the china dog. 
 
 Every morning I woke up with it in my hands. Each 
 evening it was mine; each morning it was taken from me 
 and placed upon its accustomed shelf, and I knew I might 
 not claim it then. I always love to think that it was Willie 
 Pimm Passwater's through the day. 
 
 I was standing just touching it when a knock sounded. 
 Miss Patricia stood up and stared at the door. Tidy Timp- 
 kins wiped her nose upon her hem, slicked her bushy locks 
 with her palms and pulled down her pinafore. I say pina- 
 fore, but I defy one to name it. 
 
 Miss Patricia looked down upon her gray dress, for she 
 had clothed anew in her house gown and wore a bit of 
 white frill at her neck, pinned with a black onyx with a 
 little gold dove in it. She laid her thin hands upon her 
 cheeks and felt over her smooth head lest one lock was 
 awry. We stood one looking unto the other. The knock 
 sounded once more. The bird fluttered wildly and my heart 
 
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I02 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 was thumping. Miss Patricia walked slowly toward the 
 door and drew the bolt. Then she stood and called : 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 The knock sounded once more, and Miss Patricia opened 
 the door full wide and stood within it. And I shall never 
 forget her face! A tall gentleman almost filled up the 
 door space. He wore gray smalls, and a huge coat flung 
 open, with a beautiful cape about the shoulders, and a lilac 
 waistcoat. And such a frill! — just like little boily clouds 
 in the spring — and a great hat. And I knew him! 
 
 " Stephen ! " said Miss Patricia shortly, and held one 
 hand up under her heart. 
 
 " Patricia," he answered, still standing and taking off 
 his great hat. I saw that his hair was chestnut and lay 
 in beautiful waves. 
 
 It was Mr. Willoughby. Miss Patricia did not bid him 
 enter, and I saw that she was in some great distress. I 
 went up to her side and tucked my hand in hers, that hung 
 very limp. She did not look at me, but stood staring help- 
 lessly at Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 " May I enter, Patricia ? " he asked. 
 
 She swayed and stepped back and said : 
 
 " The door is open." 
 
 " Then I take it that I may," he answered and swung 
 his lithe body through the doorway, and I remember that 
 his stick was topped of a great golden ball and two stream- 
 ers of gray. I was overcome entirely. My feet got in 
 my way. 
 
 Miss Patricia walked without bending through the 
 small hallway that led to the sitting room. When she had 
 come to the center of the room, she turned and did not 
 bid Mr. Willoughby be seated. He stood, and I recall that 
 his lips spread in a very bright smile; every tooth seemed 
 to laugh. He bowed very low from his waist and stood up 
 again very straight and said : 
 
 " Since I am not to be a guest, Patricia, I shall but 
 state my mission and be gone." 
 
 " Very well," Miss Patricia answered. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 103 
 
 "I think,"— Miss Patricia looked keenly at Mr. Wil- 
 loughby,— "I think," she repeated, "we understand each 
 other, Stephen." 
 
 He smiled again, that contagious smile that made your 
 backbone laugh, and said — and I just loved his mouth: 
 
 " Patricia ! Ever and ever, Patricia ! " 
 
 He swung with long strides over to the what-all and 
 stood. I watched him and watched his coat skirts swing. 
 He clasped his stick behind him and his broad shoulders — 
 oh, they were beautiful! Sally Trueblood told me of such 
 a pair. I knew them. Miss Patricia was pinching the black 
 woolen table cover between her thumb and fingers and she 
 fingered with her free hand at her throat. Suddenly Mr. 
 Willoughby laughed and swung, circling upon his heel, still 
 laughing; for he held within his hand a stone, a triangular 
 stone, and I wondered what made him laugh. He looked at 
 it and pushed his chestnut locks and addressed the stone : 
 
 " Again we meet, eh ? Well I remember thee," and he 
 touched a scar upon his temple. " A gruesome token, Pa- 
 tricia, in truth, eh ? " And he roared. 
 
 I recalled the Sabbath morning and how Miss Patricia 
 had hurled the stone and I knew what I knew. It was here 
 that Mr. Willoughby suddenly stopped short in the very 
 middle of a peal of laughter and stared at me. Miss Pa- 
 tricia saw it and grasped my hand. As I came to her 
 and stood very rigid, Mr. Willoughby's eyes seemed to start 
 forth. Then he smiled a sort of flitting smile as though 
 he had cast off something and said: 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. 
 
 "What?" he asked, raising his brow. 
 
 " She has spoken the truth," snapped Miss Patricia. " If 
 you have done, begone." 
 
 He still held the stone and looked at it and then to Miss 
 Patricia and he spoke earnestly: 
 
 " Patricia, what has come over you ? Have you blotted 
 out all the sun? What does it mean? This seems to 
 speak." And he held up the stone. 
 
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J 04 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Trash and trumpery," Miss Patricia snapped. " Out 
 with it ! What brought you here ? " 
 
 Mr. Willoughby looked at me and then to Miss Patricia. 
 And Miss Patricia spoke very softly to me : 
 
 " Go to the guest room and await." 
 
 I trudged very slowly out the room, stopping upon the 
 threshold and taking one more look at Mr. Willoughby. 
 Then I cried out: 
 
 "Where is she, Mr. Willoughby?" 
 
 " Oh," he said suddenly, his face lighting, " I recall. 
 You sat beside the fire at the Gray Eagle, did you not ? " 
 
 I stood very red and Miss Patricia's eyes were upon me. 
 
 " I do not know," I said, and shut the door. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby did not stay very long and Miss Pa- 
 tricia called me. When I came from out the guest room, 
 I saw that Miss Patricia had been weeping, and I went up 
 to her and cast my arms about her, and I said : 
 
 " What makes you sad ? Oh, please, please leave me go ! 
 Wherever I am is always sorrow. I love you. Miss Pa- 
 tricia, I do, and oh, let me go ! " 
 
 Miss Patricia sat before the dead logs long and rested 
 her head upon the back of the great armchair. Miss Pa- 
 tricia rested her head! It makes me sad even to think 
 of it. 
 
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CHAPTER XI 
 
 All of this was so very, very long ago and yet I see my- 
 self, wide-eyed upon the tangled path, with no hand but Miss 
 Patricia's, and yet something, something that I cannot 
 describe, that ever seemed to follow me, bending close and 
 whispering, " Are you playing ? " I know now that these 
 days were happy ones. I know now many, many things, 
 yet I love to turn to the little me that blindly followed 
 the tangled path. 
 
 Days followed days and I cannot recall just how long 
 following Mr. Willoughby's visit occurred, but one morn- 
 ing Miss Patricia said : " Bring out your best smile." I 
 smiled at her. "That will do," said Miss Patricia. I 
 cuddled against her side. 
 
 " Listen ! " she said. " We shall go upon a visit. Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 " Yessum," I answered. 
 
 "And should they question you as to your name, what 
 would you say?" 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. 
 
 " That will do," answered Miss Patricia. " See to it." 
 
 Then Miss Patricia took my face between her hands and 
 looked very deep into my eyes. I looked back straight. 
 
 " Sit down," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 I did as I was bidden. Miss Patricia went into the inner 
 room that was hers. I remember this room. It was a dark 
 one and the shutters always were closed and it smelled 
 musty. There was a high-waisted dressing table with two 
 candlesticks and short candles. The chairs wore petti- 
 coats and the bed was hard and high and covered with a 
 red cloth and curtains. There was a sewing basket and a 
 wax ball in it full of thread ends and broken needles. 
 There were two paintings, dark, very dark, of a gentleman 
 
 105 
 
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io6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 and a lady in oval circlets. I only remember these just 
 now because the lady's eyes were like Miss Patricia's. And 
 I always wanted to just feel the wax ball, but her eyes al- 
 ways followed me. 
 
 Miss Patricia went into this room and returned bearing 
 a small chest. This she put upon the floor and I arose 
 and went to the spot. Miss Patricia sat upon the floor 
 beside it. Think of it! She sat upon the floor. And I 
 followed her example. She felt down deep within her 
 pocket, which I had forgotten to mention before now, and 
 brought out a little key, all rusted. Her hand was shaking 
 and she laid it upon her palm and looked at it. It was so 
 little, and so rusty, and I just wondered what it knew. 
 
 Then Miss Patricia started to unlock the small chest, 
 but she stopped and bit her lips and wiped her eyes upon a 
 fresh linen. Then she swallowed hard and shut her eyes 
 and grasped the key, and suddenly stared at the chest and 
 unlocked it. She slowly raised the lid. I remember the 
 thrill that swept up my spine. The little hinges squeaked 
 and shed powdered rust. I was breathing hard and I saw 
 Miss Patricia's hands shake. It^ — I mean the chest — 
 was lined with some gray stuff and had a little bouquet 
 print pasted in the top. It was filled of something soft. 
 Miss Patricia tenderly lifted up something and shook it 
 and I shrieked, for it was a little white pinafore that had 
 turned a beautiful pale yellow, like a tired white rose. 
 
 " It's a pinafore, Miss Patricia ! " 
 
 Miss Patricia nodded and gave it to my hands, and sat 
 with her head bowed and looking down. It was a filmy 
 thing, wrought by some hands that had loved, for its 
 fashioning was frail and delicate. And two faded bows 
 of blue were upon the shoulders. I kissed it and threw my 
 arms about the neck of Miss Patricia and I said : 
 
 " I love it ! It is you, little you ! " 
 
 She did not look up, but her fingers sought within the 
 chest and brought out a small case of morocco. This she 
 snapped open and before my eyes lay a necklace of pale 
 coral, and a bracelet of the same. They were small and 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 107 
 
 wonderfully wrought and clasped of gold. I took one look 
 and I cried: 
 
 " Oh, may I touch them?" 
 
 Miss Patricia nodded. I took up the bracelet and upon 
 the clasp were the letters, " S. T." 
 
 " But these are yours. Miss Patricia." 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 " Then whose ? " I asked. 
 
 Miss Patricia shot a sidelong look at me and said : 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Oh, I see," I answered. 
 
 I sat a long time fingering the soft stuff. Then Miss 
 Patricia lifted out a circular of woolen, and it was scal- 
 loped and beautiful gray. Miss Patricia arose and without 
 explanation began to disrobe me and bade that I bring 
 water ; and she washed me, and brushed my locks and made 
 them up in a new way. They were tied together at the end 
 with a blue ribband, faded to match the ones on the shoul- 
 ders, and brought up at the nape of my neck. And the 
 ribband was bound about my brow and tied in a bow just 
 at the part. I recall that I laughed at the new feeling and 
 fingered the bow. Then Miss Patricia put some white stock- 
 ings upon me and tiny slippers that tied with blue. Then 
 she clothed me in the pinafore of filmy stuff. It was 
 wrinkled, and so soft, like Sally Trueblood's cheek, I 
 thought. Then I saw that Miss Patricia was not looking at 
 me, but sat sobbing. She pointed to the corals and said : 
 
 " Put them on. I can't." 
 
 " Oh, please ! " I cried. " See ! " I opened the packet and 
 held them forth. "Oh, please, Miss Patricia. You are 
 looking at clouds. See! I am, oh, so very happy! " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. " Yes, I know, but I can't. 
 Put them on." 
 
 I did so slowly and stood before her. She stared a long 
 time, threw up her hands and let forth an awful sob and 
 ran from me to her room. I stood stricken and I walked 
 to the guest room and tiptoed and looked at the reflection. 
 And I saw something there very strange. It was Sally 
 
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io8 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Trueblood with brown eyes and a blue bow upon her brow. 
 I was frightened, for I remembered the ivory with the 
 maiden and the brown eyes. 
 
 Then Miss Patricia's door opened and Miss Patricia came 
 forth arrayed for travel — ^her best blacks, her bonnet, her 
 mittens and her chain of gold. She was the grim Miss 
 Patricia now, and I knew I must not speak of what had 
 been. She shut the chest as though it was nothing to her, 
 took up the circular and went back to her room, to return 
 with a huge bonnet, all frills and little bows that were 
 faded, too. This she tied upon my head and circled me in 
 the gray circular. I felt very grand, but I suppose I was a 
 pathetic little figure, like some straying dream come back 
 to the new day. 
 
 I stood before Miss Patricia and I know that I looked 
 very much like something that was very dear to her, for she 
 gazed upon me when she had made me ready and her eyes 
 were very soft. There sounded without the rattle of wheels 
 upon the gravel streetway and through the open shutter I 
 saw that a chaise waited us. It was one of those hoUowed- 
 out affairs that wabbled very much and to it was tethered 
 a gray nag whose hip-bones stood high and whose neck 
 hung low. My heart was beating high and I flung my arms 
 wide and cried out: 
 
 "Do we go in a chaise? Is it far? Will we be gone 
 long? Shall I sit beside him?" and I pointed to the lad 
 who drove the nag. 
 
 He was a fat person whose neck was short and whose 
 cheeks surprised his shoulders by wattling upon them. He 
 sat trailing a thong over the nag's back, and I recall that 
 I could see the nag's flesh trembling up and down like sum- 
 mer lightnings Miss Patricia did not answer me and sud- 
 denly everything seemed to drop away from me. I stood 
 looking down at the pinafore and circular and then to the 
 slippers. And I felt at the bonnet, but they did not fill up 
 the great empty thing that was creeping upon me. I turned 
 slowly to Miss Patricia and I said: 
 
 " Miss Patricia, I cannot go. Oh, please, please, no ! " 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 109 
 
 Miss Patricia kneeled down beside me and I began to 
 cry. 
 
 " There, there," said Miss Patricia, " dry your eyes. It 
 is not for long." 
 
 ^1 How long. Miss Patricia? " I asked. 
 
 " Perhaps two or three days; perhaps a fortnight." 
 
 " Never! " I cried. " Oh, can't you see Sally Trueblood 
 would be lonely? I told her not for long. I cannot go." 
 
 Miss Patricia stooped close to me and took me to her 
 and said: 
 
 " Listen ! Sally Trueblood shall not be lonely. I shall go 
 and visit her each day. This thing must be done." 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 Miss Patricia leaned close to me and whispered, " I do 
 not know." 
 
 Somehow I connected all things that were hidden beneath 
 " I do not know " to be something pertaining to Sally 
 Trueblood. 
 
 " Then if it must be. Miss Patricia," I said, " it must be." 
 And I dried my eyes and Miss Patricia whispered : 
 
 " You are a very brave child. Remember, all that I ask 
 is for her." 
 
 " Oh, then, come ! " I cried. And we went from the room 
 through the small hallway and out to the chaise. 
 
 I wondered who would stay with Tidy Timpkins and I 
 asked Miss Patricia. She had answered me that she would 
 return. I was afraid to ask more, but climbed into the 
 chaise and tucked my full pinafore skirt about me and 
 wrapped in the circular. Miss Patricia followed and sat 
 very straight. She had spoken to the lad who drove. Evi- 
 dently he knew our destination. Within me I was Lady 
 Lilyfinger. The nag had disappeared and four prancing 
 chargers drew us upon our way. We swept gaily down the 
 main village streetway and I recall the gaping ones that 
 watched us upon the way. I did not speak to Miss Pa- 
 tricia of this, but I knew that she knew. We passed the 
 chapel yard and I blew kisses over the back of the chaise 
 and called out: 
 
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no HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " All for you, Sally Trueblood ! Wait ! Wait ! Not for 
 long!" 
 
 Miss Patricia did not remonstrate at my outcrying, and 
 the chaise swung about the outskirts of the village and I 
 watched the road creep upon us. The banks were brown- 
 ing now and few late flowers flamed their flanks. The sky 
 was very blue and deep, and little clouds were frightened 
 and hidden away high, high up. The road lay golden before 
 us, all dusty. And ashen dust had fallen upon the petti- 
 coat of shrub and leaf that skirted it. I saw all of this and 
 I knew that the winter was coming and somehow there 
 came to me the words, " Wait the Mayin'." 
 
 I wondered what the " Mayin' " would bring. I won- 
 dered what the winter, too, would bring. Not Sally True- 
 blood. No, she was gone. My little head hung and I 
 found that the salt was upon my lips from the tears that 
 began to trickle. Then a shrill call came out a hedgerow, 
 and of course this is fancy, but I thought it said, " Are you 
 playing ? " 
 
 " I am ! I am ! " I cried. " Oh, Miss Patricia, I am 
 playing! Did you hear him?" And the nag jogged on. 
 
 A very long roadway had slipped beneath us and evening 
 came on. The sun sank deep golden, almost tawny, red. 
 The fields took on the glow and the sky seemed a golden 
 thing, like some cloth of heaven spread and bending down 
 to touch the earth. Then the gray followed that was rosy- 
 gray. And the evening began to sound. The birds chat- 
 tered in the trees and fieldways. The crickets chirped and 
 scraped and the winged things took up their garish singing. 
 
 Then there was a turn in the roadway and we swept 
 the graceful line and turned into a hollow and followed 
 along a low hedge, through a narrow way to a shrub- 
 grown spot. There was a growth of wild hedge almost 
 shutting away the wall that stood high about the house 
 that hid within tall trees, only showing the great gables 
 and turrets. 
 
 Miss Patricia had not spoken through the whole drive, 
 but sat very grim, and I had been lonely. The coming 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD in 
 
 evening had deepened my loneliness. I smelled the cool 
 hreath of night, fast creeping upon the evening, and there 
 was a cool quiet over this secluded spot when our chaise 
 rattled up to the great gate and stopped. I swallowed an 
 aching lump. I tried to speak, but another rolled up to take 
 the place of the one I had just swallowed. Miss Patricia 
 stood up and the nag sneezed and the chaise swayed. I 
 almost fell out and Miss Patricia clutched me. 
 
 " Is this the place ? " I whispered. Miss Patricia nodded. 
 
 She descended from out the chaise, took from her very 
 deep pocket her purse, paid the driver a shilling, snapped 
 her purse rings and spoke one word — " Wait." 
 
 There seemed to be no one who welcomed us, or even 
 looked for our coming. The ivy had grown so thick over 
 the wall and gateway that it seemed a part of the hedge. 
 Miss Patricia reached through the bars and found the 
 latchet. This she opened with some difficulty and the gate 
 creaked open reluctantly. Of course this is fancy, too, but I 
 seemed to feel that the gate knew me. Miss Patricia still 
 clung to my hand and we stepped briskly down the 
 shadowed path, overgrown overhead, where pale glimpses 
 of the silvering sky showed through and the whirring 
 and chatter of nestlings sounded. It was so quiet. I heard 
 a rook screech and it echoed again against the tall turret. 
 
 Then we came to the great mansion, stony grim, yet 
 mocked by the cling of ivy that lovingly crept its walls and 
 seemed to try to shut the windows' opes. There was an 
 archway and a great oaken door, studded of spikes, and a 
 huge knocker, the head of a great bear whose tongue clat- 
 tered. There was a lantern which showed that it had not 
 been lighted for time and time. Ivy had crept over the 
 oaken doorway, until it was almost hidden, and the bear's 
 head looked like a wild thing hidden in its midst. The 
 huge bolts were opened and hung as though they had wearied 
 of guarding. 
 
 Miss Patricia walked up to the door and made the bear's 
 tongue clatter. We waited long. Then there sounded the 
 scraping of an inner bolt and the door trembled and opened 
 
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112 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 ever so slightly and a very white face peered around its 
 opening and a voice spoke, " Who is there ? " 
 
 It was growing darker and shadows hung close in upon 
 the walls. Miss Patricia stepped up to the one who had 
 spoken and said something softly and the door opened 
 slowly, full-wide, showing a dark hallway with a broad 
 stair at the back. A candle tree burned dimly upon the 
 newel post and sent tired, tired, lazy shadows lopping about. 
 I was frightened, and the one with the white face stood 
 mutely that we pass. He was clothed in " knees " and white 
 leggins, and his neckcloth was bound, like a white swath- 
 ing, about his throat. He held his eyelids down, nor looked 
 at Miss Patricia or myself. I felt that he must be a very 
 great personage, perhaps Sir Lilyfinger. I curtseyed as I 
 passed him and he did not look. 
 
 Then I let my eyes sweep the walls. There were candle 
 brackets set here and there and strange things on every 
 side. I think I did not know what frightened me about 
 them, but I was frightened. All the portraits were swathed 
 in white cloth. The doors were black and shut, and the 
 great stairway looked drowsy and tired as though should 
 you tread upon it would be a wrong thing. In truth it 
 looked as pompous as the one with the white face. 
 
 Then it was that the gentleman, for it was a gentleman, 
 coughed and stepped before us. He seemed to know our 
 mission and trod lightly up the stairway. We followed, 
 and I saw our shadows now cast upon the dark wall. Miss 
 Patricia's was crinkly, not at all like her. We turned at 
 the landing where there hung a great thing which was 
 shrouded white, too. A short step led to a narrow hallway 
 that seemed strange after the broad stair. Here the gentle- 
 man lighted a candle and went before us. We passed 
 several doors exactly alike and turned then to what I knew 
 must be one of the turret wings. There was a damp smell 
 about the place and it was cold. 
 
 The gentleman stopped before a narrow door and 
 knocked. My heart was thumping. I clung to Miss Pa- 
 tricia, who ventured no word of explanation. The knock 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 113- 
 
 was answered by a thin, silvery voice that shook ever so 
 little, like one who had sobbed. The gentleman opened the 
 door. The place was bright with candles. There seemed 
 to be scores of them. It smelled strongly of the burning 
 wax, but spite the brightness, shadows hung the corners. 
 And within one of these I saw a tiny form much bent, 
 clothed in delicate flowered cloth. The sleeves flowed and 
 were filled of some soft frills. The neck was low and left 
 bare a pitiful pair of shrunken shoulders. A small ruffed 
 cap, bearing bright streamers, sat upon the silver locks, that 
 were thin and lay in slender silver rings about a white brow. 
 The hands that showed amid the sleeve frills were delicate 
 and thin. And they spoke little fragments, for they sud- 
 denly reached up to pat one of the slender curls, or darted 
 o'er the frills, or lay a second over the heart. The eyes 
 were blue, steel-blue. And they told something, not in 
 their lights, but in their shadows. Then there was the smile, 
 too bright, too bright. 
 
 I watched her and she did not speak, but went swiftly 
 over to the side of the hearth that stood at the west wall 
 and where a dead fire lay. Then I saw something very 
 strange. Little garments lay upon all the chairs and a 
 cradle sat beside the hearth. She bent over the cradle and 
 whispered sweet nothings, to nothing! Then she looked 
 up at Miss Patricia and flashed the too bright smile and 
 said: 
 
 " I am waiting, you know, waiting ! " 
 
 My heart leapt ! I had stood behind Miss Patricia, peep- 
 ing out until now, and I stepped forth. The little lady 
 stopped short, clasped her hands beneath her heart and 
 cried, " Felicia ! " I started and wondered what this meant. 
 
 "Who are you waiting for?" I asked. 
 
 She came faltering up to me and lay her hand upon me 
 and pointed to the cradle and whispered: 
 
 " I am waiting for my Hope." 
 
 "What?" I cried. 
 
 " I am waiting for my Hope," she whispered, and caught 
 a little garment up and kissed it. 
 
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114 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Oh ! Oh ! " I whispered. " I am Hope." 
 
 The little lady came close and looked at me with great 
 shadowed eyes. 
 
 " No. No," she said. " Hope has never been born." 
 
 Then she laughed and pinched my cheek and said: 
 
 " Felicia, be to bed ! You must." 
 
 I looked to Miss Patricia. She nodded to the little lady 
 and laid one finger to her brow and shook her head. I was 
 frightened and I went up to Miss Patricia. She lay her 
 hand upon me and whispered: 
 
 " Do just as your heart bids you. Here you may 
 know." 
 
 I did not understand. The little lady was rocking the 
 cradle and I saw that she was happy again and whispering 
 in her song softly the nothings. Then she called, " Hope." 
 I went up to her and held forth my hand. Then I smiled 
 and I said: 
 
 " May I wait with you ? You see, I am waiting, too." 
 
 She stood and watched me for a long time. Then she 
 whispered : 
 
 " What are you waiting for ? " 
 
 " Sally Trueblood," I answered. 
 
 She held up her finger and said : " Sh ! Sh ! Sh ! " 
 
 I knew that I had done a thing that was not right and I 
 turned to Miss Patricia. She shook her head and I was at 
 a loss to know what to do, but this was not for long, for 
 the little lady began to hum and went about the little gar- 
 ments, taking them up and fingering them much as a young 
 mother would. I sat down upon a hassock that stood beside 
 the fire and was looking at the little cradle when I realized 
 that we were alone, the little lady and myself. 
 
 It was well that the thing that did happen, happened. 
 For I am sure that I should have started up and fled, crying 
 out in fear, but the little lady sunk in a great chair and 
 began to weep. Her pitiful little shoulders rose and fell 
 and there sounded the sobs that were deep, deep. I knew 
 just how it hurt, and I fled to her and flung my arms about 
 her and kissed her and I said: 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 115 
 
 " Oh, let me wait with you ! Please, please ! I know just 
 how your heart hurts. Oh, you are lonely ! I know it ! " 
 
 The little lady laid her delicate hand upon my shoulder 
 ahd dried her tears. Then she started up and whis- 
 pered : 
 
 " Go ! Go ! See ! my Hope is sleeping." 
 
 And she sped over to the cradle and swayed it. I walked 
 slowly over to the spot and peered within. There was 
 nothing there but the yellowed linen, and she bade me sway 
 the cradle and went over to a great chair and sat. It was 
 very still in the room save for the creaking the cradle set 
 up. I stood long until I was very weary. Then I quietly 
 pulled up a hassock and sat upon it, but still I swayed 
 the little lady's Hope. 
 
 I do not know why, but I loved the little cradle and I 
 felt the little babe was there. I did not move save for the 
 swaying, swaying. And then I left the great house and 
 found a green field where I played with the little Hope. 
 Oh, the joyous dancing we had! And always, always, it 
 seemed, we were to be together, the little lady's Hope and 
 little me. Then the beautiful day ended and in the midst 
 of a joyous dance I found myself in the middle of a great 
 poster, dancing. A very stout person was watching me. 
 Her cheeks were round and red and her eyes were bright 
 and blue. She had a very round breast, a very round head 
 and a very round stomach, and two little round fat hands 
 with dimples over them. She wore a perky white cap that 
 seemed to laugh at her plain face. I rubbed my eyes and 
 smiled at her. 
 
 " Potts," she said. 
 
 "What?" I asked. 
 
 " Potts," she again repeated. 
 
 " Pots ? " I said. " What pots ? " 
 
 " I am Potts," she said. 
 
 " Oh," I remarked, and sat down. " I am glad to know 
 you, Potts. Would you please tell me how I got here ? " 
 
 " Potts," she said once again. 
 ' I connected Potts with my question and understood. 
 
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ii6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 "Where is she?" I asked. 
 
 " Turret," said Potts. 
 
 " Oh," I answered. " Is she sad ? " 
 
 " Mad," said Potts. 
 
 " What made her mad ? " I asked. , 
 
 Potts did not answer, but whisked me off the bed and 
 brought out a press and lifted the lid. It was filled with 
 little pinafores, all very fine and beautiful. She selected one 
 and made me ready, when she washed my face, brushed 
 my locks and made them up just as they had been. Then 
 she clothed me in the pinafore. It was a soft yellow and 
 braided in brown. There were russet buskins to match, tied 
 with yellow. I looked at my frock and then to Potts. 
 
 " Porridge," said Potts, and shoved me before her. 
 
 We passed out the great room where the poster stood. 
 It was all flowery and hung of chintz. Through a long 
 hallway we passed into the great dining hall where a long 
 table stood. It would have seated a score, and servants 
 stood ranked at the head. Potts shoved me between the 
 lines toward the long table, lifted me to a high chair much 
 too large for me, and then she curtseyed and left me. . 
 
 I was filled with confusion. I knew how eyes hurt in 
 a new way. I was so very small sitting there, and the 
 great ceil seemed so high up and dark. The windows' shut- 
 ters let a little brightness in, but the room frowned at it. 
 The bowl that held my porridge was of silver and upon it 
 was a great "W." I tried to swallow soundlessly, but I 
 fear that I gulped. I kept my eyes upon the porridge and 
 only looked now and then down the long table and toward 
 the spot where they did not stand. There were wonderful 
 carved cupboards. There were swords and armors. There 
 was a banner, golden-fringed. 
 
 I had finished the porridge and some one lifted me down, 
 another wiped my chin and still another took my bowl 
 and departed with it. I turned and looked at them, but 
 they did not respond to my smiles and I walked slowly 
 out and down the lonely hall to an open doorway some way 
 down. Then I resolved that I would peep beneath the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 1 17 
 
 swathing of the portraits. So I tiptoed across the great 
 floor toward where one hung and I climbed upon a chair 
 and lifted up the cloth. It fell upon the floor and left me 
 facing — oh, what do you think? What do you think? 
 What do you think? The gentleman upon my breast. I 
 was standing, staring upon him, and I said : " Oh, morrow, 
 Mr. Bee!" when Potts came and said, "Come!" 
 
 I got down from the chair and held forth my hand and 
 I said: 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Turret," said Potts. 
 
 "East?" I asked. 
 
 " West," said Potts. 
 
 I knew she would say west, for I knew the west wing 
 was the turret that the little lady occupied. Potts stopped 
 and turned me about and surveyed me minutely. She 
 perked my pinafore in spots, spat upon her thumb and 
 smoothed my brow locks. 
 
 "Am I all just right?" I asked. 
 
 " Right," said Potts. 
 
 Then she grasped my hand and we went down the same 
 hallway that had looked so dark the night before, up the 
 great stair that creaked mournfully, past the great swathed 
 thing that hung at its landing and then through the narrow 
 way into the narrow door which was the door to the turret 
 room. Potts knocked. I heard a brisk step and the swish 
 of silk. The door opened and the little lady stood be- 
 fore me. 
 
 " Good morning. Potts," she said. 
 
 "Morning," said Potts and curtseyed. 
 
 She shoved me in and closed the door. There was a 
 pale light in the room that still smelled of the many candles. 
 A light fire had been kindled and burned with a pale blaze, 
 and sent blue smoke up the chimney. The shutters had 
 been opened ever so slightly and little beams of sun timidly 
 sought through and fitfully shone upon the floor, as though 
 they were frightened. All about the humpy candles stood 
 and their streaming ends looked like tears dripping. I 
 
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 stood and looked at all of this, then to the little lady, who 
 was humming now and had taken up some sewing, a little 
 garment. She sat down before the fire upon the low has- 
 sock and kept her foot upon the cradle and swung it to the 
 rhythm of her humming. I saw that she was not so old 
 as I had thought, but that the sun had forgotten her and 
 the moon had found her. I saw it upon her brow. Her 
 cheeks were hollow, but burned with two bright spots, and 
 her lips were thin, as though she had pressed them dry. 
 She bent over the cradle and smiled the too bright smile 
 and said: 
 
 " You are there. Yes, yes." And she hummed on. 
 
 I went over to her, for she seemed to forget me. And 
 I leaned over the cradle and looked. She stopped her 
 swaying and her humming and looked at me, and her eyes 
 seemed to be hunting in some far-away spot for something 
 she had forgotten. 
 
 " Good morning," she said. " I remember you. Oh, yes, 
 I left you — let me see — out on the mead at the Mayin'. 
 I remember you, but you have faded." 
 
 "Have I?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes," she said. And went on humming. 
 
 I stood waiting. Then she bit a thread and sat staring at 
 the little garment and I saw that she was troubled. She 
 leaned toward me and whispered: 
 
 " Oh, keep my Hope sleeping. It must not wake. They 
 would be ashamed." 
 
 I wondered what to say and remembered what Sally 
 Trueblood had told me — ^that when you did not know what 
 to say you should just think. Then the sunshine tricked 
 me, for it shone boldly in when a shutter blew open. 
 
 " Oh, come, let's go out in the sunshine. Oh, there is such 
 a beautiful garden ! " I said, sniffing the out-air. 
 
 The little lady ran to a shadow in the corner and hid her 
 face. 
 
 " Shut the shutter," she hissed. " They must not see." 
 
 " Oh," I said, " shut the beautiful sun away? No." 
 
 Then she whispered : " My Hope will wake. There is but 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD H9 
 
 one way to keep it sleeping, and that is to seal it up. I 
 dare not." 
 
 She arose and stepped toward the sunlight that lay so 
 warm and golden upon the gray floor. And her great eyes 
 lighted and the shadows fled and I saw the smile dim and I 
 heard her whisper : 
 
 " Ah, the May sun ! " And she held her hands forth that 
 the beams might fall upon them, and she kissed them. 
 
 Then the pitiful shoulders began to heave and she shut 
 the shutter, leaving the room dim once more, and I heard 
 her sobbing, sobbing. I went slowly over to her side and 
 I whispered: 
 
 " I know. I know. Eyes hurt you, too. Sally Trueblood 
 told me about eyes. She told me and I know." 
 
 At the mention of Sally Trueblood's name she ceased 
 her weeping and looked at me, and what I saw frightened 
 me. It was Sally Trueblood, with silver locks. 
 
 " Who are you ? " I whispered. 
 
 " I am lost," she answered. " Ask them. They will tell 
 you." 
 
 Then I loved her. I do not know why, but I found that 
 her hands were Sally Trueblood's and her cheeks, too. And 
 her eyes, but the smile was not. 
 
 " Oh," I said, " listen ! I know. Let us play. Are you 
 lost?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 "Then come. Let us go out in the garden. Perhaps 
 we may find your smile, your really, really smile. Per- 
 haps it is hidden there in some late marigold and then, — 
 let us see, — I know ! We will seek, you and little me, out 
 there, and find you." And I laughed and laughed. " What 
 will you say when we find you ? I know I shall love you." 
 
 " But my Hope," she whispered. 
 
 " She-e-e. It is sleeping. Let it sleep. You see, Hope 
 will sleep till you waken it. Sally Trueblood said that. Oh, 
 please, please ! I know there are rooks' nests up in the tall 
 trees. I saw their shadows. And it's late, it's not Mayin'. 
 It's the gold time. Larkspurs have nearly hid. I found the 
 
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I20 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 last in the chapel yard and I gave them to her. Come!" 
 And I took her hand and she followed me. 
 
 Her steps were faltering. I opened the door. Still she 
 followed, nor did she raise her eyes to the walls, but fol- 
 lowed like one blind. We went slowly down the narrow 
 hall and through the dark passage to the great stair, down 
 them and through the great hall, and no person was there. 
 It was quiet, so very quiet. I went to the great door and 
 slipped the bolt. It was hard to slip and I was red with 
 the exertion. The door opened and festoons of ivy almost 
 transparent hung and waved almost upon our heads. I 
 clutched at one beautiful tendril and wound it to a wreath 
 and I whispered that she bend and I put it upon her head. 
 
 Then something happened. We were without. The lit- 
 tle lady threw up her arms and her hands were pitiful. 
 Like little white-winged birds, they fluttered above 
 her head. And she sunk upon her knees and her great eyes 
 looked out upon the day. Her lips parted and her bosom 
 heaved. She looked like a little broken thing. Then I 
 touched her. She did not look, but her lips were moving 
 and I knew she was speaking to dearest God. I just knelt 
 down, too, and talked to Him. I know now that we must 
 have been a queer pair — the little lady, all dressed in silks 
 and frills and her neck bare and thin, and my small self 
 clothed in the old pinafore with the buskins upon my feet, 
 and a blue bow upon my brow, kneeling there in the sun- 
 light alone. 
 
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CHAPTER XII 
 
 This was but a beginning, for many, many times we did 
 this. The garden knew us. Even after it was dead we still 
 had flowers, for we brought them in our hearts. 
 
 Always in the morning Potts came and said, "Turret." 
 And always I was arrayed as upon the first day in a pina- 
 fore. And I went to the west wing and we went through the 
 same conversation about her Hope, who always seemed to 
 be sleeping. And we always left it and played in the gar- 
 den. And when we came back she would whisper, " Do 
 you think it has waked ? " And I would assure her it was 
 sleeping. She called me " Felicia " and said I was faded. 
 She told me that she had forgotten me, then that she re- 
 membered me. She would never let me speak of Sally 
 Trueblood, though I tried, and this made me lonely. I 
 spoke once of her to Potts, who had not listened, and I 
 afterwards learned that I should not speak of her at all. 
 
 There were many things that I found out in the man- 
 sion. There were the servants. One who always took my 
 porridge bowl, I called him " Hooks." And the other, who 
 with his thumb and fingers always wiped my chin, I called 
 him " Tongs." They never spoke. I knew there were 
 others in the house, for I heard bottles, and when I had 
 supped, often I had seen, at a later time, lights in the dining 
 hall ; but I never met one of these. 
 
 I recall that upon each morning I saw that the little 
 lady had seemed stronger. She would wait my coming 
 impatiently, even running with her faltering steps to meet 
 me. The young winter had come suddenly. Frost clung 
 the paths. The ivy turned darker and the garden was dead. 
 The rooks were noisy and the birds were going. 
 
 I think it must have been a fortnight after my arrival 
 when a thing happened which I shall not forget. I had had 
 
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122 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 my morning bowl in the usual custom and was pinafored 
 and upon my way with Potts, when we turned the hall's way 
 that led to the turret, when I saw something that I recog- 
 nized. It was a figure that flitted swiftly in the shadows to 
 a door beyond us, suddenly opened it and closed it just as 
 suddenly. But this time we were beside the door and I saw 
 that whoever this was had caught her petticoat in the door. 
 And it was Miss Willoughby's. I had smoothed it. I 
 called : 
 
 " Oh, Miss Willoughby ! I am here." And I knocked. 
 
 The door opened suddenly again and I caught sight of 
 her face. Her eyes were swollen and red. She jerked her 
 petticoat free and shut the door in my face. 
 
 " Potts," I said, " that was Miss Willoughby." 
 
 " No ? " said Potts, like a question. 
 
 " Yes," I said, " it was Miss Willoughby." 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," said Potts, like a faint echo. " Wil- 
 loughby," she repeated aloud. 
 
 Then we went to the turret room and I resolved to tell 
 the little lady, but she was not there. All the shutters were 
 open. The candles were still standing burned low. The 
 little garments were gone and the cradle swathed in white. 
 I wondered if her Hope had waked and I turned to Potts. 
 
 "Where?" I said. 
 
 " Dead," said Potts. 
 
 "Dead?" I repeated. 
 
 " Dead," said Potts and nodded. 
 
 "When? "I said. 
 
 Potts did not answer, but pointed to the casement where 
 the shutters stood open wide. 
 
 " Night," she said then, and I wondered what she meant. 
 
 Then something caught my eye. It was a scrap of the 
 flowered silk clinging to the casement. It waved softly 
 upon the crisp morning air and the sun beamed down upon 
 it and it waved again. 
 
 " Not there," I said, for a sudden fear had seized me. I 
 remembered that the casement was many yards above th^ 
 gravel path of the garden. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 123 
 
 " There," said Potts. 
 
 " Where did you find her? " 
 
 "Below," said Potts. 
 
 " Oh, was she broken ? " 
 
 " Broken," said Potts. 
 
 I sat dowi; upon the hassock beside the dead fire and I 
 saw that the little room was full of sunshine. 1 The cradle 
 stood mute and I reached out and swayed it, and I whis- 
 pered : 
 
 " I know. You found the green field and the Mayin'. I 
 know." And I swayed it again. I was weeping, for I felt 
 that I had lost something. For was not her Hope and little 
 me always to abide together? 
 
 " Where is she ? " I whispered to Potts. 
 
 " Below," said Potts. 
 
 " Take me," I said. 
 
 Potts grasped my hand and we went below to the great 
 room where the portraits hung all swathed in white, save 
 one which I had uncovered, and he smiled down upon the 
 gloom like youth smiles at age. I looked at him. Then my 
 eyes sought about the great room. In the center she lay. It 
 was the little lady, only very white. The bright spots were 
 gone. There was a bruise upon one cheek and a little 
 streak of red stained the mouth's corner, where still the 
 too bright smile clung. I saw this and I was chilled. I 
 saw this and that her hands were clasped over a little gar- 
 ment. I went to her and clung to Potts who came with me 
 and I whispered: 
 
 " She-e-e ! Do not wake. I shall watch your Hope." 
 
 I touched one of her delicate hands and it was cold. 
 
 "May I kiss her?" I asked Potts. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. And I bent down and kissed one 
 silver lock where the moon hid. 
 
 "What is her name?" I asked Potts. 
 
 "Name?" repeated Potts. 
 
 " Yes," I said. " Who is she ? I love her." 
 
 Then there resounded a step and we turned and I saw 
 Miss Patricia standing in the doorway, her hands heW forth, 
 
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124 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 and I saw that she too had been weeping. I fled to Miss 
 Patricia's arms. She stooped to gather me in. 
 
 " Oh," I cried, " she is broken." 
 
 " Yes," whispered Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry," I went on. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Patricia. "There, there! She was 
 broken long, long ago." 
 
 "Come," I said. "Isn't she beautiful? See! she has 
 just a little of her Hope in her hands." And I pointed to 
 the little garment. 
 
 Miss Patricia bit her lip and began to weep. Then her 
 eyes raised and she saw the smiling gentleman and wheeled, 
 grasping my hand, and swept from the room. I did not 
 question, for I had learned many things since I had lived 
 in the eaves. It seemed so long ago. 
 
 We turned when we had passed through the hallway door 
 and came face to face with Potts, who bore linens to some 
 wing of the old mansion. Miss Patricia drew up before her 
 and looked as though she would speak. Potts stood with 
 her eyes down, the linen upon her round stomach, 
 ■waiting. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " said Miss Patricia, wiping her 
 eyes that still flashed even though they were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 " West," said Potts. 
 
 Miss Patricia started and waited, but Potts did not offer 
 further conversation. Miss Patricia looked sternly at Potts 
 and said : 
 
 " Potts, I am sorely tempted to shake you to see if you 
 •would spill more than one word." 
 
 Potts curtseyed and did not answer. Miss Patricia 
 gasped. 
 
 "Do you know me, Potts?" she asked. 
 
 Potts curtseyed once more and murmured: 
 
 "Patricia." 
 
 " What? " said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Miss Passwater," said Potts. 
 
 " Very well," said Miss Patricia, " remember it," 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 125 
 
 I stood watching them and wondering that Miss Patricia 
 at this time would stand and carry on such a conversation 
 with Potts, but I remembered that Miss Patricia was Miss 
 Patricia. Potts still stood. Miss Patricia took my hand 
 firmer within her grasp and swept past Potts, saying : 
 
 " I shall see you in the dining hall later." 
 
 We went to the hall and waited. I did not venture to 
 speak to Miss Patricia more, but she watched me as though 
 she looked for me to question her. However, I thought 
 it best not to speak, so I watched Miss Patricia. When 
 we had been sitting for some time, she beckoned me from 
 the tall chair I had sat upon and I went to her side. 
 
 " You are wondering what all of this means," said Miss 
 Patricia. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " Then why do you not ask ? " said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Well, you see. Miss Patricia, I know you, and I know 
 that Sally Trueblood said one might ride him to woe upon 
 his tongue. So I just waited. But I am so sorry, so very, 
 very sorry. Oh, Miss Patricia, I shall never, never forget 
 the garden, nor the little lady, for somehow I do not know 
 but I feel that I am the little one she lost. I know it 
 is fancy, but she looks like Sally Trueblood— Sally True- 
 blood in the moonlight." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. " Yes, I see. Go on." 
 
 " There shall always, always be a lonely here, Miss Pa- 
 tricia," I said, touching my breast, " when I think of the 
 weeping candles and the dark west wing. Oh, come, let's 
 go to the turret. I do so want to see the little cradle. I 
 feel it is lonely for her humming." 
 
 "Very well," said Miss Patricia, arising. 
 
 And we went upon our way to the turret room. We did 
 not come upon any other of the household, not even the 
 servants. When we came to the turret room, a sudden gust 
 of cold wind blew open the narrow door. It was dark now, 
 but I could see through one of the shutters' opes that the 
 sun had gone, for the whole sky was gray. It was a winter 
 sky and the little room that had been so beautifully bright 
 
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126 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 with the lighted candles and the too bright smile was piti- 
 fully desolate. Then my heart warmed, for the wind came 
 up again and swept with its chilling bite through the open 
 door and set the little cradle swaying. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia," I cried. " Look ! It is still sleep- 
 ing." And I ran to its side and whispered : " Sleep ! Oh, 
 please sleep ! " 
 
 Then I heard something that startled me. It was Miss 
 Patricia. She had suddenly crumpled up in a great chair 
 and was sobbing wildly. I went to her and laid my arms 
 about her heaving shoulder and I said: 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia, tell me. What is wrong ? Is it little 
 me, or is it my beautiful Sally Trueblood that brings you all 
 sorrow? Oh, please tell me. I know the look in your 
 eyes. It is coming. It was in the little lady's. It is in Miss 
 Willoughby's ; it was in Sally Trueblood's, and I know that 
 look. I do so want you to be happy, but. Miss Patricia, let 
 me go. Oh, do not suffer ! Please ! Please ! I shall go up 
 to the eaves and beg Delicia Prue to just leave me the pot's 
 dregs." I was weeping and Miss Patricia still sobbed. 
 " Oh, was it something about me that made the little lady's 
 eyes so empty? They frightened me. Miss Patricia, but I 
 loved to see her look away off as though she saw some 
 Mayin' I never had seen." 
 
 " She saw it," said Miss Patricia. " Yes, she saw it." 
 
 "Who is she?" I asked. 
 
 Miss Patricia bit her lip and looked at me steadily. 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 It was then that I saw something I had never seen before 
 in the little room. It was an oil of a gentleman with mild 
 eyes and something very familiar about him. Miss Pa- 
 tricia saw I was looking at him and turned very red. I 
 did not speak of this, but I resolved to remember. 
 
 "Might I just open the lattice. Miss Patricia? Just a 
 little? It seems so lonely." 
 
 I was whimpering and the tears were trickling down my 
 cheeks. Miss Patricia nodded. I went to the lattice and 
 opened it and there sounded again the voice of a hedge 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 127 
 
 songster, " Are you playing?" I turned and went to Miss 
 Patricia, who I knew was very miserable. 
 
 " How long do we stay ? " 
 
 " Until Potts comes to the dining-hall. Come," she 
 said. 
 
 I closed the lattice and laid my hand upon the cradle. 
 Then I followed Miss Patricia through the narrow door 
 and she let me shut it. I did so, softly, and my heart was 
 heavy. We went to the dining hall, where Potts was wait- 
 ing. She had a pack, a large one, all made ready that we 
 should take it. I knew, for she nodded at it to Miss Pa- 
 tricia as we entered. 
 
 " Very well," Miss Patricia snapped. She was grim now. 
 " We go when the chaise has come." 
 
 Potts nodded. Miss Patricia went to a window ope and 
 bade Potts follow, which she did, and they stood in low 
 conversation for some time. At least Miss Patricia seemed 
 to have very much to say and Potts lost a word now and 
 then. I was clothed in the pinafore that I had donned 
 upon my first coming to the mansion. Miss Patricia sent 
 Potts for my circular and I wondered where the little filmy 
 pinafore had been taken, and if it was in the pack and was 
 I to wear away the yellow one braided in brown. But they 
 did not seem to care about all of these things and the won- 
 der within me was not given voice. I simply waited. I 
 could hear steps overhead. I smelled candles, lighted ones. 
 I looked about the great dining hall and I loved it. It 
 seemed such a wonderful place. I had sat there many times, 
 dreaming dreams. I had fought wondrous battles in the 
 armor; I had seen the banner flying and heard the lances 
 click; I had seen gore spilled over the stone floor and I 
 loved to walk among the armors and speak with them. I 
 knew many things about the mansion where the doors were 
 open. Some of them had been bolted to my inquiries. I 
 should never forget the mansion and I had a lonely feeling 
 at leaving it. 
 
 I wondered if the little lady was a " deader," a really 
 deader, and I resolved to tell Rudy Strong, if she were. 
 
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128 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 that I had seen one. Then there came to me the thought 
 of the great room where she lay clasping her Hope, and her 
 bruised cheek, and the little line of red that seemed to 
 trickle from her mouth's corner, and the foolish little frilly 
 dress that seemed to be so gay. And I was frightened, 
 and glad when the chaise was announced by Potts, who 
 came back after leaving Miss Patricia, following the 
 long conversation, and dropped one word and it was, 
 " chaise." 
 
 Potts stood, looking straight ahead, and Miss Patricia 
 took my hand and did not turn. I was loth to leave, even 
 though I was frightened and feared to stay beneath the 
 roof where I seemed to be alone save for the servants, and 
 heard the footfall of others who did not show themselves 
 before my eyes. Miss Patricia and my pack, with my small 
 self, were safely within the chaise when there came over 
 me such a wonderful feeling, all melty. I stood up and 
 looked to the turret. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia," I whispered, " look, look ! There is 
 a rook upon the chimney. Oh, Miss Patricia, will she be 
 lonely? Will they put her in a pit just like Sally True- 
 blood? Oh, please tell me! I cannot leave her. She is 
 all broken. Miss Patricia. Don't you, think if I would kiss 
 the bruise it would heal ? Sally Trueblood said love would 
 mend bruises." 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " No ; she is sleeping, and I 
 think her breaking is all mended." 
 
 " But her little Hope." 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Patricia, " play a game and just be her 
 little Hope." 
 
 "That would be beautiful. Miss Patricia. Oh, I would 
 love it and I shall always love her." 
 
 And I sat down beside Miss Patricia. The fat lad struck 
 the nag's slanty rump. It sneezed and pricked up its ears 
 and set off at a lanky trot. The chaise wabbled upon its 
 way and I sung a little lilt as it swung along. Then I 
 looked to Miss Patricia. She was a very grim Miss Pa- 
 tricia and I knew I had best just sing on. Then I forgot 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 129 
 
 to sing, for I had suddenly become lonely. I got up and 
 kneeled upon the seat of the chaise and looked back at the 
 mansion that now showed but as gables and turrets, set 
 within billowing browns and reds and dark greens, and 
 here and there stark limbs showed. I watched the gables 
 sink in the green, deeper, deeper, deeper till there was but 
 one tall chimney and one turret's point. Then I said 
 aloud : 
 
 " Good-by, little lady ! I shall be your Hope. Good-by. 
 Oh, sleep and find the green field. I found it and I danced 
 there." And I blew a kiss back and I said : " Good-by to 
 the old days. You dark walls, I shall know you, for I do 
 know you now. I know," and I still was speaking aloud, 
 " I know that you are sealed up, just like Sally True- 
 blood's heart, but you are full of love. I know what I 
 know." And I blew a kiss and smiled, and I wished that 
 my smile would just find the little lady. 
 
 I blew another kiss and just wished it, too, would find 
 the little lady to rest upon her silver locks. We were swing- 
 ing now down the roadway, farther, farther from the old 
 place. I sat down and watched the bushes and under- 
 growth slip by. There was a cold crispness in the air that 
 made one feel like singing, yet there was something in the 
 golding leaves and shrubs and their flaming crests that 
 showed red, that made one sorrow, for they were ripening 
 to fall. Even now I could see, when a sudden gust of cold 
 air came, their whirling as they swept before tjs in the road- 
 way and fell beneath the trees. There was a queer sound 
 upon the air. It was the rustling of the little leaves. It 
 seemed to me that they were fretful that they should go 
 upon their wondrous journey. And I wondered if the old 
 trees would be lonely. 
 
 I did not speak to Miss Patricia of this, for she seemed 
 loth to speak and sat looking straight ahead. The lad had 
 offered conversation in small fragments which had met little 
 encouragement from her. I swung my feet, and traced let- 
 ters in the dust that fell upon the chaise dash. A new feel- 
 ing seized me as we came at last to the sight of the village. 
 
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130 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 It was a something that bounded up and filled me with joy- 
 ousness. I know now that it was the greeting of a home. 
 
 I never had this feeling about the Gray Eagle inn, for 
 it mattered not how glad I was that I should come back 
 to her, always there was the fear, a new kind each day. 
 Sometimes it was her cough; then there had been the 
 days when her eyes were red and when she spoke words 
 aloud, not to me. Then there were the times that I re- 
 membered when she had not left the eaves; when we had 
 never left except at the dark to wander down some secluded 
 way, and return in the dark. Then she had had a purse. 
 It was heavy and she used to count clinking things, and I 
 watched it flatten. Then the look came. Then I met my 
 friend, hunger. You see, she said, since we had to know 
 him we should make him our friend. Well, we were over- 
 friendly at times, and she used to laugh and say our friend 
 came too often. We gamed him and we used to say, one 
 to the other, in whispers, that we hoped he would not tarry 
 long. Then the Gray Eagle would stew and he would 
 limp away. Sometimes he ran. That was when they gave 
 us the pot dregs. I remembered this and a new feeling 
 came. 
 
 I knew that I should sup at the little table with Miss 
 Patricia; I knew there was a fire-log and a great poster 
 that still frightened me. It never softened and always was 
 grim. 
 
 The nag had suddenly picked up his trotting and the 
 leathers rattled. We crossed a small stream and I looked 
 into its crystal sheen and saw myself, all wriggly, leaning 
 over the chaise side. The nag drank long and sighed in 
 groans. Then the lad had made to set him ahead, but he 
 would not and sunk his nose deeper and sipped in a squeak- 
 ing sound. A strong jerk brought his head up and I heard 
 the water trickle from his nose and lips. Then we were 
 upon the way down the village street. We passed the 
 chapel yard and I leaned out and called: 
 
 " In the morning, Sally Trueblood, I shall come and I 
 shall tell you of the little lady." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 131 
 
 Miss Patricia touched me and said, " Sh ! " 
 
 We went past and finally drew up. at the house of the 
 Passwaters'. The fowls, which were Miss Patricia's pride, 
 were stalking perchward and set up a clatter as we drew up. 
 Tidy Timpkins was in the doorway, her arms wound up in 
 her apron. She screamed a welcome and we alighted. 
 Miss Patricia penced the driver and we went within. I sat 
 down upon the great chair and watched the low fire. The 
 room was dark save for its light and the bird had already 
 gone to rest. 
 
 Miss Patricia turned the glass, patted the table cover, took 
 off her shawl and bonnet, untied mine and took off my cir- 
 cular. Then she sat down and we sat a long time and 
 neither spoke. Then Tidy came in, bearing a new candle, 
 and this she gave to Miss Patricia, who lighted it at the fire 
 and set it upon the table. I noticed that there was loaf and 
 some cold meat, a bit of green and no milk for my bowl, 
 nor for Miss Patricia's hot water. Miss Patricia spoke to 
 Tidy of this and Tidy answered that the Stebbins 'lowed 
 that they had none, at least for unrighteous folks. 
 
 "Eh?" said Miss Patricia. " Stebbms said that?" 
 
 " Yessum," said Tidy. 
 
 " Well," snapped Miss Patricia. " Then we shall 
 
 Oh, very well," she went on, and turned to me. " Come 
 along and sup." 
 
 " What shall we do? " I said. 
 
 Miss Patricia smoothed the table cover, helped herself 
 to a bit of meat and green, and said very deliberately: 
 
 " Never let your tongue ride to the village. It's sure to 
 come back overpacked." 
 
 Tidy stood twisting her apron corner and stepping 
 upon her own foot. She sniffed and licked her upper 
 lip. 
 
 " Yessum," she put in. " And the Rackets lowed as 
 they'd best not draw no more wood." 
 
 Miss Patricia stood up and her face flamed. 
 
 " Well," she said, " this village knows Patricia Passwater, 
 they think. But they have very much to learn. We shall 
 
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132 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 see who is up and over in this place. These praying saints 
 shall have an eye-opening." 
 
 This was but the beginning. We were shunned on every 
 side. Even Tidy Timpkins forsook us and I was put to 
 the kitchen to scour and to bake and "tend" as Miss 
 Patricia called it. 
 
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CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The winter wore, and it was no new thing to see the 
 village pass and whisper, nor look our way. We went to 
 the chapel yard in the blinding snows and sleets, and in 
 the wind and rain, and stood, each Sabbath morning. All 
 through this but one lent aid and this was Vicar Gif- 
 ford, who had suffered even as we had suffered, for at 
 Sabbaths only few sought the chapel and whisper had it 
 that but for the Willoughbys he would be sent upon his 
 way. 
 
 There had passed the harvest feasts and the field dances, 
 and I had seen the youth of the village joyous, but their 
 joyousness had brought something new to me — a heavy 
 heart. Miss Patricia was kind, even gentle, and many times 
 when I watched some party pass, sleighing or off to the 
 snow slides, she would pat me, or say, " Wait ! Wait ! " 
 
 We were lonely, Miss Patricia and little me, yet we had 
 so much, for there were the evenings when we would sit 
 and I would tell her of Sally Trueblood and the eaves and 
 of so many things that seemed to creep upon me out of 
 some place I had forgotten. At times Miss Patricia went 
 to the village and purchased, but I was shut in — kept not 
 by her from the village, but by the village. I feared their 
 eyes, they hurt me, and their whispers cut like blades. 
 They jeered at my pinafores and my queer headdress. 
 They called me — I shall not write the word — and I have 
 waked in the night with it ringing in my ears. Life now 
 was not a beautiful ganle. I learned so many things that 
 seemed to make clouds over Sally Trueblood's smile. 
 
 I seem to see, as I write, little me, like some young bird, 
 flitting in the spring, and then I lose the little bird and see 
 that winter come and I am no longer little me, but a 
 
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134 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 frightened thing, beginning a new path, all unknown, with 
 no hand to lead me like Sally Trueblood's, who held the 
 witching wand and touched the thorns that they might bloom 
 for me. Above all of this, something came to me that left 
 me reft of all my sun. The mound became a mound. No 
 longer was She there. I knew within me that their eyes 
 had frightened her away and I wanted her to go. I remem- 
 ber the morning I sought the mound and said aloud : 
 
 " Oh, Sally Trueblood, go ! go ! I cannot stand their eyes 
 upon you! Just leave me your smile, Sally Trueblood, just 
 a little one, and go ! It is a very long game — " I was weep- 
 ing — " but your elf shall play it." 
 
 I knew now. I knew that some words were arrows. 
 Well, I just forgot them, and made beautiful ones to cover 
 them up. Mr. Reuben had taught me this first lesson. 
 When I left the chapel yard this morning, I left the last of 
 little me. I think I buried it in the pit to warm and sing 
 some new day. 
 
 There was something I have forgotten to tell, and this 
 was that many times, as I went to the chapel yard, not upon 
 the Sabbaths when Miss Patricia always went with me, but 
 at the lone times when I loved to go and look upon the 
 mound, just as I had loved to dream of the eaves and the 
 time when she was there, then I had come often upon 
 Sephira Gifford. We had never spoken, but in her eyes I 
 saw a look of kindness and understanding. Once she had 
 opened the chapel yard gate for me and she had said noth- 
 ing but smiled. I took that smile home with me and I kept 
 it a long time. 
 
 I became more silent through the days, and at the night 
 often I have lain within the grim bed and taken out, from 
 that quiet land we trod alone, all the Gray Eagle days and 
 played with them, putting them back only like worn toys, 
 waiting to be loved once more. I could not give them up. 
 I grew to do my task with my hands, silently, while I 
 trod paths the village never showed. Miss Patricia offered 
 me no explanation of our mysterious trip to the mansion, 
 and, strange as it may seem, the village knew little, even of 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 135 
 
 Sally Trueblood, and less of the mansion, save that it was 
 shunned and shut and had been for long and long. 
 
 Then the time of happiness came — the time when our 
 love takes new root, when a little Babe comes down from 
 the Great Unknown and lies upon the breast of earth and 
 cries out for loving; when the shadow of Winter takes 
 wings of love and flies away, leaving the spring of love 
 upon the day. Oh, I know now that the Babe wails vainly, 
 oft, oft, for I know many things taught by many days. Yet 
 I thank Him who sends the Babe that I have learned the 
 things. 
 
 I recall that at this time the carolets sung; that each 
 house swarmed of neighbors ; that when the Night of Nights 
 fell, I was filled with a teeming joy — something beautiful, 
 as though I saw Sally Trueblood's smile. The day had been 
 a cold one. The snow stood high and capped the village 
 houses and banked the road's way, and when the night fell 
 one could hear shouts of happiness and callings of joy from 
 lip to lip. I had listened, and I saw that look in Miss Pa- 
 tricia's eyes. Her lips were thin and I saw how it hurt, and 
 I smiled a sunshine smile. It was quite dark and we could 
 see through our windows, when the shutters were opened, 
 burning brands trailing the paths and the voices of the car- 
 olers singing, singing. And it seemed that the sky was 
 deep and an echo of happiness sounded there, but that our 
 little house was just outside. 
 
 We listened to their happiness, Miss Patricia and I. And 
 I remember that late they were still singing. We sat be- 
 fore the fire, Miss Patricia in the great chair and I upon 
 the hassock at her feet. I saw the light of the fire plying 
 the shadows like golden shuttles, and the glass was slipping 
 upon the table and the bird slept. I leaned my cheek upon 
 iMiss Patricia's knee and I felt her hand slip over my locks 
 and lie upon my other cheek. And then — oh, I scarce can 
 write it — but she began to sing, in a quavering voice, a carol. 
 I listened and my heart froze. I got upon my feet and 
 flung my arms about her and kissed her and cried : 
 
 " Oh, please, please, no ! I love you. Miss Patricia, but 
 
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136 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 she sang that one. She sang it, Miss Patricia, with smiling 
 lips and weeping eyes. Oh, why do I always just listen 
 to happiness? It is like being so thirsty and hearing the 
 rain that will not find you." And I sunk upon my knees 
 and laid my head upon Miss Patricia's knees and sobbed. 
 
 "There, there," said Miss Patricia. "Wait! wait!" 
 
 " Yes, yes," I answered, " it is a game, a very, very 
 long game. She used to leave me rest my head upon her 
 bosom when the evening came." 
 
 " How ? " said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Like this," I answered, and laid my head upon Miss 
 Patricia's bosom. 
 
 As I did it something fell from her kerchief fold. It was 
 my locket with Mr. Bee upon it. I did not touch it, nor 
 look. She swiftly tucked it back and I went on. 
 
 " And I always watched the shadows grow tired with her 
 as we sat listening to the winds that sung and bore frag- 
 ments of their singing, those of the village, who in their 
 happiness forgot." 
 
 Then I had grown weary-sorry and I arose and weighted 
 Miss Patricia's eyes with kisses, that she sleep. And I went 
 to the guest room, my own now, and there upon the grim 
 bed lay a packet. I untied a lover's knot and before my 
 eyes was a great star in sweet-cake, sugared red. I loved 
 it. It was so unlike Miss Patricia. I went softly back to 
 the sitting room and stopped, for Miss Patricia was before 
 the fire, the little chest upon the floor, and crushed to her 
 breast the little pinafore of filmy stuff. And she was sob- 
 bing. I returned softly to the guest room and I said aloud : 
 "Sally Trueblood, why?" 
 
 The faint light shone through the open door from where 
 the candle was lighted. It flickered over the walls and the 
 room's comers were quite dark. I stood clasping the star 
 sweet-cake and I sank upon my knees and buried my head 
 within the grim poster's skirt. It never before had seemed 
 to soften, but as I knelt I became more broken and it seemed 
 to fairly lend itself to me. I sobbed within its great breast, 
 and I remember that I tried that I should not cry aloud, 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 137 
 
 for had not Miss Patricia made me the cake ? Then I arose 
 and looked once more toward the hearth where Miss Pa- 
 tricia knelt. She was still upon her knees, but her eyes 
 were upraised and her lips were moving, and I knew she 
 was speaking endearingly to Dearest God. And I, too, 
 sunk upon my knees and I looked up to the dark ceil and 
 my lips made sweet sounds like those Sally Trueblood 
 made when she spoke to Him, and I said: 
 
 "Dearest God, why?" 
 
 Then I arose and put the sweet-cake beneath my pillow 
 and made me ready for sleeping. I opened the window 
 shutters ever so slightly so that I might watch the brands 
 crawling the snowy path and just game a little little. It was 
 a strange game. I remember that I had lain very long and 
 watched a great fire that the villagers had builded up. They 
 were dancing about it and casting pine upon it so that I 
 could tell when new fuel had been cast. 
 
 Then I found the Morning had come, and it was a beau- 
 tiful blue Morning with a golden skirt, and her arms were 
 wide, and upon her lips was Sally Trueblood's smile. Then 
 the Morning bended down and whispered : " Are you play- 
 ing?" 
 
 I awoke, crying out: 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " 
 
 But the room was quite dark and very cold. The candle 
 was gone and my hands were clasped over Willie_ Pimm 
 Passwater's china dog. I brought myself up upon my elbow 
 and peeped through the shutter's ope. The villagers had 
 gone, but the moon stood white and high, and I thought, 
 as I gazed up at her, that she was the keeper of the king- 
 dom's gate; that the golden white was her crown and the 
 silver-strung rays the tapered wings. And I saw the starry 
 host dancing, dancing. And I whispered, " Oh, let me just 
 play with you." 
 
 And I lay back upon my pillow, still hugging the dog, and 
 I recall that I slipped my hand beneath my pillow just to 
 touch the cake. And I whispered : 
 
 " Miss Patricia, I do love you. I shall drive away the 
 
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138 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 look." And I sighed, and I did not intend to sleep, but he 
 met me and led me away. 
 
 Morning came, but it was not the golden morning. She 
 was robed in gray and silver and snowy white and a little 
 scarlet. I heard Miss Patricia lighting the fire and I went, 
 before I had dressed, into the sitting room and held my 
 arms wide and cried: 
 
 " Miss Patricia, dearest God did not give me one little 
 thing that I might give you, but this," and I flew to her and 
 clasped her neck and kissed her and said, " I love you." 
 Then I saw that she had been weeping. 
 
 "Is the wood all gone?" I asked. 
 
 She shook her head and sat down. " Then what ? " I 
 asked. Miss Patricia did not answer; but she took me to 
 her and sat for some time stroking my brow. Then she said 
 slowly : 
 
 " Can you be very brave ? " And before I could answer, 
 she went on : " Yes, you can. I know it. Listen ! There 
 is little to eat." 
 
 " What? " I said. " Did he find me here? I thought he 
 had forgotten me. Oh, I am glad I shall find out just how 
 deep I am. You see, Sally Trueblood said hunger bit you 
 way down deep and we waited to see how deep." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia, " but listen ! We shall have 
 to eat the house ! " 
 
 " What ? " I said. " Eat the house ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Patricia, you are joking. We just couldn't. 
 We would get splinters in our teeth." 
 
 But I saw that Miss Patricia was not laughing and I went 
 to her and said: 
 
 " Tell me. Just put your head here," and I laid my hand 
 upon my bosom, " and tell me." 
 
 " I mean it," said Miss Patricia. " We shall have to give 
 up the house." 
 
 " Give up the little house? Miss Patricia, I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Patricia, " Mr. Reuben is detained." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 139 
 
 " He is coming, then ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 "When?" I said. 
 
 " I do not know," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 "What?" I asked. "Miss Patricia, he said, when he 
 left me at the Gray Eagle inn the first night when I came 
 to call, he said, — I was standing in the archway and I heard 
 him, — ' Sarah Trueblood.' Did he know her?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " No, no. Come ! It is 
 enough that we face loneliness and hunger." 
 
 " Yes," I put in. " We shall just wait until they knock. 
 Let us be, oh, so happy today. I tell you. Let's go to the 
 chapel yard. I know where there is a great bush of holly 
 and it is all rubied over. Let us go and make such beau- 
 tiful wreaths and take them to Willie Pimm Passwater and 
 Obadiah Willoughby and Felicia Trueblood and Sally True- 
 blood and Patricia Passwater and Reuben Passwater and 
 one down where there is no villager that goes. You know 
 the one, Miss Patricia." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia, " I know." 
 
 "Shall we?" I asked. 
 
 Miss Patricia nodded and arose and went about the mak- 
 ing of our breakfast. 
 
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CHAPTER XIV 
 
 We busied about laying the table and making ready that 
 ■we sit. Miss Patricia walked briskly. I remember the 
 room so very well as I write. It was still cold and the fire 
 crackled. When one went toward the window's ope one's 
 breath showed like smoke. Miss Patricia had pinned a 
 woolen scarf about her and I was hunched, my hands red. 
 iWhat had promised to be a very gray day turned forth a 
 ■beautiful sunny one and the snow showed like millions of 
 sparkles before the bright light. When Miss Patricia had 
 made the sup ready, we sat together at the little table and it 
 was a queer sup, for she did not offer conversation and I 
 spent my time listening to the fire crackling and the bird 
 hopping in its wicker. 
 
 While we sat, a knock sounded. I jumped to my feet 
 and ran toward the door. Miss Patricia stood up and 
 said, " No, I shall go." 
 
 " Do you think it could be a Christ gift? " I cried. " Do 
 you. Miss Patricia? I asked dearest God for it." 
 
 Miss Patricia did not answer me and went slowly to the 
 door. The knocking sounded once more. She slipped the 
 bolt of the doorway that led to the little hall and went within 
 it and I heard her fumble with the outer lock. Then I 
 heard the door open and I saw the young sun light up the 
 hallway, and Mr. Stephen stepped in. Miss Patricia stood 
 very straight before him and did not bid him enter. He 
 ignored this and stepped past her and I saw that he carried 
 a great bag. It was of leather and buckled of silver. Miss 
 Patricia said something softly as he passed her and fol- 
 lowed him, after shutting the outer door into the sitting 
 room. Then she turned and softly shut the connecting 
 door and stood before it. Mr. Stephen walked to the fire, 
 which was weak, and I saw Miss Patricia was agitated. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 141 
 
 "Well," she said, "what has brought you?" 
 
 He turned and looked at me. Miss Patricia saw his look 
 and went on: 
 
 " Never mind. She has her part in this miserable tangle. 
 Why send her away?" 
 
 He shrugged and sat down in the great chair. Miss Patricia 
 did not sit down, but went to the fire and stood before the 
 hearth, seeming to leave it to him as to what should be done 
 or said. He had brought the bag in with him and it 
 sat before his feet. He pointed to it and said : 
 
 " I have brought what is rightfully hers to her." 
 
 Miss Patricia did not answer. Mr. Stephen repeated his 
 statement. Miss Patricia sniifed and tossed her head, 
 saying : 
 
 " Mr. Stephen, you have not. The thing that is rightfully 
 hers has been denied her." 
 
 " But, Patricia," Mr. Stephen put in. " Did we not " 
 
 Miss Patricia interrupted him, saying: 
 
 " Don't ' Patricia ' me ! It sets me edged." 
 
 She pointed to the door and I saw that her hand shook. 
 
 " Listen ! " she said. " It is just like this. This is Pa- 
 tricia Passwater's roof, and she and this child are beneath 
 it, and the village nor the uppin' ones need not think that 
 they may come and cast in their bones for pickin' and ex- 
 pect Patricia Passwater to wallow in humility. Take that 
 bag and get out ! " 
 
 " But, Patricia," said Mr. Willoughby, " where is Reu- 
 ben? We have heard of this." 
 
 Miss Patricia still pointed to the doorway and she an- 
 swered Mr. Willoughby without dropping her hand. 
 
 " Reuben Passwater is wherever he is and as he won't 
 tell then get out! I am not here to take the donations of 
 charity and I do not want what is rightfully this child's 
 unless it is all of what is rightfully hers. One woman 
 died hoping and I suppose there can be two." 
 
 Mr. Stephen was fingering with the buckles of the bag 
 and he opened it slowly. I saw something that I re- 
 membered. It was the flowered cloth dress I had seen upon 
 
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142 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 the little lady that first night, and the little garments. Miss 
 Patricia's eyes seemed to start out of her head and she 
 was very angry. She stooped down upon her knees and 
 shut the bag. 
 
 " So this is what you bring, Stephen Willoughby ! Well, 
 take them back ! They belong to her. Bury them with her. 
 They are the only things that meant life to her." 
 
 " But Fel " Mr. Willoughby bit his lip. " She is 
 
 gone." 
 
 " Yes," went on Miss Patricia's voice, scarcely leaving 
 Mr. Willoughby's words to be spoken. " She is gone, and 
 so is Reuben Passwater and that girl and Stephen Wil- 
 loughby and Marcella Willoughby. But what does all of 
 this matter? The Willoughbys are the Willoughbys. The 
 Lord hates a hypocrite and He does not forget one. Wait, 
 
 Stephen Willoughby, wait ! I could swing the balance " 
 
 But here Miss Patricia looked at me and her eyes were full 
 of tears and she began to sob. " Go ! " she said. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby arose, bowed in gallant style, laying his 
 arm across his breast, took up the bag and waited for 
 Miss Patricia to open the door, which she did and let him 
 out. When he had gone she was very much upset. She 
 walked over to the great chair and sat down. 
 
 " Come here," she said to me. I went up to her. " Go 
 fetch your hood and make ready. Since the living will not 
 of us, then we shall go to the dead." 
 
 I ran to bring forth my hood and when I returned Miss 
 Patricia was bonneted and shawled. She was busy making 
 the final touches about the sitting room. She turned the 
 glass, fingered the table cover, turned the yellow fruits about 
 until they faced the incoming door. She cast some ash over 
 our small log, which I had forgotten to tell was brought 
 up to our little house by Rudy Strong, and which I had cut. 
 
 Rudy had been faithful through all our tribulations. He 
 had made purchases and it was through him that we received 
 our milk, he making the purchase and bringing it to us at 
 dark. We had been very glad to have the friendship of 
 Rudy, which had been denied us at first. He, along with 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 143 
 
 Tidy Timpkins and the village, had forsaken us entirely 
 until word had come out aijiong the villagers that we were 
 to be driven out. Then he had come one night when the 
 dark had just settled and called: 
 
 " Hi ! Hi, Hope ! " And I had gone out, so glad to hear 
 his familiar call. He had told me that he was just the 
 same and had offered me a new kitten which, he said, was 
 " almost good," having lost but one eye, and I had been 
 delighted. Rudy was a joy, and also a pain, for he brought 
 the village tongues to us. I had heard from his lips that 
 his uncle, Mr. Strong, knew that Reuben Passwater had 
 gone because — well, the village was whispering it behind 
 their hands and he couldn't tell a girl. 
 
 I learned, too, that Sally Trueblood was called a thing 
 that I did not understand, but I knew by the flushing of 
 Rudy Strong, when he said it, that it belonged with his 
 three words. I know now that all of these things made a 
 deep shadow upon me, but then I did not know it. It was 
 all strange to me. I did not understand. I seemed to accept 
 all of these things as though they were due me, for I had 
 never known the freedom of fellowship. Always I had 
 known hiding and glances and fears and whispers. 
 
 I was thinking of these things when Miss Patricia was 
 finally ready and bade me come. We left our little house 
 and went without. The little firs were peaked of snow and 
 stood sparkling in the sun like great sugar-sprinkled tarts. 
 I can hear the crispness of that morning. Every twig 
 crackled and the wind rattled over the snow. The village 
 was happy, for the chimneys smoked, and I knew that fires 
 were burning and that the morning had brought wondrous 
 feasts to preparation. 
 
 We went down the village way to the usual head-popping 
 accompaniment and withdrawals. We passed the inn and 
 I saw that the coach stood before. The horses were decked 
 in garlands of green and holly berries and scarlet blooms 
 of the winter tide. At their heads hung streamers of gay 
 ribbons and the coach stood, waiting Lady Lilyfinger, I 
 thought. Just as we came to the doorway of the inn, some 
 
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144 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 one opened it. Oh, the smell ! All plummy and spiced, and 
 there was a savory ! I knew it, for it had that strong scent 
 that makes one wish that his stomach was just a big pot. I 
 wondered if the speckled goose had given up. He had fled 
 thrice when Peter Goff had sought, him. And I pulled my 
 hand free and just leaned close as we passed and peeped 
 to the inn room. Oh, the fire! It was merry; it was 
 beautiful ! The beams were wound of mistletoe and spruce 
 spines plumed, and the heat made it smell, and oh, I did 
 want to go within ! Then I looked up to the eaves, and 
 somehow, oh, I was empty, and the fire was not beautiful, 
 and my feet were cold ! Then I looked to Miss Patricia and 
 I saw she was having a very hard time not to cry, and I 
 said: 
 
 "Aren't we happy?" 
 
 Miss Patricia looked at me and her thin lips opened and 
 one word came forth. It was, " No." 
 
 " Do not make it any worse," she went on. 
 
 I understood, but Sally Trueblood had told me that when 
 one made believe just a little bit like a fib, the fairies 
 witched it and it was not sinful. I was afraid Miss Pa- 
 tricia believed that I was lying and I said : 
 
 " Miss Patricia, that wasn't just exactly a fib. You see, 
 it was just a joke." 
 
 Miss Patricia smiled, very wanly, I thought. I have seen 
 that smile on Sally Trueblood's lips and I never liked it. 
 
 We had passed the inn when we came upon Dawson. 
 She had a huge basket upon her arm out of which trailed a 
 long goose neck. I had forgotten to tell you of Dawson. 
 You see, she was a thing about the village that they had all 
 needed. It was like this. You sent for Dawson and when 
 morning came you had a new baby. All the village knew 
 her basket and I almost feared to look, for I was afraid she 
 would come to Miss Patricia's and I was too much. 
 
 I knew Dawson. She was always kind, and Sally True- 
 blood told me once that she knew things about me that no 
 one knew. Miss Patricia noticed how I drew back and she 
 turned to me and said: 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 145 
 
 " Come along. What is the matter? " 
 
 Dawson was coming our way, her broad face beaming 
 like a great red apple. Her hair was always done up like a 
 stem. At least, one wisp always stuck straight up. I 
 think that is why I liked to think she looked like an apple. 
 Sally Trueblood used to go and see Dawson, and I always, 
 believed that that was one of the things that flattened her 
 purse. Dawson was now beside us and her hands were red 
 with cold, folded over what should have been her waist. 
 You see, Dawson lopped over. Her shawl was wide open 
 and her head was wrapped in a comforter. I remember 
 that her breath made a great white cloud about her face, 
 and she called, while her lips spread and her little sharp 
 teeth shone, " Mornin' ! " Then the smile fled and Daw- 
 son drew a long face and came up almost to Miss Patricia 
 and she pointed to the village, then to the sky, and rolled 
 her eyes and said: 
 
 " Them as is lowly, Miss Patricia, should never drink 
 the ale of their betters. The Lord is just." 
 
 "Who said He wasn't?" said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Yessum," went on Dawson, as though Miss Patricia had 
 not spoken. " As I was tellin' Hobbs Dawson this very 
 mornin', the Lord is just and the lowly is lowly. God 
 taketh in the sinners and the sinners take in God." 
 
 Miss Patricia's lips were about to smile. I saw it. 
 
 "Well, Dawson," she said, "is that all?" 
 
 " Yessum," said Dawson. " The Lord is just. Them 
 that has fergit and them that fergit has. But them villagers 
 they don't understand. I says to Hobbs, says I, the Lord 
 is just." Miss Patricia stood waiting and Dawson leaned 
 closer. " Hobbs is took worse," said she. " It's his liver." 
 
 " Yes ? " said Miss Patricia, in a sympathetic voice. 
 
 " He's full up o' bile," said Dawson. " I tells him so this 
 mornin'. Miss Patricia. Good mornin' ! We as is humble 
 should keep so. The Lord is just. Dawson brings 'em 
 trash and there's them as takes it in. The Lord is just." 
 
 Miss Patricia stood very straight and I whispered: 
 
 " She won't go to your house, will she, Miss Patricia ? " 
 
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146 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " No, thank God ! " said Miss Patricia. " That old raven 
 has croaked at every birth and death since I can recall, but 
 Dawson is Dawson," she added and smiled. 
 
 Miss Patricia stood watching her go, waddling through 
 the snow, the basket swinging upon her round hip, and 
 Miss Patricia said softly, as though to herself: 
 
 " Now I suppose she will visit the Sniflys. ' I met her 
 and she was broke — almost failin' broke.' My dear," she 
 said to me, " don't forget how to just play, for when you 
 forget it you can never learn again." 
 
 I squeezed her hand and I remember that I asked what 
 Dawson meant by "the Lord is just." She always put 
 that after everything she said, even the finishing of a 
 herb brew, or of a loaf. Every task was finished with 
 that saying. Miss Patricia had answered me in these 
 words : 
 
 " I do not know, and I am quite sure she does not know 
 either. Dawson is Dawson, just like a cow is a cow. After 
 all, her hands make up what her tongue lacks, and at some 
 times her tongue makes up what her hands lack, so an even 
 measure is Dawson's." 
 
 After this meeting we had gone to the chapel yard and 
 woven the wreaths and visited with them that lay beneath 
 the mound, whose bright smiles were not chilled, but lived 
 within us. And I found that Sally Trueblood had left 
 me the smile, even though I could not find her there. I 
 told Miss Patricia about the mound and I said: 
 
 " Miss Patricia, I am glad, for, you see, the pit is not her 
 and the black box is not her. They did not keep her there. 
 I saw her fly away on two golden wings that morning, and 
 she waved to me as she went, and turned, and I saw her 
 beckon. I know she is playing still." 
 
 We returned about the middle of the afternoon. It grew 
 dark early and an unusual thing happened. The post boy 
 found our door with a packet sealed in red. Miss Patricia 
 was very much excited and lighted two candles. I 
 did not ask about the packet, but went about the tending 
 in the kitchen and made ready the loaf and hot water. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 147 
 
 When we had seated that we sup and I had waited for Miss 
 Patricia to speak, she suddenly looked at me and said : 
 
 "Well, we need not eat the house." 
 
 "Why?" I cried. "Oh, I am glad! You see, dearest 
 God did it." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia, " I think He did." 
 
 "Why?" I asked again. 
 
 "Never mind," said she. "We shall have to be very 
 careful, but the house is ours." 
 
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CHAPTER XV 
 
 That was settled, I knew, and I remember that we spent 
 our usual evening. Then I remember many, many just 
 alike. The cold wore to warm and still we were alone. 
 They did not seek us and we kept just to ourselves. And 
 the chapel yard was our chapel. I learned to be very swift 
 with my needle. I loved it, for I had always seen her 
 sewing. I learned to be even more silent. I found out 
 from the spilling tongues that Sally Trueblood was called 
 " the brat's mother." I had never called her this. She 
 taught me to say " Sally Trueblood," and I loved it. I 
 loved her lips when she said it. I learned that the Wil- 
 loughbys were high stock ; that their sire had been a wrath- 
 ful one ; that their mother was a frail, dainty creature, who 
 shrunk beneath the wrath of the sire until she could not 
 bear it and had given up. Marcella, they had called her. 
 I heard of the mansion. It was called Grisley Hall by the 
 villagers and was " bansheed." 
 
 I see myself grow taller. My pinafores came up and my 
 legs lengthened beneath them. Still I wore them, and my 
 wrists got longer beneath the sleeves' cuffs. I read to Miss 
 Patricia now out of the Word of God, aloud, and I forgot 
 to question, becoming dull as to what would happen and 
 why, living the strange days like a little stranger. Rudy was 
 my champion through it all. Then he became strange. I 
 do not know why, but my legs got longer before him and 
 my ears would burn. I awoke to new things. Little me was 
 gone. Her games, like the worn Gray Eagle days, were 
 back in the quiet land. 
 
 I knew now how long a loaf should bake; how a stitch 
 should lay ; how a bed should be smoothed, and all of such 
 things, but I forgot to look up the chimney to run away in 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 149 
 
 fancy with the steaming smoke from the kettle and to 
 wonder why it climbed the black pit to see the sky. 
 
 Miss Patricia was still Miss Patricia to me, ever 
 kind, never explaining, never entirely melting, but tantaliz- 
 ingly sweet, then grim. She grew frail, her hands thin, ■ 
 her cheeks sunk deep, and I saw that she was whiter, and 
 her moles — they were dear things now! I loved them. 
 They were part of her. Just like thorns they were and her 
 heart was a bloom. All of this I recall and also that within 
 me came a new fear. What should Miss Patricia leave me ! 
 It was then that I was no longer the tall slim child, but a 
 youthed woman, with much I had learned that made new 
 thorns upon which to tear my heart against what I had 
 learned before. 
 
 The days sped not upon the bright hours that I had 
 known, for the thing that I learned made the heart heavy 
 and thereby the feet laggard. I shall tell here a thing that 
 came upon me that made the days more fearful. Miss Pa- 
 tricia seemed to fade before me. She grew less brisk about 
 the house, leaving to my hands the tending of the bird, the 
 turning of the glass and the laying of the woolen cover that 
 had always been her pride. It was no new thing to find her 
 asleep, perhaps beside the fire, or, in the summer tide, in 
 some shadow afar from the window's ope, where she had 
 always been in the habit of sitting. Her eyes, too, grew 
 dimmer and she seemed to contain something which ate 
 deep within her. I found her biting her lips, and her thin 
 hands upon her lap twitching or pinching the cloth of her 
 skirt. When I would come upon her so, she would start 
 and seem to bring herself back from some far place where 
 I had not been. 
 
 During this time we had no word of Mr. Reuben. I had 
 spoken to Miss Patricia of this thing often and she would 
 simply say with finality, " Reuben is detained." Ever we 
 waited. Each evening his wrapper was brought forth, the 
 bottle of port set upon the table and his mulling cup beside 
 it. Miss Patricia did not mull her port, nor did she sit 
 beside the fire, as she had always done when Mr. Reuben 
 
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ISO HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 •was there. Rather would she draw her chair back to the 
 shadow when the fire was lighted, or sit in the gloom if it 
 was summer time. Even the spring did not tempt her. 
 
 It had been a long winter, I recall, following a time 
 that seems to me but empty days of tending, baking, bring- 
 ing up wood, sewing, and forgetting, with no thing to fill 
 up the emptiness. The spring came late and the chill clung 
 even after the green had come. Miss Patricia seemed more 
 frail than ever before and I was overcome one morning 
 when I found her upon her bed and not arisen with the 
 first day's break, lying very pale and motionless. When 
 I had knocked in fright she had bidden me enter and I had 
 done so. I knew her far too well to exclaim when I beheld 
 her so. I stood waiting. She lay very quiet and coughed. 
 After I had stood for some time, she reached forth one of 
 her thin hands and bade me come beside her. 
 
 " It is nothing. You understand ? It is nothing." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Patricia," I answered. " I see." 
 
 " Very well," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Will you arise ? " I asked. 
 
 "No," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 Then she lay quiet and did not offer more conversation. 
 I sat beside her on the bed. 
 
 " Open the shutter," she commanded. 
 
 I arose and went to the shutter and opened it and the 
 misty room was flooded with a white simlight and a gust 
 of cold air entered. 
 
 " Is it too cool ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," said Miss Patricia. " Now that I think of it, I 
 shall arise." 
 
 " Very well," I said. " Shall I bring your dressing 
 gown?" 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 I went to the press and brought forth the gown, which I 
 laid upon the foot of the poster and went to the side of Miss 
 Patricia. She made to arise and I saw she was far too much 
 spent. She looked keenly up to my eyes and I pretended 
 I did not notice her efforts. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 15 r 
 
 " Wait," she said, " I shall be but a moment. I think it 
 is — well, perhaps it is age." 
 
 " No," I cried. " Never, Miss Patricia! " 
 
 " Yes," she said. " You see, age is not youth when it 
 comes to carrying a pack." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I know, but it could never be age." 
 
 " I think," went on Miss Patricia, not noticing my re- 
 mark, "I think Reuben will come shortly. Do you not?" 
 
 I stopped before her, fearing to answer. She had never 
 asked me one thing of Reuben, nor had she one time inti- 
 mated that she thought that I might be interested in his 
 going. 
 
 " Well ! " she snapped. 
 
 " Yes, yes," I answered hastily. " Oh, yes, I think he 
 will." 
 
 " That is a lie," said Miss Patricia. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " Well ! It is well you can tell the truth," went on Miss 
 Patricia. " I like you for that thing." 
 
 " Yes," I put in. 
 
 Then Miss Patricia lay very still, seeming to forget me, 
 and I saw that she was summoning all the strength she had. 
 She arose upon one elbow and went very white. She looked 
 pitifully to me and her lips moved. I caught the words, 
 very tremorously spoken amid her struggle to sit: 
 
 " I cannot ! I do not understand ! Hope, help me ! " 
 
 Suddenly my blood froze. I saw that she could not move 
 her limbs. 
 
 " Miss Patricia ! " I gasped. 
 
 " Never mind," she said softly. " I think they are just — "" 
 she bit her lips — " tired. There is baking today — I — I — 
 I " then she sunk. 
 
 I stood before the thing that had been Miss Patricia — 
 a frail, withered thing; not the Miss Patricia whose words 
 cut and who carried herself proud before the village, even 
 in their wrath upon her. And I sunk upon my knees, sink- 
 ing my head upon the great poster and laying my hands 
 upon her pitiful hands. And I looked at her sweet face. 
 
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152 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 It was sweet. The thin lips seemed to have a halo about 
 them, hanging apart from them, yet theirs— a new light, 
 something that spoke softly and seemed young. The eyes 
 were closed and there was a regalness about the head, as 
 though it had struggled to keep upright. 
 
 It was upon me now. I knew for days she had struggled 
 for me, for me, for me ! And I laid my cheek to hers and 
 wept, and I said: 
 
 " Oh, my sweet, my sweet, I never knew ! Oh, I know 
 now ! I know ! Your very armor is fallen away. Oh, and 
 I thought that you did not understand ! Oh, awake, awake. 
 Miss Patricia ! Let me tell you ! Take me in, away deep in 
 your heart ! Oh, Miss Patricia ! " 
 
 I was weeping now and stroking her cool brow frantically. 
 
 " Awake ! I want to tell you ! Oh, how I do want to tell 
 you how I love you ! I want to know what sealed your lips J 
 Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!" 
 
 She slowly opened her eyes and then shut them. 
 
 "Are you coming back to me?" I whispered. "Oh, 
 please ! " 
 
 She patted my hand weakly and I said : 
 
 " Now we shall begin to know each other. Miss Patricia. 
 I thought that She had forsaken me, but I know now She 
 is with me. I know that I can know you better by remem- 
 bering her, and in forgetting her I have forgotten to know 
 you." 
 
 She did not answer and seemed to sink again, and I real- 
 ized it was not a time for words, but that I should have to 
 seek the village and some hand to aid. Where should I 
 turn? Wildly I thought of the villagers and each one came 
 to my mind with some taunt, some look, some slight, some 
 vile remark, and my flesh crept. Wilder thoughts came to 
 me. I remembered that Miss Patricia said we should have 
 to be very careful. And I wondered where she had got 
 the slender remittance that had kept us in the little house, 
 and who had relieved her. Oft came the fear of having — 
 here I simply had to smile — "to eat the house," but the 
 thought of this and the smile seemed to set my tears aflow. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 153 
 
 I hastened to the inner room and brought forth a damp 
 cloth that I might bathe Miss Patricia's face, which had 
 gone so white. And when I had bathed her for some 
 time, she moved slowly and still was too weak to speak. I 
 was almost mad. I watched the roadway for some passerby, 
 but no one came. I walked from the bed to the sitting 
 room shutter scores of times. 
 
 I remember now how my heart seemed to swell until it 
 overfilled my panting bosom ; how the moments dragged ; 
 how the hours seemed like years of drouth and storm, filled 
 with wild dreams that even now seem to grin at me through 
 the misty years that have passed since that time. It was 
 now upon me, the dreaded day, for Miss Patricia had left 
 me, left me alone. Miss Patricia, who lay so white upon 
 the poster in the musty room, so like her old self, was a 
 new thing — a something that would creep into my heart 
 upon a new path, a babe. I knew it. Even now my hand 
 seemed to itch to comfort her, and I knew that my new 
 days would be filled up of the tending, not to the household 
 and the linens, but Miss Patricia. How these things swept 
 through my head as I watched the roadways, seeing no 
 comer and wondering how I would go to the village and to 
 the villagers asking some of them to succor her. I could 
 have done this had I been asking aid for myself, but Miss 
 Patricia ! Never ! I could not see her head bend. Some- 
 thing in the frail body that lay there before me seemed 
 to tell me that I must hold the day. How was I to do this 
 thing? 
 
 The morning wore until the midday came. Still I was 
 afraid to leave Miss Patricia ; even to leave the room longer 
 than to go to the shutters and look to the roadway, or to the 
 village in the hope that I might see some one, and I prayed 
 that this one would be somebody strange. Then the long 
 afternoon came and the sun hid and lent itself to the dulling 
 of the pain that seemed like a keen-edged blade in my heart. 
 I settled down to be just a miserable young thing whose 
 throat ached; who had but one thing that hurt sorer and 
 that thing her heart. 
 
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1541 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I Had put my bonnet upon my head and resolved time 
 after time that I would go. Then I would turn and look at 
 Miss Patricia, and though she lay with her eyes closed I 
 knew that I must not, for had not her lips locked to the 
 village ? Then I must not bring them to her when she was 
 low. It was now dark, when she seemed to regain her 
 strength so that she might speak with me without the pant- 
 ing. She had beckoned me and I had been weeping beside 
 the fire, which I kindled, as the night's coming brought a 
 cool that crept. Miss Patricia had said when I went to her : 
 
 " Light a candle and come here." 
 
 " No, Miss Patricia," I answered. " You must be very 
 quiet. I shall light the candle in the sitting room." 
 
 " You shall light the candle and come here ! " 
 
 " Yes," I answered, and dutifully went that I do her bid- 
 ding. 
 
 When I returned with the lighted candle she looked keenly 
 to my eyes and I saw that she was searching me to know 
 what we should do. 
 
 " Have you ? " she asked. 
 
 "No," I answered. 
 
 " Then we have been alone through this time ? " she 
 whispered. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " You are very brave," she added, and lay back upon her 
 pillow, breathing very hard. 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " I asked. 
 
 She turned slowly toward me and said: 
 
 " Go to Vicar Gifford and tell him." 
 
 "Yes," I nodded and said it aloud. 
 
 " Go to Vicar Gifford and tell him," she repeated. 
 
 I went and brought forth my bonnet, which I had cast 
 upon the table. Then I went to her side and stood, 
 
 " Do you think I should leave ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes. It is nothing." Then I went. 
 
 I remember that I passed through the little hallway that 
 I have told you of, the one that had smelled of mutton the 
 first evening. I remembered that night, and as I went out 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 155 
 
 the outer door I seemed to see Mr. Reuben's bent form 
 before me and my small self following him, pattering, pat- 
 tering. The whole outer evening seemed filled up of that 
 night. I went past the inn, and I remembered that the 
 fowls had screeched and that I had stood in the archway. 
 Then I remembered what I had said to her. The very words 
 came back, and I could see myself, in the reflected light 
 from the inn's lanterns, bending over her. I saw her 
 white face and the dark shadows that lay beneath her eyes, 
 and I even smelled the sweet scent from her hair. Then 
 the words came, " Sally Trueblood, I am your brat." 
 
 Then there seemed to set up a carol and I heard but one 
 word sung in everything, sweetly, sorrowfully, wickedly, 
 vengefully, mercilessly, and this word was "brat." I 
 seemed to carry it through all my happy hours. I had heard 
 it in every cadence since I could remember. I was not 
 listening to the evening of the village, even though there 
 seemed to be overmuch life there, for the way had shown 
 very lighted when I had looked that way before I sought it. 
 I had forgotten the village. I had forgotten everything 
 in the memory of that night. I was filled up of it, arid 
 suddenly I heard my own voice and knew that my lips 
 were moving and the words I heard were, " Which is the 
 way?" 
 
 Then I was brought up, for I had walked full against 
 some one who did not show clearly in the darkness of this 
 little path that led up by the side of Snifly's house to the 
 Vicar's. I was aghast and stood shrinking before one very 
 tall, who had great shoulders. I could see this against the 
 gray of the over-sky. The one bowed very low from the 
 ■waist and spoke in a gentle voice, saying : 
 
 " This is a misfortune." 
 
 I stood staring and did not answer. The stranger bowed 
 once more and laughed, saying: 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I should say it is good fortune." 
 
 I was filled with horror, for I did not know this man. I 
 did not look twice, but turned and sped very fast down the 
 path till I was panting with the run, until I got to the 
 
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156 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Vicar Giffords'. There I stood before the gate that had 
 stuck the morning that I had gone to tell them that Sally 
 Trueblood slept. I was frightened at the stranger, and 
 more at the task I had come upon. Should I face Mrs. 
 Giff ord who had spoken against her ? My heart was thump- 
 ing loud. Then something queer happened. I remembered 
 the broad shoulders of the stranger. I did not stand before 
 the gateway long, but I did tarry just a little. Then I reso- 
 lutely opened it and went down the same path that had led 
 me to my new day. For when I had gone down that path 
 with the words of Sally Trueblood, telling them that she 
 had slept, I had begun my new day. 
 
 I remembered all of this as I walked down the gravel 
 way. I even recalled the little bird that had been such a 
 frightful thing to me. I recalled how it had let down its 
 little white curtains before my eyes, and, strange as it may 
 seem, still the pair of broad shoulders came creeping into 
 this eve-dream of the past. My heart made a leap. How 
 strange that he should say that I was good fortune. I 
 laughed to myself and I said, almost aloud, " Oh, stranger, 
 you surely have never met good fortune, or you would 
 know her face ! " I think that those shoulders did more to 
 strengthen me than anything that might have happened — or 
 was it the words? Good fortune! They had such a new 
 sound. I scarcely knew when I had come to the door of 
 Vicar Giflford's house. I found it blandly flat and piously 
 closed. I stood before it, and it was surely something I 
 could not account for, but my heart was not thumping. 
 I knocked and I felt my neck arch. There was a faint light 
 within and I could hear Mrs. Gifford singing to Nebuchad- 
 nezzar, who still, though his legs lay upon the floor, was a 
 doughy child and at the age of bawling and mother-skirting. 
 There sounded the step of Mrs. Gifford when I had knocked 
 and the door opened. I could see the same old prints upon 
 the wall, and Nebuchadnezzar hanging over some page and 
 mumbling aloud syllables, and I knew he was accomplish- 
 ing learning. The light shone upon me and I could see Mrs. 
 Giflord's face dimly. She stood peering close that she 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 157 
 
 might be sure who I was, then she drew up piously and said : 
 ' " What misfortune brings you ? " 
 
 I laughed. Think of it! I laughed, and I said, "Mis- 
 fortune brings me to your door, yet strangers meet me 
 and call me good fortune." 
 
 She gasped and I think she thought I was flighty. 
 
 " You need not speak, Mrs. Giflford. I understand. I 
 would speak with the Vicar." 
 
 She shrugged and turned toward the Vicar's study door, 
 pointing me the way. She then turned to Nebuchadnezzar 
 and sent him from the room, believing, no doubt, that I 
 would contaminate him. Somehow this did not sting' me. 
 Mrs. Gifford did not follow me to the Vicar's study and I 
 entered it to find the Vicar quilling a page. He turned, 
 and his thin lips spread in a smile. He was quite white 
 now and his hands were so thin, and they shook. I went 
 to the desk's side and sat beside him, upon the very chair I 
 had occupied on the morning of Miss Patricia's visit. The 
 Vicar turned and smiled once more. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked. 
 
 " I have come from Miss Patricia," I said. " She is ill. 
 I do not know where to go. I could not ask Mrs. Gifford 
 and she lends her hands even to the lowliest, but that is 
 different. They are not — " I bit my lip — " like me. And 
 not like Miss Patricia, who has taken me in. I understand, 
 dear Vicar, I understand. Yet, understanding, wait for 
 understanding." 
 
 The Vicar's eyes looked so very far away and he said, 
 slowly : 
 
 " You say you understand ? My dear, I lost my under- 
 standing one Mayin'." 
 
 I started and my jaw hung open. 
 
 " Then you know, Vicar, you know ? You know the 
 
 mansion ; you know the thing that lashes them ; that comes 
 
 even to succor me? Oh, is it right? Is it right that you, 
 
 -who have a nearness to Dearest God, should keep the truth 
 
 , and leave me but the waiting for the understanding?" 
 
 I had fallen childishly back to speaking of the God in 
 
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158 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 the words of Sally Trueblood. I was her little child before 
 the teacher, and his words blinded me. I forgot everything. 
 I was before one who might tell me. I flung myself upon 
 my knees before him and cried out: 
 
 " Oh, Vicar Giflford, as you once lifted me up to the 
 height of the Word, lift me up now! You have suffered, 
 too. Why?" 
 
 The Vicar sat very still and fingering his great black 
 cross. Then he lifted it up toward me and he raised his 
 eyes and his voice was endearing, and he said: 
 
 " One died upon this to keep the secret of God and to 
 leave its holy halo to us. I cannot betray His love." 
 
 " What has all of this to do with some awful thing that 
 has Iain like a shadow upon us all ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said the Vicar, " except that I may sup new 
 strength by thinking these thoughts." 
 
 " Who was Sally Trueblood ? " I cried suddenly. 
 
 " She was not Sally Trueblood." 
 , "Then who?" I cried. 
 
 Then the Vicar leaned close and said: 
 
 " We have kept this thing. Oh, will you leave your youth 
 to break the rested locks ? Wait 1 Wait ! We should not 
 seek the morning, but wait it." 
 
 I arose. Then I was still to be kept waiting. It was a 
 game. I left the matter there, feeling that it would be sin- 
 ful to lift the curtain frpm that May. I seemed to see it 
 like a youthful maid, weeping, and hiding its face. Then I 
 remembered that I had let self come before one who 
 needed my succor and I said: 
 
 " Vicar Giflford, I am sorry ; but what shall I do ? We 
 shall have to have aid." 
 
 The Vicar sat long with his head upon his hand, looking 
 at the pages before him. Then he turned slowly and said: 
 
 " Go back to Miss Patricia and when the morning comes 
 I shall make some provision. Wait again." 
 
 " Can you not come with me back to her? " 
 
 He arose and slowly made ready to accompany me. 
 When we passed through the sitting room of the Giffords' 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 159 
 
 they were gone. It was quite empty and the candle burned 
 dimly. We left together, and it was a very quiet journey 
 to the little house where Miss Patricia lay. I shall never 
 know, perhaps, what she said to the Vicar, for she asked 
 that they be left alone. And after he had gone she called 
 to me and I sat beside her through the late hours into 
 the early ones. I remember that a little spider let itself 
 slowly down from the ceil, then climbed swiftly up again 
 the strand to let itself down once more. I watched this 
 scores of times and all through the time I tried to unravel 
 my tangled days ; but like the spider's weaving I let myself 
 down but to travel back, and never anchored. 
 
 I think I must have been nodding and perhaps lending 
 my hand to sleep when I heard a timid knock. It was 
 very early morning, faint gray. The candle had burned 
 quite low and smoked. Miss Patricia was lying peaceful, 
 but ghastly white. I arose, rubbed my eyes and shook my- 
 self that I might wake, when I realized it was no hour for 
 a visitor, the last hour of real night and the first hour of 
 new morning. I was a little frightened, but I went to the 
 outer door and asked : 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 There was no answer, and I slowly slipped the bolt and 
 looked out. The faint light did not make clear my visitor, 
 but I opened a little wider the door and the candle glow 
 showed Sephira Gifford. She did not speak, but she smiled, 
 smiled a smile of understanding. I threw up my arms and 
 ran to her. She gathered me in and hugged me close, lay- 
 ing her cheek upon mine and murmuring sweets to my ear. 
 
 "How could you?" I said. "How could you? You 
 know they " 
 
 " Never mind," she said. " I heard you calling." 
 
 " I never called," I answered her. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you did," she said. " I couldn't sleep for it." 
 
 Then I understood, and I just hugged her close and I 
 said: 
 
 " I knew you a long time ago. I have that smile of yours 
 right here," and I touched my heart. 
 
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i6o HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " I know it," she said, " but listen " She stopped. 
 
 "'Call me Hope," I said. 
 
 " Listen, Hope. What may I do ? I heard you tonight 
 and I know, oh, I know! You see I am one of those that 
 they do not understand, too." 
 
 She was in the sitting room now and I was busily 
 straightening up, picking up the clothing that had been cast 
 about when I had returned, and making a new light. 
 Sephira turned to me and held out her arms and she said : 
 
 " Come here, sister mine." 
 
 I went to her arms and she kissed me and went on : 
 
 " Go and sleep and forget. I shall sit here awake and 
 your trust shall be mine." 
 
 I kissed her in return and I seemed to collapse. Sud- 
 denly I went weak and I sat down and sobbed wildly. 
 Sephira brought me a fresh sup and smoothed my brow, 
 touching me with a touch I had almost forgotten. Then 
 she firmly told me to be abed. And I went, to sink 
 into a deep sleep with no dreaming. I was awakened in 
 the morning by loving arms and a damp kiss upon my own 
 lips. I was drowsy drunk and I remember coming back to 
 the day, saying: 
 
 " Sally— oh, it's you, not S ! " 
 
 " How is Lady Lilyfinger ? " she whispered, and 
 kissed me. 
 
 I threw my arms about her and said : 
 
 " Then you, too, have a treasure box of hers ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said, " and what it contains has made my 
 days of misunderstanding understandable." 
 
 Then she drew a long face and looked ridiculously like 
 Miss Snifly and said : 
 , " The wage of sin is heavy." 
 
 My laughter burst forth. I could not help it. Then I 
 whispered : 
 
 "How is she?" 
 
 "Sleeping," she said. "And I think she is upon the 
 mend." 
 
 I shook my head and bit my lip and began to weep. ' 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD i6i 
 
 " She is all I have," I said. 
 
 Sephira smoothed my locks and brought my clothing that 
 I should robe. 
 
 " Come," she said. " I seem to remember something some 
 one told me about meeting the crawling day with running 
 legs." 
 
 I looked to her and smiled, for I knew that that some one 
 had been Sally Trueblood. She smiled and nodded. She 
 went before me, when I had clothed, to the sitting room. 
 The table was spread with some late blossoms, lying at the 
 plates. They were pink larkspurs, the love fairies, I re- 
 membered. 
 
 " Where are the king-ones ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well," said Sephira, " I do not think they abide in this 
 village, but I have heard that they did venture in sometimes. 
 We shall wait. Eh, Hope?" 
 
 And I recall that suddenly I remembered that pair 
 of great shoulders. The voice of Miss Patricia, calling, 
 " Hope ! Hope ! " disturbed my thoughts and I sped to her 
 side. I read in her eyes a look of surrender, brave sur- 
 render, happy surrender, peaceful surrender, with the same 
 gleam of regalness lighting it up. She smiled wanly and 
 reached up her hand, and I went to her and knelt beside the 
 bed. Miss Patricia looked beyond me and I saw that her 
 eyes! had found Sephira, who watched from the sitting 
 room. 
 
 " Who is this?" she asked. 
 
 " Sephira Giflford," I answered. " She came to me last 
 night when I was tired, and oh. Miss Patricia ! so very sor- 
 rowful." 
 
 Miss Patricia smiled once more and said : 
 
 " I am glad, my dear. Miss Patricia is Miss Patricia, 
 isn't she? She knows it, but — well, my dear, she cannot 
 help it. Go bring me Willie Pimm Passwater's china dog." 
 
 The stinging tears filled in upon me. I stumbled upon my 
 way to the what-all and took the china dog from its accus- 
 tomed shelf, and I kissed it and took it to her. She reached 
 her thin hands for it and took it tenderly. 
 
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b62 hope trueblood 
 
 " He loved it," she said and patted it. " That will do ; 
 just leave me." 
 
 Oh, what dreams did you bring forth, you little china 
 dog? Out from your eyes of paint did she read the old days 
 when her thin hands lay upon you? Did you feel their 
 seeking, and did they fade and become two rosy ones, 
 sprinkled o'er of dimples ? Oh, you little china dog, I know 
 now where you are. I may even touch you, but I am fear- 
 ful; for I would write these lines and my eyes would dim. 
 I will not look upon you, though I love you. I remember 
 how I found her later, sleeping, with you folded to her 
 breast, and a true mother-smile upon her faded lips. This 
 was when we had made ready her breakfast and went to- 
 gether to her bedside. Sephira looked to me and I looked to 
 Sephira. 
 
 " She is sleeping," I said. And Sephira had answered, 
 " And dreaming." 
 
 We both kissed her and she had waked to be very fretful, 
 seeming to believe that Reuben was coming, and she had 
 bidden me repeatedly to go to the window. 
 
 It had been a slow thing to bring her back to quite her- 
 self, except that she never, never would stand again. And 
 oh, you, my sister Sephira, who stood by me through these 
 troublous times! My angel of brightness, a messenger 
 straight from Dearest God ! And you, oh, Sally Trueblood, 
 you who have faded and seem more a child to me than 
 ever — one who was my stronghold! I know now. You 
 are Youth, and knowing that helps the understanding. I 
 see you now, like some morning of the Mayin', wrapped in 
 mist, with the fretting smile of youth, stifled! 
 
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CHAPTER XVI 
 
 When Miss Patricia had come to herself and once more 
 our little household might go on upon its regular path, then 
 Sephira had gone back to the Vicarage, to be more mis- 
 understood and frowned upon by the village. I saw her 
 shrink before the same lash, and — oh, I would that I did not 
 have to record this, but I saw that look in her eyes. 
 
 Then followed days alike, save for the elements. I found 
 more to do. My days were very busy, for all that was 
 done was for my hands. I do not recall that youth stirred 
 in me. I seemed like some waiting shadow, waiting to 
 cloud some beauteous May. 
 
 I grew to hate myself for this and it hurt me sore, for 
 in this new feeling I felt that I was betraying Sally True- 
 blood, who loved me. I sought the chapel yard and often 
 spoke with the sexton, who was now doddering and whose 
 mind was like a field that lies beneath the clouds. I would 
 go when the day was done and often sat long, when it was 
 warm, beneath the trees, courting from out the dead world 
 living comfort. 
 
 It was upon such an evening that I had stayed longer than 
 was my wont; that the late moon had toppled up, showing 
 her face golden through the trees' tops, and the stones had 
 seemed living things and the paths bright and shadeful- 
 tempting. I had been sitting beside the stone of Felicia 
 Trueblood and I had laid my cheek to it and was clasping 
 my knees and looking deep to the moon, when I was aware 
 of another's presence. A little chill of fear crept over me 
 and I turned my head cautiously, glancing up into a smiling 
 face bending over me, and I saw that the shoulders were 
 broad. 
 
 " Again, good fortune," he said. 
 
 I did not answer but arose and faced him. There was the 
 
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 climbing moon to help me see, and what I beheld was a 
 gentleman in the cloth of gentlemen, with such a smile as 
 sets you smiling. I am afraid I smiled. 
 
 " This is a strange visiting place for good fortune," he 
 said. 
 
 " You do not know me. I am Miss Fortune. Yes, Miss 
 Fortune, almost all Miss Fortune. Do you know, it is 
 strange that my feet are mates ? " 
 
 He threw back his head and laughed heartily and then 
 shook it and said: 
 
 " No ! No ! You are mistaken. Miss Fortune never 
 had — I crave your pardon, lady — such a face." 
 
 I turned from him and he stepped toward me. 
 
 " What brings you here," he asked, " if I may be so bold ? 
 I have followed you eve after eve." 
 
 I pointed to the little mound. That was all earth had to 
 show of her. And he looked upon the shadowed spot. 
 
 "Who?" he asked. 
 
 I hesitated and replied : 
 
 " The one who bore me." 
 
 He turned and pointed to the gateway and said slowly : 
 
 " This gate leads to the land of heavy hearts, does it 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " yet it is the opening unto the land 
 of comfort." And I lay my hand upon the stone of Felicia 
 Trueblood. 
 
 What new thing was upon me? Never did the chapel 
 yard, wrapped in the golden moonlight, seem so beauteous. 
 New scents filled the air. A soft breath clung every leaf 
 and they quivered. I felt it. Within me was a fretting of 
 expectancy. The gentleman watched me and I saw, when I 
 turned to him, that he, too, had laid his hand upon the stone 
 of Felicia Trueblood. 
 
 " What may I call you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Hope," I answered. 
 
 " No," he said, and his voice quivered like some lute 
 string's stirring, " Hope is winged." 
 
 " Hope is winged ! " I repeated this slowly and I remem- 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 165 
 
 ber looking up to the climbing moon and seeing that it hung 
 o'er the mound of Sally Trueblood, beaming, beaming silver- 
 gold, and seeming smiling. Again I repeated the phrase, 
 " Hope is winged," and I recall that I sighed deeply. Then 
 I seemed suffocated with the sweet of the evening, for the 
 sweetness of the damp began to creep up from the earth 
 where the green stood heavily wetted with the coming dews. 
 
 " Ah," I said, " Hope is winged, but I fear that she oft 
 does not fly upon her wings spread wide, but that she beats 
 her way upon a broken wing." 
 
 He leaned toward me in the bright light and I saw that 
 his face was lighted up with a wondrous light. 
 
 " What thing has left bitters upon sweet lips ? " he asked. 
 
 I held up my hand in sign that he should not ask me 
 this thing. Then I remember that it came upon me, the 
 thing that had never fallen before. Within came the jeer- 
 ing of the village tongues, their taunts, and the one word 
 that made of me a thing, not a woman, free and pure, but 
 a thing, the wreck of some tempest-tossed love. Oh, the 
 f rightfulness of the blow ! I stood beneath this lash quiver- 
 ing. Then the folly of my fears fell over the wounds. 
 What was I that I should ever believe that such a one, a 
 gentleman of the cloth, should even bend to me? The old 
 feeling of the empty days came back. I stood like a dumb 
 thing and turned slowly, making my way down the path, 
 neither turning that I might look at him who stood looking 
 upon my going. 
 
 Then he called, and the word was not an unknown one, 
 but " Hope." I remember that I turned then and that I 
 walked slowly back to where he stood and I said : 
 
 " You do not know me. I am but a shadow of one of 
 these," and I touched one of the stones. " She lies there." 
 I pointed then to the mound of Sally Trueblood. " She lies 
 there," I repeated, " and I am but a shadow that remains. 
 Forget me. Tomorrow's sun will make me no more for 
 you." » 
 
 Then, then — oh, this hand shakes that I record this, 
 but he leaned toward me and took my hands in his and he 
 
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i66 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 said nothing, yet I saw the bared heart of love in his moon- 
 lit eyes. And the new fear came again. I knew that fire 
 should never have been kindled, and I fled wildly. I fled, 
 catching my skirts upon the briars, and turning not. He 
 followed, but I sped before him, sinking into the first 
 shadows and even now I hear the throbbing of my heart as 
 I watched him pass, within me the knowledge that he was 
 seeking me. I waited long, listening to his footfalls crush- 
 ing the earth until they had faded, and then I went upon 
 my way to the little spot that was now home. 
 
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CHAPTER XVn 
 
 This was upon a night that is far, far away from this 
 day that I recall these things. Ah, how loth I am to bare it. 
 What then was so sweet a sup is now — oh, my dears, I shall 
 tarry this! 
 
 I came at last to the little gate that hung so primly, and 
 I saw the candle that flickered through the shutters. I 
 knew that Miss Patricia would be sleeping, perhaps with 
 the Word open upon her knee and her finger pressed to the 
 last sweet words she had read. 
 
 I took a new heart into the little hall and the sitting room 
 that had known the tragic days ot my early youth. Even 
 though I smarted sore from the freshness of the feeling 
 that had come upon me, the youth-wine would bum, and I 
 found myself snuffing the candle and humming. I did not 
 see the little room so dimly lighted, but the chapel yard, 
 golden bathed, and the gleaming white stones, and I smelled 
 the scent of the herbs and grasses and felt a new leaping 
 of my heart as I read love's eyes. 
 
 Miss Patricia was sleeping. She was so frail, yet so regal, 
 and I read her face as I stood beside her chair and laid 
 my hand upon the arm. The candlelight softened the lips 
 that would have shown firmly, even grimly, pressed. There 
 was a new smile. I know this smile now, though I did not 
 then. It is the greet-smile of the New Morrow. I recall 
 that as I stood there so long ago I was wrapped in wonder 
 at this. I did not know Miss Patricia in the first days of 
 this new day's coming. So in my youth I bent and kissed 
 her, little knowing that I too had bended my head beneath 
 the sun of her new morning ; for her lips spread in a gentle 
 smile, and even in my youthfulness I saw. 
 
 She was loth to waken now, seeming to find behind sealed 
 eyes new lands. I remember that she raised her hands and 
 
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168 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 that they shook. And I saw that she had tucked the china 
 dog of Willie Pimm Passwater within her frock folds. I 
 kissed her hands and did not look at the little dog. 
 
 " Where have you been? " she said. 
 
 " To the chapel yard," I answered, " to see Her." 
 
 She did not answer, but I saw that her eyes were misty 
 and I knelt beside her, as was my custom, and I said: 
 
 " She let my head rest upon her bosom when the night 
 came." 
 
 " How ? " she whispered. 
 
 " Like this," I answered, and rested my head upon the 
 shrunken bosom of Miss Patricia, and I heard her heart 
 singing. And I knew it sang, " I love you ! I love you ! " 
 Then I " weighted her lids " for sleeping and made to roll 
 the chair to her room that I might make her ready for 
 slumber. We did not speak more. I unrobed her and re- 
 robed her in her sleeping garment, and I lighted a scented 
 candle upon the press and turned, when I had her quite 
 ready for dreams, to say good night. She held her thin 
 arms up and I went into their circle. She kissed me and 
 said softly : 
 
 " I think Reuben is coming." 
 
 I nodded. Then she held forth the china dog and' said 
 tremorously : 
 
 " You take it tonight.'' 
 
 It was a fortnight later that Miss Patricia was again laid 
 low. I was forced to seek the village to buy wood and 
 cloth. It was upon one of these mornings when the sky 
 flames in red and the purple of dawn clings the rims of 
 the hill crests; when lowering clouds hang the west way 
 and show that storm will sweep. I had arisen early and 
 made the little house right and was upon my way into the 
 village. 
 
 Though my days were now full of Miss Patricia and the 
 shadow that seemed to be falling slow upon me, still a 
 greater gloom seemed to settle. My nights were filled with 
 fear, the new fear ; for since that night when I had walked 
 full upon the stranger he had been like some of the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 169 
 
 things that had been denied me. The chapel yard held the 
 brightness that I longed for, but there was the awful 
 shadow of fear that he should know, not of me, but of her. 
 
 Oh, my dear, my dear, I would keep you shut there in the 
 eaves ! I would keep you away from their eyes ! I would 
 hide the thing that you kept hidden, even beneath the twi- 
 light that life wrote beneath your eyes ! How might one so 
 gentle, so beautiful, so all-forgiving, so patient, so child- 
 like, leave such a shadow? 
 
 This swept my day-dreaming as I went upon the village 
 path where I would meet them upon my way who would 
 frown, and this frown was born of this shadow. I caught 
 myself choking a sob and I recall that my womanhood strug- 
 gled with this great question. Within me I knew that Sally 
 Trueblood was a thing, if their tongues spoke true, that I 
 should shun in others. Yet, even as this bitter thought 
 welled up within me, I seemed to see little me fleeing into 
 her outstretched arms and kissing her smiling lips and read- 
 ing in her eyes not sin, but sorrow. 
 
 Oh, Sorrow, I know now that you are the wine of the 
 cup of sin ! But why ? Why ? Why ? Why ? A sinking 
 sickness swept me. Then / was the wine ! And my weep- 
 ing must finish the filling of the cup. This is not His will, 
 but the wage earth cries out for. Oh, I know now! I 
 know now that the specter of sin points his pester-finger 
 at life and its shadow is a living thing. 
 
 I was coming upon the inn's path. The sunlight played 
 upon the old roof where I had dwelt with her. Oh, those 
 days, so dear, so few! I see her little form, swaying in 
 some dance, some mimic folly, for my childish glee. I see 
 her sweet lips laugh thousands of ripples, spilling countless 
 smiles — and above them two sorrow-heavy eyes. I see the 
 lonely eves when we watched happiness pass us by, scarcely 
 nodding. Then this was a life of sin ! This then was sin ! 
 If this be true, then, sin, I love thee ! 
 
 Then the fear came, for to my heart came the joy of the 
 stranger's smile, and the old days like a cloud o'erhanging. 
 Within me my heart froze in bitterness. I wondered why 
 
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I70 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I had been called to live those days. Had I sought that I 
 might come to such a path ? Hate bit me, and then — oh, the 
 agony ! — I saw her, frail, smiling, and heard her say, " Are 
 you playing ? " And I answered aloud : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, if the Why was great enough that you 
 bore it, then willingly do I." 
 
 I went past the inn, not raising my eyes ; for Peter Goff 
 stood without with some young swains who sat or stood 
 about the inn's doorway, and I heard them mumbling and 
 laughing softly as I passed. I sought Ole Dodson's, for Ole 
 had proven a friend. I might go to him and he would seek 
 that which I would purchase, for me. I had reached the 
 shop when I came upon Rudy Strong, a tall man-lad now, 
 eye-bashed and foot-gawked. He doffed his cap and twirled 
 it upon his first finger, blushing quite scarlet, and I saw 
 that he would speak. 
 
 " Good morning, Rudy," I said. 
 
 " Mornin'," he answered, as was his wont. 
 
 Then he leaned toward me and said very low : 
 
 " Hope, when you have finished, may I walk with you ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " To the mead ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," I said. " Miss Patricia is ill and I must return 
 quickly." 
 
 Rudy nodded and I went within the shop of Ole Dodson 
 and made my purchases through his kindness. When I had 
 finished, I rejoined Rudy, who took my parcels and a 
 basket that I bore and went with me down the path toward 
 home once more. We had started well upon the way and 
 Rudy seemed loth to begin conversation. Suddenly he 
 said : ' 
 
 " Do you know, Hope, that there is overmuch whispering 
 among the villagers?" 
 
 "Yes?" I said. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, " I thought I had best tell you." 
 
 " Thank you," I answered. 
 
 " You understand ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 171 
 
 " Then you will stop going to the chapel yard ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " No," I replied. 
 
 " But you must, Hope. There is something I must tell 
 you." 
 
 " No, Rudy," I said, " you cannot. You might not say it 
 to a girl. I understand, but since I live alone and they leave 
 me alone, why need they care ? " 
 
 " Who is he ? " Rudy asked, as though I would under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Who ? " I asked innocently. 
 
 " You know, Hope, who I mean. The one who meets 
 you in the chapel yard." 
 
 I remember that I could scarcely keep from smiling when 
 I answered: 
 
 "Then you, too, visit the chapel yard, Rudy?" 
 
 " No," Rudy answered, " I do not, but the village knows." 
 
 " I am very glad," I said. 
 
 " Who is he ? " Rudy asked again. 
 
 " Rudy," I said, " I am about to tell you something that 
 you will not believe, but it is true." 
 
 "What?" he asked. 
 
 " I do not know who he is," I answered. 
 
 Rudy gasped and turned toward me. 
 
 " Hope," he said, " what do you mean ? You meet a man 
 in the chapel yard, evening after evening, and yet you calmly 
 state that you do not know who he is ! " 
 
 " That is true," I answered. 
 
 " Why did you not ask him ? " he asked. 
 
 I stopped and wondered why I did not. Then I knew 
 why and I answered : 
 
 " I was afraid." 
 
 Rudy looked as though he thought I had gone mad. Then 
 be said: 
 
 " He is " 
 
 " Hush," I said, " I do not want to know who he is." 
 
 Here Rudy gave to my hands all he bore for me and 
 turned from me, leaving me in the path alone, nor did he 
 
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172 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 turn, and I knew what was within his heart. He too be- 
 lieved that I was a thing doomed. The tears blinded me. My 
 beautiful dream vanished. It was broken like the little bird 
 I found in the path at the vicarage. I saw it again let 
 down its little white curtain. I walked so swiftly and the 
 thing that had come to me had sent me in such a whirl that 
 I was before our little gate before I knew it, and there 
 I stopped and my heart melted. Oh, Miss Patricia, you 
 were my haven ! Here I could go and shut them away and 
 there would be no rebuking. 
 
 I went in and found her reading the Word and stroking 
 the china dog. I kissed her and did not speak of what had 
 befallen me upon my visit to the village. No heart had 
 opened to my secret ; even Miss Patricia did not know him, 
 my stranger. Sephira Gifford often came upon me in the 
 chapel yard and we would sit, arms entwined, beneath the 
 trees and speak the things that youth feeds upon — dreams, 
 flower-strewn dreams, the where-paths of youth! Sephira, 
 too, had a secret. It was not mine. We read the secrets 
 aloud, but told nothing. The secret of Sephira, I knew, 
 was Rudy. The village now looked upon him as heir to 
 Mr. Strong's gold sacks. Rudy was " lawing " and the vil- 
 lage wagged its head at his monstrous learning. I knew 
 Sephira's secret, yet I did not speak of it, lest I might mar 
 its sweet sacredness ; for I also knew that the village looked 
 upon Sephira as a wayward one and unfit for a pious 
 household. And Mrs. Vicar Gifford looked upon Rudy 
 as a lawless lad, for his friendship to me and to Miss 
 Patricia. 
 
 The Vicar came each Sabbath, much to the displeasure of 
 the village, to visit Miss Patricia. The Sniflys never came. 
 Mrs. Kirby looked upon us as some contagion. Mrs. " Cof- 
 fin " Gifford, I knew, had long looked to the house with a 
 business eye, and Levinia Coffin Gifford was soft-eyed for 
 Rudy. 
 
 I stopped here to tell of this, and I was thinking of it as 
 I busied at the making of our mid-sup. It was a quiet meal 
 and I had brought forth my sewing after it was finished and 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 173 
 
 Miss Patricia's hands had lain idle. As I sewed, I think 
 she nodded, and in the middle of the long afternoon she 
 waked and seemed filled of some new strength. At the 
 coming of the twilight I did the accustomed thing, lighted 
 the candle, brought forth Mr. Reuben's robe, his " comfort- 
 feet " and his mulling cup and port. Miss Patricia had me 
 roll her chair up to the table and I sat beside her. When 
 we had finished our eve's sup and had supped our bowls of 
 hot water together, I remember the quietude of the little 
 house. The empty wicker hung beside the window and I 
 fancied I heard the bird hopping. The candles flickered and 
 showed brighter as the darkness came. 
 
 We had read from the Word, and I had sung one of the 
 songs that Sally Trueblood had taught me. We were sit- 
 ting, I watching the candle flicker, and I think Miss Patricia 
 was watching the flames of the low fire and nodding. I had 
 been dreaming, too, of the chapel yard, when I suddenly 
 looked up to see a bent figure unloosing a greatcoat before 
 the fire. I stood up and watched, fright-stopped. The figure 
 leaned over the fire, rubbing its hands, then reached for the 
 dressing gown, robed in it, took up the mulling cup and the 
 bottle of port and went to mulling. I smelled the heated 
 wine and my lips seemed frozen. Miss Patricia sat up very 
 straight and said: 
 
 " Stand from the fire, Reuben. Your woolens are 
 smoking." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear," the bended form replied, and stood 
 up, turning its face toward the light^shrunken, gaunt, 
 great hollow eyes and the locks white, silvered white! 
 
 He sat down upon the settle and stirred the port that 
 steamed, sipped slowly, licking his lips, then turned to Miss 
 Patricia. She sat straight, regal straight, her hands pinch- 
 ing her frock folds, and she said slowly : 
 
 " She slept in the guest room, Reuben." 
 
 " Yes, my dear," he answered. " Where is she ? " 
 
 I stepped from the shadow and the light fell upon me. 
 He arose slowly and his lips parted in a gasp. He let fall 
 the mulling cup and said hoarsely, " Sarah ! " Then I saw 
 
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174 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 that his outstretched hands shook and that his lips 
 . worked. Then his knees seemed to give way and he sobbed 
 out: 
 
 " I— ah, God !— I've faUed ! " 
 
 He staggered to the knees of Miss Patricia and laid his 
 weary head upon them. I was filled of wonder and fearful 
 to speak, seeming again like a shadow and wishing that I 
 might flee. Miss Patricia flashed her eyes to me and pointed 
 to my room. 
 
 "Reuben," she said, "what do you mean? Go and 
 tighten the shutters." 
 
 I turned toward my room and watched him arise and 
 go about the room to tighten the bolts, to return and stand 
 bowed before Miss Patricia. He waited her word and I 
 stood, hoping that I might learn what had kept him and 
 what had sent him away. Miss Patricia touched his sleeve 
 and said: 
 
 " You are weary, Reuben. It is time for sleep." 
 
 "Yes, my dear, yes," he answered, and held forth his 
 hand that she should arise. 
 
 Then it was that her lips trembled and she shook her 
 head and pointed to her limbs. Mr. Reuben started and 
 seemed to understand. Then he flung up his arms and 
 bowed his face in his clutched hands, sobbing. 
 
 I left them then. I do not know why, and it is tny sor- 
 row now, for when the morning came I found him lying 
 with his face upon his clutched hands and the little ivory 
 to his lips, dead. Shall I ever forget the awful moment? 
 Oh, the anguish of it ! 
 
 I stood before the face of Reuben Passwater's soul, and 
 it was like a smiling child. In death his lips smiled. A 
 little bruise showed where the ivory had pressed, and I 
 wondered if the face upon it did not press, even to bruising, 
 into his heart. Wildly I sought within me for the thing to 
 do. I feared to go to Miss Patricia and tell her. She was 
 still sleeping. She had not spoken to me of Reuben's com- 
 ing when I had unrobed her the night before. I had heard 
 them speaking in low tones long and long. Then she had 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 175 
 
 called and I ministered to her, kissed her, and left her as 
 usual. 
 
 I recall that I walked to the sitting room and saw Mr. 
 Reuben's greatcoat lying where he had cast it. I turned 
 toward Miss Patricia's door and went up to the threshold. 
 Then I saw that she was awake. I stood, my lips mute, my 
 eyes wild, and I tried to speak; but no word would come. 
 I swallowed and licked my lips and said, with great effort : 
 
 " He is " 
 
 " Dead," said Miss Patricia. " I know." 
 
 I turned to her in questioning. 
 
 " He failed," she said. " Reuben Passwater failed, and 
 
 he told me that night when he left " Here she sunk 
 
 back again overcome. 
 
 I had known that she had not been strong enough to be 
 up and about, though she had bidden me each morning to 
 make her ready and to roll her to the sitting room where 
 she would sit with anxious eyes as though she expected 
 something. I had known that this something was Mr. 
 Reuben. How we had waited, each silently. She, with 
 some knowledge that chafed her waiting, and I consumed 
 with wonder at what mysterious part Mr. Reuben played 
 in my life drama. And now he had come and gone and she 
 was broken more. 
 
 I seemed dull, stupid, and fought my way through a 
 mental fog. I knew that I must go to the Vicar. I 
 brought out damp cloths and brought Miss Patricia back. 
 She seemed lifeless and her lips made soundless words. I 
 spoke softly when she waked and told her that I must go 
 to the Vicar and would hasten. She only nodded and 
 looked vacantly to me. I bound my head up in a com- 
 forter and cast Miss Patricia's shawl about me and made 
 my way out and villageward. 
 
 My feet seemed to bear me on and my mind was filled 
 with visions, and they were of Mr. Reuben's dead face and 
 Miss Patricia, my broken Miss Patricia. I was walking 
 past the inn when I heard the rumble of the coach wheels 
 and I slowed my steps that I might look upon the travelers 
 
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176 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 who would descend and sup at the hand of Peter Goff. 
 Through the open door I smelled the stew and it brought 
 back the old days. The driver swung his long thong and 
 it snapped over the backs of the beasts that drew the great 
 coach. He drew them up and descended. I was watching. 
 I saw him open the door to let the passengers come forth 
 and vaguely I remember that I wondered who they were. 
 
 First came forth a gentleman and something familiar 
 about his carriage made my heart start. I saw him reach 
 out his hand to a one within the coach, and Miss Geneva 
 Willoughby came forth. She was ill, frail as some primrose 
 that blows beneath the young moon. She held a kerchief 
 to her lips and coughed. The gentleman was Mr. Stephen 
 Willoughby. He was fuller at the waistband, but still a 
 daring tilt of his head and a swagger swing to his shoulders 
 spoke youth. His eyes fell full upon me and lighted. 
 
 He went within with Miss Willoughby and I found my- 
 self staring stupidly at the inn's door, unable to move, and 
 lost in the dream of that first night when they had entered 
 my path. I was brought to myself by the fact that I felt 
 some one draw me with the eyes and I found myself star- 
 ing straight into the eyes of Mr. Stephen Willoughby and 
 seeing something there that was never in any eyes that I 
 had ever beheld. I felt the blood mount my temple and 
 I was filled with confusion. His lips spread in a slow 
 smile tainted of the same thing that was in his eyes. My 
 lips opened in spite of myself and I said: 
 
 "Mr. Willoughby, I believe " He started, then 
 
 laughed and leaned toward me. " You," I said, " know me, 
 Mr. Willoughby?" 
 
 " No," he answered. Then his eyes took on a fierce look 
 and he seemed to recognize me, for his lips said aloud, " The 
 brat of the eaves ! " And taking forth his purse he weighted 
 it in his palm and cast a sidelong glance to me and said : 
 
 " This for a kiss." 
 
 I reached forth my hand to take the purse. He laid it in 
 my palm. Then I recall how my hands shook as I unloosed 
 the purse latchet and poured into my palm the coins. They 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 177 
 
 were gold. I looked upon them steadily, then to him, and 
 with all the strength within me I threw them in the face 
 of Mr. Stephen Willoughby! 
 
 He staggered back, staring at me with a look of wicked- 
 ness. I turned sick-hearted to my path and left him pick- 
 ing up the coins and saying things aloud that I would not 
 listen to. The driver of the coach was laughing and beat- 
 ing an inn's lout upon the back, for they had seen what 
 had transpired. I turned, vainly hoping that Miss Wil- 
 loughby had seen, too, and I saw him enter the inn and 
 went then upon my way toward the Vicar's. I would not 
 tell the Vicar what had happened, but " the brat of the 
 eaves " sung in my ears, and the look that had accom- 
 panied it swept me with shame. 
 
 I had walked for some way and was turning down the 
 path past Snifly's, when I passed a group of village lads 
 who were quoiting. As I came up to them I heard their 
 remarks and saw their eyes sweeping me and I burned with 
 shame. One of them came alongside me and circled my 
 waist, whispering something that I did not hear. It was 
 here that I gave way, cast the comforter from my head and 
 the shawl upon the earth and turned upon them. They 
 jeered. I took up the metal discs that had fallen to the 
 earth when they had sought me and I began to cast at them. 
 
 Miss Patricia's lesson had been well learned. Villagers 
 came forth. The Sniflys opened their sacred front doorway 
 and stood in pious horror. Ole Dodson ran forth and the 
 village men came to the spot. I stood very straight and I 
 pointed to the path that I would have to trod to reach the 
 Vicar's. Then I said clearly: 
 
 " Listen, all of you ! If there is a man among you, listen ! 
 That path is mine and I intend to trod it alone. I have 
 spoken this and if there is any of you who deny me " 
 
 A shout arose. Miss Snifliy, older, sourer, leaned over her 
 fence and hissed: 
 
 " Shameful ! But to be expected from one of the stripe." 
 
 I was blinded with rage. I began to throw the discs and 
 stones that I had gathered in my wrath. I stood before 
 
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178 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 them like a beast at bay. Then I heard my voice rise up. 
 I was not aware of *hat I said, for my throat was letting 
 forth the things that I had pent up through the years I 
 had suffered. 
 
 " It is shameful ! " I cried. " It is shameful ! So shame- 
 ful a thing that every man and woman of you should go and 
 hide your faces. It is not enough that you have killed her, 
 and left her not even peace in her sleeping, but that you 
 have held me up and through me have made others suffer. 
 It is not enough that you have done all of this, for she was 
 unclean, one of the stripe — " I looked to Miss Snifly — 
 " unfit for such virtue as yours, yet her dying hands sewed 
 for you, her dying eyes hungered for you, her dying heart 
 bled for you, her dying hour was apart from you. All of 
 this is not enough, but you continue to lay on your lash. 
 Yonder, in the little house that you have driven her to since 
 she opened her arms to me, is Miss Patricia, whom you 
 have turned from, leaving her, too, to suffer your merciless 
 lash! Lay it on! Lay it on! Reuben Passwater is dead. 
 He died, I know it, fearing your tongues. Lay it on ! Lay 
 it on ! You have shut your God in the chapel, then forsook 
 even Him. Why ? " I screamed. " Because the Vicar 
 touched me." 
 
 I was wild, panting. I turned to the circling faces and 
 read there dull fear and, beneath, a smouldering fire of 
 rebellion. 
 
 " Lay it on ! " I screamed it louder. " Miss Patricia 
 will die without you." 
 
 I was sickened and filled with the thorns that had pierced 
 through those days of waiting and suffering, and I said 
 louder still : " I know you ! " 
 
 Then the crowd about me parted and some one came 
 swiftly through the ope, beating upon the backs of them 
 who would have held him away. I looked up to confront 
 the rage-swept eyes of my stranger. Then I began to 
 weaken, and shook until I might not speak. I saw Miss 
 Snifly's head toss and a titter swept them that crowded 
 about. He towered over them. I stood mutely before him. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 179 
 
 He spread his arms wide and looked about the faces that 
 pressed upon us and they shrunk, turning that they leave us 
 with parting jeers and laughs that spilled out of the cup of 
 wickedness. 
 
 They shrunk before him, for he was not of them. Neither 
 was I. Never before had I so keenly felt this thing. He 
 did not speak, seeming to wait that I should do so, and I 
 stood long, looking toward the chapel yard. Then I hung 
 my head in the great wave of shame that overcame me, and 
 made that I go upon the way — not to the chapel, but I made 
 that I should. Then I felt the eyes of him burning upon 
 me and I turned. He smiled slowly and offered me his 
 arm. 
 
 " No," I said, " no, leave me. Do you not see ? Shall I 
 have to speak what I have so hidden from you ? Do you not 
 understand? I am unfit. I do not know why. I cannot 
 understand. I am very, very lone, but I shall have to bear 
 it. You see, they will not leave me be. I have hidden from 
 them. I have trod the streetway but in the shadow time. 
 I have left them alone. Nothing have I asked of them; 
 nothing have they offered me." 
 
 I was weeping and beating my breast and he leaned 
 toward me. 
 
 " Then you came. I know now that I should not have 
 smiled, but when youth beckons, when earth offers her 
 sweets and you are lone, lone, and no one cares, oh, 
 would you not just smile at happiness? Oh, leave me," I 
 went on. " Never mind. Tomorrow will make me forget. 
 I learn every morning to forget. You see, it is wrong. You 
 cannot come to the chapel yard. They would know, and 
 though they will not of me still I must pay." 
 
 He was making signs that I should cease and pointed to 
 the chapel way. 
 
 " Come," he said, " to the land of heavy hearts. Come ! " 
 
 " No," I answered. " No, I cannot. I have come for the 
 Vicar. Mr. Reuben Passwater is dead and Miss Patricia 
 is low. What shall I do? The Vicar — I must go to the 
 Vicar." 
 
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 " No," he answered. " Go home." 
 
 I stood staring wildly at him and he pointed me my way. 
 I do not know why I did the thing that I did do, but I 
 turned and went back to the little house where Mr. Reuben 
 lay and Miss Patricia awaited me. 
 
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CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 I REMEMBER that the day wore on and no hand came to 
 aid. Early in the young eve, just a little after mid-sup 
 time, " Coffin " Gifford came with two of the village men, 
 and they had knocked, and I remember " Coffin " Gifford's 
 pious face, and that his first words were, " The hand of 
 the Lord hath fallen." The two were with him, I still re- 
 member, for certain glances, that were nothing short of 
 leers, they cast me. I had busied about the little house; 
 had ministered to Miss Patricia, who seemed not to under- 
 stand now what had happened, for when I had returned 
 she had asked me of Reuben, had he slept. 
 
 I cannot recall the long hour that the villagers and " Cof- 
 fin" Gifford stayed beneath the little roof that was ours. 
 I do recall certain things that came to my grief-fogged mind 
 vividly, like lightnings playing storm-clouds. I remember 
 Miss Patricia's peaceful smile, the same smile that she had 
 worn all those weary years. It came back feebly, strug- 
 gling as though it would befriend her, making this great 
 cloud just a fancy; for I knew that she did not realize what 
 had befallen. 
 
 When they had finished the last service they might offer 
 Mr. Reuben, I heard them come slowly out of the 
 little room beside the kitchen that was his, into our sitting 
 room. I had left the side of Miss Patricia and gone weep- 
 ing to meet them. " Coffin " Gifford stood very solemnly 
 in the center of the room, beside the table covered with the 
 woolen scarf. I did not speak, for I saw that he had some- 
 thing that he would say. He fumbled with his coat collar, 
 brought forth his kerchief, shook it carefully out, ran his 
 fingers about its hem, selected the center spot, lifted it 
 slowly to his nose, and blew a bugle blow. I can see the 
 
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 veins upon his forehead swell and his face crimson. Then 
 he heaved a deep sigh, wiped his eyes upon another care- 
 fully selected spot, folded the kerchief and lay it upon his 
 palm ; then carefully tucked it back in his hip pocket, leav- 
 ing his hands clutched beneath his coat tails and rocking 
 first upon his heels and then upon his toes, and licking his 
 lips. 
 
 I stood and I fear that I smiled. I know I did inwardly. 
 I seemed to take a keen pleasure in all of this detail. " Cof- 
 fin " Gifford cleared his throat and turned toward the two 
 
 villagers who stood gawking. " Of course " He cleared 
 
 his throat in a mighty, " Ahem." " Of course. Miss " 
 
 Here he flushed and ahemed again. " Of course — I should 
 say — you could scarcely expect the chapel to be opened. 
 The good folk — ahem! — ^the brothers of the faith, could 
 scarcely — ahem ! — be expected to officiate. You understand, 
 Miss." 
 
 I was frozen with a new cold, the ice of hate, which 
 is far sorer suffering than hate's fire. I swallowed, clutch- 
 ing my heart that I thought would leap out. Then I 
 opened my lips and started to speak, " W-w-w-w-what ? " 
 
 My teeth chattered, upon edge. I was seized with a chill 
 of agony. " Coffin" Gifford, licked his lips once more and 
 began to sway, tipping upon his toes, then upon his heels, 
 swinging his coat tails. I recall that he shook his head 
 from side to side and let forth a sort of pity-groan, and 
 then that he reached out his clammy hands and laid them 
 upon me, saying: 
 
 " Make yourself steady. Miss, steady." 
 
 I can still recall the feeling of sickness that swept me 
 as I felt his flesh touch me. 
 
 " Leave me be," I said, putting one hand to my head, 
 that I might still its tempest ; for it seemed like some awful 
 storm was within it. " Leave me be," I said again weakly, 
 sitting down in the great armchair. 
 
 My head fell upon Mr. Reuben's coat and it seemed t« 
 send new strength through me. I turned and seemed to be 
 quite myself once more, but I could not make my lips form 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 183 
 
 one word. The villagers still stood as though rooted to the 
 floor and " Coffin " Gifford seemed to be ill at ease. I arose, 
 and steadied myself by the back of the armchair. Then I 
 pointed to the door. 
 
 "Of course," said Coffin Gifford, "we will bear the 
 corpse forth, but as to the chapel — well, you understand, it 
 will not be expected." 
 
 " No," I answered. " It is not to be expected. I under- 
 stand. I understand. It would never do. The good folk 
 
 might touch " Here I went into a peal of laughter 
 
 and wildly strove to stop, but I could not. It seemed 
 
 that the evil one was tickling me. "They might " 
 
 Here I laughed once more and swayed until I feared I 
 would swoon. " They might touch — " here another peal of 
 wild laughter — " sin ! " I giggled and sat swaying and 
 laughing and weeping all at one time. " Coffin " Gifford's 
 eyes shot out, then went in. He gasped and swallowed. 
 
 " Most unaccountable, unaccountable ! " he ventured, and 
 turned to the two who stood and gawked. " My dear 
 Miss, at what hour would you have him borne to his rest- 
 ing place?" This was said in the Vicar's most prayerful 
 tone. 
 
 " Tomorrow — in the morning," I said. " And say you to 
 the village I do not expect the chapel opened." 
 
 Then they left me solemnly, the villagers, I know in my 
 heart, believing me to be wild, and " Coffin " Gifford full 
 of what he had seen that he might open to the village. I 
 can see them now, going down our prim little pathway, and 
 opening the little gate that now did not hang so primly. 
 Like birds of prey, like shadows, they went through and I 
 knew that they would return for the prey. 
 
 I had gone to the window to watch them go, with a 
 sickening feeling that the time that slipped from now till 
 morning would take from me all that remained of some 
 one who, I knew not how, was a great, wise friend. I 
 think that Miss Patricia had made me know this by the 
 feeling she had borne in upon me of Reuben's strength, and 
 it is queer that my only memory of him was so mild — a man 
 
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 of few words, with a faded smile and faded eyes, and Miss 
 Patricia the dominant one. Yet the Mr. Reuben that Miss 
 Patricia showed me was a new man, for she did nothing 
 that she first did not say, " Reuben would say," or " Reu- 
 ben would advise," or " I would consult Reuben," or 
 " when Reuben comes we shall consult him." In Mr. Reu- 
 ben I felt that we had a stronghold, a man of the house, 
 though Miss Patricia held the rein. And now it was over. 
 His greatcoat lay where he had cast it, upon the armchair. 
 His hands had cast it there. He had come after the long 
 waiting. Miss Patricia had seen him. I had seen him. 
 We had waited so long, so long, for this, the something in 
 our hearts that I cannot define, but it seemed that when 
 Mr. Reuben came would be the time when wondrous things 
 would be. Why I know not, save that Miss Patricia, when 
 she spoke of his return, showed within her eyes a look of 
 suppressed pride. Now it was over. Like so very many 
 things in my life, it had come but to leave me emptier. It 
 was over. Mr. Reuben, who had seemed so real, was no 
 more, and through me he had gone. For what? 
 
 He had taken me in his arms upon that night so long ago 
 and I knew that his cheek had pressed mine. Why ? And 
 the little ivory — Sally Trueblood with brown eyes. Ah, 
 Mr. Reuben, even then I knew that your heart had those 
 same eyes, that same sweet face, within it. 
 
 Then I heard Miss Patricia cough and I started up. It 
 was growing late and the shadows were long. I righted 
 up the little sitting room and stood wondering what way I 
 should turn. Then again the awful fear seized me. I fled 
 to the place where Mr. Reuben lay. He was upon his couch.- 
 The little bruise upon his lips from the ivory still showed. 
 His hand had clutched over the little ivory bit and through 
 the fingers I saw the smiling face. I saw his child-smile. 
 His very face seemed wreathed in a new joy and that joy 
 was a full understanding. The answer was upon his lips. 
 The shadows hung about the canopy of his couch, and I 
 looked into the dark and I wondered what hovered there, 
 for I felt that he was listening. I leaned over him and 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 183 
 
 laid my hand upon his cold brow. His silver hair fell back 
 lovingly. 
 
 *' Mr. Reuben," I said, "oh, Mr. Reuben, did I do this? 
 In that May did you, too, lose the thing that you never 
 could find?" 
 
 Then I knelt down beside him and laid my head upon 
 the couch and I prayed to Dearest God, He whom Sally 
 Trueblood showed me. He who would know. And I said, 
 when I had finished: 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, oh, I see your frail hands bearing the 
 bowl that was o'erheavy ! Oh, Sally Trueblood, I know the 
 full weight now of the thing, and I swear that I shall finish 
 its bearing until it is done, before the sight of earth, to the 
 last drop within me ! I swear it ! " 
 
 Then I stood before the new Mr. Reuben and I said : 
 
 " I do not know the path that failed you, Mr. Reuben, 
 but I do know the failing was not yours. I pledge you, Mr. 
 Reuben, my faith/' 
 
 Then I stood, wrapped in the frightening thoughts of 
 what my new day would be. Miss Patricia coughed once 
 more. Then it came upon me that I was alone. I won- 
 dered, " Would they, could they, leave me thus ! " 
 
 Then — oh, the sweetness of sisterhood! — Sephira came; 
 Sephira, with her loving eyes, her hungry eyes — for Sephira 
 knew the emptiness of love-hunger. Sephira came with 
 her circling arms, her gentle tone, her kisses, and her youth. 
 I might bury my head upon her soft bosom and weep, 
 mingling my tears with hers. We were one, Sephira and 
 myself, though I always felt that when Sephira was with 
 me I was Sally Trueblood's little me. I showed her what 
 had been. I told her of Mr. Reuben's coming. I told her 
 of the village wrath that I had stood, but this she had heard 
 and — bless her! — hid from me. This I know now. 
 
 With the aid of Sephira and her ministering love I passed 
 that long night. Miss Patricia fell into a sort of sleep in 
 which she spoke of Reuben and called, " Felicia." Then I 
 heard her say, " Reuben, I understand." Then she repeated 
 words that I think Mr. Reuben had said to her. They were 
 
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 about " going " and " the seeking of " — her lips would work 
 but no word would come. Sephira had promised, when 
 I had wearied, that she would wait and listen so that she 
 might tell me all. When I had lain down and was in a 
 fretful sleep I heard a thin voice calling, " Hope 1 Hope ! " 
 
 I answered, sitting up sleep-bewildered, and fleeing to 
 the sitting room where Sephira stood, making a sign to me 
 not to speak suddenly, and I knew that Miss Patricia did 
 not know that I had retired. I answered: 
 
 " Yes, Miss Patricia," and went softly to her room. 
 
 The candle — there was but one — sent its shadows wing- 
 ing about and fluttering over Miss Patricia's pale face. I 
 went to her side and I saw that she was not as she had 
 been when she had slept. She patted my hand, nodding 
 and smiling a wan smile as she fought for breath. 
 
 " I could not sleep, Hope. I — I — thought," here she 
 looked down, " if you would just bring his little dog. I 
 think " 
 
 " Yes," I said. " Yes, I shall, my dear. I know you can 
 sleep then." 
 
 Again I went for the little dog — the little thing of china 
 and paint that held prisoned in its hollow a little living 
 creature that came forth when she caressed it. I kissed it 
 and looked into its painted eyes, and what I saw there 
 I have never read in any man's. I took it" to her. She held 
 forth her trembling hands and her face lighted up. I 
 watched her caressing fingers close about it. I heard her 
 sigh and saw the fluttering smile of peace come ; then settle. 
 
 Sephira waited me in the sitting room. I went softly 
 out, leaving my loving glances to caress my dear, who lay 
 quiet now. Sephira stood looking at me questioningly. I 
 stood before Sephira and I took her to me and I said : 
 
 " Sephira, that shadow is deepening. She is going. I 
 know it. And then, — oh, Sephira! — what?" 
 
 " Wait ! Wait ! " said Sephira. " Wait ! It is not morn- 
 ing, and morning surely comes, Hope." 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 Then we sat down together, I upon the great armchair. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 187 
 
 leaning my cheek to Mr. Reuben's greatcoat, Sephira be- 
 side his door, and we waited, — waited, — waited. Oh, the 
 endless, endless hours that now seem but fretting mo- 
 ments ! 
 
 Morning came surely and found me weary, bent and 
 weary. I struggled to wake through my wake-sleep, for 
 I was not surely sleeping. My friend but led me a little 
 way to leave me come back and wonder. He was no longer 
 my joyous friend who showed me gay games and wondrous 
 dreams. He left me barren paths filled with whys, whys, 
 whys. 
 
 I waked and saw that the new light had filled the little 
 room. Sephira sat upon the hassock beside Mr. Reuben's 
 door, smiling brightly. 
 
 " Go ! Go ! " I said. " If they should know ! " 
 
 Sephira started. 
 
 " Know ? " she questioned. Then she flushed and said : 
 " Oh, yes ; I shall go." 
 
 We arose and I stood talking with Sephira of what 
 would be. 
 
 " Who will come ? " she said. 
 
 " I do not know," I answered. " I am playing a game 
 of waiting she taught me, and I cannot do one thing to 
 change the relentless thing that oppresses me. So I shall 
 wait." 
 
 " Oh, they will come," Sephira said. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I suppose so." 
 
 Then she kissed me and left. I made ready some hot 
 water and a bit of porridge, also browned before the fire 
 a slice of grain-loaf. Then I went to wake Miss Patricia. 
 I would sup alone, of course, yet I felt I must see her. I 
 stepped softly to her door. She had not wakened. I did 
 not enter, but went once more to the little table spread 
 that we had sat beside and supped from often and 
 often. I had little craving for the bread that I sat and 
 crunibled to bits. In my heart I was pondering the great 
 why. 
 
 It was while I was playing with the crumbs and wonder- 
 
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 ing what would come that a knock sounded. I arose, 
 startled, and I could scarcely bring myself to go to the door. 
 The knock came again and I stepped slowly to the door 
 and opened it. Before me stood Miss Snifly. I gasped, 
 and a sickness swept me. It was my first impulse to shut 
 the door, but I seemed to lose control of my hands and 
 stood staring and saying nothing. She drew herself up 
 primly and in her most iced tone, emphasized by the little 
 feather's psting, psting, said : 
 
 " The duty to a neighbor is a heavy yoke. Death brings 
 one to this knowledge. Miss, and Patty Snifly knows her 
 duty." 
 
 The little feather was wagging ridiculously. It was then 
 that the whole miserable affair seemed to set me again filled 
 up of mirth. I could not keep from laughing. I stood be- 
 fore her grinning like a simpleton, then burst into titters. 
 Then I found my tongue and said : 
 
 " Then your duty yoke led you here. Miss Snifly ? " 
 
 She nodded and I stood aside that she might enter. We 
 went slowly to the sitting room and Miss Snifly sat upon 
 the very edge of the great armchair in a most uncomfort- 
 able fashion, crossing her mittened hands and eying her 
 surroundings. I sat down upon a hassock and did not ofifer 
 further conversation. Miss Snifly drew her shoulders 
 high and said, stiffly : 
 
 " So Reuben Passwater died as he lived, a fool ? " 
 
 I stood up and faced her. 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " yes. Would you like to see him? " 
 
 Miss Snifly stood up suddenly and nodded, and I thought 
 I read a wicked little gleam in her eyes. I went to the spot 
 where Mr. Reuben lay and opened the door. I had turned 
 the shutters ever so slightly and a faint sunlight was steal- 
 ing through. Where it lay upon the floor it seemed to make 
 the shadows about it even darker. I pointed to where he 
 lay. 
 
 "Look," I said, "look! That is Mr. Reuben." 
 
 Miss Snifly leaned over as though she was inspecting 
 something unclean, holding her skirts back. Then I saw 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 189 
 
 that her face softened just a little, and I thought that the 
 softening was a wicked one. It was as though in his sunken 
 cheeks, his frailness, his shrunken temples and gaunt eyes, 
 she glutted. 
 
 " They will not open the chapel," she said, tossing her 
 head. " How could you expect it after your shameful con- 
 duct hefore the youth of the village?" 
 
 " I do not," I answered. " Fools and the like of me are 
 unfit." 
 
 I lay my hand lovingly upon Mr. Reuben's clenched one 
 and the little ivory laughed up at me. Miss Snifly saw it 
 and a wave of color mounted into her pallid cheeks. 
 
 " I said he was a fool," she said aloud, " and now I 
 know it." 
 
 I stood shaking and I said: 
 
 " Miss Snifly, you have left us. We fools have not sought 
 you. Why come upon us in such a time ? Come ! " I 
 beckoned her and went to where the door of Miss Patricia's 
 room stood open and she showed weak, white and sleeping. 
 I turned to Miss Snifly. 
 
 " There," I said, " she lies. This is part of your neigh- 
 borly duty. It is too late. You may not undo what you 
 have done, and may the great God in His compassion for- 
 give you. You may not awaken Mr. Reuben who has slept. 
 You may not offer your hands nor hearts to her, for she 
 will not know you. You may not blot out, you villagers, 
 what you have written here." I laid my hand upon my 
 breast over my heart. " Oh, you, with your tongues, have 
 flayed happiness until it lies dim-eyed and dying. Look 
 upon her and go," I said. " We have lived alone and we 
 shall finish this so." 
 
 Miss Snifly let her jaw hang and shrugged, seeming to be 
 astonished that I should not embrace her for her piety and 
 her leaving herself down to my level. 
 
 " Go ! " I said. " The chapel shall be closed. It has 
 been closed to all of you. You will not seek it. You have 
 left the Vicar go almost alone to Sabbaths and to prayer. 
 Do you think that you have shut God behind the door of 
 
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 your ehapel ? No ! " I shrieked. " He is standing be- 
 side us here and weeping, Miss Snifly. I know it. Now 
 go!" 
 
 " But the service ! " she said, aghast. 
 
 " The service ? " I answered. " What you have denied, 
 dearest God will give freely. Listen ! In His unsullied day 
 we shall go forth. In His earth we shall lay Mr. Reuben. 
 From our hearts we shall speak and He will hear. Do 
 you hear me? And no noble had such a song of gladness 
 as the chapel-yard birds offer up. You may not deny him 
 this. Take your God home with you, Miss Snifly. Leave 
 me mine. Go ! Go ! Go ! " 
 
 I was shoving her before me. We reached the door and I 
 pushed her out and shut it* I stood with my back to the 
 closed door, my hand still upon the latch, and the fire of 
 rebellion swept me high. The sickness at the thought that 
 I had suffered before the eyes of the one of all of them 
 from whom I would have kept my secrets! He knew now 
 that I was shamed. He knew that I was a thing to be held 
 up before the village eyes and taunted for the shame. 
 Then it came to me. What shame? What had I done? 
 Yet they were upon me. A new resolve formed. I would 
 live before their eyes. I would cast the caring to the winds. 
 I would show them that I would live as I wished, 
 asking no man, caring for no man. My heart seemed to 
 tremble. 
 
 I sat down upon the floor where I had been standing, and 
 was tracing with one finger upon the carpet and thinking, 
 when they came with the box. I heard their steps and I 
 knew what it was. I arose and opened the door and 
 waited. They came, " Coffin " Gifford and three villagers, 
 this time, bearing the long, black thing, the sight of which 
 brought back that morning so long ago in the chapel yard 
 when I had laid my larkspur upon just such a box. I was 
 weeping. Suddenly I thought of the chapel yard and won- 
 dered had any one spoken that the pit should be made ready. 
 I leaned toward " Coffin " Gifford and asked this. He kept 
 his eyes upon the box for a minute and then raised them 
 
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 asidelong and grinned, flushed, and looked knowingly to 
 the villagers. 
 
 " Your young man," he answered. 
 
 Oh, the agony of shame! Shall I ever forget it? I did 
 not speak but let them make ready the body of Mr. Reuben 
 for the last rest. 
 
 Still Miss Patricia lay silent with sealed eyes, breathing 
 softly and too fast. I closed the door and went to the 
 great chair and waited. Then it was that the outer door 
 opened and my stranger came in. I arose, covered with 
 confusion. 
 
 " Oh, please go, go ! If they should ever know ! " 
 
 He smiled slowly and said: 
 
 " Never mind, I am going with you." 
 
 I was dumb. Here was the only hand to aid me, the only 
 eyes to read sympathy from. I was hungry. I was wild 
 for companionship. I knew that Sephira could not come 
 and the village would not. I sat down dumbly and looked 
 at the floor. 
 
 "Are you ready?" he said softly. 
 
 I started and arose and my lips answered : 
 
 " No, no ! Oh, must I go before them ? You saw ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 " And still you come ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said once more. " Make you ready. They 
 are coming." 
 
 I frantically caught up a shawl and bonnet, I think they 
 were Miss Patricia's. Then I turned to one of the vil- 
 lagers and said: 
 
 " Would you stay, just until I return ? " 
 
 He nodded and grinned. " Coffin " Gifford, my stranger 
 and the two others bore the box out the little doorway 
 through which Mr. Reuben and my small self had passed 
 upon that first night. I followed alone. I could not weep. 
 It seemed as though I was carrying some awful pack far 
 too heavy, and I just must reach the summit. I must not 
 break before them. I must go down the village street be- 
 fore their eyes. I did not know we had gone even upon 
 
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 the way. My feet were bearing me without my knowledge. 
 We were at the chapel yard gate before I realized it. Then 
 I raised my eyes, and — oh, oh, the joy! The Vicar was 
 there, bent and tottered, but smiling! He held his hand 
 to me and I almost heard his lips say : " Suffer little chil- 
 dren to come unto me," and I wept afresh. 
 
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CHAPTER XIX 
 
 We followed the black box through the arch. I shall not 
 record the agony of grief and rebellion that warred within 
 me through the little service. When it was finished the 
 Vicar and my stranger lingered after the villagers and the 
 sexton's apprentice finished the filling of the pit. The 
 Vicar stepped slowly and we followed him. We had passed 
 through the chapel gate and went upon the road's way and 
 had reached the inn when I realized that some one had 
 confronted us. I was frightened and clung to the arm of 
 my stranger. The Vicar stood aside. I heard some one 
 say " Stephen " and looked up to see Mr. Stephen 
 Willoughby. 
 
 I was stricken. Mr. Willoughby was angered. He 
 drew himself up and with his awfulest voice said : 
 
 " What does this mean ? " 
 
 The stranger stood tall and flushed and did not answer. 
 Mr. Stephen Willoughby brought out his glove and struck 
 the cheek of him. He still stood silent. Again Mr. Wil- 
 loughby struck him. Then his lips whitened and his face 
 crimsoned and I saw his hands working and his breast 
 heaving. Then he said: 
 
 " I cannot ! Not that." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby laughed an unpleasant laugh and sneered : 
 
 "Why?" he asked. 
 
 " Father ! " my stranger gasped. 
 
 "Never," said Mr. Stephen Willoughby, "after this. 
 Have you forgotten that you are a Willoughby?" 
 
 " Yes," my stranger answered, " but I cannot forget that 
 I am a gentleman." 
 
 He bowed low before me and offered me his arm once 
 more, saying softly : 
 
 " I shall come to the inn later, sir." 
 
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 And bowing took me upon the way. I was wildly trying 
 to understanfi. Then this was what Rudy had meant. At 
 the thought of what had happened the day before I was 
 again filled of the shame and felt that I could not look 
 upon this man who was the son of Stephen Willoughby. 
 I freed my hands and stood before him. 
 
 " Oh, why did you not tell me ? I cannot, cannot bear 
 it!" 
 
 " Forgive me," he said. 
 
 " We both shall have to forgive," I answered, " and 
 forget. It cannot be." 
 
 Then I read his eyes. They were not Stephen Willough- 
 by's eyes. The shoulders were like and something in the 
 carriage, yet — oh, frailty! — I could not hate him. I smiled 
 and I knew that this was fuel to the fire. We went upon the 
 way. The Vicar had departed. After we had left the 
 side of Stephen Willoughby we walked silently, and when 
 we had come to the little house, he stopped, laid his hand 
 upon the gateway and said: 
 
 "Tonight?" 
 
 I did not raise my eyes nor answer. 
 
 "Tonight," he said and touched me. I knew he meant the 
 chapel yard and the beautiful dreams and I nodded, then 
 went swiftly within the gateway and entered the house. 
 
 It was silent and empty. The door to Mr. Reuben's little 
 room stood open. His couch still showed his last resting 
 place. His greatcoat lay just as he had left it. Even the 
 mulling cup and the unfinished port. I remember the feel- 
 ing of unreality that seemed to oppress me. I felt as one 
 who waked in his sleeping. The villager cleared his throat 
 and I was brought back from my vacant moments to see 
 him standing before me, grinning. I knew that he was one 
 of the younger lads of the village and, no doubt, had been 
 among them that had taunted me. I knew the grin and 
 all that it meant. I could not speak without betraying my 
 fearful feeling of abhorrence, and when I brought myself to 
 speak my voice shook. 
 
 " Has she waked? " I asked. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 195 
 
 He grinned again and did not answer my question, but 
 stood shuffling and said : 
 
 " It's well to have a man about." 
 
 I began to shake anew and I went to the doorway that 
 led to the little hallway and opened it, pointing to the outer 
 door, and I said, " Go ! " feeling in my skirt's fold for a 
 purse that I offer him a coin. I found it and brought out 
 one of the metals and offered it. He shook his head and 
 went shuffling out, grinning with that tell-all look. I was 
 weeping with shame. 
 
 I went, when I had cast off my bonnet and shawl, straight 
 to Miss Patricia's side. She stirred and I knew she was 
 awake. I did not speak but went to bring forth a little 
 broth and some crumbs that she might sup. She was too 
 weak to sit alone, so I lifted her upon my arm and minis- 
 tered the broth with my own hand. She ate it, a vacant 
 look in her eyes and a tremorous smile playing about her 
 thin lips. It seemed so strange. Here was the little me 
 that had come into this house so long ago and so unwelcome 
 to her, the only creature to lend her loving aid. And she 
 the only one to return my love. Did I say the only one? 
 Well, I know much now that I did not know then. 
 
 I spent the remainder of the afternoon thinking — alone, 
 it seemed to me, for Miss Patricia seemed gone. My days 
 had begun to be filled up of so much mystery that I feared 
 a new one's coming. I think that the thing that cut me 
 deepest and hurt me sorest was one word I had heard 
 spoken by my stranger, and that was " father." It was as 
 though a door had opened and I had seen into something 
 that I hoped beautiful, and found misery awaiting me. I 
 wondered what the Willoughbys knew. Miss Willoughby 
 had said she did not know Sally Trueblood, nor Miss Pa- 
 tricia; yet Mr. Stephen had come and they did know one 
 the other. The whole net seemed built up of lies. Who 
 had been the frail little lady whose Hope still seemed a 
 little living babe to me ? Why was Miss Willoughby there ? 
 How had Stephen Willoughby come by the garments she 
 had worn and her little Hope's babe clothes? 
 
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196 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I was sitting, pondering all of this, and scarcely knew 
 that the twilight had settled. Miss Patricia had lain quietly, 
 her lids shut, and I had waited her waking wearily. I was 
 sitting wrapt in the tangle of liiy days when the knock that 
 I had hoped for came. I went to answer it and found 
 Sephira, with a basket laden of sweets, a loaf and some cold 
 mutton. 
 
 " I knew you would be unfit. Is she awake ? " 
 
 " No," I answered. " Sephira, I am glad you have come, 
 for I am almost mad." 
 
 " What is it, my dear ? " said Sephira, circling my waist 
 and laying her cool cheek to mine. " Tell me." 
 
 " No," I answered, " I cannot, but, Sephira, I will tell you 
 one thing. I went into a May day and was caught in a 
 shower. It is no use. I shall forget and finish the living of 
 the understandable days. I shall count no thing but my own 
 pleasure." 
 
 Sephira's eyes widened. She looked to my eyes search- 
 ingly and laughed a little snatch of a laugh and said : 
 
 " Hope, you are not understandable." 
 
 " Listen, Sephira. This is the last time. Will you stay? 
 I must go. It is finished after this, but now I must go." 
 
 Sephira nodded and I hugged her. 
 
 " She will not awaken until it is late and I shall come, not 
 late, but early." 
 
 Sephira nodded again and I went to the shutter and saw 
 that the moon was coming; that it was a heavy one, all 
 lopped of fullness. My heart was leaping and joy tickled at 
 my throat. I was righting my locks with my hands and 
 went to bathe my red-wept eyes. I remember that I lighted 
 the taper and went to the guest room ; that I looked in the 
 reflector. There I saw myself striving to be myself, all 
 twisted and wriggling my face, and I laughed a little, then 
 bit my lip ; for the old memory came with the reflector, of 
 my first night in this room. 
 
 When I was refreshed I went back to the sitting room 
 where Sephira had laid the table for our sup at a later hour, 
 for she knew that I would hasten. She was now busied in 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 197 
 
 Mr. Reuben's room. I heard her steps and saw her casting 
 the coverlids. I did not tarry, but swiftly threw the shawl 
 around me and said softly: 
 
 '• Soon, Sephira, soon. Wait me." 
 
 " Surely," she answered. And I went out the hallway 
 and through the outer door. 
 
 Oh, you moon that came slow, shall I ever forget you? 
 Or your pale golden light that shed so softly over the little 
 village, making it shine with the mystic touch of dearest 
 God? Never before had I felt that He so caressed the 
 earth. It was quiet, cool quiet. Only some cricket chirped, 
 or winged creature scraped his edged song. The earth 
 seemed so small, the heavens so great, and I so lone. Shall 
 I ever forget how in my agony of loneliness I turned my 
 eyes to the well-known paths where I was not welcomed, 
 where I was shunned, up to the sky where the moon, like 
 some wise mother, smiled her wisdom-smile? 
 
 A great sob rolled up to be swallowed. My eyes were 
 blinded with tears, and then in the moon's smile I found 
 an old, old friend; for had she not trod with me and the 
 game, smiling with us? How we had sat beside the win- 
 dow, the little shuttered one upon one thong, and watched 
 her climb. What gay games in the brightness we played, 
 making the stars our knights and ladies, and the moon their 
 kingdom. How we would each point out a star and call it 
 some fanciful name, watching it each eve until it disap- 
 peared upon its journey to the kingdom, we believed. The 
 knights we warred, watching for them at each eve's coming 
 and counting the clouds their vanquishers. Ah, I remember 
 when for most the eves our gaming was amid the stars. 
 
 I was walking down our pathway, thinking of all of this, 
 doubting my own heart with its own first problem. I opened 
 the gateway and went swiftly to the village, knowing that 
 they were watching me. Still the golden light, shedding 
 upon the path, cast my shadow so that it followed me 
 ridiculously squat. I wished that it would leave me. When 
 I came to the chapel yard I stood at the gateway loth to 
 enter. I saw him standing beside the mound of Sally True- 
 
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198 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 blood. Still I stood. I saw that a candle burned within 
 the sextonage. Its beams fell from the shutters like golden 
 threads. I heard the. well-known fluttering o'erhead and the 
 scolding of the nesters.. Then I went slowly down the 
 briared path to his side. He wheeled and said : 
 
 " Hope, you have come? " 
 
 I nodded in the bright light and I said : 
 
 " Yes, to her," and I pointed to the mound. 
 
 " She is gone," he said, " and I am here." 
 
 " No," I answered. " Do you see the moon ? Look ! 
 Upon her face I read the same smile that I know I shall 
 always read. It is true with her." 
 
 We stood, both looking to the little mound so pitifully 
 small, just earth. Gone, yet I know some tide when some 
 new eyes shall read this, a wonderful vine shall grow from 
 this earth, loving each crumbling stone that stands about. 
 I know that the moon shall stand just as it did then and the 
 vine shall tremble with loving. I could not then understand 
 how so much beauty, so much joyousness, so much love, 
 could die. I know now it could not. 
 
 He watched me. I knew that he was fearful to speak of 
 what had been. I looked to him and said : 
 
 " Well, it is over, like all happiness of mine. It, too, is 
 dead." 
 
 " No," he answered. " No, Hope, it cannot be. I can- 
 not be blamed for that that I hold no part of." 
 
 " But you are a Willoughby," I answered. 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 " That is too much," I said. " You did not tell me." 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 He looked into my eyes deep and I saw that he was striv- 
 ing not to speak. 
 
 " You feared to tell me," I went on, " because you knew 
 who I was. You knew that I feared for you to ask. You 
 knew all of this. You did not know that Stephen Wil- 
 loughby had shown me a thing that I never saw; that he, 
 knowing her, — for he does know, I know it, — knowing 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 199 
 
 her — " I choked — " shame, would have shamed me before 
 the village eyes. That is a Willoughby, and you are of 
 that." 
 
 He was beseeching me to stop, but I was kindled with the 
 thought of my shame and went on : " What does he know 
 of me? What does Miss Willoughby know? Geneva Wil- 
 loughby," I went on. " Why did they come to the mansion 
 when she died ? " 
 
 "Who?" he asked. 
 
 " I do not know," I went on. " The little lady who rocked 
 her Hope." 
 
 His jaw hung open. He caught me by the shoulder and 
 cried : " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Who are you," I asked, "that I should tell you? Ste- 
 phen Willoughby your father — who is your mother ? " 
 
 He stood very straight and pointed to the stone of Felicia 
 Trueblood. I read it in the bright light, kneeling : " Unto 
 him who readeth this know ye that all bitterness hath an 
 end." 
 
 " God grant it," I said and arose. 
 
 " Felicia Trueblood ! She is not a Willoughby." 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 " Then you, too ? " I gasped. 
 
 He turned slowly and said: 
 
 " I may not answer. Hope, can you trust me ? " 
 
 I drew up, looking to the moon, still smiling, and I re- 
 member shrugging and saying: 
 
 "Trust a Willoughby? No!" 
 
 He came toward me there in the deeper shadow by the 
 stone, where I had stepped once more, and I said: 
 
 " I hate you ! If she is your mother, why did she cause 
 Her to weep ? " 
 
 " I cannot answer, Hope," he said. " I am waiting." 
 
 I began to laugh foolishly and sat down swaying and say- 
 ing over and over, " Waiting ! Waiting ! " 
 
 Then I arose and I remember that I turned to leave, 
 saying : 
 
 " We wait alone until each may tell all. Waiting, sir, is 
 
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200 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 a long word and I have learned each letter ; and the hand of 
 Willoughby, methinks, is the taskster. Sir," I curtseyed, " it 
 is farewell until we may tell all." 
 
 Then I ran. It seemed that happiness fell from me like 
 garments as I fled. I had felled my love. I saw him dying, 
 reaching out and smiling, and I had smitten him, but I said 
 aloud as I ran : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, I know, I know, I know that waiting, 
 the cup you bore, wined with shame and brimmed with 
 longing, is bitter, bitter ! " 
 
 I was sick. I ran stumbling upon my way and I saw that 
 the moon was shining, but it seemed dimmer. I ran through 
 the paths to our house and went to the doorway to open it 
 and steal softly through the hallway to the sitting room. 
 The candle was lighted, and Sephira, my sister Sephira, was 
 upon her knees before the great chair, weeping. I spoke, 
 " Sephira ! " She caught at her breast and arose. Her 
 cheeks flamed, thin, paled. 
 
 " Hope, oh, Hope ! I want you ! Now you have come, 
 how can I tell you ? " 
 
 I went to her. She was shaking. Her eyes looked wild 
 and I saw that she hung her head. 
 
 "Is it Miss Patricia?" I asked. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 "What then?" I said. 
 
 " Nothing," Sephira said, brushing back her locks and 
 laughing. " I think I was dreaming." 
 
 I looked straight into Sephira's eyes and I said : 
 
 " What do you mean, Sephira ? " 
 
 " Nothing. Nothing," she answered. " Did you meet 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes," I said, " and it is over. I cannot tell you, Sephira, 
 how empty my heart is." 
 
 Sephira sank upon the hassock and her sweet eyes had a 
 sorrowful look. She sighed deeply, clasped her hands about 
 her knees and did not speak. I watched her, and I knew 
 that there was something between us that was not a mere 
 shadow. I thought perhaps she had been filled of the vil- 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 201 ' 
 
 lage gab and knew that they had new tales of my wrong- 
 doings. I sat down in the great armchair and waited that 
 she speak, but she did not, seeming to be lost in 
 thoughts of her own. After we had been sitting for some 
 time she seemed to shake off the feeling and smiled brightly, 
 but I thought her eyes were still shadowed with the thing 
 I felt. I still waited. She arose and went to the little 
 table where the sup stood, made ready by her hands. She 
 sat down upon the chair and I sat before her. She offered 
 me of the bread and a bit of the mutton. I sat crumbling 
 the bread and trying to swallow the mutton that grew larger 
 as I chewed upon it. Sephira ate quickly, biting suddenly 
 from the bread bits, making an unusual feint at being bright, 
 I thought. I recall that she upset a mug of milk and 
 blushed ; then laughed too much. 
 
 When we had been sitting for some time she arose and 
 came to my side, laid her arm around my neck and kissed 
 me and said : 
 
 " Hope, do you love me ? " 
 
 I took her hand, which was very cold and shaking, in 
 mine and answered: 
 
 " Sephira, like a sister. No creature is so close. You 
 have been like a sun in my gloomy days — my stronghold, 
 my sister." 
 
 She kissed me. I even now can feel her warm lips upon 
 my cheek and tears spring as I write. 
 
 " I am glad ! glad ! glad ! " she said. " I need you, Hope." 
 
 "Why, Sephira?" I asked. 
 
 " Because," she said, " I am lonely." 
 
 " What do you mean, Sephira ? There is something which 
 you have not told me that is upon you. What is it ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she said and laughed a queer little laugh that 
 ended in a catching of her breath. 
 
 I stood up and held her by the shoulders, trying to make 
 her look deep in my eyes, but she would not. I shook her 
 ever so little and I said : 
 
 "Sephira, it's Rudy!" 
 
 She turned very white. 
 
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302 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " No," she said. " Rudy is gone." 
 
 " What ? " I went on. " What do you mean ? I saw him 
 but yesterday." 
 
 She nodded and I saw that tears were welling up into her 
 eyes. 
 
 " When did he go? " I asked. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered. 
 
 " What ! " I cried. " He left you and did not tell you 
 where he was going ! " 
 
 Again she nodded. 
 
 " Did you not see him, Sephira? " 
 
 She shook her head, " no," and sunk upon the chair and 
 wept. I leaned over her and circled her with my arms. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," I said. " He will come back. 
 Don't you know it ? " 
 
 She shook her head once more and wiped her eyes upon 
 her shaking hands, then looked up to my eyes and I saw 
 she had fear in hers. 
 
 "What is it, Sephira? Tell me." 
 
 " He went, Hope, and did not say even farewell." 
 
 "Rudy did that?" I said. " Sephira, he did not." 
 
 " Yes," she said and arose, sped to the door, opened it 
 and ran into the night. 
 
 I stood mutely before the door that shut with a snap and 
 there was a feeling upon me that was new. Then Sephira, 
 too, was suffering this through me. It had been that the 
 village had taunted her through me and Rudy had left, no 
 doubt, because they were wagging. I sat down dumbly, 
 within me my new sorrow and the newer sorrow of Sephira. 
 Then it was that Miss Patricia waked and my hands were 
 busied in the ministering to her and my heart stilled a little 
 of its aching. In a joy of service I lost my own sorrow. 
 
 When it had grown late, very late, and Miss Patricia 
 had again slept, I sat down by the shutter in my little room 
 and unfastened the latch to swing the shutter open. The 
 moon was gone and the stars were palely beckoning me. 
 There was a faint gray light about the sky's rim and I saw 
 down our pathway a shadow. I got up and lighted a candle. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 203 
 
 Then I heard my name called, " Hope ! Hope ! " I stopped 
 and did not answer and blew the candle out, standing still 
 and my heart thumping. Then it was that Stephen came to 
 my shutter and called once more. 
 "Go!" I said. 
 
 " No, no, Hope, I must see you." 
 " Wait," I said, " she is sleeping. I will come." 
 Then I went through the sitting room and out the door 
 to join him. 
 
 Shall I bare my heart here? Shall I write the beautiful 
 things that I have so long hidden? No, no, my dears, I 
 shall keep them and take you back with me to my little 
 room where, when we had said good night, I had returned. 
 And I shall tell you that my sorrow had fled. I had drunk 
 only the purity of love's wine and it had strengthened me. 
 I could not, could not, slay love, who sought me, and I 
 smiled, only smiled, little knowing — ^but wait ! 
 
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CHAPTER XX 
 
 I THINK a fortnight had slipped away, filled with the 
 usual ministering to Miss Patricia, the lonely days with her, 
 sometimes vaguely trying to remember and put together 
 some vagrant dreams, then quite herself, uncannily elusive 
 as though she guarded something and feared I would find 
 it — this and her pitiful clinging to ■ the little dog and the 
 stories of Willie Pimm Passwater that seemed to come 
 anew to her now. This was the only, thing she spoke freely 
 of, and I grew to expect him to walk out from some shadow 
 and say in his prim, mannerful way, some of the quaint 
 things she told me of his saying. He seemed real and I got 
 to feel that he was some company. Then there were the 
 nights when Stephen came, now to our little yard, and later 
 Sephira, who left with the light and seemed not the bright 
 Sephira that had sought me with her comforting, but a 
 little frightened thing that shot furtive glances and started 
 and covered her confusion with coughing or a laugh. I 
 had grown to dread her coming and I did not mention 
 Rudy, the thing I knew lay upon her heart, fearing I might 
 tear her beautiful cloth of romance. I think that I had 
 begun to love the evenings. The hours of labor and wait- 
 ing sped upon the wings of my joy. At times I warred 
 within me that Stephen was a Willoughby, that I could not 
 hope; then that one evening that we had spent together 
 beside the mounds of Sally Trueblood and Felicia True- 
 blood would come back and comfort me. I seemed to feel 
 that he, too, was beneath a shadow and I shut my heart to 
 all that welled up against our happiness to turn to those eve- 
 nings and forget. 
 
 It was upon a certain morning that I was forced to seek 
 the village when I passed Dawson upon the way. She had 
 stopped me and with her round eyes looked me over from 
 top to foot. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 205 
 
 "Momin'," she said. 
 
 " Good morning, Dawson." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " a very good un." 
 
 I saw that she was bursting to tell something and without 
 my invitation she started: 
 
 " He's a gentleman, ben't he, is Samuel Willoughby ? " 
 
 " Samuel ? " I said. 
 
 "The young un," she went on. 
 
 " You do not mean Mr. Willoughby, Dawson, do you ? 
 Stephen Willoughby?" 
 
 " Oh, be it Stephen ? Well, it don't make him any better. 
 The hand of the law will find old Willoughby yet. He's a 
 rogue, he is, I says. Only this mornin' I says to Hobbs 
 Dawson, ' He's a rogue, he is,' and Hobbs nods back, he 
 does. Yes, the Lord is just. Miss. Them's my words, but 
 the likes of you a-mixin' with the Willoughbys. It breeds 
 trouble, I says, does I." 
 
 "What do you mean, Dawson?" I asked. "The Wil- 
 loughbys are rogues, yet even such as I may not mix with 
 them?" 
 
 She nodded. " Ye see, if her hands hadn't been red " 
 
 and she nodded again, knowingly. 
 
 "Whose?" I said. 
 
 •' Sally's," said she. " She killed him.^' 
 
 I grasped her fat arm and shook her. 
 
 " What do you mean, Dawson ? Oh, my heaven, what 
 have you said ? Is it not enough ? " ( 
 
 " Them's my words, Miss. I said 'em to Hobbs Dawson 
 this mornin', I did. She done ft, she did, and there's them 
 that knows it, else why the eaves, I says, says I. Why?" 
 
 I stood rocking my arms and my head felt as though it 
 would burst. My tongue was frozen. I stood helpless. 
 Dawson waddled upon her way, still murmuring, " The Lord 
 is just," and I awoke to the fact that I was standing wildly 
 beating my breast and rocking forward, gasping : 
 
 " Oh, Sally Trueblood, Sally Trueblood, why? why? Oh, 
 why? Dearest God, oh, dearest God, why?" I frantically 
 cried. And then I saw her sad eyes and her smiling lips. 
 
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2o6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I seemed to shrink. I looked upon the house and swept 
 the village with my glance, wishing that I might flee and 
 hide, like some wounded thing. Then it came upon me 
 that I must go upon the duty that had brought me to the 
 village, which was a visit to Ole Dodson, who kept the shop 
 where the coach left the post. It had been that I had been 
 bidden to go upon each fortnight and bring forth a sealed 
 packet to Miss Patricia. I had noticed that the seal bore an 
 " S." It was very business-like and Ole Dodson fingered it 
 much each time, looking at me as though he wondered if 
 I knew the thing and who had sent it. I did know that 
 this packet was the slender fund that came and kept Miss 
 Patricia and myself, but I did not know who sent it. Often 
 I had wondered but feared to speak to Miss Patricia and 
 ask. Always she would say at the time the packet should 
 come: 
 
 " I think you shall go to Ole Dodson and see. Of course 
 it may not be there, but see." 
 
 And I understood. When I would return Miss Patricia 
 would dismiss me and alone would open the packet, and I 
 had never afterward seen even the parchment that had in- 
 cased it. But this was so small a thing and so like the 
 greater things of my life that I wondered little. I recall, 
 as I said before, that morning, and then I seem to "sink my 
 memory into a grayness of happenless days. 
 
 Sephira came as always, and Stephen, and little I cared, 
 I think, save that they come. Miss Patricia seemed not to 
 rally and seemed now to care little to rouse save for a bit 
 of sup, or some fragmentary conversation, usually about 
 some small household matter, or, if it were a little chat, of 
 Reuben, whom she seemed to expect, or of Willie Pimm 
 Passwater. And always, when she had wearied, I went 
 for the little china dog. These were small things, but they 
 were not only my day but my whole world. 
 
 My love had brought about a wonderful change in me. 
 While I was happy with my stolen happiness, still the 
 womanhood of me rebelled, not for myself, nor for Stephen, 
 but for something that seeded to be buried deep within 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 207 
 
 me. I did not think of the future, but of the now. But 
 when the future knocked at my heart bitterness arose. The 
 haunting thing the words of Dawson had aroused, walked 
 with me like a shadow. I would wake in the small hours 
 crying out. I grew thinner and could not spend my days in 
 my tasks, but often would find myself staring out the open 
 shutter with my heart like ice and my hands shaking. Miss 
 Patricia had made my days so alike that the smallest thing 
 seemed great and now I was bereft almost of reason trying 
 to understand. For whose days were fuller than mine of 
 small things that seemed so great? 
 
 With the words of Dawson came a new fear, for I knew 
 that the thing the village hid was not Sally Trueblood's 
 shame alone but the shadow of death, and that death done 
 at some hand, and they knew whose hand, or believed they 
 did. 
 
 But even this was not the greatest thing. There came a 
 thing so dark, so fearful, so haunting, so misery-bearing to 
 me, that fear was my shadow. I could not tell Stephen, so 
 this was mine alone. Oh, shall I forget the night that 
 brought me this thing with all its hideousness? I cannot 
 bear to write and the tears well up so that I scarce can see 
 the page. Oh, will you take this new agony with me and 
 bear with me until I may tell you all ? 
 
 There were the lonely days that I hid from the village 
 eyes, fearing them, knowing well how they hurt; fearful 
 that they might see me, fearful to hear their tongues drip, 
 and all of this time I feared my sister, my sweet Sephira, 
 most. And then, one night, fortnights hence, she came 
 weeping to the door of the little house, holding her arms out 
 and with tearful voice, saying: 
 
 " Oh, Hope, I have come to you to be with you, to love 
 you ! " And I knew that we would share this agony, 
 Sephira and myself. 
 
 I cautioned her not to speak aloud, fearing Miss Patricia 
 might hear. We went into the room that was mine and I 
 lighted a candle. Then we sat circling each other with lov- 
 ing arms, upon the great poster, and I remember that I 
 
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2o8 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 thought of the night when I feared it would snap, " Well ! " 
 I remember the shadows that flitted o'er us; I remember 
 Sephira's weeping eyes and my own; I remember that she 
 had told with a shaking voice that the door of the vicarage 
 was closed to her, and this on my account. Mrs. Gifford had 
 found that she came, and the Vicar — well, he too had bid- 
 den her go. She was helpless before me, and I, who was to 
 them the cause of her misery, could only take her to me 
 and promise to be her stronghold, knowing what her lips 
 did not utter. 
 
 I did not go to meet Stephen this night, but sat with 
 Sephira clasped in my arms until the hour was very late. 
 We two together, helpless, yet before me the greatest ques- 
 tion ever confronting woman. I recall how the past years 
 came fresh to me as we sat there, Sephira's head upon my 
 shoulders. I recall the Vicar upon that morning when I 
 had gone to the chapel and heard his words so clear, " Suf- 
 fer little children to come unto me." Oh, the Vicar is no 
 more, and that day so far, far, but the love he planted within 
 me is still growing. I could not blame him. He, too, was 
 hiding something. I knew it. I knew he suffered alone, 
 and oh, the agony that this too should fall upon him. They 
 ■did not know this agony. They but knew, at least Mrs. 
 Gifford had known, that Sephira had defied the lawful 
 word of piety and had strayed to mix with one of the 
 stripe such as I. 
 
 I may record here that each night, when the dark came, 
 it brought the Vicar tottering, but this the village did not 
 know. But I knew that even this must not be. Stephen 
 must not come. We must face this alone. How all of this 
 was to be accomplished I did not know, but I prayed, 
 prayed as never before, to be shown. 
 
 Can I ever forget the fear-chill that crept me? Even 
 while my lips spoke the words of prayer I was consumed 
 with fear and fright. I clasped Sephira to me, sobbing, 
 and could only murmur over and over, " Oh, Sephira, Se- 
 phira, my sister, my sister ! " She wept, shaking and 
 irightened before me. I saw that the shadows of twilight 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 209 
 
 were deep about her eyes ; her little mouth whose smile was 
 so sweet showed tightened, strained. The lips she bit, and I 
 could see her little white teeth gleam as she worked them 
 upon her tender flesh. 
 
 I did not ask why. I knew there was a why, but it was 
 not mine. To Sephira, I knew, it was a great why, perhaps 
 beautiful, then hideous ; perhaps robed in shame, but a great 
 why, a bigger why than Sephira; but to me it would be just 
 a shadow in which she could hide and not so big that it 
 might hide her. So I left her the great why. She sobbed 
 like a little child, sinking her soft locks upon my cheek 
 where they swept me pleadingly. My hand caressed her 
 neck and I rocked to and fro, holding her close and not 
 speaking. 
 
 While I sat thus I remembered Sally Trueblood. It all 
 came so clearly. Had this been her lot ? Had she, oh, had 
 she, been frightened, with no loving arms to comfort her 
 and a little life just dawning to a sunless day? Oh, had her 
 lips strained to smile to this coming little life? They had 
 always smiled. I knew it. Yet there was something about 
 the wild eyes and set face of Sephira that choked me. I 
 clutched her to me and within my heart something burst — a 
 new light, I think, one that showed me Sally Trueblood's 
 greatness. Then a great thing came stealing over me and 
 my lips made the words aloud, " Oh, God ! " and I knew that 
 I was before one of His great mysteries, that even now a 
 new life was dawning feebly, to what ? Oh, God ! to what ? 
 No welcoming arms, no spot offered whereon to lay it naked 
 e'en! The hearts of earth's pit stone-sealed, and yet the 
 same breath that should bring the first wail brought the first 
 smile. The agony of bitterness welled in fearful storms up 
 to my heart's anguish, the bitter waters sweeping me about 
 until I stood up with my arms about Sephira, clutching 
 her in defiance, and I said : 
 
 " Oh, God, it is Thine and mine, and I am arm-hungry ! " 
 And I leaned to Sephira, whispering : " They shall not know, 
 Sephira. They shall not! " 
 
 And she clung to me, still weeping, her eyes raised 
 
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216 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 piteously, the tears streaming her cheeks, bathing her 
 lips and falling upon her soft bosom. I knelt down before 
 her and touched her, and I said: 
 
 " You are alone, Sephira, alone, you and the little babe, 
 with dearest God. It is not mine to ask you. I cannot 
 understand, but oh, my sister — " I threw my hands out — 
 " take my hands ! They are yours ; and my heart, could I 
 take it from my bosom. I cannot understand, nor shall I 
 ask you, but I can understand what a woman should — that 
 the valley of birth is the valley of death, and I would trod 
 it with you, my dear. Oh, I know the hunger of empty days, 
 I know the rod of ' piety,' I know the face of ' sanctity,' and 
 I know that they are goads to the path of folly. Oh, Se- 
 phira, if youth has love, then youth does not hunger or know 
 the fretful grind of spirit-emptiness. Oh, Sephira, Sephira, 
 a mother's smile may fill a woman up so that she may not 
 look upon the face of folly." And I thought of Sally 
 Trueblood, and her arms, and what true love really 
 was. 
 
 When it was late I went to the duties that were my cus- 
 tom, and ministering to Miss Patricia, and when I returned 
 to the little room the shutter stood open, Sephira lay upon 
 the poster and the pale starlight showed her sleeping, her 
 lips open and her arms flung wide. She lay dejectedly, 
 forlornly asleep, and the righteous slept in the village. 
 
 I awoke in the morning and shook me that I might free 
 of the feeling that I had dreamed a hideous dream. Then 
 my heart sickened and I knew that it was useless. Sephira 
 was still sleeping beside me. I turned and looked upon her. 
 She seemed never before so frail. One dark strand fell 
 over her bosom and her hand was circled listlessly beside 
 her cheek. I arose softly and made ready to set upon this 
 day and make some way that the monstrous thing I had 
 undertaken be gone through with. Within me came the 
 thought that the village did not know. If they could only be 
 brought to believe that it was not her misfortune but mine. 
 What matter would this be to me ? They believed me of the 
 stripe. They looked for this. It would satisfy them. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 211 
 
 I told this to Sephira when she awoke and cautioned her 
 not to step from the house, to keep within the walls. This 
 she promised and I felt secure. Then I waited the night 
 when the Vicar would come. I told him that he must not 
 come again, that they must believe that Sephira was gone. 
 This he promised. And Stephen — well, how might I take this 
 to him ? So I smiled at my love and did not tarry, but left 
 him. All of this was accomplished, and I had set out one 
 night to seek an aid that I might make purchases and keep 
 myself close. This led me to the abode of the Timpkins'; 
 Tidy was now a tall girl-woman whose child ways still 
 clung. She twisted her apron, just as of yore, and eyed 
 me furtively when I had accosted her as she drew milk from 
 a bowl with a smaller one, slowly counting as she dipped; 
 I had not spoken to Tidy for years, though I had seen her 
 grow from thin legs and knee frocks to thinner legs and 
 lengthened frocks, thence to a miss's gown and the dignity 
 of tucked-up hair. 
 
 " Tidy," I said, when I had got over the accustomed greet- 
 ings of one who has not known the other's company for a 
 time, " do you remember the plum loaf ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " And Miss Patricia's thin slice? " 
 
 She nodded again, but did not speak that I might lead 
 forth upon her word. 
 
 " Could you. Tidy," I went on, " do for me some things 
 that I sorely need done ? " 
 
 She stood gawked, twisting her apron, and said portently : 
 " But the village ! " 
 
 " They must not know," and I showed her a coin. 
 
 Tidy agreed, in short, to do this, and glibly offered to 
 come and aid in the " ridden up." I think I know now 
 that it was in the hope of knowing much that the village 
 guessed at. However, as Tidy only did the purchases it was 
 not necessary that she enter the house. When all of this 
 was settled I began the waiting, a new one, and this one 
 lonelier than any before. 
 
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CHAPTER XXI 
 
 I THINK it must have been perhaps the end of the sum- 
 mer's tide. Miss Patricia was quite spent. Each morn- 
 ing she seemed weaker and I watched the creeping 
 shadows coming, coming — one of death and one of life. 
 Slowly, slowly, the days slipped. Surely, surely, death ap- 
 proached. Slowly, slowly, life came knocking. Hidden 
 there we waited — each for something not the other's; one 
 for death, one for life — ^yes, and mayhap death. 
 
 But now Sephira had stopped her weeping and sat list- 
 lessly looking through the shutters, her throat working 
 and her lips trembling, her hands idle. I could not bring 
 myself to speak of the babe to her, but I went to the little 
 chest that Sally Trueblood had packed for me and brought 
 out the little, little yellow garments, all brown-stained with 
 tear rust. I crushed them to my breast in my agony of 
 hunger and I offered these freely to the little naked stranger 
 who trod an unknown path to us. 
 
 I remember that I took them reverently in my hands and 
 pressed them to my bosom, and that I took them with no 
 word to Sephira, where she sat, and I laid them lovingly 
 upon her knees. I remember this, and that she looked upon 
 them and her eyes started, her throat swelling, and that she 
 shrieked a fright-cry that still leaves a bleeding wound in 
 my heart. She flung them from her and sunk upon her 
 knees and cried out : 
 
 " Oh, God, not this ! It cannot be ! Surely, surely, it is 
 not right, oh, God, not right ! It should be me, me to suf- 
 fer ! " And she beat her bosom and took up a garment and 
 held it before her eyes and wildly kissed it, crying softly, 
 " My poor, poor baby ! My little, little child ! " 
 
 Then she sank, such a weak Sephira, all broken, weep- 
 ing and clutching the garment. I, too, sank beside her and 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 213 
 
 wept, comforting her, for in my love I had wounded her. 
 Thank God, Miss Patricia was too spent to know all that 
 transpired. It was an easy task to hide, but I knew, I 
 knew that the hounds with their lapping tongues were upon 
 the way ; that they knew where the fox had fled ; that they 
 would have his brush. I had listened to Tidy's tongue that I 
 might know. 
 
 They had begun to seek the Sabbath house since it had 
 been noised about that the eldest of the Vicar's flock had 
 disappeared. Word was among them that the wrong was 
 upon her, but no tongue might tell all. Yet; in their hunger 
 for the filth to lap they sheepishly began to seek the chapel 
 for prayer and the gospel. Not since that fateful morning 
 had the Vicar looked upon such a gathering as a Sabbath 
 now brought. Mrs. Gifford piously wept and prayed, tell- 
 ing of the wayward Sephira, and intimating with shrugs 
 and eyebrows raised that she had perhaps come into service 
 at Lady Gregory's. Not with her truthful tongue would 
 she speak this, but lead the willing lambs to look upon the 
 trap and fall if they chose. 
 
 All of this I knew, and the anger that welled up within me 
 mounted higher. Here in my arms was one of them, the 
 good Vicar's daughter. With the rod of piety she had been 
 beaten to her fall. Even the Vicar had not filled her youth- 
 days with the things that walled out folly. In his trials he 
 had forgotten Sephira. Mrs. Giflford had never looked 
 upon her as a good and pious child. Every bright or happy 
 impulse that came to her had been quelled with frowns or 
 sharp words. God had been shown to her as a frowning 
 monster. When the Vicar made Him smile then Mrs. Gif- 
 ford frowned, and Sephira forgot the smile but remembered 
 the frown. She had fallen before them, and now what 
 would they do? Lash her, I knew. And though the Vicar 
 would have ministered his gentleness they, would not allow 
 it. The stripe was upon her. Never before had this thing 
 been so hideous. I could not understand. 
 
 Sephira wept on, and I could hear that there were drops 
 falling upon the roof. It only added to my loneliness. 1 
 
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214 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 heard them and thought of that night at the eaves with her, 
 and I felt the same chill at my heart, but for another cause. 
 I quieted Sephira, attending to the things that awaited my 
 accustomed round, and had made ready for sleep. I went to 
 the shutter and looked through the opening. It was a chill 
 night. The rain now was sweeping with sudden gusts and I 
 could hear it splash upon the walls. Then I tired and went 
 to my rest. 
 
 I do not think I had been sleeping long when I awakened 
 with the horror of reaUzation upon me. I shall not record 
 here the agony of the thing, but the waking brought the old 
 waiting to an end. I was alone, with no hand to uplift. 
 Miss Patricia was sleeping. I looked at Sephira and smiled. 
 I knew that the thing was upon us, and I knew that I had 
 brought the knocking of life by the thing I had done that 
 night. It was too much. Sephira had given way. The 
 long waiting, the agony of shame, and then the knowing, 
 the fullness of knowing, that had come to her that night, 
 had overcome her. Sephira had awakened and with stiff- 
 ened hps had spoken. I had arisen and clothed. Wild 
 thoughts were sweeping me. I cast about within me for 
 some plan that I might pursue. But one came, and that was 
 Dawson. I must seek her. I should have to go alone. 
 
 It was dark, raining, and the peals of thunder sounded 
 amid the sweeping waters. Fear slowed me. I tried to find 
 a lantern, an old one that had belonged to Mr. Reuben, a 
 great iron thing with a wick. This I finally found and 
 lighted, and with a shawl bound about me I stood, my teeth 
 chattering with fear; with Sephira wailing that she would 
 not leave me go, for she too was overcome of fright. Wild- 
 eyed she pleaded with pale lips that I not leave her. 
 
 " Sephira," I had answered, " it must be. I shall be gone 
 but a little time. Wait! Wait!" 
 
 And I Tan from the room, unbarred the door and sped 
 out into the sheeting rain that blinded me. I was wet to my 
 skin in but a few moments. Plowing my way through the 
 thick mire, I sought an out-path from the village where 
 Dawson's house stood. Wildly I ran, almost falling upon 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 215 
 
 the slippery clay, and shaking in the wet cold. The lantern 
 showed but a little light, and this afforded little aid as the 
 rain blinded me. 
 
 Upon this journey I could think of but one thing, and 
 that was the Vicar. I saw him upon that morning when 
 he had taken me up to the height of the Word, when they 
 had cast me from them, when I was alone and the shadow of 
 shame upon me. He had done this for me and now, now — 
 oh, the stirring joy! — I could do for him. 
 
 I found the house of Dawson and knocked, and was an- 
 swered after a long time by a candle held aloft over the head 
 of the capped Hobbs Dawson. I can see him now, in the 
 window's ope under the eaves, with the point of his cap 
 falling rakishly over one shoulder, and his nose and chin 
 hooked together. He looked, peering down into the dark- 
 ness, and the candle sputtered in the drops, flickered, and 
 went out. I heard heavy stepping within of bare soles, and 
 the scraping of the bolts, and Dawson opened the door 
 ever so slightly and popped out her head. 
 
 "What be it? "she called. 
 
 " It is Hope, Dawson," I answered. " Leave me in." 
 
 "Who?" said Dawson. 
 
 " Hope," I called again. But the rains and the wind 
 swept my voice off amid the darkness. 
 
 " Hey ? " said Dawson. 
 
 " Hope," I called again, and stepped up and held my fail- 
 ing lantern up. 
 
 " You ! " said Dawson, falling back and opening the door. 
 " Lors ! I says to Hobbs Dawson this very even, when the 
 cat sneezed in its cream, it'd be ill luck, I said, I did, or 
 rheumatiz, er 'tizic. And it's ill luck and I know it. What 
 brought ye ? And in this rain ! " 
 
 I gasped after this long preamble and shook the drops 
 from my dripping hair and stood panting and trembling. 
 
 " Come," I said. " Come, Dawson, I need you." 
 
 " Hey ? " said Dawson, blinking. 
 
 " Make you ready," I said. " Dawson, it's now I need 
 you." 
 
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2i6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 "Who's took?" said Dawson. 
 
 " Make you ready, Dawson," I went on. " And for 
 heaven's sake, make haste! I will answer when we have 
 arrived." 
 
 " But Hobbs is bad in his back," said Dawson, com- 
 placently folding her hands over her abdomen. 
 
 " Oh, will you please hasten, Dawson ? " I said, clutch- 
 ing her. "It's Sephira. She's ill. Ill — do you hear? I 
 need you." 
 
 Dawson's eyes gleamed. Then the lantern went out and 
 we were in darkness. It seemed an age before Dawson 
 found a candle and lighted it slowly. Then she turned 
 toward me and opened her mouth to speak. I caught up 
 some garments that lay upon a hassock beside the hearth and 
 cast them over her. I did not allow her to speak more, but 
 with my own hands made her ready. She stood gasping be- 
 fore me when I caught up the candle and placed it in my 
 lantern. Then I caught her by the fat hand and with my 
 whole strength pulled her toward the door. 
 
 "But Hobbs?" she said. 
 
 " Never mind Hobbs," I answered. " You are coming." 
 
 " Sephira Giff ord ? " now she said. 
 
 I did not answer but opened the door and we were upon 
 our way, much to the astonishment of Dawson. 
 
 After we had set upon the way I remember nothing ex- 
 cept the great thing that led me on, a greater thing 
 than I had ever before followed blindly. I slipped amid 
 the wet earth, falling to arise, always holding to the hand 
 of Dawson, and at times with difficulty, for the flesh slipped. 
 I could hear her breathing hard, and when the dark showed 
 me that we had come to the spot where our little house 
 stood and I could see a faint light streaming out the shutter's 
 crack, I knew that Sephira was waiting and more fear 
 shook me. 
 
 I shall not tell you all of the aw fulness of our coming. 
 I recall that I sat like one frozen in our little sitting room, 
 waiting ! waiting ! waiting ! I could hear the steps of Daw- 
 son, and the silence seemed alive with great sounds that I 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 217 
 
 know now must have been the creaking of the woods and 
 the snapping of the floor at the thudding of Dawson's soles. 
 After, I think it must have been but a little while but it 
 seemed, oh, a whole lifetime, Dawson came out of the little 
 room where Sephira lay. 
 
 I arose. I could hear the thumping, thumping of my 
 heart. It deafened me, and my lips strove to make a word 
 but none would come. I heard my throat croaking and all 
 that came forth was, " Dawson ! " Then I saw that she 
 had a candle, and her round eyes were frightened. She 
 held the candle over her head and with her free hand 
 fumbled at her breast. Again I strove to speak and the 
 word came once more, huskier, " Dawson ! " 
 
 " She-e-e," she said, and came swift-waddling toward me. 
 She reached forth her hand and touched me and whispered 
 something that I could not hear. Then, with great effort, I 
 brought myself together and leaning close I said : 
 
 " The babe." 
 
 " Dead," said Dawson. 
 
 I gasped and pointed toward the little room. " Sephira ? " 
 
 " Dead," she said. 
 
 I threw my hands up and seemed to sink into nothingness. 
 I know now that I fainted. When I came back to the deso- 
 late room from that blessed land of naught, Dawson was 
 kneeling beside me, chafing my hands. Then I felt my 
 cords tighten and I reached to my throat that ached. I 
 could not speak and sat dumbly staring at the little door 
 where the pale light streamed through, flickering, flickering, 
 and a sudden gust of wind snuffed it. 
 
 I even now feel the tightening about my heart and See the 
 darkness that filled the little chamber where the taper had 
 burned so dimly. Dawson gasped and started and I arose. 
 I could not step nor could I make more words. My hands 
 seemed helpless. I turned to touch Dawson, but she seemed 
 afraid and shrunk from me to sink in the great armchair. 
 Then with a great effort I croaked : 
 
 " Dawson, she is dead ? " 
 
 " Dead," answered Dawson. 
 
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2i8 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I sat down upon the hassock helplessly. What that mo- 
 ment meant to me I cannot record, for I was filled up with 
 such thoughts that I could not catch them as they trooped 
 through my bewildered brain. Then I heard the drops 
 that fell steadily without. I heard them, trickling from the 
 eaves and heard the distant thunders. I remembered that 
 night so long past when I had listened to just such a storm 
 and played that wondrous game that even now I was left 
 to play and alone. 
 
 The candle lopped its blaze and a tiny stream of smoke 
 climbed the brightness to sink into, the dark. I watched it 
 long, never speaking, and my heart seemed gone. I felt that 
 the day had ceased ; that I might never arise again nor face 
 the coming days that I felt would dawn emptily. Again 
 I struggled to my feet and went to the side of Dawson 
 and touched her. She started and shivered. Then I said : 
 
 " Dawson, come ! She is alone." 
 
 I lighted another candle and with trembling hands felt my 
 way across the room by clinging to the chairs and table and 
 whatever stood in my path. When I had reached the door, 
 that stood just a little open, I stopped, fear-stricken. The 
 candlelight spread upon the floor just before me. I knew 
 that another step would disclose what was within. I could 
 step just another step and I would be before Sephira. Oh, 
 I could not! I could not! I began to weep and my lips 
 cried out, " Sephira,' Sephira, my sister ! " Some strength 
 that I could not account for seized me. I opened the door 
 wide and walked into the room. The candle spread over the 
 .dim place, lighting its gruesome fullness. The great poster 
 stood mournful, I thought. The white coverlid spread 
 jsmoothly over a still form. Upon the pillow rested the 
 ^red little head of my sister, Sephira. Over the sweet face 
 avas a warring something, as though in her tears she had 
 jsmiled and forgotten to finish the smile but fled. Upon her 
 breast lay one white hand, still now, the hand that had 
 (Caressed me that very night. 
 
 I stepped closer, my heart nearly stopped, and I touched 
 the coverlid and drew it back from the form ever so slightly, 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 219 
 
 to behold a tiny form beside her. Before them I stood, beat- 
 ing my temple with my free hand. I hurriedly placed the 
 candle upon the press and returned to stand rapt. I 
 had feared this. I had feared to look upon Sephira, who 
 had not feared to seek me. 
 
 I had feared Sephira, who now lay mute, with her greaf 
 why answered. Before me she had victored. I knew that 
 dearest God would not ask the why. I knew it. I sank 
 down and lay my hand upon her cold one, and I shall not 
 record here the things that I communed with her. 
 
 Hfflw long I sat and watched the light swim the shadow 
 and fancies float like webs, drear days most of them, but 
 dear days all of them. I had sat long, long, when Dawson 
 came to the doorway and whispered a call. I arose and 
 followed her to Miss Patricia's door, where I bade Dawson 
 leave me and entered the silent room. When I came again 
 to Dawson I bade her sit the night through in the sitting 
 room, and I forgot to listen even to her answer except that 
 I vaguely understood she would do my bidding. I remember 
 that I turned dumbly back to the little room) where Sephira 
 lay. Sephira! Little Sephira! Never before had she 
 seemed so frail, so lone. 
 
 The great Stranger within his dark cloak had come. 
 They who should have been near were where? The little 
 figure seemed so childlike, so innocent. The smile about 
 the thin lips was not a mother-smile, but a smile of youth, 
 a bewildered smile, as though youth had come upon death 
 and had not understood. The little hand lay so childlike- 
 curled, so pleading. The breast whereon the little head of 
 her love-bom pressed seemed too youthed. The awfulness 
 of it all came over me as I stood. I could not bring myself 
 to think of the morning that even now was tiptoeing to peep 
 within the window. 
 
 I leaned over the poster and called softly, " Sephira," and 
 was answered by that quizzing smile. Yet behind the smile 
 the surrendering silence told me that Sephira knew her an- 
 swer. I sat down, waiting again, waiting for the morning, 
 and with little knowledge of what I should do. The Vicar! 
 
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220 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I remembered him and I began to weep afresh. I could 
 not go to the Vicar. I could not. Then I named over the 
 villagers to myself and a great voice called out, " No ! no ! 
 no ! " It was an early hour, I know. I had sat through 
 years, it seemed, watching with fascinated eyes Sephira's 
 face, that, as morning came, seemed serene, as though the 
 short voyage had left her wearied and with the night she 
 had fled. 
 
 I was sitting, as I told you, when I heard the tolling, the 
 tolling that told me the Sabbath was dawned. I arose, 
 went to the shutter and looked through. The day was 
 come. It was young day, like Sephira, joyous, yet clouds 
 that stood told me the joyousness, like hers, would end 
 early. Dawson coughed and I turned to blow the candle 
 taper out. The room was shrouded in a silver-gray light 
 and the new sun was knocking, in lights and brightnesses, 
 at the shutter. I drew the coverlid over the sweet face of 
 Sephira and within me her secret was locked. T should not 
 tell. I would go, I knew not where, for aid; but I knew 
 when the full light had come I must seek the village. 
 
 Dawson knew nothing except the gossips' words, and 
 " near-truth is lie's brother." I had forgotten myself. I 
 was entirely wrapped in a new horror that had come. 
 Dawson had spread a sup and I walked with stiffened limbs 
 to the sitting room and sat down upon the great armchair. 
 
 Then the storm broke. I was filled with frenzy. I began 
 to scream aloud and tear at my clothing. I wept and chat- 
 tered. Dawson stood before me bewildered. I railed, and 
 with strained voice hurled abuses. My locks were loosened. 
 I remember fastening my fingers among them and tearing at 
 them. To me the village seemed a jeering, hideous mob, 
 driving Sephira like a wounded fawn before them. Again 
 and again I screamed : " They have done this ! They have 
 done it, and they shall pay ! " 
 
 I shall never know what possessed me then, and even 
 now, as I write, I seem another self. It seemed to me that 
 my feet bore me, but were not mine ; that my lips spoke but 
 were not mine. I could not stop. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 221' 
 
 Dawson shivered. I started up, flung the chair from me 
 so that it overturned the sup that lay upon the little table, 
 ran to the door, tore open the latch and with my whole 
 strength burst the door open. I all but fell, righted myself, 
 then plunged down the pathway. I can feel the Sabbath's 
 cool and stillness upon me, yet it seemed to me that the 
 village shrieked and that the air stifled me. The hour now 
 was not early. I knew it by the empty houses. I fled down 
 the miry way. My garments were soon wet with the muck. 
 I stumbled and slipped on, my locks flying wildly and my 
 garments torn and displaced. 
 
 I ran to the inn. It was empty. Nothing was in the 
 great room but a piece of mocking sunlight that lay lazily 
 upon the floor. I passed beneath the eaves to the stair-arch 
 that led to the upper eaves. With my clinched hands I beat 
 upon the wood in frenzy. I spat upon it, for to me it was 
 torture to her. A prison — worse, a shamed place! Then I 
 found that I was laughing wildly and I ran on past the well- 
 known houses — the Sniflys', righteously closed, the Gif- 
 fords', likewise righteously closed; past the shop of Ole 
 Dodson, and then past Rudy Strong's. 
 
 I hid my eyes within my hair and sped on. I do not 
 think any plan was mine. I was wild. Then I saw the 
 chapel yard lying peacefully beneath the trees. The white 
 stones grinned, mocking, I thought. I could not hear the 
 birds, nor could I see the peaceful shadow. All of it was 
 hideous. I stopped, spent, beside the gateway. Then I 
 heard a droning. It was the Vicar, and the village bowed 
 before Him in prayer. Then I began to walk slowly, like 
 one in a dream, toward the chapel. I mounted the stairway. 
 I heard them. Vaguely I sought them, hardly knowing 
 what I was doing. I seemed led by some unknown hand. 
 Then the droning stopped suddenly and I saw that the Vicar 
 stood staring at me. They arose and their eyes, like hungry 
 mouths, devoured me. I was seized by a chill. I could 
 hear my teeth chattering. I could not speak. Then I forgot 
 them, and I saw the Vicar's eyes, and my stiffened lips 
 parted, and I heard an unknown voice say, " Sephira ! " 
 
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322 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 The Vicar bent down. He was tottered, and I croaked 
 once more, " Sephira ! " I do not remember then, but when 
 I began to know again I was lying upon the steps that led 
 to the Vicar's height.* Mrs. Gifford was standing over me 
 and I will not speak what she was saying. When she saw 
 that I was come back, that I might hear, she went on : 
 
 " Before the face of a virtuous village comes again a 
 woman of the stripe — one who has come out of such a life ! 
 One whose mother was a wanton comes to the chapel to 
 defile the holy spot with her wantonness. It's shame- 
 ful ! " 
 
 Miss Snifly was drawn up beside her and they were star- 
 ing at me with contempt. I was beneath their feet. Then 
 strength came, and I arose and stood before Mrs. Gifford, 
 and I said clearly : 
 
 " Where is Sephira ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gifford shrugged and looked most knowing. Then 
 I turned to the villagers and I heard my voice soaring up 
 clear, and I remember that I called aloud once more : 
 
 " Where is Sephira Gifford ? You have driven her be- 
 fore you like a wounded thing! Where is she? You " 
 
 Then I was stopped by Mrs. Gifford, whose cheeks flamed 
 and whose eyes shot fire. She stood before me and the vil- 
 lagers gaped about. 
 
 " What has brought you here ? " she said aloud so that all 
 of them might hear. " It is known among the villagers, 
 your shame and young Willoughby's. In your condition I 
 think it would be a modest thing that you should hide." 
 
 I stood stunned, trying to understand. 
 
 "What?" I stammered. 
 
 Mrs. Gifford drew up haughtily. 
 
 " You need not hide behind your words. Miss," she said. 
 " It is common talk, and even the elders spoke of seeing to 
 it that when you have shown your shame that you be driven 
 forth." 
 
 I understood now. The lash sunk down deep to an ex- 
 quisite pain, an exultant pain. I was glad. I began to laugh 
 •The pulpit. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 223 
 
 in her face, and I know that in my frenzied condition I 
 must have been an awful sight. 
 
 " Drive me forth ! " I screamed. " Drive me, you men, 
 if you are men, drive me! But first, woman," — I ad- 
 dressed this to Mrs. Gifford — " where is Sephira ? I know ! 
 I know ! I know ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gifford's face went white. She gasped, and the vil- 
 lage pressed upon us. 
 
 " Listen ! " I screamed. " I know ! " 
 
 Their voices began to hum about me. I could hear the 
 men's gruff tones and women whining. Somewhere a voice 
 called, " Where ? " I turned and wildly waving my arms 
 shouted : 
 
 " Follow me and I will show you ! " 
 
 I grasped Mrs. Gifford's hand, then Miss Snifly's, and 
 with a strength I never knew dragged them along. The 
 mob followed us. Pressing like waves, beating us wildly, 
 they swept down the village street, the men shouting, the 
 women running and clinging to their children, dragging 
 them along. I was at the lead and a strength within me 
 that no thing but death could conquer. I dragged Mrs. Gif- 
 ford, and saw that Teeny with her pious face was following, 
 weeping. I remember the taunt, " sneathen," and again I 
 burst into my frenzied laughing. I was a thing, not a 
 woman, a wild thing, a beast! My voice seemed to set 
 them afire. When I would shout their voices too shouted 
 higher, louder. 
 
 We at last reached the little gate. I tore it open and 
 dragged my victims through. They swept like waters over 
 the little fence. Hounds, lapping, they were! When we 
 were before the door I stopped and turned. Then I pointed 
 to the closed doorway and I shouted : 
 
 " Sephira is there ! Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! Now go and 
 look upon your work ! You, Mrs. Gifford, with your honey- 
 prayers, what have you bought but your own comfort, which 
 was a hiding place for your sin? Go and look upon her! 
 Go and look upon her! Hear me, all of you who have 
 flayed her to this! Look upon her! You who have laid 
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224 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 on the lash since the first day I remember. Do you think I 
 forget — I who have suffered? No, but in this hour, I re- 
 member Sally Trueblood, and thank God I am her brat ! " 
 
 Then I flung up my arms and sunk down before them 
 and cried out: 
 
 " Oh, dearest God, forgive them ! I learned from the 
 lips of Sally Trueblood Thy forgiveness and I know it. 
 Oh, forgive them ! Forgive them ! " 
 
 I was moaning. I could not speak, and they stood before 
 me mute. Then I heard my voice again rising and it said: 
 
 " Only forgive them ! Forgive them ! " 
 
 Then frenzy seized me again and I stood up to call out 
 once more: 
 
 " May He hear me, and may my prayer be granted, but, 
 oh God ! I cannot forgive you ! You, who have lashed her 
 and me and now Sephira, look upon me ! Look upon me — 
 Sally Trueblood's brat ! You branded me," — here I beat my 
 breast, — " and you have done more ! " 
 
 I ran through the door that I flung open and through the 
 sitting room. They followed slowly, crowding in. I was 
 across the room in a few strides and threw open Miss Pa- 
 tricia's door. 
 
 " Look ! " I said. " You refused her the chapel ; now 
 bid her come ! It is too late ! " 
 
 She lay, her eyelids closed, peacefully, with the little 
 china dog clutched to her bosom, and I knew she was gone. 
 I had known it since my last ministering. They stood awed. 
 The men bared their heads and the women hung theirs. I 
 went to the other door and through it, went to the shutter 
 and flung it wide. The sun poured in. Then I lifted the 
 coverlid back and their eyes beheld Sephira and her new- 
 bom shame. And God's sun sped in and covered the still 
 ones gladsomely. I went to them and pointed to Sephira 
 and I said: 
 
 " Look ! Is not sin beautiful before you? Do you call 
 ^Ais God's work? No !" I screamed. " TWj is His work — 
 these eyes that are sealed, these sweet lips, and these arms 
 that were so loving! And this," I touched the little form. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 225 
 
 " ah, it was but your lash, made flesh ! It is your sin ! And 
 her sacrifice. She has paid. Now you pay ! " 
 
 With my hands I grasped Mrs. Gifford and Miss Snifly 
 and dragged them toward the door. The whole of them 
 who had followed me had stopped gaping, afraid before 
 what they saw. Mrs. Gifford stood white-faced, her hands 
 working at her bosom. I saw that she was paying. Then, 
 weakly, I turned toward them that had followed and I said : 
 
 " Go ! Go, and God forgive you ! I say this in full hop- 
 ing that He will. I have learned to say it, not from you, 
 but from Sally Trueblood." 
 
 They went from us, shamedly, heads hanging. 
 
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CHAPTER XXII 
 
 I RECALL how I stood gazing after them. It seemed that 
 I should never again look upon the bright day and be glad- 
 some. They had sullied even my happiest time to come, 
 for the shadow of this thing would fall, I knew. Mrs. Gif- 
 ford was sobbing, and Miss Snifly stood staring with glazed 
 eyes upon the form of Sephira and the tiny form that lay 
 upon her bosom. I turned to them and found my lips 
 stiffened. They would not move. I stood beside the table 
 that I had overthrown, and looked from the open doorway 
 ■where Miss Patricia lay to the spot where Sephira — quiet 
 now, and with the babe seemed living, too young for death 
 to know. I heard Dawson cough and saw her frightened 
 face looking from the kitchen. She beckoned me and 
 pointed to Mrs. Gifford and Miss Snifly. I motioned to her 
 that she should remain where she was. Then I spoke. I 
 think I had meant to be wicked-tongued to Mrs. Gifford 
 when she raised her eyes to Miss Snifly and I saw no pur- 
 poseful wickedness but folly, pious folly. 
 
 It was a pitiful face, as though it looked from some 
 strange dreaming ; as though caught at selfish prayer. Some 
 dire distress had come and like a child she looked, her eyes 
 showing the hint of what she deemed was injustice. I 
 knew that the depth that I would have sunk the sting could 
 not be reached ; that Mrs. Gifford was shallow, and her shal- 
 lowness was filled up with her praying and piousness. She 
 did not speak to me but looked to Miss Snifly and said, 
 "Patty!" 
 
 Miss Snifly drew away. " It's shameful, Victoria, shame- 
 ful! What is the village coming to, overrun of rats and 
 vermin? I say it's shameful! If the creature had been 
 kept from the young folk ; had been put in her proper place, 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 227 
 
 which was far enough, I say this would never have hap- 
 pened, Victoria." 
 
 Mrs. Giflford listened and I saw her eyes forget their 
 sorrow. They narrowed, and she nodded. Her cheeks 
 flamed and she breathed hard. I knew at that moment she 
 was blaming me with the thing that was upon her. I knew 
 it. Miss Snifly spoke to me, leaving Mrs. Gifford looking 
 on with narrowed eyes and firm-pressed lips. What she 
 said I am loth to state, and I know that I shall not say it 
 as she did. She drew up with a gleam of triumph in her 
 eyes, and with malicious sneering and a show of enjoyment, 
 said: 
 
 " I suppose you know whose work this is ? " 
 I did not answer her. There was an awful rumbling in 
 my head and I could not see for a moment. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Snifly. " Well, Miss, I don't think 
 you do." 
 
 " It's a pretty pot of fish, it is ! " 
 
 Dawson was drawing into the room. I could see her and 
 I think I smiled a sort of foolish smile, but it was a smile. 
 And I said: 
 
 " Come in, Dawson. It is better that you should hear 
 it first hand, then you may repeat it just as it is. Go on," 
 I said to Miss Snifly. 
 
 " Well," she said, and I saw her little feather wisping 
 and, in spite of the awful moment, I smiled again. " I 
 know. Miss, that you do not know — that is, you do not truly 
 know." 
 
 " I have not asked," I answered. 
 
 " Perhaps," she went on, " it would interest you to know 
 that your young Mr. Willoughby has done this." 
 
 " No ! No ! " I cried, and my heart almost stopped. In 
 my starting I had grasped Sephira's shawl that lay upon 
 the press and I saw a tiny scrap crumpled within its folds. 
 I took it up and slowly smoothed it. There were a few 
 slender lines upon it. Sephira's hand had traced them and 
 they said : 
 
 " Hope, can you forget ? Can you seal your lips ? " 
 
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228 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 With shaking hands I began to tear it to bits and I let 
 them fall slowly like small flakes upon the garlanded car- 
 pet. Each tiny scrap was an iced bit to my heart. I looked 
 to Patty Snifly. She was enjoying my misery. I knew it. 
 
 " Well," she said, " what have you to say ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gilford's eyes were gleaming and I saw anger was 
 upon her. Then I leaned toward them and said clearly: 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Do you believe this ? " Miss Snifly asked. 
 
 I stored straight into her eyes and said : 
 
 " You ask me this, when you with your own lips have told 
 me, Miss Snifly ? " 
 
 Then it was that Mrs. Gifford burst forth in the wrath 
 that would have been fit for a bumboat's woman. The Wil- 
 loughbys suffered most and myself. I said that I would not 
 repeat all that was spoken, and I shall not, but their words 
 shamed me beyond endurance. Even before their dead and 
 mine they could not hold their wrath. Miss Snifly, in a 
 high-keyed voice, told that the whole village was full of the 
 shame of Sephira, and they pointed their fingers to Stephen 
 Willoughby, for had they not seen him go to the chapel 
 yard each night, and Sephira, too. 
 
 " It was known ! " she shrieked. " And that good and 
 just man, the elder Willoughby, had called vengeance upon 
 his son. Indeed, the time was set when they would meet 
 before the eyes of the village and it was to be blades. His 
 was a righteous anger, was the elder Willoughby's. Indeed, 
 such a worthless son should be banished or made to pay 
 with his life." 
 
 I listened and I could not speak. They wore themselves 
 weary, and still I stood before them like a foolish thing, 
 trying not to listen and Dawson, like a fat tabby, lapping 
 up the cream. And once in a while she would ejaculate : 
 
 " It's his likes, it is. Them's my words. I says 'em to 
 Hobbs Dawson, and him it is as can tell ye. But I says, 
 says I, the top cream' mixin' with the skimmins makes a 
 mess o' both." 
 
 Dawson had just finished this edifying statement when a 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 229 
 
 knock sounded, the knock of a firm hand. I sped to the 
 outer door, and before me stood Stephen. Panic swept me. 
 He looked within, stepping slowly up the two steps that led 
 to the little hallway. When he was before the sitting-room 
 door he saw not Sephira, nor Miss Patricia, but Mrs. Gif- 
 ford and Miss Snifly and Dawson. Miss Snifly spied him 
 and with her bouncing little steps met him with the words : 
 
 " Well, can you deny ? " 
 
 Stephen laughed a little and turned to me. I looked 
 straight into his eyes and never before did I try so hard that 
 mine might speak to him. 
 
 " Stephen, you cannot, cannot," I repeated the word, 
 " deny it. Can you ? " 
 
 He walked slowly into the sitting room and I led him to 
 the doorway and pointed to Sephira. He flushed crimson 
 and I saw his hands open and shut. Then he bowed his 
 head and answered softly, " No." Then Miss Snifly grew 
 from her short self to a tall, wicked thing. She strutted 
 across the room to the side of Stephen and with a voice 
 that rasped, said: 
 
 " Look upon your work, monster ! Look upon it ! " 
 
 And then they came — the whole village, wildly screaming, 
 throwing stones and cursing. They swept upon the little 
 house and tore the shutters open. L saw the light come 
 streaming in upon Sephira and even this did not stop them. 
 Their voices arose louder and more threatening. " Coffin '' 
 Gifford was at the lead and they bore upon their shoulders — 
 some of the village men — ^the Vicar, whose long white locks 
 flowed and whose face seemed vacant. They burst through 
 the door and seized Stephen. They bore him struggling out 
 to the steps and then there were wild voices crying out for 
 his life. It was then that I realized that I too was within 
 their hands. My cheek was bleeding and my clothes torn. 
 Then shame overcame me, for I saw that my bosom was 
 bare and scarred. I strove to cover my wounds and my 
 flesh, but they tore at me madly. My hair still streamed 
 and the tattered clothing held but poorly. 
 
 They brought us together, Stephen and myself. Then I 
 
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230 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 saw Stephen Willoughby, his father, was leading them, in 
 his accustomed grays with his lavender waistcoat and his 
 tall stick and his great hat and with his wicked face. I 
 looked to Stephen, my Stephen, who reached one hand out 
 to me and with his own strength broke from his persecutors 
 and tried to aid me. Before their eyes he took me to his 
 breast, circled me about with his great arms, and, his head 
 high,- he looked to them ; and they mocked him, pointing 
 to the room where Sephira Gifford lay. Then they rushed 
 upon us and tore us apart, bearing us down the main street- 
 way. 
 
 Then it was, when they had come to the spot before the 
 inn, that Stephen Willoughby, his voice low and oily, spoke 
 to " Coffin " Gifford and those that seemed in the lead, and 
 they sent up a shout. It was to be blades between Stephen 
 and his father, before the eyes of the village. They were 
 wild. I was near Stephen and I whispered: 
 
 " Oh, my love, what shall you do ? " 
 
 He touched me and said : 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " You would not lift your blade against him, would 
 you?" 
 
 " No," he answered. 
 
 Then I knew that the other blade could and would do 
 its work. 
 
 It was beautiful, the day, so bright, but the stillness of 
 Sabbath was gone. They had forgotten God. They were 
 mercilessly seeking to revenge upon some flesh their own 
 sin. Some one brought blades. The paces were marked off. 
 I saw my Stephen, his naked breast heaving and his sinuous 
 arms twitching, grasp one, and I saw his father cast his 
 garments to his white linen, bare his neck of its swathing, 
 and grasp the other. Then I saw nothing but blackness, for 
 I shut my eyes ; but I could not leave them shut and opened 
 them once more to see Stephen Willoughby advancing and 
 my Stephen raise his blade and sink it into the soft earth. 
 There followed a quiet like the quiet a cat holds before it 
 springs. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 231 
 
 I heard a report, loud and dear, and saw Stephen Wil- 
 loughby begin to sink. His eyes rolled awfully and he 
 gasped hoarsely but could not speak. I saw them that 
 crowded about part, and Rudy Strong stood before them 
 with a smoking fire-piece. I was terror-stricken. Stephen 
 went to his father's side and leaned over him. He was quite 
 dead. 
 
 Then I saw Rudy, tall and young, with his eyes like two 
 dark hollows, and I knew that many days had made them so. 
 I saw he shook like one palsied and he tried to speak. 
 Then he lunged forward, stumbled, caught himself and 
 came to the side of the fallen Willoughby. With an old 
 gesture, he wiped his brow with his hand's back and I 
 saw his fingers twitching as he laid them upon his shaking 
 lips, and he said, as he leaned over: 
 
 " Damn you ! " Then he turned like a beast, his eyes 
 blazing, and shrieked, " And you, every rotted one of you ! " 
 
 And with a swing he lay his arms about the shoulder of 
 the bended Stephen and made him arise and he said : 
 
 " Your hand, Willoughby. God forgive me ! " 
 
 The village stood before us shamed, yet madness was 
 among them. They turned upon me and I was swept like a 
 bit of waste upon waters. Their vengeance seemed to de- 
 mand that I be offered up, and with bared heads and naked 
 hands Stephen and Rudy fought their way through flesh. 
 Men were thrown and bit and torn. Always one arm was 
 about me, once Rudy's and then Stephen's. Always they 
 fought, and when I no longer knew what was about me, it 
 was finished. I found when I awoke that we were within 
 the little sitting room. 
 
 I had had a dream. I recalled a nest that hung by a hair 
 at the thornbush where the woodway lay. I recalled the 
 nester who flew the mornings through, busy, busy, building, 
 building. And then the evenings when its mate circled, 
 circled, seeking for the softer stuff that should lie at the 
 nest's heart. I recalled this and their gladsome summer, 
 and their young, and their crooning-sineing that foretold 
 the night's coming. Then their gladder note that heralded 
 
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232 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 the morning, and their mourning when the young were 
 lost. 
 
 Oh, I recalled all of this and remembered that this was 
 today and the same life went on. Oh, I recalled this and I 
 knew that the Earth was like unto this. I recalled that this 
 had been long, long ago, when Sally Trueblood and I had 
 sought the night's blooms, that I had known their singing, 
 and when we went the field's way in the morning's first 
 light that the village might not see. It was then I had 
 known their morn songs. Then I had learned what life 
 was. She had told me that the nest would hold, and I 
 wakened with a sweetness upon me, remembering how 
 they had sung long and through the storms and brightness. 
 
 A feeling of new strength came over me at the thought 
 of this life lesson learned so long ago. I was bewildered at 
 first and could not believe that the awful day was come 
 once more to me. Stephen bent over me and Rudy was 
 chafing my hands. They showed the vestiges of the battle 
 through which we had passed. I looked to Stephen and 
 said : 
 
 " Oh, why did I ask you to do the thing I did ! " 
 
 He did not answer. Then I remembered the feeling that 
 prompted me to the act. It was a fear that he would speak 
 one word that might tell Sephira's secret, or betray some- 
 thing that would be enough for them to understand. 
 
 " Did you know, Stephen ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered softly. " Yes, Hope, and I could 
 not deny it." 
 
 " You knew that Rudy " I gasped and looked to 
 
 Rudy, who stood very white- faced, his jaws working. 
 
 " I knew, Hope," Stephen answered. " I had come to 
 tell you." 
 
 "Not Rudy?" I asked, catching at Rudy's hand. 
 
 " No," answered Stephen. 
 
 "Who then? Oh, I see it now ! It was your father?" 
 
 Stephen nodded and sat beside me. I was horror-stricken. 
 I could not understand. I turned to Rudy. 
 
 "And you, Rudy?" I asked. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 233 
 
 " Oh, Hope, I left when I knew, for I knew what would 
 happen. It has come to pass, even though I did run away." 
 
 "How, Rudy, how?" I asked. 
 
 He sat upon the hassock that he pulled to the couch side 
 and let his head sink into his open palm, covering his face, 
 and I saw the bright drops come slipping through his 
 loosely closed fingers. Stephen made a hollow soimd to 
 clear his throat and when he spoke one could hear the muf- 
 fled man-tears in his voice. 
 
 " It is too much, Hope. I shall tell you. When I have 
 finished I shall go, for I know that you will never again 
 look upon the face of a Willoughby. The Vicarage, you 
 • see, is retained, or was, by Stephen Willoughby. The Vicar 
 has mildly lived his years trusting to the maintenance of the 
 Willoughby fund, I shall not hide the hideous thing in 
 words, Hope. You knew Stephen Willoughby. God forbid 
 that I speak his name in such a tone, I who am his son, but 
 I caimot but bare my heart. Sephira was young, trusting 
 and sweet, and he held the purse high. Again the Vicar's 
 mildness and trusting was the very thing that made it pos- 
 sible. Sephira spent her youth that he might not know the 
 bite of poverty and banishment." 
 
 Here Stephen arose and passed his hands to his burning 
 brow. I was sick! sick! sick! I looked to Rudy. His 
 hands now shook and his eyes sought my face. I reached 
 my hands out to him and he bounded toward me, crying 
 out: 
 
 " Hope, I have lost her ! I who would have laid down 
 the worthless days God has allotted me to have known one 
 hour that I might have called her mine." 
 
 "Rudy, Rudy," I whispered, "you must go, go! Do 
 you understand? They will be upon you." 
 
 Stephen wheeled and came to the side of Rudy, laying his 
 arm about him and clasping his hand. 
 
 " Man," he said, " I would give this life to undo what is 
 done, but it is of no use. Hope is right. Go far, man, far ! " 
 
 Stephen pressed a purse in Rudy's hand and said louder, 
 " Go ! " 
 
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234 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Rudy looked upon his torn and disheveled clothing, then 
 to me. I arose and went to the press and brought out Mr. 
 Reuben's greatcoat. Stephen threw it about Rudy and 
 hastily made way to the door. It was growing dark and 
 Rudy stepped to the grayness, turning to look steadily into 
 my eyes and say: 
 
 " Hope, I shall return. I cannot stay, but I shall return." 
 
 Then we were alone. Stephen stood before me. I was 
 glad that Rudy had not seen Sephira. 
 
 " Stephen," I said, " he has gone believing that there is 
 something that will bring him back, and that something is 
 Sephira. Oh, it is fearful ! " 
 
 " No," Stephen answered. " A man must possess, some- 
 where, a love that calls." 
 
 " Yes, yes," I said. " I know. I know. Oh, Stephen, 
 if it were not for her and her love that calls, calls, how 
 might I live?" 
 
 I saw that he would have spoken of our future and I 
 hastened to say : 
 
 " No, no, Stephen, this is not the time. What shall I do ? 
 They will come, soon, soon, for Sephira. I know it. Oh, 
 I cannot, cannot think. Let me see — It was raining — 
 Yes, I heard the dog arise and shake himself — Oh, I 
 wish the lights would be still — They climb, climb, climb 
 the ceiling to slip back, back, back — It's the inn's lamp — 
 Wait ! " And then I knew nothing more. 
 
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CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 How long it was I know not until I awoke one morning 
 feeling strangely light, as though I was skimming through 
 some great height. My eyes had opened but I could not 
 make myself acquainted with my surroundings. I was in a 
 very gay room, hung of flowered cloth. The canopy over 
 my head was tufted sky blue and each puff was buttoned 
 down. I think I had lain for some time trying to count the 
 puffs and wearying at the counting of the buttons. The 
 window was open. I could see the morning through the 
 white muslin curtains, and the breeze waved the bed cur- 
 tains, which were partly drawn. These were of flowered 
 stuff. I do not recall that the fact that I was in strange 
 surroimdings troubled me much. I tried to raise one hand 
 and it was so queerly heavy. Then I forgot again and there 
 seemed a long time when I would come back to the flowered 
 room and through the open window hear a voice calling, 
 " Are you playing? Are you playing? " 
 
 Vaguely I seem to remember that this was something that 
 I had heard before. Then I would forget again. Upon one 
 of these mornings I awoke once more to see a monster 
 beside my bed. I tried to make my eyes tell me where I 
 had seen the face before, but I could not. The effort 
 seemed to make me sick and I slipped away again with a 
 vague memory of some one saying: " Momin'." 
 
 Then I felt something cool upon my face and I thought 
 that I was out in the rain, slipping and stumbling, trying to 
 bring Dawson. I think I talked some of this, for I heard 
 " Yes, yes," at times, and felt a hand patting me. After 
 an age of this, it seemed, another morning came when I 
 waked myself. I looked about the room and knew that I 
 was again in the great house where the little lady had been. 
 I saw that some one was standing beside the window. The 
 
 a35 
 
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236 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 shutters were not fully open. I called and was answered 
 by one word, " Comin'." 
 
 She opened the shutter and came, softly as her great bulk 
 would permit, towards the bedside. I knew her. Her face' 
 was rounder and pinker. Her hair was still quite brown, 
 but threaded with silver. She stood before me, her hands 
 clasped as of yore upon her stomach. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 " How did I come here, Potts ? " I asked. 
 
 " Chaise," she answered. 
 
 "What?" I asked. 
 
 " Chaise," she repeated. 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 " Horse," she replied. 
 
 "Who brought me, Potts?" I asked. 
 
 " Driver," she answered. 
 
 " That will do, Potts." 
 
 " Yes," she curtseyed. " Water ? " she asked. 
 
 I shook my head and seemed again to take up my float- 
 ing through space. Then again came the darkness. 
 
 But soon the time came when I was myself for some time, 
 but a new self, very weak and childlike. I found that my 
 cheeks were sunken and that my locks were gone. No 
 person entered the flowered room except Potts, who never 
 told me more. The nights were queer. Many times I lay 
 with the candle lighted beside me gracefully waving its 
 blaze. Alone I would wonder why I was here and why 
 no one came to explain. Upon one of these nights I think 
 I had slept. I awoke suddenly with the knowledge that 
 some one was bending over me — some one whose hands 
 were thin and soft, for they caressed me; some one who 
 was weeping, for a drop fell upon my cheek; some one in 
 a filmy white robe tied with blue at the throat; some one 
 who coughed, for the cough had waked me. I turned and 
 gazed up into the sweet face and I think I smiled, and I 
 know I said : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, is it you ? " 
 
 And I heard a soft whisper say: 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 237 
 
 " Hope." 
 
 Then I arose upon my elbow and looked into the face of 
 Geneva Willoughby. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby ! " I said, and I heard my own voice 
 like a distant echo. 
 
 She did not answer me but stood up and caught at her 
 heart. I tried to raise myself up but could not, for weak- 
 ness was heavy upon me. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I said once more. " Then you know 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," she answered. " Wait, wait ! Do not stir, 
 
 for " Here she broke off. "Lie still," she went on, 
 
 " and do not " Here she left the room. 
 
 I lay back upon my pillow, wondering, wondering, won- 
 dering what and who had brought me here. What was this 
 mystery that set them all to riddling? I think I had lain 
 some minutes when Potts returned, I thought from an inner 
 room, for it seemed I had only wakened from a short sleep 
 since I had spoken to her last. 
 
 " Potts," I said. 
 
 " Yessum," she answered, and came to the bedside. 
 
 "That was Miss Willoughby— Geneva Willoughby," I 
 said. 
 
 Potts nodded. 
 
 " Answer me. Potts. How am I to take it? Yes? " 
 
 " Yes," said Potts. 
 
 "Is she ill. Potts?" I went on. 
 
 " 111," answered Potts. 
 
 " What has made her so. Potts? Is she, too, sad? " 
 
 " Sad," said Potts, and folded her hand over her stomach, 
 standing staring at the shutter as though she would never 
 speak again. 
 
 " Who brought me here. Potts? " I asked, bringing myself 
 up on an elbow, which was about all I might do. 
 
 "Chaise," said Potts and relaxed once more into her 
 silent stare. 
 
 " Who ! " I said, beginning to become excited. " Who, 
 Potts, not what." 
 
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238 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Chaise man," said Potts. 
 
 I sank down, weakly wondering why dearest God had 
 ever created one like Potts. Potts did not heed me, nor 
 did she seem to care what became of me or my questioning. 
 She turned briskly, unfolded her hands carefully from her 
 stomach, brushed her rounded thighs downwards and left 
 me to return with some fearful mixture. I smelled it even 
 before she reached me and a sick feeling crept up my neck. 
 I remember that I turned my head away, that Potts came to 
 my side, grasped me by the shoulder and held forth the 
 mug. 
 
 " There," said she. 
 
 " Oh, Potts, not now. I am really quite, quite ill at the 
 thought." 
 
 " There," said Potts once more, giving me a clutch and 
 bringing the mug to my lips and tipping it until the sick- 
 ening fluid touched them. I shut both my eyes and 
 gulped down the awful thickish gruel. I gasped when it 
 was over and I recall even now the bitter taste that cut 
 me. I sputtered and wiped my lips with my shaking 
 hands. 
 
 "What is it. Potts?" I said. 
 
 " Gall." 
 
 " It is terrible ! " I cried. 
 
 " Yes," said Potts, calmly wiping the mug's rim upon her 
 apron and leaving me. 
 
 I lay wondering why I had ever waked to such a bitter 
 day, bitter both inwardly and outwardly. Then slowly, 
 miserably, came realization. Miss Patricia — Stephen — the 
 whole awful tragedy I had passed through, and a frightful 
 thing seized me. I began to shriek and cry. I found myself 
 beside the great poster upon the floor, trying to arise but 
 my limbs would not bear me up. I remember that I had 
 one thought and that was of the little lady who had jumped 
 from the casement. But the whole world left me again, 
 and when I knew once more what was happening Miss Wil- 
 loughby was beside me, her hands upon mine, her eyes very 
 red from crying. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 239 
 
 She sat upon the high chintz chair and I thought at first 
 that she was in a huge bouquet. Then she stroked my burn- 
 ing brow and spoke softly, and I remember that she said 
 that I should be very quiet, that when I was stronger she 
 would speak ; that she needed me, I knew little how much ; 
 that she loved me, I knew little how much, and that if I 
 loved her I should be very quiet and wait. This I did. I 
 seemed to know she spoke truly. I saw how very frail she 
 was and I felt that I must hasten and make me strong. I 
 pressed her hand to my cheek and kissed it and I whis- 
 pered : 
 
 " Say to Sally Trueblood, ' Miss Willoughby's compli- 
 ments.' " 
 
 " Oh, I remember, I remember ! " Then I heard her say 
 softly, " Oh, if I had only known ! " 
 
 I leaned toward Miss Willoughby's head, which she laid 
 beside my hand upon the pillow. She looked very steadily 
 into my eyes. 
 
 "What do you mean?" I said. "If you had known 
 what?" 
 
 " There, there," she answered, sitting up and dabbing her 
 finger tips to her eyes. 
 
 "What is all of this miserable affair, Miss Willoughby? 
 Ever since that eve at the inn the shadow has clung to me. 
 Never before had I known it save when she coughed, or 
 when I saw twilight very heavy beneath her eyes. But 
 that night, the night that Reuben Passwater told me of the 
 elf, ever since then, beside me, tall, dark, forbidding, even 
 in my happiest moments, stands the shadow, and it will not 
 smile but hides its face. I know. Miss Willoughby, that the 
 same haunting thing has written twilight here," and I laid 
 my finger beneath her eyes. " I know that the fearful hand 
 of this shadow opened the door of Miss Patricia's little 
 house the night that I went within to see the moles work. 
 This shadow followed Mr. Reuben. It drove him away by 
 following him. It has clouded every day and I know that 
 the little creature that lived yon," and I pointed toward the 
 turret wing, " feared it, too. Even the little cradle was not 
 
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240 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 empty, for it was filled with the awful shadow. Tell me! 
 Tell me!" 
 
 Miss Willoughby's eyes were standing forth until the 
 whites gleamed. Her breast was panting. 
 
 " Hush," she whispered, " hush ! Listen ! She-e-e ! Do 
 you hear me ? " 
 
 I nodded. She leaned very close to me and I saw her 
 eyes had a too bright gleam. " Since they found him, — oh, 
 I cannot tell you ! Oh, God ! shall I ever forget ? The stain 
 is still there ! Oh " she moaned, and rocked her slen- 
 der form back and forward. 
 
 I was sitting up in the great bed and it seemed that my 
 ears would burst. I reached forth one hand and, weak 
 though I was, shook her sleeve. 
 
 "Go on! "I said. 
 
 " But the waiting is not over," she whispered. 
 "She-e-e!" 
 
 " What? " I gasped. " Not finished? Sally Trueblood is 
 dead. The little lady is gone, too. Her hope even is gone. 
 Yes, and this is not enough, but Miss Patricia, Mr. Reuben, 
 even Sephira Gifford and her babe! Now, who is next? 
 Not finished ? " I screamed and began laughing. " Fin- 
 ished ! " I shrieked. 
 
 Miss Willoughby got up suddenly, ran toward the 
 door and shut it, drew the blind of muslin and stood 
 listening. I threw my hands over my head and cried 
 out: 
 
 " Oh, God ! Oh, God ! what is all of this ? " 
 
 Potts knocked at this moment. Miss Willoughby listened, 
 then slowly went toward the door and opened it. Potts 
 stood staring at the darkened room, went swiftly over to the 
 shutters, threw them wide, put back the muslins and turned 
 puffing toward Miss Willoughby. Their eyes met. I saw 
 Miss Willoughby raise her brow. 
 
 " East wing," said Potts. " Bad." 
 
 Miss Willoughby gathered her skirts within her slender 
 hand and swept out into the great hallway. 
 
 " Potts," I cried, " is Stephen Willoughby here? " 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 241 
 
 " No," said Potts. 
 
 " Then where is he ? " 
 
 " Dead," said Potts. 
 
 " No, I do not mean the master, Potts, but Stephen," 
 
 " Dead," said Potts. 
 
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CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 I DO not know what followed and remember nothing until 
 I found myself one morning clothed in a queer little frilled 
 dress, wandering about the garden. It was very early spring 
 and only the tender shoots were showing. I recall that I 
 could not remember where I was. I seemed to believe that 
 I was Felicia Trueblood. I knew this when I found myself 
 making my way up to the turret and, before I really knew, 
 I was rocking the empty cradle. 
 
 I recall now that I was sitting upon the hassock in the 
 barren room, the little cradle swaying beneath my hands 
 when my eyes raised to the wall and I saw Reuben Pass- 
 water's mild eyes looking into mine. I heard my lips say, 
 " Mr. Reuben, what is a brat ? " Then I was frightened, 
 for it seemed that he was there and I knew that I should 
 have to tell him that Miss Patricia was gone. But some- 
 thing in the kind eyes and the gentle face was like a new wine 
 to me. I awoke and stood staring about. I saw that Geneva 
 Willoughby was sitting beside the shuttered window, clothed 
 in black. She arose and held her arms out to me. I went 
 into them and then there came back to me Potts' words. I 
 looked deep into her eyes, steel-blue eyes, but shadowed 
 with a new shadow. I knew. I knew. 
 
 Oh, I cannot trace the words, my dears, but it was true. 
 I sat down slowly upon the floor and Miss Willoughby sank 
 to the gaily covered chintz chair that she had just arisen 
 from. I could not speak then. I was shaking. I wanted 
 to be apart. I arose in my misery and walked to the little 
 cradle, and I recall that I said, " You shall not be empty. 
 Will you receive my hope ? " My hand began to sway the 
 little cradle and I learned what comfort the little lady had 
 known. Everything was gone. My day was empty, but 
 here was my hope, still a little babe. It could not die. I 
 
 242 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 243 
 
 began to fancy how it looked, this little babe, and I knew 
 it had Sally Trueblood's eyes, Sally Trueblood's lips, Sally 
 Trueblood's smile, Sally Trueblood's curls, Sally True- 
 blood's love. This was all that was left. I arose and I 
 smiled to the vacant hearth and I said aloud : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, I'm playing." 
 
 I staggered with the great weight that left me when I had 
 said the words. I turned towards Miss Willoughby and I 
 saw that she was sobbing. I went to her and laid my arms 
 about her sweet form and I said : 
 
 " Oh, Miss Willoughby, listen ! This is mine, too. Let 
 me help you. Oh, listen ! I shall help you by showing you 
 how much I love him. Oh, I love him so that I am glad. 
 It is true. Look into my eyes. See! I am smiling. I am 
 so sorry that I was weak. Forgive me. Listen! When 
 you are lonely, I shall be beside you. When you are sleep- 
 ing " I stopped. Then I remembered and I said, 
 
 " There shall be an elf upon your pillow and it will be 
 me. 
 
 ^' My dear ! My dear ! " she said, and held me close. 
 "Oh, my dear!" 
 
 Then I heard steps in the hallway. 
 
 " Come ! " she said. 
 
 I arose and she led me through the narrow way to the 
 great hall. We descended to the landing of the great stair- 
 way and there hung the great white swathed thing. I 
 stopped. 
 
 " Uncover it," I said. 
 
 Miss Willoughby went forward slowly and with a swift 
 movement made the white cloth slip from its hanging. Be- 
 fore me was the smiling face that was within my locket, and 
 upon a ribband about his neck upon his dove-cloth waistcoat 
 hung the locket. I stood before him and somehow, I do not 
 know why, but love leapt through every fiber of me. I 
 curtseyed before him and whispered, " Sire ! " I heard a 
 shrill cry and Geneva Willoughby had fallen. I stooped 
 over to help her to arise. She lay limp within my arms, her 
 eyes closed. I was facing the beautiful face of the portrait. 
 
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244 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I looked into his eyes and I said : " You are not the 
 shadow." 
 
 I bent down to look upon Miss Willoughby's sweet face, 
 and my locks, which hung thick and about my shoulders, 
 fell upon her white cheek. I saw her lids open and her eyes 
 looked up into mine. Then her lips moved and she spoke 
 softly : 
 
 "No, no, no!" 
 
 I pressed her to my bosom and with my new strength 
 lifted her that she might rise. We stood before the portrait, 
 we two who would have to face the whole miserable affair 
 alone. She pointed to the smiling face that looked down 
 from the dark canvas. I turned toward her and my eyes 
 sought hers. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I said, " his smile tells me that I 
 must wait, too. It seems to me that his smile has the whole 
 waiting of centuries behind it. It is enough. I shall wait." 
 
 Then I let my arm circle her and with my free hand I 
 spread my gay skirt and curtseyed to the gentleman. 
 Then I said softly: 
 
 " Come ! Come, Miss Willoughby ! " 
 
 " No," she whispered, " no. Go to the west wing, where 
 Potts is waiting, and sleep. Sleep, my child, for the morn- 
 ing will be overfull." 
 
 My heart was pounding wildly. 
 
 " Morning shall bring much ? " I questioned. 
 
 " Yes," answered Miss Willoughby. " Yes, very, very 
 
 much. Hope, Hope " She stopped and laid her slender 
 
 hands upon my cheeks lovingly. Then she kissed my brow. 
 " Hope," she went on, " she who named you, named you 
 rightly. You are hope and more, for you are steadfastness, 
 and hope waits for steadfastness. Oh, my sweet, the great 
 God has made you whole ! Oh, my dear, I am glad, glad, 
 for I need you, need you, need you ! " 
 
 I leaned toward her, the frail Miss Willoughby, who 
 seemed like some beautiful dream of Miss Willoughby of 
 my youth, and touched her sunken cheeks with my fingers, 
 and I whispered: 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 245 
 
 " I am here. All that is yours is mine, even he who is 
 lost unto us. Oh, would you just hold me close and lean 
 your cheek to mine and smile; smile, Miss Willoughby, so 
 that I may believe that Sally Trueblood's living hope has left 
 just a little sun in your mournful heart? Oh, Miss Wil- 
 loughby, hold me close, close, for my heart is gone ! " 
 
 " I know, I know," she' whispered. " In the morning, 
 Hope, we shall speak of this." 
 
 Then I stood before her and it all came over me how 
 empty the morning would be. 
 
 " No, do not speak of it. Let me seal it up, this empty 
 pit where my heart has. been. Oh, let me seal it up with my 
 memory, like Sally Trueblood's little mound." 
 
 She pressed me to her heart and we let our lips meet. 
 Then I turned down the great hallway. It had grown dark. 
 There was a sound of winds in the great trees that buried 
 our manor within their embrace. I saw that the servants 
 had lighted the wall brackets. They held their gruesome 
 arms high and the flames swayed and sent their wavering 
 light through the thick gloom. I saw the shadows wallow- 
 ing upon the floor. I walked among them and the light 
 embraced me, to leave me and dance to some deeper shadows 
 like some phantom dancer who would tempt me. 
 
 Suddenly a gust of wind blew open a door upon the west 
 side of the great hall and I smelled the new musty breath 
 of emptiness. Darkness seemed to flow like a living stream 
 from the open door. I shrank and shuddered, I knew not 
 why. The door that opened into the little lady's chamber 
 stood at the end of the hallway, yet I feared to pass this 
 new-opened door. Fearing I stood, quaking, staring at the 
 place. Then a new strength came and a feeling that I 
 must go in. 
 
 I went to one of the candle brackets and took out a 
 candle. I remember that the wax caked upon my hand's 
 back as I tipped it. Still shaking I stepped unsteadily 
 toward the door. Darkness greeted me, deep darkness, with 
 a breath, a panting breath ; still I stepped surely toward the 
 door and stood within it. The candle sent a weak light 
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246 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 across the great room and I saw dull reds and dark woods. 
 Slowly I stepped within. I could hear my own breath and 
 see the candle shake in my hand. I coughed and the great 
 empty room echoed it like a hiss in my ear. Then I stepped 
 firmer toward the center of the place and my glance fell 
 upon the floor at my feet. Then I gasped aloud, for upon 
 the dull red of the floor covering gleamed a sinister stain, 
 deeper, darker, fearfuUer, and I knew this was the stain 
 that Geneva Willoughby had spoken of. 
 
 I jumped from it as one would jump from a serpent, and 
 suddenly I heard a voice from the depths of the shadow in 
 the far corner, a sweet voice, a loving voice, but a tired 
 voice. 
 
 " Sarah," it said. " Sarah ! Sarah ! " it called. 
 
 I dropped the candle, and was standing in a great place 
 in deep darkness. 
 
 I was terror-stricken. Fear encased me like ice. Then 
 I seemed to slip away, but I heard my own voice in shrill 
 peals crying out. After, it seemed, hours, I heard steps 
 within the hallway and saw new candles being borne toward 
 the open door, where before had shone only the weird 
 flickering of the hall arms. I heard the click of a bolt and 
 felt a sudden gust of air. Then I recall Miss Willoughby 
 within the door, a candle held high, and the rotund Potts 
 following her. I saw that Miss Willoughby's face was white 
 and frightened, but even in my fear I turned to survey the 
 great room, which was a bedchamber. The bed showed that 
 some one had rested recently in it, but it was quite empty. 
 
 Miss Willoughby came toward me where I stood and 
 laughed foolishly. The candles now lighted the room quite 
 brightly. I saw that the great bed was draped in the scarlet 
 that touched everything in the place. Upon the chairs' 
 backs were great " W's," woven of gold, now tarnished and 
 showing black, but glistening here and there where it still 
 remained untouched by age. The bed curtain bore the same 
 emblem. The curtains were of rich stuff, scarlet, and the 
 under side was of golden color. Upon a long table stood a 
 golden candle tree with many candles. All of this I saw in 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 247 
 
 my swift searching glance. Upon the table lay something 
 that caused me to gasp. It was a locket like the one I 
 possessed, exactly, bearing the same letters, I surmised, and 
 upon a ribbon like mine. Carefully, slowly, secretively, I 
 let my hand slip along the table edge until it was within my 
 grasp. Miss Willoughby did not see. She again touched 
 me and whispered: 
 
 " Come, come, you are ill ! " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " 111, very, very ill." 
 
 I did not speak of the one who had called, " Sarah." I 
 had learned from the great manor the wisdom of fools, 
 which is silence. I let my hand lie in Miss Willoughby's 
 free one and she led me away, down the hallway, where the 
 light beckoned wildly as the candles were borne along. I 
 was filled with joy, for within my purse pocket I knew was 
 the locket. They took me to the gay chintz room. I do not 
 recall what happened. I was filled up but with one desire 
 and I did not listen or look. The locket was mine. 
 
 Potts busied overlong at the accustomed tasks. She 
 insisted on unloosing my stays and making me ready for 
 sleep. When I had watched her with unseeing eyes and lis- 
 tened to her tramping, tramping for so long that I felt that 
 I should burst, she finally left me, making that she would 
 take the candle. I called and bade that she leave it. She 
 curtseyed, said nothing, and sat it upon the small table 
 beside the shutter and left me. 
 
 I arose and went to the door to see that it was closed 
 securely. Then I sped to my frock, which was hanging like 
 a fainting me over the chair's back. I slipped my fingers 
 through the folds of the skirt and found the pocket. Yes, it 
 was there. My heart was thumping. I shut my hand upon 
 it. I was afraid to look. Slowly, fearfully, I went to the 
 candle and opened my hand. The back was toward me. I 
 looked to the lettering. It was the same as upon that that 
 Sally Trueblood had left me. Then I turned it slowly over 
 and out from the silver rim laughed forth Sally Trueblood ! 
 Sally Trueblood, with her blue eyes clear and childlike, 
 and her sweet lips smiling, without the shadow! Sally 
 
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248 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Trueblood, my darling, with lips that spoke to me even from 
 the tiny case and said, " He will come. Say it slow, Hope; 
 He will come ! " 
 
 I knelt down and with feverish haste reached within my 
 bosom and brought forth my locket. I laid this one beside 
 the other and, from a wrapping where I had hidden it, the 
 little ivory, Sally Trueblood with brown eyes. I looked 
 long upon them, these three who, I knew, held the secret 
 of the waiting. The smiling gentleman, the great bee, oh, I 
 loved him! Yet he had laid upon me the curse of shame. 
 I looked into his eyes. They were fearless eyes, honest 
 eyes. They were deep, but clear deep. I looked to his lips. 
 They were smiling, frankly, openly, honestly. Then to my 
 darling's, but my heart stopped. I could not search her face 
 for evil. In my heart I could not find strength even to 
 look at the sweet, smiling face with the thought upon me. 
 I turned it up toward me and held it close and whispered, 
 " My dear ! My darling ! " I laid the locket upon my cheek 
 and kissed it and drank out of the eyes that smiled back 
 at me. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, I know, I know that the threads may be 
 tangled, and you wearied at the task of unraveling them, 
 but I know your sweet hands never, never snapped the 
 thread. They only wearied, my dear. My dear, I know, 
 and I shall unravel it for you." 
 
 I was bending over my treasure, her sweet face, that I 
 might look upon it, when my miseries came upon me. I 
 seemed to see Stephen standing fearlessly before the mob 
 and myself so quaking and frightened, clinging to him. 
 Then my heart froze. Stephen was gone ! gone ! gone ! My 
 eyes fell upon Sally Trueblood's laughing face and I thought 
 of her when he was gone, the great bee, and I said, " It's a 
 game of waiting, waiting, but I must know." 
 
 It grew very late and silence was upon the house. Still 
 I sat, and within me was a resolve to go forth in the manor 
 and know what the shut doors held. The candle was low. 
 It was the only one in my chamber and I knew that Potts 
 would take the bracket candles with her lest they burn too 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 249 
 
 low and cause the flames to spring. I should have to make 
 the candle show me the way. I felt sure they of the house- 
 hold were sleeping. Cautiously I arose from my knees 
 where I had been so long, and with my shaking hands I tied 
 up the treasures and put them once more into my bosom. 
 Then I went to the candle and softly to my door. It opened 
 silently. I stepped into the great lonely hall. It was pit 
 dark and the night air was cool. I was clothed but in my 
 sleeping garment and my feet were bare. I went to the 
 very door that had opened and I stood before it. I tried 
 it, but it was firmly bolted. From here I went to the next 
 and turned the latchet. It sprung suddenly and creaked 
 open. The light was dimmed with the suddenness of the 
 door's opening. I shielded it with my cupped hand and 
 Stepped within, closing it after me. 
 
 I stopped, holding the candle high, and my eyes turned 
 slowly about. If the room that I had entered before had 
 been gloom itself, here was happiness. Filmy laces hung the 
 bed posts, hung over pale color of rose. The curtains were 
 drawn and the lacy coverlid showed and the huge pillows 
 of some sheeny stuff. The curtain bands were of pale blue. 
 Beside the great bed was a tiny hassock upon gold legs, 
 slender ones that turned gracefully out, then in. It was 
 ridiculously small and beautiful. Across a tall-backed chair 
 of the same golden stuff hung a filmy wrapper of webby 
 lace. The gilded press stood at one side. Very pompous, 
 it was, its drawers set high from the floor, upon slender 
 legs too, as though it had puffed up its breast and sat back. 
 A tiny desk was at one corner and a quill, like one I had 
 seen, made of a peafowl's feather set within a quill. 
 
 I went slowly about, holding the candle so that I might 
 see. I touched the wrapper and it fell softly, as though it 
 was weary, upon the floor. I had just arisen from plucking 
 it up when I heard the same tired voice call, " Sarah ! " 
 Panic seized me. I hurriedly went to the table, loosed from 
 a bracket a candle end and placed my burning one in its 
 place. Then I swiftly returned to the wrapper and threw 
 it about me. It fell long upon the floor. It was soft and 
 
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250 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 beautiful. There I stood, and my eyes raised to a shim- 
 mering light upon the wall where a huge reflector hung. I 
 gasped and swayed, then threw out my arms and bounded 
 toward it, crying out, " Oh, my darling ! " But the face did 
 not smile in return and I stopped, shaking, for it was only 
 my own reflection. 
 
 I stood looking straight into my own eyes and I began to 
 weep, but this showed me Sally Trueblood weeping, and I 
 smiled again. The candle's blaze was loving upon the air, 
 leaping up to embrace the darkness, then shrinking low, 
 ashamed. 
 
 Some sound startled me. I stood, fear-chilled, listening. 
 The door that led into the scarlet room slowly opened. I 
 saw it in the reflector. A dark figure stepped into the room 
 as the door swung back. I saw the light fall upon the 
 cloth of the garments and I knew that it was of rich stuff, 
 deep plum. A white ruff gleamed and I fearfully sought 
 the face in the reflection. Without turning I gazed and saw 
 a tall gentleman with a gay swing to his air. In his hand 
 gleamed something I took to be a snuffbox. The hands 
 were very white. I forgot the face in the movement of the 
 hands. 
 
 Then the light suddenly flamed and I saw the smiling 
 gentleman of my locket, only his chestnut hair was white 
 at the temples. The locks were the same that my locket 
 showed. I was overcome with a strange feeling. I saw 
 that the lips did not smile now, but were drawn very thin 
 and firm, and that his eyes had not twilight but midnight 
 beneath them. 
 
 He stepped in the pale light and a queer, fanciful smile 
 played his face. He started suddenly, then turned toward 
 me. I heard the snuffbox fall and a gasp. Then a bitter 
 laugh and the words, " Fancy, fancy, what a demon thou 
 art ! " Then a deep sigh and the sound of the hands falling 
 upon his sides. 
 
 I was watching feverishly every move. I was hungry, 
 hungry, hungry to know. This, then, was " the great bee," 
 who had not come to her. I turned slowly about, and I 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 251 
 
 remember that my face felt drawn and my lips were stiflf 
 and my hands helpless. I saw him lean forward and I 
 felt I should shriek out against him and the wrong he had 
 done her. Then I remembered that this was her love, and I, 
 he believed, his fancy. Then I was Sally Trueblood, and 
 she would smile. So I smiled and some strength, not mine, 
 held out my arms. He sprang toward me, his face illu- 
 mined, and hoarsely I heard him whisper: 
 
 " Sarah, have you forgotten ? I bade you hope, keep hope." 
 
 My lips opened and I heard them repeat, " Hope ! Yes, 
 yes ! " 
 
 Can I ever efface the one glimpse I had of heaven oped? 
 
 With faltering steps he came toward me. Slowly the 
 distance shortened until but a step remained. I saw his 
 hand reach toward me and within my soul something 
 stirred. It was Sally Trueblood's dead love. I was her. 
 Upon her waiting flesh his hand fell and I knew that the 
 waiting for her was over. I felt his arms close about me 
 and I heard him whisper: 
 
 " You are not gone ? — dead ? " 
 
 " Dead ? " I answered. " No, my hope is living." 
 
 He kissed me full upon my lips and I knew that I had 
 received one of God's mysteries, for her. I heard his voice 
 trembling and calling her name over and over, and I lay 
 within his arms like one swooned. Sealed was my soul, 
 sealed my ears and my lips, for I was drinking at her foun- 
 tain. Then I heard a wild cry. The door shut suddenly 
 and the candle was out. With a quick movement I was free 
 of his arms and feeling my way in the darkness to the 
 door's opening. There was a fearful storm without. I 
 could hear the winds raging and the lightning set a faint 
 light now and then like a blue dawn through the shutters. 
 I heard him calling, but heeded not; for wrath was now 
 within me. 
 
 I found the door and silently opened it. It was black 
 without and the lightning's flash now and then made little 
 light within the great hall. I could see the doorway, even 
 when I had passed well upon my way, by the lightning. I 
 
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252 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 heard steps that told me he was following. Swiftly I sped, 
 although I was fearful that I should fall, and I found my 
 way to the turret room of the little lady. The door was not 
 bolted and I went within. 
 
 The wind was now raging. I could hear the trees bend- 
 ing and now and then the crash as some limb was stripped 
 from the trunk. The thunder was frightful, and I stood 
 panting beside the closed door almost afraid to be alone, 
 yet more afraid to go once more to the great hallway lest 
 he should see me. I felt that I might not look again upon 
 him, this man who had forsaken her. The feeling that I 
 should love him, for her, was gone. I was now filled of a 
 feeling of abhorrence. All the womanhood of me cried out 
 against him. 
 
 I heard the rain sweep the shutter in sheething sounds. 
 Slowly I walked to the window's ope and with my fingers 
 turned a shutter ever so slightly. A sudden blinding flash 
 turned the without into a land of greenish moonlight. The 
 trees seemed like wild things imploring the sky. 
 
 It was in the sudden flash of light that I saw a chaise 
 was drawn up in front of the manor. I saw the outlines as 
 the lightning laced the sky. I waited for another flash. It 
 came, a wicked one that whipped the breast of gray and 
 left a white light for a minute upon the earth. I saw the 
 nag drawn up in the rain and the glisten of the wet hide 
 and the chaise. Then it was gone. I waited once more, 
 and again the lightning played my friend and I saw a small, 
 dark figure emerge from the chaise, wrapped in a black 
 coat or cape, and speed toward the great arch. I closed 
 the shutter and turned, feeling my way back to the doorway. 
 ' I opened the door and listened. I knew it was near morn- 
 ing and that when the storm broke the gray light would 
 come ; but the hallway was still black when I stood within it, 
 listening. 
 
 Below I could hear stirring steps that told me that they 
 were awake now and disturbed. There was no sign that the 
 gentleman had followed. The doors were closed, I found, 
 as I felt my way down the hallway that I might return to 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 253 
 
 the room where Potts had left me. Then I saw that the 
 candles were being lighted in the lower hall. I heard a call 
 and then the gratings of the bolts upon the out-door. I 
 leaned over the stairway and listened. I heard the door 
 opened and saw the shadow of Hooks upon the wall. I felt 
 the wet air as the gust of wind drove it in, and heard the 
 shriek of the storm as they shut it out. Then a stamping 
 of feet and the muffled voice of some one who was un- 
 winding his mantle and shaking free of drops. 
 
 I caught the words, " Strong, of Strong & Strong." The 
 gentleman cleared his throat gruffly and blew his nose in a 
 bugle sound. Strong ! I turned the word about in my mind. 
 Strong! The old inn came back to me, and another storm, 
 and the little black gentleman who was called Strong — 
 Rudy's uncle, Mr. Strong, of Strong & Strong. The latter 
 Strong had been so proudly added since that time. That 
 whole eve at the inn came back to me as I stood there 
 listening to just such a storm again. I remembered how 
 I loved the light; and the gladness that had filled me as I 
 saw the coach had come and had looked upon Miss Geneva 
 Willoughby. And I wondered what fate had brought about 
 the strange fact that I was again beneath the same roof with 
 Geneva Willoughby and Mr. Strong. 
 
 I turned and made my way to the room of gay chintz, and 
 this with some difficulty as the darkness made the way long 
 and tedious. At last the goal was reached. I turned the 
 latch and was within. I saw the faint gleam of gray at the 
 shutters like some gaunt stranger that would come within. 
 The storm was dying. I could hear the heels of the thun- 
 der's chargers as they ran away. I was so weary, so fright- 
 ened, so sick-swept, so miserable, with this new feeling 
 upon me. I walked to the great bed and sat upon it and 
 leaned back just to rest my weary head when my old friend 
 sleep came and led me away. 
 
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CHAPTER XXV 
 
 It was a happy journey, but he left me in the morning 
 and I opened my eyes upon a new day alone. I know now 
 that I was a bit wrong. My memory was clouded at first. 
 I could not piece together the broken bits that floated by 
 me. I recalled the storm and I made to arise but I felt 
 heavy and weary. So I turned upon my side, and it was 
 then that I realized I was still in the filmy robe. I lay 
 looking upon it, in the dim light that now filled the room, 
 and I wondered what all of this meant. Then the sick feel- 
 ing came once more as though I had done some fearful 
 thing, or more as if I had long looked for some great pleas- 
 ure and it had fallen short. 
 
 The beautiful halo I had built about my whole story had 
 been dispelled. I could not fancy beautiful things. He 
 was there beneath this roof and I also was beneath it. He, 
 who had wronged her and me, was there, and more, his air 
 was not sorrowful. 
 
 I sat up slowly and stared about me, pressed my brow and 
 started, for I heard the step of Potts. Hastily I arose and 
 freed myself of the lace robe and hid it beneath the cover- 
 lids. When the door was opened I was lying peacefully 
 sleeping to the eyes of Potts, and it was only after she 
 spilled two " Mornin's " that I awoke slowly. 
 
 With my waking, the night before seemed upon me. I 
 say my waking, although I had lain long with wide eyes 
 until Potts had knocked. But I think that through this long 
 miserable quietude I had not been fully aware of my sur- 
 roundings. I seemed to be dazed, waiting for morning yet 
 not knowing what I should do. But when Potts had 
 knocked I had resolved to be about finishing my search for 
 the truth. 
 
 " Potts," I said, as I rubbed my eyes, " who is below ? " 
 
 254 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 255 
 
 Potts wiped her fat palms upon her round stomach, 
 slowly raised her hands to her sleek head and rubbed her 
 locks behind her ears. Then she stepped toward the press 
 and with the greatest care dusted some imaginary dust from 
 its surface without answering. 
 
 " I hear voices. Potts," I said. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Is it Mr. Strong?" 
 
 " Strong," replied Potts and came toward me with her 
 eyes searching me, I thought. 
 
 " Be gone, Potts ! " I commanded. " I shall robe alone." 
 
 Potts curtseyed, slipped her hands beneath her waistband 
 and ran her fingers about her waist; then with one fat 
 forefinger she wiped her nose and left me. 
 
 I arose and sat upon the side of the great bed, looking 
 upon my bare feet and thinking where they had led me in 
 the darkness of the night. Then I got upon them and 
 clothed. I had a feeling at my heart that I was upon the 
 threshold of the door that would lead me through the mys- 
 tery. And more, the terror of the thought that I should 
 again face the gentleman that I had met in the scarlet 
 room set my heart quaking. I had forgotten my own agony 
 at the loss of Stephen and the losing of my love, in the 
 solving of this mystery which had followed me since the 
 night at the inn. 
 
 When I was quite ready I went to the door and made 
 my way to the stairway. There I stopped, for I heard a 
 man's voice speaking. I leaned forward that I might hear 
 and I heard the voice of the gentleman who had kissed me 
 in the beautiful rose room. 
 
 " No, no," I heard him say, " my dear Geneva, I was quite 
 awake. She stood before me. I tell you I had my hands 
 upon her flesh. No, no, I am quite sure I was not dream- 
 ing." 
 
 Then Miss Willoughby's voice broke in : " But, my dear 
 brother, it is impossible." 
 
 Slowly I began to descend the stairs. The light was now 
 within the house and the great canvas upon the landing 
 
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256 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 smiled down at me as I passed, but the lips were not drawn 
 and the smile was the smile of waiting, but not of weary 
 waiting that I had seen upon the same lips. I was sure 
 they were the same lips. 
 
 As I turned the way to descend the stairs that led 
 toward the, hall, I saw a dark figure, a small gentleman 
 who I knew was Mr. Strong, turning toward the dining 
 hall. I recall him now. He seemed so very small and 
 black, and walked upon his toes as though his opinion of 
 himself was greater than he, and that he would raise him- 
 self up to meet it. He carried his high hat and a lawing 
 bag. I watched, standing very still, and I waited until I 
 might hear what happened. 
 
 Mr. Strong went to the hall and I heard his voice, too 
 large a voice for so small a gentleman, give greeting. He 
 paused at the open door, put his great hat upon his breast 
 and bent low. I remember that his coat tails stuck out 
 almost straight behind him. He looked most like a cock 
 robin plucking a worm. I heard Miss Willoughby's voice 
 bid him enter and I saw him snap open and strut within. 
 With slow steps I made my way down the stair and walked 
 softly to the door to the dining hall. I shrunk to the wall 
 and listened. Miss Willoughby's voice arose and I knew 
 she was addressing Mr. Strong. It was but a word, which 
 I took to be a murmur of the gentleman's name, and I 
 wondered if they had not met before, Strong and this man. 
 I heard them arise and knew by the sounds that they had 
 clasped hands. Mr. Strong cleared his throat. I drew 
 nearer the door, and even leaned that I might peep within. 
 
 Strong was seated, his lawing bag open upon his knees. 
 Miss Willoughby sat apart, a little toward the great table, 
 her hands clasped loosely within her lap. The smiling 
 gentleman was leaning toward Mr. Strong with, I thought, 
 an anxious look upon his face. 
 
 "Mr. Willoughby," said Mr. Strong. I started. "Mr. 
 Willoughby," repeated Mr. Strong, as he unrolled a long 
 script with a massive seal upon it, " it is my painful duty 
 to remind you that I am an officer of the law. It grieves me 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 257 
 
 sorely " — here Mr. Strong again cleared his throat and rolled 
 his eyes upward. " I am commissioned, my dear Mr. Wil- 
 loughby, by Brumby & Brumby to insist that the sum be 
 paid. Two thousand pounds, in short, my dear sir. I trust 
 this will not inconvenience you." 
 
 I saw Miss Willoughby lean forward also, and Mr. Wil- 
 loughby stood clasping his hands behind his back and an 
 ugly look upon his face. 
 
 " It is preposterous ! " he said. " Impossible ! Impos- 
 sible ! " 
 
 Mr. Strong slowly rolled the parchment to a slender 
 roll and squinted through it toward the window, cleared 
 his throat and said deliberately: 
 
 " Of course, if the facts be known " 
 
 Mr. Willoughby lunged toward him and Mr. Strong stood 
 and excitedly tapped the towering man playfully upon the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Of course, of course this is but a jest, my dear sir, 
 merely a jest. Of course you shall pay." 
 
 " My God ! " said Mr. Willoughby. " You wolves would 
 even have the bone! It is gone far enough. I tell you I 
 never paid this money. I knew nothing of it." 
 
 Mr. Strong laughed and shrugged and let his glance sweep 
 the room carefully. Then he said: 
 
 " I fear I could not convince my worthy friends. Brumby 
 & Brumby, of this, Mr. Willoughby." 
 
 Miss Willoughby coughed and arose, going to the side of 
 Mr. Willoughby. She laid her hand upon his coat sleeve 
 and said softly: 
 
 " It is of no use, my dear ; we are undone." 
 
 " Never ! " he replied. " Geneva, what think you I care 
 for their tongues? There is nothing to lose, nothing. All 
 that I ever possessed is gone! I have borne the stain un- 
 justly, God knows, but borne it and I lost ! What is more, 
 losing even this life. God knows I know not what is done 
 or undone, but I shall know what shall be done." 
 
 Mr. Strong unrolled his parchment and made to read it 
 very closely, crossing his ridiculously small legs and rub- 
 
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258 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 bing his chin over with a ridiculously small hand; but I 
 could see that he was watching Miss Willoughby. Miss 
 Geneva walked from the table's side to the open shutter 
 and stood looking out into the garden. Mr. Willoughby 
 came to the side of Mr. Strong and I saw his beautiful 
 hands were fretful. He plucked at his frill and seemed 
 loth to begin. Finally he said: 
 
 " See here, Strong, you know that I have nothing to do 
 with this." 
 
 Mr. Strong raised his eyebrows very high, pulled his thin 
 lips down and asked innocently: 
 
 " Truly ? Then I am to take it that although the old 
 gentleman was found in your bedchamber, and you, under 
 liquor, beside him, even with the blade within your hand and 
 his blood upon your linen, that you have nothing to do with 
 it! This is amusing, most amusing, if I may venture to 
 state, Mr. Willoughby. I shall tell this to Brumby & 
 Brumby. No doubt these worthy gentlemen will believe 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby's eyes were filled with anger. I saw that 
 he would lay hands upon Mr. Strong and cast him forth, 
 but by great effort he stood and with a stately bow he 
 asked : 
 
 " Have I the honor to address the apothecary ? " 
 
 " Sir ! " said Mr. Strong, standing up. 
 
 " I feel the need of a bleeder," said Mr. Willoughby. 
 
 Mr. Strong sat down, and I saw that he too was angered. 
 The silence grew for a time, then Mr. Strong, his oily man- 
 ner resumed, smiled obligingly upon Mr. Willoughby and 
 remarked : 
 
 "Amusing, most amusing. But to resume, Mr. Wil- 
 loughby. The two thousand pounds." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby clasped his hands behind him and I saw 
 his knuckles whiten. 
 
 " I tell you once and for all. Strong, it is impossible, 
 preposterous ! I shall not pay it. I do not know what ar- 
 rangement Stephen has had with you, but at his death it 
 ended." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 259 
 
 Mr. Strong waited a bit and then resumed, as though not 
 noticing Mr. Willoughby's remarks : 
 
 " Mr. Stephen Willoughby, that honorable gentleman, 
 has put within the hands of Brumby & Brumby, who, as 
 you know, may deliver into the hands of authority, certain 
 facts, Mr. Willoughby, facts. You understand ? Facts ! " 
 and he smacked his lips. " These facts, Mr. Willoughby, it 
 grieves me sorely to inform' you, concern yourself. Mr. 
 Stephen Willoughby, your worthy brother, in doing this 
 merely defended himself from needless blame, unfounded 
 blame. Of course, since the facts, the facts," he repeated, 
 
 smacking his lips once more, " were present " Mr. 
 
 Willoughby stood silent. " I think," went on Mr. Strong, 
 " that since that — let me see — it was May — ^your worthy 
 brother has put into the hands of my worthy co-workerSi 
 Brumby & Brumby, certain funds befitting their trust." 
 
 Here Mr. Strong, holding the long script in his hands, 
 folded them across his ridiculously small stomach and let 
 himself rise and fall upon his toes and heels. I heard Mr. 
 Willoughby breathing very hard. Then I heard him hiss: 
 
 " He did this ? For what ? Geneva, do you hear this ? " 
 
 She nodded without turning. 
 
 " If," went on Mr. Strong, " if, I say if, Mr. Willoughby, 
 these facts, facts, should be discounted, then why, I say 
 why, Mr. Willoughby have you absented yourself ? " 
 
 Mr. Willoughby sat down very suddenly upon one of the 
 great chairs and heaved a deep sigh, letting his hands fall 
 together before him. He did not answer, and I stood 
 breathlessly listening. I was at the hall of justice for him 
 whom my love would spring to and my hate fretted over. 
 
 Mr. Strong arose once more and folded his script, for 
 he had sat down when he had finished his questioning. I 
 saw him busy at his bag that he was making ready to go. 
 I heard a sudden sound and saw Mr. Willoughby spring 
 upon Strong. 
 
 " Damn you. Strong, damn you and your kind ! I 
 could " 
 
 " Cut my throat," said Mr. Strong. 
 
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26o HOPE TRUEBtOOD 
 
 Mr. Willoughby let his hands fall and stood silent a 
 moment. Then added, " Yes." 
 
 " Very likely," said Mr. Strong. " I shall tell this also 
 to my worthy friends. Brumby & Brumby." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby's eyes gleamed. I saw that he knew that 
 the fox had nipped the fowl. Mr. Strong righted his rum- 
 pled feelings by dabs at imaginary displacement of his 
 raiment. He shook his leg and stooped to right his garter, 
 which was worn far too low beneath the knee over his 
 woolen leggins which buttoned in humps. Why the woolens 
 I could not know, for it was still warm of the early season. 
 Then with deliberation he went on : 
 
 " Of course, my dear Mr. Willoughby, certain unfortu- 
 nate facts are evident, such as the fact, we will say, that 
 you are the eldest Willoughby^ Unfortunate, most unfortu- 
 nate! I dare say, even you will admit it. Then, too, an- 
 other, just as grievously unfortunate. The Willoughby 
 estate was in default. Most unfortunate, Mr. Willoughby, 
 most unfortunate, since you represented Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby, the elder. Most unfortunate, I repeat. And 
 
 again " Mr. Strong here cleared his throat and began 
 
 his sinking and rising upon his toes and heels. " Certain 
 holdings, we will say, in metals, Australia, ahem! were 
 known to you, and these holdings have not been found in 
 Obadiah Willoughby's effects. Unfortunate, Mr. Wil- 
 loughby, it grieves me to state." 
 
 " But I went " started Mr. Willoughby, and suddenly 
 
 stopped. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Strong, " unfortunately ! " 
 
 Miss Geneva turned and I saw her eyes were blazing, that 
 her lips were firmly pressed. She came to Mr. Strong and 
 laid her hands upon his sleeve and I heard her say : 
 
 " We shall come, Mr. Strong, tomorrow, to your abode. 
 We shall come. I say we." 
 
 Mr. Strong stood taller and bowed stifHy, with authority, 
 I thought, as though he had filled up of " unfortunate " diet 
 and was full. I heard the tremor in her voice and I saw 
 that Mr. Willoughby for some reason might not speak; 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 261 
 
 although I could tell that he was bursting with wrath, and 
 it looked like honest wrath. Mr. Strong started toward the 
 door. 
 
 I ran swiftly down the hallway to the first door and 
 opened it and stood in the great room where the same face 
 as my locket's smiled down upon me — where the little lady 
 had lain. I listened and heard Mr. Strong go through the 
 great door, the rattle of a chaise and its going until it faded 
 away. Then I softly opened the door and went into the long 
 hall once more. I could hear the voices of Miss and Mr. 
 Willoughby and I followed the sound back to my hiding 
 place. I saw that they were standing before the opened 
 window and I looked upon the scene their eyes beheld. The 
 garden was sunken here, a bit of brook valley, and, be- 
 yond, a flank of high woods amid which a gable showed. 
 Mr. Willoughby stood with his arm encircling Miss Wil- 
 loughby's frail form and I saw they were gazing across the 
 garden way, past the hill's rise, to the gable. Their heads 
 were lifted, and I lifted mine and saw. 
 
 " Patricia," said Mr. Willoughby reflectively, " dear Pa- 
 tricia ! " 
 
 Miss Willoughby repeated it : " Dear Patricia ! " 
 
 "Who is there?" Mr. Willoughby asked. 
 
 " It is empty," sighed Miss Geneva, " even of a care- 
 taker." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby sighed and I heard him say : 
 
 " It is strange, Geneva, how one's heart stays young and 
 how the earth grows old. Do you know, I can see the great 
 bough of the tryst tree where we played. Patricia! dear, 
 prim Patricia! I think there are letters upon the scarred 
 sides of the old comrade, ' O. W.' and ' P. P. P.,' which—" 
 here he laughed and it sounded like a laugh that had come 
 through years, — " which we said stood for Patricia Prim 
 Passwater." 
 
 Miss Geneva did not answer and they stood long, gazing, 
 I knew, to the land of childhood, and in my fancy I saw 
 Miss Patricia, too prim to be even a little child. I could 
 not imagine her strided upon a bough. 
 
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262 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " And Reuben," said Mr. Willoughby. " Geneva, there's 
 a man! He left her, dear Patricia, to find me, and she, 
 God bless her! waited that he might find me." 
 
 Miss Geneva nodded. 
 
 " I shall see Reuben," said Mr. Willoughby. " I shall 
 grasp his hand." 
 
 " No," said Miss Geneva. " No, Obadiah, Reuben is 
 gone. And Patricia." 
 
 He whirled and took her shoulders within his man's 
 clasp and I saw that the man-agony had swept him. I stood 
 waiting and for some unaccountable reason I suddenly 
 sneezed. They started and Mr. Willoughby listened. I 
 made no sound and he laughed a bitter laugh and said : 
 
 " It is a land of wraiths and I have tarried too long. Sit 
 down, my dear Geneva." 
 
 They made their way to the table and drew up two chairs 
 in which they seated themselves and carried on a conversa- 
 tion which was in low tones. I caught a word now and 
 then. 
 
 " Strong has been sent to beat the bush. They will ride 
 in later." Then some low murmurs. " What do I care," 
 went on the voice of Mr. Willoughby, " for their hector- 
 ing ? God ! Geneva, all of this is nothing compared to " 
 
 I lost the words. Then, later, came : " She believed me." 
 " I do not know." " It is impossible ! She would not ! " 
 "No! No!" Then Miss Willoughby's voice, "But the 
 child " 
 
 "What?" I heard Mr. Willoughby almost shout. 
 
 " This " Then more murmurs. " He may be damnable, 
 
 but not that, not that ! " Then more murmurs and Miss 
 Willoughby's voice, " Gentlewoman." 
 
 " But," broke in Mr. Willoughby, " you had seen her." 
 
 " No," answered Miss Geneva. " No, my dear brother." 
 
 Then murmuring once more. 
 
 " Even the devil," went on the voice of Mr. Willoughby, 
 " would not party to this trick. I tell you it is a mistake. 
 Look ! " He felt in his bosom and brought out a bit of worn 
 script. " Read it," he commanded Miss Willoughby, after 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 263 
 
 smoothing it. " Does it not state it clearly? " She nodded. 
 " Then forget this hideous thing. It cannot be. Forget it, 
 and do not mention it again. I have stood too much. I 
 cannot dare think this. Wait ! wait ! wait ! " 
 
 I was fascinated, but I saw they were coming toward 
 the hall. I fled to a wing, seeking Potts that I might sup. 
 I found her in the linens, counting, and even at counting 
 she stopped after each count. She turned as I came into the 
 great closet and put her hands upon her round hips. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 " Potts," I answered, " some hot water, please, and a 
 scone." 
 
 She nodded and went to the inner place where she might 
 procure them. I went then to the dining hall and waited. 
 There was no sign of any other person about. Hooks came 
 in with the water and Tongs followed with the scone. 
 I sat down and they served me in silence, and as I supped 
 I thought of the other times I had so sat, and all that had 
 occurred, and I wondered why I was here and who had 
 brought me and who had welcomed me. How did they 
 know me, or that I was of them ? for even I did not know 
 this. I thought of Stephen and I wondered how the dread- 
 ful thing had happened. I resolved to seek Miss Geneva 
 and ask her. I finished my bit of scone and supped the last 
 of the water, then arose and went to the chintz room. I 
 knew that Miss Geneva would seek me later and I waited 
 her. She came, rather pale, and I saw she was over- 
 wrought. She kissed me and called me " Hope " and patted 
 my shoulders. 
 
 "Miss Willoughby," I said, " I must ask, though I know 
 I shall open wounds. Did you know Sally Trueblood ? " 
 
 " No," she answered. " I was go " I started. " I 
 
 cannot tell you now, my sweet. This place is beneath a 
 grim grasp. We must wait." 
 
 " Oh ! '' I shrieked. " I too can keep my lips and my 
 heart. I have done it for her and I can for you. Miss 
 Willoughby, oh, please, please tell me! Tell me, even 
 though I can't bear to hear. Who, who brought me here ? " 
 
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264 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Stephen," she whispered. 
 
 " He brought me here ? " I repeated. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Oh, my sweet, it was fearful, the storm and his wild 
 ride. He promised, promised he would return when he 
 had met them, your persecutors. He was found below, just 
 before the great door, with a blade in his heart and this in 
 his hand." And she reached into her bosom and brought 
 out a folded linen. There was a small dark stain at the 
 edge, and an emblem bearing the letters " O. W." I looked 
 at it and my heart froze. I saw Mr. Strong upon his toes 
 and heels and heard my own lips murmur, " unfortunate." 
 Miss Willoughby clutched me. 
 
 " Do you see, Hope ? It must be silence and waiting." 
 
 "Who did this?" I asked. 
 
 Miss Willoughby looked deeply into my eyes and said: 
 
 " Wait ! It will all be right. Wait ! " 
 
 I walked to the shutter and looked without. It was bright 
 and the young greens were tender, soft. The sun illumined 
 them so that they shone bright and glistening. Miss Wil- 
 loughby waited that I should speak. I turned and I recall 
 the look she cast upon me, one of sorrow and of not under- 
 standing. I came toward her and I said: 
 
 " You told me that this morning would be full." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " yes, Hope, but like so many that 
 I have expected to be full, it must wait again." 
 
 I held the scrap of linen in my hand and looked upon it 
 once more. 
 
 " Do they know of this ? " I asked. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered. " They have come. 
 Even Strong has spoken queerly, and I fear, fear, Hope, 
 for the worst." 
 
 " But Strong has gone. I saw him come in the storm 
 and I heard him go this morning." 
 
 She nodded and said : " I have promised that we would 
 go to him." 
 
 " Will you go this morning ? " I asked. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 265 
 
 " No," she answered. " I have promised that we would 
 
 go tomorrow but " She stopped and turned toward the 
 
 door. 
 
 I, too, started, for I heard the knocker of the great outer 
 doorway. She came toward me and clung. I circled her 
 waist about with my arm and we stood listening. We heard 
 the bolts loosed and the door opened and once more the 
 voice of Mr. Strong, which betrayed his excitement. He 
 addressed Hooks who had let him in. 
 
 " Say that Mr. Strong has returned," he said. " Say that 
 he has returned," he repeated deliberately. 
 
 Then I heard a grufif voice say, " Yes," and a thin one 
 echo it. 
 
 Miss Willoughby's eyes were wide as she looked to me. 
 
 " Hope," she said, " what does it mean ? " 
 
 " I do not know, but come." 
 
 We went to the stairway, down to a point where we could 
 peer below without their knowing. Mr. Strong was bob- 
 bing about in his excitement. To one side stood a great 
 bulk whose chin lay in one fold of fat upon its bosom. 
 Two little swollen hands were laid across the huge stomach, 
 scarcely meeting. His great hat set well down upon his 
 ears, which tipped outward beneath the brim. The eyes 
 were small and beady. The huge legs were in smalls that 
 seemed fairly to burst and the cloth of his raiment was 
 somber black, offset by an orange waistcoat. I could not 
 see his neck's swathe, if there was one. 
 
 At the other side stood a tall individual with a slight 
 hump, a long face with a longer chin than most men's. The 
 lips were mere thin lines and the eyes were dull. One 
 long bony arm was laid across the narrow trunk and the 
 other elbow rested upon it, while the deathlike hand plucked 
 at the chin whiskers, which were stubby over his face. 
 
 Miss Willoughby waited. Hooks went to some inner 
 room and then came back and mounted the stairway. Miss 
 Willoughby whispered, " Wait," and went to meet him. He 
 turned and she followed him below. Mr. Strong came to 
 meet her. 
 
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266 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," he said softly and bowed after the 
 fashion of a gentleman. " Miss Willoughby," he repeated, 
 drawing himself up to his full height and strutting toward 
 the two ill-assorted beings, "my friends. Brumby and 
 Brumby." 
 
 " Brumby," came forth gutturally from the throat of the 
 great bulk. " Brumby," piped the other. And they bowed, 
 one tilting loppingly, the other puffing and but nodding. 
 
 " My friends. Brumby and Brumby," repeated Mr. 
 Strong, rubbing his hands. 
 
 Miss Willoughby drew herself up and bowed stiffly, first 
 to the great bulk, then to the wreckage. Then I heard her 
 clear voice address Mr. Strong: 
 
 " Mr. Strong, would you be so kind as to state the mis- 
 sion of this visit. Why am I honored by the presence of 
 Messrs. Brumby and Brumby ? I believe I told you that we 
 would come tomorrow." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Mr. Strong. " I spoke of this to my 
 friends. Brumby and Brumby. Did I not, gentlemen?" 
 
 " Yes," choked the great bulk, and the wreckage echoed it. 
 
 " I told them," went on Mr. Strong, " of your intentions, 
 Miss Willoughby." 
 
 " Quite so," supplemented the bulk. 
 
 " Quite so," the wreckage again piped, and as his mouth 
 opened he displayed long narrow yellow teeth. 
 
 After his last edifying remark he removed his tall hat 
 and gracefully scratched his head with the long, thin, finely 
 pointed small finger of the hand he employed. Then he 
 carefully fitted the great hat upon his small head and care- 
 fully resumed his plucking of his whiskers. Mr. Strong 
 clasped his hands beneath his coat tails and swung them 
 back and forward. 
 
 " My dear Miss," he said, " my dear Miss, this, this," he 
 smacked his lips and licked his teeth, " is a most unfortunate 
 mission." 
 
 Miss Willoughby did not show by any outward sign that 
 she was at all perturbed. 
 
 " I may say it grieves me sorely, by dear Miss, to state 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 267 
 
 that certain facts which have come into the hands of my co- 
 workers have necessitated this action. I may say, my dear 
 Miss, it concerns the death of young Willoughby." 
 
 Miss Willoughby still did not speak. 
 
 " Young Willoughby," the great bulk repeated after Mr. 
 Strong. 
 
 " Mr. Willoughby," piped the wreckage. 
 
 Mr. Strong paused and waited. 
 
 " May I," he went on after the wait, " have the honor of 
 addressing Mr. Obadiah Willoughby ? " 
 
 Miss Willoughby nodded and went toward the great room 
 where the portait hung that had smiled down on me. She 
 opened the door and pointed the way, murmuring some- 
 thing which I took to be a bidding to wait. She would have 
 left them when they had filed in in their confusion; but 
 when she turned they followed her back into the great hall. 
 She seemed to see their confusion and pointed to the oaken 
 seats that stood beside the wall in the hall. This enabled 
 me to see them when she left. 
 
 The greater Brumby sat down, or rather eased down, and 
 rocked. The other Brumby folded up and fitted himself to 
 the square edge of the oaken seat. The greater Brumby 
 sat, his hands nearly meeting over his stomach, and let his 
 eyes open and close slowly until they finally stayed closed. 
 His small, wet, red mouth hung open. Mr. Strong did not 
 seat himself, but made flourishes at the air with a linen 
 kerchief that he dabbed at his nose. I knew he was enjoy- 
 ing every minute. Miss Willoughby did not return imme- 
 diately and Mr. Strong seemed to listen. When satisfied 
 that there was no one about, he went to the side of the 
 greater Brumby and nudged him in his flabby stomach. 
 Brumby opened his eyes and rubbed them with his swollen 
 knuckles. 
 
 " Brumby," said Mr. Strong in a whisper, which came to 
 me clearly. " Remember ! Facts. Facts." 
 
 " Facts," said Brumby stupidly, and the wreckage be- 
 came animated and repeated, "Facts, facts, facts." 
 
 " This," said Strong, " is to be won by facts. A fact," 
 
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268 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 he went on, " is a thing, anything, which you know all of 
 and which the other man knows nothing of. The thing, 
 Brumby, for you and your worthy kinsman to do, is to keep 
 these facts within your hands." 
 , Brumby nodded. The wreckage licked its thin lips. 
 
 " My dear sir," said Mr. Strong, " you have no doubt 
 learned that one must deal in facts like one deals in horse 
 flesh. I recall a certain nag I parted with to Robson. 
 Needless to say the nag's spavin brought no price, but I 
 expected none. The spavin had not been evident but the 
 fact nevertheless was present." 
 
 The wreckage clapped his thin deathlike hands upon his 
 bony knees and I imagined I heard him rattle. The greater 
 Brumby licked his lips and shut his eyes tighter. Mr. 
 Strong nudged his flabby stomach and bobbed about, 
 chuckling to himself. 
 
 Miss Willoughby returned. She was much disturbed, I 
 could see. Her voice faltered and she hesitated to speak. 
 Mr. Strong leaned toward her and asked: 
 
 " Mr. Willoughby will give us the pleasure of an inter- 
 view ? " 
 
 " No," she said. " No, I fear — I should say, no. Mr. 
 Strong, I shall have to request you to leave us. Mr. Wil- 
 loughby is indisposed. He cannot see you." 
 
 "What!" said Strong. "What! Willoughby refuses! 
 Tell Willoughby that the information possessed by Messrs. 
 Brumby and Brumby shall be laid within the hands of the 
 law before morning. I may add. Miss Willoughby, that it is 
 well known that the last man to be seen in the garden yon 
 was Obadiah Willoughby upon the night of young Wil- 
 loughby's death." 
 
 I started, and, God knows how, but my hand opened and 
 the bit of Hnen fell out of it, to fall just before Mr. Strong. 
 Mr. Strong stared upon it, stooped and took it up. Miss 
 Willoughby caught at her heart and gasped, and it was 
 quite evident to me that Mr. Strong saw her confusion and 
 that Brumby and Brumby also had seen it. Mr. Strong 
 slowly opened the linen and looked upon the emblem. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 269 
 
 " O. W.," he said softly. " And what is this ? " 
 
 His eyes narrowed. Miss Willoughby, overwrought as 
 she was, was unable to withhold her shaking and her fear. 
 Mr. Strong walked to the Brumbys and displayed the ker- 
 chief. 
 
 " Look ! look you, gentlemen ! Look upon this ! " and he 
 pointed to the letters and the stain. 
 
 " It is mine," said Miss Willoughby. " Oh, please, it is 
 mine." 
 
 Mr. Strong laughed a short, ugly laugh. 
 
 " Miss," he said, " order Obadiah Willoughby to come, or 
 I shall not be accountable." 
 
 The Brumbys were now upon their feet and the three 
 stood like birds of prey. 
 
 " I cannot," said Miss Willoughby. " I cannot." 
 
 " What ? " said Mr. Strong. " Why ? " 
 
 Miss Willoughby did not answer. 
 
 " I say bring him forth," said Mr. Strong. 
 
 " I cannot," she answered. " He is gone." 
 
 " Gone ! " cried Mr. Strong. 
 
 " Gone ! " echoed the bulk. 
 
 " Gone ! " piped the wreckage, standing, all three agape. 
 
 Miss Willoughby drew herself up and waited, nor did 
 she offer to speak. Mr. Strong strutted up to her and with 
 a malicious grin snapped his fingers beneath her very nose. 
 Miss Willoughby drew back but did not offer to speak. 
 Mr. Strong began to sink and rise upon his toes and said 
 very deliberately: 
 
 " That, Miss Willoughby, that," here he snapped his 
 fingers once more, " for the chance Mr. Obadiah Willoughby 
 has with the law. We shall search the place. Do you hear 
 me, my dear friends. Brumby and Brumby? — search the 
 place." 
 
 " Search it," said Mr. Brumby. " By all means," said 
 the wreckage, already curving his angles about like a 
 weasel. 
 
 Miss Willoughby looked upon them as one might upon 
 some hideous sight, and indeed they were hideous. 
 
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270 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Sirs," she said, " my dear sirs, it is useless." 
 
 " We shall see, we shall see," said Mr. Strong. 
 
 " Yes," said Brumby, puffing, and I heard the voice of the 
 wreckage sounding out from beneath one of the hall seats. 
 
 " My dear Miss," said Strong, " I repeat, my dear Miss, 
 if the knowledge is yours, if you possess the facts as to your 
 brother's whereabouts, it is but wisdom that you should 
 tell." He was carefully inspecting the kerchief, letting one 
 of his small forefingers rest upon the stain. " This," he 
 said, " and this — " and he looked to Miss Willoughby — 
 " my dear Miss, are most unfortunate facts." 
 
 " Mr. Strong," said she, " if you would be so kind as to 
 go, I promise that my brother and I shall come to the place 
 of your appointment tomorrow." 
 
 " Never ! " said Brumby the bulk. " Never ! " excitedly 
 chimed the wreckage. " Indeed no ! " said Mr. Strong. 
 " My dear Miss, a fact is like a bird and must be captured 
 when well within the hand." 
 
 Miss Willoughby thought for a moment and then her face 
 lightened. " I beg of you to excuse me for a moment," she 
 said, and without their answer she left them, to return 
 shortly bearing a purse which she opened and displayed 
 some gold coins. 
 
 Mr. Strong gasped, lay his hand upon his heart and 
 motioned her away. " I hope," he said, " I hope Miss Wil- 
 loughby that my eyes betray me. Will you look, Mr. 
 Brumby, and you, Mr. Brumby ? " 
 
 The bulk looked, his eyes popping and his breath com- 
 ing hard. The wreckage could not stand straight but seemed 
 drawn toward the purse. His eyes glistened and his yellow 
 teeth gleamed. Mr. Strong left his one hand beneath his 
 coat tails and the other he slipped within his bosom, then 
 he raised himself up to his highest and with an air of in- 
 jury shook his head, saying: 
 
 " My dear Miss, you have mistaken us. Think you my 
 friends, Brumby and Brumby, would touch bribe? Never! 
 Never! I may say in truth they would die first. Would 
 you not, Brumby ? " he asked, addressing the bulk. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 271 
 
 " U-m-m, yes," said the bulk doubtfully. The wreckage 
 shut his eyes and swallowed and did not echo it. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Strong, "no, no, never! I dare say I 
 speak the heart of my co-workers ; they could not be induced 
 to touch such moneys. But," he said, " my dear Miss," he 
 smacked his lips once more, "you have said tomorrow, to- 
 morrow at my place of appointment. I reconsider — in fact, 
 I shall allow it. My co-workers, being men of tender 
 hearts, would insist that I reconsider. Would you not, my 
 friends?" 
 
 Brumby nodded. Brumby did likewise, their eyes never 
 leaving the purse. Mr. Strong picked up his great hat and 
 carefully rubbed it about, then with more care placed the 
 kerchief, elaborately placed it, in his bosom. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " gentlemen, you have heard the 
 lady's word. Shall it be yes to her request? Yes, gentle- 
 men, yes ? " 
 
 " Yes," Brumby grunted, and the wreckage nodded. Miss 
 Willoughby walked to the great newel and laid the purse 
 upon it. 
 
 " Very well, then," she said, " tomorrow, tomorrow. 
 Good day, gentlemen, until tomorrow." 
 
 She bowed stiffly and left them. 
 
 I was watching. Strong turned toward the door, never 
 deigning to look toward the purse. The bulk turned like- 
 wise, following. Then I saw the wreckage reach forth one 
 deathlike hand and the purse was gone. Hooks at this mo- 
 ment came to the hall that he might show them forth. Mr. 
 Strong bowed stiffly before he stepped out. Brumby did like- 
 wise and the wreckage passed from my view still clinging 
 to something he clutched beneath his waistcoat. 
 
 Then to my surprise I saw Mr. Strong excitedly return 
 and shout to Hooks : " Mr. Strong would speak with Miss 
 Willoughby. Bid her, sir!" 
 
 Hooks turned bewildered to the stairway, but Miss Wil- 
 loughby, having been within hearing, came forth. 
 
 " Miss," said Strong, " my dear Miss Willoughby, I know 
 you will pardon the suggestion, but, my dear Miss, I may 
 
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272 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 well warn you of the dishonesty of servants. I trust this 
 will forewarn you." 
 
 Hooks gasped and for once in his well-ordered life made 
 an audible sound. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Willoughby, "yes, Mr. Strong, I am 
 forewarned." } 
 
 Then Mr. Strong bowed deeply and with a withering look 
 at Hooks swept out. The door shut after them and I heard 
 the bolt slip. Then I descended swiftly, laughing. Miss 
 Willoughby, too, was laughing and we met to encircle our 
 arms about each other and laugh together. I saw Hooks 
 draw himself up to his highest and, with his lip drawn down 
 almost over his chin, come to us. 
 
 " Your pardon, Miss," he said, " but them robbers is 
 liars." 
 
 Miss Willoughby nodded and said : " I know, I know. 
 Never mind." 
 
 Then we stood before each other and I said : " Is he 
 gone ? Oh, do you think what I have done will harm him ? " 
 
 " Wait, wait, Hope. Yes, he is gone, and I fear, I fear 
 sorely." 
 
 " Ohi" I said, " cannot the waiting be finished ? Oh, will 
 you not tell me, tell me something of this awful tangle?" 
 
 " Come," she said, " come to the garden. I shall unlock 
 my lips of what I may." 
 
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CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 I CANNOT forget the feeling of wonder that swept me 
 when I felt that at last I was upon the brink of the stream 
 of mystery. I recall that we walked slowly out of the manor 
 from the entrance that led from the side where the coach 
 might stop beside the dining hall. The garden lay sunny. 
 Prim rows of old herbs, and here and there fresh-faced 
 blooms smiled up as though they had kept heart through 
 their waiting. Miss Willougby seemed wrapped in her 
 thoughts as though she was weighing well what she would 
 say. I recall the sweetness of the spot that seemed to be 
 alive with voices, even to my listening ears that would 
 have heard even a more wonderful story, yet so like. 
 
 We walked down a shadowy way beside the brook's path. 
 We listened beside the little brook, and I wondered had its 
 voice too sounded amid the joys that once had been the 
 manor's ; and it occurred to me that it had even in the dark- 
 time sung its song just so silvery gay and plashing merrily. 
 Only winter might stop its tongue, and even then I knew 
 that the water beneath the ice would tickle it until it burst 
 and came forth laughing. And I know now that in spite 
 of my anxious moments I smiled, and I felt within me that 
 that was the greatest gift that Sally Trueblood had con- 
 ferred upon me, that of smiling when I should not. I 
 know now that he who takes a smile upon his path never 
 meets age, at least to speak to. He may nod but he is 
 afraid of a laugh. 
 
 Miss Willoughby had stopped gazing now into the little 
 ripples that flowed away from us over the pebbles and 
 through the fallen leaves and mosses. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I said, " you told me you would 
 speak." 
 
 " Not now, Hope, not now. Come." 
 
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274 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 "But," I said, "you said the garden." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " but come, I would show you some- 
 thing." 
 
 She led me down the brook's side to where some great 
 stones made the crossing. Then she held her hand that I 
 should follow and we crossed the brook to the other side 
 and followed an old path up through the little shrub-grown 
 meadow to the flank of woods. The way was glossy-green 
 and sunlit. I remember the twigs that snapped and the tiny 
 flowers that scattered beneath our feet. I smelled the sweet 
 of wood and heard the rustling of the high branches that 
 •whispered unknown things. Now and then the path was 
 veiled with some trailing vine that seemed to wish to shut 
 away the scene beyond — garlands of tender green, some 
 scarlet blooms, wild woodbine with white green buds not 
 yet burst, that told that later the path would be like a 
 fairyland of scent and bloom. 
 
 Suddenly the path ended in a low growth of matted shrubs 
 that showed they had lately been torn afresh. But a short 
 space and a tall stone wall rose forbiddingly. It was 
 sparsely covered with vine, a russet ivy with scarlet ten- 
 drils. The gateway had sunk and fallen apart, and I can- 
 not account for the feeling, but to me it was just like Miss 
 Patricia's heart. The great hinges had gaped and fallen 
 at their guarding. The bolts, some of them, lay in powder 
 of their own rust. The path to the great house that stood 
 well back was a thorn growth of what had been a rose 
 garden. Even a few early blossoms were ragged, as though 
 the thorns were loth to let them bloom. We stood beside 
 the fallen gateway and Miss Patricia came to my mind so 
 very clearly. Prim Miss Patricia, with her little house of 
 wood and stone and her little shrine of what I knew were 
 the dearest things to her! 
 
 "This," said Miss Willoughby, "this, Hope, is the old 
 abode of the Passwaters." 
 
 " You knew them? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, and no," said Miss Willoughby. " I have known — 
 oh, Hope, it is so very hideous ! Listen," she said, and drew 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 275 
 
 me to one side where one of the great stones had fallen 
 out and we seated ourselves upon it. 
 
 "Who am I, Miss Willoughby?" I asked bluntly. 
 
 She turned troubled eyes upon me. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered. " The shadow has been 
 so long upon me. In my youth I knew nothing but that 
 I might possess my heart's desire." 
 
 " But, Miss Willoughby, you told me you did not know 
 Patricia Passwater that night, nor Mr. Reuben, and I heard 
 you with my own ears say, ' Dear Patricia.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Willoughby. " I repeat it— dear Pa- 
 tricia. You see, Hope, I am the only Willoughby who is 
 a woman. Stephen is — was, — " she corrected, — " younger 
 yet, after Obadiah. I know not why, Hope, and I fear to 
 believe what seems the motive, but after my mother's 
 death I was sent to an uncle, who employed a tutor and 
 gave me the advantages befitting a lady. There came a 
 time, Hope, when longing came, longing to return to those 
 who ever seemed so near and dear. I spoke of this to my 
 uncle, and begged that Obadiah, who was my most lovedj 
 should be bidden to fetch me back. After endless waiting, 
 and missives that told so little of what I hungered for, even 
 the dear ones that Obadiah wrote failed to come. I received 
 no word save from Stephen, who spoke of father's failing 
 health. My uncle was a widower and the loneliness grew 
 unbearable. Finally I wrote to Stephen and told him I must 
 return. Well, Hope, you met me that night ; that night when 
 I had not yet returned to the manor to finish the filling up. 
 of agony; for Stephen had told me of my father's going 
 and also of the hideous shadow that cloaked our sunny 
 home. He laid upon the dearly beloved to my heart, 
 Obadiah, the finger of guilt. And this, Hope, was my home- 
 coming, little knowing I was leaving the happiness of not 
 knowing for the agony of knowledge. I remember, Hope, 
 that night and the storm, the beating rain and the bright fire 
 in the inn, that seemed a little blaze to that that burned 
 my heart. I remember, my dear, that night, and you, who 
 came with the look of hunger in your youthful eyes that 
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276 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I knew so well. My dear, I knew! I knew! I knew! Did 
 I tell you in some way, Hope ? Did you know ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " Yes, Miss Willoughby. I knew 
 when you said, ' Say to Sally Trueblood, Miss Willoughby's 
 compliments.' Oh, Miss Willoughby, do you know what 
 it meant? Do you know? Oh, I knew, small though I 
 was, that it was a glittering garment, soft and warm for her 
 little stricken soul." 
 
 I sobbed just a little. I could not help it. Then I said : 
 
 " How did you know, Miss Willoughby, when Mr. Ste- 
 phen brought me that I was the little one of the inn ? " 
 
 " Because," she looked deep into my eyes, " because I 
 never forgot your eyes, and because you repeated oft and 
 oft, ' Sally Trueblood's brat.' " 
 
 I hung my head. Sickness swept me. 
 
 "Oh," I gasped, "and you know it? Oh, Miss Wil- 
 loughby, you have never suffered this. You cannot know 
 what it means to be the lash that has cut your mother to 
 death. Even — oh. Miss Willoughby ! " I cried, " even when 
 I think of her there," I pointed to the skies, " I want to 
 shrink, for I shall have to follow her. I am a thing she 
 cannot undo, and I cannot destroy without making the stain 
 deeper. Oh, Miss Willoughby, I saw Sephira GiflEord and 
 her babe. I held it with my hands. I saw it. Oh, is this 
 God's work? I cannot believe it. He put here," I beat my 
 breast, "pure loving. He put here desires that would 
 lead me, if the world -would not frown. He has made me 
 whole. No, I cannot believe it. It is they, the hounds that 
 scent horrors and lap filth! They hunger for rot and they 
 consume any victim that is helpless! Who am I? Sally 
 Trueblood's brat. What was she? Oh, just a spring morn- 
 ing full of gladsomeness and love. She could not know 
 sin, I tell you! I saw her eyes, and her soul. Where is 
 he who should stand before the hounds and flay them with 
 
 his honorable name ? He " I stopped. " Well, the 
 
 earth cares little where a man trods." I laughed bitterly. 
 " Do you suppose that he knew what that tattered little soul 
 that hid itself away with its shame, suffered? No. His 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 277 
 
 honorable name is his cloak. He would lend it, but might 
 not give it. Likewise his honor, Miss Willoughby. He was 
 honorable, but wore his honor like a gentleman his linen, 
 to be discarded if in danger of soiling." 
 
 I was wrathful. My heart was welling. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I said, " some of the things I am 
 saying befit not a gentlewoman. At least I am gentle born. 
 That much I know, but this agony of shame and shadow 
 breeds bitterness, even though one tries to hide it. Shame ! 
 shame! shame! I have read it upon the skies, upon the 
 fields, upon lips and in eyes. Shame ! shame ! shame ! It is 
 the echo of every pebble and the song of every day. Yet 
 I have tried, I have tried to smile, oh. Miss Willoughby, for 
 her. I would not let her know how it hurt." 
 
 Miss Willoughby was listening closely and she patted my 
 hand. I leaned close to her and I whispered: 
 
 " I do not know why. Miss Willoughby, but I have al- 
 ways loved you. I have lived until now upon that night at 
 the inn. Oh, God, Miss Willoughby, is it wicked that I 
 should hate him who begot me? If she was a wanton, — 
 oh, I cannot say it ! — but if she had been, it was worse ; for 
 he who shames the shamed, — oh. Miss Willoughby, I know 
 that God is wrathful over such a man. Even in folly. Miss 
 Willoughby, to shame a shamed thing ! Buy with his honor 
 more shame for a wanton ! Make his honorable blood live 
 a nameless life in the body of shame ! " 
 
 "Hush," said Miss Willoughby, "hush, Hope! What 
 are you saying? Are you mad?" 
 
 " Mad ? Mad ? " I cried. " No ; I am merely throwing 
 open the pit that the light may shine upon the maggots. 
 Oh, God, if women only knew that honorable smiles spent 
 beneath honorable paths buy but dishonorable sighs I I am 
 one of them, Miss Willoughby. Somewhere in this world 
 walks he who begot me. I am beneath him, an idle moment 
 that lived too long. Look at me ! Where may I turn, Miss 
 Willoughby? I was hounded out of the village. I have 
 lived beneath their jeers, their gibes, their lashes, at the 
 hand of charity of one that they forsook in return. Now 
 
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278 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 where may I turn? Stephen is gone. There is no living 
 creature who cares. Yet let me make one move and they 
 will care enough to lay on the lash afresh — deeper, should 
 I touch one of theirs. What debt do I owe? I may drag 
 my father's honorable blood to the level of the shame he 
 knelt to once. I may defile this God-given body for revenge, 
 but who would suffer? Only Sally Trueblood in my heart. 
 
 " Don't you see I'm cursed doubly with the knowledge 
 of the power of revenge and the awful fate that made her 
 its victim, and gave me the knowledge of her, so pure, so 
 patient, so beautiful, so holy, that I feel that with her I 
 walked with God? And I cannot turn, for her hand is 
 clutching my heart strings. Miss Willoughby, I know, I 
 know the lash for such men. If the holy God would open 
 the heavens and leave the eyes of the babes that they begot 
 look upon them steadily, hungrily, pleadingly, namelessly, oh, 
 they would fall ! Make a man look upon his sin and he will 
 know it. We, — my kind. Miss Willoughby, the pity of it ! — 
 are unlike you all, except in the one quality, and that is 
 suffering." 
 
 Miss Willoughby's head hung. Her lips trembled and she 
 would not look at me. 
 
 " Oh, forgive me," I said. " I have said more than I 
 should, but I am in anguish. Miss Willoughby, for I feel 
 that I am near him, this man." 
 
 " No ! " she shrieked and got to her feet. 
 
 I stopped before her. We stood long before the old 
 gateway, looking up the thorny path. 
 
 " You have not told me. Miss Willoughby," I said. 
 
 "I forgot." 
 
 " Tell me now." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she panted. " I shall, Hope, but an awful 
 aching is here. I, too, am fearful. I have told you that the 
 Passwaters lived here. These old trees upon the path know 
 the young of the Willoughbys and them. Love played in the 
 ranks of youth. I know this by the missives that came be- 
 fore the shadow fell. Stephen and Patricia, I believe, loved 
 fearingly. At least, Hope, there were times when Patricia 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 279 
 
 loved him and times when she did not. They were far 
 older than I; but I heard of this, as I said before, and 
 Obadiah, my beloved, too, played at hearts with her. I 
 think, I think now, that Patricia loved him. 
 
 " Then there came to the house of the Passwaters two 
 younger children of a distant relative who had died, leav- 
 ing them at the mercy of fortune, even though they had 
 been of high rank and much means. I speak of this, Hope, 
 I know not why, save you would have me tell you. I recall 
 that Obadiah wrote of Felicia. The Potsdam post brought 
 certain moneys to the Passwaters which was a bequest from 
 a wilful relative who had, in a moment of whim, left to the 
 first female bearing the name Patricia a fortnightly income. 
 This was small, but to the youthful minds great riches. I 
 speak of this because at the coming of these younger chil- 
 dren Patricia had straightway set this apart as theirs." 
 
 I was listening, wondering, hoping. 
 
 " Then," she went on, " Stephen later wrote more fre- 
 quently of Felicia. Then, later, bitterly of Reuben Pass- 
 water, who, I took it, was too much concerned in one or the 
 other of the maids. I recall that Obadiah had written of 
 one of them, I cannot recall now what he called her, but I 
 do remember he said she was most like a living sunbeam, 
 that her feet never stopped from tripping, and that her eyes, 
 too, danced, and her hands were such little timid things. 
 It seems all so very long ago. Just children, yet it is not 
 long. Let me see." She thought for a moment. " I think 
 it was after I had heard this from Obadiah that there was 
 a time when no word came. It was early season and I 
 wondered why I had not been remembered by these loving 
 brothers, who grew so very huge in my mind and who 
 stayed so very small in my heart. Then there came another 
 missive from Obadiah, a joyous one, telling of the May 
 dance and the " 
 
 There sounded the crackling of the twigs that betold a 
 step. Miss Willoughby suddenly stopped and clutched my 
 arm. 
 
 " Come," she said. " Come, Hope, we may not tarry." 
 
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28o HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 "Who is it, Miss Willoughby?" I asked. "Do you 
 know?" 
 
 " Yes, but you must not see him — must not, Hope, must 
 not ! Not yet, not yet ! Believe me. Come ! " 
 
 " I cannot understand," I said. " What are you hiding ? 
 What is this fear? I have lived beneath the roof these 
 days and days and have not laid eyes upon a soul but your- 
 self and Potts and the servants." 
 
 I watched Miss Willoughby's face. I saw her lips open 
 and that she was about to speak. The step sounded nearer. 
 She turned and with my hand in hers sped down the path 
 through the thickets into the woods without speaking. When 
 we had come through the woods into the shrub-grown 
 meadow that led to the brook where we should cross and go 
 into the garden, I did not offer to speak but resolved that 
 I should have a word just as soon as we had come to the 
 garden once more. We went hurriedly and Miss Wil- 
 loughby was quite spent when we finally stood within the 
 garden and made our way to the arch where the great bear 
 knocker hung. There we stood. 
 
 " Hope," she panted, " you say you have not seen a soul 
 save myself and the servants ? " 
 
 I did not answer. 
 
 "Answer me," she said. 
 
 I hung my head and thought what I should tell. 
 
 " That is not quite true," I stated. 
 
 She stood looking very deeply into my eyes and then 
 said deliberately: 
 
 " Then you did see him ? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " I see," she said softly. " Then he was not dreaming." 
 And her eyes glinted with a sudden light. " Did you," she 
 
 went on, " did you — did he " she stammered. " Did 
 
 you see him and did he look — never mind," she finished. 
 
 " I know, Miss Willoughby, what you would say. No, 
 he did not look, if that was he, like one that I should hope 
 to see; for he whom I wait for is a nobleman and would 
 walk in no shadow." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 281 
 
 Miss Willoughby reddened. 
 
 " Hope," she said, " listen. Believe me. I shall yet tell 
 you all that I know, but I am fearful, dear, fearful even to 
 speak that my shadow might hear. There is a web about 
 the manor and tightly woven. I cannot tell you now, but 
 you must keep heart and believe in me." 
 
 I saw a long shadow fall upon the little path that led 
 about the turret, and I shrank into the shade beneath the 
 ivy. Miss Willoughby walked toward the shadow and 
 waited. Obadiah Willoughby turned the turret path and 
 seemed searching for something. 
 
 "What is it, my dear?" said Miss Willoughby. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, Geneva — ^my linen It was a very 
 
 old " Here he hesitated. " A gift long ago, Geneva. 
 
 Nothing, nothing, but, dear, like an old dream." 
 
 Miss Willoughby said something softly and locked her arm 
 within his and they left, going into the side entrance while 
 I stood hidden in the ivy. I stood there maddened at the 
 thought that again fate had dashed my cup of knowledge. 
 And once more I resolved to make the search, if it must be 
 so, alone and by foul means. Softly I made my way to the 
 entrance at the side. It was unbolted. Softly I stepped 
 within. Miss Willoughby was seated in the dining hall 
 beside the table once more and Obadiah at her side. I 
 followed the wall into the hall and they did not hear nor 
 see me. Once more I took up my silent waiting for their 
 words. I listened to their voices, that sounded softly, for 
 some time before I could discern words. 
 
 " Tomorrow — I have promised," said Miss Willoughby. 
 
 " But, Geneva, this is wrong ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she answered, " but they threatened. I tell 
 you they have watched the place, God knows how long, for 
 you. Even Stephen's plan did not turn them from their 
 search." 
 
 " What plan ? " said Obadiah. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot tell you." 
 
 " Geneva, we may not mince matters. I shall and must 
 know all of the awful tangle. What are you saying? " 
 
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282 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " The burial," she answered, " the burial and the tomb 
 that they might believe you dead." 
 
 " Good God ! " said Obadiah, springing to his feet. " He 
 did this? What in the name of the Holy One beset the 
 man ? Geneva, what thing could cause a man to follow such 
 a course? It cannot be possible that he would murder the 
 sire and follow that heinous act by a plan so hideous as this 
 seems. It cannot be. There is something that we do not 
 understand. Surely Stephen had some motive other than 
 greed." 
 
 Miss Willoughby did not answer and I waited that he 
 might speak more. He arose and walked slowly about the 
 great table with his hands clasped behind his back. I heard 
 him cough and then he stopped. 
 
 " Geneva," he went on. " I tell you they cannot make 
 us stand beneath a pack of lies." 
 
 Then I heard Miss Willoughby arise and she went to 
 his side. 
 
 " Obadiah," she said, " can you answer me ? What hap- 
 pened that night ? " 
 
 " Stephen and I," he cleared his throat, " had spent the 
 early eve at the inn. Cups, to be sure, Geneva, but not 
 more than befit a gentleman." 
 
 Miss Willoughby was listening. I leaned so that I might 
 see them clearer. I saw that she was watching the face of 
 Obadiah Willoughby as though she would read his soul. 
 
 " We returned early. You will remember I have told you 
 this before." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "but try, try, Obadiah, to recall every 
 movement." 
 
 He sat down and looked up the wall and down slowly. 
 
 " I had hoped, — in fact, you have seen her chamber, fitted 
 as I would have it for her." 
 
 She nodded and said quickly: 
 
 " Yes, yes. Go on. Obadiah, there is a thing that you 
 have not told me. I know it. I have heard it from the lips 
 of others. There was dishonor, I believe." 
 
 He stood once more and a frightful look swept him. He 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 283 
 
 •wheeled, his eyes blazing, and drew his clutched hands 
 above his head. Then he let them drop and a helpless look 
 took the place of the fearful one. 
 
 " Then it is true," she said. 
 
 I stood, almost panting aloud, for his answer. He came 
 to the side of Miss Geneva Willoughby and clasped her 
 to him. 
 
 " Geneva," he said, " I may not answer yet." 
 
 " Answer me ! Reuben Passwater loved her. Did he 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Yes. God knows I know now 
 more than I, who deemed myself a man who knew a man's 
 love, did then." 
 
 Miss Geneva looked with wrath upon Obadiah and com- 
 manded : 
 
 " Tell me ! I cannot stand more, Obadiah. Tell me ! " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 " It was May," he answered. " I told you, it was May, 
 but a fortnight before this hideous thing happened, the 
 night of the May's first day. Geneva, it is hard to remem- 
 ber, but I shall for your sake make the thing come from 
 my lips. In a great game of merrymaking we had waited 
 the late hours. One by one they had departed until," his 
 voice sunk to a softer key, " Felicia and Stephen — " I lost 
 the rest ; then — " myself were alone. Well, we went to 
 the vicarage and the thing was done. Done," he repeated, 
 then seemed to forget that he was speaking. 
 
 Shall I record the joy that leapt within me? Yet I was 
 afraid to believe and seemed stifled with fear. 
 
 " Done," I heard him say once more, " or rather begun." 
 
 Miss Willoughby was listening intently, biting her lips, 
 and her hands were clasping and unclasping in her lap. 
 
 " Geneva," he said sharply, " I had rather not speak of 
 it. You little know what these years of agony have meant. 
 To be a man and know that a thing rides you that you may 
 not free yourself of. Holy God! It was enough that my 
 hope should be dashed, and in the name of truth why 
 should it have been dashed by such a thing as dishonor?" 
 
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284 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Miss Willoughby leaned toward him and I saw her eyes 
 glittered. 
 
 " Obadiah," she said, "what has kept you silent? If 
 you were guiltless, why did you not speak ? " 
 
 He stood and with his tapering hands pressed his brow at 
 either side. 
 
 " I have not finished," he answered. " Listen. Do you 
 believe that I left because of fear of any man or of law? 
 Geneva, I say damn any man and the law, but, good God ! 
 he told me that Reuben Passwater " 
 
 I saw him stand very straight and fling his hands one 
 upon the other and sink into one of the chairs beside the 
 table and sob. Miss Willoughby stood up. I saw her sway 
 and step to his side, reaching out one of her delicate hands 
 and laying it lovingly upon the bent head. Her eyes were 
 filled of fire and her lips were thin and I heard her say 
 hoarsely : 
 
 " Reuben Passwater ! Obadiah, it cannot be that Stephen 
 would do this. Look at me — answer me ! Was this all ? " 
 
 He raised his head and laid his cheek against his clutched 
 hand. 
 
 " I was a young fool, Geneva. But he told me to come 
 and he would show me, and I saw, I tell you, I saw! 
 Then, — well, I went, beneath the cover of guilt, which at 
 the time I did not fully realize." 
 
 Miss Willoughby waited for him to continue, but he sat 
 silent and she seated herself beside him and I saw her brush 
 her locks with a weary gesture from her temples. 
 
 " But Obadiah," she said in a tired voice, " it was dis- 
 honorable to leave the woman." 
 
 " Dishonorable," he said in a bitter tone. " Geneva, I 
 am beginning to wonder what honor is. I was fevered, in 
 a cup. I can recall the ride to the manor from the inn 
 and certain conversation as to the estate. Stephen had told 
 me he had been chancing and was ' I.O.ed ' beyond hope. It 
 had been his wish that we not betray the marriage, fearing 
 the wrath of the sire. Willingly we had all pledged. For 
 a time I was happy in a fool's heaven. Then the thing hap- 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 285 
 
 pened. I cannot recall the home-coming of that night but 
 later I seem to remember sitting in Stephen's bedchamber 
 and that we had a bit of port, after which all seemed to 
 forsake me. I remember nothing until it was quite morning 
 and Potts shook me. You know the rest, Geneva, that even 
 Stephen believed me guilty. God knows, I cannot tell you 
 how the sire came to be in my chamber." 
 
 Miss Willoughby was pacing slowly up and down behind 
 the chair now where Obadiah sat. 
 
 " The day following," he went on, " Stephen told me 
 that feeling was high against me in the village, but that we 
 might keep the matter quiet until I might make away. 
 I had hastened to her and told her. I had told her to keep 
 strong and if guilt fell upon me to deny me; that I would 
 not hold her to her promise ; for heaven knows I would not 
 have dragged this upon her. She was sorely shaken and 
 clung to me in fright, swearing her faith. I had left her 
 saying : ' I may be driven to leave, but ' — Geneva, this is 
 like walking in a tomb ! But I told her that if this should 
 happen I would return surely, surely. Then it was that I 
 fell victim of my deep affections and refused to leave, and, 
 damn him ! he told me. Long after I left this came — " he 
 reached once more into his bosom and brought out the 
 parchment — " from Stephen, saying that in December she 
 had died in her shame." 
 
 I heard a long-drawn moaning sigh and saw him sud- 
 denly arise and turn like a wild thing and say : 
 
 " I cannot, cannot go on ! " 
 
 Miss Willoughby was weeping and held her arms forth. 
 He turned from her and said: 
 
 " I shall go without. Ring for some hot brew and I 
 shall return presently." 
 
 I stood dumb. Within me I was afraid to believe. When 
 he had left Miss Geneva I went into the dining hall and 
 addressed her. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I said, " I shall beg you that I be 
 allowed to go to the village." 
 
 She turned toward me and her eyes were soft and tearful. 
 
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 "Yes, yes," she answered, as though she had not heard 
 me and was merely repeating the words. 
 
 She started and brushed her hand across her eyes as 
 though she was brushing away a web. 
 
 " Tomorrow," she said, " tomorrow, Hope." 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I went on, after she had answered 
 me, " I cannot remain here. I cannot understand why 
 I have been here so long, and now that this fear is upon 
 me I can no longer remain, I tell you." 
 
 She seemed still not to listen to me. I touched her arm 
 and she started. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said, "I know, I know." 
 
 " Listen ! " I said loudly. " I repeat. Miss Willoughby, I 
 cannot remain beneath this roof. Let me go — any way that 
 is out of this tangle. What I have just heard has wakened 
 wild things within me, yet fear is stronger than hope. I 
 wish to go to the village, to Miss Patricia's. I am — I do 
 not know what the feeling is unless it is home-hunger. I 
 must go. I cannot bear even to wait the morning." 
 
 She was listening and I saw that her mind was working 
 fast; that she was thinking not of what I said but was 
 listening. She sat down wearily and brushed her brow 
 across with a slender hand that shook. 
 
 " Wait," she said, " wait, just a little, Hope. I — I — am 
 so weary. It all seems such a tangle. If only they would 
 speak. If I knew what Strong knew and the Brumbys, 
 and if only dear Obadiah would tell me all. I feel that there 
 is some greater thing than has already been told. Surely 
 there was, else why, after that awful night, the madness — 
 oh, Hope ! I wonder if I shall be strong enough to see this 
 thing through." 
 
 Suddenly her lips began to tremble and great tears welled 
 over her cheeks and her little hands folded pitifully upon 
 her breast, plucking at her throat's frill. Then it was that 
 I realized that I was not alone in suffering, and that hers 
 was even so great as mine, and the selfishness of my actions 
 came over me. I fled to her side and gathered her to my 
 breast, kissed her cheek and begged her to forgive me. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 287 
 
 " There, there," I said. " See ! I am smiling a sunshine 
 smile. I forgot, just for a little; I forgot that I said we 
 would face this together. Look at me." 
 
 I pressed her closer and kissed her white brow, then look- 
 ing deep into her steel-blue eyes and saying: 
 
 " I shall help you. I shall wait, though it is yet longer, 
 longer than all my waiting. Will you tell me when the wait- 
 ing is over? I shall not ask you again, but wait until 
 your lips tell me. I shall not hate him until you tell me to, 
 because, because you love him and because — " I choked with 
 tears — " he is like Stephen." 
 
 She reached her hands to my cheeks and pressed my face 
 between them, kissed me full upon the lips and her eyes 
 spoke to my very soul. She then turned and called to 
 Hooks, bidding him bring the hot brew and I knew that 
 Obadiah Willoughby would soon return. 
 
 " I shall go," I said. " I cannot look upon him — ^yet." 
 
 I then went to the chintz room above and waited until it 
 was growing dark and no one came. Even the evening's 
 sup was late and Potts did not bid me. So, when the last 
 of day had come, I slowly made my way down to the 
 dining hall. It was quite empty. In the great hearth had 
 been kindled a log which had burned itself in two and fallen 
 down tipsily, one end tilting up to the chimney's place and the 
 other lopping ofif the firedog, smoking blue and white puffs. 
 Embers had belched well across the hearth stones. I walked 
 toward it and watched the shadows weave a tapestry for 
 my feet. No sound disturbed the silence, save the wicked 
 little snaps that the embers made. 
 
 I stood beside the great stones that reached to the ceil. 
 The light from the fire scarcely lit the shadows beside the 
 hearth, but sent forth a wavering brightness in an irregular 
 pattern over the center of the room. I was thinking of 
 the inn and my shadow journeys and found myself mark- 
 ing off a castle with one toe upon the hearth's ash. I 
 stopped short, arrested by the sound of a rasping voice 
 speaking hoarsely, as though not to be heard save by the 
 one addressed. I did not turn. The voice sounded again. 
 
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288 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Miss Willieby ! " I was afraid, yet I wondered what this 
 meant. He seemed to expect her to know him. 
 
 " Yes ? " I answered, without turning. 
 
 " 'E needn't for to go. 'E's dead, is Strong." 
 
 I thought my heart would leap from my bosom. 
 
 " What ? " my lips said, and I turned, not intending to, 
 to find myself alone and see the doorway swinging. 
 
 I was wild with what I had heard. Then they might 
 not persecute him longer. I fled through the dim light to 
 the upper halls and found the door to Miss Willoughby's 
 chamber. I knocked and the door was immediately opened 
 by Miss Willoughby, who held a candle branch. Her eyes 
 were swollen and I saw that she had been weeping sorely. 
 I could scarcely speak. 
 
 " Oh," I said, " oh, he is dead ! " 
 
 There was a shriek. 
 
 " No ! " I shrieked louder. " Strong, Strong is dead ! " 
 
 Miss Willoughby steadied herself by clutching the door, 
 which had swung from her hand. 
 
 " What ? " she said. Then her lips parted and she went 
 off into peal after peal of laughter. 
 
 I stood staring, knowing what had happened. She was 
 overcome, poor dear, and I took the candle branch from 
 her hand and lay my arm about her. She stopped and 
 looked at me steadily. 
 
 "Are you sure?" she said. 
 
 " He told me so. He called me ' Miss Willieby.' It was a 
 grufif voice." 
 
 She stood silent before me. Then reached forth her hand 
 and took my arm in her grasp. 
 
 " Part of the waiting is over, Hope," she said. " I shall 
 tell you all when I may prove all. Hope, until now we 
 Willoughbys have lived by the law of our kith. Look," she 
 said, and displayed, hanging from her neck upon a silken 
 cord, a shield, small and with an emblem, two clasped 
 hands and over them the one word, "Truth." Beneath 
 them a broken sword. I looked at it and somehow, I know 
 not why, but my head raised and I felt the blood leap at my 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 289 
 
 heart. I held forth my hand and she laid hers within it. 
 We understood. 
 
 After this I had gone below and found Potts, had eaten 
 some cold meat and black bread, then returned to my little 
 couch in the chintz room, bearing a candle that Potts had 
 given me. I recall that night only as a dream and the 
 dream only as two clasped hands with the word. Truth, 
 above them and the broken sword beneath. 
 
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CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 Morning came at last, after I had waked even before 
 the daylight had come and lain long. I wondered if we 
 would go now to the village, since the promised visit to 
 Strong's would be useless. Then, like two puppets, came 
 to my mind the Brumby bulk and the Brumby wreckage. 
 No fear was mine at the thought of the bulk. One need not 
 fear a man whose wit and wisdom are his undergarments, 
 but give a fool wits and a sling of wisdom and beware lest 
 he fell the milk cow! Even while this passed through my 
 fancy I saw the wreckage plucking his chin whiskers, and 
 then fear knocked at my door. When the light had come I 
 arose and had just walked to the shutter and turned it when 
 Potts knocked. 
 
 " Yes," I called. " Come." And the door opened to 
 show me Potts, whose face showed more silence than ever. 
 
 " Mornin'," she dropped. 
 
 " Good morning. Potts," I said, and the spirit of joy 
 which could not die within me tried its little wings. " It is 
 a good morning," I added. 
 
 She did not answer, but walked to the clothes press and 
 began bringing forth clean linen. 
 
 "Isn't it?" I asked. 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 "Isn't it?" 
 
 More silence. 
 
 " Good mornin', Miss," I said ; " yes, it is." 
 
 I jumped across the floor in lively steps upon my bare 
 toes and twirled about, laughing. Potts slowly arose. Her 
 arms were full of garments. She stood, stared, then 
 dropped them all and ejaculated one word: " Mad! " 
 
 " No," I said, " Potts, not mad, just glad." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 291 
 
 " Ump ! " said Potts and with a look of disgust added, as 
 though she fully understood, " Mad ! " 
 
 "Is Miss Willoughby arisen?" I asked. 
 
 Potts nodded. 
 
 "And Mr. Willoughby, the gentleman?" I said. 
 
 Potts knelt down and went about the sorting of linen 
 without so much as letting me know she had heard. I 
 watched her carefully folding and packing and lifting and 
 sorting for some time, then that spirit of joy fluttered up 
 and flew out. 
 
 " Potts," I said, " Mr. Strong is dead." 
 
 There was a sudden sound and Potts had sat down ever 
 so hard. Then I began to laugh and I laughed so very 
 hard that I ached and Potts — oh, will you enjoy it as I did — 
 turned about upon her round haunch and laughed, too. I 
 sprang to my feet and gasped. 
 
 "Mad, Potts?" 
 
 She shook her head " no " and sputtered, amid a laugh, 
 "Glad!" 
 
 Then she stopped suddenly ; her face closed up like a pair 
 of shutters and sealed out everything. She returned to her 
 sorting and did not even so much as stop one moment until 
 all was tidied. Then she arose and without looking at me 
 went out. I was consumed with joy, for I knew that way 
 down deep within that round bulk was a laugh, and some- 
 thing else, for where there is a good laugh there is a heart. 
 I robed slowly, for the open shutter was such a comrade. 
 Without, oh, there was nothing but happiness ! The sky was 
 truth, the fields and woods, clasped hands, and the stones, 
 broken blades, and I said aloud : " Sally Trueblood, I know 
 you are there." I blew a kiss through the open shutters and 
 stood with both my arms out — and perhaps you would think 
 they were empty, but they were not! 
 
 I saw that happiness was free and the only coin to buy it 
 was a hungry heart. There was a brisk breeze swaying the 
 wood's flank and I saw the ivy was trembling, but the day. 
 and what it would bring, came back to me, and I turned 
 from the shutters and laid my hand again in the hand of 
 
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 Fear. When I was finished and ready to go below I went to 
 the shutter, just to blow another kiss to happiness, then 
 followed Fear down to the great hall below, to play at 
 blind-buff with my fate. I met Miss Willoughby coming 
 from the feasting hall. She was already clothed for a 
 journey and greeted me with the words: 
 
 " Make you ready." 
 
 " But I must sup," I said. 
 
 " Yes," she answered and pointed to the great table 
 where already the steam arose from my sup. 
 
 "Am I to go?" I said. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 "But he?" 
 
 " Has ridden on," she answered. 
 
 "Then I go with you?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Wh No," I hurried on, " I shall not ask." 
 
 I went to the great table and hurriedly took of the brew 
 and bread and a little fruit, which was unusual. Hooks 
 stood beside me and watched my every move. I was un- 
 comfortable, just as I had been those many years ago. 
 When I had finished he bowed stiffly and took from the 
 table the bowl and crumbs. I knew that Miss Willoughby 
 had had the liquored apple made ready for me and I ate it, 
 knowing this was her thoughtfulness. 
 
 I hastened then to the hall and found Miss Willoughby 
 waiting. The great door was open and through it, a little 
 way down, I saw a chaise, or coach, for it was closed, 
 awaiting us. She had brought a cape and hood for me 
 which I put about me without question. My hands seemed 
 to move and I was doing the things that fell for me to do 
 without thought of what its finish would bring. When I 
 awoke from my dreaming we were upon the way. I was 
 rocking about in the coach, watching the road's flank slip 
 by. Miss Willoughby touched me and said: 
 
 " We go to the official abode of Messrs. Brumby & 
 Brumby." 
 
 My eyes questioned though my lips did not. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 293 
 
 " No, he has gone to the Vicar's." 
 
 I sat staring out the coach window. My heart was pound- 
 ing wildly. I was almost at the point of swallowing my 
 tongue to keep from speaking when I know Miss Wil- 
 loughby saw my efforts and smilingly answered my un- 
 asked question. 
 
 " No, Hope, I do not think this is the end of the waiting 
 yet." 
 
 I sighed and I think my hands beat one upon the other. 
 I recall that I drew the cape closer about me and sank 
 back into the deep-cushioned seat. Then it was that I won- 
 dered who had brought me to the manor when I had passed 
 my season's visit in the turret and lived each day with the 
 little lady. Miss Patricia had taken me there, but who 
 had told Miss Patricia that I was wanted ? Then I recalled 
 the visit of Stephen Willoughby, that night before my going, 
 and somehow I connected his visit with the one I had made 
 to the manor. I did not speak of this at this time, thinking 
 that I would wait and some day Miss Willoughby would 
 tell me ; for I knew that she knew all this by the fact that 
 I had seen her at that time. 
 
 It was a long drive. The nag that had been the best of 
 the pair gave way in the knees and went lame, which made 
 it longer. We met few upon the way and those we did 
 meet stared round-eyed and watched the coach as far as 
 their eyes could follow. At last the time grew quite late, 
 almost dark. Our nag was now scarcely able to walk and 
 the driver seemed loth to make the remainder of the road. 
 However, by coaxing with the promise of coin, he did 
 finally agree, at the sacrifice of his horse flesh and with 
 many sighs, to make it on. When we reached the outskirts 
 of the village the lights were being lit. They showed here 
 and there among the shadows in the silvering eve. Scent of 
 fresh stews and brews came trailing over the field's ways, 
 telling they were making their evening sups. I was quite 
 hungry. I wondered where we would first go. Miss Wil- 
 loughby stopped my wondering by bidding the driver to 
 make the inn. 
 
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294 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " First, Hope, for sup," she said. 
 
 A queer, cold feeling came over me and something crept 
 up to my throat and almost stifled me. Thoughts swept 
 through my fevered brain wildly. The inn! I should go 
 with Miss Willoughby to the inn! How strange! How 
 very strange! In my fancy I saw my forlorn self show- 
 ing Sally Trueblood how Miss Willoughby's gown had 
 clung and how her feet arched like the nag's back. As 
 we drove through the last shrubbed roadway that led past 
 the chapel a sweet feeling came to me. I leaned out and 
 peered through the veil of young evening to the chapel 
 yard. The stones gleamed, and such a beautiful silence 
 seemed to hover over the spot. I smiled and my lips 
 called : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, are you there ? " And I heard a late 
 songster : 
 
 "Are you playing? Are you playing?" 
 
 I think I sobbed. Then, I think, I laughed. I drew 
 back once more, not caring to look upon the old familiar 
 scenes. Then we stopped. I saw that the great inn's 
 lamp was lighted. I saw the shadows swing and heard the 
 creaking as the wind cradled it. Then I heard the clat- 
 tering of Peter Goff's shoes. I saw his bent form come 
 out the great dark cavern of the inn's door, and saw his 
 face as the light fell upon it, and he wore his come-open- 
 personally smile. He bowed and bobbed about, then called 
 in a cracked quaver for a lad to hold the horses. The lame 
 nag had sagged sadly at one hip and hung its head. I heard 
 the trappings rattle and the horses moan long breaths as 
 if they were quite spent. I pulled the hood well over my 
 face, and I am afraid that my back arched and that my 
 head lifted high to think of being quality to Peter Goff. I 
 know that I drew my skirts away lest he might touch them, 
 and even though my face was hid in the hood's shadow I 
 was sure that my mien was haughty. 
 
 Miss Willoughby waited that I might help her, and I 
 turned with elaborate grace and offered her my hand, brush- 
 ing aside Peter Goff, who would have done the service. We 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 295 
 
 two, Miss Geneva Willoughby and myself, again at the 
 inn! This was singing like a little persistent song in my 
 inner being. I did not lift my eyes, when I had helped her 
 out of the chaise, to the little window above. I was afraid, 
 for I knew that my fancy would die. So I walked, still 
 haughtily, beside Miss Willoughby into the inn, Peter Goff 
 following, rubbing his hands and inquiring : 
 
 "Port? Port, Miss?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Miss Willoughby. " Port and a sup." 
 
 Peter Goff went shuffling away mumbling. I sat down 
 in a chair with a skin spread over it. I seemed to be dream- 
 ing. I could not fully realize that I was really in the old 
 inn. I heard Peter Goff return with mugs. They clat- 
 tered. Then I smelled port, and all of this I listened to 
 and did not look upon because I was fascinated by the fire, 
 my old, old friend. Miss Willoughby touched me. I arose 
 but did not look at her. 
 
 " Hope," she said. " I know what you are thinking." 
 
 We walked then to the hearth's side and sat in one hearth 
 seat, looking into the fire. Her arm was about me. I 
 slipped my hand into hers and I said: 
 
 " Dogs is dogs." 
 
 She smiled and neither of us spoke again until we were 
 bidden by Peter Goff to sit, and we then arose and went 
 to the oaken slab which was the table, whereon was spread 
 some bright pewter, earthen mugs and a bottle of port. 
 There was cold round and black bread, damp and smelly. 
 I thought of Delicia Prue and her pots and, oh, I did so 
 wish I might go out and beg for the goose's grister! We 
 sat. Miss Willoughby and myself, and she poured the port. 
 Think of it! Port in Peter Goff's inn! I could scarcely 
 sup it for laughter, for I knew Peter Goff would rather 
 have thrown it away than to waste it on such as me. I do 
 not think that I ever ate in my whole life with such relish. 
 I remember that my little finger curled daintily and that 
 I took tiny morsels and broke my bread with great elegance. 
 I fancy that even my voice betrayed my exalted position. 
 But all of this came to an end by such a small thing. Some 
 
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296 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 one passed the great doorway and coughed. I started up 
 and clutched my bosom. Then all my happiness fled and I 
 fell forward, my head upon the slab, weeping. 
 
 Miss Willoughby arose and came to my side, laid her hand 
 upon me and said softly: 
 
 " I should have known, Hope. Forgive me. But I, too, 
 wished to turn back on the path of memory. Come, my 
 dear," she said and we went to the hearth. 
 
 Peter Gofif then came and we had words with him as to 
 sleeping quarters. I knew there was a guest's wing which 
 lay behind the inn. It was arranged and Miss Willoughby 
 coined Peter. Then it was that we asked the aid of some 
 lad that might take us to the official abode of the Brumbys. 
 Peter Goff had called the same lad who had held the horses 
 and they had brought forth a lantern. Then I recall that we 
 went upon the way, I holding the arm of Miss Geneva Wil- 
 loughby. I recall our grotesque shadows as we followed 
 the lantern's light through the streets. I did not look. I 
 did not wish to see. 
 
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CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Finally the journey came to an end just below the shop 
 of Ole Dodson where a queer Httle house stood. It was 
 heavy at the roof and lopped over. The shutters were 
 weather-beaten and hung apart. The steps led to the scarred 
 door that bore in newly painted letters the words, Brumby 
 & Brumby. This showed in the lantern's light as we hunted 
 for a knocker which was not there. 
 
 I recall the weather stains upon the door and the motes 
 that floated in the lantern's light. I heard a sound within 
 the walls and the piping voice of the wreckage. Then the 
 guttural tone of the bulk. The lad who had brought us up 
 to the spot knocked and the piping voice raised higher. The 
 door was opened and I saw the lighted room. I say lighted, 
 but it was a weasened light, a taper in a bowl of oil. The 
 wreckage bent itself up until it might peer out of the narrow 
 crack which it had opened. Miss Willoughby stepped into 
 the light and with a cold tone said: 
 
 "Mr. Brumby, Miss Willoughby." 
 
 The wreckage was immediately animated and bowed pro- 
 fusely. I imagined I heard his hinges creak. Then there 
 showed a wider crack and the form of the bulk toward 
 the wall where a shadow like some ominous cloud showed. 
 Miss Willoughby waited that the wreckage bid her in. I 
 stood looking upon the scene with the spirit of mirth well- 
 ing up. I simply could not look upon the ill-assorted pair 
 without laughing, either openly or under cover. 
 
 " We are honored. Miss Willoughby. I may say my 
 honorable companion and myself are indeed honored, my 
 dear Miss. If you would be so kind as to enter our miser- 
 able abode. I dare say," he went on, " I dare say, my dear 
 Miss, you understand our crushed spirits at the loss of so 
 Tvorthy a gentleman as Strong, of Strong & Strong." 
 
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298 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Crushed," moaned the bulk. 
 
 " Crushed," piped the wreckage like an evil echo. 
 
 Miss Willoughby stepped up the fallen stairs to the door- 
 way and entered. I followed her, tarrying only to bid the 
 lad to wait with the lantern. We found ourselves in a small 
 room fitted for use in an official capacity. I say fitted, but 
 this is rather elaborate. A tall writing desk of some rough 
 wood, old and age-pitted, upon tall thin legs, with a spidery 
 stool with a cushioned seat that reminded one of the spider's 
 belly. I think I smiled just a little when I looked upon the 
 stool, for I tried to picture the bulk poised upon it. The 
 taper sent the swimming light over the few furnishings, 
 a great chair whose seat was bulged out and had been re- 
 placed by a wooden strip or two, a small hearth, much 
 smudged, and a chair beside it that creaked without sitting 
 upon it. Miss Willoughby stood in the center of the place, 
 seeming to wait that they bid her be seated. The wreckage 
 brought forth the great chair and offered it. 
 
 " Will you honor us, Miss ? " rubbing his hands that in 
 the pale light looked like dead things. 
 
 Miss Willoughby seated herself. The bulk went to the 
 great desk and tiptoed to reach a quill, which he carefully 
 fitted behind his ear. Then he met, or tried to meet, his 
 small hands behind his back and spit upon the floor. Then, 
 when he had stood for some minutes, squinting in the 
 shadowy light at Miss Willoughby, he grunted and clutched 
 the stool. My jaw hung open when he finally poised him- 
 self upon it and brought out some long sheets of parch- 
 ment, preparatory to write, I knew. Miss Willoughby 
 seemed to be watching these two and, I thought, measuring 
 in her own mind their movements against what she knew 
 of them. 
 
 " Mr. Strong," she began, " I am told is dead." 
 
 Brumby shot a shifty glance at Brumby. Miss Wil- 
 loughby repeated: 
 
 " I believe I have spoken the truth, gentlemen ? " 
 
 The wreckage plucked at his whiskers and nodded woe- 
 fully. The bulk grunted. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 299 
 
 " Since," went on Miss Willoughby, " since the appoint- 
 ment I made was with Mr. Strong, then, gentlemen, I be- 
 lieve you have no more in common with myself or my 
 brother." 
 
 Brumby shot shifty glance number two to Brumby. I 
 was standing beside the hearth, watching. I saw the wreck- 
 age cast a glance at the bulk perched upon the stool, and 
 that the glance spoke something I knew by the nod the 
 bulk replied with. 
 
 " I take it, then," went on Miss Willoughby, " that our 
 connection is at an end, gentlemen, and I shall require you 
 to draw up a form stating the fact which you both shall 
 sign." 
 
 The wreckage licked its lips and rubbed its hands and in 
 an oily tone remarked: 
 
 "You jest. Miss. Do you hear. Brumby, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 Brumby did not answer but picked his teeth with a quill, 
 carefully surveying the bits plucked out by leaning toward 
 the light and scrutinizing. Miss Willoughby turned her 
 steel-blue eyes, steadily staring at the wreckage. 
 
 " I repeat," she said very deliberately, " I shall require 
 you to draw up a form which you both shall sign stating that 
 the matter is at an end."' 
 
 The wreckage came toward her, humping its great height 
 and smilingly displaying its long narrow teeth. 
 
 " It grieves me to state, Miss Willoughby, that as a 
 chronicler of the law — I repeat, Miss, as a chronicler of the 
 law, my duty lies in the furtherance of justice." 
 
 Miss Willoughby looked steadily into his fishy eyes. 
 
 " I may say my duty points, our duty points, but one 
 course, unfortunate as it is. It grieves me, Miss, at such a 
 time of sorrow that you should seek my worthy companion, 
 Brumby, and myself with temptation — temptation, I repeat, 
 knowing our lowly station. You would seek to have us 
 withhold certain facts, concerning your brother, from the 
 law — the law, my dear Miss, which is our bread, our hearts, 
 Miss, yes, and I may add our bedfellow." 
 
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300 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Here the bulk frantically bit its nails, spitting small bits 
 audibly. The wreckage raised its eyes at the bulk and in 
 a mournful voice said: 
 
 " Do you hear this, Brumby ? Do you hear this ? Miss 
 Willoughby has asked us to withhold facts, facts which be- 
 long to the law — to the law, I repeat, just as a bone belongs 
 to a dog. No, no," said he, folding his height almost 
 double, then standing once more upright and slipping his 
 hand into his bosom. " No, I repeat, no, under no circum- 
 stance." 
 
 Miss Willoughby stood. 
 
 " Sir," she said, " sirs, I still make my demand. Strong 
 is dead. The agreement entered into by my brother was 
 with Mr. Strong. Mr. Strong has brought you into the 
 case merely as tools. Do you for one instant think I do not 
 know this ? " 
 
 Here the wreckage brought its long deathlike hand out 
 from its bosom and carefully opened a kerchief with a 
 stain upon it. 
 
 " This," said he, " this. Miss Willoughby, along with cer- 
 tain unfortunate facts, are in the possession of my co- 
 worker yon and myself. These may not be discounted by 
 you. I repeat, our duty points but one course." 
 
 Miss Willoughby, still standing, looked coldly into the 
 glittering fishy eyes that seemed filled of evil. 
 
 " Sir," she said, " I too possess certain facts — we will say 
 of bribe." 
 
 The wreckage screeched in his piping voice : 
 
 " Bribe ! bribe ! bribe ! Do you hear. Brumby, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 Brumby slid suddenly from off his perch and waddled to 
 the side of the wreckage. He drew him down and whis- 
 pered something. The wreckage then made his way to the 
 hearth and took up from off the hearth's shelf a candle 
 which he lighted from the taper and placed upon the desk 
 beside the script and quill. The bulk brought forth a blade 
 and took from one of the drawers on the side of the desk a 
 new quill which he began to fit up. The wreckage watched 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 301 
 
 the movements of the bulk as though he enjoyed them, 
 sucking his teeth, and thinking, I knew. Miss Willoughby 
 again spoke. 
 
 " You have heard me, gentlemen. I shall not repeat, but 
 I demand ! " 
 
 " Ahem ! " the wreckage. 
 
 "Um-m!" the bulk. 
 
 " Not so hasty," the wreckage went on, " not so hasty. 
 Miss. Let me venture you had best weigh well." 
 
 Miss Willoughby did not speak, but pointed to the parch- 
 ment that lay yellow in the light and the quill which the 
 bulk had laid beside it. 
 
 The bulk sidled toward the desk, laying his pudgy hands 
 upon the tall stool and seeming to wait for the wreckage to 
 speak. I watched from my shadow this evil two. I knew 
 that could we undo them then the path would be near clear. 
 The wreckage flourished the kerchief before the eyes of 
 Miss Willoughby and said: 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss, you will deny that this is the property of 
 your brother, Mr. Obadiah Willoughby, that arch fiend. 
 Think of it, my dear Brumby, a brother who would slay a 
 brother's child, and worse, worse, worse," he piped, "his 
 own father ! " 
 
 Miss Willoughby stood very straight and her glance was 
 steady, although I knew her poor heart was all but 
 bursting. 
 
 "We shall not speak of all this," she said. "Mr. 
 Brumby, I again repeat my demand. If you, and you," she, 
 added, looking at the bulk, " refuse, the fact that I possess 
 shall be given over, and more, I shall have you within the 
 hands of the law for your outrageous connection with this 
 affair. Before I leave this roof you shall write. You have 
 taken bribe. You are paid and I demand my return." 
 
 Brumby looked to Brumby and the wreckage let its death 
 hands pluck up and down over its waistcoat. Then I heard 
 a wicked laugh, a sort of crow's chuckle. 
 
 "But," spoke the wreckage, "but. Miss," drawing the 
 words as though he would wound her and the words were a 
 
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302 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 long keen knife. " But a fact must be proven, proven ; 
 Brumby, you attest it." 
 
 " Proven," said the bulk. " Ahem ! proven." 
 
 " This is quite true," she answered, " and I shall require 
 you to prove every fact you claim to possess this night and 
 now." 
 
 " But the bribe. Miss ! Why should we prove when you 
 have threatened? We require, we require proof of your 
 statement." 
 
 " Very well," said she and beckoned to me. " This lady 
 saw you, Mr. Brumby." 
 
 Brumby gasped. Brumby sputtered and gulped. They 
 stood looking one to the other. 
 
 " But," stammered the wreckage, " I saw No, there 
 
 was no person in the hall except your ungracious servant, 
 who has the countenance, — pardon me, Miss, — the counte- 
 nance of a rogue." 
 
 " The servant has nothing to do with the matter. I can 
 prove my statements now. I know that you spent the night 
 that young Stephen was murdered in a village distant from 
 here. This I can prove. Then how may you state facts? 
 More, that kerchief was a trap, and you and Strong fell 
 into it." 
 
 Brumby stood, staring at the sputtering candle and the 
 smoking wick, alternately licking its lips. The bulk edged 
 over to his side and whispered something. The wreckage 
 squinted up his fishy eyes and stood thinking for some 
 time. Then his manner changed. 
 
 " Of course, of course. Miss, you will understand 
 that my worthy co-worker. Brumby, and myself, are 
 merely interested in the meting of justice, but our lowly 
 station, sad to state. Miss, makes this practice hard, very 
 hard. For, ahem! I may say — to be frank — the law pays 
 less than the culprit." 
 
 Miss Willoughby started and her eyes flashed to mine. 
 I nodded. She pointed to the parchment once more and 
 said: 
 
 " Write 1 And beneath it your figures." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 303 
 
 The bulk swallowed, popped his eyes in and out. The 
 wreckage looked as though his mind was a chaos of num- 
 bers. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " you understand. Miss, in this 
 transaction you have purchased our sympathy, merely our 
 sympathy. Is it not true. Brumby ? " said the wreckage, 
 nudging the bulk in the flabby abdomen. The bulk wiped 
 imaginary tears from his poppy eyes with the backs of his 
 pudgy little hands. 
 
 " Indeed, Miss," he grunted. 
 
 " And," went on the wreckage, " we will make the proper 
 division upon the parchment, one-half to Brumby and the 
 other to Brumby. Of course you will understand. Miss, 
 that silence is precious and the price is nothing — ^that is to 
 say comparatively." 
 
 Miss Willoughby nodded and remarked : 
 
 " Gentlemen, let the law guide your fingers, since you 
 will in no way depart from the path of justice. Write." 
 
 I saw the bulk climb like a great heavy-bellied spider up 
 the stool, poise himself, puffing, move the candle over, lick 
 his quill, reach forth for the fluid and I heard the quill 
 squeaking. The wreckage, like a long, lean arm, bent 
 akimbo. I moved to the side of Miss Willoughby. 
 
 " Hope," she whispered, " read this carefully. These 
 foxes are beating about the truth and making a liar of lies." 
 
 " Yes, yes," I whispered. " Oh, do make it quick. I 
 shall scream aloud if I have to look upon them longer." 
 
 Miss Willoughby stood beside me and I saw her steel-blue 
 eyes look keenly to the Brumbys. The wreckage was lop- 
 ping over the desk and I could hear the squeaking of the 
 quill as the bulk set the writing upon the parchment. Even 
 in the pale light I could see that the wreckage was biting 
 his tongue. Miss Willoughby drew closer to me. 
 
 " Hope," she said, " look well upon the thing he shall 
 write, for I know within me they will undo us." 
 
 The Brumbys seemingly were busy at their task, but I 
 knew well they were listening to what we were mumbling. 
 Now and then the wreckage bit his nails and spit, or cleared 
 
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304 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 his throat, letting the clearing come forth as a sort of 
 moan. Finally, after what seemed to me an age, the bulk 
 revolved upon the spider-bellied stool and held in his hand 
 the parchment, which he scrutinized closely, tickling his 
 nose with the feather end of the quill. He pressed his 
 lips and smacked and leaned toward the wreckage, who 
 came excitedly to his side. They surveyed the writ care- 
 fully together. Then I saw the wreckage shake his head 
 mournfully from side to side. 
 
 "Never," he said, "never!" 
 
 The bulk opened its pop-eyes wide and stared inquiringly 
 to the wreckage. Then shrugged. 
 
 " My dear," said the wreckage. " My dear Brumby, a 
 path should be built well that one follow it in comfort. 
 This will not do." 
 
 Then they had a whispered conversation, much to my 
 amusement, for the bulk's whisper was hoarse and quite 
 audible and the wreckage piped in a high key that we might 
 not hear. Miss Willoughby, too, was amused and we drew 
 together nudging one the other. After a long time, and 
 after the bulk had made an elaborate change in the parch- 
 ment and finally turned once more toward us, the wreck- 
 age came forth oilyly, seeming to wave his long body in a 
 sort of shimmering movement, holding out for our inspec- 
 tion the parchment. It was brief, merely a few lines that 
 stated that the parties. Brumby & Brumby, heretofore 
 connected with the estate of Stephen Willoughby, had re- 
 ceived in full for their services the sum of — I shudder to 
 state this — two thousand pounds, the same that Mr. Strong 
 had pleaded for. I read it carefully and saw no flaw. I 
 passed it then to Miss Willoughby, who also read it and 
 looked to me. 
 
 " I think this is well enough." 
 
 " Yes," she said. " Gentlemen, I accept this. Sign ! " 
 
 Brumby bowed humbly before her, taking the parchment 
 very gingerly from her hand and going toward the bulk, 
 who seemed elated over something that we did not know. 
 I knew this by his eyes, and the fact that the wreckage 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 305 
 
 also seemed to be well pleased, caused a sudden thought to 
 come to me. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I said softly, " they did not mention 
 that they were to keep the facts, that they so well loved to 
 smack over, to themselves. Think you not that you should 
 speak of this ? " 
 
 She nodded and touched me that I should be silent. I 
 obeyed, and the squeaking quill told me that the bulk was 
 affixing his signature to the parchment. I looked, and 
 truly he was perched upon the tall stool, and the quill was 
 showing over his shoulder and the wreckage was watching 
 beside him. When he had finished the wreckage took his 
 place upon the tall-legged spider as though to ride, for his 
 legs hung long over the sides and his feet hooked over the 
 rungs that bound the sprawling legs together. I heard the 
 quill once more squeaking and I knew that the wreckage 
 had also affixed his signature. When he had finished he 
 calmly licked the fluid from the quill, then slowly raised 
 the sharpened point to his head and scratched just behind 
 the ear, finishing this graceful action by placing it carefully 
 behind his ear and shaking some powder over the face of the 
 parchment. This he blew from its surface and then 
 thumped the parchment with his forefinger, coming down 
 from the height as he did so by sliding from the puffed 
 cushion and unhooking his feet. I heard his piping voice 
 and listened. 
 
 " My dear Miss, it is finished. You have purchased the 
 sympathy of Brumby & Brumby, and think you. Miss, at 
 the small cost ! Is it not. Brumby ? " 
 
 Brumby moaned. I heard Miss Willoughby make a sound 
 that told me that she was vexed. It was a little sound in 
 her throat. Then her voice sounded and she addressed 
 Brumby. 
 
 " You have finished the signing of this. Now, sirs, draw 
 another parchment in which you state that you possess no 
 fact nor any knowledge of the death of Obadiah Willoughby 
 or Stephen Willoughby." 
 
 Brumby looked to Brumby and I saw that she had bested 
 
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3o6 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 them. They had believed that they had made the parchment 
 knave-fashion, but she had discovered them. I heard her 
 speak again. 
 
 " And this, gentlemen, this parchment, shall have no price 
 named. And furthermore you shall deliver, as part of the 
 goods purchased at the price of two thousand pounds, the 
 kerchief which is mine. If this thing is not done, then to- 
 morrow I shall have you within the hands of the law." 
 
 Brumby gasped. 
 
 " But, my dear lady, do you not realize that I am a 
 chronicler of the law ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " and as a chronicler you are the 
 wine-press that presses out sour wine for the unfortu- 
 nates. Tomorrow I shall give you a sup of this wine. Mr. 
 Brumby, and you, Mr. Brumby, you have reached the end. 
 Write!" 
 
 With little ado Brumby went to the side of Brumby. 
 They had a short conversation and once more the quill 
 recorded, the parchment was drawn up and duly signed and 
 Miss Willoughby had within her hands the freeing of our 
 paths of Brumby & Brumby. Still I felt way down within 
 me that these two oily ill-assorted beings were sinister and 
 like ominous clouds to our days. When they had delivered 
 the parchments into the hands of Miss Willoughby the 
 wreckage made itself most gracious, speaking of the weather 
 and the season, even inquiring after the health of Mr. 
 Obadiah Willoughby. All of this Miss Willoughby declined 
 to notice but made her ready to take our departure. I fol- 
 lowed her when she turned toward the door, and the wreck- 
 age followed us. When we had reached the spot he, with 
 his deathlike hands, slipped the bolt, then, with his corpse- 
 like smile, remarked : 
 
 " You have honored us. Miss, honored us, Miss — indeed, 
 yes." 
 
 Miss Willoughby turned and nodded them adieu. I fol- 
 lowed her. The lad who waited us with the lantern came to 
 us as we stepped from the official abode of Brumby & 
 Brumby. Miss Willoughby said to him to be on and we 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 307 
 
 followed. I turned as we walked down the path to look 
 back at the house where the Brumbys still stood in the 
 door, the wreckage like some long-legged insect, his arms 
 folded over his narrow chest, and the bulk beside him, 
 watching us on our way. Miss Willoughby was pressing my 
 arm and I knew was excited by the trembling of her hand 
 as it lay upon me. When we had gone some way I heard 
 behind us the tramp of feet. Swiftly and with long strides 
 they came upon us. I heard the piping voice of the wreck- 
 age calling, " Miss ! Miss ! " 
 
 Miss Willoughby stopped and I beside her. We were 
 now beside the shop of Ole Dodson. Through the darkness 
 the voice called and after some minutes the face of the 
 wreckage came within the halo of light the lantern shed. 
 
 " You will forgive me, Miss, but you have forgotten. 
 You have, of course, forgotten. It could be no other way. 
 The sum ! The sum ! " 
 
 He was rubbing his hands over and smiling wickedly. 
 
 " The sum, or the parchments. Miss." 
 
 " Sir," said Miss Willoughby, " neither ! Good evening." 
 
 Swiftly the wreckage unwound its great height and 
 sprung toward her. I was frightened and stood gaping. 
 There was a sound of other feet and I heard a man's voice 
 say, " Damn you ! " and in the light of the lantern I saw Mr. 
 Obadiah Willoughby raise his riding whip and strike Mr. 
 Brumby over his wicked face. He staggered and fell back, 
 but to regain his poise and hurl his bulk toward the form 
 of Mr. Willoughby, who with great strength cast him down 
 and delivered blows upon him.. Brumby did not rise but lay 
 sprawling in the shadow. Mr. Willoughby motioned us to 
 speed on and the lad ran before us with the lantern and we 
 followed to the inn. 
 
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CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Peter Goff was asleep beside the fire. I heard him snor- 
 ing as we approached. I smelled an herb brew and I knew 
 he had expected his quality guests back. We hastened in, 
 following the lad. 
 
 The great inn room was lighted dimly by one great 
 swinging cross branch of candles. They were dripping their 
 wax upon the floor. I could watch the dropping as I walked 
 across to the fire. Peter Goff awoke when our steps had 
 fallen upon the floor and came to meet us, smiling his smile 
 of welcome, and offered the benches beside the fire that we 
 should sit, which we did, and in but a short time he came 
 to us bearing two bowls of steaming brew which smelled of 
 liquor. We were both quite overcome with what we had 
 seen. Mr. Willoughby did not follow us though we sat 
 for some time. 
 
 " Miss Willoughby," I finally said, " do you think this is 
 the end of their cunning?" 
 
 She nodded and touched her breast where she had placed 
 the parchment. 
 
 " Yes," she said, following the nod. " I think it is fin- 
 ished." 
 
 " Shall we then return to the manor ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 " Then, Miss Willoughby, I shall go to the little house of 
 Miss Patricia's when the morning comes. Oh, say that I 
 shall. I so long to see and I must know certain things." 
 
 Miss Willoughby smiled sweetly, looking deep into 
 my eyes, then with her delicate fingers pinching my 
 cheeks. 
 
 " You may go, Hope, in the morning. You may go and 
 you shall learn all that has happened. I think our wait- 
 ing is coming to an end." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 309 
 
 Peter Goff was putting the fire to rest, covering it up 
 with a beautiful blanket of ash and making the logs spit 
 angrily little scarlet sparks as he poked them into submis- 
 sion. He did not know that beside his hearth sat little me 
 who had envied his dog. Somehow I took keen pleasure 
 in thinking of his ignorance and I leaned toward Miss Wil- 
 loughby, saying: 
 
 "Shall we wait?" 
 
 " No," she answered. " You shall go to your couch. I 
 shall await alone. I must speak with Obadiah." 
 
 " But are you not fearful ? " I asked, for I seemed to feel 
 that every shadow had some grinning face that would 
 pounce upon us. 
 
 " No," she answered and smiled a mysterious smile, pat- 
 ting me upon my shoulders and touching the locks that the 
 hood had misplaced. " Sleep, Hope, and forget. I say 
 this in full faith that it is now but a little while." 
 
 " Shall I dare go before them? " I asked, nodding toward 
 the outer wall. She smiled again and did not answer. 
 
 " Go," she said, after a time of gazing lovingly at me. 
 " Go, my dear, and dream a happy dream." 
 
 Peter Goff was now lighting a candle that stood in a 
 little iron cup with a hood over it. The candle branch that 
 hung in the ceil was dimming, as some of the candles were 
 quite gone and others were gasping for breath. I saw Peter 
 Goff's old face in the new candle light. The deep furrows, 
 the withered lips that sunk in, his deep-set eyes and shelving 
 brows, his wine-bitten nose and his palsied hand as he held 
 it before the light. I leaned toward him and let the light 
 fall upon my face. He looked up just in time to see me 
 laughing, and I never shall know why I said it, but I heard 
 my voice say, " Brats is brats, Peter Goff ! " 
 
 Peter squinted, worked his lips over his toothless gums, 
 raised his hand up to shelter his eyes, peered once more, 
 then grunted, " Ahm damned ! " Then his eyes shifted and 
 he turned toward Miss Willoughby bowing and bobbing and 
 mumbling : 
 
 " Pardon, Miss, pardon." 
 
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3IO HOPE TRUEBLODD 
 
 " Show the lady to her couch, Goif," said Miss Wil- 
 loughby. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, yes," he answered, turning and leading me 
 upon the way without again turning, though I heard a 
 mumbled " Ahm damned ! " as he went up the two stairs that 
 led to the sleeping wing. 
 
 I followed Peter Goff as he made his way to the stairs 
 that led to the sleeping-room wing, through the narrow hall- 
 way that was patched at either side with doors. Peter did 
 not turn but walked totteringly before me, holding the 
 candle aloft and now and then grumbling out, " Ahm 
 damned ! " When we had reached the end of the long hall, 
 he opened a chamber, out of which came forth a breath of 
 cold air as though silence had been shut within it and had 
 begun to shake with fear. Peter stood beside the doorway, 
 offering to my hand the candle. I took it from his gnarled 
 fingers and laughed up into his face. 
 
 " Peter Goff," I said, " dogs is dogs, but this is one time 
 that I sleep in the quality quarters." 
 
 Peter wagged his old head and cast a sour glance 
 to me, and I heard his gruff voice mutter and caught the 
 words, " When the downs is up there is a mighty fallin' 
 comin'." 
 
 I laughed after him. I don't know why I felt like laugh- 
 ing, but I did, and I shall not try to find an excuse in my 
 record. I turned into the chamber and brought the candle 
 up so that I might survey the place. The floor was quite 
 bare and white and had been sanded until it was sunken in 
 spots and squeaky when I stepped upon it. There was a 
 very thin old poster with two high upper posts that stood 
 up like the shoulders of some old maidens that I have seen, 
 and the legs, like too, were hidden almost by the flounce of 
 some flowery stuff. There was a press at the side of the 
 wall and a curved legged chair stood before it. There was 
 a bracket that stood like a little arm from the wall with 
 a hook upon it, and I found that the candle cup with the 
 hood possessed a hook that meant that it should be hung 
 upon the bracket. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 3" 
 
 I can recall now the queer feeling that was mine. I was 
 gay; my little spirit of joy was beating me from within; 
 but there was an aching down deep that threatened to send 
 me into tears at any moment. I remember that I hung the 
 candle upon the bracket, then stood in the center of the 
 room with my hands upon my hips. I turned my head to 
 one side and felt a feeling of exultation. At last I knew 
 what it meant to be above my tormentors. I was not con- 
 scious of any of the outside world. I was filled up of the 
 joy of this, my experience. I know now that this was youth, 
 for youth is such a sweet comrade and carries her gar- 
 lands ever ready to wind them over the wounds. I was let- 
 ting myself take in the joy when there came to me my old 
 friend, Memory, and he took my heart and wrung it, then 
 my hand, and led me. up to the attic. I sank down beside 
 the poster and hid my face in the flowered cloth and I said 
 aloud : 
 
 " Sally Trueblood, Sally Trueblood, is it wrong that my 
 heart just will be happy? " 
 
 Then I sat up and rubbed my eyes, and I knew that Sally 
 Trueblood would smile, so I smiled and began to disrobe. 
 'But while I was at the task there would creep upon me 
 the old attic and the table and the great armchair and the 
 tiny hearth and the too little window that had first shown 
 me the great sky. And while I was filled of hope and the 
 excitement of finding the end to my awful waiting that I 
 had borne since my birth, still these old memories were dear 
 though drear. Finally I was unrobed and I made ready to 
 sleep, turning back the coverlids. I went to the candle and 
 blew upon it. It snuffed and at this moment there sounded 
 a knock upon my door. I found my way to the door and 
 called : 
 
 " Who ? Who, please ? " I was answered by a thin, sour 
 voice which I recognized, and I shrieked : " Delicia Prue ! 
 Delicia Prue ! Oh, give me the grister ! " 
 
 I opened the door as fast as the darkness and my shaking 
 fingers would allow, and there stood Delicia Prue, more 
 weasened, and her nose quite hooked to her chin, holding 
 
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312 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 a mug of whey in one hand and a candle in the other. She 
 came toward me and I fell upon her, crying out: 
 
 " Oh, Delicia Prue, is it true, is it true that I am 
 again in the inn? In Peter Goff's inn and the dog is 
 gone ? " 
 
 Delicia Prue did not answer me, but came in, walked to 
 the press, set the candle upon it and offered me the mug 
 of whey. I took it and I said : 
 
 " Delicia, do you know that I know something that you 
 would love to know ? " 
 
 Delicia took up the end of her white apron and wiped her 
 eye's corner. 
 
 " Them's gone, them days," said she. 
 
 " What, Delicia Prue," I cried, " gone ? Oh, I know every 
 one of them and they're not even old." 
 
 Delicia Prue shook her head from side to side and said 
 in her quaver: 
 
 " Na, na, na. Them's gone, them is." 
 
 " But, Delicia," I went on, " Peter Goff " I got no 
 
 further. 
 
 " I tuk him, I did," she said, and shook her head mourn- 
 fully, wiping once more her watering eyes. 
 
 " You did not, Delicia Prue. No ! Now, did you ? " 
 
 " Yea, yea," she answered, " and a sorry takin' ! " 
 
 I think I laughed a little even at her misery, and I circled 
 her bent form with my arm and took her toward the poster. 
 The room was quite light by the candle and I could see that 
 the days had not dealt lightly with Delicia Prue. 
 
 " You took him," I said. 
 
 " Yea, yea, more fool me ! Him and his brews ! The 
 black witch dang him ! " 
 
 " But, Delicia, think of the inn ! " 
 
 " Na, na, na ! 'tis the pots and brewin's and the bellies at 
 seek, I tell 'e. 'E wadna gae ye e'en a grister. Think on 
 it— and I tuk him!" 
 
 "But think, Delicia," I cried, "think! You are the 
 inn's lady ! " 
 
 " And a devilish lady ! Wi' a chaise that be drawn by her 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 313 
 
 own pegs. Na, na, na, lassie, 'e's a fool and ine is bigger 
 nor him." 
 
 She begun to wipe her eyes anew. 
 
 " How did it happen, Delicia ? " I asked. " I never 
 thought it would be." 
 
 " Nor I," she breathed, " but ye see I ceased the cookin' 
 and he lost the tavemers. It's weddin' the pot he wert." 
 And she went off in sobs. 
 
 I caressed her little bent back, and it seemed all so strange 
 that Delicia should have the thing she so coveted and found 
 it so undesirable. Suddenly Delicia nudged me and looked 
 up, her little bright eyes glittering, and leaned toward me 
 to whisper: 
 
 " Ah been told, I ha'e, by a seller o' charms, that Ahm to 
 be widdered," and she stopped and smoothed her apron over 
 her knees, keeping her eyes down, then suddenly casting 
 them up to me. " And," she went on, " I ha'e bought me 
 blacks." 
 
 I gasped. I think then the faint hope of this little 
 bent creature at the freeing from a bad lot made me sorry. 
 I patted her and I said : 
 
 " Keep them. Keep them, Delicia, and keep them in the 
 dark lest they turn green." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " So I been told," she said, " and wi' a bit o' lavender. I 
 shall be goin' now. Do ye hear? It be Peter Goff this 
 minute, boltin' out the starshine and he'll sift the ash and 
 drain every mither mug that sits the table. He will. Miss, 
 he will," and she arose. " It be a wrong thing that I should 
 visit this upon 'e. Miss, quality as ye is. Peter's been tellin' 
 me, but for old sake's sake and for the sake o' lights and 
 innards, I ha'e come, and no' I go. Goo' night, Miss, goo' 
 night, and may the holy mither watch ye." 
 
 There was a clatter. Delicia all but fell forward. 
 
 " It's the milk ! I wage 'tis. He set it from the cat's 
 sniffin' and he's forgot, he has, and upset it all. Och, och, 
 och ! " And she left me, grasping up the candle and making 
 her way toward the inn's room. I watched her go and saw 
 
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314 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Peter Goff come toward her, and that she had a bit of bad 
 words with him I heard. Then I closed the door. 
 
 I stood beside the closed door, listening to the mumbled 
 sound of their voices, and I knew by the tone of Peter 
 GofiE's growl that he was angry. After a time it was silent 
 and I groped my way to the poster's side and was about to 
 lie down when a soft knock sounded once more. I again 
 groped my way through the darkness to the door and un- 
 bolted it to open it, when the candle streamed through the 
 crack and disclosed Delicia Prue, holding the candle and 
 peering info the dark. 
 
 " Pardon, Miss," she whispered, " but would ye mind 
 a-tellin' me, be ye a believer in charms ? " 
 
 I laughed and shook my head, no. 
 
 " I am afraid, Delicia Prue, that I do not. At least I 
 have never found any charm but a laugh or a smile that 
 foretold truthfully." 
 
 " But I ha'e the blacks," she whispered. 
 
 " Keep them, Delicia, keep them." 
 
 She shook her head up and down and turned, as though 
 satisfied, to make her way back to her quarters, never turn- 
 ing to say a night's blessing. 
 
 Once more I made my bolt secure and went to the poster's 
 side and lay down. I thought to sleep, but never was a night 
 so full of phantoms, and there was one that seemed too 
 close and that was one whom I have been loth to mention, 
 for the memory was too very sore — my love, my own lost 
 Stephen. I had thought it unmaidenly to show to those 
 about me what his going had meant to my lone heart. So 
 much had happened since the old inn days, so many 
 shadows had fallen in my life's field, that as I lay gazing 
 into the darkness I was almost frightened at the many 
 faces that my mind set, even as flashes, before me. In the 
 velvety darkness I saw Miss Patricia, and, weirdly, Mr. 
 Reuben and his mulling cup, and the Vicar Giffords one 
 by one marched by, and Miss Snifly. Then I fell to imagin- 
 ing what time had done with them. I wondered if their 
 faces bore the same traces that had lain so heavily upon 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 315 
 
 Delicia Prue's. Then all would disappear and I would re- 
 member Sally Trueblood, with the white face and the little 
 morning flush upon her white cheeks, and the thin scarlet 
 lips that curved so beautifully over her white teeth, and I 
 would see her little hands pleading, and I would almost 
 start up with the nearness. Then, then, — well, I met my old 
 friend. Sleep, and he took me upon another path, a dream- 
 less one, that ended with the first pale blue of morning 
 before the light had come and the things about one look like 
 shadows that crouch in sleep, awaiting the light to wake 
 them. 
 
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CHAPTER XXX 
 
 I RECALL that I lay at first wondering just where I was. 
 I think it was the old familiar scent of ale that made the 
 old inn again occur to me, and I knew where I was, and 
 lay listening. I heard a cock crow, dreamy far, and an- 
 other take it up, and I waited, for I knew another would 
 answer. Sure enough, after a time I heard a chorus of 
 cocks. Then they died down and the rattle of some chaise 
 made me listen closer, wondering who was out at this hour. 
 Now and then some traveler who trod the street's way 
 spoke a word of greeting, and one had the feeling of listen- 
 ing and enjoying the day's waking as a thing apart, and 
 wondering just what the hours would mean for one's self. 
 
 I don't know that any definite plan was mine. I do 
 recall that I trusted to Miss Willoughby. Something, a 
 nameless something, told me that I should. The light was 
 coming on and I sat up in the poster, casting back the cover- 
 lids and springing out upon the white floor. Making my 
 way to the shutters and throwing them a little way open I 
 saw the chaise was making ready for the daily post ride. 
 The lad was still sleep-stupid and the nags sneezy. I smiled 
 a little, wondering what those very nags would bring back 
 by post. No doubt joy to some and sorrow to others. I 
 turned and sat upon the leggy chair and began to draw on 
 my robes. When I was ready I opened the door into the 
 long narrow hallway and walked toward the inn's room. 
 I smelled a new-kindled fire and heard the snapping of the 
 wood as the flames bit it. 
 
 When I reached the two stairs that led from the hall to 
 the inn room I stood looking upon the scene that lay be- 
 fore me. The room was still dark at the ceil and at the 
 corners' ways, but the fire made a dancing light over the dull 
 place. Miss Willoughby was sitting before the fire, much 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 317 
 
 as I had seen her so many years gone. Her hand was held 
 before her face to shield her eyes. I saw the pink glow of 
 her fingers as the light illumined them and I saw how worn, 
 and anxious she appeared. Peter Goflf was shining mugs 
 and the stale scent of liquor sickened one. I had upon my 
 arm the cape that Miss Willoughby had given me for this 
 journey, and I stepped down into the inn room and went 
 toward the fire. She started up and I went to her, embrac- 
 ing her, laying my cheek to hers and whispering: 
 
 " This is a good day, Miss Willoughby. My heart has 
 told me so." 
 
 She smiled and motioned that I should sit upon the fire- 
 bench that stood beside the hearth. I seated myself and 
 waited her word, for I realized that her mood was one I 
 might not intrude upon. Upon the table slab lay a parch- 
 ment that I knew was the one signed by Brumby & Brumby, 
 and I pointed toward it, raising my eyebrows. 
 
 " Safe," she answered, " safe, Hope." 
 
 " Shall I go as I asked that I might, to Miss Patricia's ? '* 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " when we have supped." 
 
 Peter came forward now with some steaming bowls and 
 flaky scones. 
 
 Pent within me was a desire to go through the day and 
 tear down all the waiting, making myself possessor of the 
 end of the thing. I looked at Peter Goff, as he laid the 
 plate upon the table, and I sniffed the brew. I sat down in 
 a little while and awaited Miss Willoughby. She arose and 
 joined me. We ate in silence, she keeping her eyes upon 
 the plate and I watching the fire. There was one thing that 
 I intended to do. This was to get the little box that Sally 
 Trueblood had made for me. It was at Miss Patricia's, 
 I knew, had it not been touched, just beneath the woolens 
 in the press with a reflector above it, in my own little 
 room which had been the guest room. I did not speak 
 of this to Miss Willoughby. She, after a time, remarked : 
 
 " You shall go when you like, Hope." 
 
 "Do I dare?" I asked. 
 
 " With the cape, I think so," she answered. 
 
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3i8 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I understood. I was not to go before the village freely, 
 but to keep to myself. I felt the lash again. I wanted to 
 ask where Mr. Willoughby had gone, or was he in the vil- 
 lage yet, but I did not. No, I ate the last scone and 
 relished it, for youth was mine. I would go to Dawson, 
 I resolved, but first I would go to the little house, just 
 to be alone with it even though I did not enter. We finished 
 our sup, Miss Willoughby and little me; for I felt again 
 my little self. Then she nodded. I caught up the cape and 
 threw it about me. 
 
 "When shall I return?" I asked. 
 
 " When you like," she answered. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Willoughby, I am afraid, afraid of what I 
 shall find ! Oh, do you think this is a good day ? " 
 
 " Yes," she nodded. 
 
 Then I knelt at her side. 
 
 " Kiss me, my dear, dear Miss Willoughby." 
 
 She did, upon the lips, then upon the brow, and her hand 
 lingered at my neck. Then I turned. Peter Goff was ab- 
 sorbed in hooking a pot to a hanger and noticed us little. I 
 went to the door and opened it. It was one of those 
 sparkling mornings that just won't keep still. The shadows 
 dance and the dew blazes and dances and the birds are 
 busy and the fowls scratching, and even the village dogs trot 
 like they too were on some busy errand. I hastened 
 through the little narrow street, never turning nor looking 
 up to see those that I passed. I recall that I turned down 
 our way with a beating heart. Then I looked, and from out 
 our chimney curled a little lazy smoke ! I started and won- 
 der overcame me. Then I saw that the little gate hung 
 primly, the hedge was trimmed and the little window shut- 
 ters stood open. In one of them flamed a scarlet bloom and 
 vines hung o'er the sill. I was afraid to enter, but my 
 feet bore me on, for my heart was hungry. 
 
 I walked down the little path, after closing the prim gate 
 that looked like Miss Patricia's apron. The door was a 
 little open and I stepped into the hallway. All was quiet 
 except for a bird that hopped in the wicker. There was a 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 319 
 
 kettle hung in its accustomed place, sending up its steam 
 climbing the chimney pit. There was the black woolen 
 cover upon the table with the yellow fruit turned toward 
 the door. I wondered if I was dreaming. Upon the hearth's 
 seat stood Mr. Reuben's mulling cup. I heard a sweet 
 voice humming in some inner room. Then I forgot all save 
 that this was home. My home ! Miss Patricia's home, and 
 Mr. Reuben's — our home! 
 
 I walked to the what-all, and there in its accustomed 
 place sat the little china dog, staring with his paint eyes up 
 to me. 
 
 " You ! " I said, touching his little china body. " You ! 
 Oh, you little china dog, are you not glad that you are china ? 
 Oh, what memories did you bring my love? Tell me, tell 
 me! Did my hand shake when she gave you to me that 
 night when I feared to tell Dawson that she was going? 
 Oh, did you know? Did you know that you were always 
 and always to carry such a pack of memories? I think I 
 had rather be you than me, for you have made somebody 
 happy and I have always made them sad." 
 
 Then a step sounded and I turned to see — Mrs. Gifford. 
 I was startled into an exclamation. I saw her face go very 
 white and she tried to speak. Then her hands flew out and 
 she dropped them, stumbling over to where I stood. She 
 held her arms open. I went straight into them and she 
 stood clasping me. Then I heard her trying to whisper 
 and caught the words : 
 
 " I have learned, I have learned, Hope, to say : ' Sufifer 
 little children.' " 
 
 " Don't," I whispered. " Don't, oh, don't ! I cannot bear 
 it!" 
 
 " No," she answered me, still clasping me to her. " I 
 have learned. Do you know how ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered her, " I do. I, too, learned, Mrs. 
 GifFord." 
 
 " Wait," she said. " Do you know how ? Well, my dear, 
 from Sally Trueblood, through you. I did not see," she 
 added as she led me toward a chair, " I did not see it written 
 
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320 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 in your eyes that morning, but I know that she sent you 
 out into the village with Christ's own words in your eyes." 
 
 I was weeping and she too. Then she spread her hands 
 out and said: 
 
 " I have waited for you. I knew you would come. They 
 told us of your illness." 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford," I said, " I am yet waiting, playing that 
 game I told you of, those years gone by. It has been 
 hard." 
 
 " Yes, and lone," she added. 
 
 " It has been sweet. Miss Willoughby," I turned toward 
 her, " tells me it is near an end, but do you know I love 
 the waiting. I have come to feast my heart. I cannot live 
 in the manor. Oh, this is home ! " 
 
 "" It is yours," interrupted Mrs. Gifford. " Miss Patricia 
 told the Vicar." 
 
 Mine! Mine! Miss Patricia's little shrine! The little 
 box that she kept her heart's treasure in ! 
 
 I bent over and hugged the table, then kissed the yellow 
 fruit. Then I said to Mrs. Gifford: 
 
 " Here I shall stay. It is my haven. It always shall be. 
 iWait," I said and went to the guest room, opened the press, 
 and there, old and time-worn, stood the little box. 
 
 I took it up and hastened back. The little sitting room 
 was quite empty save for the singing kettle and the hopping 
 of the bird, and I knew that Mrs. Gifford knew I would 
 be alone. I cast off the cape and took the box to the fire- 
 side and set it before the light. The room was bright 
 with early sun but chill. I looked into the warming 
 blaze, then turned and laid my hand upon the box, and I 
 said: 
 
 " Come, Sally Trueblood, come ! Let us, you and your 
 brat, open this." 
 
 Sally Trueblood's brat! I recalled asking Mr. Reuben 
 what a brat was. Then I smiled and said again aloud : " A 
 brat is an elf." 
 
 Well, then I opened the loose cover and touched the wool 
 of my little cape. I lifted it out and kissed the patches. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 321 
 
 Then I cast it over my arm and something heavy struck 
 me. It was a w^eight at the hem. I picked it up and found 
 there were two and they were unalike. One was flat and 
 solid, the other hollow. With my fingers I pulled apart 
 the rotted stitches and the weight fell out. It was a lead 
 pellet. Hastily I pulled apart the other corner and there 
 fell out a narrow gold band. I began to cry and I was 
 afraid to touch it. It was so small, like her finger, yet I 
 was fearful. In my excitement I dropped it and it rolled 
 across the floor. I followed swiftly. Though I searched 
 for some time I could not find it. I think I was weeping 
 more. I know my eyes were almost blinded and that I was 
 mad to lay hands upon it. Then I turned toward the what- 
 all and was standing beside it when I saw that the little dog 
 seemed to be looking toward the hearth. Oh, you cannot 
 know the thing that bade me follow his gaze, but I did and 
 between the hearth's stones there shone the ring. 
 
 I took it up and went to the shutter and looked within 
 the ring, fearfully. One word shone — " Sarah." Disap- 
 pointment swept me. I hastened to the box and unpacked 
 the little garments until I came to the packet that had Iain 
 beneath the whole. It was a little leather-covered diary. 
 The writing within it was delicate and curled. I pressed 
 it close, repacked the box and sat down. Idly my hands 
 turned the leaves. Oh, would I now be able to look upon 
 this bared heart I had resolved never to look upon until 
 I had driven out the shadow even of doubt? Lips and 
 hearts speak faith, yet the shadow of doubt stands, for- 
 bidding, apart. I was thumbing. I had not intended to 
 read when I saw that the lines were shaking, that the page 
 was blurred with drops, yellow and showing the plash. 
 The fluid had run a little and I read : 
 
 " Tonight — tonight I went — Oh, you eyes who shall yet 
 read this, I am recording for you — I went to him to make 
 an end of the silence. I think — oh, you eyes who are read- 
 ing — ^that this night will leave a shadow that I may never 
 free me of. I am fearful, for something tells me that I 
 alone shall rest in the shadow. I meant to call him. It 
 
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322 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 was late but love knows no hours. It was beside the East 
 wing at the low window's ope of the turret room." 
 
 The lines were so shaken that I could scarcely read and 
 my heart was stifling me. 
 
 " There was a sudden gust and the shutters blew wide. 
 I saw Step — " and the waving lines finished the word — 
 " raise a riding stick and it fell upon his sire. Then a spring 
 and — oh, God, I am fearful ! — ^he brought forth a blade and 
 slipped it, casting the withering body from him. I was 
 frozen ! — oh, you reader — I could not move 1 He turned and 
 saw me. I am frightened. The shadows are so very dark 
 as I write. Oh, oh, I know him, and I heard the words, 
 ' Damn you ! Tell and there shall be two Willoughbys so ! ' 
 Oh, I must not. I cannot open my lips." There were more 
 tears and a line that I could not read. Then : " He must go. 
 If he but goes then I may speak." 
 
 I turned on. Then I came upon : " Oh, loving God ! thou 
 hast locked my lips ! He is gone and may not speak. And 
 I know that — " an empty line — " Felicia, Felicia believes 
 and he will not — " More emptiness, as though she had sat 
 long, waiting. " They believe me wa — , oh, my darling, I 
 shall not record it ! I am alone, alone, but with you I have 
 wealth. And I shall wait, wait the May. He says he will 
 return to us." 
 
 I recall how my eyes were streaming, that I could not see, 
 and that my hands snapped the book shut ; that I arose and 
 that my throat was aching. I walked to the little fire that 
 burned in the hearth, stooped before it, leaned over the 
 hearth seat and took up the mulling cup of Mr. Reuben. It 
 was quite bright. Some hand had burnished it. I knew 
 that the hand was Mrs. Gifford's and that the heart that had 
 spurred the hand was one of love. I sat down. I was 
 afraid, afraid to look again to the little book. I was fear- 
 ful of what one more page might disclose. While I was 
 sitting so Mrs. Gifford returned with a soft step. I heard 
 her and turned. 
 
 " Come," I said, " come, Mrs. Gifford. I have finished, 
 or rather I have just begun and fear to finish." 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 323 
 
 She came toward me and stood beside the hearth's seat 
 where I was seated. I looked up into her eyes and arose. 
 She held her arm out and circled my waist. I turned and 
 made my way to the little room that was my own, the guest 
 room of Miss Patricia, which she had turned so humbly into 
 mine. We passed through the doorway and stood before 
 the poster where Sephira had lain. My eyes sought Mrs. 
 Gifford's. I was afraid to speak. She nodded and patted 
 my hand which I had tucked into hers. My lips said " Miss 
 'Patricia " and my heart was hungry to know what had hap- 
 pened after I had left the little place. 
 
 "Where is she, Mrs. Gifford? " I asked. "They did 
 
 not " I stopped. " They did not keep the chapel closed, 
 
 did they?" 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Gifford. " I with my own hands tolled 
 the bell." 
 
 " But she said she would never enter it unless — " I shook 
 just a little — " they asked her and took me in." 
 
 Mrs. Gifford nodded. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I know. We did ask her, with our 
 very souls, and we took you into our hearts." 
 
 " And Sephira ? " I asked. " And the babe ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gifford sank her head upon my shoulder. 
 
 " By the side of Sally Trueblood," she murmured. 
 
 My eyes were streaming. 
 
 " And," she went on, " the babe was swathed in the gar- 
 ments you offered, Hope." 
 
 I sat down upon the poster and we talked, Mrs. Gifford 
 and I, of the village. I knew that she knew something of 
 the Willoughbys, and perhaps of Sally Trueblood, but again 
 I was fearful. She did not offer me information and I let 
 the conversation dwell upon the villagers, Dawson's ailings, 
 and Miss Snifly's refusal to become softened. It grew late 
 and still she went on upon the village gossip. It seemed 
 that they had known of the return of Obadiah Willoughby. 
 Then she said later that Strong had been connected with 
 Stephen Willoughby in certain dealings that the village 
 looked upon as not of honorable turn; that Brumby and 
 
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324 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Brtimby had been brought to the village by Strong, and that 
 they had been known as horse traders before they had come 
 into the distinction of being " chroniclers of the law." 
 
 AH of this I listened to, putting it to what I already knew 
 and wondering. I did not speak of Rudy Strong. Again 
 I was wondering, wondering. Mrs. Gifford seemed to want 
 me to know how the heart of herself and the Vicar had 
 opened. She had seemed to be holding from me something 
 that pressed her. She would start and redden and remain 
 silent, breaking in a little later with something trivial of the 
 village once more. Finally I said deliberately: 
 
 "Mrs. Gifford, did you know Sally Trueblood before 
 she came to you to sew ? " 
 
 " No," she answered. 
 
 " You did not know, then, when she came, who she was ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " When did she first come ? " I asked. " Before I had 
 known the world, or the time when I did? — the time that 
 Dawson knew ? " 
 
 She nodded. , 
 
 " The time," her lips spoke, " when Dawson knew." 
 
 " Then you knew that when I was born she did not reveal 
 the name of my sire ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Then you knew, even before the village, that I was a 
 brat?" 
 
 She nodded once more. 
 
 " But you took her in ! Why ? You refused me, and 
 later when she was gone the village would not of me." 
 
 Mrs. Gifford seemed loth to reply. 
 
 " Tell me," I begged, " Mrs. Gifford. I cannot bear the 
 wondering. Why has the village not spoken before ? Why 
 did not the Vicar tell me? He knew, times gone by. He 
 told me that Sally Trueblood was not Sally Trueblood, yet 
 he refused to tell who she was. Mrs. Gifford, why has this 
 been?" 
 
 " Because," she answered me, " because he did her a great 
 wrong, one he could not undo, for when the time came 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 325 
 
 when he might it was too late. Hope, it is an awful thing 
 and I may not speak. The Vicar will tell you. Wait." 
 
 " When ? " I asked. " I have waited through the sum- 
 mers, winters and autumns. I have waited through happi- 
 ness and woe. Why will they not speak, and when will he 
 speak ? " 
 
 " Can you wait until morning, Hope ? He is ill, too ill to 
 speak with Mr. Willoughby who has sought him twice." 
 
 " Cannot I go to him ? Oh, let me go ! Let me put my 
 arm about him and tell him I forgive, Mrs. Gifford, for he 
 has been one of the causes that have enabled me to live. 
 I can always recall that Sabbath morning when his lips said, 
 ' Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the 
 Kingdom of Heaven.' And I have not forgotten nor shall I 
 ever. Do you know that it is a great thing to keep before 
 you, Mrs. Gifford, — ' of such is the kingdom,' — ^just to keep 
 as a little child and wait, wait? Oh, I recall waiting since 
 the time when Sally Trueblood and I waited the evening 
 star and wished that May would bring him back." I stood 
 and hunger, heart-hunger, came upon me. " Mrs. Gilford, 
 come with me. I am hungry to look upon the chapel yard. 
 Come ! It is my land of dreams and my day is dreamless." 
 
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CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 She caught up her shawl and I drew on the cape and 
 hood and we walked slowly from the little place, through 
 the narrow streetways into the village. The sun was deepen- 
 ing its gold and the sky was quite bright of rose and gold. 
 We walked slowly past the old familiar places, turned the 
 street corner and were upon the little gravel path that led 
 to the chapel. The old turret was thickly grown with green, 
 long, swinging tendrils, swaying in the breeze from the 
 bell's ope. I looked up as we came to the spot and thought 
 of how very high it used to seem. I have stood upon this 
 same path and looked up to the little turret and wondered 
 if it was up in the sky and if the angels rang the bell. Now 
 it seemed square and narrow, like the village. 
 
 We walked down the yardway to the great gate. I say 
 " great gate," but it hardly reached my chin now. There 
 was a May-thorn, decked like a bride with a filmy lace of 
 white trembling upon its branches. The trees were young 
 green and the grasses thick and untrodden. I smelled the 
 damp and the scent of the barks. The stones gleamed and 
 seemed such tiny things, just little stones. They used to 
 seem like great tombs to me. As we turned into the gate- 
 way I was stopped by a web that barred the way. I fol- 
 lowed it. It was stranded from the comer of Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby's stone across the grasses and shrubs, swaying as 
 though it breathed. Something made me follow it and when 
 I found the end it was well down the path and was un- 
 marked save by a young willow which swept o'er the spot. 
 
 I stood beside the willow and held my hands up till I 
 caught its graceful swaying branches within them, then I 
 kissed them. Mrs. Gifford had followed me and I saw her 
 go to the other side of the little mound that was covered 
 with some creeping vine. My glance fell then upon the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 327 
 
 little bare mound that was beside the vine-covered one 
 and I knew this was Sephira. It seemed to me that my heart 
 would burst. I could not look upon the place which held 
 all those whom I had so loved. 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford," I said, " I do not believe that I can bear 
 it. This has been too much, these last days. There is more 
 there," I pointed to the mound, " than you can ever know. 
 To this mound I have spoken. With this mound I have 
 communed. With this mound I have lived the old days 
 over. And now, oh, it seems empty, so empty ! And there, 
 Sephira! It cannot be. And Miss Patricia, too, and Mr. 
 Reuben, and the babe. And I am afraid, oh, I am afraid 
 to see, but I know that Stephen, too, rests here." 
 
 Mrs. Gifford was weeping. Suddenly I turned and, drawn 
 with the one feeling that I must flee, sought the sextonage. 
 It was quite lone. I turned its corner and saw, sitting 
 in the sun, bent and withered, the sexton. I went to his side 
 and stood. He did not hear me, but was lost in the won- 
 drous land of age, which tempts sleep and makes the waking 
 hard. I touched him. He started and made to arise, clasp- 
 ing the gnarled stick which he held between his knees. His 
 watery eyes, pale and faded, looked up into mine like a 
 babe's that did not imderstand. I saw that he was startled. 
 He stood silent. I then whispered, " Sarah." Then he 
 shook his shoulders, as though to shake off some old mem- 
 ory, and laughed a foolish laugh up into my face. 
 
 " It be n't," he said. 
 
 " No," I answered. " Do you know me ? " 
 
 He shook his head and his eyes were again wondering. 
 
 " Listen," I said. " Do you not remember the little me 
 who came to the sextonage and who played in the pit and 
 buried the bird within it ? " 
 
 His face brightened. Then I saw him look as though he 
 was struggling with memories. Then he sat down, to lose 
 himself in a wordless dream. 
 
 "You told me," I ventured later, "that Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby was not there." I pointed to the mound. He 
 nodded. " Then, where was he ? " 
 
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328 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 He mouthed a bit, licking his shrunken lips, then turned 
 his head to one side and stared at me for some minutes. 
 
 " He war awa'." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " did you know where ? " 
 
 He nodded "yes." 
 
 " Then did you know Sally Trueblood ? " 
 
 " Na," he answered. 
 
 " But," I said, " you had the cape clasp and kerchief." 
 
 He stared a bit and seemed not to listen, but continued to 
 lick his lips and strike his gnarled stick upon the stones. I 
 knew that my task was one that would lead to little, for the 
 sexton seemed not to understand. Mrs. Gifford was com- 
 ing. I heard her step. 
 
 " You did not know Sally Trueblood ? " 
 
 "Sally Trueblood?" he repeated. "Trueblood?" he 
 added. Then shook his head up and down as though admits 
 ting that he did know. " Know 'er," he said vacantly. 
 " When she war here." He backed his thumb toward the 
 sextonage. " Gar bless 'er ! " He tapped a bit more, then 
 added, " Hidin', and them atter her." 
 
 "Hiding?" I cried. "Hiding? What did she hide' 
 from?" ' 
 
 Mrs. Gifford had come up to us and I turned to her. 
 
 " Do you hear this, Mrs. Gifford ? He has told me she 
 hid here. What for? For shame? For shame? I cannot 
 believe this. What does he mean ? " 
 
 She seemed to understand and came to my side, putting 
 her arm about me and said softly : 
 
 " Come, Hope, let us find some resting place and I will tell 
 you what I know." 
 
 I was feverish and turned swiftly, seeking the spot where 
 the vine-covered mound lay. I sat down by it and Mrs. 
 Gifford did likewise. 
 
 " Now," I said, my voice trembling, " now, Mrs. Gifford, 
 if you have any pity in your soul tell me all that you know." 
 
 She smoothed her hands over her shawl in a nervous 
 fashion and seemed almost afraid to speak. 
 
 " Hope, first you must know that the village has been in 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 329 
 
 the grasp of Stephen Willoughby since he has been at an 
 age great enough to drive them before him. Every single 
 household has Willoughby as its foundation, bought, stolen 
 or cajoled. They are afraid, or were, and we, like them, 
 grew to mold our thoughts to the Willoughbys' taste. 
 When the old gentleman was found dead much word ran 
 the village. Most of the villagers had but one belief, and 
 though their tongues spoke one to the other in secret, they 
 did not dare speak aloud and openly. Obadiah Willoughby 
 disappeared. Naturally the village then pointed to him, but 
 the feeling again turned toward Stephen. It was then that 
 he told that Obadiah had displeased his sire in his choice; 
 that in anger he had done the deed." 
 
 This I had known. " But what part did Sally Trueblood 
 play ? " I demanded. " Was she the wife of Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby?" 
 
 Mrs. Gifford reddened, bit her lip, then went on : 
 
 " There is no record of it, Hope." 
 
 " What ! " I gasped. " No record ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, " and but a little time after Obadiah 
 had gone Stephen Willoughby went to the home of the Pass- 
 waters and made known to them that Sally Trueblood 
 was " She stopped. 
 
 " I know," I added, " I know." 
 
 " And they believed it, and poor Miss Patricia, she could 
 not understand. She did not want to touch sin." 
 
 "I know. Then?" I asked. 
 
 " She left them ; went to the sextonage and hid, and the 
 Vicar heard and went to her, but could not help her with 
 the thing that would save her, because — well, I shall leave 
 him tell you." 
 
 I dropped my hands heavily upon the sod beside me and 
 my lips were still. Mrs. Gifford waited. Again my hopes 
 were dashed. She had led me to the spot and then de- 
 nied me. 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford, what prompted Stephen Willoughby to do 
 the thing?" 
 
 " The bequest. There had been anger between the Wil- 
 
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330 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 loughbys. The elder had found the true state of affairs, 
 after an illness which he was not expected to recover from. 
 The storm had broken, Hope. The village knew when Ste- 
 phen had strewn the name of Willoughby in the purse of 
 every lout who strode an inn's settle. Sober he was a 
 Willoughby, but sodden he was,^-well, a lout. There had 
 been a rumor abroad that the choice of Obadiah Willoughby 
 was one whose sire had been a mortal enemy to the elder 
 Willoughby. This was true, but Willoughby was a true 
 gentleman and they had parted with friendly words if bitter 
 hearts. Willoughby held certain claims that belonged to 
 Trueblood. These were of value. This much is known to 
 Ithe village through the gabbing. But Willoughby would 
 not press them. This Stephen knew and when he had 
 stripped the Willoughbys' estate of all save the land of the 
 lordship, he set at the possessing of these. This meant that 
 the blow would fall upon blameless ones, the only living 
 claim being of the daughters, who, owing to the circum- 
 stances, had lived upon bounty." 
 
 "Then Stephen Willoughby struck not for honorable 
 cause but for greed ? " I said. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " But what thing made Sally Trueblood suffer ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Hope, because I do not know. She — 
 oh, I know now the folly of the feeling against her. But 
 the crime and the wild tales and the fact that she would not 
 speak and that Obadiah had disappeared, all bore against 
 her. Hope, can you forgive me ? I have known, since that 
 day when you pointed to Sephira, what I have done. I 
 watched Sally Trueblood stitching, stitching — putting, I 
 know now, each thread through her own heart. And be- 
 cause she had fallen, I cannot tell you why, but I found 
 myself drawn up in sanctity, yet feeling a pride that I had 
 bent even enough to lend a small aid ; feeling my own good- 
 ness and a sort of exultation in her suffering; for I would 
 have her pay. I believed this, Hope. I believed that sin 
 should pay. So I do now, except that I know that it does 
 without our requirement. I was robbing my heart of love 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 331 
 
 to exact payment for the gentle God, who was dealing fairly. 
 Oh, I was wrong, wrong ! I know now, Hope." 
 
 I was sitting, staring across the chapel yard, and my throat 
 was aching. What was all of this ? Why did I care what 
 Stephen Willoughby had done or why he had done it, or 
 where Obadiah had gone, or was he this or that ? What was 
 this to the fact that she had suffered, had paid, had never 
 known a free glad day ? And her little heart had had wings 
 and I knew it. I turned wearily toward Mrs. Gifford, who 
 was now weeping in her shawl's folds. 
 
 " Mrs. Gifford, never mind. You say the Vicar will tell 
 me. There is little that I care to know, but you may be able 
 to tell me why I was taken to the manor and who she was 
 that sat in the turret room, rocking her little empty cradle." 
 
 She dried her eyes and nodded. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; Felicia, who went mad at the May before 
 the baby came. And, Hope, she knew, she knew that Sally 
 Trueblood, when she looked upon you, had called you Hope. 
 To her you were the Sarah she so loved and whom she had 
 lost. The Vicar knew she was dying and told Miss Pa- 
 tricia, and she, even though her heart was full of bitterness, 
 made the sacrifice and took you. They thought perhaps you 
 might bring her back. And this was done through Miss 
 Geneva. The law has been upon the manor. The eye has 
 
 not ceased to watch and Stephen knew " I stopped her 
 
 here, for it seemed that my head would burst. 
 
 I brushed my brow, trying to understand how such a 
 thing as this tangle could be true. 
 
 " But Stephen told me that his mother lay there." I 
 pointed toward the way where the stone stood, reading 
 " All bitterness hath an end." 
 
 " He did not know her, Hope. This too was done to still 
 the tongues. Stephen Willoughby was sent to London with 
 a tutor and kept there until he was informed of certain 
 things by tongues that knew not the bridle of the Wil- 
 loughbys. He returned when you met him, and when 
 he had met his father with query — I know this to 
 be true, Hope — ^he disclaimed him as a Willoughby 
 
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332 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 — swore there was no proof, and there was not. Wil- 
 loughby was a Willoughby, the young one, and out of 
 honor would not disclose what he had heard, even though 
 Stephen feared him to the extent of disowning him. There 
 was a bitter scene. I know this is true. And young Wil- 
 loughby had sworn to make the village give up what it 
 knew. It was then that Stephen turned and, with his cun- 
 ning keened by fear, openly stated that if the village gave 
 up what it knew then young Stephen would leave name- 
 less." 
 
 " Stephenj " I said softly. " Stephen ! " Then he had 
 known what the awful thing was to feel that one is not one 
 of blood but a thing left without a name. " But why, Mrs. 
 Giflford? " I cried. " This is like some awful tale of wicked- 
 ness that one listens to and does not believe. Can it be that 
 he was so wicked? Oh, Mrs. Gififord, say that you believe 
 that he has lied and that we may find the proof." 
 
 " There is quite enough to prove Stephen Willoughby's 
 marriage to Felicia in the fact that she dwelt in the turret 
 and he had openly stated the fact, but the record is torn 
 across. The letters ' ia ' and ' Ob ' and ' y ' show, ' y ' 
 above and further down ' Ob.* The script that remained 
 vfus blurred and past tracing." 
 
 " But the Vicar knows," I said. 
 
 She shook her head uncertainly. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Giiford, leave me. I do not want to hear. I 
 cannot look at the little chapel, thinking that it holds the 
 telling and perhaps not. Why? No, I shall not ask it. 
 This is the game. Sally Trueblood, do you hear? I am 
 playing." 
 
 I turned again to Mrs. Gifford and pointed to the gate- 
 way. She nodded understandingly and made her way 
 through it and down the path to the Gifford home. I stood 
 for a while, wondering how Sally Trueblood could have 
 been drawn into such a tangle. Trusting I know she must 
 have been. And could I trust him? Could I trust a Wil- 
 loughby, knowing what I knew? Stephen, then, was my 
 own blood. I knew then why I loved him as I did, not with 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 333 
 
 the joy of new love, but with the mantle of love which is 
 enfolding, as one enfolds one's own. Stephen, then, if all 
 of this was true, was mine, and God in his wisdom had 
 foreseen. Oh, again disappointed, for, in spite of the feel- 
 ing of possession, something fled, a bright something which 
 I knew was my romance, my own first love, fleeing me. 
 I knew that I was Sally Trueblood's very own, that no 
 other would ever fill my heart. I do not know why I 
 knew this, but I did, and I knew that always, always I 
 should know hunger, hunger for the sweet wine of earth's 
 love. I smiled, I think, with my stiffening lips, looking 
 across the little chapel yard, knowing that my love too was 
 buried there. Along with the bodies that had been my earth 
 loves, the spirit of this one rested, buried even so deep as 
 flesh. 
 
 Oh, you who read this record, I here record that all of 
 this is written not in the spirit of joy that sped my lines 
 before, but heavily my hand moves and the weight of knowl- 
 edge lags the script. I shall never again be the little me 
 who joyfully trod the paths and whom youth stepped with, 
 for an elder sister has replaced youth and her eyes are not 
 merry. I was standing there in the chapel yard, watching 
 the twilight come when she touched me and beckoned, and I 
 saw youth laugh and flee. I think she sank amid the 
 mounds. I was a little loth to follow this elder sister, but 
 her touch was light and, I cannot tell you why, but I loved 
 her sorrow-heavy eyes. 
 
 It was graying beneath the trees, and the glowworms 
 gleamed in the damping grasses. It was still, sweet-still. 
 I listened for the laugh of youth, but heard it not. I had 
 stood for a long time when my feet led me to the mound 
 of Sally Trueblood. I was standing beside it, waiting with 
 my hand within the grasp of the elder sister, wondering 
 where she would lead me, when some one called, " Hope." 
 I turned, with my heavy heart aching, to look up into the 
 face of Rudy. 
 
 "Rudy!" I gasped. "You!" 
 
 " Yes, Hope, yes." 
 
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334 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 He spread his hands and made a sweeping gesture over 
 the chapel yard. 
 
 " They call." 
 
 " What ? What, Rudy ? " I said. " Who ? " 
 
 " I came, Hope. I could not stop the calling that seemed 
 to fill every hour. I came to find if the thing was done 
 
 that " He sunk his head. " I know " he added. 
 
 " Hope, I know now, and still here, somewhere in this yard, 
 is buried the one whose voice shall call through ages. Even 
 though the days were overheavy and she sank, I know it was 
 in goaded purity." 
 
 " Rudy ! Rudy ! " I cried, and flung myself upon him. 
 " Say it aloud ! Say it again ! It is true ! It is ! 
 It is!" 
 
 He caught my hands and held them. 
 
 " Hope," he said, " it is a long, long roadway down the 
 path of time since that morning when the red calf was in 
 the mead — a long, long way, girl. I did not know when 
 the deader had been in the village that you would rest be- 
 neath a shadow from that bright day until now; that you, 
 when the village bit, would open your arms to her, Sephira, 
 who wore my heart about her slender neck. I did not know 
 that we should face together much, but, Hope, I might have 
 known, even when I had heard the worst, that you would 
 have been her safeguard — ^you who have always been tender- 
 ness and who even in youth had shrunk so from the things 
 that seemed cruel. Hope, I am a broken man. Upon these 
 hands is the stain of blood. I may not wash it from them. 
 Strong is dead. His dishonorable dealings have come to an 
 end. If God will give me strength I will undo every one 
 of them and face the charge that lies upon me." 
 
 " Rudy, Rudy," I said, " hold my hands and pledge this. 
 Oh, I am weary. What does it mean if I am a Willoughby ? 
 What does it mean ? What do I care for a name such as 
 that? Yet it is my right if it is mine. What shall I do? I 
 am weary of the search. Sally Trueblood wearied so that 
 the heaviness of the pack bore her down. I saw her smile 
 fade and her cheeks pale. I saw her die for a name. I 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 335 
 
 may have it if it is my right. Paugh ! Rudy, do you know 
 I feel I could cast it up and let the winds blow it afar ? " 
 
 " I know, I know," he murmured, and he took my hand. 
 
 We walked down the pathway a few steps, once more to 
 the side of the mound and there we stood silently, he before 
 his love, whose white wings were broken and still, and I 
 beside my love, whose smile was fading, and youth, who 
 was still. 
 
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CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 I SHALL not record here the scenes that followed. I had 
 gone to the chapel yard for bread for my hungry heart. 
 I found it, not in memories but in understanding. Rudy 
 had returned fearlessly to make a stand before them. I was 
 a Willoughby, one he had wronged in the slaying of Stephen 
 Willoughby, yet he walked with me that night through the 
 village streets to the inn. 
 
 When I stepped, after my farewell to Rudy, to the inn's 
 archway, I saw that the guest room was not lighted, but 
 the firelight made it bright. The eve was cool. I was still 
 in the cape and hood. I saw Miss Willoughby sitting be- 
 side the fire, and before her, his head bowed upon his 
 clutched hands, Obadiah Willoughby. I walked with a 
 firm step up to the fireside and I said: 
 
 " Miss Willoughby, I have come to say good-by. I can- 
 not return to the manor. I am not of you. My heart is old. 
 I have learned new things." 
 
 She started up, catching at my hand. 
 
 " No." I shook my head. " No, my dear. Listen ; it is 
 Tight. I have brought you nothing but unhappiness and 
 woe ; unwillingly, God knows, but I have brought it. Let 
 me be. Let me stay apart. The little house is mine. I 
 found it, like Miss Patricia, welcoming me. It knows me. 
 I am of it. Oh, Miss Willoughby, I am unlike you all. For- 
 give me, but I cannot remain with you. Do not fear. I 
 have much, much. I am not afraid of the village now. 
 I do not expect them to give me love, but, — well, they will 
 tolerate me, for my heart is dead and my joy will^ not 
 oflfend them ; for it, too, is dead." 
 
 I was weeping. Miss Willoughby stood and Obadiah 
 Willoughby arose, turned, flung out his arms and stopped, 
 staring, gasping " Sarah ! " I looked haughtily into the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 337 
 
 eyes of a Willoughby. He gasped, " Sarah ! " once more 
 and stepped toward me. 
 
 " Sire, she is dead and I am her — " I choked — " Hope." 
 
 I could scarcely stand and clutched at the table slab. 
 He stepped toward me. 
 
 " Don't ! Don't ! " I cried. " Oh, God, don't touch me 1 
 Sire, I am not a Willoughby, thank God, but a Trueblood ! 
 Can you deny it ? Speak ! Speak ! " I screamed. 
 
 His jaw dropped. He clutched at his breast and lunged 
 forward, to fall heavily at my feet. I was frozen with the 
 ice of hate. Then I looked to the fallen man and heard 
 Miss Willoughby's voice excitedly calling out. When it 
 ceased I saw Sally Trueblood's little hands pleading, plead- 
 ing, and I sank and gathered the head of Obadiah Wil- 
 loughby to my bosom and my lips breathed : " Sire, oh, sire, 
 sire ! " And I fell weeping upon him. 
 
 How may I record just what thoughts were mine as I 
 bent o'er her love? How may I tell you all the warring 
 emotions? Oh, you who read these lines, spare me, for 
 there is yet more that I must write, and the heart, I have 
 told you, is heavy. 
 
 Miss Willoughby at last raised me from the side of 
 Obadiah Willoughby and I recall that my eyes lingered 
 upon the face that was reposed. There was a patient some- 
 thing about the eyes and lips, and an emptiness, as though 
 the eyes had forgotten to light with the inner flame of love. 
 I could not bring myself to speak. Miss Willoughby spoke. 
 
 " Hope, he has been overwrought." 
 
 I nodded and sat upon a settle that stood near. Peter 
 Goff had come with some liquor that they pressed upon 
 the lips of Obadiah Willoughby. I saw his eyelids flutter, 
 then lift, and his eyes looked steadily into mine. With the 
 aid of Peter Goff he arose, never taking his eyes from mine. 
 They seated him upon a table bench and he sat with one 
 of his beautiful hands upon his breast and pressing his brow 
 with the other. 
 
 "I think, Geneva, that again memory is playing. Tell 
 me, am I not dreaming?" 
 
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338 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 I stood and he started as though my movement had 
 frightened him. Then he arose and followed me, to turn 
 and look in a bewildered fashion to Geneva. I knew his 
 «yes were questioning. She reddened, dropped her glance 
 to the floor, then suddenly lifted her head and spoke dearly : 
 
 " This, Obadiah, is Hope Trueblood." 
 
 " Hope ! " he murmured dully, " Trueblood ! " 
 
 Then with the grace of his courtly line, he bowed low, 
 folding his arm across his breast and reaching for my hand. 
 I stood very straight, nor did I offer him my hand. He 
 too drew up, and with a look that was between wrath and 
 pique he turned with a swift movement toward Geneva, who 
 stood intently watching both of us. 
 
 "What does this mean, Geneva? Speak! Who is this 
 young woman?" 
 
 She dropped her hands listlessly at her side and then with 
 an even tone replied: 
 
 " Obadiah, I ask you this." 
 
 She waited. He looked with searching glance upon me, 
 then thrust out his hands in a sort of pleading gesture. 
 
 " In God's name, what do you mean ? " 
 
 Then it was that something arose within me. I ran with 
 swift steps to his side, caught him by the shoulder and 
 turned him about until his eyes were close to mine, though 
 he was towering over me and I looking up to him. 
 
 " Mean ? " I said. " Mean, sire, mean ? It means that I 
 am Sally Trueblood's— " I hesitated— " brat ! " I barked. 
 "Do you understand that? Does it cut you exquisitely? 
 Listen, sire, it means that ! " 
 
 He was staring with set eyes into mine, and I heard him 
 gasp: 
 
 " God ! Then it was true ! " 
 
 " What was true ? " I cried. " Speak, man ! Do not 
 insinuate. I am used to hearing just the evil words. I have 
 never been spared and do not expect it from you. What 
 was true ? " 
 
 " She died in her shame," he replied, and reaching into 
 his breast brought out the script almost worn in two. My 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 339 
 
 eyes rested upon it. I read the words with the tears swim- 
 ming the letters. 
 
 "In her shame!" I read the words aloud. Then the 
 fire within me leapt up. " In her shame ! " I repeated. 
 " With no smile, yet smiling! Alone, yet hoping! ' Say it 
 slow,' she said, 'say it slow. He is true. He will come. 
 I am not a brat. Say it slow. Wait the Mayin'." 
 
 My eyes were streaming. Obadiah Willoughby had 
 crumpled up and fallen upon the table's bench, hiding his 
 face in his folded arms and sobbing. 
 
 " Is that shame, sire ? " I said. " Look into my eyes. She 
 said they were his eyes. Look, sire ! " I caught his shoulder 
 and like eye met like eye. " Do you see ? Do you sec, 
 sire?" 
 
 He did not answer. His fingers toyed with his frill and 
 he swallowed gaspingly. 
 
 " It means, sire, that if I am her shame, I then am yours ! 
 Are you not proud? Say what you please to me, but — " 
 I was panting — " God help you if you speak of her and 
 harm her memory! Her flesh is gone. You have finished 
 the work well. I, oh, I do not matter, but she — r- Speak ! 
 Did you shame her? If this is true, so help me heaven, 
 your shame shall strike you to the heart ! " 
 
 " Stop ! Stop ! Stop ! " I heard his tones ring. 
 
 Peter Goff had fallen back to the shadow and was listen- 
 ing. Miss Geneva had come between us. 
 
 " You do not know what you are saying. You say you 
 are Sally Trueblood's blood? But I saw " 
 
 " What ? " I asked. " Not one thing that might turn you 
 to believe that she was aught save the purest. Did you? 
 Was she your wife ? " I asked. 
 
 He stood for some minutes, then said: 
 
 "Yes, until " 
 
 " She was ! She was ! " I cried. 
 
 I sunk upon the settle and went into peals of laughter to 
 break off and sob and cry out, " She was I She was ! " 
 
 Miss Geneva arose from beside Obadiah Willoughby and, 
 with soft words, circled my waist about. 
 
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340 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 " Come, my dears," she said, and led the way toward the 
 sleeping wing. 
 
 I knew that she could not leave the ears of Peter Goif and 
 Delicia Prue to listen and we walked down the narrow hall- 
 way toward the sleeping wing. 
 
 I can never tell the feeling that was mine. I had laid 
 hands upon the precious thing that she had sought. It was 
 mine, yet I, might not take it to her and see her smile and 
 know her happiness. 
 
 We came to the doorway which was the sleeping room 
 of Miss Geneva and she opened it. We went within and 
 Obadiah Willoughby walked to the window. It was quite 
 dark without now. The room was lighted only by a candle 
 that burnt in the hall bracket. Miss Willoughby called Goflf, 
 who came with lighted candles, and we sat down that we , 
 might speak. I was quite spent. 
 
 I waited that one should speak before I should intrude, 
 for my heart was overfull and I feared my lips. Miss 
 Willoughby arose and closed the door very softly and put 
 the candle that Goff had brought in the candle cup that hung 
 upon the arm on the wall. We waited in silence for some 
 moments. Then Obadiah Willoughby turned. To me he 
 seemed to grow old. His lips were trembling, his hands 
 plucking at the ruff as was his wont. His eyes seemed 
 set. They did not see us nor the room, I knew, but looked 
 into a land that we were not a part of. 
 
 Miss Willoughby stepped toward me and circled my waist 
 with a loving arm, touching my hand with her hand, which 
 shook ever so slightly. I cannot tell you, oh, you who read, 
 the anger which was still mine. Those waiting years! 
 Those lone years for her, when she had stood beneath the 
 lash for his. Waiting, waiting, faithfully waiting, and 
 never, never a word to cry out against the waiting. Only 
 gentleness dealt she unto me who was the flesh of him— 
 sweetness, told with smiling lips, building up, I know now, 
 a something that I might not destroy, and all of this she 
 had borne for him. Within me was lighted up a new flame 
 and this was a jealous flame. She had done this for him 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 341 
 
 and had undone me, for without my knowing it she had 
 built up within me a feeling deeper than I had known; 
 for, as I stood up as Miss Willoughby had circled me about 
 the waist, I knew that I loved him. 
 
 Oh, Sally Trueblood! Sally Trueblood, you darling! I 
 know you have done this. It is like you, for you turned 
 never to the earth your frown for her frowning, but your 
 smile, which I remember. Before your love I stand gaz- 
 ing into eyes that look not to mine, my darling, but I know 
 are searching, searching, for you, and may the great God, 
 dearest God, grant that I am a little, oh, ever so little, like 
 you. If, oh, my sweet, if I could do this for you. 
 
 I was thinking this when I found myself springing with 
 wide-open arms across the room and flinging myself into 
 the arms of Obadiah Willoughby with a wild cry of — I hesi- 
 tate to say delight, but it was. Can I make you understand, 
 oh, my reader, what this meant? Obadiah Willoughby 
 stood with his eyes gleaming emptily until I flung myself 
 upon him, and then his arms raised slowly and crushed me. 
 I lay weak within his grasp. I heard his heart slowly 
 stammering, weakly stammering, and I listened, and my 
 heart leapt, for it said, sobbing, " I love you." 
 
 As I write there stands at the side of my script a little 
 china dog, and he may see my tears, oh, reader, for he has 
 shared them, but spare me. 
 
 Oh, I am loth to write the things that yet must be written. 
 If, oh, you who read, when you have looked upon these" 
 words it seems to you that I have dealt o'er tenderly with 
 the little me who has trodden these pages before you, be 
 merciful, for I love her. She is no more, and I have tried 
 to prison her here. Oh, will you not love her, too ? When 
 I have written this and turned the page you too will begin 
 to understand. Spare me, I repeat it. Think you that I 
 write but to bare my days and hold myself up that you 
 may know me? Ah, wait! You and I are upon the 
 threshold, oh, you reader, and you are impatient — and I 
 afraid. I will tell you this before we cross the threshold. 
 I loved the little me because, because all that there was to 
 
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342 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 love in her was Sally Trueblood. Wait, wait but for a 
 moment. 
 
 There ! my eyes are dry. Let me see. I said I heard his 
 heart sobbingly say, " I love you." Look upon this. Read 
 it slowly, for it is the last of youth's laugh, and the elder 
 sister with sorrowful eyes is beckoning. Wait ! wait ! Oh, 
 my comrade, let me tarry. I repeat I heard his heart sob- 
 bingly murmuring, " I love you." I want to see it upon the 
 page. 
 
 Then I heard a sob, like an aching thing that moaned, 
 come from out his throat and he crushed me closer. Wait ! 
 you will know soon why I tarry. Then I heard him say: 
 
 "I have lied!" 
 
 He drew my head up and looked into my eyes. 
 
 " Hark you ! " he said. " I have lied ! " 
 
 I stood shaking. I knew that the new comrade was lead- 
 ing me on. My lips said, " Lied ? Oh, sire ! " Then I 
 knew that the anger flame was leaping up within 
 me. 
 
 " Lied ! " I cried, leaning toward him. " Lied like a Wil- 
 loughby! Sire, you are worthy of the name. Speak, in 
 God's name ! What have you to say? " 
 
 " Sit down ! " he commanded, and I sank, still shivering, 
 into one of the chairs which stood near. Miss Willoughby 
 had hidden her face. He stood, his beautiful hands work- 
 ing one in the other. His eyes were wild. He licked his 
 lips and they seemed to be dry. I heard the long-drawn 
 sob once more, and I sat, still cowering, waiting for the 
 lash. 
 
 " God ! " he said. " So this is the end ! " 
 
 His hands flew out in a helpless gesture to go at the work- 
 ing once more. 
 
 " Listen ! " he cried. " Could I humble myself even to 
 the dust so that you could walk upon me I would do it, but 
 I am not worthy." 
 
 " Sire," I interrupted, " you are a Willoughby." 
 
 He shut the sound from his ears by cupping his hands 
 over them. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 343 
 
 " Stop ! Stop ! " he went on. " Good God ! do not goad 
 me more ! A Willoughby ? Yes, and " 
 
 I stood, for I feared he would fall, he swayed so. I 
 went up to his side and with clear tones I asked : 
 
 " What think you, sire, that I care for your bitterness or 
 your suffering? They are naught to hers. Speak! How 
 have you lied ? She was your wife ? " 
 
 " No." . 
 
 " Not that ! Not that, sire ! " 
 
 I was clinging to his arm. 
 
 " Say it! Not that! Not that! Oh, you would not lie! 
 Say it ! Say it ! " 
 
 " As the heavens judge me, I believed she was. But — an 
 end to it all ! I was in a cup. O youth is a fogging wine ! 
 Youth, and a young fool's purse. I shall tell you and 
 
 then, — well " He dropped his arms limply to his sides. 
 
 " I know now the motive for it all, and I see, but cannot 
 undo, nor can I make amends such as should be made. . . . 
 Reuben Passwater, whom I most mistrusted, came. ... I 
 had tried through years to forget, and live, just live, empty 
 days. I had fled, true, but not from fear. . . . Stephen 
 knew that Reuben loved her. It was his whip to flay me, 
 and in my fool's way I believed it. She loved him, I know 
 now, but wait. 
 
 " Every pence and parcel the Willoughbys now possess 
 belong rightfully to the estate of Sarah Trueblood. Stephen 
 knew this, and with his knowledge came, I know now, the 
 desire to remove any possible claim. Strong knew, and with 
 the Willoughby money was bought. It was Stephen's ar- 
 rangement that Strong should keep silent and share. . . . 
 It was May ; late the May-night. In the spell of moonlight 
 and youth, the maids and lads returning, one by one dis- 
 persed " 
 
 I was watching him. His eyes were glowing. He was not 
 in the little inn's room, but back in yesterday. 
 
 " — and wQ, Felicia and Sarah and Stephen and myself, 
 returned through the silence to the village. The Vicar 
 was not there, but one who Stephen later swore was a lay* 
 
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344 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 man, but who, under pressure, made the service. . . . God 
 knows she was mine. With my whole being I say it. . . . 
 Then there was the new thought of the returning. We were 
 upon the way. I hear the nag's hoofs and feel the young 
 dawn coming. Stephen suddenly changed, rode to my side 
 and began to chide me, saying that I had known and should 
 have warned him, that the sire's wrath would drive us both 
 forth. Fool-like I listened, and we agreed to wait until the 
 time when we might speak, for the sire was ill and Stephen 
 and I knew well that he might not recover. Stephen waxed 
 wrathful and I recall that we had words. . . . Brighton, 
 he had called the one who had acted in the service, and 
 with true faith I had believed he had the right. ... I 
 cannot recall much of what followed except, — God, what a 
 knife memory is! — that I wakened ill and with a vague 
 memory of all that had transpired. I went to her and 
 begged that she forgive the scene that Stephen and I had 
 enacted before her and her sister." 
 
 He stopped here and brushed his brow with his hand as 
 though the whole thing oppressed him, as though he had 
 carried it as a pack so long that even to lift it once more was 
 too much. 
 
 " Then followed," he went on, " the paradise of days. 
 Reuben Passwater met me now and then and always with 
 such a searching look that I could not understand him. I 
 mistrusted him. I believed he was jealous. I did not know 
 then, as I do now, what he knew. Stephen had kept the 
 secret, keeping Felicia silent by his promises and his grace 
 of words. Patricia did not know. I know this, too, now. 
 I became moody over the situation and after a time went 
 with Stephen to the village, as I told you, Geneva, to drown 
 the thoughts of my endangered bliss. You know what fol- 
 lowed — the sire, Geneva ! " 
 
 He leaned toward the chair upon which I sat and rested 
 his hand upon the back. 
 
 " Never mind what I knew or believed then, but what I 
 know now. When I had gone to her with the truth of that 
 afifair and she had sworn her faithfulness I had not in- 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 345" 
 
 tended to leave. She had not spoken of Reuben Passwater 
 since the fateful night. I had become fretful because she 
 resided in the home of the Passwaters, eaten by the jealous 
 flame that Stephen had kindled. Stephen told me of the 
 holdings, which lay in the hands of Strong, that with the 
 proper care might make the ebbing purse of the estate again 
 full. These, I know now, belonged to Sarah Trueblood and 
 her sister. Sarah, upon the eve that I told her of the 
 miserable affair that had occurred, the shadow of which 
 has never lifted, spoke of Reuben and asked me what 
 the thing was that I knew and should tell her. I did 
 not understand. She was ill with the shock, clinging to 
 me." 
 
 He looked afar. He had forgotten me. Then I heard 
 him saying: 
 
 " The voyage is long. , . . God, why did he tell me ? 
 To come when I was fretting beneath the salt spread upon 
 my wounds, the salt of jealousy, and tell me that she was not 
 mine, and laugh ! " 
 
 I was standing close to Obadiah Willoughby and listening, 
 
 listening to him telling the thing I had waited for. I heard 
 
 ^ him as one in a dream hears voices that fade. I think he 
 
 , must have said other things, but I have recorded that that 
 
 ' has impressed itself upon me. 
 
 " He laughed," I heard him saying, and his face was 
 crimson and the vein upon his brow stood out like a cord 
 and beat. I saw her in my mind, her little smile, faint and 
 dying. Then I heard once more ; the words seemed to come 
 from another land : 
 
 "He asked me why I would claim her, and boasted of 
 talk in the inn. Enough! The night — ^that night, damn 
 it ! — she, I know now, was returning to end the thing. Reu- 
 ben followed her. I know this now. And Stephen knew it 
 then. He followed them back and brought me, when he had 
 made sure they were in the glen, to look. I saw her fling 
 out her arms and fall upon the breast of Reuben Passwater, 
 crying out, ' Oh, my darling ! Oh, my darling ! ' I saw it 
 in the May moonlight, clearly, and I did not know that she 
 
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346 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 had beet! stopped by the hand of Reuben Passwater as she 
 pointed a firepiece at Stephen. What I saw was enough 
 at the moment to send me fevered to Stephen's will. I 
 believed ; God knows why, but I believed." 
 
 I stood closer to Obadiah Willoughby. I touched him. 
 He shook himself as though he had awakened. I had not 
 broken into his babbling sort of story, knowing what he 
 knew not that I knew — ^but I had not known that Sally 
 Trueblood would have slain Stephen." 
 
 " Who told you," I asked, " that she would have killed — 
 killed Stephen Willoughby?" 
 
 He turned his weary eyes to mine and said stiffly: 
 
 " Reuben. He had followed her to the shutter where, 
 before, she had seen Stephen slay the sire, and only by 
 great effort was he able to keep her silent, and with his 
 strength he bore her away." 
 
 "And you left then?" I said dully. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " And she was ne " 
 
 " Stop ! " I cried, my heart leaping up to my throat and 
 my ears ringing. " Stop ! You have kept the honor of the 
 Willoughbys. Keep it, and leave me mine. Stop ! You are 
 a Willoughby, sire. Oh, God forgive you! Look! Can 
 you see Sally Trueblood's hope? Look, sire, for you may 
 not again I " 
 
 He seemed stupid, dead, a thing, before me. To me he 
 was her great " why." 
 
 " Miss Willoughby, I say to you Sarah Trueblood's com- 
 pliments ! " 
 
 I curtseyed low and rose again to look upon the face of 
 my sire. Through the mask of self I saw him as he might 
 have been, without the blade called station. Miss Wil- 
 loughby came toward me. 
 
 " Do not touch me," I said. " Oh, do not touch me ! I 
 am beaten, lashed — ^yes, trodden down! When hope was 
 mine I saw her wing away. Leave me ! Leave me ! To be 
 with you is worse than death. You have known this. You 
 have let me suffer — have let Stephen die, have let Sally 
 Trueblood die, have let Miss Patricia die, have been the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 347 
 
 handle of the whip that flayed Sephira Gifford. Even have 
 you kept me beneath your roof because you knew, oh, you 
 knew, I was of the precious blood. I hate you all. And 
 you, sire, listen! In the body of shame I have walked. I 
 have worn the garments of shame and I shall lie down in 
 shame at the last. Oh, I am dead! You have killed me, 
 crushed me ! Yes, but listen ! There is a bud here," I beat 
 my heart over, " there is a smile here, there is still love 
 here, and that is not of the Willoughbys, thank God, but of 
 Sally Trueblood. Look at me — Sally Trueblood's brat ! Do 
 you hear, sire ? Brat ! " I curtseyed. " And you, a Wil- 
 loughby!" 
 
 I turned and ran with swift steps to the door, to open it 
 and speed down the dark hallway where the candles flick- 
 ered dimly. The guest room was empty, the embers dying. 
 There were no dreams upon the ceil. I stood for a moment 
 gazing about, but my eyes were old. I saw the webs, the 
 dust and darkness, and smelled stale ale. I went to the 
 arch and lifted the bolt softly and walked out into the night. 
 I stood there in the starlight looking up, and I felt as I 
 did those years gone by when I had trudged to the sexton- 
 age alone, more alone than then, for my dreams were gone. 
 My new comrade did not smile but beckoned up the stairway 
 to the attic. I found myself saying, " M-i-s-s G-e-n-e-v-a 
 W-i-1-l-o-u-g-h-b-y." I came to the door in the darkness. 
 I felt it was ajar. I touched it and it swung open. I 
 walked slowly in. Two small patches of pulsing starlit 
 gray showed me that the two too-little windows were open. 
 I sat down upon the floor slowly and rocked myself back 
 and forward, wringing my hands. Then a calm came 
 to me and my new comrade circled me with a tender 
 arm and smiled sorrowfully, and I seemed to hear the 
 words : 
 " It is a game of waiting, Hope. Will you play? " 
 I think I was weeping. Then I saw, in that faraway day, 
 the sweet face that had dwelt with me there. The light foot- 
 fall that was music sounded. I saw the little hands that 
 fluttered and pleaded, and the smile that had bled, for it 
 
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348 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 was wounded. The hours dragged by. Still I sat in the 
 darkness. The inn's lamp replaced the moon and tipsily 
 sent its light over the ceil. Then I forgot, from sheer 
 weakness and fatigue. I sank into a dreamless sleep. 
 
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CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 What was that that waked me ? Singing ! Glad voices ! 
 Laughter! I went to the too-small window and looked. 
 They passed, with their arms full of blooms, singing. I saw 
 that they sought the fields. My heart stopped. It was May ! 
 The Mayin' ! My hands went forth and I reached from the 
 window with them, but the shadow of the eaves would not 
 let the sun fall upon them. I was afraid to look about me. 
 My eyes pierced the bright day without. My heart was 
 weeping. My breast ached and my throat was dry, yet I 
 was afraid, afraid of the little figure which memory painted 
 in the shadow about me, and with the old feeling which cut 
 me, fear that I might wound her, I turned from the window 
 and smiled into the shadow and I called softly : " Sir Lily- 
 finger Dappergay." And I blew a kiss out the window and 
 said softly, " It has come, Sally Trueblood, the Mayin'. 
 Come with me and we shall be gay ! " 
 
 I stood looking out the little window, and within me my 
 heart was bursting, but my lips smiled. I stepped across 
 the room. There stood the very table that she had spread 
 so oft and oft. There in the shadow stood the little couch, 
 and the old armchair was tipsily leaning against the wall. 
 I stretched out my arms and breathed one word and this 
 was " home ! " 
 
 I could not tarry. The night had robed the little place 
 with shadows that hid its barrenness, but morning came to 
 show the gauntness and emptiness and bring the old anguish 
 back. Oh, memory, how you linger and how we love you, 
 and loving you, wound our hearts ! I could not tarry and 
 made my way down the narrow stairs with my empty, 
 heavy heart, led by the elder sister who still beckoned me. 
 
 The day was sparkling. Lads and lassies gathered in 
 groups, their hands busied at the weaving of garlands. 
 
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350 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Ropes of blossoms they bound up in long graceful lines, 
 dancing, clasping the flowers and singing. Oh, the May 
 was beauteous, like youth, but like youth was not for 
 me. I knew then that I might not partake of the gladness, 
 for there was within me the thing that seared the purity 
 of the May. 
 
 I did not raise my eyes to look upon the streetway and I 
 tried not to hear the sounds of the singing and the laughter 
 of the May day. Before, when I had been in the inn's 
 attic, I had had no resolve as to where I should go, but now 
 a wild feeling of loneliness bore in upon me and drove me 
 forth. My feet without my knowledge led upon the path 
 to the house of Miss Patricia. I was well down the little 
 yard's path when I found what my feet had led me to. 
 Without a thought I sped to the doorway and was again 
 within the little sitting room of Miss Patricia where all the 
 happiness had been mine. I sprang to the great armchair 
 and sank within it, burying my face within my hands and 
 sobbing wildly. 
 
 Time sped on, yet I knew not. It was perhaps quite 
 dark when I fully awakened from the sort of stupor that 
 had possessed me. When the darkness had touched me and 
 I had brought myself from the land where I had sunk that 
 I might forget, forget, forget, — oh, you who read, did I ever 
 wish that I should forget ? No day of my anguish would I 
 part with. No memory but is dear, for through it all had 
 youth stepped beside me and made my day happy. Then, 
 too, there had been the smile of her. 
 
 I was wondering what I should do when I heard a knock 
 and with some hesitation I answered it, opening the 
 door into the fast falling darkness. I saw Miss Geneva. 
 She had been weeping and pressed her hand to her breast 
 while the other she held to shield her face from my gaze, 
 even though the darkness made it almost impossible to see 
 her. I stood wondering should I speak or should I make 
 an end to the whole affair by refusing again to face a Wil- 
 loughby. Then it was that her voice sounded, sweetly and 
 pleadingly. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 351 
 
 " Hope, Hope, please, please harken ! " 
 
 Still I stood, not even offering that she come in. She 
 stepped up the rotted stairway and was within the little 
 hallway beside me, touching my arm and pleading. It was 
 quite dark and gray within the place, and even though I 
 might not see her face closely I knew that her eyes would 
 be swollen, for her voice was thick with tears. 
 
 " Hope, Hope," she said. 
 
 " No, no. Miss Willoughby, leave me, leave me ! I have 
 suffered overmuch. I cannot bear more. Oh, do not open 
 the wounds ! Can you not see that I have reached the night, 
 the deep, pit-dark night, of my whole life? Oh, can you 
 not see! Can you not know. Miss Willoughby, that all 
 through my days I have hoped, hoped, hoped that I might 
 possess the thing that would make her little memory free; 
 that I might make gladsome some May with her. It is May, 
 Miss Willoughby, the May's first day, her day, the one she 
 waited for. Listen! Listen! The joyousness is stopped. 
 Do you hear the night ? It is coming softly. Oh, harken ! 
 Do you hear? Do you? I think, I think youth is dead. 
 Oh, go ! Leave me ! Leave me ! I cannot look upon you. 
 I cannot be with you. I do not wish to be near a living 
 creature. Leave me my memories. At least they are 
 true." 
 
 Miss Willoughby still stepped toward me. I shrank to 
 the wall and made a gesture to repel her. 
 
 " No, no ! " I cried. " Miss Willoughby, do you not know 
 that I have been under the lash until my flesh is crying out ? 
 What think you that your words might do to ease the cut- 
 ting of these years and years ? I tell you I cannot bear to be 
 near you or him. Oh, Miss Willoughby, the thing is awful ; 
 for think ! even though my womanhood rises up and would 
 cry out against the shame that has been my lot, still, away 
 down here — " I touched my breast — " is the aching, and 
 is the love that I cannot withhold, and it is his. Why, why, 
 why has all this happened ? Is it not enough ? Shall I still 
 linger with you, suffering? Oh, leave me! " 
 
 Miss Willoughby came to me and touched my arm, plead- 
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352 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 ing that I but wait until they make the whole wrong right. 
 I drew myself up, and in the dark that hung I could scarcely 
 see the outline of her face, but I was glad; for I did not 
 wish to see the hurt that I knew was in her eyes. I cowered 
 in the shadow, and then once more drew up, unafraid of 
 anything that might come, even her sorrowing, should I 
 wound her. 
 
 " Miss Geneva," I said, " you Willoughbys have finished 
 the flaying. It is of no use. Go ! " 
 
 She turned, and I heard a little sob catch in her throat. 
 
 " Go ! " I repeated. " And leave me until I heal the 
 wounds and may bear more. I do not wish to wound you, 
 but, oh, don't you see? it is too much! I cannot, cannot 
 stand another cut ! " 
 
 She did not answer me but turned once more to the door- 
 way and made her way out. I stood staring into the dark- 
 ness, silently listening to her steps upon the grayel walk 
 until they faded into nothing. Still I stood. Beaten I was, 
 sore at heart and suffering. 
 
 When I had stood for some time, I went into the little 
 sitting room and with my hands outstretched searched for a 
 candle. I found one upon the table in its cup and took it 
 to the fire and searched for an ember which I brought forth 
 upon a bit of wood and held it to the candle's tip and blew 
 upon it. It lighted, a weak little red brand that snuffed, 
 and then I blew once more and watched a little white thread 
 of smoke arise and curl about my head. The second breath 
 brought the flame. I arose then with the candle held high 
 and looked about me. Something in the little room seemed 
 so loving, so close, so comforting. The bird waked and 
 sent out a plaintive little cry, shaking its wings and be- 
 ginning to pick at the wickers. I saw the light fall upon 
 the old sampler and read, " God is Love." 
 
 I placed the candle upon the table and went to the wall 
 where the sampler hung and gazed up at it for a long time. 
 Then it came to me how I had read those words as I had 
 sucked the plum pit and eaten the crumbly cake. Strange, 
 \>ut it seemed so very, very long since I had sat upon the 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 353 
 
 hassock, grasping the cold pewter plate and swinging my 
 pudgy legs. Oh, now it seemed like a recollection that had 
 fled and been called back after the forgetting. I saw my 
 small self sitting there and heard Miss Patricia's voice as 
 upon that night. And Mr. Reuben as he had been, I saw. 
 How strange ! How very strange ! They are gone and I, I 
 am here, I was thinking, here. Looking up at her handi- 
 work, I read once more, " God is Love," and I sighed and 
 wondered why, if we knew it, we doubted it. 
 
 I walked slowly over to the great armchair and sat down. 
 The fire was but low embers; the bird was hopping in its 
 wicker and the candle leaned this way and that as though 
 sprites breathed upon it. Long I sat and then I heard, dis- 
 tantly, a singing. It was the last of the Mayday's singing, 
 gay singing, but a little weary. Far, far it sounded. I sat 
 listening. Fainter, fainter it sounded. My heart was hurt- 
 ing. I heard laughter, then more singing, as a little gust of 
 wind brought back the fresh sound. Again it sank to soft- 
 ness and died. I think — I know, that my heart shall never 
 again beat joyfully, for the dying of that May day shall 
 ever weight it. 
 
 Again the singing young voices. I looked up in the 
 shadow-draped room, upon the wall, and read once more, 
 " God is Love." Then I began to weep and I said : 
 
 " Dearest God, I think I am broken — not weary, but 
 broken. Oh, do you hear, dearest God ? See ! I am trying 
 to smile. God is Love," I repeated, and I thought of her 
 and I hated him. Then I thought of her smile and I loved 
 him. 
 
 I shall forget, oh, you who read, to tell you of the tears 
 and the aching heart and the warring that was mine. As 
 I sat down once more in the armchair and began to count 
 the scenes of my childhood and add them to those which 
 had followed, hoping for the sum to tell something, I laid 
 one hand upon the table and it touched the little book. 
 Idly my hands opened it, but my eyes were swimming with 
 tears and I did not read. It was then that the resolve 
 came. I took up the book and kissed it. Then I walked to 
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354 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 the fire and made the embers uncovered and laid it upon 
 their glowing*. 
 
 " Sally Trueblood," I said, " I am locking your treasure 
 chest. I do not want to know, tny dear. I know you were 
 true, and your own sweet lips said to me, ' Say it slow, 
 Hope. He is true.' Then I know this is true because you 
 have said it." 
 
 The embers ate at the rotted binding. A little vicious 
 flame leapt and danced at one corner. Bitterly I thought, 
 " This is you, my dear, and the flames, the earth." 
 
 The smoke arose and trailed up the chimney's pit and the 
 flames became brighter. I saw them eating at the heart of 
 the little script. I watched. Then I seemed to hear her 
 calling, " Hope ! Hope ! " And I said aloud : 
 
 " Hope never wearies. I am your hope. Farewell, little 
 heart, bound up in the script, farewell ! Make you free. I 
 have loosed you. Go ! go to her ! I would not of you, for 
 you are hers." 
 
 The parchment fell to ash, and bits of white flakes sailed 
 slowly but gladly up the dark, and out to the world and then 
 — to where? Pure, white-winged thoughts of her, I knew. 
 Upon my knees I watched the last flame die and locked 
 my heart with the ash, resolving not to know. I would not. 
 Let them care; I was done. 
 
 When the hearth was dead I Avent to the candle and 
 reached into my breast and brought out the ivory, the little 
 locket, and turned it slowly about until I looked into her 
 eyes, and I smiled, and the world and the day and the joys 
 and pain were naught. I found that upon the eve of May 
 the waiting had ceased ! He had come for me. It was over. 
 It did not seem to matter what would happen ever again. I 
 knew that I should never, never again be one with the Wil- 
 loughbys. I raised the little locket to my lips and said to it : 
 
 " You, my dear, and your Hope, shall play the game of 
 waiting. We have played ever alone and we shall finish 
 alone." 
 
 I sank slowly into the armchair, leaning ever so slightly, 
 so that the candle flame might light the ivory. I leaned 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 355 
 
 closer to it and searched the smiling face that flashed back 
 to me. Long, long I sat, drinking in the dreams that the 
 little ivory set up. I tried to fancy her bright and laughing, 
 like this, and I could, a little, just a little ; but even when I 
 was beginning to smile the old twilight fell beneath her eyes 
 and I heard her cough and saw her sway and the little 
 twisted smile would struggle to be born. 
 
 " It is May, my sweet," I said. And the lips looked full 
 and curved over the little teeth in a joyous smile, but my 
 own tears blinded me. " It is a long game, dear, a long 
 game, but for you, for you, my dear, I shall wait. I do 
 not believe that I might live now save that I had this wait- 
 ing to bear for you. Oh, I am glad, my darling ! Glad that 
 I may do this for you." 
 
 I kissed the little locket and hid it in my bosom. Then 
 I saw that the embers were still glowing. I arose and 
 Jbrought the hassock up to the fireside and the great chair 
 I brought up to its side, and I sat upon the hassock and, I 
 know it is fancy — oh, but what are bare days without the 
 comrade? — I leaned my head over until it rested upon the 
 arm and I felt a slender hand caress my hair and I said 
 softly : 
 
 " She would leave me rest upon her bosom when the night 
 came." And this too is fancy, mind you, but I heard Miss 
 Patricia say, " How ? " And I answered, " Like this." And 
 I arose and curled myself in the armchair. 
 
 My head sank down to rest and I heard a cricket sing- 
 ing. I leaned over and blew upon the candle. It snuffed 
 and I said to the embers: 
 
 " Light me through my dreams, oh, you spirit of her liv- 
 ing words, you ash, you light that still remains ! " 
 
 And I heard a late songster singing. Then — why should 
 I write of dreams? But that night brought me a peace, a 
 something that lifted the curtain of the next morning with ar 
 gentle hand and showed me a new path, a lone one, save for 
 her memory. 
 
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CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 I HAD wakened and turned to the coming light, and I 
 knew that here in these walls should the elder sister and 
 myself abide. And I knew that what befell should matter 
 little. It was but waiting. I had got up from the great arm- 
 chair slowly. My feet were strangely heavy and I knew that 
 it was that they bore up such a heavy heart. There sounded 
 slowly a tolling. My heart seemed to swell. The old agony 
 of loneliness was upon me. I do not know what prompted 
 me to do the thing that I did, but even though I had had 
 no sup and I was weak with the long night's agony, I cast 
 the cape about me and something seemed to lead me forth. 
 Without a thought as to where I should go I walked straight 
 to the inn, through the great arch and into the great inn's 
 room. I called GofF, who came stumbling forth. I bade 
 him bring Miss Willoughby. He shook his head and mum- 
 bled, " They be gone." 
 
 So they had gone! Again like Willoughbys. I turned 
 without a word and made my way back to the house of Miss 
 Patricia. Anger was upon me. When I opened the door, 
 Mrs. Giflford stood in the center of the little sitting room 
 and her eyes were frightened and her lips trembling. 
 
 " You shall come," she said. " You shall come. He has 
 sent for you. He is very ill, Hope. Be gentle, oh, be gentle, 
 for his sake. I ask you to be gentle. Is it too much, my 
 dear, to expect?" 
 
 I was afraid to consent to go. Again that resolve was the 
 wall that shut me away. I seemed afraid to know what he 
 might tell me. Mrs. Gifford was plucking at my cape and 
 bidding me come. I turned slowly to go, within me the 
 resolve not to listen should there be aught against her. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 357 
 
 Swiftly we made our way through the village pathways to 
 the vicarage. I saw the old gravel pathway and the gate 
 and the steps that were quite gone now. Mrs. Gifford 
 opened the door and there was no one in the room which we 
 entered. She beckoned me toward the Vicar's study. 
 Through this we passed into a bedchamber. It was dark- 
 ened and there was a scent of herbs and drugs. I walked 
 to the bedside and knelt down. The Vicar did not move. I 
 waited. Then a shaking hand reached forth and touched 
 my bent head. I did not speak. The Vicar's voice seemed 
 weak and choking. 
 " Hope," he said. 
 " Yes, sire." 
 " I told you to wait." 
 " Yes, sire," I answered. 
 
 " I " he choked and clutched at the coverlid. " I—" 
 
 again he choked — " cannot undo " he was trying to 
 
 bring himself upon his elbow. 
 
 " Sire," I said, " you have wronged her, Sally True- 
 blood?" 
 
 He shook his head and his eyes looked emptily up into 
 mine. 
 
 " Willoughby— " he said, " I dared not." 
 He was ghastly white and his lips gaped and shook, and 
 there sounded a rattling in his throat which choked his 
 words. " The Word ! " he gasped, " the Word ! " 
 
 I could not put together the fragments. I was too weary 
 and sore to but listen. Mrs. Gifford came to my side and 
 knelt. The Vicar's hand was now cold and almost motion- 
 less. He ceased to murmur and lay quite silent for some 
 time. Then he brought himself up upon his elbow with 
 great effort, his eyes glistening. 
 
 "Suffer little children," he said, "to come unto me!" 
 The words were dying; his jaw hung and his hand fell. 
 " For," said Mrs. Gifford, " of such is the kingdom of 
 heaven ! " 
 
 And she sank her head upon the lifeless hand. 
 I arose wearily and stood with a dead heart, wondering, 
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358 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 wondering, wondering why I still walked in the shadow of 
 doubt. Mrs. Gifford raised her grief-stricken face toward 
 me and her eyes were pleading. 
 
 " Oh," I said, " I love him, Mrs. Giflford ! I love him ! 
 There is nothing to forgive — nothing. God forgives us all 
 threefold each day. He is love." 
 
 Here I knew ended my path of waiting. I would never 
 know ! Oh, my dear, you who have trod with me through 
 these pages, when I first set the words, " The glass had 
 slipped it thrice and still the bird hopped within its wicker," 
 little, little I knew how hard it would be to show you 
 the path of shame. Yet, oh, you who read, if my words 
 have set in your heart mercy, it is not vain. I shall tell 
 you what the coming days brought of knowledge that you 
 may know, but I care little. 
 
 The days that followed the Vicar's going were but few 
 until Rudy came to me, a new Rudy with a man's eyes and 
 a man's heart. He came in the morning with certain docu- 
 ments which he had found were in the possession of Strong. 
 To these documents, with a new fluid, was attached the 
 name of Obadiah Willoughby. These were the estate of 
 Sarah Trueblood and her sister Felicia. I had looked upon 
 them with dull eyes. They were nothing. They could not 
 buy her back for me, nor call back youth. 
 
 " Take them, Rudy, take them back ! I will not of them," 
 I said. " They have bought honor. They have bought 
 death. They have bought dishonor. They have killed me. 
 They are spent. Do you understand? They cannot rebuy 
 for me." 
 
 Then it was that Rudy told me that Reuben and Patricia 
 Passwater had lost all in the striving to make right the 
 wrongs. They had sold their household that joined the 
 Willoughby estate. Strong had taken from them and from 
 the Willoughbys, making the money of one whet the blade 
 for the money of the other. The mild face of Reuben came 
 to me, his patient look, and his gentleness with me that 
 night. And Miss Patricia, — Rudy told me that she had heard 
 the word that Stephen had circulated about the village and 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 359 
 
 became wrathful with him. The village knew that she bore 
 the shame that tongues would put upon them, in her high- 
 headed way, keeping herself thorny and fending off thus 
 their onslaughts. But the bitterness was deep within her 
 when the truth had come, for Reuben knew that she loved 
 Obadiah Willoughby and had been broken at the truth's 
 coming. Sally Trueblood had been too young, she knew; 
 but when love had come to her Patricia had bowed and 
 suffered silently. 
 
 In the chapel yard, Rudy said, stood an old stone read- 
 ing, " Felicia Trueblood," and upon it the lines, " All bitter- 
 ness hath an end." This was the mother of Sarah and 
 Felicia Trueblood, who had died in poverty, and with the 
 cough that had been Sarah's. She had been obliged to give 
 up the babes, Felicia and Sarah, before her death, and the 
 agony of the thing had embittered her. She too had died 
 arm-hungry, and had hidden behind the shutters watching 
 for the post, hoping that the Willoughby sire might relent. 
 Then this was the emptiness that had caused Sally True- 
 blood to weep and to say, " Oh, you would have filled her 
 arms, Hope." She, too, had known the losing of the one 
 most dear. Then I knew why she had given me so much of 
 herself to keep. 
 
 " Rudy," I had said upon this morning, " stop. I care 
 so little to hear all of this. Tell me, what was the thing that 
 turned them against my Stephen ? " 
 
 Rudy then had told me that the Brumbys were in the 
 law's hands. That the elder Brumby, whom I had called 
 the wreckage, had, for the same cause, struck Stephen down, 
 believing that since Obadiah was within their web he was 
 the only thing that could undo them. They had not known 
 that Stephen believed his sire's word, and would have gone, 
 after my leading of the mob and his taking me to the Wil- 
 loughby manor to Geneva. 
 
 "Then again, Rudy," I said, "this has bought." I 
 touched the parchment. " Where is Obadiah Willoughby," 
 I asked, "and Miss Geneva?" 
 
 " They have gone," he answered. " In this," he held up a 
 
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36o HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 document, " is the claim for the Willoughby estate. It is 
 yours." 
 
 " So," I said. " Then a Willoughby for once was fair." 
 
 He placed upon the table the documents. I took them up 
 in my hands and looked upon them and I said: 
 
 " You are my honor and my dishonor. What ! What ! 
 Shall my hands touch you? No." And I cast them into 
 the hearth. They flamed. Rudy stood and watched them. 
 
 " I have ended it, Rudy. I shall stay here upon the 
 bounty of Miss Patricia, making my hands do little things, 
 making all my sorrow buy happiness. I shall spend it. Oh, 
 Rudy, what has life done to you and me ? You are old in 
 spirit, and I am dead. There is but the waiting for you and 
 for me, Rudy ; you to make a new man of yourself and I t© 
 live with my shadows." 
 
 He had turned and threw out his hands to me. I clasped 
 them. 
 
 " Sister," he said. 
 
 " Brother," I answered. And we understood. 
 
 There had been no cause for Rudy to hide. The truth 
 had opened the gates. There was no man but that loved 
 him, and no woman but that looked to him with regard. 
 Every crooked thing had been straightened. The village 
 was free from its master. It might take up its old nar- 
 rowness. It might like and dislike and deal its miserly 
 love. Oh, you who read, this means little, just the little 
 straws that built my castle. Somewhere, oh, I fear that 
 upon a day when I am gone and you shall read these words, 
 there shall be a hungry one, a little child who wears the 
 cloak of shame. Oh, will you not lend your heart and make 
 your arms open ? 
 
 It is late, and still I linger, recording this that you may 
 read. Days have passed and the little I have written here 
 tells their filling. I cannot write more. I am weary. Yet, 
 you script, I press you to my bosom and love you, each and 
 every word. I shall wait until I am healed, and until I 
 have followed the elder sister yet a little way, before I 
 again record. 
 
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HOPE TRUEBLOOD 361 
 
 Little script, I found you this morning. Have you been 
 lonely? I have caressed your pages with my fingers, for, 
 oh, you little page, do you know^, can you see, that the hand 
 that now traces is withered? Do you know, can you see, 
 that the eyes that would look upon you are dim? 
 
 I am tracing these words, and I fear they are strangely 
 written, but forgive me, for my heart makes my hand shake. 
 I saw this morning, in the reflector, a strange face. Listen, 
 little script ! it was Sally Trueblood, with brown eyes, and — 
 white locks. With these dim eyes I saw, and was thankful 
 that the lips smiled. 
 
 Listen, little script ! I will tell you something. It is May- 
 day, and as I listen to the singing I laugh in my heart. Out 
 in the sun I see the young buds. It's the Mayin'. And 
 there, beside the doorway, sits the great armchair, turned so 
 that he, my beloved, might look at the chapel. Oh, I am 
 forgetting ! You did not know that they brought him to me, 
 helpless; that I took him, her love, to me. Was he mine? 
 He was hers. Geneva wearied, but, you see, I had not fin- 
 ished the waiting. 
 
 We never knew the truth. But what matter? I have 
 learned, oh, you little script, that " God is Love." Oh, I 
 found in his eyes her love. I found in his beautiful hands 
 her hands, and about his neck, her arms. Oh, I am glad, 
 glad! 
 
 He, too, has gone, to greet the new Mayin', and I — am 
 waiting. And there in the sun the armchair sits, turned so 
 that his eyes might see the chapel yard. I thought I 
 might write freely that I was healed, but, oh, you little 
 script, I love you but I am still afraid. I shall wait. I 
 shall not forget you, you comrade, nor you who read. 
 I shall but dry my tears and smile a little. 
 
 Such warm hands ! Sephira, a new Sephira, whose eyes 
 are blue and whose arms love me. She will have me leave 
 you now. I see, coming down the pathway, Rudy, seeking 
 her, and upon his arm Teeny Giflford, whose face is like her 
 sister's and whose scar I love. 
 
 Farewell, little script, until some morrow hence 1 
 
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362 HOPE TRUEBLOOD 
 
 Again, again my hands fall upon you. I cannot trust 
 them, for my eyes are dimmer. I have waited for this 
 morning and it has come. Beside me as I write stands the 
 little china dog. Now and then I let my fingers seek it, 
 just to touch and know it is there. I have laid upon the 
 table, as I write, the ivories. My beloved! my sire! — oh, 
 can I say it? And her, Sally Trueblood, my darling! And 
 she who bore her, whose eyes are mine! They are gone 
 and their days track some shadowy land that somehow seems 
 near! 
 
 Can you read this, oh, reader ? Try ! try I for my foolish 
 tears are flowing and I cannot see. They are not tears of 
 sorrow, for the elder sister has gone and at my heart is 
 knocking Youth! I look not now upon the village save 
 with my heart, and see love written upon every household. 
 
 Oh, my darling, are you far? Oh, my sweet, I seem to 
 feel your hands! I have waited, my dear. I am waiting 
 still. Oh, with the love you have given me I have walked 
 through the shadows to the land of peace. Take my hand ; 
 it falters! Oh, let me see the page! I will write again, 
 oh, reader, lest you forget, " God is Love." 
 
 My hand is faltering. Some new wine is mine! Oh, I 
 am striving to trace the words! The truth has not been 
 mine, my darling, and he did not know. Oh, I would bring 
 you the truth, but I know it is yours and his. I know it 
 all now and the shame does not matter. Shame ! Who first 
 scribed the word? Then let him cross it with the word 
 Love. 
 
 Oh, you Earth, with your " whys," take them to dearest 
 God. And man, oh, you who do not understand, leave them 
 to Him. 
 
 How strange the starlight shows ! I see the patch — no, it 
 is the dripping silver drops — the inn's lamp 
 
 It is morning, Sally Trueblood ! Open — ^your beautiful — 
 eyes — and — let — me — see — the — mor . 
 
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EPILOGUE 
 
 And Sabbath's silence fell upon the village; and the sun 
 stood high, and the shadows 'neath the arched trees sent 
 dancing sunlight spraying ; and the wind swept like a sweep- 
 ing silence, hushing 'mid the leaves. 
 
 And the Word lay upon the height within the chapel ; and 
 the wind's stirring stirred the page, and it fluttered, to lay 
 ope. And a shadow danced and a sunbeam followed it; and 
 it fell upon the page, and the words gleamed : " Suffer little 
 children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of 
 Heaven 1 " And the wind, playful, blew upon the page, 
 and there fluttered a white bit upon the floor. And another 
 followed, and still another. And the sunbeam danced about 
 the gloom to fall upon the bits and the words showed: 
 "— diah Willoughby," and beneath, "Sarah Trueblood," 
 and upon another bit, " Stephen." 
 
 And through the chapel windows showed the mounded 
 chapel yard ; and the larkspurs nodded ; and a white butter- 
 fly fluttered up ! up ! up ! 
 
 THE END 
 
 363 
 
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