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 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST 
 
 OF 
 
 STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 
 1943 
 
Cornell University Library 
 414.R7 1903 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022002368 
 
author's EMtton 
 
 ROLAND BLAKE 
 
 1 ^ BY 
 
 S; WEIR MITCHELL, M.D. 
 
 LL.D. HARVARD AND EDINBURGH 
 
 i;Mt»W«1 
 
 >»Wl»*;-^tft««»« 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 IQ03 
 
 
Copyright, 1886, 
 By S. Weir Mitchell. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 THE DE VINNE PRESS. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Let that bright north star of our race - 
 Stem Duty guide thy certain life, 
 Through days of peace ; to-morrow's need 
 Shall find thee ready for the strife." 
 
 Amidst the great host which crossed the Rap- 
 idan early in May, 1864, with the sternly resolute 
 man who was to determine the fate of the South, 
 was Roland Blake. An orphan from his early 
 years, he had been brought up on the shores of 
 New Hampshire, near to the old town of Ports- 
 mouth, by an uncle, a Congregational minister, 
 who was his guardian, and who had skillfully 
 cared for the moderate estate left by the boy's 
 parents. A thoughtful, quiet young fellow, he 
 lived a wholesome out -door life, with sea and 
 winds for comrades, while his uncle's personal at- 
 tention to his education amply prepared him for 
 his life at Harvard. 
 
 Nature gives to one man curiosity and little 
 
 means to gratify it. To -another she gives desire 
 
 to know and the organization which can answer 
 
 its demands. Then she has made an observer 
 
 1 
 
2 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and a friend to whom, with discreet reluctance, she 
 tells her secrets. Directness and simplicity attend 
 the practical workings of such persons' minds. 
 They are poet, or naturalist, or both, as the jest of 
 their mental structure determines, and are fortu- 
 nate if fate cast their lot in early life remote 
 from cities and put them in natural relation with 
 the glorious company of sea and sky and wood. 
 
 Outside circumstances found in Roland Blake 
 the qualities which make a man observant. The 
 sea-side life gave him activity and physical vigor. 
 The stern, practical, every-day existence of a home 
 in which strong sense of duty ruled modified the 
 natural dreaminess of a too thoughtful youth, on 
 whom, also, the speculative turn of the ever- 
 troubled New England mind was not without its 
 influence. 
 
 Blake hesitated little when the war broke out. 
 His own beliefs, his family traditions, and the 
 decided anti-slavery opinions in which he had , 
 lived brought him home from study abroad and 
 carried him into the army early in the great con- 
 test. Thus far the bullets which had cleared his 
 way from the ranks to a captaincy had spared him 
 from harm. 
 
 A dull sun rose red through the dust which 
 already at early morn filled the air and lay thick 
 on the unstirred leaves of the thin woods about 
 Germanna Ford. It was May, but even at this 
 hour the atmosphere was close and oppressive. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 3 
 
 The sullen flow of the ruddy Rapidan was 
 crossed by two pontoon-bridges of wooden boats, 
 over which streamed steadily long trains of artil- 
 lery, — dark-green caissons and flashing, brightly- 
 polished cannon. The crack of whips, the rum- 
 ble of wheels, the bray of mules, loud-voiced 
 orders, oaths, and cries filled the air. Masses of 
 infantry marched rapidly up to the shores, regi- 
 ment after regiment, and in turn tramped in 
 broken order across the swaying bridges. The 
 bayonets sparkled over them in the yellow light, 
 and the blue masses climbed the farther bank, 
 disappearing among the thin woods and under- 
 brush of hazel, scrub-oaks, sassafras, and pine, as 
 the brigades of the Fifth and Sixth Corps marched 
 into the sombre depths of the Wilderness. 
 
 On the banks were scattered groups of idle con- 
 trabands of all hues, from " sad-colored " to a tint 
 deep as that of their own tobacco, liking the spec- 
 tacle well, but apparently mere amused and not 
 much concerned spectators. Now and then a 
 chuckle rose as a man lost his footing on the 
 bridge or a mule-team regaled them with brief re- 
 bellion ; while the inventive capacity of the mule- 
 driving American, much stimulated by being 
 pitted against the noble simplicity of the mule 
 mind, filled the air with ingenious blasphemy, to 
 which the swearing of all other lands is as milk to 
 apple-whiskey. 
 
 Then some headquarters wagons dashed up, 
 and with the secure authority of aristocrats 
 
4 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 scattered the motley collection of negroes, who 
 moved away with muttered disgust, like people 
 at a play who are put out of seats they consider 
 their own. At the same time a staff orderly 
 wearing the badge of the Fifth Corps rode up to 
 a laughing group of officers lounging on foot, or 
 lying down, or still in the saddle, in all sorts of 
 such odd postures as become easy and restful to 
 the man who has lived for a year or two on the 
 back of a horse. 
 
 The orderly saluted, and said, " Headquarters 
 wagons. Please make room." 
 
 " Hang these staff orderlies ! They 're worse 
 than old regulars ! " exclaimed a lightly - built 
 young lieutenant, an officer of the provost-mar- 
 shal's guard, and bearing on his breast the badge 
 of the Sixth Corps. He was watching with infi- 
 nite amusement the humors of the first scene of 
 the tragedy about to be acted out in the sombre 
 woods beyond the river. 
 
 " Give me an old regular-army doctor for tip- 
 top airiness," said a captain of volunteer cavalry, 
 as he swung into the saddle ; " but the staff fel- 
 lows are bad enough." Everybody growled a lit- 
 tle as they got out of their lounging attitudes and 
 moved closer to the ford. 
 
 " By George," said the first speaker, " those 
 darkies are like old Romans watching us poor 
 barbarians go into the arena. Halloa ! Give me 
 your glass, Lawrence, — I thought so ! " And he 
 rode out from the group. " "Why, there 's Roland 
 Blake. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 5 
 
 " Blake ! I say, Blake ! " he called. 
 
 An officer tamed from the masses of an infan- 
 try regiment about to cross the muddy stream. 
 He was a square-shouldered man of over middle 
 height, and some twenty-four years of age. His 
 face was grave and resolute, and carried a certain 
 serenity of expression ; the eyes were attentive, a 
 good blue-gray, and about the lines of the lip 
 there was a pleasant sweetness which the faint 
 brown fringe of moustache failed to hide. 
 
 Several men rode up to meet him. " This is 
 good," he said. " I have n't seen one of you since 
 that last scrimmage at Gettysburg. How 's the 
 arm, Francis ? " 
 
 " Oh, that 's all right," said the other ; " but I 
 have been hit twice since. I always get hit," he 
 added, gravely. " My career has been punctuated 
 with full stops from rebel balls." 
 
 " Seems to agree with you," said a man at his 
 side. 
 
 " It 's got past jesting." And then, his natural 
 sense of fun overcoming him, " Whom the gods 
 love die young ; whom the gods hate get hit in 
 every skirmish." 
 
 " I hope the gods will prove indifferent and for- 
 get me," said Blake. " I must go. Good luck to 
 you aU ! Got any 'baccy, Phil ? I 'm out." 
 
 Two or three men offered him scant contribu- 
 tions, with which he hastily filled his pouch. 
 
 " Thanks : that will do. See you again, Law- 
 rence. Good-bye, Joe. I see you 're in the P. 
 M.'s guard, Phil." 
 
6 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Yes, for a while ; I don't fancy it. Look us 
 up at headquarters if you chance to get near us," 
 
 " There are our people," said Lawrence ; " that 's 
 the Sixth, I think. We 're come to stay this 
 time, Blake," 
 
 " God grant it ! " said the latter, as he made 
 haste to regain his place. 
 
 " Same old boy," said Lawrence, as the group 
 moved on towards the ford. 
 
 " I never thought he would have taken to any- 
 thing as practical as war," returned the officer 
 addressed as Joe. " There was always a queer 
 mysticism in his talk when we were at Harvard," 
 
 " And yet if you want a thing done and well 
 done no man is more practical than Blake," re- 
 turned Francis, 
 
 " Well, he used to bewilder me at Harvard," 
 said a captain ; " it was wildly confusing at 
 times." 
 
 "It is all on top, — outside talk," said Francis. 
 
 " Perhaps so. But certainly, he is the only 
 person who is never bewildered by his own talk. 
 The fact is, a fellow always knows when to believe 
 himself and he don't always know when to believe 
 another fellow." 
 
 " That 's about as clear as Blake," laughed 
 Lawrence, 
 
 " Well, he 's a good fellow, at any rate, and the 
 least self-conscious man I ever saw." 
 
 " That 's so," said another, " Hark ! was that 
 a gun at the front ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 7 
 
 « Hardly yet." 
 
 " Halloa ! there 's the colonel. The air will be 
 curdled with cussing when he hears I could n't 
 find that ordnance wagon. Here goes for it ! I 
 shall cool off on the march." And he rode away. 
 
 Blake received on the morning of the 5th of 
 May an order to report at general headquarters 
 to the officer in charge of the bureau of informa- 
 tion. Greatly surprised, he went through the 
 needed formalities with his colonel, and set out to 
 find the staff. 
 
 He walked rapidly through the woods and 
 small clearings, asking his way as he passed the 
 brigades which were hurrying by. Far overhead 
 occasional bullets were whizzing through the air, 
 and here and there young leaves and twigs were 
 mysteriously falling. After a wearisome search 
 of two or three hours, he came upon a small log 
 cabin, in a little, squalid clearing, and knew by 
 the headquarters flag that he had found what he 
 sought. 
 
 As he approached the log house through the 
 confusion of wagons, kicking mules, and orderlies 
 going and coming, an old colonel of regulars came 
 hastily out of the door. 
 
 Roland asked where he could find the provost- 
 marshal, and announced his errand. 
 
 " Oh, you 're Captain Blake," said the colonel. 
 
 " That is my name. I am here to report." 
 
 "And have taken your time about it, too." 
 
 " I could get no horse, sir, and I found it diffi- 
 cult to find my way." 
 
8 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 "You won't be the only one," said the grim 
 old regular. " Pretty country to fight in ! Can't 
 see fifty feet ahead ! " 
 
 " Bad enough," said Blake. " May I ask why 
 I am wanted ? " 
 
 " Yes. Come over here ; we had best get out 
 of earshot. These headquarters orderlies are as 
 curious as garrison girls, and the aids are not 
 much better." 
 
 So saying, he walked to the edge of the clear- 
 ing and sat down on a stump. " Take a seat," he 
 said. "You can't move your chair." Then he 
 looked about him, and went on : — 
 
 " I am in charge of the bureau of information." 
 
 At this moment an eccentric shell turned a 
 somersault about twenty feet above their heads, 
 and gave vent to the strange howl which this per- 
 formance always produced. The colonel's back 
 being towards the coming projectile, he crouched 
 ever so slightly, and, turning, glanced quickly at 
 Blake's face : it showed no sign of amusement or 
 other form of mental comment. The colonel went 
 on: — 
 
 " Lieutenant Francis mentioned you to me this 
 morning " — 
 
 " Hang Francis ! " muttered Blake. " What 's 
 up now, I wonder? " 
 
 " Confound the musketry ! Can you hear me ? 
 It must be getting warm in front. Ah ! " and he 
 lifted one foot hastily as a nearly spent bullet 
 ricochetted past it. " As I said, I am in charge of 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 9 
 
 the bureau. My chief aid, Captain Weston, was 
 drowned at Raccoon Ford yesterday. I want an 
 officer in his place. Your colonel is an old friend 
 of mine. He says you will do. It needs a cer- 
 tain kind of man, — a gentleman above all." 
 
 Blake bowed. " Is it an order, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes ; what the deuce else do you suppose 
 it is?" 
 
 The captain did not like it; but he had re- 
 solved when he entered the service to accept liter- 
 ally and without complaint whatever duty came 
 to him. 
 
 "What are my orders?" he said, rising. "I 
 am ready." 
 
 " Good, sir ! You will do. And now to busi- 
 ness. It was a part of Weston's work to see and 
 know all our scouts. They go out of our lines, 
 get what news they can, and return, usually allow- 
 ing themselves to be captured on the picket-line. 
 They stay a day or so among the prisoners, and 
 then are separated, as if to be sent North. Let 
 us move a little ; the bullets are getting rather too 
 plenty, though they 're mostly overhead. There ; 
 that is better," he said, as he got his back to a 
 corn-crib. " Investigating prisoners is another 
 duty. In fact, it is all simple enough." 
 
 Blake began to be curious. "Is there any 
 immediate matter ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is just what there is, — a difficult 
 one. Oh, confound the racket ! " 
 
 As he spoke, an officer's horse tied to a small 
 
10 ROLAND. BLAKE. 
 
 tree near by uttered a strange, wild cry, tore 
 loose his halter, and rolled over, convulsed in 
 death. A young aid ran out of the cabin to catch 
 him. He stood a moment quite close to them, — 
 a mere boy, — regarding the mournful eyes of the 
 horse and its twitching upper lip. " I had as lief 
 been hit myself," he said. Then he turned sharp- 
 ly, clutching at his own left arm. " Who struck 
 me?" he said, and, tottering, fell on his face. 
 
 Blake ran forward and turned him over. The 
 young fellow's eyes opened. 
 
 "Are you badly hit?" said the captain. 
 
 " Was it a bullet, sir ? Not much hurt, I guess. 
 How queer ! — a bullet! " 
 
 It was his first battle. 
 
 Two orderlies carried him into the house, and 
 Blake went back to the colonel. 
 
 " Bad hit? " said the latter, who had not moved. 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 The colonel continued : " Captain Weston alone 
 knew the names of the one or two persons iu our 
 pay who are employed in the departments of the 
 Rebel government. These names are kept as se- 
 cret as possible, but must of course be known to 
 some one, as I shall explain to you. I myself 
 have never heard them. You will find them in 
 an envelope : here it is. In case of risk of cap- 
 ture you will destroy the paper. Usually Weston 
 did not commit them to writing, but as it was 
 meant to order him elsewhere, he left them with 
 careful memoranda for his successor." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 11 
 
 " I see, sir." 
 
 "Weston has twice met one of the most re- 
 liable of these people, — a man really yery valua- 
 ble to us. He was to have seen him again to-night 
 at eleven, about twelve miles from here ; one of 
 our scouts knows the place. These meetings are 
 usually to receive important information, and to 
 pay the rascal." 
 
 " I understand. I am to take Captain Wes- 
 ton's place and meet and pay this fellow. It is 
 not a pleasant duty, colonel." 
 
 " No ; but it is a duty." 
 
 " When should I leave ? " 
 
 " Very soon. I will give you the needful papers 
 now, and let you talk to Weston's orderly. But 
 remember, carry no memoranda; run no foolish 
 risks. We must on no account get this man into 
 trouble at home. Scamp or not, he is worth to 
 us a dozen such as you or I." 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 "You will take five men, two scouts, and a 
 guide. One of our scouts knows the country per- 
 fectly. You can trust Pearson to guide you. Of 
 course you ride ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am an infantry man now, but I am an 
 old rider, and I served first with the cavalry. I 
 shall want an outfit." 
 
 "That is easily arranged." 
 
 " My old regiment is part of your command. 
 It is under the hill, sir, on the left. If there is 
 no objection I would like to take a lieutenant." 
 
12 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 "Yes, if you like; but the smaller the party 
 the better. I would suggest your friend Mr. 
 Francis. He is pretty well up on the roads about 
 here, such as they are. There is the needed 
 order. The men are attached to our service; 
 your scouts know them well, and will help you to 
 choose." 
 
 Blake asked a few questions, and then followed 
 him to a tent near by in the wood, where the 
 colonel gave him the necessary papers, and left 
 him. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 — " The whole world 
 
 Hangs full of morals — as every twig in a hedge 
 Is endowed with a thorn." 
 
 — ** But 80 the caBual drift of circumstance 
 Catches us in its eddy." 
 
 Despite familiarity with death, Blake looked 
 with some emotion over the careful directions left 
 by his predecessor. It was easy to see that he 
 had kept his official affairs in a state of prepara- 
 tion for another's eye. It gave the reader a 
 strong impression of the simple soldierly readi- 
 ness of the dead man, and with a feeling of being 
 braced up anew by wholesome example, the young 
 man went on to his task, his earnest intelligent 
 nature intent upon carrying with a clear con- 
 science the load the writer had laid down. 
 
 He soon learned that by the aid of a negro 
 messenger the man he was to meet had commu- 
 nicated to Captain Weston the time and place of 
 their rendezvous, and had drawn on a card a 
 rough map of the roads, and such directions as 
 were needed. All of these were given in capital 
 letters, — evidently to avoid display of handwrit- 
 ing, — and the last line was underscored, and was 
 to the effect that it was useless for any one to meet 
 him except Captain Weston. A sealed envelope 
 
14 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 marked " Private," and addressed " to my suc- 
 cessor," in Weston's writing, explained matters 
 more fully. It ran thus : " In case of disaster to 
 me, I leave to any one who may be called on to 
 fulfill my duties these memoranda. The three 
 persons named are never seen except by me, and 
 to me only are their true names known." Then 
 came the names in question, with a few lines as 
 to the need to make sure that no contingency of 
 war should be allowed to throw these compromis- 
 ing papers into the hands of an enemy. 
 
 Blake's first care was to make two or three 
 copies of the little map, and then to fix on his 
 memory the three names given. He had noticed 
 that they were numbered 55, 56, 57 ; and although 
 Weston had neglected to state this, his successor 
 easily concluded that these numbers were meant 
 to be used in some way to identify the people 
 with whom he was to confer. He had already 
 Tuade himself as familiar with the country as our 
 very poor maps allowed, and for the lesser details 
 felt that he must trust to his scouts. 
 
 He spent a few minutes more over the details 
 of daily duty set out in a little blank-book, and 
 sat awhile longer in half-bewildered consideration 
 of the intricate and complicated system of acquir- 
 ing intelligence of which he was to be a part. 
 For a time he was to live among the baseness and 
 trickery of spies, deserters, and prisoners, who 
 could be led to tell what they knew. He did not 
 at first recognize the fact that some of the scouts 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 15 
 
 who came and went between the two armies were 
 gallant men, honestly believing in their own side 
 of the great quarrel, and was for a time simply 
 overcome by a horrible perception of the varied 
 forms of villainy which have to be cultivated and 
 rewarded to make an army successful. 
 
 War had indeed always seemed to him bad 
 enough, but deaths of men were to his fine sense 
 small affairs compared to this novel aspect of its 
 evils. 
 
 At last he rose, thinking, " As well I as another. 
 Pray God it last not long ! " and making a fresh 
 resolution to keep his soul as clean as possible 
 from stain, he called aloud for the orderly. 
 
 The man entered, saluting. 
 
 " Is there a horse for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. Captain Weston had two : his man 
 is close by with them in the wood. The colonel 
 says you are to take one of them. I would take 
 the dark bay ; she won't be seen as easily as the 
 gray. I was to tell you the detail from the pro- 
 vost-marshal's guard would be ready at five, and 
 two scouts, sir." 
 
 " All right. And you go with me ? " 
 
 " Of course, sir." 
 
 " Bring the horse at once. Is n't the 6th New 
 Hampshire cavalry back here a bit ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, — three companies, — a mile or so it 
 might be." 
 
 " Then take a horse, find Lieutenant Francis, 
 Company B, deliver this order, and return at 
 once." 
 
16 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The lesser details of his preparations were soon 
 completed, and about five o'clock Blake found his 
 little party awaiting him well back in the woods, 
 out of harm from the stray bullets, which by this 
 time had been coming thicker, as Warren's corps 
 was slowly pressed by Ewell's forces. Above the 
 musketry he could hear the distant sound of un- 
 numbered axes, where away on the battle-lines, 
 not two hundred yards apart, both sides were 
 "falling" trees to construct breastworks, abatis, 
 and slashes, in a woodland so dense with under- 
 brush that at this distance the hostile forces worked 
 on unseen of one another. 
 
 Blake found his friend in charge of the little 
 party, and every precaution for a noiseless march 
 made with the deliberate care of men accustomed 
 as were these to errands in which the clink and 
 rattle of cavalry marching might have serious re^ 
 suits. Sabres were caught between the leg and 
 the saddle-leather, the chains tied up with scraps 
 of blanket, the carbines secured. 
 
 After a careful inspection, Blake mounted, and 
 the little troop rode away to the northwest, to 
 avoid the left flank of Lee's army, and for an hour 
 or more continued to meet bodies of cavalry and 
 wagon-trains. After a while the sound of mus- 
 ketry was heard less and less distinctly, and at the 
 fork of a road which follows the line of the Orange 
 turnpike, Blake halted his party and drew aside 
 into the woods. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 17 
 
 "If I am correct," he said to his chief scout, 
 " we go about four miles on this road to the upper 
 water of Mine Run, and then cross the pike and 
 the plank-road near Verdiersville. Do you know 
 itweU?" 
 
 "I was over it, at Captain Weston's request, 
 yesterday, after he told me he expected to meet 
 56 to-night. Shall you wait for night to go on ? 
 It will be best. We go near some houses." 
 
 " You seem a cool hand," said Blake. 
 
 " Yes ; I don't het up easy." 
 
 " Where are you from ? " 
 
 " Tennessee, sir." 
 
 " And how came you to choose such a life as 
 yours must be ? " 
 
 " Well, it 's a long tale, captain. Mostly I hate 
 'em ; had reason, I think. Then I like it ; it ain't 
 a reg'lar life, — a thing I could n't abide since I 
 was a boy. Why, I used to plough crooked-like, 
 to see if I could hit a stone or a weed with my 
 eyes shut. Now, this here life is the highest kind 
 of zigzag ; suits me down to the ground." 
 
 The two officers laughed. 
 
 " Let the men eat ; but no fire," said Blake, 
 " and, above all, no pipes : tobacco smoke can be 
 smelt a long way." 
 
 While they were in motion, Francis, an admira- 
 ble officer, had been at one moment in the rear or 
 flank, and then ahead with the scouts. Now he 
 asked Blake what exactly was the final purpose of 
 their march, and was told as much as his friend 
 thought fit to disclose. 
 
18 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 After a dismal delay in the rain-sodden woods, 
 they started anew, with still greater precaution. 
 
 "You might 'a' bin in this sort of thing before," 
 said the scout, as they turned into the mud of a 
 cross-road. " You don't take no chances, I see." 
 
 " Never ; but I am very anxious." 
 
 "Well, if you ain't bin in it the Lord's bin 
 a-losin' a hearp of your time. Might I ask for a 
 bit of 'baccy, sir?" 
 
 "I don't chew," said Blake. 
 
 " Well, it beats Job for comfort ; I 'm out of 
 it." 
 
 It was dark when they turned southward, but 
 the tall scout rode quietly on with the certainty of 
 a woodcraftsman. Through exhausted tobacco- 
 fields, into and out of stump-dotted clearings and 
 little valleys where black-jacks, sassafras, and 
 short pines made the night yet blacker, they passed 
 on, seeing no one, and hearing rarely some good 
 Confederate watch-dog. By half-past nine their 
 way had led them well around the left fiank of 
 Lee's army. Here they passed a group of houses 
 where were some lights. A large dog came out 
 of a clearing and followed them, barking furiously ; 
 then a more distant friend took up the cry and 
 howled a response. 
 
 " Hang that brute ! " said the scout, and they 
 pushed on faster, the Confederate canine at their 
 heels. 
 
 " Got to kill him," exclaimed Francis. " A 
 single shot is of no moment, and he will rouse the 
 country." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 19 
 
 " I hate it," said Blake. " Better to push on 
 faster." 
 
 " He 's got to go, sir, — knows his duty, that 
 dog does." 
 
 " Get it done, then." 
 
 " A shot barks worse than a dog." And so say- 
 ing the scout dismounted, gave his bridle to a 
 comrade, drew his sabre, and moving quickly away 
 was lost to view in the sombre shadows of the 
 wood. 
 
 Meanwhile the little party baited. Suddenly 
 there was a howl of pain, and then a faint yelp — 
 and silence. The too faithful sentinel was dead. 
 The scout reappeared, and as he settled himself 
 in the saddle, said, — " Darn it ! I always did like 
 dogs. The brute ! he just come to me like he 
 knowed me. I 'd as lief it had been his master. 
 Hang the dog ! What business had he got to 
 foUerus?" 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 cc War is the devil's mirsery.'* 
 
 Half an hour later they came upon a deserted 
 ox-road which led out into a rather more open 
 and rolling country, and could see in the far dis- 
 tance on the cloudy sky the ruddy upward flare of 
 the camp fires of Longstreet's and Hill's brigades. 
 
 " What 's up now ? " said Francis. " Confound 
 the rain ! I am as wet as a fish. Do we stop here, 
 Pearson ? It 's dark enough." 
 
 " Yes," said Blake. " The darker the better. 
 Take the men into the wood. Remain mounted 
 and ready. If I do not come back in one hour, 
 Phil, return and report me missing. My traps 
 are with the regiment ; if anything goes wrong, 
 take possession." 
 
 " AU right, Roland." 
 
 " Now I must go. Good-by, old man, and look 
 sharp. Pearson," he said to the scout, " come 
 with me round the wood. I can't see the cabin. 
 How it pours ! " 
 
 " Not see it ! That 's queer. Let me tell you 
 again. Look to the left, — a break in the wood- 
 line. Now can you see ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have it. I follow the wood-shadows 
 round the clearing to the right, then I rise the 
 slope. No fences ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 21 
 
 " A hell-fence, sir, half way up." 
 
 "A hell-fence?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, that 's what they call 'em here, — pig- 
 tight, ox-proof, hoss-high, stumps upside down. 
 That mare '11 find a gap if you give her her 
 head." 
 
 " Very good. On the crest is a deserted cabin ; 
 that 's all right, is n't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and one thing : hitch your horse 
 near the top, so you can get her easy, and walk 
 up. The rebs are picketed clean up to the fourth 
 field back of the house. Fasten your sabre under 
 your stirrup-leather ; if you have to run, it 's that 
 dam unhandy " — 
 
 " Thank you. And now good-by, again, Phil." 
 
 They shook hands, and the scout went .ahead. 
 Blake walked his horse slowly along the edge of 
 the wood. Soon they halted. " I shall follow you 
 to the corner," said Pearson ; "you won't have no 
 trouble : 56 did n't never keep him long. If 
 there 's a row I shall join you ; so don't shoot 
 me." 
 
 Blake then pushed on alone through the thick 
 blackness, in the sullen rain-pour, and with some 
 little trouble got through the hell-fence. The 
 cabin-roof was clear in outlined view against the 
 fire-lit sky. Dismounting, he fastened his horse 
 so that a pull at the halter-loop would release 
 her, took a roll of notes from his saddle-bag, and, 
 making sure that the pistol in his belt could be 
 easily drawn, walked up the slight ascent. Half- 
 
22 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 way lie stopped, a sense of unusual agitation upon 
 him. 
 
 " I should think I might be a trifle nervous or 
 scared," he said to himself, smiling ; " yet the 
 risk is nothing to that of a skirmish-line." He 
 began to wonder why he was nervous, and con- 
 cluded that it was the unusualness of the affair 
 that disturbed him. 
 
 A moment later he stood beside the cabin, A 
 dark opening marked where the door had been. 
 
 " Is there any one here ? " he said, softly, a 
 hand on his pistol. As he spoke, a tall man in a 
 horseman's cloak came around the corner of the 
 house, and paused. 
 
 " Stand ! " said a voice evidently disguised and 
 anxious. " Are you Captain Weston ? " 
 
 " I am not. He is dead. I am the officer sent 
 in his place." 
 
 " Stop ! Don't stir, or I shall shoot. How am 
 I to know you ? " 
 
 " You are 56." 
 
 " What then ? Can yon name me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; you are " — 
 
 "Hold!" broke in the man. "Come closer; 
 you need n't be afraid." 
 
 " That I am not ; " and as he approached, the 
 stranger pulled down his cap and drew his horse- 
 man's cloak up so as partly to cover a face which 
 the darkness already quite concealed. 
 
 "Now! Speak low. Those pickets might 
 chance to be restless." The speaker was clearly 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 23 
 
 uneasy enough, and kept glancing about him 
 nervously. " And now," he said, " my name ? " 
 
 " Richard Darnell." 
 
 " Well, that will do as well as another ; " and 
 he laughed, — a curious, out - of - place, untimely 
 little laugh. " Let 's go in," he said, " and get 
 through." 
 
 The Federal officer entered coolly in front of 
 him, now having himself well in hand. The sin- 
 gle room was almost pitch-dark. 
 
 " I am to receive from you a statement of the 
 regiments of Longstreet's and Hill's corps." 
 
 " It is here in cipher ; you have the key." 
 
 "Let me light a match and look over it. It 
 may need explanation." 
 
 " Not as you value your life ! " cried the other, 
 fiercely. " I do not choose to be seen, and I don't 
 want to risk attracting some straggler. Take it 
 or don't take it, but let 's get done." 
 
 "Very good," said Blake, securing the little 
 packet. " Here is your money. By George ! " 
 he thought to himself, " I came near saying Ju- 
 das ! " 
 
 " How much is it ? I was to receive a couple 
 of thousand." 
 
 " Here is that amount." The transfer having 
 been made, he added, " I believe that is all." 
 
 He felt unwilling to say one needless word to 
 this man. Yet, as he turned to go out, he had 
 an eager desire to return and ask, " How can you 
 do this thing ? " A strange pity was in his heart. 
 The crime seemed to him so awful. 
 
24 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 As they came forth into the night, a few 
 watching stars were over them, and the darkness 
 was far less than it had been. The stranger 
 again pulled down the visor of his cap and drew 
 his cloak up about his face. 
 
 " How cool it gets ! " 
 
 Blake made no reply. 
 
 " Where is your escort ? I will see you down 
 the hill." 
 
 " That is needless, my men are close at hand. 
 I can go alone." 
 
 "Well, I have to be careful; your safety is 
 essential to mine. You wiU pardon me. One 
 word more." 
 
 Before this the man had spoken abruptly and 
 more or less like an uneducated person. His last 
 phrases betrayed him to a careful observer as of a 
 higher social class. Blake paused, with a sense 
 of sorrowful responsibility that was almost a pain. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "You pledge me your word of honor as — as 
 an officer that my name is known to no one but 
 you ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " And your own name ? you did not give it." 
 
 " No ; I mentioned Weston, that was enough." 
 
 " Well, it does n't matter. How did you learn 
 my name ? " 
 
 " I found it on a sealed envelope." 
 
 " And do you keep it, sir, for your successor in 
 like fashion ? " The tone was imperative. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 25 
 
 " I do not. I did not think it safe to leave it 
 behind me to the chances of war. I burned it. 
 Of course when I return I must make some such 
 provision as Captain Weston made." 
 
 The other speaker was silent for a brief space. 
 Then he said, " That is all. You will hear from 
 me in the usual way within a week or two. 
 Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night." And Blake moved away as the 
 other turned towards the cabin. 
 
 The Federal officer looked back once or twice 
 at the retreating figure until it was lost to view ; 
 then he made haste to find his horse. He untied 
 the halter-loop and stood a moment, unable to 
 escape from the unpleasant impression the inter- 
 view had left upon his mind. Weird fancies went 
 through his brain. " I should like," he thought, 
 '■ to be that man for a minute. I wonder how 
 much of his soul I have bought for that war- 
 saint the devil. Well " — 
 
 He gathered the reins and set a foot in the 
 stirrup. A slight noise in the wood close at hand 
 disturbed the animal, which was never easy to 
 mount. As Blake lifted himseK there was a flash 
 of light, a pistol-shot, a sharp pang in his right 
 shoulder. The horse, touched on the back by the 
 same shot, rose on her haunches, and, the pull on 
 the reins sufficing with the weight on the stirrup 
 to throw her, she fell heavily upon her master. 
 
 For a moment the shock confused Blake. When 
 he dropped, a man ran out of the brush, pistol m 
 
26 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 hand. As he did so, a second shot rang out below 
 them. There was a noise of men in the distance, 
 and a shot from the rebel pickets, and then an- 
 other. 
 
 As the horse struggled to rise, Blake heard the 
 man exclaim, with an oath, " I can't have missed 
 him ! " and then the next instant was free from 
 the mare and giddily reeling, but on his feet, the 
 scout beside him. 
 
 " Are you hit ? Can you mount ? Be quick : 
 the pickets will be on us." 
 
 " Not much hurt, I think." And, aided by 
 Pearson, he tumbled himself into the saddle. 
 
 The scout hastily led the horse down the slight 
 incline. " Are you all right, captain ? My horse 
 is here in the wood." 
 
 " Yes ; I am better." 
 
 " Then ride on as quick as you can along the 
 wood." 
 
 A moment after, the scout was beside him. 
 " By George, they 're about ! Darn the moon ! " 
 
 As he spoke, a dozen shots were fired from the 
 rising ground beyond the clearing. The bullets 
 flew harmlessly by them. Their horses, scared 
 by the noise, broke into a run, and a few seconds 
 brought them to the party in the ox-road. 
 
 Francis rode up to meet them, " What 's wrong ? 
 Are you hit ? " he said. 
 
 " Not badly ; only dizzy. Take command and 
 push on. We shall have some of their cavalry 
 after us." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 27 
 
 " Get ahead, Pearson, and keep a sharp look- 
 out." 
 
 As the trees became fewer, there being no 
 fences, a man was sent out on each flank, and one 
 kept well in the rear. Thus guarded, they rode 
 on, the noise behind them growing fainter. 
 
 Francis fell back alongside of his friend. " Was 
 it the pickets ? " he said. 
 
 " No. I got through with my business, and 
 was mounting when the rascal shot me. I don't 
 think it is much, as I can move my arm, but it 
 hurts like the mischief. Lucky the horse plunged 
 as I mounted : nothing else saved me. The fel- 
 low was n't six feet off." 
 
 " Was it the spy, do you think ? " 
 
 " I am sure. I was dazed for a moment, — just 
 a moment. The ground was boggy, or I should 
 have had a smash somewhere from the fall of the 
 horse on me. The man ran up when I fell, and 
 I heard him speak. Then the scout fired." 
 
 " Why, what at ? He could n't have seen 
 enough to shoot. He might have hit you, or " — 
 
 " Oh, he fired over us, merely as a warning." 
 
 " I see. Cool hand ; saved your life, probably. 
 Have you any idea why the man did it? Had 
 you quarreled ? " 
 
 " No. We simply disposed of our business and 
 parted." 
 
 " How strange ! " 
 
 " No. I understand it — at least I think I 
 do ; but to explain it would be unfair — I mean 
 
28 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 would involve the breaking of a pledge. I can't 
 explain it even to a friend like you." 
 
 " All right. You 're uncommonly particular 
 about a scamp like that." 
 
 " I vrould rather keep my word to a scamp than 
 to an honest man. It 's a promise after all ; and 
 the devil has good splints for broken promises." 
 
 " That is so like you, Roland. Halloa ! What 's 
 that? Halt!" 
 
 The scout came back in haste : " Those pickets 
 have roused the bushwhackers. There 's a fair lot 
 out ahead across the road. This way, sir ; you 
 can see them." 
 
 Riding on a few paces, Blake could see with 
 his glass, as it was now early dawn, a small body 
 of men in the road some quarter of a mile away. 
 
 " They are not regulars," he said. 
 
 " No, sir, — farmers, bummers, and the like. 
 Shall we go through, or take to the woods ? " 
 
 " We will avoid them if possible, and fight if 
 we must." 
 
 Upon this the command turned into the brush, 
 and rode due westward for an hour. Then they 
 moved on again to the north, making a long cir- 
 cuit, and without further annoyance continued 
 their cautious march. 
 
 Early in the morning they halted in a wood to 
 breakfast, and then Blake found that his hurt was, 
 as he had supposed, a slight flesh-wound in the 
 shoulder. The horse had been merely touched by 
 the ball. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 29 
 
 Their long detour and the need to go slowly 
 through a rough country made it noon before 
 they began to come upon moving bodies of 
 cavalry and vast wagon-trains, white-covered am- 
 bulances, and aU the seeming confusion in the 
 rear of a great army. Clouds of dust hung over 
 the melancholy landscape. The rumble and rat- 
 tle of wheels and moving horses, the curses of 
 mule-drivers, the jingle and clatter of cavalry 
 escorts, filled the air with a strange mass of 
 sound ; while above all rose the roar of distant 
 cannon, the incessant crash of musketry adding 
 to the volume of discords. No one they met 
 seemed to know anything, except that Hancock 
 had beaten Hill badly. Anxious and curious, 
 they pushed on with such directions as they could 
 get. 
 
 By and by they came on wretched straggling 
 groups of wounded men, bloody, begrimed, and 
 sullen, and here and there an ambulance, a mov- 
 ing jolting load of groans and execrations. Over 
 the near distance a gray volume of smoke rose 
 high in air or blew out of the woods in dim clouds, 
 through which the spent balls began to fall. 
 
 After a long search, Blake found the provost- 
 marshal's headquarters, and, making his report, 
 bsA his wound dressed, and turned in to get a 
 little sleep before attacking the manifold duties 
 of his new position. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ** Thou wert but a maid, 
 And with like passions stirred, like fears afraid ; 
 With ruddy lips, and lovely cheeks, and eyes 
 That did not guess their own solemnities ; 
 With every unseen maiden loveliness 
 That innocence doth hide and lover's fancy guess. " 
 
 North and South, over all the land, a new 
 agony of expectation was in millions of hearts as 
 the shuddering curtain was about to rise on the 
 dark drama of the Wilderness campaign. Per- 
 haps the gladiators in the arena felt its horrors 
 least. Wife, mother, sister, waited with sad pa- 
 tience for news of the never-ending strife. We 
 who lived through those years remember them as 
 men recall the quake of a convulsed earth, and 
 almost are vexed that our children can smile, and 
 talk so lightly of what to us was living tragedy 
 and to them is mere history, — an added task for 
 school-taxed memory, and nothing more. 
 
 Yet even in those days here and there through- 
 out the country were families strangely discon- 
 nected from active interest in the great struggle, 
 either because of indifEerence due to a combina< 
 tion of easy circumstances with selfishness and 
 the fact that no one they cared for was in peril, 
 or of some absorbing matter closer at hand which 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 31 
 
 made the war seem to them a distant and trifling 
 agency in their daily lives. Single individuals 
 in these homes often suffered the more acutely for 
 the hostile or careless atmosphere in which they 
 lived. 
 
 The time was early in April, 1864, at that un- 
 certain after-breakfast hour which exists in fami- 
 lies where there is no steadying machinery of 
 business needs to enforce punctuality, and where 
 personal caprice is the rule of an unmethodical 
 group of people. 
 
 The day was chilly ; a small wood fire blazed 
 in the grate. The furniture of the room was 
 modern and commonplace, and hinted at no par- 
 ticular taste or individuality. Near the window, 
 however, stood a commodious and plain table, 
 out of keeping with the slightly-worn finery of 
 the chintz-covered chairs and lounges. It was 
 piled up with books and drawing-materials. On 
 the floor near by stood an open work-basket, with 
 bright floss-silk skeins hanging about it in dis- 
 order. 
 
 Presently the door opened, and a young woman 
 entered. " A good hour to myself," she said, 
 with a long-drawn breath of relief. A golden 
 hour, she thought, — and how should she spend 
 it ? Then, feeling too warm, she opened wide 
 both windows, and stood looking out for a few 
 moments on Fifth Avenue and the rapid tide of 
 men walking briskly down to their varied occupa- 
 tions in the busy city. 
 
82 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Really," she reflected, with a sad smile, " I 
 am like the Lady of Shalott." One or two of the 
 passing men looked up with pleased surprise at 
 the nobly-modeled head and the interesting face 
 above them. Their owner, abruptly conscious, 
 shrunk back into the room. 
 
 Next the endless sing-song of the newsboys 
 struck her ear : " Grant about to cross the Rapi- 
 dan ! Great news from the West ! Extra ' Her- 
 ald ' ! " 
 
 " It is strange," said the girl aloud, " I am 
 twenty years old, and of all the million of men 
 who are staking health and life I do not know one, 
 and there is not one whose death would bring me 
 a personal pang. Grandmamma lives in the past, 
 and Octopia thinks only of her brother and her- 
 self." 
 
 Then she paused and again spoke aloud, — a 
 habit apt to grow upon those who, like Robinson 
 Crusoe, dwell alone, or who, like this girl, live 
 relatively lonely lives amidst unsympathetic peo- 
 ple. 
 
 " I cannot do it," she cried, ■ — the mention of 
 her cousin's name having recalled to mind a little 
 unpleasantness with which she felt that she must 
 deal at once. Octopia had that morning asked 
 her for a photograph of herself to send to Richard 
 Darnell. This only brother of Octopia, like most 
 of her Virginia cousins, Olive had never seen, and 
 had heard of almost solely through his sister. It 
 was characteristic of Olive's age that she did not 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 33 
 
 formulate distinctly her dislike to accede to what 
 seemed so trifling a request. But the defensive 
 instincts of wholesome-minded girls are strong 
 and in effect far-sighted. She had said that she 
 would see about it, and had observed the glance 
 of surprise with which Octopia noted her doubt. 
 
 Her cousin had said, " Well, see to it at once, 
 my dear, I am keeping open a letter to Dick and 
 I cannot wait." The girl was well enough aware 
 that what her cousin once set her heart upon she 
 was apt to succeed in accomplishing. 
 
 As the young woman stood reflecting, the door 
 opened and a gentleman entered the room. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Pennell," said Olivia, her 
 face cheerily brightening. " How are you ? How 
 rarely we see you ! " 
 
 " I am very busy," he returned, " and just of 
 late unusually so." 
 
 The new-comer was tall and paler than is com- 
 mon, slightly bald and clean-shaven. A man not 
 over forty-five, he yet stooped somewhat and moved 
 with conspicuous awkwardness. Uneasily shy, he 
 absently put his hat on the open piano, removed 
 it promptly and set it on the mantel-piece, from 
 which it fell. Before he could recover it Olivia 
 picked up the hat and stood holding it, a look of 
 saucy mirth in her face. 
 
 " Please, Miss Olive," he said, seeking the resto- 
 ration of his head-covering, without which his 
 hands felt to him uncomfortably out of employ- 
 ment, " please, Miss Olive, could I see Mrs. 
 Wynne?" 
 
34 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " You can see Mrs. Wynne, but you cannot see 
 her, oh, no ! and you can't have your hat either, 
 until you have paid me a little visit. I have seen 
 no one in a week." 
 
 " No one ! oh, Miss Olive, no one ! There is 
 Miss Darnell." 
 
 "Yes, there is Miss Darnell. She is always 
 there." He looked- at the girl with a curious sense 
 of the fact that she was growing older. " How 
 are the clocks? " she added. " Please do sit down. 
 How are the clocks ? I wonder if I shall ever see 
 them — or anybody." 
 
 " But when will you come ? I am sure I must 
 have asked you twenty times." 
 
 " And I have asked grandmamma twenty-five 
 times. It does really seem as if I never have a 
 minute to myself. I suppose other girls have. 
 Three times last month I was to have gone to 
 your house, and three times Octopia had some- 
 thing which must be done, — at once, Mr. Pen- 
 nell, at once. I reaUy begin to believe Octopia 
 must be jealous of me." 
 
 Pennell blushed. " Oh, Miss Olive," he ex- 
 claimed, " I will speak to Miss Octopia about the 
 clocks, and then perhaps " — 
 
 " Please not," said Olive hastily. 
 
 "But why not?" 
 
 " Oh ! because — I really don't know why ; but 
 I would rather not." 
 
 " Then I will not," he said quietly. 
 
 At this moment the servant returned, and said 
 that Mrs. Wynne would see him. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 35 
 
 " But do ask for my cousin," said the girl. " If 
 she sees you I shall have another quiet half-hour. 
 No, yop can't have your hat till you come for it. 
 And please don't forget to stay ever so long with 
 Octopia." 
 
 " Nothing could give me more pleasure than to 
 do as you desire." He spoke, as he usually did, with 
 a slight hesitation, which only left him when ex- 
 cited. His manner now was formal, and meant to 
 indicate some slight disapprobation. It sat awk- 
 wardly on a person unconventional by tempera- 
 ment and education. 
 
 Miss Wynne looked up as he turned to leave 
 the room, and felt rather than knew in some 
 vague way that Mr. Pennell was annoyed. As he 
 walked slowly up the stairs to visit Mrs. Wynne he 
 reflected on the fact that this rapidly developing 
 young person was clearly not in accord with at 
 least one of the women with whom she lived ; and 
 from Pennell's point of view this seemed a simply 
 curious and inexplicable fact. 
 
 Miss Wynne stood still a moment after he left 
 her. Then she set the cherished hat on a table. 
 " Really," she exclaimed, " he must like Octopia 
 a great deal. I could spare him a large share of 
 her affection and not miss it — much." Then ab- 
 ruptly, having some unused capacities for girlish 
 fun, she was seized with a desire to make closer 
 acquaintance with Pennell's comforter, his hat. 
 She put it on, giving it a slight tilt backwards, 
 stooped a little, and with a perfect imitation of his 
 nervous speech said aloud : — 
 
36 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 "Miss Octopia — I adore you, but that young 
 woman does not. She did once, but" — at this 
 moment Pennell reentered the room. 
 
 He paused, bewildered. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Pennell," said the girl flushing till 
 her cheeks tingled — "I — I — please to forgive 
 me — I am — such a fool sometimes. You won't 
 mind what I said ? " 
 
 "I — did not hear it, Miss Olive. You could 
 not give me pain if you tried." "Oh! he must 
 have heard," thought she. Then he smiled gently 
 as he took his hat. " It is highly honored," and 
 he brushed it affectionately. " I forgot that I had 
 left my papers in the lining — and — I came back 
 — for it. Good-by," — and he left her. 
 
 " There will be no lecture for that," said Miss 
 Wynne. " He won't tell Octopia, I think," and 
 she laughed gayly. 
 
 So saying, she turned to the table, reminded by 
 the thought of her cousin of the matter which had 
 begun to engage her attention before Pennell 
 called. 
 
 Somewhat listlessly, she picked up one of the 
 photograph albums then in vogue, and slowly 
 turned the pages. At last her dead mother's pic- 
 ture caught her eye, and she stood a moment 
 with filling eyes, and a sudden sense of the lonely 
 abandonment of orphanhood. A bitter feeling of 
 life's emptiness, of some unsatisfied, un-analyzed 
 craving came over her. She was nobly gifted with 
 the yearning instincts which are of despotic force 
 
ROLAND BLAKE 37 
 
 in the highest womanhood. It was love in its 
 many forms which her life lacked. 
 
 It was surely not a full renewal of the child's 
 grief which now stirred her being. The large 
 charity of time had brought to her the human 
 privilege of partial forgetf ulness. If memory were 
 perfect life would be unendurable. Still thought- 
 ful, she turned the pages again. 
 
 At the end of the book were four portraits of 
 herself. One picture was that of a girl of sixteen, 
 with great eyes and a slight frame, the head too 
 large for the body which in later years carried it 
 so proudly. Under the photograph was written, 
 in a feminine hand, " Olivia Wynne, Munich, set. 
 16." " Ah, mother, I can't burn that ! " She put 
 it aside a moment, looked about her, and at last, 
 lifting the tray of paints from her color-box, placed 
 it beneath them. " She will never look there." 
 
 With the other likenesses in her hand, she turned 
 to the window. " Why should I have this sUly 
 reluctance to burn them? It seems to me actually 
 like an auto-da-fS. I must have been looking at 
 Octopia when this was taken; it is as stiff and 
 stately as Queen Bess in her ruff. Ah, dear old 
 London ! this is all I have left of you." 
 
 The next picture excited her intense amuse- 
 ment. " Did I ever look like that ? I think it 
 would disenchant Cousin Richard, if he needs 
 disenchantment. It ought to be labeled Becky! 
 and was I ever — ever as handsome as this ? — 
 'Paris, I860.' Ah!" — and she turned to the 
 
38 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 mirror — "at least I am not now. They might be 
 three women, Priscilla, Becky, Honora." And 
 laughing at her fancy, she threw them on the fire, 
 stirred them into the ashes, and gazed with clasped 
 hands as they crumpled, changed, and smouldered 
 away. Then she stood a moment moodily tap- 
 ping the fender-bar with one foot. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, " there will be a fine fuss 
 about this, but I will not sit again. If I have to, 
 I will make faces." And a look of childlike 
 mutiny came out upon her features. " I won't do 
 it!" 
 
 The clock struck eleven. " Three quarters of 
 an hour ! I thought as much." 
 
 The door opened, and a small, aged colored 
 woman entered. 
 
 "'Scuse me. Miss : Missus Octopy she want 
 you right off." 
 
 " Tell her I am busy." 
 
 " Dat would be no use. Miss. Jus' bes' come 
 along." 
 
 " Oh, very well." 
 
 " Shall I say you 's a-comin ? " 
 
 *' Yes, — anything you please." 
 
 The woman lingered. 
 
 " Say I will come at once," said Miss Wynne. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ** Our sacred selves ! Hare we 
 No charge to keep o'er this divinity 
 That lives in us ? " 
 
 The house to which I have carried my reader 
 was rented in flats. The first and second stories, 
 with a part of the third, were entirely taken up 
 by the family group to which Miss Wynne be- 
 longed. A drawing-room on the first floor was 
 used chiefly by her, save on the rare occasions, 
 more- frequent of late, when Octopia Darnell 
 chose to share it with her. The apartment be- 
 hind it was a dining-room, in which at times the 
 whole family met when Madam Wynne, as she 
 had been called in other days, was able to be pres- 
 ent at meals. The second story was reserved for 
 the bedroom and parlor of Mrs. Wynne, whilst 
 Miss Darnell had for her own use a like space on 
 the third floor, leaving to Miss Wynne a bed- 
 chamber, on the same story, known as a hall-room, 
 and certainly quite insuflBcient to accommodate 
 the person and the gowns of any young woman 
 more luxurious than Olivia Wynne. 
 
 Two years before the date of this story. Miss 
 Wynne, a girl of eighteen, was traveling in 
 Europe with her father. Since the death of her 
 
40 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 mother a large share of her young life had been 
 thus spent, most of it on the Continent, and, ex- 
 cept through rare letters from her grandmother, 
 she had had little or no communication with 
 America, where in fact neither of her parents pos- 
 sessed closer relatives than a few distant Virginia 
 cousins, whose increasing poverty Arthur Wynne 
 had from time to time relieved. 
 
 Then, as she remembered but too well, her 
 father was summoned home by his affairs, whUe 
 she was left at school near Liverpool. He wrote 
 frequently as to the condition of the firm of iron- 
 manufacturers of which he was the senior, and 
 his letters showed a constantly increasing anxiety. 
 He spoke angrily or sadly of the disgrace which 
 he believed his partners to have brought upon his 
 good name, and of his resolution to meet the crisis 
 by every possible sacrifice. At last came the 
 news of his sudden illness and death. 
 
 Of the sad voyage to America, and of the 
 coolly tranquil welcome from a woman who no 
 longer existed in the present or its emotions, 
 Olivia Wynne had but too vivid a remembrance ; 
 it was, as it were, a wall of darkened days be- 
 tween a life of gladness and sunshine and that 
 other period of bitterness and petty social oppres- 
 sion in which she still existed. When she met 
 her grandmother, of whom as a young girl she 
 had seen little, she found with surprise that her 
 home was shared by a remote kinswoman of her 
 father's. That this settled inmate of the home 
 
ROLAND BtAKE. 41 
 
 now to be hers was not well loved by the older 
 woman was soon plain even to so young a person 
 as Olivia. It was obvious enough that Miss Dar- 
 nell was, within narrow limits, useful to Mrs. 
 Wynne, but neither time nor fuller opportunity 
 for observation enabled Olivia to understand any 
 better how two women so unlike and with so little 
 that was mutually pleasing should have come to be 
 voluntarily members of one family circle. That 
 it was a permanent arrangement was made clear 
 enough to her by even the little her grandmother 
 vouchsafed to say, and she had, of course, quietly 
 accepted her sole home as she found it, with the 
 passive obedience of one accustomed to live with 
 older people and to receive their decrees as final. 
 But the rapid development of a nature of unusual 
 strength had of late, with the unfolding of events, 
 made her both anxious and curious. 
 
 As she walked slowly up-stairs, — and staircases 
 are places for much thinking, — she said to her- 
 self, " My life is too unnatural ; I am getting irri- 
 table ; and how long through the years to come 
 shall I be able to endure it ? " 
 
 Pausing a moment, she made anew the resolu- 
 tion she had so often made before to be watchful 
 of her temper, and then, with the caution of well- 
 lessoned habit, knocked lightly at the door of Miss 
 Octopia Darnell's sitting-room. After a moment 
 she knocked again. Presently she heard, from 
 within, a voice clear, distinct, and gentle : — 
 
 " I said ' come in,' Olivia." 
 
42 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 The girl opened the door quietly. The room 
 was darkened by partly-drawn curtains, and was 
 luxuriously comfortable with a heavy-piled Turk- 
 ish carpet and easy-chairs. On a long reclining 
 chair, and covered with a silken down-lined cover- 
 let, lay the long and attenuated figure of Octopia 
 Darnell. She had the singular pale-golden com- 
 plexion of a woman originally dark-skinned and 
 now lacking blood. The nose was aquiline, and 
 emphasized by the thinness of her cheeks. Her 
 lids, large and full, were habitually half closed 
 over watchful gray eyes, and her mouth, which 
 was of remarkable beauty, was somewhat marred 
 by the slight protrusion of the lips, as in the far 
 mous medals of the Malatestas. Her arms, ex- 
 tended languidly beside her, seemed from their 
 delicacy unnaturally long, the hands were white 
 and thin, and the fingers, with rather pronounced 
 joints and pointed nails, were delicately cared 
 for. 
 
 Without turning her head, she said, in modu- 
 lated tones, — 
 
 " Why do you make so much noise, dear Olivia ? 
 And please not to keep me waiting, I am so weak 
 to-day. You are young, dear, and death does not 
 seem as near to you as it does to me. There! 
 don't make so much noise. How your shoes 
 creak! And don't stand about; it makes me 
 nervous." 
 
 " I came to say that I must go out, Octopia " — « 
 
 " Cousin Octopia," she corrected softly. 
 
ROLAND BLAK^. 43 
 
 " Cousin Octopia," repeated Olma, mechani- 
 cally. " I have not been out for three days." 
 
 " Nor I, dear child, for, alas, how many ! Don't 
 desert me. I am so lonely, and the days are 
 long, — very long." 
 
 " But it is unwholesome to be so shut up. I — 
 I" — 
 
 " Read to me a little while ; I want to hear the 
 wretched war-news. And don't read the com- 
 ments. You will be careful, love, won't you ? I 
 cannot stand what they say about the South. 
 Happy you who have no stake in it all! And 
 don't move about so. Why will you wear dresses 
 that rustle?" 
 
 Olivia sat down, vanquished by the mixture of 
 yearning claims on her feelings, distrust it as she 
 might, and of more or less positive commands 
 which long-enduring obedience made it hard to 
 disobey. 
 
 She took up the " Herald," and began to look 
 for the war-columns. 
 
 " I cannot see," she said. " My eyes pained 
 me yesterday." 
 
 " Well," said Octopia, in a resigned and injured 
 tone, "open the window a little; but put the 
 screen behind me first, — first," she added, with 
 impatience, " before you let in any more light." 
 Then, in softer tones, " Thank you, dear child. 
 How good you are ! " 
 
 "No, I am not," said Olivia, raging inwardly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you are ; but don't speak so sharply. 
 And now let us hear about General Lee." 
 
44 ttOLAND BLAKE. 
 
 For an hour Olivia read aloud, in a softened 
 monotone, omitting with singular skill all edito- 
 rial comments. 
 
 At last Miss Darnell raised her thin hand: 
 " That will answer. You are a sweet child. Kiss 
 me, dear; kneel down and kiss me. How good 
 you are ! " 
 
 This was a daily trial to Olivia. The close, ill- 
 ventilated room, the obscurity, the sallow woman 
 with a constant atmosphere of strong scents about 
 her, were alike harmful to the very organization 
 of the honest, wholesome maiden, and this final 
 annoyance — the kiss and the little physical pet- 
 tings — was becoming almost impossible to be 
 endured. With a distinct effort to control the 
 mutiny in her heart, she knelt hastily. 
 
 In a moment Octopia's long arms were about 
 her. "Oh," she said, as she kissed the girl, "I 
 have none but you near me to love me ; you do 
 love me, dear, don't you? You must, or you 
 would not be so tender." 
 
 Olivia hastily released herself. 
 
 " That was rough, child. You forget I am an 
 invalid." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Olivia. "I — I — my head 
 aches ; it is close here." 
 
 " I hardly see the logical relation of these mat- 
 ters. Don't go ; I have something to say to you. 
 You have been here such a little while. Open 
 the window, if you must ; I can stand it." 
 
 She had yielded so often to the sick woman's 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 45 
 
 plea of weakness, of loneliness, and of multiple 
 disabilities, that the claim upon her sympathies 
 had in time developed easily in one at the plastic 
 age a habit of docile submission. It could not be 
 said that she was ever unwilling ; her momentary 
 impatience was due to the craving of her phys- 
 ical nature for air and movement. All that was 
 noblest in the girl made her incline towards ten- 
 der helpfulness. Each revolt caused her intense 
 self-reproach ; for the soul of woman listens with 
 impatience to the claims of the body, and Olivia 
 was too young and unsuspicious to find in an 
 analysis of the case before her reasons for doubt, 
 disbelief, or refusals. 
 
 She sat down, showing the almost abnormal 
 self-control observable in young women of decided 
 character who have been brought up too largely 
 among adults. Next, like a good honest martyr, 
 she kindled a small fire of self-reproach, and be- 
 gan to torment herself because she had been on 
 the verge of a denial of the god of self-sacrifice 
 instinctively adored by good women. 
 
 As Olivia seated herself, she saw her cousin's 
 long hands rising and falling on the coverlet, and 
 said, gently, — 
 
 " You are suffering, cousin ; can I help you? " 
 
 To an experienced eye the movements would 
 have seemed too regular to be the expression of 
 pain. 
 
 " Yes, I suffer ; I cannot bear these struggles 
 with you, Olivia. You are like all young people ; 
 
46 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 you have no real sympathy. When I am dead 
 you will remember me and wish in vain you had 
 done more to help a pain-broken woman. I don't 
 want you to answer me ; I cannot talk long, and 
 I have something to say." 
 
 Olivia watched the sallow face, with its look of 
 languid inaction, noticing for the first time, being 
 a clever but undeveloped observer, that the lips 
 spoke without the other features appearing to 
 take any expressive interest in the thoughts thus 
 uttered. 
 
 " Richard may be here any day this week, 
 Olivia, or it may be that he will not come for a 
 month or two. Everything is so uncertain now-a- 
 days. I want you to be very nice to him when 
 he does come. You will, love, won't you?" and 
 she patted the girl on the knee caressingly. 
 
 Some faint instinctive warning rose in Olivia's 
 mind. She could not have guessed at its source, 
 but it steadied her and made her careful. 
 
 " How should I be anything else but nice to 
 him ? It will be a relief to see any one, — any one." 
 
 " Ah, but he is n't a mere ' any one,' — Richard 
 DarneU ! " 
 
 Olivia was a little puzzled how to reply, and re- 
 turned, somewhat at random : "Is he like you, 
 cousin? " 
 
 " He is better than I am, my dear child, a bet- 
 ter nature. If he were like me I could not love 
 him so dearly." 
 
 As she spoke, Octopia lay upon her back, and, 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 47 
 
 fls was her habit, either looked up at the ceiling 
 or talked with low-drooped lids that seemed to 
 close the eyes but did not. Now she turned to- 
 wards Olivia and took her hand. 
 
 "I want you to know him well, dear. We 
 women understand one another, and can bear the 
 weight of one another's aches and troubles ; but 
 men are more selfish, all but this man. I don't 
 think Richard is selfish. There never was a mo- 
 ment when he did not want to be good to me." 
 
 With a sense of surprise Olivia recognized the 
 thought which rose to her consciousness, that she 
 might like this man better if he had been less 
 good to Octopia. 
 
 " When will he be here ? How can he come ? 
 He is in the Southern government service." 
 
 " Yes, dear. That brings me to what I want 
 to say ; and you must listen, because my brother's 
 coming to the North is an errand full of risk. He 
 comes on some business for the Confederate 
 States, and of course he must do it under an 
 assumed name. I have had a letter which came 
 to me from the West Indies ; you know that is 
 the only way I can hear. In it he says that some- 
 where about this time he must visit the North, 
 and that he will telegraph me from Philadelphia 
 when he will arrive, and will sign with the name 
 by which we are to know him. I think he has 
 asked to be sent on this mission chiefly because 
 he worries himself about me. Perhaps, too, he is 
 a little curious as to his cousin, dear." 
 
48 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 "I am not much of a curiosity," said Olivia, 
 simply. 
 
 " What a quaint way you have of saying things ! 
 Ah, we shall see." 
 
 The tone of confidence was for some reason un- 
 pleasing to Olivia. " I hope," she said, " that you 
 will be well enough to see him at once when he 
 comes. If you have one of your bad days you 
 will not be well enough to come down, and then 
 I know you will leave him to me and to grand- 
 mamma. Half the time she is ill, and I may be 
 left alone. It will be difficult for me ; I shall 
 make some mistake ; I know I shall." 
 
 Octopia reflected a moment. She distinctly 
 meant to throw these two young people together 
 and to leave them to meet alone, feeling assured 
 that the romance and peril of the situation would 
 admirably aid the foolish scheme she had woven 
 to interest Olivia in the Confederate. 
 
 "I shall be sure to see him," she said; "but 
 everything will seem easy when you meet. How- 
 ever, we will talk it over again. I had to speak 
 of it at once, because he may be here at any time. 
 You must be very careful." 
 
 " Yes," said Olivia, thoughtfully. 
 
 " And bring me up those photographs of your- 
 self." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because I want them, love. I did not like 
 the one I sent last year." 
 
 "Why was I not told that you had sent him 
 my likeness ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 49 
 
 " Oh, I forgot it, I suppose. It is quite possible 
 he may not come at all, everything is so uncertain 
 in the South ; but I thought that if he chanced to 
 come suddenly it would be as well for you to be 
 prepared." 
 
 " And does grandmamma know it ? " 
 
 " Of course, love. He has to go up from Rich- 
 mond to the army and back again almost every 
 month; but this time I surely think he will 
 come." 
 
 It was all disagreeable to Olivia. She was 
 strongly Northern in her feelings, and the need 
 to repress them was one of her daily annoyances. 
 The handsome Confederate oflBcial of whom she 
 heard too incessantly did not much disturb her 
 imagination. 
 
 " And now, like a good girl, run at once and 
 get me the photographs. There were several. I 
 want to choose." 
 
 " I have none to bring," returned Olivia, flush- 
 ing. " I burned them," 
 
 " And pray why, dear, did you burn them ? You 
 knew I wanted them." 
 
 " I did not — no, I don't mean that. I burned 
 them because I chose to." 
 
 " ' Chose to ! ' You will have to learn that 
 what your elders require should be law to a girl. 
 ' Chose to,' indeed ! I shall speak to your grand- 
 mother." 
 
 " As you please," said Olivia, rising. 
 
 " Yes, as I please. You will find it will be as I 
 please." 
 
50 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Olivia stood still a moment, hesitating, an angry 
 reply on her lips, and feeling that self-control was 
 fast deserting her, left the room without a word. 
 
 Then she heard a wailing cry : " Olivia ! dear 
 Olivia ! " The girl turned back reluctant, and re- 
 opened the door. 
 
 " Try not to trouble me ; I am sick and irrita- 
 ble. And you will be kind to my brother. And 
 shut the door gently, love. I can bear no more." 
 
 With an indistinct sense of having been alto- 
 gether wrong and of having been also insulted, 
 the girl went slowly down the staircase. Midway 
 she sat down on a stair, and with her head in her 
 hands began to sob; She well knew that the half- 
 apology and tender remonstrance with which she 
 had just been dismissed meant nothing, and that 
 another stormy and to her inexplicable quarrel 
 with her grandmother was before her. 
 
 The exactions of her nervous, sickly cousin were 
 surely sapping the wholesome life of the younger 
 woman, and as surely lessening her power of self- 
 restraint. One moment her sympathies were 
 called upon, the next her temper was tried by re- 
 proaches. 
 
 Presently she got up wearily and went to Mrs. 
 Wynne's room. There she was told that the old 
 lady was asleep ; and glad of a release from a 
 second task of reading aloud, Olivia dressed and 
 hastened away to get the exercise which she found 
 it so rarely possible to obtain. 
 
 Two years had gone by in the routine of unend- 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 61 
 
 ing tasks and as constant annoyances since Olivia, 
 in deep mourning for her father, had found a home 
 at least in name with her grandmother. She knew 
 that Octopia had been sent for to take charge of 
 her father's house during her own absence, and 
 that her cousin had nursed him tenderly in his 
 last illness. Gratitude might have influenced his 
 mother, but as to this Olivia could but surmise, 
 and all that she knew surely was that the feeble 
 woman on the third floor contrived, by one means 
 or another, to make her influence decisively felt 
 by every one in their little household. At first 
 her extreme softness of manner, her fondness for 
 physical petting, and her love of Olivia's society 
 were helpful to the orphan, abruptly brought out 
 of a life of happiness into this mournful house. 
 But soon the girl began to feel, though indistinctly 
 at first, that she was expected to give more than 
 she got. The alms-bag of tenderly importunate 
 craving for expressions of love and pity was forever 
 at hand. Her life was absorbed by Octopia, who 
 directed her studies after a fashion, and who was 
 supremely affectionate so long as there was no re- 
 sistance ; when that came, Octopia was hurt or 
 nervous, or both, or else, when defeat was near, 
 gave way to such distressing symptoms as com- 
 monly routed Olivia and made Mrs. Wynne too 
 uncomfortable for continuous opposition. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 *' One day the lady saw her youth 
 Depart, and the fiUver thread that streaked 
 Her hair, and worn by the serpent's tooth 
 The brow so puckered, the chin so peakedi — 
 And wondered who the woman was, 
 Hollow eyed, and haggard cheeked — 
 Fronting her silent in the glass." 
 
 When Miss Wynne was fairly out of earshot, 
 Octopia Darnell rose suddenly to her feet, with 
 an easy grace not to have been suspected in the 
 weak, who are usually ungraceful. 
 
 "That girl really exhausts me," she said, in 
 explanation to herself of the energy of her own 
 present action. " She has no consideration for ill 
 health and dependency on others. But I am not 
 quite dependent," she exclaimed, again at the end- 
 less task of explaining herself to herself. " It is 
 she — it is they who are dependent." 
 
 The pride of power came abruptly into her 
 face. She drew herself up, threw back her head, 
 and stood in the dim light, alert, self-observant, 
 before the long dressing - mirror. Charitable 
 shadows flattered the thin and sallow face. Dark 
 crescents beneath the broad eye-sockets served to 
 bring sharply out the great extent of white in 
 which the large dark-blue iris was set. Black 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 53 
 
 curls of hair cut short crowned the rather small 
 head poised on a long neck above drooped shoul- 
 ders. She was quick, in her excitement, to note 
 the mystery of grace which all can see and none 
 fitly describe. A fierce hope rose anew in her 
 mind. 
 
 " I am better ! " she cried, " I shall be well ! I 
 shall be as I was ! " 
 
 She was the puppet of her moods, which obeyed 
 like an automaton the wires pulled by her emo- 
 tions. The mood of triumph was upon her, and 
 reason was in abeyance. 
 
 " Judith ! Judith ! oh, Judith ! " she cried. 
 
 At her call the gray-headed black servant ap- 
 peared from the next room. The set, patient 
 look of the wrinkled old face gave way to an ex- 
 pression of wonder. 
 
 " Ain't heard ye sped,k dat way dis year. Miss 
 Topy. What 's come to ye ? " 
 
 "How old am I, Judith?" 
 
 " Reckon ye knows pretty well." 
 
 " Answer me ! " cried her mistress, turning and 
 speaking more imperatively. 
 
 A look of malice flitted over the servant's face. 
 "Ye might be about thirty, Missus." 
 
 "You know I am older; but I don't look it. 
 I am stronger ; I am looking better. Don't you 
 think Dick will see that I am going to be well ? " 
 
 Again a gleam of dull malice disturbed the set 
 wrinkles of Judith's face. " De light ain't jus dat 
 good for my eyes ; dey 's a-gettin' old." And, 
 
54 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 speaking thus, she moved to the window and drew 
 aside the curtain with a hasty motion. 
 
 The grace of the figure at the glass was still 
 there, but the illusion of outlines softened by the 
 dimness was gone. The eyes set deep in their 
 shrunken sockets stared, with sudden pathos of 
 discovery, at the high-boned, sallow cheek, and 
 the cord-like muscles of the neck. Octopia fell 
 back from the mirror, feeble and shaking. 
 
 " I look like a corpse ! " she said ; " I am hid- 
 eous as a ghost ! Why did you do it ? you hate 
 me ! Sometimes I am sure you hate me ! " She 
 turned on the impassive form of Judith, and seiz- 
 ing her by the arm, held her with a fierce clutch. 
 " You shall be punished for this. You shall quit 
 the house. I will make you a field-hand." 
 
 "Why, Missus, yo's a-gettin' off yo' head. 
 I 's a free woman. Dar can't nobody boss me. 
 You jes' lie down a bit and git it out of yo' 
 mind dat dis is de old home." 
 
 Under any great stress of passion the sick 
 woman was subject to these spells of unreason ; 
 Judith had seen them before. 
 
 Octopia stared about her a moment, and hastily 
 swept a hand over her face, as if to brush away 
 the cobweb daze of emotional confusion which 
 had come upon her. 
 
 " I am very weak," she said. " Where am I? " 
 and she fell on the lounge, while Judith stood 
 quietly beside her. She had endured half a life- 
 time of petty torment, and some graver wrongs, 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 55 
 
 from the woman before her, bat an inheritance of 
 serfdom and abject years of habitual submission 
 were too much even for the slow anger which 
 sometimes rose as time made clearer to her the 
 changed conditions of their mutual relation. Be- 
 neath it all there was still the dog-like attachment 
 of an inferior nature, which is little disturbed by 
 injury, and vaguely connects with a master the 
 idea of essential material helpfulness. 
 
 " Should I git ye anything, honey ? " she said. 
 " I 's sorry I hurt ye ; I don't go to." 
 
 Was there some flavoring remnant of old affec- 
 tion in her phrase? Was it but that habitual 
 flattery which the nursing strong cast to the sickly 
 feeble? Was it the mere tribute of a life of 
 cringing ? Who shall say ? 
 
 " It do^s n't matter," said Octopia, languidly. 
 " Nothing matters. You 're better than the rest. 
 Listen to me; Master Richard may be here within 
 a few days, as you know. He will have a false 
 name ; he will not be Richard Darnell to me, or 
 to you, or to any one. Keep out of his way, or 
 you will be letting it out somehow ; and if you do, 
 — ah, if you do, it may cost him dear. Do you 
 understand, Judith ? " 
 
 " Guess I see, Missus," returned the black, mys- 
 teriously. " Kind of spyin' out de land." 
 
 " Nonsense ! While he is here he is not Richard 
 Darnell ; I have told you that over and over 
 again. Don't forget it. Now, fan me." 
 
 For an hour the older woman stood by her, 
 
56 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 steadily obedient, until at last, seeing that Octopia 
 was asleep, she rose quietly and stood for a mo- 
 ment regarding the long, frail figure with a look 
 which would have added little to Miss Darnell's 
 comfort had she seen it. 
 
 " 'Pears to me," said the black to herself, " I 
 can't somehow git away from de ole feelin's. De 
 things changes and de folks dey does n't." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "My days are in the yellow leaf ; 
 The flower and fruit of love are gone; 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief 
 Are mine alone." 
 
 Fob several days after the events described, 
 things went on as usual with Olivia. The ex- 
 pected guest did not appear, and made no sign 
 of coming ; so that, what with worry — which in 
 one's moral machinery is like sand in more mate- 
 rial mechanism — and the struggle to get calm 
 enough for the development of her purposes. 
 Cousin Octopia became increasingly difficult to 
 live with. 
 
 A share of the bothers of life, of its little trials 
 and its wearying cares, may be good for mature 
 women ; but no one can tell what may be, even 
 for them, an unwholesome overdose. Olivia, de- 
 spite her years, lacked the robustness of developed 
 character. She had lived almost entirely with 
 her own sex ; and that is good for neither man 
 nor woman. Too constant demands upon the 
 brain, the body and the emotions of the young 
 soon or late bring about gradual but certain de- 
 generative changes; duty gets to be morbidly 
 emotional, or, in a lower nature, sullenly habitual, 
 and the healthiest become irritable, or nervous. 
 
58 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and are fortunate if circumstance stirs them to 
 open revolt or removes them from the malaria of 
 the sick-bed. 
 
 Another week had thus passed by, when one 
 morning Olivia, as usual, after ceasing her task 
 of reading to her cousin, entered her grand- 
 mother's room. 
 
 To a stranger it would have presented, with 
 its inmate, a sufficiently interesting picture. The 
 furniture of a seaside New England home some 
 generations old had been carefully brought with 
 its possessor when she moved to New York. An- 
 tique furniture of Chippendale patterns stood 
 against the walls. Claw-toed chairs with carved 
 scroll and shell-work backs and dark-red morocco 
 seats, polished mahogany tables, and a thin-legged 
 spinet, — all seemed to belong naturally to the 
 slight old lady who sat erect in an arm-chair near 
 to the bright brasses which sustained and guarded 
 a hickory fire. She was delicately small, and clad 
 in a soft dressing-wrapper of snowy whiteness. 
 Her features were thin, white, and indeed quite 
 without the usual old-ivory -like aspect of age; 
 but, although her eyes were clear, the many 
 wrinkles, and especially the perpendicular mark- 
 ings of the upper lip and its slight elongation, 
 told to the observant eye how many years must 
 have left upon her face their unerring record. A 
 fall of soft lace partly hid the forehead, and from 
 under it fell white lines of hair. Her hands 
 rested on her knees, and were gloved with the long 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 59 
 
 gauntlets of kid now again in fashion, and her 
 arms were bare above them to the elbows, which 
 emerged from the lace trimmings of her gown. 
 
 She was passively regarding a portrait by Cop- 
 ley on the further wall when her granddaughter 
 entered. Eighty-five years of accumulated mem- 
 ories appeared to have supplied her with sufficient 
 food for thought, since, except for the daily hour 
 or two of the young girl's visits and reading, Mrs. 
 Wynne seemed to prefer to be alone and unoccu- 
 pied, save with the clock-like click, click of her 
 knitting-needles. 
 
 She looked up as Olivia came in; a phantom 
 of a smile crossed her face. She was still alive 
 in intellect and memory, but, except for brief 
 periods and under unusual excitement, she was 
 no longer capable of profound emotional disturb- 
 ance. Yet at present she had quite enough to 
 trouble a person able to bring her feelings to a 
 focus at w^hich heat is possible. 
 
 "Come and sit by me," she said, in a clear, 
 thin voice. " You need not read to-day ; I have 
 something to say to you." 
 
 Olivia sat down on a large cushion at her feet, 
 and looked up with interest at the face which 
 still carried in its refined outlines some pleasant 
 reminder of the days when the name of Ann 
 Wynne had been a toast at suppers and men had 
 quarreled for her smiles. 
 
 The girl was a little curious. Her days went 
 by without incident, and so slight a thing as her 
 relative's words awakened her attention. 
 
60 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " What is it, grandmamma ? " she said. " I am 
 glad not to read ; my eyes ache with reading to 
 Octopia in the dim light, and I am tired, too." 
 
 The elder woman looked at her with more 
 than usual care. " Where are my glasses ? " she 
 said, and, having adjusted them, again considered 
 the girl's face. 
 
 "Why did you not tell me you were tired?" 
 
 " It would be of no use. I am always tired. I 
 should not mind it so much if it did not make me 
 cross." 
 
 " You seem to be as sweet-tempered a woman 
 as need be. Do not think I do not see and know 
 what you have to bear. I do not think Octopia 
 means to be exacting, but she lives in herself and 
 in her own little surroundings, and I suppose it is 
 hard not to be selfish when a person has so little 
 left in life. We must try not to be hard upon 
 her." 
 
 " I do try, grandmamma. I try very much." 
 
 The tender tones of praise and recognition 
 were so strangely new to Olivia that she suddenly 
 broke into a passion of tears, and buried her face 
 in her grandmother's lap. 
 
 " I cannot stand it ! " she said. " I try to be 
 good, and I get worse every day. I — I — some- 
 times I almost hate her ! " she cried, looking up. 
 " If I could go out and see other people, and be 
 as I was when mamma was alive, I could bear it ; 
 I think I could bear it. What does it all mean ? 
 Why does she live with us ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 61 
 
 " That is a question you have asked me before, 
 Olive. When your father came home he sent for 
 her, and after he fell ill she nursed him most de- 
 votedly. She was homeless and poor. It cannot 
 seem strange to you that she made herself dear to 
 me, and that I wanted to help her." 
 
 " No ; that seems to me right, grandmamma. 
 But" — 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Why does she say so much about our debt to 
 her ? Why does she always have her own way ? 
 When I know I am right about something and 
 try to insist, she hints at what we owe her, I 
 don't think it is at all nice." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne was silent. 
 
 " And you told me last week that you could not 
 help it. Why cannot you help it ? " 
 
 " There are certain things, my child, which I 
 am not able to explain to you. When you are 
 older you can think and act for yourself ; now I 
 must think for you." 
 
 " But it does n't seem quite reasonable that she 
 should think for me too. Is there any reason ? " 
 
 " Yes ; one which seems to me very strong. I 
 cannot tell you what it is." 
 
 " Why, grandmamma, it seems to me as if you 
 were afraid of Octopia ! " 
 
 The old lady said nothing for a moment ; then 
 she returned, feebly, — 
 
 " If I can bear it, you can. Don't you think 
 
62 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 she is very weak, Olive ? " and she looked about 
 her as if fearing to be overheard. " She may not 
 live long." 
 
 It was strange to hear the thin, fading remnant 
 of a woman calculating on another's death. It 
 shocked the girl. 
 
 " I would not wish her to die," she said. " Oh, 
 not that ! It bewilders me, grandmamma ; I can't 
 see through it. If I only could know what it all 
 means, I might try to bear it. Do you really want 
 me to understand that — that she can make you 
 do what she wishes ? " 
 
 " Oh, she does not threaten me, child. How 
 strangely you talk ! How can I help it ? It is 
 so difficult to cross people who are nervous and 
 feeble." 
 
 " Feeble ! She feeble ! She is strong enough. 
 You think she will die ; I do not. She is too 
 wicked to die." 
 
 " Olivia ! " 
 
 " Yes, I mean it. She is killing me by inches, 
 and I can't help it. She is really ill, and she 
 makes me feel that — oh, she makes me feel that 
 I do not sympathize with her, and I do ; but I 
 hate her too. What is it she wants now ? Is it 
 about the photographs ? I burned them, because 
 no rebel spy shall have my picture." 
 
 " You burned them ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " I am sorry, my child. Let me say once for 
 all what is clear to me as an old — a very old — 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 63 
 
 woman. There are reasons why you and I should 
 try not to irritate Octopia, — reasons of kindness, 
 and other reasons. If you cannot get on with 
 her it will only make us both unhappy. For my 
 sake and for your own, we must simply bide the 
 chances of time. All I ask of you now is not to 
 cross her." 
 
 " It seems strange to me. And will this go on 
 and on ? " 
 
 " My dear, I have lived through many troubles. 
 Time goes on, and troubles stand still. Let us 
 bear with patience what it has pleased God to send 
 upon us." Then she leaned forward and caught 
 the girl's face in her two thin, gloved hands. 
 " There cannot be many more years left to me. 
 When I am gone, do as you will ; but leave me 
 what peace is possible. I have seen all — all die, 
 — my brothers, my children, their children, — all 
 but you ; and I have lived to see my country torn 
 to pieces. Only one trouble has been spared me : 
 that I have not yet had to endure. Wait ; wait." 
 
 Olivia rose. " You shall not feel that my love 
 has been wanting in this or in anything else. I 
 will not help by ill-humor or impatience to make 
 your life harder. I will never speak of this again. 
 Shall I read to you now ? " 
 
 " No ; I am tired : I should like to lie down." 
 
 To say that the girl's mind was satisfied would 
 be untrue. Despite her lack of knowledge of the 
 great outside world, her natural intelligence made 
 it plain to her that her grandmother's age and 
 
64 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 growing infirmities of mind and body, and her 
 morbid dread of all added discomfort, might un- 
 fit her to deal with any difficult moral problem. 
 This belief robbed Olivia of the enterprise and de- 
 cisiveness which tempted her to face a mysterious 
 danger rather than rest in the uncomfortable 
 ignorance of doubt. But attacks on the girl's 
 affections too readily captured her heart, and any 
 tender appeal to her sympathies left her, as in the 
 present case, passive, if unconvinced. Now she 
 began to see clearly for the first time, what she 
 had often enough suspected, — that in some strange 
 way Octopia kept her grandmother anxious. 
 There was nothing left but to yield ; and yet she 
 felt that circumstances might occur which would 
 make prolonged submission ignoble. 
 
 Octopia said no more of the photographs. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ** Ah ! not for idle hatred, not 
 For honor, fame, nor self applause, 
 But for the glory of the cause, 
 You did what will not be forgot." 
 
 MBAi>rWHiLB, the weeks went by, and it was 
 now a day in early May, yet there was no news 
 of Darnell. 
 
 Octopia dined down-stairs with the old lady and 
 Olivia. On such unusual occasions as this Mrs. 
 Wynne said but little, and the meal was only 
 broken by ill-sustained efforts on Olive's part to 
 start some subject of common interest. As soon 
 as it was over, Mrs. Wynne went silently to her 
 bedroom, and, to Olivia's surprise, her cousin be- 
 gan to describe her old plantation life in Virginia ; 
 its gayety, its hospitality, its lavishness. The 
 girl listened with a certain amount of attention. 
 
 " I think I should have liked it," she said. In 
 fact, it seemed a pleasant contrast to the morbid 
 existence in which her young years were wearing 
 away. 
 
 " It will all come back, Olive," said Octopia, 
 triumphantly, — " the old life, — and you shall go 
 South with us and see it, too. Would it not be 
 pleasant to rebuild the homestead and buy back 
 
66 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 the lands our ancestors lost? You would be a 
 great lady, with hundreds of slaves." 
 
 " Then I should free them," cried Olivia, with 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 " Nonsense ! you would only ruin them," re- 
 turned Octopia, who was in a mood of rare good- 
 humor. " You don't know the delight of having 
 a dozen people to serve you at a word." 
 
 For a moment the younger woman did not re- 
 ply. She had pretty clear ideas as to the war, 
 and held her opinions decidedly, but her grand- 
 mother's injunctions were still in her mind, and 
 she was disinclined to anger her cousin. 
 
 " Yet it would not be my home, after all," she 
 said. 
 
 " It must be. We shall find you some Southern 
 gentleman. Ah, you have no such men at the 
 North, so gentle, so tender to women, so brave." 
 
 "And is Cousin Richard all that?" said the 
 girl, smiling, and hardly knowing what else to 
 say or how to keep up the talk, which had taken 
 a turn she had known her cousin's talk to take 
 often enough before, and which, for some reason, 
 had become thoroughly unpleasant to the hearer. 
 
 " Dick is all, dear, that a Southern gentleman 
 ought to be, and the best of brothers. He is like 
 me, but better looking, — oh, much better look- 
 ing," she cried, laughing. " Only wait till you 
 see him, Olivia ; you may think me silly, but wait 
 till you see him." 
 
 " My experience of men is rather limited," said 
 Olivia, with a little laugh not free from bitterness 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 67 
 
 "Yes, I know that you have given up every- 
 thing to your grandmother, and to me ; but there 
 are brighter days in store for all of us, when Lee 
 shall have done with this new man, Grant. They 
 have tried a good many on Robert Lee ; the end 
 must be near." 
 
 The girl thought to herself that the service she 
 had given was scarcely as free from hypocrisy as 
 it might have been. " Hark 1 " she cried, glad of 
 a diversion. " What is that ? " 
 
 There was heard the noise of many feet in the 
 broad avenue. It was a little incident — anything 
 was an incident — in Olive's dull life. 
 
 " I must go and see," she added. " I must go 
 and see ; " and so saying, she ran to the window, 
 threw up the sash, and looked out. 
 
 Octopia lazily adjusted her shawl about her 
 thin shoulders, and, following Olivia, leaned for- 
 ward to see what excited her cousin's curiosity. 
 " More mudsills," said Octopia, scornfully. Olivia 
 did not or would not hear. The evening air was 
 soft as if it were June, and it was still light enough 
 to see clearly. 
 
 A mass of men moving solidly in company front 
 filled the wide avenue from curb to curb. Before 
 them rode their colonel, almost a boy — scarce a 
 sign of manhood on his lip — his left arm in a 
 scarf-sling. Window sashes flew up ; men and 
 women looked out ; crowds gathered on the door- 
 steps. 
 
 Something in the youth and bearing of the 
 
68 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 wounded officer on Ms way back to the front 
 touched the crowd. A wild cheer broke forth, and 
 from all over the house fronts white kerchiefs flut- 
 tered. The young fellow let fall his reins and 
 raised his cap — smiling as he bowed right and 
 left. Then he passed slowly out of Olive's view, 
 while her eyes followed him. The gleaming 
 bayonets flashed in the lights, file on file, and, as 
 they passed, the band broke out, while from the 
 head of the column rang forth, in gathering vol- 
 ume, — 
 
 " John Brown's body lies a-moulderin' in de ground, 
 John Brown's body lies a-moulderin' in de ground, 
 John Brown's body lies a-moulderin' in de ground. 
 His soul goes marchin' on." 
 
 The vast chorus rose solemnly on the night air 
 between the high houses. Olivia stood clutching 
 the window-sill, stirred and trembling with a sense 
 of sympathy and awe, as the steady tramp of the 
 regiment died away and the thunder of its grim 
 war song faded to a melody which rose and fell 
 and at last was almost lost in the distance. 
 
 The girl drew a long breath, and stood a mo' 
 ment thinking of the death and pains, the agonies 
 and the ruined homes, the tears and the sorrow 
 yet to be, before that war-spent band should tread 
 these streets again. 
 
 " God help them ! " she said, still hearing at 
 moments the more and more distant tread and the 
 broken song. She smiled ; a verse of the psaltei 
 ehe had said on the last Sunday at church came 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 69 
 
 into her mind, and she murmured it half aloud, 
 with fervent application of its words, a storm of 
 feeling in her soul, a choking in her throat : — 
 
 " Good luck have thou with thine honor ; ride 
 on, because of the word of truth, of meekness, and 
 righteousness ; and thy right hand shall teach 
 thee terrible things." 
 
 Then a sense of her own helplessness over- 
 whelmed her, — the woman's lot of watching and 
 waiting when action would be comfort. All her 
 young and imaginative nature was being awak- 
 ened by the slowly moving war and its catastro- 
 phes. To her cousin she dared not speak, and 
 her grandmother avoided this subject as she 
 shrunk from all others which were painful or an- 
 noying. 
 
 At last, overcome by her long-pent-up emotions, 
 Olivia moved hastily away. 
 
 ".Where are you going? " said Octopia. " Shut 
 the window." 
 
 " Oh, the pity of it ! the pity of it ! " cried the 
 girl. " When will it be over, Octopia ? " 
 
 "You foolish child!" said Octopia. "They 
 get paid for it ; they are not like our poor people. 
 And after all they are only what you are pleased 
 to call blacks. You will have hysterics next." 
 
 Olivia looked at her steadily, a wild light in 
 her eyes, her self-control quite gone. 
 
 " How can you talk so ? " she cried. " They 
 are men going to wounds and death. Were they 
 South-bom or North-born, I should at least pity 
 
70 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 them. You have no heart for any sufferings but 
 your own ! — none ! none ! You are heartless ! " 
 
 " I ? I ? " said Octopia, " I ? — no heart ? " She 
 was honestly amazed at the charge. Intensity of 
 attention to her own ailments had given them for 
 her a dangerous capacity, and she was simply 
 shocked that any one should fail to believe with 
 her in their seriousness. " When," she added, 
 " you have lived through such years of pain as 
 mine, you will learn to feel for another's ills. If 
 — if you knew what I have done for you, what I 
 have saved you, you would get some real pity for 
 sufferings which grew out of love for those who 
 should seem dearest to you, and you would not 
 insult me with this hostility to my brother's cause 
 and mine. The day may come when you may 
 bitterly regret it." 
 
 There was a singular resemblance to Rachel 
 in the long, sallow, graceful • figure which stood in 
 somewhat theatrical pose facing Olivia ; a resem- 
 blance with an unsaintly halo of caricature about 
 it. Olive bad seen a portrait of the great actress, 
 and the oddness of the likeness in some way re- 
 stored her self-command. Nervously distraught 
 sick women are, in fact, apt to become dramatic ; 
 and Olivia had assisted at many such scenes ; but 
 this time the girl felt that there was somewhere 
 in the play a deadly reality. 
 
 Once having crossed swords with a dreaded an- 
 tagonist, to go on is as safe as to retreat. Olivia 
 had begun to learn the uses of time in the matter 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 71 
 
 of emotional disturbance, and stood now facing 
 the older woman without a word, while she set 
 herself to a mood of calmness. 
 
 Could Octopia have realized the power with 
 which the younger woman put the brakes on and 
 brought her rising passion to a stop, she would 
 have been singularly instructed as to the person 
 she was educating into resistance. The girl's out- 
 ward tranquillity amazed and irritated her. 
 
 "Why don't you speak, child? Don't you heai 
 what I say? " 
 
 "Yes, I hear. You have said it before, — not 
 quite as clearly, but plainly enough. What is it 
 you have done for us ? I am not ungrateful ; I 
 know I am not ungrateful ; but I — I can't be 
 thankful for what I know nothing about. You 
 treat me as if I were a child, and I am a woman ; 
 and if I am not a clever woman I am not a fool, 
 and I am sick of this life of mock-mystery." 
 
 " Ask your grandmother," said Octopia, softly. 
 " She may tell you if she will, — if she thinks 
 best." 
 
 " I have asked." 
 
 " And she will not tell you ? Nor, dear child, 
 can I ; you must not ask me. There are things 
 which it is best for us not to know. I get wor- 
 ried and say things I don't mean, and then I am 
 sorry, Olive, because I love you always, even 
 when I am cross. Now don't let us talk of it 
 any more. Kiss me good-night ; I must go up- 
 stairs." 
 
72 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I can't kiss you to-night, Octopia." 
 
 "Why not, love?" 
 
 " Well, I can't. Don't ask me." 
 
 " How can you hurt me so, Olive ? There ! I 
 knew you would upset me, soon or late." Her 
 pupils dilated, and beginning to tremble, she 
 threw herself on the sofa, with her hands ex- 
 tended in rigid spasm. " Send Judith, and go — 
 go away ; you have done enough." 
 
 Her distress and terror and pain were evident, 
 and the glance of reproach she cast at her cousin 
 was pitiful. 
 
 Olivia was disarmed, knowing well that these 
 symptoms usually meant days of suffering for her 
 cousin. She promptly called the old black woman, 
 and, with wrath and pity and a hideous sense of 
 puzzle in her mind, left the room and descended 
 the stairs. 
 
 Suddenly her keen sense of humor, so much 
 kept down by her surroundings, came to her aid. 
 She remembered how her nurse used to play cat's- 
 cradle with her until the child found her baby 
 fingers tangled in a maze of thread which would 
 not go off in orderly fashion on to the woman's 
 fingers. She looked down now at her shapely 
 hands and laughed. 
 
 " I 've got it on," she said ; " how shall I get it 
 off ? Ah, if I only knew the truth ! " 
 
 But the angel of mirth had somehow brought 
 her mysterious comfort, — the angel of mirth, 
 twin-sister of contentment. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 73 
 
 Presently she was at rest in her sitting-room. 
 With a resolute effort she put aside her discom- 
 forts of mind and turned to her sketching-table. 
 Then she took up the evening paper, and was soon 
 profoundly interested in the accounts of Grant's 
 first movement across the Rapidan and his ad- 
 vance into the mazes of the Wilderness. At times, 
 as she read the description of the war-correspond- 
 ent at the front, she put down the paper and sat 
 still, using her imagination to help her to realize 
 the scenes portrayed. 
 
 At last her reverie was broken by the cries of 
 the newsboys : " Great battle in the Wilderness ! 
 Hancock driven back ! Grant about to recross 
 the Rapidan ! " 
 
 "Those horrible papers," she said: "they are 
 never true. I shall wait till to-morrow." 
 
 She sat still, reflecting on what this grim chorus 
 of the streets must mean to wife, mother, or child. 
 It kept the war forever in one's memory, — at 
 meals, in mid-morning, in the silence of midnight, 
 at church. There was no escaping these persist- 
 ent echoes from distant battle-fields. 
 
 At length she rose, and went up-stairs to bed. 
 As she passed her grandmother's door she paused 
 and knocked lightly. 
 
 The old lady was still awake, but was lying on 
 a lounge, ready for bed. 
 
 " What is it, my dear ? " she said, in her small 
 voice. 
 
 " I have done wrong. I came to tell you that 
 
74 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 I broke my promise to you, grandmamma. I have 
 quarreled with Octopia. I will not do it again. 
 I could not sleep until I told you. I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 "That will not keep me from having another 
 scene with her to-morrow. You cannot control 
 yourself, and the consequences fall on me." 
 
 " I am sorry ! " exclaimed Olivia. 
 
 " And why should you distress me about it to- 
 night?" 
 
 " I thought it was right to speak." 
 
 " Well, well, go to bed now ; and, for my sake, 
 child, keep a better watch on yourself. Was she 
 very angry ? " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose so. It was about the war." 
 
 " Between you I have no peace." 
 
 " I think, grandmamma, that Richard Darnell's 
 failure to come makes Octopia more miserable 
 and more exasperating as to everything connected 
 with the war. I never saw her looking worse." 
 
 " The more reason to be patient." 
 
 " Yes, I know that. But I am sorry he is com- 
 ing. It does n't seem right that he should ask 
 helpless women to keep his rebel secrets." 
 
 " I like it no better than you ; but perhaps he 
 may not come at all. I have often observed, dear, 
 that sometimes things do not happen — and now 
 go to bed ; I am very tired." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Nor could humaiiity resign 
 An hour which bade her heart beat high, 
 And blazoned duty's stainless shield, 
 And set a star in honor's sky." 
 
 Except for its influence on the fortunes of 
 those involved in our tale, the war concerns us lit- 
 tle. The great Northern soldier found himself 
 checked at each effort to flank his wary opponent, 
 and on the morning of the 7th of May began his 
 march on Spottsylvania Court-House. Before 
 him lay an undulating country dotted with pine 
 groves, marshes, and forests ; behind him, the 
 Wilderness, in its tangled recesses an army of the 
 dead, smouldering fires, mangled trees, deserted 
 homes, shattered log-cabins, and here and there a 
 hurt and helpless soldier, — in gray or blue, — 
 lost in the dense undergrowth, moaning life away 
 unheard, amidst torturing memories of home. On 
 the agony of man and nature fell the silence of 
 desertion as the cruel ruin of battles swept away 
 to the eastward. 
 
 We follow the armies only to record an incident 
 which gravely influenced the life of Roland Blake, 
 as indeed each day and hour of the war must have 
 told enduringly on the moral and physical consti- 
 tution of every sensitive man in those great hosts. 
 
76 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Philip Francis was, like Hs old room-mate and 
 friend, attached for a time to the provost-marshal's 
 department, and was in command of a portion of 
 the cavalry guard of that ofllcial. Blake's late 
 assignment to duty in the bureau of information 
 brought them anew into closer relations than had 
 been possible while the latter was still in an infan- 
 try regiment. At Harvard accident had made 
 them sharers in a sitting-room, and their acquaint- 
 ance began with some mutual antipathies and a 
 fair share of liking. The Philadelphian was at- 
 tractive to the New England man by reason of a 
 certain joyousness which contrasted with his own 
 far graver nature. Both men had a happy sense of 
 the humorous side of life, but with Blake, as with 
 most men, it came and went, and rarely controlled 
 him. For the other, life was a constant merry- 
 making of the very soul, and humor was like an 
 atmosphere within which all other moods seemed 
 possible. At times it annoyed the calmer friend, 
 just as his own tendency to a mystical manner of 
 stating what was often simple enough comically ex- 
 asperated Francis. Blake worked hard, and, as his 
 friend said, " believed hard," and was anti-slavery 
 to the core. At times they quarreled, and, like 
 young fellows, would decline to speak to each 
 other ; but then, as Francis said, " That eternal 
 grin of mine is a dreadful peace-maker; and I 
 never had character enough to keep up a row." 
 
 The Philadelphia man left the bar to take up 
 arms ; he laughed at himself and his reasons, but 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 77 
 
 he was in fact honestly stirred by the sense of 
 national insult and of his country's peril; his New 
 England friend had hastened home from his broken 
 stiyJies at the School of Mines in Paris on a like 
 errand ; and now, older and more mature, the 
 chances of war had brought them together again. 
 
 It was night, the 11th of May. Well to the 
 rear of Hancock's corps, among the headquarter 
 tents, a few camp-fires were burning among woods 
 thinned by the axe. A heavy, sullen rain fell 
 drearily through a fog which made of every object 
 at a distance a grayish silhouette. Under the 
 slight protection of a shelter-tent, before one of 
 the fires, Blake and Francis lay on the ground, 
 wet and tired out, and getting what consolation 
 they might from their brierwood pipes. 
 
 " I told you we had come to stay," said Blake. 
 
 " Yes, by Jove, — a good many of us. Luckily, 
 you and I have been out of the worst of it of late ; 
 but I shall get hit again to-morrow. I really think 
 I must be personally attractive to bullets." 
 
 "That is your only superstition, Phil. Can't 
 you believe in the truth of chance ? It is a mere 
 matter of luck." 
 
 " What are luck, and truth, and chance ? " 
 
 "I think I could put them in the form of an 
 equation for you, Phil. Now, luck is to time 
 as" — 
 
 "Please don't," said Francis, kicking at one of 
 the smouldering logs ; " there 's mist enough out- 
 side to-night. When you begin to be metaphys- 
 
78 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ical I always feel like a steamer in a fog, and as 
 if the only thing left for me was to anchor arid 
 blow a fog-horn." 
 
 Blake laughed. " In old days we should have 
 ended in a row. Do you remember how at last 
 we agreed to put on the gloves every Friday 
 morning to settle the week's disputes ? " 
 
 " Don't I ? And I always got licked, — just as 
 I always get hit nowadays." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Let 's go to bed. I hope I shan't 
 dream again about that scoundrel who shot me. 
 I do not see why he haunts me as he does. It 
 would be odd if I should ever meet him again." 
 
 " Somebody else is a little superstitious to-night. 
 Perhaps it 's catching." 
 
 " What is it, orderly ? " The aids of the gen- 
 eral in command were all off on duty, and as 
 usual, any unemployed officer of the provost-mar- 
 shal was called upon in the emergency. 
 
 " You won't be bothered with dreams to-night, 
 Roland," said Francis laughing as they rode away 
 to carry orders to various corps commanders. 
 
 Returning wet and weary at midnight, Blake 
 saw the dark masses of Hancock's corps tramping 
 silently out of their intrenched lines through a 
 dense gray fog. At dawn a fury of musketry 
 broke forth at the front, where Hancock was 
 sweeping over Ewell's works. The two young men 
 were kept busy all day providing for the security 
 of the prisoners taken in the morning. Meanwhile, 
 the doubtful battle raged with ceaseless vehe- 
 mence. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 79 
 
 Towards evening Francis received a hasty order 
 to take three companies of the provost's guard to 
 the front as reinforcements. Blake asked leave to 
 join the party, as for the time his duties did not 
 detain him. Receiving permission, he hastily re- 
 joined his friend. 
 
 A short march through dense woods and mud 
 brought them into a position indicated by an aid. 
 It was for the time out of danger, and Blake, de- 
 spite his experience of war, began to look about 
 him with the interested curiosity which never left 
 him. Before them rose a little elevation, from 
 which the ground fell away to the front ; behind 
 them, from a still higher eminence, a number of 
 guns were throwing shells over our lines into those 
 of the rebels, who were replying in like fashion. 
 The earth was covered with the early green leaf- 
 lets, twigs, and branches, mowed by bullets which 
 flew in constant flight overhead. The whoop and 
 scream of shells and the howl of solid shot made a 
 chorus wild as the orchestra of hell, and now and 
 again the increasing fire of small arms added the 
 whir and whistle of their balls to the tumultuous 
 din of war. 
 
 A half hour later an order to advance to the 
 top of the slope carried them forward under fire. 
 Francis watched his men anxiously as they fell 
 into line on the summit of the hillock, aware that 
 some of them bad seen but little service. Mean- 
 while a fragment of a brigade passed by them, hav- 
 ing fallen back in order to renew its ammunition. 
 
80 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 The infantry men chaffed the dismounted troopers 
 as they passed. 
 
 " Steady ! " said Francis, with his ever-ready 
 smile, — " steady ! " and Blake moved along the 
 line, talking to the men, and keenly observant. 
 
 Still the leaves and branches dropped as from 
 unseen scythes in air, and about them the bullets 
 flew, now with a dull thud on the trees and now 
 with a duller sound on limb or trunk of man. A 
 half-dozen men dropped in as many minutes, and, 
 as usual, the soldiers began to tend into groups, 
 with some instinctive sense of obtaining protec- 
 tion by neighborhood to their fellows. 
 
 " Steady ! " said Francis ; " mark time ! Now, 
 again ! That 's better ! " 
 
 The signs of nervous excitement were visible 
 enough : one man incessantly wiped his gun-barrel, 
 another buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, a third 
 stood, pale and tremulous, looking hastily to left 
 and right, whilst a tall soldier attracted the atten- 
 tion of Blake by talking volubly. 
 
 " Now, steady ! " said Blake, facing them and 
 marking time as he stepped backward. " So ! 
 That will do. Now forward — double quick ! " 
 
 They passed the torn abatis and slashes which 
 before dawn lay in front of the rebel lines and 
 now within our own, and in a few moments were 
 at the front, behind the breastworks to the left 
 of the murderous " Angle." Kneeling in double 
 rows, they took the places left vacant by a part of 
 a regiment sent back in turn to replenish its car- 
 tridge belts. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 81 
 
 The " Hot Comer " to the right and the adjoin- 
 ing lines, which Lee had lost at dawn, had been 
 furiously contested in repeated charges all that 
 long day of May. But now for a brief season 
 there was a respite. 
 
 The firing ceased a few moments after they 
 reached their station, and Blake had leisure to 
 observe the effect of the most ferocious struggle 
 of the war. The lines were straight to left and 
 right, but to the westward of where he stood was 
 the " Hot Corner," better known as " the Angle." 
 Its open side looked towards the rebel lines. Orig- 
 inally a well-built breastwork, it had been contin- 
 ually strengthened as chance allowed, and was now 
 a mass of earth, tree-trunks, and rails. The woods 
 were dense on each side, and in them during the 
 brief pauses in this awful day the combatants of 
 either side lay close to the disputed barrier. Blake 
 walked down the lines to the left crouching low to 
 avoid a shot. Before him lay a broad clearing, and 
 twelve hundred yards distant a thick wood, which 
 sheltered the rebel lines and ran towards and up 
 to the bloody angle. The smoke lifted slowly, 
 as if reluctantly unveiling the countless wounded 
 and dead in the open. The dusk was gradually 
 deepening. For an hour or two there had been 
 no serious assault ; yet those who had met the 
 gallant Confederates knew but too well their habit 
 of a final and desperate onset just before nightfall. 
 Officers came and went, ammunition was distrib- 
 uted, tired men rose from brief repose, new bri- 
 
82 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 gades came up, and a relative stillness of grim ex- 
 pectation fell on the close-set lines behind the torn 
 field-works. Then there was stir and movement in 
 among the distant woods. Forms of men dimly 
 seen filled the dark interspaces of the far-away 
 forests across the clearing, and swarmed out of 
 them until long gray lines, one behind another, in 
 close formation, told to those who watched them 
 what was coming. 
 
 Standing behind Francis's men, glass in hand, 
 Blake awaited the onset. His friend passed him, 
 smiling as ever. The gray lines grew nearer, 
 advancing slowly ; the officers well in front, mark- 
 ing time, then pausing and at last falling into and 
 behind the moving mass. Then they came faster. 
 Just in front of Blake a single officer, in a gray 
 shirt and without a coat, kept his place before his 
 men. The long gray line, five hundred yards 
 distant, broke with wild yells into a rush; a fury 
 of musketry burst forth at the angle to the left 
 in the denser woods ; officers cried out, " Keep 
 cool ! Steady ! Hold your fire ! " 
 
 Blake dropped his glass. Francis cried out to 
 him, " Get down, you fool! " As he crouched he 
 saw the now irregular line, and even the set, 
 grim faces of the men, — earth has seen no braver. 
 
 Then the fury of fire and smoke began, — an 
 inconceivable tumult of shouts, cries, oaths, the 
 ping-ping of minie and musket-shot, and a dark- 
 ness of gray death-mists fiashing venomous tongues 
 of fire. Through torn smoke-veils Blake saw the 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 83 
 
 near faces, black and furious. Of the awful strug- 
 gle, as men were shot, stabbed, pulled over as 
 prisoners to either side, beaten down with clubbed 
 muskets, he knew little that he could recall a day 
 after. There was a pause, confusion, wild shouts, 
 hurrahs, to left and right, a sense of having won, 
 — he knew not how or why, — and he found him- 
 self leaping down from the top of the breastwork 
 with an amazed sense of victory, in his left hand 
 an empty revolver, still smoking, in his right a 
 broken musket. He drew a long breath, and, 
 perfectly exhausted, looked about him. He was 
 unhurt. Around him were prisoners, dead and 
 wounded soldiers, men afoot tottering, men on 
 the ground convulsed, and a mere mob of smoke- 
 begrimed soldiers, with alert oflBcers swiftly mov- 
 ing to and fro, swearing, and howling orders in 
 an effort to get their people together. 
 
 The smoke lifted or blew away, and Blake 
 stared half dazed at the broken columns melted 
 to a mob on the plain, some staggering, some 
 crawling away wounded, some in broken groups, 
 the greater mass huddled together and making 
 for the sheltering forest. 
 
 The fight was over ; but not a hundred yards 
 distant the colonel who had led the immediate 
 attack was seen in the dusky twilight walking 
 calmly and scornfully away. As he became visi- 
 ble, shots went by him. Then a soldierly emotion 
 touched some heart as brave as his own ; an officer 
 leaped on to the breastwork and called out, " Damn 
 it, don't fire ! Three cheers for the Reb ! " A 
 
84 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 wild hurrah rose from the Northern line. Whether 
 the officer concerned understood it or not were 
 hard to say, but he wheeled suddenly, faced our 
 breastworks, saluted formally as if on parade, 
 and again turning, renewed his walk, while cheer 
 on cheer thundered along our lines. 
 
 Blake raised his field-glass and watched him. 
 Suddenly he saw him sway, recover himself, and 
 then, doubling up, drop on the ground. 
 
 " My God, how pitiful ! " exclaimed the New 
 England man. 
 
 It was now getting darker; but Blake noted 
 well where he fell. Victory is only less confus- 
 ing than defeat. Threading his way through the 
 thickly-lying dead and wounded gray and blue, 
 — for thrice the Confederates had been within 
 the captured lines, — he moved slowly along 
 among perplexing masses of intertangled brigades 
 and regiments in search of his friend. At last, 
 returning, he found Francis. They shook hands 
 warmly. Both felt the immense sense of relief 
 which the close of a battle brings to the bravest. 
 
 " Well, old man," said Blake, " so you 're clear 
 this time. So much for presentiments ! Did you 
 see that rebel colonel? I mean to have a look 
 for him." 
 
 " Nonsense, .— you would never find him, — 
 come and help me. We have lost awfully. Some 
 of the men got over in the rushes and are lying 
 hurt outside. Let us try to get my people to- 
 gether ; it will be dark in a half hour, and I may 
 be able to bring in some of my own poor fellows," 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " She sees with clearer eyes than oura 
 The good of suffering bom, — 
 The hearts that blossom like her flowers, 
 And ripen like her corn." 
 
 Drum and bugle rolled out rallying notes ; the 
 stretcher-bearers went through the woods with 
 their sad loads ; some of the wounded limped 
 along, or used a comrade's aid; axe and spade 
 were again at work on the field-works. Every- 
 where through the woods officers went and came 
 in almost hopeless efforts to remake the regi- 
 mental organizations, while the men, literally ex- 
 hausted, lay resting in broken lines, or in groups, 
 comfortable over their individual escapes and the 
 day's results. Meanwhile the rain fell steadily, 
 and a dark fog lay on the open Hke a winding- 
 sheet over all that awful space between the forest 
 shelters of blue and gray. 
 
 As if by common consent the firing ceased en- 
 tirely, — a truce without verbal agreement, that 
 the hurt of either side might get relief. As night 
 fell, single men and small details began to creep 
 out on to the field, to bring in their wounded 
 comrades. After helping his friend to look for 
 the hurt of his own command, Blake waited for a 
 time, and then, mingling with the ambulance-men 
 
86 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and the more venturesome soldiers, moved slowly 
 out on to the clearing. His emotional admiration 
 of the act of courage he had seen, and his pity at 
 the tragic ending of it, stirred all the romance of 
 a nature to which life had brought small chance 
 for its practical development. He wondered a 
 little at the despotism of the impulse which 
 urged him to an act of sentimental rashness ; but 
 the poetic side of a very complex character now 
 and then asserted itself in Blake and for a time 
 thrust aside all coarser considerations. He had a 
 theory that every man knows himself in reality ; 
 yet these romantic insurrections were more or 
 less a surprise to him. A man is most himself 
 when he feels, and the young soldier might have 
 had some indistinct knowledge that these soul- 
 stirring moods were revelations to the man of his 
 nobler self. 
 
 He had concluded that the officer was beyond 
 help from his own people, and too far to be easily 
 aided by ours, and he was resolute to see what he 
 could do for him. 
 
 He looked about him, bending low as he went, 
 to avoid notice, quite aware that he was disobey- 
 ing rules. The darkening mass of the Federal 
 wood line was hardly more visible than the distant 
 shelter of the Confederates. The rain fell drear- 
 ily, and a mixture of strange odors rose through 
 the fog from the sodden soil. Thick around him 
 lay the dead. Save in the awful railway-cut at 
 Antietam, he had never seen before literally heaps 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 87 
 
 of fallen men. Here and there one of these piles 
 moved visibly, as an arm or leg was thrust out, 
 while, between the far-away hum of life in the 
 two lines, from over all the open space where he 
 stood faint cries and groans rose and fell. 
 
 This monstrous mass of unrelievable suffering 
 overwhelmed the young man with a sense of 
 horror which for a moment gave him the desire 
 to escape it by flight. He stopped and steadied 
 himself. He had " lined " the spot where the rebel 
 fell, by the aid of a pine-tree which rose far above 
 the Confederate woods. Sure that he must be 
 near to the place he sought, he began to look 
 about him with more care. When on the point 
 of giving up in despair, he heard a voice near by, 
 and the abrupt sound of a natural human utter- 
 ance startled him : — 
 
 " Halloa, there ! Who are you ? " 
 
 "A friend, whoever you are," said Blake, mov- 
 ing towards the sound. A man, but not the one 
 he sought, was lying against a tree stump. 
 
 By this time Roland had come to a sense of the 
 failure of his romantic quest. He was about to 
 be hustled by the vigilant police force of common 
 sense, with flourish of the bludgeon " I told you 
 so." 
 
 " Then tie something round my leg," said the 
 soldier. " I am hit, and I think I am bleeding to 
 death. I can't check it." 
 
 The young captain, like other sensible line- 
 officers, had taken pains early in the war to learn 
 
88 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 soinetliing of the surgery of emergencies. In a 
 few moments he had secured his handkerchief on 
 the leg, and with a broken fragment of a branch 
 from a low bush had so twisted it as to arrest the 
 flow of blood. 
 
 "That will hold, but perhaps not long," he 
 said. 
 
 " Then I am done for. I am too far from our 
 lines to crawl in or be looked after." 
 
 "I can carry you into our own works," said 
 Blake, who was getting a little interest in the 
 gentle-voiced Confederate. 
 
 " By George ! if you only would ! Betwixt 
 death and a prison I select the least evil. I am 
 getting dizzy. Make haste, please. If I die, will 
 you see that my sister gets my watch? My name 
 is Darnell, — Richard Darnell." He spoke 
 faintly. 
 
 Blake rose. The voice had puzzled him. Now 
 he knew. His doubt was at an end. To leave 
 this man would be an act of revenge. He stooped 
 down, raised him, and at last got him on his back, 
 and staggering in the dark over dim and grewsome 
 piles of the slain, approached our lines, where the 
 stretcher-bearers were busy with the wounded. 
 
 With some difficulty he found a blanket and 
 two men to aid him, so that within a half hour he 
 had his prisoner at one of the field-hospitals in 
 the immediate rear of the division. An assistant 
 surgeon known to Blake was secured with some 
 trouble, and it was then found that a ball through 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 89 
 
 the thigh had done the mischief, and that the man 
 was slowly bleeding to death. The vessel was 
 tied, the wound dressed, and aided by a little 
 brandy, the rebel at last opened his eyes, and in 
 an hour or more began to take in some idea of his 
 surroundings. 
 
 " Where am I ? " he said, at last. 
 
 " Never mind," said Blake. " Here, drink this 
 soup." And then, seeing his uneasy restless look, 
 he thought best to explain to the hurt man that 
 he was a prisoner and would be well cared for. 
 
 " I begin to remember. Some one carried me 
 in. I am awfully hazy about it. Was it you ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was I." 
 
 " Don't talk any more," said the surgeon, as 
 Blake stepped aside. " You 've hardly got blood 
 enough left to keep the quietest life a-going. 
 Captain Blake brought you to the ambulance ; 
 that's all I know about it. You are a pretty 
 lucky fellow, I think. Another half hour or so 
 would have finished you. Here is your handker- 
 chief, Blake. Scarce article, — best to take it." 
 
 Roland turned back, took it, and said, " Good- 
 
 by." 
 
 " Thank you," returned the Confederate. 
 " You '11 see me again, won't you ? " 
 
 "All right," said Blake, moving away. After 
 walking rapidly for a few minutes he suddenly 
 noticed that he was absently carrying the blood- 
 stained handkerchief. He paused at a smoulder- 
 ing camp-fire, and cast it into the embers with 
 
90 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 a look of utter disgust, and then strode away 
 hastily into the woods. The exaltation of his 
 mood was over, and he began to know, as he had 
 oftentimes known before, that if he continued 
 to dwell on the matter what had but now seemed 
 to him a rather chivalrous duty might assume less 
 romantic aspects. He was apprenticed to the very 
 practical trade of war. What he had done was 
 none of his business. 
 
 Having got thus far, he became annoyed at 
 himself, determined to keep quiet about the mat- 
 ter, and, mentally declining to reconsider it fur- 
 ther, turned to look after his thick-coming duties. 
 
 The next morning he received a little note, 
 scrawled in pencil on an envelope, to this effect : — 
 
 Deak Roland, — Hurrah for presentiments ! 
 A stray bullet has reinforced my beliefs. I am 
 in the division hospital at the rear, under old 
 Upton's care, with a little minie-ball as a tender 
 souvenir of the very attentive Johnnies. It was 
 a spent shot. It is in my porte-monnaie this 
 morning, and was in my side last night. By luck 
 or chance, it went round in place of through. 
 
 There is a handsome fellow near me who says 
 an officer named Blake carried him into our 
 lines last night. Seems a queer story. Was it 
 one of your eccentricities ? The man says he was 
 in the rebel camp on civil duty, and volunteered, 
 like a jackass (the phrase is his, but I quite 
 agree with him), and that his name is Richard 
 Darnell. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 91 
 
 I am off, invalided, for the North, if they can 
 get transportation, this a. m. I am glad enough. 
 Any man who says he loves fighting is like that 
 traditional individual who says he doesn't Kke 
 sweet champagne. Good-by, in case you can't 
 get over here. I may say that Johnny Reb goes 
 along. I like him, rather. 
 
 Yours, presentimentally, Phil. 
 
 It was night before Blake found a moment's 
 leisure to reconsider the startling incident of the 
 last day. Then he read Francis's note anew, and 
 took counsel of a pipe. 
 
 The scoundrel, now a helpless prisoner, had 
 been officially in relations with him which utterly 
 forbade his denouncing him as out of the pale of 
 protection of the laws of war, — a double traitor. 
 He had given the man a pledge of secrecy, and 
 would keep it. It was clear that the spy had not 
 recognized him, and, as he well remembered, he 
 had, for some reason or no reason, recoiled from 
 mentioning his own name during their brief inter- 
 view. And now, by a strange fate, he had saved 
 this man's life. Blake strode up and down before 
 a dismal camp-fire, at one moment interested by 
 the romance of the situation, at another reflecting 
 with disgust on what he should say if ever this 
 rascal should chance to thank him for the life he 
 had saved. Here was a manner of Frankenstein 
 to whom he had given at least a fresh lease of 
 existence. Then he smiled at the quaint notion 
 
92 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 of responsibility thus brought before him. There 
 was clearly nothing to do but to let the villain 
 pass out of his life. What bewildered him was 
 the combination of gallantry with treachery, of 
 the darkest dishonor with that reckless courage 
 which finds some joy in peril. 
 
 " I would give a great deal to forget it all," he 
 said to himself, " but I shall remember it as one 
 does a bad nightmare." 
 
 The dark tide of war swept down to the Appo- 
 mattox and away to the trenches in front of 
 Petersburg before Blake was enabled to rejoin 
 his regiment. Meanwhile, he heard from Francis 
 occasionally to the efEect that he was slowly re- 
 gaining his health, which had been rudely shaken 
 by his frequent wounds. 
 
 On Christmas Day Blake wrote thus : — 
 
 Deae Phil, — Since I found delight as a 
 small boy in mud pies and in breaking things, 
 which seems to be an elementary instinct, I have 
 never seen mankind in a condition for so favor- 
 ably indulging these tastes as we have been in 
 this December. I went down with Warren on a 
 bloodless riot of destruction along the Weldon 
 Road. The country was one vast mud-pudding. 
 It was curious to see men take pleasure in in- 
 genious destruction. This ruin of the knitting 
 bonds of useful intercourse, the tumble of tele- 
 graphs, the wreck of rails fire-twisted to useless- 
 nees, seemed to me more barbarous than killing 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 93 
 
 men. But I am only half soldier, and at times 
 half woman, I believe. Now and then the pure 
 misery of it all overfloods my soul, and I find no 
 refuge save in dogged return to practical duty. 
 I suppose the every-day-world life must thus over- 
 come the too tender. I hear you laughing out 
 the wholesome bitters of merry contempt at my 
 self-analysis. Some of us have to be always shift- 
 ing ballast to keep on an even keel. Pity such. 
 
 That man Darnell has been too much in my 
 mind. Did you see any more of him? Where 
 is he? 
 
 It is a dreary Christmas-day, and I sit alone, 
 awfully blue, writing to you, who are almost my 
 sole friend since my uncle's death this fall. Keep 
 me near you in thought at least. I please myself 
 like an imaginative girl with the idea that you are 
 not forgetful of me to-day. I don't say much of 
 my affection for you,. although one forgets one's 
 Anglo-Saxon shyness on paper. I confess with 
 freedom to that pure priest, a white page. 
 
 Good-by. R. 
 
 P. S. — My old Chickahominy malaria is at 
 me again. It is punctual enough to be morally 
 instructive. 
 
 Philip had that devoted admiration for Blake 
 which men of his character sometimes have for 
 a larger-minded man whom they cannot always 
 entirely comprehend. He was at present puzzled 
 a little as to Blake's interest in Darnell, but any 
 
94 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 wish of the former was sacred, and accordingly 
 he ascertained, after much letter-writing, that the 
 Confederate gentleman was recovering from his 
 wound and was a prisoner at Fort Delaware. 
 Presuming then that Blake would desire further 
 to aid the man whose life he had saved, he wrote 
 with characteristic good nature to the surgeon at 
 the fort, an old acquaintance, forwarding a letter 
 to Darnell with some money and a supply of 
 books and small luxuries. Before long he received 
 a courteous reply and a warm note of thankful 
 acknowledgment to Blake and himself. Upon 
 this he wrote briefly to his friend, inclosing the 
 note and asking Blake if he would like him to go 
 to Fort Delaware and see the prisoner. 
 
 To his great amazement, he heard promptly 
 from Roland in a fashion that astonished him and 
 was almost too great a trial of his unconquerable 
 sweetness of disposition. Blake wrote : — 
 
 " I had a natural desire to hear something of 
 Darnell. I have not the slightest wish to culti- 
 vate any nearer acquaintance with him. One's 
 interest in a man may be of various kinds. I had 
 some form of it in the miserable wretch I saw 
 shot for desertion yesterday. I cannot make 
 clear to you my reasons, but I never wish to see 
 your rebel again. 
 
 " Confound the chiUs ! I suppose we shall 
 move again soon. I am dreadfully weary of war 
 and especially of the unthinking obedience it en- 
 tails on any one who desires to do his full duty as 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 95 
 
 a soldier. Sometimes I feel as if I should never 
 again be my own master, or recover entirely my 
 sense of freedom. I am thankful that the end is 
 near ; and near it is despite the croaking editors at 
 the North. How are you getting on, and when 
 shall we smoke another pipe together ? " 
 
 " Well, upon my word," exclaimed Francis, " I 
 am like Paul Pry. I shall certainly never do a 
 good-natured thing again. It must be the chills. 
 Poor old Roland ! I should like to be able to un- 
 derstand it. It is altogether so unlike him." And 
 with this he dismissed the matter, and, concluding 
 not to write to his friend for a few days, went to 
 New York on an errand of business for his father, 
 an active and prosperous merchant in Philadel- 
 phia. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "Were there one so lost as to pray the fiend to keep him from temp- 
 tation to do good, he sure some woman would still lore him." 
 
 Aftbe his not unwilling capture, Richard Dar- 
 nell lay for the months of June and July in hos- 
 pitals before he was finally well enough to be 
 taken to the prison for Confederates at Fort Dela- 
 ware. His condition embarrassed him. As a 
 civilian, no one was interested in his exchange, 
 and he might lie here until the war was over. 
 While in hospitals he was well and even luxu- 
 riously cared for, but at the fort, although he had 
 small cause of complaint, the confinement within 
 the island space chafed him sorely. 
 
 Towards the end of August he felt himself 
 quite well again. Up to this time he had not 
 written to Octopia. He knew that she must have 
 been constantly expecting to see him ; but this 
 had been the case over and over when from time 
 to time his errand had been postponed for one 
 reason or another connected with the affairs of 
 the Confederate government. Now that he was 
 less agreeably situated, he began to reflect that 
 his sister would be uneasy at his long silence, and 
 that possibly the Wynnes and her friend Mr. 
 Pennell might be able to make things more pleas- 
 ant for him, or to secure his release. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 97 
 
 At this time a plot was formed by the rebel 
 officers to seize the fort with the aid of the thir- 
 teen thousand men confined like themselves on 
 the island. It was discovered in time to prevent 
 a temporary success and the horrible loss of life 
 which would have followed. Many officers were 
 sent away to the West, and the surgeons and civil- 
 ian prisoners were confined to the casemates, and, 
 amidst other restrictions, all correspondence was 
 put an end to, so that until November Darnell 
 was unable to communicate with Octopia. 
 
 When at last she heard from him it was with 
 some sense of relief. He was nearer now, and free 
 from danger. Mr. Pennell exerted himself in vain 
 to procure his exchange or to mitigate the annoy- 
 ances of a captive's life. The rebel gentleman had 
 proved a perverse and dangerous prisoner, his tem- 
 per and recklessness having led him into constant 
 conflict with the rules of war. 
 
 Then at last he resolved to escape, — a difficult 
 task, but not easily set aside by a man who 
 dreaded nothing so much as the continuance of 
 confinement. 
 
 Meanwhile, Octopia, despairing of his release, 
 was wretched, and turned more and more for com- 
 fort and help to Olivia. 
 
 It was now January. One morning early she 
 sent in haste for Olivia, who found her flushed 
 and excited, for once forgetful of herself. 
 
 " Olive ! Olive ! " she said, " shut the door. 
 Shut both doors. Sit down. I have had a tele- 
 
98 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 gram from Dick, from Baltimore. It is signed 
 ' Richard Wynne ; ' so that I am sure it is he ; 
 he must have escaped. I knew those cowardly 
 Yankees could not keep him if he meant to get 
 away. He says he will be here to-night at seven. 
 Oh ! are you not glad ? " 
 
 Olivia said she was glad. " But what a risk," 
 she added, " to come North now ! " 
 
 " What DameU ever feared risk, dear ? " 
 
 That he was selfishly compromising his cousins 
 did not suggest itself to Octopia. 
 
 " And what can we do with him ? " said Olive. 
 " He can't stay here." 
 
 " Oh, he will take care of himself. I am so 
 glad to have you know him." 
 
 She saw in anticipation the manly figure, the 
 lustrous, seeking, restless eyes. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Olive rather disconsolately, 
 " it will worry grandmamma almost to death." 
 
 " Dear love, think what it is to me to see Dick ! 
 Cousin Anne will be kind to him, I know. She 
 can't help liking him." 
 
 " I suppose it must be," said Olive. " I wiU 
 tell her, and we will do our best. I wish he were 
 in the South. It would be safer and better." 
 
 " Safer, perhaps, — not better. You thLuk too 
 little of others, Olive. You are sometimes very 
 hard for a girl so young as you." 
 
 " I do not mean to be. But indeed I hate these 
 endless mysteries." 
 
 Octopia seemed not to hear her. She flushed 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 99 
 
 proudly as she thouglit of her brother, a man to 
 whom danger was attractive, liking power as his 
 sister liked it, somewhat feared by the mass of his 
 fellows for the recklessness of his character, — a 
 man of many wants, loving luxury, and with more 
 heart than conscience, — Octopia admired him 
 much, thought she knew him well, loved him in- 
 tensely, dreaded him somewhat. 
 
 " I shall dine with you," he had written, "about 
 seven to-night. If I do not come by seven I shall 
 be with you to-morrow." 
 
 " Ah, I am hardly up to dining at seven. He 
 shall dine alone with Olivia," she thought. 
 " There is nothing like first impressions, and Dick 
 knows how to make himself agreeable enough, 
 when he chooses ; " and she smiled. " Olivia would 
 make him a good wife if I were about to keep her 
 in order." 
 
 " If I have been cross to you of late, Olive," 
 she said at last, " you will forgive me, love. I 
 think it will cure me to see Dick. You won't for- 
 get that he is. to be Richard Wynne ? " 
 
 Olive wished he had chosen another name. 
 The matter was simply hateful to her from every 
 point of view. Then, noting her silence, Octopia 
 added, — 
 
 " You will find it easy enough, you can speak 
 of him as Cousin Dick." 
 
 This did not seem quite so simple to the younger 
 woman. Octopia and he were not nearer to her 
 than the third degree of cousinship, and while 
 
100 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 long familiarity seemed to have brought his sister 
 close enough, Olivia felt that the case of the man 
 might wear a very different aspect. There was, 
 however, some novelty in the prospect of a new 
 acquaintance, and she went about all day with a 
 sense of annoyance and expectation. 
 
 The grandmother scarcely ever dined down- 
 stairs, and Octopia so rarely that when, late in 
 the afternoon, Olivia received by her cousin's 
 maid a note stating that Octopia did not feel well 
 and must postpone seeing her brother until after 
 dinner, the younger woman felt little surprise, but 
 more annoyance. These notes on the smallest oc- 
 casions were a part of the trivial incidents of Oc- 
 topia's life ; and whenever she desired to settle a 
 matter without chance of appeal, she resorted to 
 the device of a note. Olivia smiled as she read it, 
 and, aware that her cousin always had an unstated 
 motive in the background, awaited the dinner- 
 hour with a quiet little resolution to be on her 
 guard, hardly conscious, however, of what she was 
 to fear, but more and more distrustful. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ** A woman sweet nor yet complete.'* 
 
 "The wingless hopes of maidenhood are hers, 
 And childhood's coy delight in simple things." 
 
 On the afternoon of the day early in January 
 which had brought Octopia news of her brother's 
 probable visit, Philip Francis strolled up Fifth 
 Avenue somewhat after seven p. M. His wound 
 had healed, and he was thinking without exces- 
 sive delight of the fact that a few weeks longer 
 must find him again in the army. But to-day 
 was his own, and for Francis the joy of to-day was 
 always more pleasantly sufficient than its evil. 
 He was in evening dress, and wore a rather light 
 overcoat, as the day, though cloudy, had not been 
 cold. He had but a few blocks to walk to the 
 house of a newly-married friend who lived on the 
 avenue, and with whom he was to dine. 
 
 Feeling some drops of rain, he hastened his 
 pace, but was caught presently in a chilly down- 
 pour. He looked about him for shelter. The 
 night was fast gathering, and cabs were not as 
 plenty on Fifth Avenue as they are to-day. He 
 pushed on, smiling as he reflected upon the calm- 
 ness with which one took a ducking on the Rapi- 
 dan, and how grave a hardship it became on Fifth 
 
102 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Avenue to a man in evening dress and a thin 
 overcoat. 
 
 The numbers were difficult to see, but at last 
 he ran up the steps in a yet heavier flood of rain, 
 and with a pull at the bell, took refuge beneath 
 the shallow doorway. A man-servant opened the 
 door, and Francis hastily stepped in, his first idea 
 being that of escape from the rain, which was 
 falling in volumes. 
 
 The servant remarked, " You 're quite a bit 
 late, sir. Miss Olivia's been a-waiting 'most a 
 half hour." 
 
 Francis hesitated a moment ; clearly he was in 
 the wrong house. He could not be the expected 
 guest. He was about to ask if Mr. Vincent lived 
 there, when the servant continued, — 
 
 " Miss Olivia is down. There won't be no one 
 else to-day." 
 
 It seemed simple enough to go out, if, as now 
 became yet more certain, he was not in the house 
 he sought, and which he knew boasted of no 
 young women. But there was the rain. The 
 absurdity of the situation amused him. 
 
 On entering, he had resigned his wet overcoat 
 and hat to the servant. Standing irresolute for 
 a moment at the entrance to the drawing-room, 
 he began to take in its evidence of feminine pur- 
 suits, and was attacked with an uncomfortable 
 sensation of the coming embarrassment of ex- 
 plaining to a total stranger the circumstances by 
 which he had been led to seek a refuge. "By 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 103 
 
 George!" he said, aloud, "how it rains! It's 
 worse than Virginia." 
 
 So saying, he was about to turn towards the 
 hall door, when he was suddenly met by the ap- 
 parition of a handsome well-dressed woman who 
 came in from the back room and said, with a 
 curious gravity of demeanor, " What 's worse than 
 Virginia ? " Then she paused, as if surprised, 
 and the servant walked away. 
 
 The man before her was clean-shaven, and, if 
 a little pale, was frank of face and merry-eyed. 
 It was a pleasant surprise. 
 
 " I should apologize," he said, hastily. " I am 
 drenched." 
 
 " Not at all," she broke in, interrupting him ; 
 and then, with a quaint little stiffness of manner 
 which betrayed embarrassment, " Cousin Richard 
 Darnell is welcome, — most welcome." 
 
 In truth, she was interested and excited, and 
 also somewhat shy, as was natural in one so young 
 who had lived so long in almost monastic seclu- 
 sion. 
 
 If she was a little bewildered, Mr. Francis was 
 hardly less so. The sweet intelligence of a face 
 which obeyed now the heart and now the mind, 
 the gentle primness due to absence of youthful 
 society, and also perhaps to some more or less un- 
 conscious imitation of her grandmother's courtly 
 formality, combined with the false position in 
 which he had placed himself to disturb him. He 
 had a slight attack of what might be called social 
 
104 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 vertigo, — a trivial general disturbance of moral 
 equilibrium, too surely productive of physical 
 awkwardness. Then the name Richard Darnell 
 fell upon his ear with a sudden shock which com- 
 pleted his discomfiture. 
 
 "I — I beg pardon," he said, "I — I am not 
 Richard Darnell. I am Philip Francis, of Phil- 
 adelphia;" whereupon, to his amazement, the 
 young woman went past him hastily and shut 
 the door, saying, as she did so, — 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ; I understand. I ought not to 
 have called you by your name, and you have 
 made it very confusing. It was imprudent ; but 
 then these plots, these mysteries — oh, I hate 
 them ! I loathe them ! Pray do not tell Octopia. 
 But I don't think the man heard me," and she 
 glanced uneasily down the hall after the retreat- 
 ing servant. 
 
 During this brief outbreak of excited statement 
 Francis tried in vain to stop her by a lifted hand 
 and a word or two, by way of an explanation 
 which was becoming to him, at least, painfully 
 necessary. Olivia's alarm and her eagerness to 
 excuse her imprudence defeated him. 
 
 " We will not tell," he said, feeling dreadfully 
 foolish. "But really," he added, "you must al- 
 low me to " — 
 
 " But I don't mean what I said as to Octopia. 
 I would rather have you tell her. I hate mys- 
 teries." 
 
 " Then you wiU kindly permit me to end this 
 
kdlAiib BLAKE. 105 
 
 one," he said, standing before her and feeling how 
 difficult any explanation had become. " I am 
 Philip Francis. I got into your house by mis- 
 take, having meant to dine with a friend who 
 must be your neighbor. The rain made me hesi- 
 tate a moment, and then you came in, and — I 
 am well aware it is my fault, but Richard Darnell 
 is not my name ; although I believe that I know 
 him." 
 
 He was instantly sorry that he had added the 
 last phrase. 
 
 The face before him made quick record of the 
 trouble within. 
 
 " What an idiot I am ! What a fool ! " she ex- 
 claimed. The coincidence seemed to her intoler- 
 able without explanation. "No, sir, you cannot 
 go — you shall not go, without telling me more," 
 she cried. " No, I don't mean to be rude ; but 
 what are you ? Where did you know my cousin ? 
 Where is he ? It is not possible that you can be 
 a spy?" 
 
 " I am so very sorry ! " exclaimed Francis. 
 " Pray let me explain ! What I told you is 
 strictly true ; and as to the gentleman you named, 
 and with whom I have had the honor of being 
 confounded, I know very little of him at present, 
 except that he was quite well a week or two ago, 
 and that he made a very daring escape from Fort 
 Delaware three days since. Where he is now I 
 do not know." 
 
 " Fort Delaware ! Escaped !" she said. "Yes, 
 I know : of course." 
 
106 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Her inexperience at times betrayed her, and 
 what she had seen of her own little world was not 
 very reassuring as to the trust to be reposed on 
 the beings outside of it, but when her sympathies 
 were not too much involved she was intellectually 
 decisive by nature, and she was fast maturing. 
 The man before her was a gentleman ; that, at 
 least, was plain. He could not be a foe : his em- 
 barrassment and anxiety were as distinct as her 
 own. 
 
 As Francis would have phrased it, she pulled 
 herself together, and added, " It is vain now to 
 conceal from you that my cousin, — a distant 
 cousin " — " Why the deuce does she say that ? " 
 thought Francis — " has been expected by us. I 
 have been incautious enough to let you understand 
 that he may be here to-night. I do not say he 
 will be ; no one knows. What I see is that I 
 have been a fool and have put him in the power 
 of a total stranger. We are at your mercy." 
 Her eyes filled and her cheeks flushed as she stood 
 bravely facing him, quite unaware of the gentle 
 artfulness of her appeal. 
 
 " On my honor as a gentleman, you are safe 
 with me." 
 
 "Thank you." She spoke with frank accept- 
 ance. 
 
 " And before I go let me say how very sorry I 
 am to have been in any way a cause of trouble 
 to you. May I take the liberty of asking your 
 name?" he added, smiling. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 10? 
 
 " I am Miss Olivia Wynne." 
 
 "It has a pleasantly familiar sound to me at 
 least. It is an old name in and about Philadel- 
 phia." 
 
 Olivia had a feeling of reassurance as he spoke, 
 and yet more as he added : " And now let me 
 thank you for the shelter. And perhaps I shall 
 further relieve your very natural suspicions if I 
 say that I was on my way to dine with Mr. George 
 Vincent when in the haste caused by my ducking 
 I mistook the house." 
 
 " Mr. Vincent is our next neighbor," said Olivia. 
 
 " And I am very late. Good-evening, Miss 
 Wynne." 
 
 He bowed, and, backing a step or two towards 
 the door, came almost into contact with Mrs. 
 Wynne. Her appearance was a surprise to both 
 of the young people. The little old lady, pale, 
 attenuated, lavish of lace, in long gloves, stood a 
 moment in the doorway, which a servant had 
 opened for her. 
 
 " A beautiful old dame," Francis thought. " I 
 beg pardon," he said, retreating. " I am, by no 
 fault of my own, an intruder here. I took refuge 
 from the storm, supposing this to be Mr. Vincent's. 
 Miss Wynne will explain ; and perhaps I had best 
 leave my sad case in her hands," he went on, in 
 his smiling way, as he began again to make his 
 way out. 
 
 Whatever had been the urgency of motive 
 which had brought the old lady hastily down- 
 
l08 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 stairs, the excitement died away at once, and 
 crushing a paper she held in her hand, she came 
 forward, and to Francis's amusement, dropped 
 him an old-fashioned courtesy, which took up a 
 good deal of space and set the young man to bow- 
 ing with equal formality, by virtue of that pleas- 
 ant tendency to imitativeness which forms of phys- 
 ical politeness are apt to bring out. 
 
 " That is easily forgiven," said the old lady. 
 " Are you sure that the rain is quite at an end ? " 
 
 " Oh, quite so," said he. 
 
 " But you must be very wet," exclaimed Olivia. 
 
 Why exactly she said this, or, indeed, anything, 
 would not have been clear to her had she looked 
 for a reason. Perhaps she felt the sunshine of 
 gentle likings which the young soldier carried with 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, we don't mind that in the army," he 
 laughed, and then looked ruefully at the soaked 
 dress-shoes. 
 
 "Ah, you are in the service?" said Mrs. Wynne, 
 who, though in the main satisfied by her first 
 glance at the stranger, felt it to be well and also 
 easy to learn something of a visitor who might 
 bring danger with him. " I did not quite catch 
 your name." 
 
 This delighted Olivia, who rarely saw her grand- 
 mother aroused. 
 
 "I owe you an apology," returned Francis, 
 becoming, as he smilingly knew, beautifully cour- 
 teous. " I might readily be pardoned any forget- 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 109 
 
 fulness. I am Philip Francis, a lieutenant in the 
 6th New Hampshire Cavalry. I am home on 
 leave, owing to a wound." ("That covers the 
 ground," he said to himself. " Shall I ever get 
 out?") 
 
 As he spoke, the old lady advanced, but with 
 such feebleness that Francis instinctively stepped 
 forward to help her. " Thank you," she said, 
 putting the finger-ends of one hand formally on 
 his arm. Then she sat down, and, looking up, 
 continued, — 
 
 "You will pardon an old woman's curiosity, 
 but are you of the Philadelphia people of your 
 name ? " 
 
 " They have the honor to own me." And the 
 merriment in his eyes found genial comradeship 
 in Olivia's face. 
 
 "You are come of good people," she returned, 
 in her thinnest and most tranquil voice. " And 
 now ring, Olivia ; we must not keep Mr. Francis 
 any longer." 
 
 He bowed low; the old dame, rising with a 
 little effort, courtesied ; Miss Wynne said " Good 
 evening," a touch of regret in her voice, and he 
 left the room. He would have well liked to add, 
 " May I come back to-morrow ? " but this was 
 clearly out of the question. 
 
 He put on his summer covering, took his hat, 
 and went out into Fifth Avenue and up the ad- 
 joining steps. Then the fun of the thing over- 
 came him, and he laughed aloud, to the astonish- 
 
110 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ment of a passer-by. " Well," he said, " I have 
 kept Vincent waiting, but I have had an adven- 
 ture ; and what an adventure ! Where, I wonder, 
 is that handsome rebel? What a pity he did not 
 turn up ! — nothing on the stage could have beaten 
 that ! And by George what a noble-looking girl ! " 
 He wondered what Blake would say to it, and 
 why his friend had been so annoyed at his help- 
 ing Darnell ; and thus reflecting, and still smiling 
 at his remembrance of the part he had just played, 
 he went in by the door which a servant threw 
 open before him. Meanwhile, the old lady had 
 turned to her grandchild, remarking, as she heard 
 the hall door close, — 
 
 " Octopia has sent me two notes within the 
 last ten minutes, my dear; she is very fond of 
 notes. She said in them that Judith had seen a 
 gentleman come in, and that it was not Richard 
 Darnell, and that she was too ill to go down, and 
 I must, — wiMsf , child ! The woman has no man- 
 ners ; no Darnell ever had." 
 
 The impertinence stirred her more than many 
 wrongs had done, and her granddaughter was 
 surprised at her anger. Olivia did not see fit at 
 this time to mention her own blunder. 
 
 " Perhaps, grandmamma, she did not mean it. 
 She is ill, and uneasy about her brother." 
 
 " Then let her see to him herself ! Ill ? — non- 
 sense! She is well enough when she pleases to 
 do anything. And really, child, to bring me 
 down-stairs in haste to see a stupid lad who has 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. Ill 
 
 not sense enough to get into the right house ! A 
 nice coil we are in now ! as if we had any busi- 
 ness with these rebel plots ! As for her, she likes 
 it ; she is a born plotter. They are all plotters. 
 They were in that business of Conway's against 
 Washington. They were in Burr's conspiracy. 
 They were always false to their country, and they 
 cannot be true to any one. And my life is one 
 long trouble ; I have no peace or rest, — and shall 
 have none till I am dead. Send for Susan. I 
 must get to bed. Why does that man Darnell 
 come at all? Ring! ring! do as I tell you, at 
 once! No one obeys me." 
 
 Olivia did as she was told; and then Mrs. 
 Wynne added, — 
 
 " You must talk to Octopia about all this. You 
 can explain it. I do not propose to be questioned 
 as to a matter of such small moment. Any one 
 could see the man was a gentleman. Now go 
 and quiet Octopia, or we shall have hysterics, and 
 I shall be kept awake. There is no peace in this 
 house. I have not knit two rows to-day." 
 
 Olivia went reluctantly up-stairs, thinking by 
 turns of the manly, smiling face of the soldier and 
 of what she should say to her cousin. The inter- 
 view was not pleasant, and, worn out by the call 
 upon her sympathies and the demand for more 
 affection than she felt, the tired girl went to her 
 room. 
 
 Her head ached, and with the consciousness of 
 constant fatigue, the outcome of a life of strain 
 
112 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and repression, began to come its certain result, 
 irritability. 
 
 Character is more subject in women than in 
 men to changes physiologically produced, and 
 Oliyia was feeling the effect of bodily influences 
 which alarmed her as little as they usually do the 
 young. Her power of self-government was fast 
 deserting her, and her reason was rapidly going 
 over to the party of mutiny. Why should that 
 tired old woman be so ceaselessly disturbed ? She 
 had a right to a placid life, to the inward and 
 outward calm which she loved. That was an 
 awful resurrection of buried passions Olive had 
 seen. She began to hate Octopia at times, in 
 little fractions of hatred. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " The man who has not known sick women has not known women.** 
 
 Olivia went into her cousin's room next morn- 
 ing feeling unusually well. As was common the 
 day after one of these irritating scenes, Octopia 
 made her a sweet apology for the annoyance she 
 had shown concerning the girl's interview with 
 Francis, as to which the sick woman had extracted 
 the whole truth. Olivia often had the singular 
 feeling of self-reproach which the healthy and vig- 
 orous sometimes experience in the presence of the 
 sick and wasted ; and, besides, she had taken her- 
 self to task for not seeing that Octopia's anxiety 
 gave her some just cause to feel that Olive had 
 been imprudent and thoughtless. She sat down 
 to read, but, being rather preoccupied, read too 
 loudly at times, and at other times could not be 
 heard, or, worse still, failed to use her mental filter 
 to keep back unpleasing portions of the war news. 
 
 At last, Octopia, as she lay on her lounge, half 
 lifted a long hand in the way of protest. Speak- 
 ing up at the ceiling, she said, — 
 
 " If you cannot omit abuse of the South, dear 
 love, I would rather you did not go on." 
 
 " I have read two hours. I am tired," returned 
 Olivia, " and that makes it difficult to be exact." 
 
114 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Yes, dear, I know. You are very good to me. 
 You know, dear, that I would read it myself, if I 
 could do so without seeing all those cruel com- 
 ments. The lies are so bad, and I can trust you 
 to sift them. I have the sure consciousness that 
 the South — my South — will win." 
 
 Olivia restrained herself in silence. 
 
 " Are you very tired ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " We won't read any more ; " and then, as Olivia 
 rose, "but you '11 sit by me awhile? I hate to be 
 alone. That won't tire you. You know, love, I 
 always try to save you. Just a little while." 
 
 Olivia sat down with a sigh. These hours of 
 patient waiting in the half light with Octopia's 
 long fingers twined in hers were perhaps the 
 hardest of her trials. A great love would have 
 made them endurable, but scarcely more whole- 
 some. The old black servant had said, " Missus 
 do take it out of you," thus vaguely expressing 
 the mysterious hurtf ulness of the relation. 
 
 At last the girl rose, feeling that she could bear 
 it no longer. For an hour she had been dreamily 
 thinking of the sea, of flowers, of the joy of out- 
 door life, while Octopia patted her hands softly. 
 " I must go," she said. 
 
 Octopia reluctantly set her free. She never 
 meant to be irritable, and just at present she was 
 unusually good-humored, and was, for reasons 
 known to herself alone, trying to be very pleasant 
 to the young girl. It was not easy ; to divorce a 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 116 
 
 habit abruptly is not always possible. Nor was 
 she fully able to realize the extent of her own ra- 
 pacity of sacrifice ; the lonely life of sickness had 
 made self so near that its breath blurred the mir- 
 ror of conscience. 
 
 Such a character is difficult for the young and 
 the healthy to comprehend. 
 
 As Oliyia turned to leave, the old black woman 
 entered. " Massa Richard 's down-stairs," she 
 said, — " de real massa Dick." 
 
 " My brother ! " exclaimed Octopia, with un- 
 usual energy. " Open the window, Judith. Give 
 me my lace gown. Go down-stairs, Oliye, and see 
 him. You can bring him up in five minutes. 
 Ah ! at last ! at last ! my dear old Dick ! Do you 
 know, Olive, it is two years since we met. Kiss 
 me, dear ; I am so glad that I want every one to 
 be glad with me. How does he look, Judith ? " 
 
 " Dar ain't much change on him. He ain't 
 worsened none, and he ain't bettered none, as I 
 can see." 
 
 " Bettered ! What do you mean ? How could 
 he be better? Now go, Olive, and be careful, 
 this time ; you will be very careful, dear, won't 
 you? " 
 
 Promising to be prudent, the girl went slowly 
 down to meet him. Two new acquaintances in 
 a week represented to her a fortune in the way 
 of social intercourse. A little on her guard, and 
 more than a little curious, she entered the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
116 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 We see well enough, as lives go on, how more 
 or less inborn character and the ways in which 
 men improve or distort it modify the features and 
 write authoritative comments on a face. Happily, 
 they who can read these lines aright are few in 
 number. Climate, sicknesses, and the tricks of 
 mere time sadly confuse these changeful hiero- 
 glyphics, so that for the general reader some 
 men's faces lie as certainly as do their grave-stones 
 in after years. But how far the face which nature 
 has given may in turn influence character and af- 
 fect gravely our actions is not so well realized by 
 the most critical charity. 
 
 The strange beauty of the boy Darnell had 
 been a curse to him. There are guards about a 
 girl's attractiveness which a lad lacks. Some hon- 
 est ancestor had given the young Virginian large, 
 soft, brown eyes, ingenuous in expression, but had 
 failed to endow him with the combination of 
 moral qualities which, as time went on, should 
 have given reality to what in childhood was but 
 picture. The crown of curls around the head, the 
 lips bold and clearly modeled in lines which ap- 
 proached those of feminine type, the masterful 
 vigor of look and carriage, had won from a foolish 
 mother that fatal form of worship which as years 
 go on is apt to make an iconoclast of the idol's self. 
 
 Death saved her from seeing this, and a ner- 
 vous, sensitive, adoring sister took up the evil 
 task of despoiling a life by flattery and indulgence 
 of its best chances. Th^ firmest rule would have 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 117 
 
 found him difficult to save ; the weakest treated 
 him as a toy, and insured his ruin. What was 
 good in him failed to crystallize in definite habits 
 of good. He grew up amidst slaves and women, 
 lawless and fearless, — a character in a state of so- 
 lution. Good women and thoughtful men found in 
 their relations to the slave a self-education which 
 helped to evolve many noble characteristics by 
 reason of the awful responsibilities which the po- 
 sition of master created. To a man like Darnell 
 plantation-life was fatal. 
 
 As Olivia first saw him, he was leaning against 
 the mantel, apparently busy with his own reflec- 
 tions. Turning, he said, — 
 
 " My cousin, Olivia Wynne. No need to pre- 
 sent myself. Allow me to close the door." 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Darnell," she said. 
 
 " Can I not be Cousin Richard, after our good 
 Virginia fashion ? and let us consider that I am 
 just now Richard Wynne. You see I have stolen 
 your name." 
 
 " Pray sit down. Octopia will be ready to see 
 you in a few minutes." 
 
 His personal beauty of face and grace of car- 
 riage, something daring in his large eyes, which 
 were restless and watchful, together with his great 
 likeness to Octopia, mysteriouly embarrassed his 
 cousin. 
 
 " We had quite given up all hope," she said, — 
 " all idea of seeing you. Octopia has been so 
 very anxious ; and the news of your escape has 
 been an immense relief to her." 
 
118 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Yes, I got out of that pen. I was taken at 
 Spottsylvania. Like a fool, I volunteered while 
 at headquarters on business, and so got hit and 
 picked up on the field. I " — He was about to 
 say how he had been taken ; but he was a man 
 who disliked obligations and shrank from need- 
 lessly acknowledging them. "I — in fact, I always 
 liked a fight, from the time I was a boy. I never 
 saw a cock-fight that I did not want to be a good 
 gamester and in the pit." 
 
 " I suppose it is natural for a man to want to 
 strike for his own cause," she said, reflectively, 
 and then, smiling, but with a slightly anxious 
 look, "you know that we are all for the North 
 here, except, of course, Octopia ? " 
 
 " Oh, naturally," he said. " It does n't matter 
 much, though, either way." 
 
 " I think it does." 
 
 " Well, then I will think so too." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " How worried poor Octy must have been these 
 last months ! I am afraid that she must have 
 been a grave trial to you all." 
 
 " Yes, she has been in sad distress, especially of 
 late. You know how nervous and excitable she 
 is, and at times so — so " — and she paused. 
 
 " I see," he broke in laughing. " Poor Octy ! 
 it is the same old thing, I reckon. I can never 
 thank you and Cousin Anne enough for what you 
 have done for her." 
 
 " It was not much," said Olivia. " Will you 
 go up and see her ? This way, please." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 119 
 
 " You will like to be alone," said the girl, at 
 the door of her cousin's room, as she fell back, 
 noting with fresh interest the dissemblance within 
 the resemblance between the brother and sister. 
 A flush of joyous greeting was on Octopia's face 
 and in her eyes, which shone brightly. He was 
 bronzed as well as dark of tint, and had the same 
 heavy eyelids, and the same slight retreat of the 
 lower half of the face to a small but positive 
 chin. The mouth was absolutely hidden in a 
 jungle of mustache ; perhaps nowadays it was as 
 well. 
 
 Octopia had him in her arms in a moment. 
 She loved this man beyond all other things on 
 earth ; to her there was nothing like him. Of 
 old she had fatigued him by a glutinous affection 
 which was readily self-sacrificial and not without 
 the element of jealousy, — that avarice of the 
 heart. 
 
 When they were alone, he asked if any one was 
 in the front room. 
 
 " Only Judith," she said, — which was true, for 
 the old servant was eagerly listening near the 
 door. 
 
 " We need not mind her," he said, carelessly. 
 
 Then Octopia talked long to him about their 
 home and friends, and of the state of the Con- 
 federacy, which both of them still looked upon 
 as secure of final triumph. At last she began to 
 speak of himself and of his plans, as to which she 
 was very anxious. 
 
120 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 He explained that when he first ■wrote of his 
 intention to come to the North he had been com- 
 missioned by the Confederacy to go to England 
 on an errand connected with the department in 
 which he served. Then the purpose had been 
 abandoned ; and now, having been captured, it 
 was his intention to remain in New York for a 
 time, and to return to the South as soon as a good 
 opportunity offered to get through the lines, — a 
 matter which was becoming daily more difficult. 
 
 Octopia questioned him closely and with her 
 usual shrewdness. He had, in fact, been origi- 
 nally charged with an errand to England, and 
 desired while on his way to use the two thousand 
 dollars he had lately acquired to buy quinine for 
 his own profit, hoping to be able to smuggle it 
 into the lines of the fast-shrinking Confederacy, 
 where its value had become enormous. He had 
 been captured not very unwillingly, but was now 
 without money to carry on his schemes, having 
 left in Richmond all he possessed. He had been 
 from time to time aided by Octopia with money 
 which reached him through England, and he was 
 well aware that she had laid by some little means 
 which had been given her by Mrs. Wynne when 
 that lady's gratitude was at full tide. He knew 
 also that what she had would be at his disposal ; 
 and already he began to think that with a little 
 money he could find some way of bettering himself 
 until he could succeed in reclaiming the funds he 
 had left in Virginia. As to his duties at home, 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 121 
 
 they troubled him little, as his capture would ex- 
 plain his continued absence. 
 
 Already his head was full of schemes. The 
 wild fluctuation of gold and stocks which he had 
 read of in the papers awakened and excited his 
 gambling propensities. That his plans might find 
 in his sister a severe critic he did not fear. Once 
 already he had ruined his sister's fortunes, and he 
 meant now again to use her savings. 
 
 Having been brought up among people who 
 professed certain distinct views as to delicate 
 shades of what was right and wrong among gen- 
 tlemen, he was by mere habit instinctively sensi- 
 tive as to the opinions of others. It was the one 
 religion left him. He resolved now to be careful. 
 
 As to Octopia, she would have liked to make 
 clear to him that she was not a guest on sufferance 
 in her cousin's house. She vaguely realized at 
 times that she had almost used threadbare Mrs. 
 Wynne's sense of gratitude, and in what she said 
 she respected her fixed conception of her brother's 
 sense of honor, little knowing to what deeps of 
 degradation he had fallen since she had last seen 
 him. She too resolved to be careful. 
 
 " I think, Octy, I shall be kept in New York 
 for some time," he said. " You won't be sorry, 
 I know; and I don't think the risk very great. 
 I shall want a little money ; I have some in Vir- 
 ginia, but I can't get it yet, and I am indisposed 
 to risk crossing the lines just now. It will be 
 easier after Grant is back across the Rapidan." 
 
122 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I have enough for us both, Dick," she said, 
 joyously, " unless " — and she laughed — " you are 
 as great a spendthrift as you used to be." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm reformed, Octy." 
 
 " I hope so. You are at the Brevoort, you said. 
 It is Tery expensive, and, I should think, danger- 
 ous. Suppose I ask Mr. Pennell where you had 
 best live ? He will do anything for me." 
 
 " What a treasure, Octy ! Is he as sentimental 
 as ever ? Your descriptions of him were very 
 amusing." And he laughed. 
 
 " Come, don't laugh at him, Dick. I am afraid 
 I led you into that ; but he is a little comical, 
 what with his stoop, and his shyness, and his 
 clocks, and his queer fancy for reforming young 
 reprobates." 
 
 " Perhaps he would take me in hand." 
 
 " I will ask him," said she ; and they laughed. 
 
 " By the way, what a beauty that girl is, Octy ! " 
 
 " Ah, you think so ? " she returned, smiling af- 
 fectionately. " Her grandmother is very old, and 
 she has, my dear Dick, a lot of money." 
 
 » A lot ! " he said. " How much is a lot ? You 
 were always rather inaccurate in your statements." 
 
 " Was I ? " she said, with entire good humor, 
 rather liking criticism from her brother. " She 
 may have two or three hundred thousand; not 
 less, certainly. It is rather amusing, but Olive, 
 who is the merest child, has not the faintest notion 
 that she is an heiress. She would make you a 
 good wife, Dick, she is so perfectly manageable ; 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 123 
 
 and the fact is, she meets no one — really no one 
 — but ourselves." 
 
 " I see," he returned, thoughtfully. " Do you 
 truly think it possible? " 
 
 " It is more than possible. I have an influence 
 here which is greater than you could suppose." 
 
 " That 's all very well, Octy ; but what is an 
 influence ? " 
 
 " Power," she said, proudly, — " power, if you 
 like that better, and the will to use it for you." 
 
 " But now-a-days we can't make girls marry 
 whom we please. What power have you ? " 
 
 She colored, having said more than she meant 
 to say. " No matter what," she replied. How 
 could she confess to her brother, a man who had 
 always resented any imputation on his honor, 
 what was the hold she had on the fears of two 
 helpless women ? Would he continue to love her 
 as she believed he did ? Society is kept in exist- 
 ence by a system of moral credits. " They are 
 under obligations to me. I cannot tell you any- 
 thing more." 
 
 Had she a faint distrust of the use he might 
 make of the knowledge he sought ? With all her 
 affection for him there was a margin of distrust. 
 
 " It does n't matter," he returned, carelessly. 
 " You may think better of it ; and as for me, I 
 have time on my hands, and what you say seems 
 plausible enough. Yet if I knew what you 
 meant " — 
 
 " It is well that you should not ; and you had 
 
124 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 better leave me to do as I think best. You would 
 only spoil aU." 
 
 Concerning Octopia's secret he smiled a little ; 
 she had always been rather fond of mystery. As 
 to Olivia herself that was a matter for reflection. 
 
 " You don't know the old lady, and I do," Oo- 
 topia added. 
 
 " Oh, I could manage her." 
 
 "No, you could not. Wait till you see her. 
 And now never urge me about this again. Here 
 is fifty dollars ; that ought to answer for the pres- 
 ent." 
 
 " All right," he said, only half pleased. " And 
 now for Cousin Olivia." 
 
 The pantomime in the front chamber during 
 this talk was interesting enough. The old black 
 woman stood by the door, the darkness of her 
 face making it inexpressive, — a mere patient 
 figure of waiting weariness. She had a feminine 
 admiration for Massa Dick; he had never been 
 brutal to her — indeed he was not that, — and she 
 had once had a slave's pride in his reckless cour- 
 age. As to Octopia it was otherwise. 
 
 Why she listened she could hardly have said, 
 except that the furtive cunning of slavery had 
 given with the idea of possession of another's 
 secret a sense of power. Waning intelligence and 
 the timidity of a life of serfdom made it as use- 
 less to her as great wealth would have been. She 
 began, however, to feel vaguely, as she listened, 
 that there was in what she heard some peril for 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 125 
 
 Olivia, — the one little afEection she had acquired 
 amidst her life of monotonous service in Octopia's 
 sick-room. Once while they talked she heard her 
 own name, and instantly walked softly across the 
 room and then hack more heavily, and entered 
 Octopia's chamber. 
 
 " Was you a-callin' ? " she said. " I did n't hear. 
 I was a-sittin' by the window. How do, Massa 
 Dick?" 
 
 " Glad to see you, aunty," said Darnell. " You 
 can go back, and shut the door." 
 
 She did as he bade her, a weak smile crossing 
 her face. Cunning is the kindly little devil of 
 the feeble in mind, and, if there be sex among 
 the smaller fiends, is of the female kind. She 
 went to the window and sat down, thinking dis- 
 connectedly as she heard Darnell go away. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Our fate hath its own lords, 
 Which ii we follow truly there can come 
 No harm unto us.*' 
 
 Meanwhilb, Philip Francis went back to 
 Philadelphia. He carried with him a mild sense 
 of the romance of his adventure and some agree- 
 able remembrance of the woman he had seen. 
 Perhaps his feeling of the absurdity of the affair 
 was even more present to his mind, since the 
 laughable aspects of events were apt to dominate 
 him. Had Olivia been more of an irvginue, he 
 would possibly have been captivated by her grace 
 and the gentle old-fashioned manners she had un- 
 consciously acquired from her grandmother; but 
 the childlike embarrassment of the tall girl struck 
 him as more ludicrous than attractive. There is 
 somewhere a tender bribe for every man, and 
 chance arranges the hour of temptation; it had 
 not yet come for Philip Francis. 
 
 At home he kept his own counsel about his 
 interview, and late in January returned to the 
 army, then lying in front of Petersburg. 
 
 His brigade had long since been detached from 
 the duties of the provost- marshal general's head- 
 quarters, and transferred to the cavalry corps, 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 127 
 
 which was lying "retired" on the left of the 
 army. He sought an early chance to visit Blake, 
 and, after a long ride to the immediate front, he 
 found his friend, now become a major in the in- 
 fantry regiment he had joined as a private. 
 
 The tent, with its flooring and camp-furniture, 
 was comfortable enough ; and, seated on two rough 
 camp-stools, the friends chatted gayly of home 
 and the war, while the shells rose in air, and 
 gigantic rings of dun smoke, slowly twisting and 
 breaking, hung over the mortar-batteries. Every 
 moment the boom of siege-guns was heard, and 
 now and then a musket-shot rang out, while 
 around the tents the jingle and countless noises 
 of an army in winter-quarters fiUed the air. 
 
 " Glad to get back? " said Blake. " How well 
 you look ! Madeira and terrapin, I suppose." 
 
 "No. I have been too much in the cheerful 
 hands of the doctors. You seem pretty comfort- 
 able here yourself. It begins to look, Roland, as 
 if this heavy joke called war would soon be over. 
 I should like to be about when Mr. Lee says to 
 Mr. Davis, 'And what shall we do now, Mr. 
 Ringmaster?' " 
 
 " I have found it a pretty expensive circus," re- 
 turned his friend. " Seriously, I shall be enchanted 
 to get back to a rational existence; it is so su- 
 premely ridiculous to be eternally at another man's 
 beck and call." 
 
 " And, after all, what is the good of it? We 
 shall only slip again under the rule of ward poli- 
 tics." 
 
128 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Blake smiled. " Then what are you doing 
 here ? If you don't believe in the war, you are 
 criminal. It is either wickedness or first-class 
 righteousness, — God's war for you, or a game of 
 hell. I am thankful to see any duty on earth as 
 clearly as I saw this one." 
 
 " Confound it, Roland, how absolute you are ! 
 You know well enough that I would not be here 
 unless I believed in it. Wait till you get hit so 
 that you are no better than a colander. I have 
 seen more than one fellow leak a little earnestness 
 out of a bullet-hole ; and as for me, I 've been 
 regularly on tap." 
 
 "It's the talk I object to, Phil. Half the men 
 you meet believe you. I can't see what pleasure 
 you can get out of an affectation of cynicism. 
 There is no use lecturing a man like you. No 
 one does lecture you but me, and pretty soon you 
 will lose my charming advice. School doesn't 
 keep after twenty-five. You only make people 
 laugh at what they should not laugh at." 
 
 " All right. Let 's shut up the Sunday-school. 
 You got a good bit of malarious liver into that 
 preachment. How are the chills ? " 
 
 "Punctual, rather," he said, laughing. "The 
 general's orderly was growling yesterday over his 
 own share of them when I went to the hospital 
 for quinine; the old Irishman has been in the 
 army for thirty years, you know. Upton asked 
 him if his chills were regular. ' Dade and they 're 
 intirely volunteer,' he said, with delicious scorn." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 129 
 
 "What a lovely story! And, by the way, 
 Roland, I have a queer tale to tell you. I thought 
 my adventures were over when I left camp, but 
 this beats the picket-line for romance." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? Do you swear or aflBrm ? 
 I never half believe you." 
 
 " Oh, it 's true this time." 
 
 Then Francis related at length his visit to the 
 Wynnes', and made himself amusing enough until 
 he began to tell that portion of his story which 
 dealt with Darnell. At this Blake became grave. 
 The clever picture Francis drew of the girl's child- 
 like embarrassment and her womanly feeling and 
 pretty old-fashioned manner struck Blake as in- 
 teresting ; and he was hardly less attracted by the 
 vivid sketch of the ancient gentlewoman whom 
 not even his friend's cynical comments could make 
 ridiculous to Roland. He was familiar with the 
 type, and the memories it aroused were pleasant 
 and gracious. As Francis talked, the idea of a 
 villain so unscrupulous as Darnell at large and in 
 such company struck him as horrible. 
 
 At last he said, moodily, " And what did you — 
 what shall you do about it ? " He forgot that to 
 Francis, Darnell was only a very gallant soldier. 
 
 " Do ! What could I do ? I don't quite see 
 what you mean." 
 
 " No : you are right. I forgot. There is some- 
 thing in all this which I cannot talk about, — of 
 which, in fact, as I said before, I am not at liberty 
 to speak freely." 
 
130 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 He was perplexed at the position in which he 
 found himself. To tell Francis what Darnell 
 really was involved the breaking of his word and 
 the betrayal of an official duty. How far Dar- 
 nell's treachery to himself ought to modify his own 
 obligation to be silent he could not settle to his 
 satisfaction, and to have saved the life of the man 
 who had made a cowardly attempt on his own 
 seemed oddly to complicate the ethical situation. 
 
 Up to this time it had been easy enough to put 
 the thing away out of his life, but now he began 
 to be further perplexed by hearing that Darnell 
 was in the North, a free man, and apparently in 
 relation with those to whom he might be danger- 
 ous. 
 
 His friend had been intently watching him, 
 though seemingly much occupied with a blocked- 
 up pipe, during the few moments of silence which 
 followed his last words. The privilege of holding 
 one's tongue is not the least valuable gift of friend- 
 ship to life. 
 
 At last Francis spoke : " As the snail said to 
 the grasshopper, I don't quite follow you ; but " — 
 
 "Would you kindly explain yourself?" cried 
 Blake, much amused. 
 
 " Explain ! I never wish to be asked to ex- 
 plain. As you observed to me in your last letter, 
 there is nothing so clear as the unexplained, be- 
 cause then all solutions are open to us." 
 
 " I said nothing of the sort," returned Blake. 
 
 " Well, it does n't matter. It describes my own 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 131 
 
 state of mind as concerns this Darnell business. 
 Perhaps I put it rather too practically. We will 
 call it conversational whittling, if you like." 
 
 " Very good. I like that. It 's better than 
 usual," said Blake, throwing himself on the floor 
 of the tent and lighting his meerschaum. " Go 
 ahead, Gamaliel : let 's have more of the shavings 
 of wisdom." 
 
 " Oh, Roland, what is really on my mind is this. 
 It is plain to me that something in connection 
 with this man Darnell is troubling you. What it 
 is I do not care to know, unless for me to know 
 it will help you. If without that I can be of any 
 kind of use in the matter, whether with purse or 
 hand or advice, I am at your service, and this once 
 for all." 
 
 Blake looked up, touched both by the offer and 
 by a certain affectionateness in the manner of 
 making it. 
 
 " There is one thing," he said. " To-morrow is 
 my detail for the picket reserve. If I get badly 
 hit, or killed, as may chance to any of us, you will 
 find in my valise a letter to you which will explain 
 what I may have to say. I mean to write such a 
 letter. If I live, there will be no need of it." 
 
 Then he added, abruptly, "Do you think one 
 has duties to people one never saw ? " 
 
 Francis could not be serious very long. He 
 laughed : 
 
 " Most obviously it is my duty to kill rebels I 
 never saw." 
 
132 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Hang it, Phil, you are insufferable ! " 
 " I find myself so very often," he returned, ris- 
 ing and buckling on his sabre-belt. " The folks 
 at home write me they have sent you a box of 
 small luxuries ; you '11 get it in a day or two. 
 And now I must go." 
 
 Blake thanked him, and they said " good-by " 
 as the cavalry-man swung himself into the saddle 
 and rode away, humming gayly a doggerel verse 
 set to the " stable call," while the bugle was ring- 
 ing out the " retreat." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ** The purple violet bring, that blows 
 la May time, and to bind my brows 
 Snow-bom arbutus ; sprinkle my house 
 With the sacred waters of content, 
 And joy shall blossom like the rose, 
 In every heart that 's innocent." 
 
 Meanwhile, the little household in New York 
 was feeling in various ways the influence of the 
 new visitor. He made himself agreeable to the 
 old lady, who, despite her distrust of all Darnells, 
 was fond of flattery, as the old are usually, having 
 the feeling that it must be true, as they have noth- 
 ing of material value to give in return. She liked 
 also his gentle Southern ways with women, and 
 had always found it pleasant to be asked for ad- 
 vice ; so that after a time she began to look 
 eagerly for his visits, and to forget that his posi- 
 tion was open to criticism and that he was an 
 enemy to her cause, as 'to which she was, after all, 
 more indifferent than Olivia. 
 
 As to that young person, she found that his 
 presence gave her a lease of comparative freedom, 
 and that now his sister was always willing that 
 she should be absent from her lounge when such 
 absence involved a talk or a walk with the 
 brother. He was a man who had read little, but 
 
134 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 he was shrewd enough to observe that Olivia 
 liked a kind of literature with which he had never 
 troubled himself, and it was easy to glance over 
 the books he brought her and to learn enough of 
 them to be able to talk about them. He liked 
 well to walk with her, avoiding the more crowded 
 streets, in dread of some chance recognition. 
 
 The girl's distrust was deeper than her grand- 
 mother's, because instinctive. His nominal dis- 
 guise and strong Southern sentiments, as to which 
 he was too wise to dissemble, and the mystery 
 about his errand, were all repugnant to Olivia's 
 frank nature ; but attentions were new to her, and 
 pleasant, and so the days went by without her per- 
 ceiving in her innocent inexperience that she was 
 running some risk. 
 
 Two or three weeks ran away, and still he lin- 
 gered in New York, while for Olivia life began to 
 have novel and pleasant aspects, without her hav- 
 ing as yet any of those sudden womanly revela- 
 tions which startle a young girl and force her to 
 ask herself definite questions as to her true rela- 
 tion to some one of the other sex. 
 
 Darnell had begun a deliberate campaign for 
 which at first there was no motive but selfish 
 greed. For a time he was watchful and cautious. 
 He ended by loving her, and began to lose some 
 of the subtlety which is possible only when the 
 heart is untouched. 
 
 It was early in January when Darnell reached 
 New York. How he spent the winter he would 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 135 
 
 have found it hard to say. Certainly he amused 
 himself ; and Olivia had a large share of his leis- 
 ure. At times he was depressed, at other times 
 , in high spirits. Twice he returned after absences 
 of some days and said that he had failed to get 
 through the lines. " It is not," he explained, " as 
 if I were in the army. I should in that case take 
 every risk." 
 
 Octopia hoped he would not be as reckless as 
 usual. As to Olivia, when he bade her good-by 
 she was sorry, and when he came back she was 
 really glad to see him. At his best he was very 
 gentle ; his mere tones were flatteries to the woman 
 of the minute, and the contrast between almost 
 feminine beauty and the most masculine courage 
 has a strange attraction. She could not but like 
 him. He even succeeded in persuading Mrs. 
 Wynne and Octopia into whist in the early even- 
 ings. It is not strange that he grew more and 
 more a needful part of their life, and that his pres- 
 ence became pleasant to Olivia. Had he been 
 more patient, he might possibly have won her. 
 She had almost ceased to wonder why he stayed. 
 And thus the long winter months went by. 
 
 Now that the war had practically come to an 
 end there seemed to him no especial reason why 
 he should leave Octopia, who was depressed while 
 he was away and anxious with a certain mingling 
 of gladness when he came back. 
 
 He had of course ceased to fear recognition ; his 
 absence had been explained to his Virginia friends, 
 
136 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and he was thus still more free to accompany his 
 young cousin. He came and went almost as if he 
 had been an inmate of the too quiet household, 
 and one pleasant afternoon in April sauntered 
 into the parlor, saying as he entered, "I have 
 leave for you to go and see the flower-show." 
 For a moment she scarcely seemed to hear him, 
 being intent on an afternoon paper. Then she 
 looked up. 
 
 " Thank you," she said ; "I should like it well. 
 I shall be ready in ten minutes." 
 
 "But what interested you so much in those 
 wretched papers ? They contain little but abuse 
 of the ruined South." 
 
 " Oh ! nothing of importance. I chanced to see 
 in the list of brevets the name of a gentleman 1 
 knew, — very slightly, you know, — a Mr. Francis, 
 Philip Francis." 
 
 " Francis," he repeated. " Why, that must be 
 the man I met in the hospital. He was so good 
 as to remember me while I was shut up in Fort 
 Delaware. Good-looking man, with blue eyes, 
 rather nice manners, and a pretty sharp tongue." 
 
 " Very nice manners," said Olive, " and very 
 handsome." 
 
 " Well, so-so ; but where on earth did you 
 chance to know him ? " 
 
 Then Olive told her little story of the encounter 
 with Francis, greatly to the rebel gentleman's 
 amusement. 
 
 " Octopia mentioned it," he said, " but you tell 
 
kOLAND BLAKE. 137 
 
 it better ; you are very clever as a story-teller. By 
 the way, he had a friend who did me a service the 
 day I first met Mr. Francis. I will tell you about 
 it some time, but now you had better get ready ; 
 my tale will keep." 
 
 In a few minutes she returned, equipped for the 
 walk, and they went gayly down the avenue. As 
 they moved along she said to him, — 
 
 " I am curious about your story. Perhaps you 
 do not know how curious I am. I want to hear 
 it now, at once." 
 
 " I wish," he said, "I could give you all you want 
 as easily. What would I not give you, Olive! 
 The world is full of pleasant things. You should 
 have them all, if I had my way." 
 
 " You are very good to me," she returned. 
 
 " Who would not be good to you ? but life has 
 not been kind to me, and I have little to give that 
 is worth the giving." 
 
 " I owe you much already." 
 
 " Ah ! I should like to have you deeper in my 
 debt. You like books, and horses, and travel, and 
 pictures, and flowers ; what can a ruined gentle- 
 man give you of these ? " and he smiled bitterly, 
 thinking what true delight he would have, were 
 he able, as he should have been, to give to this 
 generously dowered girl the things which seemed 
 to be her natural rights. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I like them all; but it is use- 
 less to complain. I am not so badly off as some, I 
 dare say." 
 
138 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Then they walked on for a while in silence, the 
 man glancing now and then at her pleasant face, 
 and feeling that his affairs were not unprosperous 
 so far as the person at his side was concerned. 
 
 At last she turned to him suddenly, saying, 
 " But about your story. I begin to think you 
 don't want to tell it." 
 
 "Why not?" he returned, pleasantly, and went 
 on at once to relate how Blake had rescued him. 
 
 He told it well ; and as Olive listened, she 
 seemed with her artist faculty of visual realization 
 to see the misty battle-field, and the laden man 
 stumbling over awful heaps of the wounded and 
 the dead. 
 
 " Do you remember Bedivere and Arthur in the 
 'Morte d'Arthur'?" she said, shyly. "It was like 
 that, was it not ? " 
 
 " I never read it." 
 
 " Indeed ! then you must," she cried. 
 
 "My education is progressing," he said; "I 
 have led a foolish, half-wasted life, and now you 
 are making me feel keenly how many things there 
 are which I do not know, and how much there is 
 in them that may make existence happier." 
 
 Olive felt agreeably the implied flattery. 
 " Thank you," she said, simply. " But tell me, 
 have you never met Mr. Blake since ? " 
 
 " No ; I wrote to him through Francis, but he 
 did not reply." 
 
 " That seems singular, does it not ? " 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 139 
 
 " I should like to see that man," she said. 
 
 " Oh, it was n't anything very great, after all," 
 returned Darnell, lightly. " I suppose that any- 
 body would have done much the same." 
 
 " But what was he doing so far from our own 
 Unes?" 
 
 " I asked Francis that ; you see we got rather 
 intimate on the hospital boat which took us up to 
 Fortress Monroe. He told me that one of our 
 people, a colonel, attracted some attention by the 
 way he led the assault, and then walked coolly 
 away, until he was struck by a chance shot. 
 Captain Blake, who must be, I reckon, rather a 
 romantic individual, wandered out to find the 
 colonel, and not discovering him, more 's the luck, 
 chanced on me." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Olive, feeling that her desire 
 to see the hero of the exploit was justified, and 
 also not liking the tone in which Darnell spoke of 
 him. "He must be a gallant gentleman," she 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, as to that, courage is common enough. 
 Look at those horses, Olive. That near bay is a 
 beauty," and thus chatting of the things about 
 them they came to the door of the exhibition hall, 
 and were soon moving here and there in a dense 
 crowd of well-dressed people. The flowers were 
 shown in aid of the Sanitary Commission, and 
 were of unusual beauty, from the gorgeous groups 
 of azaleas to the sweet democracy of the violet. 
 
 It cannot be said that Darnell enjoyed the 
 
140 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 flowers. It may be questioned if many people get 
 true pleasure out of them, — not many men, we 
 may be sure. But there is some delicate mystery 
 of friendliness between certain women and flow- 
 ers. The relation is real, but almost too delicate 
 for even the kindliest poetic analysis. 
 
 If, to Darnell, the rose and the lily were alike 
 indifferent, he was human enough, and interested 
 enough in the woman at his side, to enjoy and 
 humor her eager delight. She moved slowly 
 among the flowers, now ceasing to hear what he 
 said, now asking rapid questions, which he could 
 not answer. She paused at last in wonder before 
 a collection of fantastic orchids. One of them 
 she said was a joke ; one she was sure was laugh- 
 ing. Presently, a gray-haired old gentleman, at- 
 tracted by the charm of her joyous curiosity, and 
 amused by her fancies, called her attention to a 
 hooded orchid, which looked like a cowled monk, 
 but was splotched with crimson. 
 
 " One might have strange fancies about a flower 
 like that," he said. Darnell stared at the speaker, 
 with a faint feeling of dislike at the intrusion of 
 some one who seemed to be in accord with her 
 odd ideas. 
 
 Olive said : " Yes, that is true. I do not like 
 that flower. It looks wicked. Don't you think 
 it looks wicked ? " 
 
 " It is wicked, I am sure," said the old gentle- 
 man. Then he added : " In fact, I am almost 
 ashamed to own it. Please to accept my apolo< 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 141 
 
 gies, and if ever you would like to see my or- 
 chids, — and I have many more, — here is my 
 card." 
 
 Olive flushed, and said " Thank you," as she 
 turned away. The orchid-grower wiped his spec- 
 tacles, and readjusted them, and looked after her, 
 and quoted a line of Wordsworth to himself, and 
 then, glancing at Darnell, murmured something 
 about human orchids, after which he reflected 
 briefly upon the uncharitableness of judgments 
 founded on a glance, and so returned to the wor- 
 ship of his orchids. 
 
 " Queer old fellow," said Darnell. " Who is 
 he?" 
 
 Olive glanced at the card, and then swiftly 
 searched with her eyes for a sight of the old poet, 
 dear through all the gentle melancholy of his verse 
 to every true lover of wood and stream. 
 
 " Oh, I do wish I had only known," she cried, 
 giving the card to Darnell. 
 
 As he read the name, he became dimly aware 
 that it was that of a man he ought to have known 
 something more about. 
 
 "Do you like his verses ? " he ventured to say, 
 ingeniously hesitating to commit himself. 
 
 " Like them ? Surely I like them. Don't you 
 like them?" 
 
 " Really," he said, " it is so long since I read 
 them that I forget what impression they made on 
 me. You must read them to me, Olive. But 
 are n't you tired ? " 
 
142 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " A little," she said, " not much. It is so de- 
 lightful. Just one look at the window gardens and 
 we will go." Nevertheless, she flitted for a half 
 hour from violets to roses, and from a gorgeous 
 show of geraniums to a bank of penitent lilies, im- 
 til Darnell, a little bored and a little cross, hav- 
 ing been much elbowed by too eager people, was 
 glad to get on to the steps out of the close air. 
 
 As they moved slowly in the crowd a young 
 fellow pushed hurriedly by them, roughly jostling 
 Darnell, as he passed. The Virginian was just in 
 a state of mind to resent anything. He caught 
 the lad, for he was hardly more, by the arm, and 
 said, " You need a lesson in manners, sir." 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the young man, with rare 
 good humor. "My mother was taken ill and I 
 wanted to find her carriage." 
 
 For a moment Darnell still held him. The 
 young man flushed. 
 
 " Let go," he said. " If there were not women 
 here " — 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Darnell. 
 
 Olive put a hand on his arm. 
 
 "Richard, let him go — please." Darnell re- 
 leased him. Her touch sobered the angry man. 
 The younger gentleman hesitated a moment, and 
 then, remembering his errand, lifted his hat to 
 Olivia, said " You will pardon me, miss," and was 
 lost in the crowd. 
 
 " I can't say much for the manners of your 
 Northern men," said Darnell, savagely, as they 
 walked on. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 143 
 
 " I thought the young man behaved -well," re- 
 turned Olive. "I think myself that you were 
 needlessly cross, Cousin Richard." 
 
 "Well, I suppose so. I hate to be elbowed. 
 The fact is, I hate Yankee elbows worse than 
 others." And he laughed. 
 
 " These are not Yankees," said she, smiling. 
 " You forget your lessons. I am a Yankee." 
 
 " Oh, Olive, I wish they were all like you." 
 
 She made no reply, but walked on in silence. 
 She was by nature thoughtful and considerate of 
 others. The scene she had witnessed shocked her, 
 and somehow she felt that a more than usually 
 pleasant afternoon had been spoiled for her by 
 Darnell's irritability. Then she reflected that to 
 her, at least, he had never been cross, and pres- 
 ently she wondered if he might not be. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " If his is Dot a kingly role, 
 To be the chancellor of his soul 
 And keep bis conscience well might be 
 A task no saint would envy thee." 
 
 April had come and gone and jilted the hopes 
 of spring. The surrender of Appomattox had 
 passed into history. May had passed, and young 
 June came in with a mind to cover up and hide 
 the graves four years had filled. 
 
 Warm days stole by in gentle procession and 
 thronged tree and root and bud with the kindly 
 life of spring-time. Opposite to Olivia's window 
 were two great horse-chestnuts. Every day she 
 sketched their changing buds. They were queer 
 insects yesterday, and green-winged katydids the 
 next day, and soon pretty verdurous tents. She, 
 too, was changing, and was almost as unconscious 
 of it as they. 
 
 At last came a day which was to other days as 
 is a fairy prince to common men, and to which 
 the yearning summer opened wide her heart. 
 " And oh, to be in the country now ! " said Olive, 
 and, turning, saw Judith carrying a basket of 
 flowers, which she set on the table. Before Olive 
 saw them the scent said to her, "We are roses 
 come to court." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 146 
 
 " Where did they come from, Judith ? I love 
 them ! " she cried, and half buried her head in 
 the basket, drinking in their fragrance, and then 
 asked again, " Do you know, Judith, where they 
 came from? " She knew well enough herself, and 
 made pretty pretense of ignorance. 
 
 " Out ob de debil's garden," exclaimed the old 
 black woman, looking about her. 
 
 " What do you mean by such talk ? Yon have 
 been very strange of late, Judith. What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 " Dat 's a way I has ob sayin' things," returned 
 the black. "Don't yo go to tell nobody I said 
 dat. Maybe I don't hab no meanin'. I 's jest a 
 pore ole mammy." 
 
 " You are clever enough and mysterious enough 
 at times. Are those flowers for me? " 
 
 " Reckon dat was what Massa Dick meant." 
 
 " How very nice of him ! " And again she 
 buried her face caressingly in the basket. 
 
 " I heard Missus Octy tell him dey was good for 
 young ladies. He would n't nebber hab thought 
 ob fetchin' flowers." 
 
 Olivia rose and pushed away the basket. She 
 was conscious of the malice in the words, but had 
 at the same time a sense of disappointment and 
 then a bewildering feeling of confusion. " You 
 are impertinent," she said, impatiently, and turn- 
 ing, saw that the black had left the room. 
 
 She was still standing regarding the flowers and 
 deep in thought, when Darnell entered quietly, 
 
146 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 having left the basket himself and then gone up- 
 stairs for a brief visit to Octopia. 
 
 As he came in, the look of purity and innocent 
 calmness in the girl's attitude and face struck 
 him. A sudden sense of regret went through his 
 consciousness. He wished for the moment that 
 he had been a better man, and that the memory 
 of a certain dark night in the Wilderness was 
 not on Ms mind. " I am glad now," he thought, 
 " that I did not kill him." Then he put it aside 
 as he advanced. He felt that his love was nobler 
 than his nature. 
 
 " Good-morning," she said, coldly. " How do 
 you find Octopia ? " 
 
 " Better," he said, — " so much better that she 
 has begun to talk of her usual visit to Richfield 
 Springs. I shall take her myself some time in 
 July, and leave her there with Judith." 
 
 " How long shall you stay with her ? " returned 
 Olivia, absently. 
 
 " Only three or four days. As soon as she will 
 let me off I shall come back." 
 
 "Ah," she said, indifferently, smoothing her 
 gown as she stood. Then she added, forcing her- 
 self to make talk, but preoccupied, " When do you 
 go South again ? " 
 
 "I do not know. I ought to go at once. I 
 should have gone long ago but for Octopia ; and 
 now she insists on my remaining until she comes 
 back from the Springs. I hardly realize yet that 
 the war is over for the time, and that we poor 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 147 
 
 Southerners are free to go and come. What little 
 is left us in Virginia needs looking after," — this 
 he said with decent indistinctness, — "but," he 
 continued, " I find it hard to go." 
 
 " It will be a sad visit, I fear," said Olivia. 
 She felt deeply for the brave men who had laid 
 down their arms and gone back to mournful 
 homes. Indeed, the man beside her would have 
 had a better chance had he been of those who had 
 taken the full risks of war. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "it will be as you say — 
 sad enough." In reality he cared little for the 
 principles involved in the war, but he had a sense 
 of personal defeat, which only the noble endure 
 with dignity. " It is not so pleasant a subject 
 that I like to talk of it, even to one so tender as 
 yourself." 
 
 She made no reply to his last words, but went 
 on arranging the books on her table. There was 
 a pause, and then he said, abruptly, — 
 
 " I hope you like your flowers." 
 
 «Yes; I like flowers." 
 
 " But I want you to like my flowers, Olivia." 
 
 " I like all flowers." 
 
 " Then I wish I were flowers." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " I shall have to go very soon now," he con- 
 tinued. " It would make my going easier, Olive, 
 if I could think that you would remember me 
 kindly when I am gone." 
 
 She wished he would go at once ; the growing 
 softness in his voice troubled her. 
 
148 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I shall always think kindly of you," she said. 
 " You have done much to make my life brighter. 
 Don't think I do not feel grateful." 
 
 His passion overcame him as he watched her, 
 and got the better of his prudence. 
 
 " I have stayed," he said, " because I love you. 
 No man could love a woman more. Save for 
 Octopia, I am a lonely man. You have given my 
 life a new value and fresh motives. I think I 
 could make you happy, and God knows you would 
 make me better." 
 
 She stood before him silent and disturbed, and 
 tore to pieces leaf by leaf the rose she had held 
 when he first entered. " That is like my life," he 
 said, pointing to the flower. " I have lost, leaf 
 by leaf, as it were, my home, my lands, my peo- 
 ple, and now my country is ruined. I am a poor 
 Virginia gentleman ; I have nothing to give you 
 but my love. So help me God, it is honest, Olive." 
 
 He felt some stern need to put it thus earnestly. 
 It was most true that day. He loved her. 
 
 She was still speechless, and the remnant of 
 the rose fell at her feet. A storm of pity, sus- 
 picion, and tender self-pleading went over her 
 young heart, ever too open at the signal of dis- 
 tress, as Octopia had easily learned. He had been 
 good to her, and helpful, and gentle. 
 
 " Don't answer me now, Olive. Let it rest." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " she said. " I — I — I don't 
 know. I don't think I ever shall know." Then 
 she looked up at his face, and his strong likeness 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 149 
 
 to Octopia was half-consciously disturbing. Some- 
 how the observation steadied her. 
 
 " Cousin Richard," she said, " I am only a girl, 
 and I know little of the world and too little of 
 myself. I cannot answer you now, and I do not 
 believe that I shall ever see my way to be more 
 to you than I am to-day. Please not to say any 
 more." 
 
 He was not altogether dissatisfied, but the girl's 
 sudden assumption of a woman's calmness of de- 
 meanor showed him that he had not at all under- 
 stood the decisiveness and force of her character. 
 
 " Thank you," he said. " It is quite natural, 
 dear Olive, that you should want to wait. If it 
 be for years, I shall be patient." He was quite 
 tender about it, and seemed to be comforting her 
 rather than himself. In fact, he had reflected 
 briefly. He had a pet idea that the winning of a 
 woman depends somewhat, as he would have 
 coarsely stated it, on the amount of advertise- 
 ment you do. He would make a new siege, and 
 not be in too great haste, and was not without be- 
 lief that some day he might find a helpful traitor 
 in her heart. " I am friend enough even in my 
 love to wish that you should wait until you know 
 me better." 
 
 " Thank you ! " she said ; and he went out of 
 the room, leaving her ready to cry and half angry 
 with herself. Suddenly she stumbled as it were 
 over a memory of Philip Francis and the vision 
 of his laughing face. Then she heard her cousin 
 
150 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 go iip-stairs, and after a few minutes was aware of 
 the hall door being opened and shut, and through 
 the window saw him go smiling down the steps. 
 
 " He has been up to see Octopia, — I really 
 think he has been up-stairs to tell Octopia ; and 
 what has she said to please him, I wonder ? " 
 
 She was vexed at the visit and at its result, — 
 his smiles. 
 
 A first love-affair to a pure young girl, end as 
 it may, has in it a mystery like the coming of 
 spring ; it is sure to give her some curious self- 
 knowledge unknown before. It sets the sure seal 
 of womanhood on the thoughtful and the best 
 feminine natures, and, with its offspring of hopes 
 and fears and doubts and wonders and emotional 
 disturbance, is an event so tremendous in its 
 effects that perhaps no man can approach a cor- 
 rect estimate of its influences on the woman. But 
 it is the indecisive love-affairs that are the most 
 potent moral ferments, and doubt is a fruitful soil. 
 
 Olivia had been brought up among her elders 
 in a life unnaturally devoid of contacts with the 
 young of her sex, so that absence of talk of other 
 girls' love-affairs and of the lighter gossip about 
 such matters had left her simple and uninstructed. 
 The heart of such a woman often surrenders to 
 love with difficulty. Society has done half the 
 wooing beforehand for some women ; the sunshine 
 of opportunity does the rest. For nobler souls 
 living out of the world the pride of purity and an 
 intelligent sense of moral obligation to their own 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 151 
 
 being guards well the heart which once won is won 
 forever. 
 
 Olivia felt that not even to her grandmother 
 could she now talk freely. The call on her pity 
 and sympathy, the gentle thankfulness for a hap- 
 pier, fuller life, had come, like a too early spring 
 day to the rosebud which coyly peeps out a little 
 and waits for more certain sunshine. 
 
 When she sat down to think a little, like a 
 wholesome -minded maid, of the life before her, 
 her indecision soon grew to certainty of dissent. 
 Life with Richard Darnell, — a home, his children, 
 — she flushed. They did not seem, as she thought 
 of it, to be hers. also. 
 
 There was no sweetness in the thought. She 
 had an echo of new distrust as she pictured to 
 herself Octopia clinging to her brother and her- 
 self for a lifetime. She abruptly ceased thinking, 
 as one shuts up a tedious book, leaving no market 
 between the leaves. 
 
 But she was not done with it. Octopia was 
 preparing for her annual visit to Richfield, and 
 the preparation, always elaborate, wearied her and 
 made her calls upon Olivia incessant and perplex- 
 ing. The little notes to Olivia and to Mrs. Wynne 
 were more numerous, and twice Octopia had spent 
 half a morning with the latter, to Olive's surprise. 
 
 Late in the winter evenings Olivia's piano was 
 her greatest resource after the trials of the day 
 were over; but in the warm weather of July, 
 when windows and doors were open, the music 
 
152 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 disturbed Octopia, and Judith was apt to appear 
 with a note soon after the music began, and 
 " would dear sweet Oliye please not to play this 
 evening ? " At last the piano was permanently 
 closed, to the young woman's damage, as music 
 always soothed and steadied her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Richard Darnell uttered no further 
 words of wooing, but was simply kind, constantly 
 endeavoring in various ways to save the girl from 
 his sister's exactions. Once only he said that Oc- 
 topia was not fit to live with other women ; that, 
 in fact, he did not see how any one could live with 
 her. Olivia wondered how he could have guessed 
 so well her own feelings on this subject. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Wynne looked worn and 
 thinner than ever, but said nothing to her grand- 
 child. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "Thou must be lord and master of thy own actions — not as a servant or 
 a hireling," 
 
 A MONTH or more was commonly required to 
 prepare for any journey Octopia had to make: 
 she had learned the follies of luxury easily. For 
 a few days she thought of taking Olivia with her ; 
 but she was already faintly jealous, and now at 
 least should have Dick to herself for a season. It 
 was near August before she felt able to leave. 
 
 The day preceding that of her departure she 
 was seated in the easiest of all the uneasy seats 
 in Mrs. Wynne's sitting-room, and in front of her, 
 still erect from long habit, in a high-backed chair, 
 sat the elder lady. 
 
 "I am going away to-morrow," said Octopia, 
 " and I want to have a talk with you about 
 Olive." 
 
 " We have had so many," returned Mrs. Wynne, 
 weariedly. 
 
 " That is not my fault, cousin. The girl has 
 no sense. You are old, Cousin Anne, and I am 
 sick and feeble ; I have never recovered my health 
 since that awful week with Cousin Arthur. I 
 have paid for your security from the discomfort 
 of publicity with my lost life." 
 
154 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne put up both thin palms in tremu- 
 lous protest. " I can't bear it," she said. 
 
 " I don't want to remind you of it. It is all I 
 can bear, to think of it myself. But about Olivia. 
 Dear cousin, who is to care for her when we are 
 gone ? She will simply fall a prey to some for- 
 tune-hunter. My brother loves her, as I have told 
 you. He is a gentleman, and kind and tender. 
 What woman could want a better fate than to 
 marry him ? " 
 
 " How can I induce her to do that ? I cannot. 
 It seems to me I can have no peace or quiet ! 
 There is always something, — always something!" 
 
 " But I don't want you to insist on her doing 
 what she does not want to do," said Octopia. " It 
 is true, as I told you, that she has put him off, — 
 which only means that she has the natural hesita- 
 tion any girl has about such matters. I don't com- 
 plain of that: it is all right. Now, if you will 
 only talk to her a little and put it before her as 
 your vdsh, I am sure it will have its influence. I 
 find that I can always get her to do as I want." 
 
 The old lady's face lit up. She detested con- 
 tests, and saw a way to deliverance. " Suppose," 
 she said, "you were to talk to her." 
 
 " Oh, what I should say would not — could not 
 — indeed, ought not to have the same weight as 
 what you would say. And besides, I have a feel- 
 ing of delicacy about it. Cousin Anne." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Mrs. Wynne, with a feeble 
 sense of amusement. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 155 
 
 " Yes. It must come from you. It is a service 
 I would gladly render you and her, but I am not 
 well enough for a struggle with Olive." 
 
 " And do you think I am ? " 
 
 " No, I do not ; but it is your duty, and not 
 mine." 
 
 "It hardly seems to me a duty, Octopia. Why 
 should I or any one interfere ? " 
 
 " Oh, really, I cannot go all over this again," 
 returned Octopia, rising, her sallow face flushing 
 with annoyance. She stood with one hand on the 
 old lady's chair to steady herself, and looked down 
 at her. " If you insist," she said, — " if you de- 
 sire it, — I will talk to Olive ; but to do so I must 
 make her understand that she is not situated as 
 other girls are." 
 
 " Oh, my God, woman," broke in Mrs. Wynne, 
 looking up, " you could not say that ! How could 
 you say that ? Let it die with us, who are old in 
 suffering and can bear it. You shall not tell her ! 
 Octopia, you have no heart." 
 
 "I have too much," — and she believed it, — 
 "so much that rather than not help Olive even 
 against her foolish self I am willing to inflict pain 
 upon her and myself. Will you speak to her, 
 cousin ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Wynne, worn out and trem- 
 bling; "if I must, I will." She knew that she 
 must. 
 
 " Oh, there is no ' must ' about it. And you 
 will be firm with her, — make her see that it is 
 her duty to you ? " 
 
156 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " God help me ! I will do my best." 
 " No one can do more. But you are sure you 
 will be decided ? I don't want to have to aid you 
 in the only way I can. If you fail, I may have to 
 help you." 
 
 " God forbid ! " thought the older woman, and 
 her head fell in feeble submission and in prayer, 
 as Octopia, staying her weakness by a touch on 
 table or chair-back, went out of the room. As 
 she opened the door, Judith fell back, say-. 
 
 ing,— 
 
 " Lor, Missus, you done skeer me, you 's so 
 sudden." 
 
 Octopia was too much preoccupied for active 
 suspicion, but she said, " You are always about 
 doors," while the shuffling old black woman scut- 
 tled away, muttering, and glad of an escape of 
 such unlooked-for ease. 
 
 As to her mistress, she was at a crisis. For 
 years she had secured a home and luxury by gen- 
 tly-urged claims which amply sufficed to keep 
 Mrs. Wynne in a state of obedience which she 
 found insured her comfort. The marriage of 
 Olivia to Richard Darnell was a scheme of recent 
 growth. Her plan had always for her a certain 
 vagueness which seemed to prevent her from see- 
 ing it in a true and unpleasant light. Octopia 
 had always said to herself, " I am only using and 
 shall only use my knowledge to secure to me and 
 to them a mutual relation which will be of ser- 
 vice to them." As to going further she had no 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 157 
 
 intention. To proclaim what she knew, would be, 
 she was well aware, an act of dishonor, which she 
 set aside as for her impossible. She may have 
 had some doubt as to whether such a revelation 
 would not destroy the practical values which it 
 possessed so long as it remained unuttered. 
 
 There had also been for her, of late, a question 
 as to Olivia, who was plainly developing such 
 strength of resistance as annoyed the woman who 
 had found her so docile a year or two back. 
 Richard had strongly urged his sister to let his 
 love-afEair alone ; but Octopia was too fond of con- 
 trol to see the wisdom of his advice. He had said 
 also that they were unwise to go away ; but this, 
 too, seemed silly to his sister, who could not un- 
 derstand how any one could fail to love him, and 
 who thought that his absence for a few days would 
 but cause Olivia to miss his constant attentions. 
 
 The next morning Octopia was seated in a car- 
 riage about to start for the station, surrounded 
 with an invalid's armament of cushions, shawls, 
 and smelling-salts. Darnell waited impatiently 
 on the door-step, while Judith, hot and shining, 
 went and came. At last Octopia declared herself 
 ready, and Darnell entered the hack. As Judith 
 was about to follow him, her mistress said, — 
 
 " Here is a note. I forgot it. Take it up to 
 Mrs. Wynne, — mind, Mrs. Wynne, — and make 
 haste." 
 
 " We shall be late," said Darnell. 
 
 " Dick, you are like all men. The only patient 
 11 
 
158 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 men I ever saw were fishing. Imagine youself 
 fishing. She will not be long." 
 
 A minute or two passed, and the black re- 
 turned. 
 
 " Ah ! get in, Judy." And they drove away. 
 
 Octopia was supremely happy, now that she had 
 her brother to herself for some days and could 
 envelop him with eager affection. Women of 
 Octopia's type are heart-misers ; they like to have 
 constant touch and sight of the gold of love. Even 
 friendship with them becomes a retail business, 
 sustained by a multitude of little exchanges. 
 
 For the time, Richard Darnell meant to accept 
 the r6le of vassal to his sister's whims ; nor was he 
 altogether aware of the extent to which her en- 
 during persistency influenced even him. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Oh, but the lady heard the whole truth at once ! 
 What meant she ? — Who was she ? — Her duty and statioilf 
 The wisdom of age and the folly of youth, at once, 
 Its decent regard and its fitting relation.'' 
 
 When Judith went hastily into the hall with 
 Octopia's note she was at the end of her patience 
 and, as she said, " about ready to drop." She 
 had a strong liking for Olivia, who alone was al- 
 ways kind to her, and for some days the old 
 black's duU thoughts had been of her and of the 
 coil which was gathering about her. At times, 
 too, a dim desire to hurt Octopia — to hurt her 
 physically — arose in the mind of the old black 
 woman. 
 
 She turned into the drawing-room, where Olivia 
 was seated with her head in her hands. 
 
 " What 's de mattah, honey ? " said Judith. 
 
 " Oh, I am tired out. I think I should like to 
 go to bed for a week. I wonder you can bear it 
 as you do. Why don't you leave her ? Why don't 
 you run away ? " 
 
 " I reckon I 's too old. Missy Olive. What 
 could an ole woman like me do ? I ain't no good, 
 and I jes' could n't do it." She had been too long 
 morally imprisoned to contemplate with pleasure 
 the idea of release. 
 
160 ROLAND BLAKE, 
 
 " Here 's a note for you, missy," she added, and 
 a sudden smile came on her face. " Now, if I was 
 you," she said, " I jes' would run away." 
 
 Olivia started. She was that moment thinking 
 how delightful it would be to fly from Octopia. 
 
 " Good-by, missy. De Lor bless you ! " 
 
 As she went out, Olivia mechanically opened 
 the folded slip of paper, and read, — 
 
 Dear Cousik, — For your sake and hers, do 
 not fail to do your best. Let it be settled before 
 Richard comes back. It must be settled. 
 
 Yours, Octopia. 
 
 The girl turned the note over. It was addressed 
 to Mrs. Wynne and marked " private." 
 
 Olivia leaped to her feet. " What must be 
 settled ? " she cried aloud. " This is too — too 
 much! Yes, it shall be settled," she said; and 
 with resolute step she went hastily to her grand- 
 mother's room. 
 
 She burst in abruptly without knocking ; Mrs. 
 Wynne looked up. 
 
 " Has she gone ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes, — forever, I hope. Head that, grand- 
 mamma." And she gave her the note. " I 
 opened it by mistake. Oh, read it, — read it," she 
 repeated, impatiently. The meagre, pretty old 
 lady in her chair, calm and passionless, and the 
 flushed, angry, resolute young woman, made a 
 strange contrast. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 161 
 
 " Well, dear," said Mrs. Wynne, " sit down and 
 let us talk it over. I meant to speak to you about 
 it." 
 
 " No, I can't sit down. What is there to talk 
 over? What does that woman mean about set- 
 tling it ? There is nothing to settle." 
 
 "Olivia, you are unreasonable and disrespectful. 
 Do sit down, child." 
 
 " Well," she said, seating herself on a stool at 
 the old lady's feet, " what is it ? " 
 
 " If you talk to me in that way we had better 
 not go on. Girls had good manners in my day. 
 Perhaps you will allow me to speak." 
 
 " I am sorry to displease you. I will try to be 
 more pleasant. And do go on, dear grand- 
 mamma ; I promise not to say a word." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne did not find it easy. She hesi- 
 tated, and at last said feebly, but tenderly, — 
 
 "Olive, my child, do you love Richard Dar- 
 nell?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But you might come to love him in time. 
 Many women learn to love men they did not care 
 about much when they first married. Of course 
 there must be esteem, my dear. I really was not 
 very certain as to whether or not I did really love 
 your grandfather when he married me. Marriage 
 makes such a difference." 
 
 Olivia shuddered. " I cannot do it, I will 
 not I " 
 
 » Olivia I " 
 
162 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I hate him ! " cried the giri, passionately ; " I 
 hate him ! " running her hands through her hair 
 in her excitement until the tangled masses of 
 varied brown fell about her face and shoulders. 
 
 " Listen to me," said her grandmother. " I 
 am old and weak, and I cannot bear much more. 
 Octopia is hard ; she thinks only of her own in- 
 terests. We are in her power, because she can 
 tell to the world what she knows and what if 
 known will send me to the grave. I could not 
 bear it, nor could you. If you can marry Rich- 
 ard Darnell, she will have some interest to hold 
 her cruel tongue, and I shall have peace." 
 
 Olivia looked up, astonished, as a sense of the 
 old lady's selfishness came over her. 
 
 " But," she said, " no woman could do such a 
 thing. Octopia is not cruel ; she does not mean 
 to be hard. I should feel myself more dishonored 
 by marrying Richard Darnell than by anything 
 she can say." 
 
 " You do not know, Olive " — 
 
 " Then tell me. Why should we care ? We 
 are alone in the world. What does it matter ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wynne hesitated. " It is about your 
 father." She touched the tenderest spot in Olive's 
 memory. 
 
 " Oh, grandmamma, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I cannot answer you ; indeed, I will not ; once 
 for all, I will not. Octopia would be merciless. 
 Can you bear to see your father's name — oh, I 
 cannot tell you ! If only you could see it as I do ! " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 163 
 
 " I could bear anything, grandmamma, except 
 to marry that man. You would not wish that I 
 should willingly sin ? It would be a sin if I mar- 
 ried him. You will not give me the full means of 
 judging for myself, and I am too young to know 
 whether that is wise or not ; but, knowing what I 
 know, I must decide. I will not marry my cousin, 
 and I will face anything Octopia can do first." 
 
 " Then you will kill me." 
 
 " No." 
 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 "I will tell you, grandmamma. You have 
 money, and Octopia has none; pay her, and let 
 her go." 
 
 " You don't know her. She would never rest 
 satisfied. She would give the money to her 
 brother, and he would spend it." 
 
 " And this is the man to whom you would give 
 me ! " exclaimed Olive, rising proudly. 
 
 " And what am I to say to Octopia ? " 
 
 "Say nothing." Then she hesitated as a 
 thought ran through her mind. " While you live 
 she will never tell ; she will always hope to get 
 what she wants. Let us go away and leave her, — 
 now, at once. You are clever enough to know 
 how to do it ; and the world is wide, — wide, 
 grandmamma." 
 
 "You are absurd, Olive! How could we go? 
 Where could we go ? " 
 
 " Oh, anywhere, anywhere ! Only say you will 
 go, and we shall manage it ; I will manage it." 
 
164 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne was amazed at the girl's audacity 
 and enterprise, but to her such a step seemed 
 almost impossible. The numbing palsy of age 
 was on her, the dislike of change, the dread of the 
 new and unfamiliar ; but Olivia was passionately 
 possessed of the idea; a great hope was in her 
 soul, and she grew implacably obstinate, putting 
 aside with swift answers every objection. At last 
 she said, — 
 
 " It has come to this, grandmamma : either 
 Octopia goes or I go. If you will not listen to 
 me I will go alone." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne began to think the girl distraught. 
 Evidently all authority was at an end. Then she 
 yielded a little. All her life she had given way 
 to some one, — her husband, her children, Octo- 
 pia. It was easier to give way than to resist ; and 
 if she threw the whole burden on this inexpe- 
 rienced girl, what more likely than that she would 
 presently come to her with a confession of failure ? 
 At length she said, in despair, — 
 
 "But suppose we do go away, like two run- 
 away children ; she will find us." 
 
 " At least we shall have a few weeks of rest, 
 grandmamma." Olivia's face brightened ; she saw 
 that she was winning her battle. She had trav- 
 eled much until she was seventeen, and to move 
 from place to place presented to her no such diffi- 
 culties as troubled her grandmother. " If," she 
 replied, " she finds us, and of course she will, we 
 shall be no worse off. At all events it will be a 
 respite ; and I can endure no longer." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 165 
 
 Mrs. Wynne was silent. 
 
 " Well ? " questioned Olivia. 
 
 " Do you think, child, you could really arrange 
 it all ? " 
 
 "Try me! oh, grandmamma, say yes! — only 
 say yes ! " 
 
 " And I shall not be worried or troubled? " 
 
 " No, I promise you." 
 
 " Then have your own way," returned Mrs. 
 Wynne, irritably. 
 
 Olivia kissed her and turned aside, her heart 
 filled with unspeakable thankfulness. Then she 
 went down-stairs gayly. A sudden rush of hope- 
 given vitality seemed to flood her being with 
 energy. A joyful sense of adventure was on her, 
 — a need to be instantly doing something. 
 
 Accordingly, she collected a number of little 
 bills and went out to pay them ; it seemed a step 
 forward. All day long she was in and out of 
 Mrs. Wynne's room, alert and quick, asking ques- 
 tions and so disturbing the old lady that she was 
 nearly distracted. Then she saw their landlady 
 and arranged matters with her. At every new 
 step it seemed to grow easier ; and when at last 
 she talked to her grandmother's maid, a young 
 person not much older than Olivia herself, she was 
 delighted to find an easily-won ally. Like Olivia, 
 she was glad of a change, and she only wondered 
 why rich people would stay in New York all sum- 
 mer when they could be elsewhere. She set about 
 packing with an amount of noisy energy that 
 nearly drove poor Mrs. Wynne frantic. 
 
166 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 On the following morning Olivia saw her grand- 
 mother early. She stood before her with a slip 
 of paper filled with memoranda, inexorable as 
 fate. Mrs. Wynne saw that decision was soon to 
 pass into action. 
 
 " What is it now, Olive ? " she moaned. " You 
 are worse than Octopia." 
 
 " Oh, there are several things." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I want some money. We shall owe for three 
 months, and it must be paid in advance." 
 
 " But we shall get nothing for it. It is mere 
 waste." 
 
 "I know; but we shall get freedom. There 
 are some bills, and traveling money," she con- 
 tinued, "and I don't think we ought to leave 
 Octopia penniless." 
 
 "Penniless! she has money enough," — which 
 was true. From time to time, on a variety of 
 pretexts, she had extracted from Mrs. Wynne 
 small or larger amounts, or borrowed money which 
 she conveniently forgot to return. 
 
 Olivia was surprised, and a little doubtful. 
 "You are sure that she has enough?" she said. 
 " We would not wish her to suffer." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne was vaguely conscious that it 
 might not be altogether disagreeable to know 
 that Octopia was uncomfortable. " Make your 
 mind easy about her," she said. " And now I 
 should like to know where you propose to go." 
 
 " I was thinking of Cape May. We have been 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 167 
 
 there before, and Octopia will never suppose we 
 have gone where we had once been." 
 
 " You are a clever child, my dear." 
 
 " And if it be too noisy, grandmamma, we need 
 not stay there. I was thinking we might go at 
 once up the coast a little way, to some smaller 
 place." 
 
 " Gracious, child ! it is near August now. Do 
 you suppose we could spend the winter ? " 
 
 " No, but we might have a couple of months to 
 think what we should do next. It is very quiet 
 at the seaside in the autumn, and no one goes 
 there." 
 
 " I will go where you please, if it be not too 
 far." The old lady was utterly subjugated. " But 
 how do you propose to keep Octopia in the 
 dark?" 
 
 Olivia laughed. " I am not so silly as to expect 
 that. But let us leave her in the dark for a while 
 at least, grandmamma." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne was amused. The idea of Octo- 
 pia's rage when on her return she should find 
 them gone, none knew where, was maliciously 
 satisfactory. For the first time she began to en- 
 ter thoroughly into the girl's scheme and to assist 
 her with advice, which she greatly needed. Olivia 
 was delighted. 
 
 " You must order all notes and bills and letters 
 to be sent to Mr. Pennell, and the furniture in 
 this room must be stored. You know I value it. 
 We may never come back." 
 
168 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Never ! " said Olivia, gayly. " That would be 
 too good to be true." 
 
 " And you must see Mr. Pennell at once, — at 
 once, my dear. Octopia will go to him the mo- 
 ment she arrives. You can do nothing without 
 his help. Send a note and say you will call at 
 his office at three, and take a carriage. Don't go 
 alone. Take my maid." 
 
 The girl was shrewd enough to see that the 
 gentleman she was about to interview would re- 
 gard what she had to say as rather singular, and 
 as she rode to his office she thought over her 
 purpose with care. She knew him well, but hith- 
 erto he himself had always come to their rooms, 
 and she looked forward to her visit as a rather 
 formidable enterprise. 
 
 She was shown up into a little waiting-room 
 where she sat down and waited for Mr. Pennell, 
 wondering a little what he would say concerning 
 her errand. 
 
 By nature shy and gently romantic, his career 
 in life had been singularly modified by the fact 
 that, for reasons unknown to himself, his parents 
 had chosen to label him Addenda Pennell. From 
 the time he could understand this appellative it 
 became a constant source of discomfort and ridi- 
 cule. A dozen times a month he was sure to be 
 asked why he was called " Addenda," and at 
 school was reminded by some classical jester that 
 he could not possibly have been twins. It was 
 worse in the New York business office to which 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 169 
 
 he went when a lad. As he grew older and 
 changed his occupation to that of agent for estates, 
 it was somewhat better, and A. Pennell was a suffi- 
 cient address or signature ; but what would have 
 had little effect on a rougher character seriously 
 affected a man too gentle and too shy to endure 
 without annoyance the common contacts of life. 
 To the last he never wrote his name without an^ 
 noyance and an eager wish that people were left 
 to choose names for themselves at the age of ma- 
 turity. This natural and acquired timidity kept 
 him more or less free from feminine snares, and, 
 as sentimental as a girl, he lived a lonely life 
 among his books and his business, with only one 
 other engrossing taste. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Olivia," he said ; " but it 
 is really good-evening I meant. Come into my 
 parlor." 
 
 Olivia followed him. Her surprise and amuse- 
 ment as she entered were unbounded. A large 
 room suiTOunded with low book-cases was literally 
 filled with clocks. They were of all ages, all sizes, 
 all forms, from a tiny toy on the window-sill to the 
 tall coffin-like hall clock with its moon-phases and 
 crowning figure of a scythe-bearing Time. On the 
 mantel were exquisite clocks of the date of Ma- 
 rie Antoinette, and on the book-cases marvelous 
 Dutch time-pieces with mechanical figures. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Pennell, how interesting ! " exclaimed 
 the girl. " Where did you get them all ? " 
 
 He carefully lifted an old clepsydra from a 
 
170 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 chair which he dusted with a red silk handker- 
 chief. 
 
 " But I cannot sit down," she said, in reply to 
 his invitation, " until I have seen them all. Why, 
 they are all going ! " 
 
 " Yes, they 're alive. Miss Olivia," he said, with 
 a sidling nod automatically expressive of his sat- 
 isfaction and sense of interpretative discovery in 
 clock-physiology. 
 
 Olivia quickly understood him. She would some 
 day come to be mistress of the art of pleasing 
 by being interested ; and now the world was very 
 fresh to her and there were few things that were 
 not novel. She showed that beautiful springtide 
 of delight which a bright young girl, long shut 
 out from life's gayer scenes, exhibits. Olivia 
 looked curiously from the tall, clean-shaven, awk- 
 ward man, with his thin, pale cheeks, to the clocks 
 about him. She had the power, not very com- 
 mon, of seeing the agreeably sentimental aspect of 
 things material. It was not absurd to her that he 
 chose to have his clocks alive. 
 
 " They are alive," she repeated, to his pleasure. 
 He felt complimented, and began to run about 
 and show her his favorites. 
 
 " Now, there 's a clock, Miss Olivia, that never 
 fails me. You can always trust him. That clock 
 has a conscience." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure it has," said Olive, vrith prompt 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " And how differently they talk ! " Indeed, the 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 171 
 
 click-cluck and tick-tack made a queer chorus. 
 " This one stutters," he added. " But now they 
 are going to strike four." And as he spoke, they 
 broke out all around her in tones of divers char- 
 acter, — sweet, clear, harsh, clamorous, modestly 
 faint, — while Addenda Pennell stood in rapt en- 
 joyment. 
 
 " They did that better than usual," he said, — 
 " all but that silly fool in the corner. She 's al- 
 ways a little slow." 
 
 " They seem to you like friends," said Olivia. 
 
 " Yes. We don't appreciate clocks. They are 
 very impartial. They are good counselors. They 
 never want to lie. And then they are very inter- 
 esting as characters. Now, here is one I call Ar- 
 thur Wynne. It 's exactly like your father. You 
 don't mind my saying it is like your father ? " he 
 added, blushing, and twisting his hands, of which 
 he was apt to become seriously conscious when em- 
 barrassed. " My clocks are not all like people. 
 We must be like clocks to our great Maker, Miss 
 Olivia. Now, this clock is old English, — Wag- 
 staffe, London. It is honest and punctual, but 
 now and then gets crooked and has crochets. I 
 just let it alone, and it comes right of itself." 
 
 " That reminds me," said the girl, " to ask you 
 something. You knew my father well ? " 
 
 " I should think I did." 
 
 "What did he die of?" 
 
 " Pneumonia, I believe. Why do you ask that, 
 my dear? There was some brain-trouble, too. 
 
172 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 You know his affairs were in great confusion, and 
 he was much depressed in mind when I last saw 
 him. He greatly overrated the idea of disgrace 
 which some men connect with bankruptcy." 
 
 " There was no — no disgrace ? " 
 
 " None whatsoever. I do not say there was not 
 neglect. He felt that very keenly." 
 
 " I see. Poor father ! " And she stood in 
 grave thought, while the clocks ticked on sol- 
 emnly around her. 
 
 " I loved him well. Miss Olivia. He was the 
 gentlest of gentlemen. He — he was the only 
 man I ever knew that did not laugh at my name." 
 
 " I think it suits you nicely," said Olivia, and 
 then, in a sort of absent way, as if speaking to 
 herself, "it has a pleasant softness about it, — 
 Addenda." 
 
 Pennell would have liked to get on his knees 
 to thank her. It had an agreeable sound as she 
 spoke it. " Thank you," he said, simply. She 
 had him for a vassal thenceforward. 
 
 " I have been altogether forgetful of my busi- 
 ness, Mr. Pennell. I shall have to make a rather 
 avfkward explanation; but grandmamma dislikes 
 trouble, and perhaps you won't approve ; and she 
 thinks so much of your judgment." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Well, Miss Olivia?" 
 
 " It is just this : Octopia has become unendura- 
 ble ; and I must go away somewhere. I can bear 
 it no longer." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 173 
 
 " Let us sit down," he said. " This is serious. 
 I knew, Miss Olivia, that you had difficulties, but 
 I also know that Miss Darnell is ill and wretched, 
 and at times feels too acutely her dependent con- 
 dition. When your father was dying, no nurse 
 could have been more tender than she. Let me 
 ask you, as an old friend, if you have considered 
 all this?" 
 
 " I have tried to do so ; but the more I think 
 about it the more I see I can't go on much longer. 
 If I am altogether wrong I had better be away 
 from her." 
 
 Pennell was on both sides in this question. 
 That the girl was unhappy and breaking in health 
 was quite clear to him. That Octopia Darnell, 
 gentle, sensitive, gracious, could be the sole cause 
 of this misery did not seem to him possible. 
 
 " I can't understand it," he said. " Miss Dar- 
 nell has the highest opinion of you. I scarcely 
 ever see her that she does not speak of your kind- 
 ness, of your unselfish devotion to her; and you 
 must know that to leave abruptly without a word 
 of warning would hurt her dreadfully. Were she 
 rich and independent, it might matter less. Think 
 how you would feel if you were placed as she is." 
 
 He was innocently arguing the case for the 
 side on which his heart held a brief. 
 
 Olivia paused, reflected, and at last, looking at 
 the tall, earnest man, who had quite lost his shy- 
 ness, said, — 
 
 " I don't think I could make it clear to you with- 
 
174 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 out trying to make you understand my cousin. I 
 hardly know how to do it. I don't want to make 
 you think ill of her." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " he exclaimed. " There are good 
 people who somehow can't live together." 
 
 "Well, she and I must be two of those good 
 people, Mr. Pennell." 
 
 Olivia was glad of this exit from her difficulty, 
 and went on more easily. " No matter who is 
 wrong, of late things have become dreadful, and 
 — and — there are other reasons. I have per- 
 suaded grandmamma to go away for a while. If 
 Cousin Octopia knows where we have gone, she 
 will follow us at once. I did not tell grand- 
 mamma, but I thought that it you would not let 
 Miss Darnell know where we are for a few weeks 
 I should get well enough to go on again." 
 
 " I don't like it," he said. " It is not the kind 
 of thing you ought to do or 1 ought to aid." 
 
 "Well, I am sorry. Then we will go alone. 
 Go we must." 
 
 " But you can't go alone. Imagine Miss Dar- 
 nell asking me where you are." He foresaw his 
 intense embarrassments. 
 
 " Then help us. Do as I say ; give me three 
 weeks of rest. I can't go on as things are ; the 
 house is full of mysteries. I sometimes think 
 Octopia frightens grandmamma ; and, besides " — 
 
 "Well, what? It is all very strange to me, 
 — very, — and I have known you since you were 
 a child. What besides ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 175 
 
 " I cannot tell you. If you do not say ' yes,' I 
 will go alone, — somewhere, anywhere," she said, 
 excitedly. 
 
 He began to understand a little, and perhaps 
 also did not quite dislike the idea of Miss Darnell 
 cast as it were on his kindness for care and at- 
 tention. He would promptly have rejected the 
 thought that this aspect of the case in any way 
 influenced him ; yet it did. 
 
 "If you will release me after three weeks, I 
 will promise what you wish. I must say, how- 
 ever, that I think it childish and foolish." 
 
 He had calculated that if, as usual. Miss Dar- 
 nell should be absent two weeks, he would not be 
 called on to answer save for the week to follow, 
 and as to this delays were possible. He said he 
 would do it. 
 
 Then she rose. Addenda Pennell would keep 
 his word, and for a time at least she would be 
 free from care. 
 
 " Thank you," she said, and told him their 
 plans. "And now," she added, smiling, "I am 
 a naughty clock. Do your clocks ever want to 
 know?" 
 
 "They are friends who do not ask questions." 
 
 " Only one," she returned, — " only one. Is 
 there — was there anything wrong about my 
 father's illness or his death ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Pennell, firmly, as he walked 
 away towards the window. There are lies white, 
 gray, and black ; Pennell had told her one which 
 
176 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 was for the moment golden in his eyes. His rec- 
 ognition of the color of untruths was for a moment 
 blurred by a stern sense of necessity. The next 
 minute he wished he had not lied. 
 
 " You have greatly comforted me," she said, 
 thanking him in warm words with an honest hand- 
 grasp and a face which did the errand of her heart 
 yet more graciously. 
 
 As she turned to leave, he said, — 
 
 " You have tried me very sorely, my little 
 woman, more sorely than you know or can imag- 
 ine." He was thinking of Octopia. 
 
 "And you have been very good to me," she 
 said. 
 
 "And bad to myself. But good-by. Look at 
 that old Sevres clock. Miss Olivia. I am keeping 
 it as a wedding-present for a friend of mine." 
 
 "When I know her I shall tell her to thank 
 you." And she laughed. "But there is one 
 awful liar among your clocks. It has stopped at 
 eleven." 
 
 " That is our old home clock," he answered, 
 hastily. " It stopped — I stopped it at a certain 
 hour of my life which I want to have always 
 recalled to me. A man has cruel hours, Miss 
 Olivia, which yet God does not want him to for- 
 get. That clock always reminds me." 
 
 " How strange ! " she said. 
 
 " Your father was very good to me in that dark 
 hour ; I have never forgotten it. I ought not to 
 have mentioned it ; but you are so like him, it 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 177 
 
 seems to me as if it were one way of thanking him 
 to tell you how good he was. Let it be a little 
 secret for us two," and he smiled sadly. 
 
 " Thank you again," she said, and put out both 
 hands, and so went away, thoughtful and full of 
 wonder. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Could I do this I should my soul defile. 
 Thou dost forget I lOTe thee ; Lore hath dehts 
 To all the virtues. He who loveth thee 
 Should more esteem himself that he doth love, 
 And double guard his honor." 
 
 The Iron Wedding of the States was over. 
 For good or for ill, they were one again. 
 
 The Confederacy had collapsed. Everywhere, 
 with the coming of the hopeful buds of spring, the 
 gallant soldiers of the South threw down their 
 arms and returned to the plough and the planta- 
 tion. During May and June the work of muster- 
 ing out a million of Northern men went on 
 rapidly. 
 
 By the end of July Blake found himself a free 
 man, and a little later his friend Francis wrote to 
 him that he too was out of service. " Before you 
 settle to any work," he said, " let us have a good 
 holiday. Come to Philadelphia and join me. We 
 will go somewhere and be idle for a while and our 
 own masters. I am sure we both need a rest." 
 
 This note went to Blake's New England home, 
 and found him, late in August, living quietly with 
 his aunt. He was tired of the red tape of the 
 muster-out, and still not quite free from the ma- 
 laria he had acquired on the Chickahominy. He 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 179 
 
 made up his mind to join his friend; but first 
 there was something on his mind which troubled 
 him, and which, as he reflected about it, assumed 
 for him the force of a duty. He asked himself 
 over and over whether he was in any way bound 
 to protect society against a man like Darnell. 
 Had the problem remained in this vague form he 
 might and probably would have rested content to 
 do nothing and to say nothing. But Francis's 
 adventure in New York, while it merely amused 
 that smiling gentleman, interested and excited 
 Roland Blake. He felt himself curiously respon- 
 sible for the rascal who had tried to kill him and 
 whose life he had saved. To some extent his 
 tongue was tied ; that, at least, was clear ; but it 
 was possible to say something without breaking 
 his pledge. Was it his duty to say it ? Was he 
 under an obligation to find these two women, who 
 might already have suffered through unavoidable 
 delay, and warn them ? 
 
 Being a young man still, and with a pleasant 
 background of wholesome chivalry in his com- 
 position, the romance of the matter influenced 
 him far more than he knew. He tried to put 
 aside the feeling of having been personally 
 wronged, but no doubt it also had a share in his 
 final conviction that he must do something. 
 
 Action was never far behind decision with 
 Blake, and in a few hours he was on his way to 
 New York, having written to Francis that he 
 would join him towards the end of the week. 
 
180 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Thus it happened that two persons were at the 
 same time equally interested in finding Mrs. 
 Wynne and Olivia. 
 
 Octopia's brother after a week's absence re- 
 turned to New York, and found, to his unbounded 
 amazement, that his cousins had left without a 
 trace. His hasty telegram brought back Octopia 
 with but small delay. 
 
 " I told you so," he said. " It was pure folly 
 to leave them. And now what do you mean to do 
 about it ? " Their flight more than anything else 
 made him believe in the power over them which 
 Octopia affected to possess, but the value of which 
 he had always doubted. 
 
 Judith alone was delighed, and felt the grim 
 satisfaction of the man who has lighted the fuse 
 and at safe distance contemplates the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Octopia at once rose to better health and large 
 possibilities of action, as do such sick persons in 
 the presence of an emergency which threatens 
 their comfort. She went first to Mrs. Wynne's 
 rooms, and then to Olivia's. StiU feeble, she wore 
 herself out in a careful search for some evidence 
 of the direction of their flight. No trace was left. 
 Mrs. Wynne's furniture was stored in an attic, 
 and was to remain, Octopia learned, until re- 
 claimed. 
 
 At last, exhausted. Miss Darnell sank upon a 
 lounge and for the tenth time read the note from 
 Mrs. Wynne which was handed to her on her 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 181 
 
 return. When first she saw that it was in Oli- 
 via's handwriting it annoyed her, and now that 
 it became clear that their flight had been well 
 managed and with decision and skill, the annoy- 
 ance gave place to a storm of resentment. She 
 saw in the firm lines of the letter something which 
 dangerously lifted her anger into the region of 
 criminal possibilities. Her long dream of power 
 was over, her hold on the girl lost. To realize 
 the extent of her own failure to read Olivia cor- 
 rectly was intolerable to her self-esteem. 
 
 For a moment all the disappointments of a life 
 rose and smote her with the scourges of bitter 
 memories. A foolish, willful desire to show her 
 power had lost her long years back a good man's 
 love. " And I loved him so ! I loved him so ! " 
 she murmured, twisting the paper in her hands, 
 " and Dick is like — so like him ! Oh, there are 
 times when Dick's eyes kill me ! But he was 
 better than poor Dick," she added, remembering 
 the waste of his money and her own, the wild 
 squandering, the gambling and ruin, with her 
 gradual failure of health. Then at last she re- 
 called how she had come at Arthur Wynne's call, 
 how well she had cared for him and his. " And 
 they never realized what I did. Why have they 
 left me ? I only helped her do for me what 
 gratitude ought to have taught her to do. They 
 have been mean ! — mean ! " 
 
 She felt that now she could and would be cruel. 
 The engineer speaks of the breaking-strain in 
 
182 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 material : the breaking-strain in morals was near 
 for Octopia. 
 
 She sat down and reflected quietly ; then a 
 smile lit up her face, and she went to find her 
 brother. She told him that her note informed 
 her that the rooms were hers for three months to 
 come, and that she had a little over five thousand 
 dollars laid by, — a fact which both surprised and 
 consoled him. Then, with unusual energy, she 
 explained to him that he was to take certain steps 
 to find out the whereabouts of Mrs. Wynne, and 
 at last wrote a note to Mr. Pennell, which she 
 desired Darnell to mail at once. 
 
 The day after was one which poor Judith long 
 remembered. 
 
 At eleven she was called on to assist at the first 
 elaborate toilet she had seen Octopia make for 
 years. 
 
 At lunch Miss Darnell took, what was unusual 
 for her, a little wine, and then went down to 
 await Addenda Pennell. He came shyly into the 
 room, dressed, as Octopia saw, with singular care, 
 a rose in his button-hole. He would have liked 
 to stay away, knowing and fearing the trial before 
 him, but the temptation was too great for him. 
 A plain man with poetic instincts, he admired the 
 grace and elegance of Octopia and her ease of 
 manner. He had known her as a trial to other 
 women, but while in a large-hearted kindness of 
 judgment he had believed that to an irritable old 
 lady and an inexperienced girl she might be a 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 183 
 
 weariness, he felt that, to one who loved her, much 
 might be possible. He felt that she had not al- 
 ways been as just and tender to Mrs. Wynne as 
 she might have been if well ; but there was that 
 in his own life which filled him with pitying hope 
 for all who had strayed from the way which is 
 narrow ; and, above all, he loved her, — loved her 
 with a force which the mild scorn with which she 
 always treated him did not prevent him from ex- 
 cusing out of the depths of his own remarkable 
 sense of humble self-depreciation. 
 
 As he advanced he saw with pleasure the long, 
 lithe figure, the nervous, drooping hands, the small 
 thin foot neatly slippered, the languid eyes, and 
 the well-modeled lips now smiling a welcome. 
 
 " I am punctual, I think, Miss Darnell. I sus- 
 pect that your clock is wrong. How glad I am to 
 see you looking so very much better ! " 
 
 " I am better," she said. " Even a week at 
 Richfield helps me. I have sent for you, as my 
 only friend, to ask your help. You know what 
 I did for my cousins ; you know that in their ser- 
 vice I made myself the mere wreck I am ; and 
 now you know — I suppose you know — why I 
 want you." 
 
 Addenda Pennell felt weak and a little alarmed. 
 He had stood at first, but while she was speaking 
 he was glad to sit down. Then as she went on he 
 brushed his hat with one hand. 
 
 " You have never failed me," she said. She 
 put out her long pale hand to him. He took it. 
 
184 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I am alone now," she added, softly. " They 
 have left me. Tell me where they are." 
 
 He looked at her wistfully and sadly. " I can- 
 not," he said. 
 
 Octopia withdrew her hand. "And why can 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Because it would not be right. I made a fool- 
 ish promise not to say where they have gone. In 
 ten days I can tell you. You, of all women, would 
 not wish me to break my word ? " 
 
 " But it is perfectly absurd." 
 
 "Yes, I know that. You can't put it too 
 strongly." 
 
 " And it is of them I think, more than of my- 
 self." 
 
 "I am sure that you try always to think of 
 others first." 
 
 " Olive is unfit to take care of her grandmother ; 
 I have seen enough in the past to be sure of that, 
 and a man of your age, or rather of your judg- 
 ment, must know this as well as I do. She is 
 hasty and ill-tempered, and not as thoughtful as 
 one could wish. Of course you, who did not live 
 with them, cannot be expected to realize all this 
 as I do. Now, as a rational being, do you not see 
 that I am right ? " 
 
 " It may be — I — I dare say you may be cor- 
 rect ; but what can I do ? " 
 
 " Ah," she said, her head drooping as if in de- 
 spair, " if only there were any one I could turn 
 to ! There are none ! — none ! Have you no pity 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 185 
 
 for me, who am left by a girl's whim stranded, a 
 sick, suffering woman ? Mrs. Wynne never could 
 have meant both to hurt and insult me. If I 
 could see her a moment she would surely say so." 
 
 "Let me help you, Miss Darnell. You must 
 know I would do anything to help you but this. 
 It — it — you won't mind my saying that it hurts 
 me to think you want to tempt me, even in so 
 small a matter, to do what I do not think right." 
 
 " It is not wrong." 
 
 " Yes," he returned, mournfully, " it is wrong. 
 I cannot do it, — not even for you." 
 
 "And how, then, do you propose to help me? 
 Your friendship seems to me of Httle value." 
 
 " If — if you could let me " — 
 
 Octopia understood him, with a woman's quick 
 perception. His increasing embarrassment left 
 her in no doubt. It was not the first time he had 
 put his heart in her power. She knew that he 
 was rich and kind, and that he loved her; she 
 was poor, weak, and relied little on her brother 
 for any continuity of care, and he too had noth- 
 ing. But, despite his faults, he had been her one 
 constant attachment, her ideal of a brave, reckless 
 gentleman. To him she could not be treacherous 
 or indifferent, and she believed that she could yet 
 overcome her cousin's opposition, which, in the 
 remembrance of constant victories, she underesti- 
 mated. 
 
 She rose to her feet. " You are very good to 
 me," she said. "I do not profess to misunder- 
 
186 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 stand you, and I thank you, — as a lonely, sad, 
 feeble woman, I thank you. But I am unfit to 
 win any man's love. I am a burden to myself. 
 I could not willingly let another share my weari- 
 ness." 
 
 " But you do not know me. I have had no one 
 to love since I was a boy. My heart is empty ; 
 come and fill it. Ah, I should care well for you." 
 
 She began to realize the depth and gentleness 
 of the man, and was touched by them. 
 
 " I am not young," she said. " And I cannot 
 say that I love you." 
 
 " I would not wish you to say that if you do 
 not feel it; but, with God's help, I might hope 
 that you would." 
 
 Octopia was thoroughly moved. All power 
 pleased her; all affection was grateful. For a 
 moment she hesitated ; then she said, — 
 
 " If I knew where they were, I should be easier 
 in mind. I cannot think now; I cannot decide. 
 Oh, if I knew, everything might be easy, every- 
 thing " — and she paused. 
 
 Her lover had risen when she rose ; now he fell 
 back and looked at her, an awful sadness in his 
 simple, honest heart. 
 
 " I don't think I quite understand you. You 
 cannot mean to bribe me to do what is wrong in 
 my sight? Forgive me for thinking it. You 
 can't mean that?" 
 
 " I mean if you love me you will tell me," she 
 cried, passionately. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 187 
 
 "My God!" he said. His head dropped, his 
 hands fell at his side. " Good-by," he added, and 
 deliberately, like an automaton, walked out of 
 the room. 
 
 Left alone with her motives, she could not get 
 away from the remembrance that Pennell was a 
 man of low birth. What Dick would think was 
 always with her. If she had loved Pennell, all 
 this would have been trivial, because when she 
 wanted anything she ceased to see obstacles. But 
 she did not care for him, and only felt as fit and 
 agreeable, and yet a little absurd, his desire to 
 win her. If only Dick could marry Olive there 
 would be no need to think further of Pennell. 
 And yet how kind he was, and Dick at times of 
 late how hard ! 
 
 In the entry, at the hall door, Pennell became 
 aware that he had left his hat in the drawing- 
 room. Reluctantly he went back. Octopia was 
 seated, her face in her hands, crying. He took 
 his hat from the chair, 
 
 " Miss Darnell," he said, " won't you " — 
 
 Without looking up, she raised a hand and 
 motioned him to be gone. Then she heard the 
 hall door close. She was alone. 
 
 Men make thoughtful sacrifices of self; in 
 women self-devotion has the strength and autom- 
 atism of an instinct. 
 
CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 " How all we perceive and know in it 
 Tends to some moment's product thus, 
 When a soul declares itself — to wit, 
 By its fruit, the thing it does ! " 
 
 OcTOPiA was cheating herself with the idea 
 that for the sake of Richard Darnell she had put 
 aside wealth and insurance of home and comfort 
 and an honest love. She sat up and smiled and 
 was pleased with herself because she had done it, 
 and wondered if Dick would have liked her to 
 marry Mr. Pennell. Pride of birth was strong in 
 both sister and brother, and as they had fallen in 
 the world it became yet more distinct, — a posses- 
 sion of which no adversity could deprive them. 
 They were Darnells, whatever happened. 
 
 The woman reflected, as women not young some- 
 times do, as to what motives had influenced the 
 love just laid at her feet. It seemed to her nat- 
 ural that an unknown Yankee estate-agent should 
 wish to marry a woman of assured social place ; 
 but what else ? 
 
 She had been seated, clasping her knees and 
 looking as if into distance — an interesting face 
 and figure. The last reflection took her to the 
 mirror between the windows. Yes, she was surely 
 a woman not to be passed by without notice. With 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 189 
 
 her recent shock of discovery that her victims 
 had fled, some of her former energy had come 
 back. Vigorous motives for action had been, as 
 usual, potent moral tonics, and had influenced no 
 less her physical condition. She smiled to see 
 that she was not so thin as formerly, and that 
 there was more color in her cheeks. There were 
 still reasons why men should admire her, and there- 
 fore why Pennell might. 
 
 She thought of the tall, stooping man, with his 
 shy ways, and then of Olivia addressing' a letter 
 to her as Mrs. Addenda Pennell. 
 
 " Ah, Dick ! " she said, looking round at her 
 brother, who had just entered the room. " Have 
 you any news ? How ridiculous it was for those 
 two geese to fly away so mysteriously ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Ooty ! " said he : " don't do any of 
 your little dramatic performances for me. You 
 want to find them for reasons of your own. I 
 must find that girl; I will fimd her, too. She 
 shall marry me if man can compass it." 
 
 " Or woman either, Dick. Be sure that what 
 I want most is to help you ; and," she added, with 
 confident pride, " I can help you ; I know I can." 
 
 "You are very good, Octy, but just now it does 
 not seem very clear ; I really carCt understand 
 Olivia. What did Pennell say ? Queer old Yan- 
 kee, is n't he ? " 
 
 " He knows, but will not tell me anything. I 
 really did my best." 
 
 " Well, what else ? " 
 
190 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Oh, you will laugh." 
 
 " Why, what is there to laugh at ? I feel con- 
 foundedly little like laughing." 
 
 " He wants to marry me, Dick." 
 
 " Not really ? " 
 
 "Why not? " said Octopia, annoyed. 
 
 " Oh, nothing." 
 
 " Then why did you speak as you did ? " 
 
 " I was thinking it was strange that a woman 
 like you could not get out of a man like that, who 
 wants you to marry him, so small a secret as where 
 two foolish women have gone for a holiday." 
 
 " I did my best, brother," she returned, grow- 
 ing pale as she spoke. " The man is a good man." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say. But what did you say ? " 
 
 " I said ' no.' " 
 
 " Why did you say 'no,' if he is, as you say, so 
 good, and if, as I hear, he is good as to his bank- 
 account? " 
 
 She looked at him curiously, the little muscles 
 about her chin twitching. " He would not tell me 
 what I wanted to know." 
 
 " But suppose you had said ' yes.' Men are 
 great fools, Octy." 
 
 He knew well how often a false love had shorn 
 the locks of honesty or honor. 
 
 She was silent, and for a moment could not tell 
 just why the proposition shocked her more than 
 what she had herself meant to do. It was, in 
 truth, because the idea came from her brother, 
 whom she was forever struggling to preserve as 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 191 
 
 her ideal gentleman. He, in his passion of disap- 
 pointed love, was getting recklessly careless of her 
 opinion. 
 
 " Do you forget that we are Darnells, Dick ? " 
 she said. 
 
 "By George, Octy, I thought you had more 
 sense ! Whether you go so far as to marry him 
 or not is a question for the future." 
 
 Octopia sat down, an awful consciousness of 
 her brother's selfishness ruthlessly confronting her. 
 » I don't think I could do it, Dick." 
 
 " Then you are a bigger fool than I took you 
 to be," he answered, roughly. 
 
 « Oh, Dick ! — brother ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't mean all I say, Octy." And 
 with this he sat down and kissed her cheek. He 
 knew well how much she liked demonstrative 
 affection, and that she could not be angry very 
 long with him. 
 
 At last he stood up and said he had spoken 
 hastily ; he would leave her to do as seemed best 
 to her, and added that she was getting her old 
 looks back. Then she too rose wearily, and said 
 there was no hurry about finding out where Mrs. 
 Wynne was, and that something would turn up ; 
 upon which he kissed her again and went out. 
 
 Already she missed Olivia. Now there was no 
 one on whose little charities she could call, no one 
 whom she could drag within the morbid circle of 
 her own demands for sympathy. She felt the re- 
 sults of her talk with Pennell and with her brother 
 
192 ROLAND BLAKE, 
 
 in an attack of intense fatigue of mind and body 
 and in a desire to give way to one of her volcanic 
 emotional explosions. Having no one to summon 
 as audience, she controlled herself; but a fierce 
 feeling of having been wronged arose in her mind, 
 and the demon of wrath at last expelled all his 
 lesser brethren and remained in sullen possession. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 " I had not stayed so long to tell you all, 
 Sut while I mused came Memoxy with sad eyes, 
 Holding the folded annals of my youth.^' 
 
 Addenda Pennbll went down Fifth Avenue 
 a thoughtful man. Once his name on a house to 
 let or sell here or there had given him a sense of 
 business pride ; but that day had gone by ; his 
 clerks looked after these smaller matters. 
 
 A life of absolute honesty and of great accuracy 
 and tranquil judgment in real estate had made 
 him rich and trusted. He was away from it all 
 and in his other life as he walked down the ave- 
 nue. He had long thought about Miss Darnell 
 as of a woman suffering and graceful and refined ; 
 as of one poor and dependent yet proud and sensi- 
 tive. She would have been surprised could she 
 have known that her social position made no ap- 
 peal to him. His embarrassments were personal, 
 and no mere class distinctions would have emphar 
 sized them. He had the best New England sim- 
 plicity as to these matters, and had reached the 
 true American ideal of belief that the form of 
 labor does not degrade. 
 
 Presently he nearly ran against a young man, 
 who excused himself and went on his way. 
 Something about him attracted Pennell, and, look- 
 
194 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ing back, he saw him go up the steps of the house 
 Pennell had left. 
 
 A few moments later Roland Blake stood in the 
 entry. He took out a card, asking if Mrs. Wynne 
 were at home. The servant replied that Mrs. 
 Wynne and her daughter had gone to the coun- 
 try ; he did not know where they were ; but Miss 
 Darnell was in the parlor, perhaps she could tell 
 him. The name struck the visitor with surprise. 
 Then he hesitated, but at last gave the servant a 
 card, saying, — 
 
 " Ask Miss Darnell if she will see me." 
 
 In a moment the man came back, and, throw- 
 ing open the door, drew back as Blake went in. 
 
 Octopia was standing with his card in her hand. 
 
 " Miss Darnell, I believe," he said. 
 
 " I am Miss Darnell. To what do I owe the 
 honor of this visit ? " There was a faintly disa- 
 greeable tone in her mannered speech which 
 Blake could not understand, but which was due 
 to the fact that she was already in an irritable 
 mood and that he was a Northern officer. 
 
 She did not ask him to sit down, and as she 
 stood, her face struck him as having something 
 foreign and peculiar in its lineaments. 
 
 " I have called," he said, " to learn where I 
 could find Mrs. Wynne." 
 
 "May I ask what is your business with my 
 cousin ? She is out of town." 
 
 "So I have just heard. Will you kindly tell 
 me where I can find her ? As to my business, you 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 195 
 
 ■will pardon me if I say that it is of a personal 
 nature." 
 
 " Indeed ! " Octopia began to be interested. 
 " She is a very old lady, a really aged woman ; 
 and, as I am almost her only relative, I shall be 
 glad to be the means of letting her know what- 
 ever you may wish to say." 
 
 " I scarcely think I can delegate my business. 
 Would you kindly give me her address ? " 
 
 " I do not know it at present." 
 
 " Then I am sorry to have troubled you. Good- 
 morning." 
 
 " Good-morning," she returned, coldly. 
 
 He went out with a vague impression that it 
 was rather odd that this woman with the graceful, 
 languid air and interesting face should know so 
 little of her cousin's whereabouts. After leaving 
 the house he thought a moment, and, returning, 
 rang the bell. 
 
 " Do you know," he said to the servant, " any 
 one who can tell me where I can find Mrs. 
 Wynne ? Miss Darnell cannot tell me. Is there 
 any one else ? " 
 
 " Mr. Pennell might know, sir." 
 
 " And who is he ? where does he live ? " 
 
 " He is some kind of business-man for Mrs. 
 Wynne. I don't know where he lives ; but I can 
 ask Miss Darnell." 
 
 " No ; it is of no moment. Pennell — Pennell. 
 Thank you." 
 
 With an unusual name and a partial knowledge 
 
196 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 of its owner's occupation, it was easy enough to 
 find Mr. Pennell. 
 
 When Richard Darnell saw Blake's card on 
 the table he expressed his regret at having missed 
 him, and was Octopia sure he had not mentioned 
 her brother ? The visit puzzled them both. 
 
 Passing the clerks and their desks, Blake was 
 shown into Mr. PenneU's railed-off inclosure at the 
 back of the real-estate office. He was at his desk, 
 and surrounded by papers. Instead of speaking 
 to the new-comer from his seat, after the fashion 
 of American commercial manners, Pennell rose, 
 and, looking from the young man's card to his 
 brown face with its pleasant serenity of expression 
 and its strength of feature, was agreeably im- 
 pressed. 
 
 " Major Blake," he said,— " Third New Hamp- 
 shire Volunteers, I see by your card. Why, that 's 
 my State, major ; and the Third was raised down 
 Portsmouth way. I am glad to see you. Sit 
 down." 
 
 The war and all its soldiers were sources of 
 enthusiastic admiration to Pennell, and now he 
 quite forgot his shyness in the pleasure of seeing 
 an officer with whose belongings he felt some 
 familiarity. 
 
 " Are you, too, Portsmouth-born ? " inquired 
 Blake. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I am glad to say I am, born and 
 bred, and my father before me. I don't think I 
 ever would have got away from there if it had n't 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 197 
 
 been that no man but my father could make a 
 comfortable shoe for Arthur Wynne." 
 
 Blake was attracted by the combination of em- 
 barrassment of manner and simple frankness of 
 speech. Men's careers and their biographies in- 
 terested him always, and he saw, too, that the 
 agent found pleasure in the remembrance of the 
 old town. " I was stupid not to recall your name 
 as familiar," said he. " But I have seen little of 
 the good old place for some years." 
 
 " You might remember my uncle, major. He 
 has father's shop still. I might have been hap- 
 pier to-day oyer my last, thinking, and looking out 
 at the bee-hives in the apple-orchard. The rain- 
 butt was right under the window where I used to 
 cut out uppers ; I fell into it once when I was a 
 little chap." 
 
 Then Pennell reddened as he looked around 
 him at the clerks and reflected with a trace of 
 annoyance that he was becoming biographical. 
 " I beg pardon," he added, " I was so glad to see 
 a Portsmouth man and a soldier that I have kept 
 you standing while I talked about myself. Sit 
 down. Pray, what can I do for you, major?" 
 He felt a gentle partner-like ownership in the title. 
 
 " I certainly have a little, a very little, matter 
 to ask about, but you won't mind if I say that 
 you left o£E with the rain-butt. You spoke of Mr. 
 Wynne." 
 
 " Yes ; I used to take the shoes home, and as 
 the Wynnes lived near Boar's Head in summer. 
 
198 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 it was a good seven-mile tramp. Somehow, Mr, 
 Wynne took a fancy to me ; you can't explain 
 those things, you know. The end was, he brought 
 Brother Joe and me up to the works near New- 
 ark." Then Addenda paused. " That man was 
 inconceivably kind to me and Joe, and just ; no 
 man was ever so just." Some unrevealed mem- 
 ory of a distant past evidently had him in its grip. 
 He turned from it abruptly. 
 
 " However, here I am, and at your disposal." 
 
 "I am really obliged to you. I am a young 
 man, with my own way to make, and what you 
 were good enough to tell me makes success seem 
 more possible. Just now it is like a real help. 
 You see, sir, I have lost four years in the war " — 
 
 " No, sir ! you have gained four. I would give 
 a good bit of the end of life to have had those 
 four years of yours." 
 
 " You are quite right," returned Blake, " and I 
 was wrong. I know that the war has helped me 
 in many ways. Even the steady discipline was, I 
 can see, of use to many of us young Yankees. It 
 was pretty hard, though, sometimes." 
 
 " Who nobly serves is master," said the agent, 
 and then became suddenly ill at ease, as he al- 
 ways was when a bit of the poetry of his inner life 
 slipped out among his commercial surroundings. 
 
 His visitor did not show the surprise he felt, as 
 he glanced at the pleasant face, and then at the 
 desks, and the clerks, and the people coming and 
 going, and the litter of bills and posters, and all 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 199 
 
 the other evidences of active business prosperity 
 and mercantile method. 
 
 Pennell instantly added, " But I am keeping 
 you, — and myself too, I may say. Now for busi- 
 ness. What is it ? " 
 
 Blake had at first meant merely to ask for Mrs. 
 Wynne's address ; but what he had seen of Mr. 
 Pennell somewhat enlarged his views as to that 
 which it might be well to say in case of difficulty 
 in coming into closer relation with that lady. 
 
 He looked about him. " Could we talk more 
 in private ? " he said. 
 
 " Certainly. Come up-stairs." 
 
 And so it chanced that presently Blake stood 
 among the clocks, as Olivia had done some two 
 weeks before. " What a quaint nature this must 
 be ! " thought he. 
 
 " Is our talk to be a long one, major ? " 
 
 "I can hardly say. That depends on circum- 
 Btances." 
 
 " Then will you excuse me for five or ten min- 
 utes ? After that I am at your disposal." 
 
 Blake said he had nothing to do, and begged 
 his host not to hurry himself. Then Pennell said, 
 " There are the papers," and went out of the 
 room. 
 
 Blake glanced around at the clocks, big and 
 little, with vast amusement at their exactness of 
 statement as to the hour, and presently began to 
 look for the times of departure of the Philadelphia 
 trains. The "Herald" he turned over was dis- 
 
200 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 figured by having two or three slips cut out of the 
 columns. A duplicate copy lay beside him on the 
 table, and after satisfying himself as to the trains, 
 he chanced to notice in the unmutilated journal 
 that the slips cut out were records of small com- 
 mercial failures or of defalcations and breaches of 
 trust on the part of clerks or petty bank-officers. 
 The " Heralds " and " Tribunes " were of various 
 recent dates, but all had been used in the same 
 manner. Whoever had made the selections 
 seemed to have had a mania for collecting records 
 of such minor offenses as those just mentioned. 
 It certainly seemed to Roland Blake a very mor- 
 bid- taste, and one which did not look natural in so 
 business-like and simple a being as Pennell. 
 
 His cogitations were arrested by the return of 
 the agent, who said, — 
 
 " Now, major, I am free for a half hour." 
 
 "My errand may be a very easy one. You 
 mentioned the name of Mr. Wynne while we were 
 talking down-stairs. What I want is to know 
 where I can find Mrs. Wynne." 
 
 "His mother, I suppose you mean. His wife 
 is dead and he is dead. Mrs. Wynne is away in 
 the country." 
 
 He saw no reason why he should not say where 
 she was, but his natural caution in all transactions 
 returned when Roland Blake replied, — 
 
 " Yes ; I learned at their house from Miss Dar- 
 nell that Mrs. Wynne was absent, and that Miss 
 Darnell did not know where she was. The ser- 
 vant referred me to you." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 201 
 
 " You knew Miss Darnell, then ? " 
 
 " No," said Blake, " I did not." 
 
 He wondered why Pennell should have asked 
 him this, and began to feel puzzled. That the 
 agent spoke with a shade of reluctance was plain. 
 
 « You will think it odd," said Pennell, " if I ask 
 you why you want to see Mrs. Wynne. She is 
 a very aged woman, and I have long been her ad- 
 viser and agent. In any business matter I am the 
 proper person to talk to." 
 
 " But it is not a business matter ; it is alto- 
 gether personal, and, I may as well say, of such 
 a nature as makes me a little undecided as to 
 whether I am wise to do what it seems to me my 
 duty to do." 
 
 "You must see, major, that you put me in a 
 rather awkward position." 
 
 " I confess I do not see that." 
 
 " Mrs. Wynne is away with Miss Olivia, and de- 
 sires no one to know where she has gone. That 
 may seem strange to you ; but I think best to say 
 so. As to her motives for this I need add noth- 
 ing : it is a family affair. Cannot you make it 
 easier for me in some way ? " 
 
 Blake hesitated. " What I have to say to her 
 may be of no moment, or it may be of invaluable 
 service. It concerns a relative of hers." 
 
 "Not Miss Darnell?" 
 
 "No; a Mr. Darnell, — Mr. Richard Darnell." 
 
 "Miss Darnell's brother."' 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
202 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Addenda Pennell did not like it. He knew 
 Richard Darnell, but chiefly as a Southern gentle- 
 man who had been a prisoner and who spent al- 
 together too much money. But he also knew how 
 profoundly Octopia loved him. He at once re- 
 solved that he would at least postpone the matter. 
 He would rather know more of Richard Darnell 
 first ; and his extreme caution in business matters 
 and his love for Darnell's sister alike indisposed 
 him to disobey Mrs. Wynne. 
 
 " I am afraid," he said, as he rose, " that I 
 cannot help you. I will write to Mrs. Wynne. 
 Meanwhile, should you feel disposed to be more 
 frank, let me hear from you. Here is my card." 
 As he spoke, he looked about on the table, and 
 not finding what he sought, seized a single sheet 
 of ruled commercial note-paper, wrote " Addenda 
 Pennell, No. 93 Ogden St.," tore off the scrap, and 
 gave it to Blake, who folded it and put it in his 
 pocket-book, saying, " I am sorry, sir, you can 
 do no more for me. You have only delayed my 
 errand." 
 
 " Well, I am sorry too. I may be over-cautious ; 
 but before we part let me say that when you are 
 here again I shall be most glad to see you. I may 
 change my mind, you know." 
 
 " I shall be glad to call," said Blake, and went 
 away with the feeling that somehow he must have 
 mismanaged the matter, and that it might have 
 been well to speak more freely. 
 
 If he had begun to do so, he would have realized 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 203 
 
 the difficulty in whicli he was placed by his double 
 view of official and personal obligations and of his 
 duty to people whom he had never seen. Then, 
 too, he had been put on his guard by the evident 
 annoyance of Pennell at his mention of Miss Dar- 
 nell. 
 
 As he sat in the railroad-car next day, thinking 
 with amusement and with a feeling of sentimental 
 interest of his little quest and its romantic aspects, 
 he suddenly recalled the wonder with which he 
 had read the name Addenda. He took out the 
 paper on which the agent had written his address, 
 and for a moment was puzzled. It was the up- 
 per half of a page of note-paper, and was evi- 
 dently an unfinished note. It began, — 
 
 Dear Miss Olivta, — I begin to think you 
 have been rather hasty. Your poor cousin is in 
 the utmost distress — 
 
 Here it was torn off ; but above was written, in 
 the agent's formal handwriting, " To Miss Olivia 
 Wynne, Cape May Court-house." On the oppo- 
 site side was Pennell's address. 
 
 The young major broke out into an honest 
 laugh, which caused two or three passengers to re- 
 gard him curiously for a moment over the tops of 
 their morning papers. 
 
 " By George ! what a delicious fluke ! " said 
 Blake to himself, wishing he could see Mr. Ad- 
 denda Pennell at the moment when he should sit 
 
204 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 down to finish that note. In fact, Mr. Pennell 
 had made one of those bewildering slips to which 
 the over-prudent are liable. 
 
 The line or two yet left of the note made it ap- 
 pear, as far as Roland could make out, that Mrs. 
 Wynne had left home for some cause of which 
 Miss Darnell was a part. There was a certain 
 romance about this quest which began to make it 
 an agreeable duty. It grew a more emphatic duty 
 as it became a more pleasant one. Even our vir- 
 tues masquerade at times. As Blake whirled 
 over the old red sandstone of New Jersey and 
 anon across its breadth of sands he sat wondering 
 where Miss Wynne might be, and whether his 
 friend had not over-drawn his pretty pastel of the 
 drawing-room scene. He laughed at last as he 
 suddenly discovered that it would be unpleasant 
 to find the young woman uncomely. 
 
 When next day he dined at Mr. John Francis' 
 on Walnut Street, he had grown moody and 
 thoughtful, and did little justice to Philip's many 
 glowing eulogiums on this marvel among friends. 
 Miss Francis found him quiet, an(f twitted Philip 
 after breakfast next day about the social failure 
 of his friend. 
 
 " Now, really, Phil," she said, " when a man 
 has but one swan in his goose-pond, it is rather sad 
 to hear a treacherous quack, quack." She de- 
 clared that this was the end of her earthly illu- 
 sions. 
 
 Mr. John Francis also did not find the major 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 205 
 
 very entertaining, and said so, but would always 
 be glad to see Phil's friend, and in fact did give 
 him his best Madeira. 
 
 As Blake was Philip's sole human enthusiasm, 
 although he cynically hid his admiration from its 
 object, he told his sister she had lived too long in 
 Philadelphia to know a clever man from a dull 
 man, and then put his hat on very hard and went 
 out, disgusted, to meet'his friend at the club. 
 
 The charges made were more or less just. 
 Roland Blake had one of the mental peculiarities 
 which insure success ; if he was at all interested 
 in an enterprise, small or large, he could never 
 get away from it, and it absorbed his attention so 
 as to affect for a time his really pleasant social 
 qualities and to make him seem absent and pre- 
 occupied. 
 
 Francis found him in this mood after breakfast, 
 sitting deep in thought in the smoking-room of 
 the club. It was a warm September morning, 
 and the club was as empty as usual at that time. 
 Blake was looking out of a window at the rather 
 sombre and rigid formality of the white door- 
 steps and brick fronts of the houses across the 
 way. A long column of disbanded soldiers home- 
 ward bound was moving gayly westward on the 
 opposite pavement. Suddenly he felt a hand on 
 his shoulder, and heard Francis saying, — 
 
 " What are you mooning about, old man ? " 
 
 " Oh, it 's you, Phil ! I was thinking how im- 
 personal modern wars are ; how little dislike or 
 hate there is nowadays between two armies." 
 u 
 
206 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " How about Darnell ? " said Francis, mischiev- 
 ously. 
 
 " Oh, confound Darnell ! " 
 
 " Very impersonal, that ! Perhaps you -won't 
 care to learn that I heard from him last week. 
 He is still at the North, and wants very much to 
 meet you." 
 
 " I dare say he does. I cannot say that I am 
 equally desirous to meet him." 
 
 " I heard that he was in New York." 
 
 " Is he, indeed ? " 
 
 " What a mysterious fellow you are ! Now, it 
 •seems to me that I should really like to see that 
 man if I were in your place." 
 
 " Well, you are not, Phil, and that is all there 
 is of it. There is in my conduct about this man 
 something which is and must remain unexplained. 
 I have already told you this. Let me add that 
 I have ample cause to know that he is a scoun- 
 drel." 
 
 " Good gracious, Roland ! I have a general 
 belief in the scampishness of mankind, but you 
 seem to have a keener nose for it than I have. 
 At all events, he will be here early this fall, and 
 how I am to receive him, after what you tell me, 
 I do not see." 
 
 " I wish I could help you further ; but I cannot. 
 When do we go ? " 
 
 " Oh, I came early to tell you that I shall be 
 detained here for a while, a week or so, at least 
 After that I will join you." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 207 
 
 " Very well. Do you know a quiet place on 
 the coast called Cape May Court-house ? " 
 
 " I have heard of it." 
 
 " I shall take my guns and fishing-traps and go 
 there to-day. Come as soon as you can." 
 
 " It will be ghastly dull." 
 
 *' But you will have me," said Blake, laughing. 
 
 " Well, you have n't been as genial of late as 
 might be desired. And I can't even get a row 
 out of you. You are undergoing moral atrophy 
 from disuse of your passions. What you want is 
 a love-a£Eair." 
 
 " Try it yourself, my good doctor." 
 
 " I can't. Even homceopathic doses of femininity 
 disagree with me. Oh, don't laugh, Roland. I 've 
 tried it. My heart is like Noah's dove ; it always 
 comes back to my own little ark." 
 
 " You had better read Genesis again, Phil, 
 before you use it to illustrate your biography. 
 Must you go ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, come down as soon as you can." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Thereon my lady, who was young and fair, 
 And yearning for some heart-hold upon life, 
 Like the loosed tendril of a wind-blown vine 
 That seeks, and knows not why, smiled once again, 
 And blossomed like a rose surprised of June." 
 
 It was dusk when Mrs. Wynne and Olivia 
 turned out of the deep, sandy New Jersey road, 
 and the lanky, sinewy horses were pulled up in 
 front of the small village inn. They had tried 
 the noisy hotels of Cape May for three weeks, 
 and the old lady had declared that they were 
 worse than Octopia. The comings and goings of 
 people, the constant footsteps in the carpetless 
 corridors, the tumult of the band, and the steady 
 roar of the breakers became insupportable. She 
 said at last that she must have quiet, and if she 
 did not she would go back to New York and 
 Olivia might do as she pleased. 
 
 Olivia was in despair. She did not like the 
 place. Her training and natural reserve of course 
 prevented her from making acquaintances. When 
 the porticoes were most deserted, she sat alone, 
 or ventured a little way up the beach to sketch ; 
 but people came and looked over her shoulders ; 
 and men stared with ill-concealed admiration at 
 the tall, lonely girl who seemed to have no friends. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 209 
 
 At times she took refuge with Mrs. Wynne ; but 
 when the hour of reading was over the old lady 
 preferred to be alone with her knitting, and when 
 she did not make this plain to Olivia the inces- 
 sant, monotonous click-click of the needles sounded 
 to the girl like some wickedly ulipunctual clock, 
 and she was glad of any excuse to escape. 
 
 Her journey and sense of disenthrallment had 
 for a brief time caused her to feel the utmost ex- 
 ultation ; but now she keenly realized her isolation, 
 and began to fear that she had made a mistake, 
 and to take herself to task for having acted solely 
 on selfish considerations. One hour with Octopia 
 would have changed her mind ; but time lessens 
 our beliefs in the difficult, and she felt as though 
 it might — nay, should — have been possible for 
 her to stay at home. Then also her grandmother's 
 feebleness at times alarmed her ; and in fact she 
 was too wearily weighted for one so young. 
 
 The moral and mental machinery may, like the 
 muscular mechanism, become disordered from lack 
 of chance to develop. When fate denies the sun- 
 shine to gracious seed of nature's sowing, some 
 evil comes of it, — decay, distorted growths, too 
 late a frtiitage. There were these risks for Olivia. 
 
 Twice Olivia contrived to settle their hotel bill 
 without going in person to face the ordeal of the 
 cashier's desk and the staring men who lounged 
 in the hideous hall. It was now their third week 
 at the Cape, and again Mrs. Wynne desired Olivia 
 to pay the bill, and at the same time to ask a 
 number of questions. 
 
210 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Olivia hesitated; she had no training in the hon- 
 est independence of the young American woman, 
 and each novel excursion into the outside world 
 of affairs cost her a certain amount of effort. Mr. 
 Pennell had brought them to Cape May, and to 
 Olivia it had been in anticipation quite other 
 than what she found it, and now she must take 
 the consequences, and, above all, save her grand- 
 mother from annoyances. 
 
 She remembered that in Europe her mother 
 sent for a servant who took away the money due 
 and brought back a receipt, so that there was no 
 trouble about it. After having thrice rung the 
 bell in her relative's room and had no response, 
 that lady began to express herself as to what she 
 called fuss. In fact, movement disturbed her; 
 she loved the sedative of tranquillity. 
 
 " Olivia," she said, " you may ring all' day if 
 you please ; no one comes. You will have to go 
 down to the clerk's desk and get the receipt your- 
 self, as other people do." 
 
 "But, grandmamma, if I go there to ask a ques- 
 tion they keep me waiting, and — I don't mind 
 being looked at, but I do mind being stared at ; 
 and there is a perfectly odious clerk, who wears 
 rings." 
 
 " I do not see, my dear, how that affects the 
 matter. You have brought me here, and we must 
 do as other people do." 
 
 " But I should like you to see that young man, 
 grandmamma," said Olivia, with a faint outbreak 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 211 
 
 of her too much repressed sense of the comical 
 aspects of what she saw. " His hair is very pale, 
 and it is parted in the middle. It is sad to see a 
 man's hair so tremendously parted. I am sure it 
 will never meet again." 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, child ! " 
 
 " But, grandmamma, you really would have a 
 nevf^ experience if you could see that man. He 
 answers twenty questions a minute, and opens 
 letters, and writes telegrams, and slams account- 
 books about, and spins round on a high stool ; and 
 sticks his hair full of pens until he looks like a 
 literary porcupine ; and when he has a half-minute 
 to himself he reads a browni-covered novel." 
 
 " You seem to have studied his habits with 
 some care. Now suppose you were to go and pay 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, grandmamma ; and do you think there 
 would be any impropriety in my asking him what 
 that novel is ? At the present rate it will be two 
 years before he can finish it." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne smiled feebly. Her thoughts re- 
 turned to herself, as is common with the aged, 
 and she said, irrelevantly, — 
 
 " I was not allowed to read novels when I was 
 young." Then she looked up. " Have you heard 
 from Octopia yet ? " 
 
 " Why, no, grandmamma. How should I ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is true. I am losing my memory. 
 What day is it ? " 
 
 " Thursday." 
 
212 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " We have been here over three weeks. The 
 noise confuses me ; I forget everything, — even 
 my meals, — except after I have eaten them," she 
 added, with a touch of humor. " Now don't 
 dawdle any longer, child ; go and pay the bill." 
 
 Olivia went reluctantly along the bare, resound- 
 ing corridor and down-stairs. It was the morning 
 bathing-hour, and the vast, ugly hall was nearly 
 deserted. She was agreeably surprised to find at 
 the desk a new clerk. He was a simply-dressed 
 young fellow, who did his multifarious duties 
 with some apparent distrust of his capacity. In 
 fact, he was learning a new and what he meant 
 should be a temporary business. 
 
 He looked up and said, quietly, " What can I 
 do for you ? " 
 
 " Please to receipt this bill. Here is a check 
 for the amount." 
 
 He went through the various forms, made the 
 entries in his books, and at last concluded the 
 little business. Then, as she stood a moment 
 looking at the receipt and counting some change 
 she had asked for, a young fellow in white flannel 
 with a straw hat and a gay ribbon around it took 
 her place, saying, with an air of surprise, — 
 
 " Why, Hollis, how came you here ? We 
 missed you from the class last year. What on 
 earth became of you ? " 
 
 " The money gave out. I shall go back to Yale 
 this winter. I have done pretty well at this busi- 
 ness," 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 213 
 
 " Good gracious ! do you like it ? " 
 
 " No, but I like the results. Very possibly I 
 may study law and not go back to Yale. I am 
 not sure." 
 
 " I don't think I should like your present occu- 
 pation," said the young man. 
 
 The clerk looked at his vacant face, and re- 
 plied, — 
 
 " No ! my people do not qtiite fancy it ; but I 
 am getting some good lessons out of it. Suppose 
 you were to join me ? " And he smiled. 
 
 The man in flannel laughed loudly at the joke, 
 and said he would see him again. Then, light- 
 ing a cigarette, he took a good look at Olivia and 
 moved away. 
 
 It was a wholesome little experience to Olivia 
 in American life, and the talk she had heard and 
 the new clerk's quiet ways so reassured her that 
 she ventured to return to the desk. 
 
 The clerk laid down the Italian grammar he 
 had taken up, — for he too had his book, — and 
 turned to her promptly. " Is not the change 
 correct? I am not very ready at money-count- 
 ing." 
 
 " Oh, yes, thank you," said Olivia. " I thought 
 that perhaps you might be able to tell me of some 
 more quiet place than the Cape and not too far 
 away. I am here with my grandmother, and the 
 noises distract her." 
 
 The young man paused a moment, as if reflect- 
 ing. He thought first how sweet and yet how 
 strong was the face before bim. 
 
214 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I think," he said, " you would find Cape May 
 Court-house pleasant and quiet. It is an easy 
 drive from here. I was there last week, and 
 thought how agreeable it would be to escape to it 
 for a while." 
 
 Then he began to reflect that he was getting 
 out of the clerk business a little, and this he had 
 meant resolutely to avoid. He added, in a formal 
 tone, — 
 
 " I will write to-day and ask about rooms, if 
 you wish. I will send up the reply. Miss Wynne, 
 I believe?" 
 
 " Yes. My grandmother is Mrs. Wynne." 
 
 " I will send a note up to Mrs. Wynne when I 
 hear." 
 
 " Thank you. I shall be very much obliged." 
 
 The clerk looked after her until she went out 
 of view at a turn of the broad staircase ; but at 
 times for many a day he was haunted by a more 
 and more dreamy memory of the face which lit 
 up at the small and quite official offer of service 
 he had made, and which seemed so sensitively 
 ready to anticipate words with expression. 
 
 He bethought himself, as he took up his book 
 again, how life was like a great road, where the 
 wheel-ruts cross and recross or meet and never 
 again come together. Then he made a mistake 
 in a bill, and was rather roughly called back to 
 the world of figures by the debtor's unpleasant- 
 ness. 
 
 However, he was as good as his word, got a re> 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 215 
 
 ply about the rooms, and learned for them all that 
 they wished to know, being a gentleman in the dis- 
 guise of a hotel clerk ; then he saw Mrs. Wynne 
 and Miss Wynne drive away in the Jersey wagon, 
 went back to his desk, and knew them no more. 
 
 The old lady consented to move, but introduced 
 much needless friction into the movement. Hap- 
 pily, the road proved to be easy for every one ex- 
 cept the horses ; and perhaps she felt it as a rea- 
 sonable courtesy on the part of the mosquitoes 
 that they seemed to prefer the more youthful 
 prey. The way ran inland, and at last, as we 
 have said, brought them to the little inn, which 
 stood modestly back from the road under shelter 
 of the leafy cascades of two great weeping wil- 
 lows. 
 
 Circumstances further favored Miss Wynne. 
 The inn was quiet, — its few summer guests had 
 fled ; the rooms, if small, were of absolute cleanli- 
 ness, and the cooking was of that simple perfec- 
 tion which was formerly to be found on the coast 
 of New Jersey. 
 
 At last Mrs. Wynne was comfortable and con- 
 tented. Her needles clicked steadily, and she 
 began to improve in health, and, as her irritabil- 
 ity bom of discomfort lessened, to take more 
 and more pleasure in the efflorescence of happy, 
 vigorous life which came almost of a sudden to 
 Olivia. 
 
 The little hamlet was at that day untroubled by 
 many visitors, and quite off from the great high- 
 
216 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ways of the moving, uneasy summer world. The 
 day after their arrival Olivia ventured out to ex- 
 amine it, with a queer yet delightful sensation of 
 being an explorer in an unknown land. When 
 she came back in a couple of hours, flushed and 
 joyous, the old lady put on her glasses and in- 
 spected her curiously and not without reasonable 
 satisfaction. Then she laid down her needles, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Where have you been, my dear ? Tell me aU 
 about it. I feel better to-day." 
 
 " That was all I wanted to make me perfectly 
 happy." 
 
 " Is it much of a town? " inquired the old lady, 
 in placid pursuit of information. 
 
 " Grandmamma, it is one street. The houses 
 are weather-worn and gray, like the men. I have 
 been into the pine woods ; I have been up the 
 street to the judge's house and down town to the 
 wheelwright's ; I have seen the court-house ; I 
 have bought some tape, arid two spools of thread, 
 and a pound of ginger snaps, — all there was ; I 
 have seen a tire put on a wheel, and a horse shod ; 
 and I have been in the kitchen to see Mrs. Lud- 
 1am make cup-cake, and " — 
 
 " Bless me, child ! " 
 
 " Oh, that was n't all. If you speak to any one, 
 they are called Ludlam, or Learning, or Hand. 
 It 's so convenient ! Nobody is called anything 
 else. And, last and best of all, grandmamma, I 
 have made an acquaintance." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 217 
 
 " My dear, you should be a little careful as to 
 that." 
 
 Oliyia set her arms akimbo. '* Now I am the 
 blacksmith, — he is Joe Hand ; Tom Holmes 
 helps him. I asked him how one could get over 
 to the beaches. He took a good look at me, and 
 then he dropped a horse's foot he had in his 
 leather lap, as if it was of no kind of importance. 
 It was really a compliment, grandmamma, to see 
 how he neglected that horse for me. Then he 
 said. ' Uncle John, this here young woman wants 
 to get over to the beaches.' 
 
 " Grandmamma, now I know Uncle John Les- 
 lie. He does n't answer to the name of Hand or 
 Ludlam, because he comes from Long-a-coming. 
 He knocked his head against the door-lintel when 
 he came in to speak to me ; I think he must be 
 six foot four ; ' and they do say, maarm, as he ken 
 heft a buoy weight,' and why every one calls him 
 ' Uncle John ' I do not know ; it is a mystery, 
 madam. And now I have done." And with 
 this she pirouetted and dropped a courtesy which 
 spread her skirts in a voluminous circle about her. 
 " I have n't made a cheese for four years, grand- 
 mamma, and I feel ridiculously happy." 
 
 " Upon my word, I think you must be out of 
 your head, child." 
 
 " No ; happy, — only happy. Uncle John is 
 the captain of the life-station on Five Mile Beach. 
 He says he will show it to me if you will let me 
 go over in the boat with him." 
 
218 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " And how old, Olive, is this universal uncle ? " 
 
 " About sixty, I should guess." 
 
 "Well, we shall see. I suppose there is no 
 hurry? " 
 
 " No," said Olive, disappointed nevertheless ; 
 " I can wait." 
 
 She had been waiting so long for all girlish 
 pleasures that to abandon for a time any scheme 
 of enjoyment had come to be only too easy. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne had arranged that she was to have 
 her meals brought up to her room ; but Olivia 
 had pleaded that, as there were no other guests, 
 she herself might be allowed to eat in the little 
 dining-room down-stairs. 
 
 She spent the first day in walking and sketch- 
 ing. The two rows of weather-worn wooden 
 houses were divided by a road, where the dogs 
 took delight in dusty scampers, and bare-legged 
 children dug in the sand until some passing wagon 
 scattered them and disturbed the laborious black 
 tumble-bugs. She wandered on at last until she 
 came to the meadows beyond the town. Low dikes 
 kept out the tides, and within them, to landward, 
 countless ditches crossed and recrossed. 
 
 Olive followed a well-worn path along one of 
 the embankments until it ended in a narrow plank 
 sustained by piles driven into the oozy soil be- 
 neath. Every moment she paused, attracted by 
 some strange product of the marsh. It was all 
 amazingly new to her. There was the matchless 
 green of spatterdocks, and the floating arrow-head 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 219 
 
 leaves already purpled. Her first acquaintance 
 with the grace of the tall cat-tails she never for- 
 got. The plumy golden-rods were thick on the 
 dikes, with asters and centaury, while around 
 every brown pool the salt-wort or samphire began 
 to wear its autumn lake-tints, to be yet more 
 glorious before October had gone. 
 
 Now pausing, now lightly flitting over the 
 springy planks, she came at last to the main dike, 
 where, being raised above the marsh, she com- 
 manded a wider view. At her feet was a broad 
 salt creek, and beyond it low marsh-lands, — to 
 the view merely a level prairie flashing with the 
 glitter of sharp, stiff grasses. Two miles away a 
 line of pure white sand-dunes marked the summit 
 of the ocean beach, and all between her and these 
 were myriad creeks, water-ways, " vents," broader 
 thoroughfares, and to left and right narrow inlets 
 through which the pent-up waters swept fiercely 
 with the ebb and flood. Now and then a distant 
 sail moved mysteriously through the grass. At 
 Olivia's feet the muddy banks were populous with 
 strange creatures, — scuttling crabs, queer worms, 
 and lazy turtles. 
 
 The salt air came over the water with hum of 
 insect life and call of birds. No one was in sight. 
 She seemed to own it all in unquestioned right. 
 Tranquilly happy, she stood upon the shore and 
 felt the rare joy of being in some true and pleas- 
 ant relation to this gracious world of sun and air 
 and marsh and water. 
 
220 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 A bit of squared ship-timber lay on the bank. 
 She sat down and began to sketch the dead hull 
 of a wrecked schooner which some mighty tide 
 had drifted in and left upon the farther shore, — 
 a bit of mast, half a deck, and for the rest gaunt 
 ribs black and now tide-marked with barnacles 
 and sea-weed. Two or three worn blocks hung 
 over the rail like ancient skulls. 
 
 Finding the horizon too remote and ample, she 
 went down the bank and pulled at the rope 
 which held a large flat bateau fastened to a stake 
 on the margin. Somewhat timidly, she got in, 
 and sat down with her back to the land and con- 
 tinued her sketch. Once, looking round, she saw 
 that the boat had drifted out to the length of the 
 rope, but, being satisfied that it was securely held, 
 she turned to her task again. 
 
 An hour passed away, and the sun getting 
 warmer, she made up her mind to go home, but 
 on turning perceived to her discomfiture that the 
 tide had fallen and that the boat was stranded a 
 half-dozen feet from the bank, between which and 
 herself was a shining bed of mud, full of the 
 round holes of the squirting clam. 
 
 She was a half-mile from the village, and no 
 one was in sight. It was rather funny, she 
 thought; but then how long would it last? The 
 tide had to go down and then come up. How 
 long were tides about this business? She was 
 sure she had learned all about them once, but 
 never having dreamed that a practical application 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 221 
 
 of the knowledge might become valuable, she had 
 forgotten all about them. She was sure the tide 
 was going out, because a crab which seemed to 
 have lost his claws in battle with his peers was 
 hopelessly stranded beyond her boat. 
 
 Decision is easy when only one course is possi- 
 ble; and accordingly, after an enterprising pull 
 at the rope, she sat down again in the stern with 
 a laugh, remarking aloud, "Now, what can I 
 do?" 
 
 At this moment the bow of a skiff parted the 
 reeds on the further shore, where a small creek ran 
 into the thoroughfare. As the little boat sped out 
 on to the broader stream, a man who had been 
 standing in the stern and sculling with noiseless 
 ease turned suddenly to see where he was going. 
 To his surprise he was aware of a young woman 
 seated in the stern of a stranded boat, not thirty 
 yards distant. A broad straw hat concealed face 
 and neck, but the lines of her form were youthful 
 and gracious. A faint smile lit up his face as 
 Blake, still standing, began to paddle his skiff 
 across the water. The sound caught Olive's ear, 
 and turning, she saw a face which had at once 
 become grave ; a strong, squarely built figure in a 
 much used army undress jacket, the head above 
 it bare, the hair short, the complexion darkly sun- 
 burned ; a visage resolute and grave, plainly not 
 of the coast people. 
 
 " Now he will laugh at me," thought Olive. 
 
 " Are you not stranded ? " he said, quietly. 
 
222 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Yes. I was sketching and forgot all about the 
 tide. How can I get on shore ? " 
 
 "I will help you in a moment," he said, as he 
 came beside her. " I myself forgot that the tide 
 was on the ebb, and I am so used to the sea that I 
 should have remembered it. One moment," he 
 added; "and pray sit down," for she had risen, 
 " it will be all right in a moment." As be spoke 
 he urged his skiff well up on to the oozy shore, 
 drove an oar deep into the mud, and with the 
 boat-rope in his hand leaped lightly ashore. 
 
 " Don't move," he said, " and hold fast to the 
 gunwales, — the sides, I mean, — while I pull your 
 ark to land." Securing his own lighter skiff he 
 took hold of the rope by which Olivia's heavy 
 bateau was made fast to the shore, and with great 
 difficulty drew it within four or five feet of the 
 firmer bank. Without a word he again and again 
 put forth his utmost strength, but with only the 
 most trivial result. The task seemed to occupy 
 him to the exclusion of all else. 
 
 Meanwhile Olivia was becoming embarrassed. 
 
 " I beg," she said, " that you will not trouble 
 yourself further. It really is not worth while. I 
 can wait." 
 
 " Hardly. I shall manage it somehow," said 
 Blake, who stood contemplating the situation 
 with that inborn dislike to being defeated which 
 belongs to the temperament of men destined to 
 success in life. Miss Wynne began to be amused, 
 and to wonder which would win — tenacious mud 
 or tenacious man. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 223 
 
 " Do not you think I could jump, or might not 
 you find a stone ? " 
 
 " The bank is too slippery for a jump, and as to 
 stones large enough, there is not one from here to 
 Key West." 
 
 " Then I must possess my soul in patience." 
 
 Blake glanced at the changeful face, the modest 
 eyes, a certain stateliness in the carriage of the 
 head, and concluded swiftly that the soul might 
 be a pleasant possession. 
 
 " There is one way," he said. " If Uncle John 
 were here he would calmly carry you ashore." 
 
 " But he is not." She colored slightly, and 
 they both laughed. 
 
 " Pardon me," he added. " We have a way on 
 our coast," and he moved half way towards the 
 bow of her boat, sinking, as he did so, knee deep 
 in the slimy mud. 
 
 " Oh, please, don't," she cried. 
 
 " This way, please." She rose and came to the 
 bow at once. 
 
 "Now," he said, "I shall stand on one foot, and 
 lift the other — so, and you will set one foot on 
 mine, and jump, but you must be quick and not 
 afraid, or we shall both get a tumble." 
 
 Olive, in turn, glanced once at the hardy, reas- 
 suring face, gave him one hand, set a foot on his 
 as he lifted it, and leaped lightly upon the bank. 
 Blake kept his station with a vigorous effort af- 
 ter this rather difficult feat, turned to the boat, 
 gathered up her sketching-material, and quietly 
 
224 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 waded ashore. As he gave them to the owner he 
 noted the name, " Olivia Wynne," on the back of 
 a drawing-block, and felt that fortune had done 
 him a good turn. 
 
 " I hardly know how to thank you," said the 
 girl, looking with dismay at Blake's condition. 
 
 "It is not of the slightest moment," he returned, 
 lifting his straw hat, as with another word or two 
 of embarrassed thanks Miss Wynne bade him 
 good-morning and walked away along the raised 
 planking above the wet meadow. For years she 
 had seen but rarely young men of her own class, 
 and the incident left her with a slight sense of 
 romance and a pretty vivid remembrance of the 
 masterful face and vigorous manliness of the per- 
 son who had aided her. She was not sure that 
 if she told her grandmother the result might not 
 be an unpleasant limitation of her newly acquired 
 liberty. 
 
 On her return to the hotel she heard the land- 
 lady speak of Major Blake. The name startled 
 her. Could this by any chance be the hero of 
 her cousin's story? Then she saw on a gun- 
 case in the hall the full name, " Roland Blake." 
 
 After breakfast next morning she found it amus- 
 ing to relate to the old lady her second interview, 
 which she did in her rather quaint fashion. 
 
 " I had a young man for breakfast, grand- 
 mamma." 
 
 " To eat, my dear ? You make use of very odd 
 expressions." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 225 
 
 Olive laughed. She thought the cannibalism 
 might have been better assigned to the gray eyes 
 of the young man in question. 
 
 " Oh, I knovr all about him now. He is one 
 of our officers. His name is Blake, — Roland 
 Blake. It is a very nice name, I think. He 
 comes from Portsmouth." 
 
 " Indeed ! Roland Blake ? He must be a 
 grandson of Roland Blake. My dear, I danced 
 vrith his grandfather at the ball which was given 
 to Lafayette. I think I should like to see him, 
 Olive. His father was a handsome man as I 
 remember him. Is the son handsome? Is he 
 taU?" 
 
 " No, he is not tall. If you desire it, grand- 
 mamma, I will take a good look at him, and if I 
 am in doubt I will ask him if he is generally con- 
 sidered handsome." 
 
 The old lady liked to be amused, and began to 
 find in Olivia a new source of quiet pleasure, as 
 she related her little collections of gossip and 
 observation. At home the natural playfulness of 
 her fancy had been repressed by hostile circum- 
 stance or had lacked opportunity and food. Now 
 she felt at times the need to restrain herself as 
 to both speech and action. She had found friends 
 and comrades at home in books, but here she 
 was seized with a sudden disgust for printed 
 pages, and turned with wholesome capacity for 
 fresher enjoyment to the simple and interesting 
 people about her, and to the joy of earth and wood 
 
226 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and sea and marsh. These latter at least were 
 as remembered friends, to whom she came back 
 eagerly ; but as to the variety in men and women 
 she knew very little. There were some dim rec- 
 ollections of people seen abroad who took small 
 notice of a growing girl. Then there was her 
 life in New York, where her education had been 
 carried on by masters. In her classes she knew 
 a few girls, and at first had been allowed to see 
 some youthful society ; but, as time went by, at 
 home, the constancy of the claim upon her had 
 by degrees broken off all such alliances, and she 
 had fallen into a life which included little except 
 her relatives, her books, and her lessons, and occa- 
 sional fexchange of visits with the few people she 
 still knew in New York. 
 
 Under these circumstances the formal training 
 she got from Mrs. Wynne was valuable when she 
 began to inhale the exhilarating breath of free- 
 dom. The old lady thought proper now to say a 
 word of warning : — 
 
 " Remember, Olive, that situated as I am, you 
 are left almost alone to yourself. When I was 
 young, all this liberty allowed to girls was well 
 enough ; but I have my doubts whether it is wise 
 nowadays. Men are more wicked than they used 
 to be : that I am sure of." 
 
 " Indeed, grandmamma ! were they never wicked 
 when you were young ? " said Olivia, with an ap- 
 pearance of demure simplicity. " I think I have 
 heard you say horrible things about grandfather's 
 friend Colonel Burr." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 227 
 
 " My dear, he was so charming a gentleman 
 that one quite forgot how naughty he was." 
 
 " I don't think the young man down-stairs is 
 wicked. At all events, I shall never know unless 
 I ask him." And then she described the delight 
 there would be in this simplifying of social life by 
 a direct inquiry as to wealth, health, general char- 
 acter, and belongings. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne had the dislike of elderly people 
 to being puzzled by the mental attitudes of 
 younger folks. She felt it vaguely as an intangi- 
 ble form of disrespect ; and at times the girl in 
 her sudden evolution was bewildering to the older 
 lady, who in their stagnant life had found no oc- 
 casion to make much practical study of her grand- 
 child's character. 
 
 She reflected a moment. "I think, dear," she 
 said, "if Mr. Blake is one of the Portsmouth 
 Blakes I should like to see him. He may be go- 
 ing away ; but if you should happen to see him 
 again you might say that I should be glad if he 
 could find time to call on me." 
 
 " But I meant to tell you that he told me he 
 would send up this morning to ask if you would 
 allow him the honor of seeing you." 
 
 " Was that what he said, my dear ? You make 
 so much fun of everything lately that I am never 
 quite able to say when you are stating a fact and 
 when you are not." 
 
 " Oh, that was really what he said. He has 
 almost as beautiful manners as you have, grand- 
 mamma." 
 
228 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 "I suppose, child, he thinks, very properly, 
 that as he has to take his meals with you it is 
 well that he should know me." 
 
 " That must be it," said Olivia, with some in- 
 ward sense of amusement. 
 
 " Well, tell me a little about him. If he is 
 really a nice person I am glad you should know 
 him. In fact, Olive, it is hardly my fault that we 
 have known so few people. Octopia " — 
 
 " Please don't mention her, grandmamma : I 
 am trying to forget her. Some day she will be 
 down on us again, with pillows and hot-water bags 
 and shawls and scent bottles, and then my free- 
 dom is at an end." 
 
 " Well, child, perhaps now that " — 
 
 " Please don't, grandmamma. Let me tell you 
 about Mr. Blake : it is so much more interesting. 
 When I went down to breakfast he was walking 
 up and down under the willows, bareheaded: he 
 will be awfully freckled, poor thing ! — so I went 
 in to breakfast. There were two plates and nap- 
 kin-rings, and breakfast for ten people, — fish, and 
 clam fritters, and oysters, and ' cranberry sass,' 
 and split chickens that looked exactly like the 
 Austrian double eagles, and honey, and an archi- 
 pelago of little dishes. By and by he came in, 
 — Mr. Blake, I mean, — and said, ' Good-morn- 
 ing,' — which really was not very original, — and 
 then put a book at his side and began to eat and 
 now and then to read. He ate a good deal, too." 
 
 "Well, and what did he say, child?" 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 229 
 
 " You could n't guess in a week." 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 " Well, after a while, between two griddle-cakes 
 he looked up from his book in a dreamy sort of 
 way, and, just as if I had been reading it too, he 
 said, ' Did you ever notice how some people stum- 
 ble over themselves ? ' 
 
 " I said, ' Yes, it was very common.' 
 
 " You know I had n't the least idea what he 
 meant; but he had been so silent I wanted to 
 help the conversation. 
 
 " Then he went on to add that he was glad I 
 understood, because he was not sure his thought 
 had been clear even to himself, but that, after all, 
 perplexity was the father of discovery ; upon which 
 I conversationally collapsed and asked him what 
 was its grandmother. 
 
 " We both laughed at that, and then we had a 
 really pleasant talk, because he was reading Rus- 
 kin, you know, — the first volume." 
 
 " No, I do not ; but that does n't matter." 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot two things. Mr. — I mean 
 Uncle John — is coming to see you. There will 
 be quite a levee. I thought that perhaps if you 
 knew him you would let me go over to the beaches 
 with him ; and I must see the beaches." 
 
 "And what else?" 
 
 " There is a letter from Mr. Pennell. Shall I 
 read it to you ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Addenda ! How did he get that name ? I 
 
230 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 wish Octopia would marry him : I should love to 
 call her Mrs. Addenda Pennell." 
 
 " Do go on, child. I never heard your tongue 
 run at such a rate." 
 
 " Well, Addenda says : — 
 
 " Dear Miss Wynne, — I inclose draft on the 
 Cape May Bank as desired. Please acknowledge. 
 Miss Darnell is looking better, but is, quite natu- 
 rally, I think, irritated at your desire to get away 
 from her. You will permit me to say, as an old 
 friend, that the more I think it over the less does 
 it seem to me quite right. I should be a great 
 deal more comfortable if you would allow me to 
 tell her where you are. I rather hastily agreed to 
 keep her in ignorance, and have kept my word ; 
 but it will of course be as difficult as it would be 
 unkind to continue to do so. She has been a good 
 friend to you and yours ; and while I can see that 
 the irritability caused by her long ill health may 
 have been too much for you to bear and may have 
 made temporary absence desirable, I cannot think 
 that your way of getting it was wise or quite kind. 
 " Pray forgive my freedom of speech, and think 
 it over afresh, and perhaps after a talk with your 
 grandmother you may agree with me. I may il- 
 lustrate the absurdity of the situation by telling 
 you that a Mr. Blake — one of the well-known 
 Portsmouth family — came here to ask where he 
 could find your grandmother. As I always keep 
 my word, I was put in the ridiculous position of 
 having to say I knew, but could not tell him. I 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 231 
 
 think he discovered soon, after all, about your 
 present residence. You can now see how odd the 
 whole affair must seem to a stranger. 
 
 "Miss Darnell desires her love to you and to 
 Mrs, Wynne, and begs me to add that, while she 
 misses greatly your gentle care, she is too self-re- 
 spectful to make any further effort to find you. 
 Mr. Darnell is still with her. 
 
 " Yrs., with esteem and respect, 
 
 " A. Pbnkell." 
 
 " It is exactly as I told you it would be, Olive," 
 said Mrs. Wynne. " Of course Octopia feels hurt 
 about Richard." 
 
 " And how can I help that ? I may be sorry 
 for her " (she did not say she was), " but I cannot 
 help her." 
 
 " Well, I never could quite understand why you 
 disliked him so much." 
 
 " But I only did not like him. I did not dislike 
 him." 
 
 " Well, it amounted to the same thing," said 
 Mrs. Wynne, with the persistency of decrepit 
 logic. " And now we have made an enemy of 
 your cousin. As to her being really in earnest in 
 her threats and her willfulness, I don't believe it. 
 Octopia is not a bad woman, Olivia, but when a 
 woman suffers as she does, the pain seems to tie 
 her fast to herself, so that the rights of well peo- 
 ple seem very unimportant. Pain does make 
 people selfish, my dear." 
 
 The speech was long and the reflections unii- 
 
232 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 sual to Olive's experience of her old relative ; but 
 they did not shake the younger woman's opinions. 
 Octopia was of course more or less an enigma to 
 one so inexperienced and who could not guess how 
 immensely her cousin was influenced in her recent 
 conduct by overwhelming affection for her brother. 
 Nor did the girl value herself enough as yet to 
 appreciate the passion which her attractiveness 
 aroused in a man like Darnell. She was utterly 
 free from that vanity which society so readily culti- 
 vates in the genial soil of feminine natures. We 
 may be permitted to doubt if Eve was bom vain. 
 
 Olivia had often found it safe to advocate de- 
 lay, since for Mrs. Wynne it was always easier 
 to provide for to-morrow's wants than for to-day's 
 demands, and she thought of next week as the 
 least importunate of creditors. 
 
 " On the whole, Olive, I think we might wait 
 a little," she said ; " and, as Mr. Pennell has prom- 
 ised a visit, you might ask him to come soon and 
 then we could talk it all over." 
 
 Meanwhile, Olivia's mind was much more im- 
 mediately intent on the few words about Blake, 
 which enormously excited her curiosity and of 
 which she expected her grandmother to speak next. 
 Before, however, that matter could be in turn dis- 
 cussed, a knock was heard at the door, and there 
 entered a rather weather-worn maid, who usually 
 while she waited on table hummed a Methodist 
 hymn-tune to a castanet accompaniment of clatter- 
 ing plates and dishes. 
 
kdLANl) BLAKE. ^33 
 
 " The young man down-stairs that came yester- 
 day — his name I disremember," — a word which 
 ought to be in better society, — " might he come 
 up and see you, ma'am ? " 
 
 Before the two ladies had leisure further to con- 
 sider what his errand might be, Roland Blake en- 
 tered. Mrs. Wynne had but time to secure her 
 carved Chinese fan and to ruffle her gloves down 
 at the wrists. 
 
 As she stood in the rather dim little white-pan- 
 eled room, before the fireplace filled with hazy 
 tops of asparagus stems gay with red berries, she 
 looked, despite her slight figure, a lady of the 
 larger world. What with the lace and the gray 
 hair falling straight below it on the forehead, the 
 thin gray side curls, the bare arms and white 
 gloves, she seemed to Blake to resemble the fairy 
 godmother of a French tale. He said afterwards 
 that he fell in love with her when she made him 
 a courtesy. 
 
 " I ventured to ask if I might call to see you, 
 madam, because it occurred to me that as we are 
 both of Portsmouth birth I should not be looked 
 upon as an entire stranger." 
 
 " If you are Roland Blake's grandson I am more 
 than glad to see you. Your mother was a Sher- 
 boume, I think. If you are not a brave soldier 
 and a good man you are no Blake." 
 
 Roland smiled. He liked the pretty little flat- 
 tery of these old-fashioned forms of compliment. 
 
 " Thank you. Madam Wynne, for all the 
 
234 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Blakes," he returned, smiling. " My mother was 
 Ann Sherbourne." 
 
 " You call me Madam Wynne. Once every 
 one called me Madam Wynne. I shall begin to 
 think you very aged, sir." It was pleasant to see 
 the old lady's fine manner as she talked. 
 
 " You are not forgotten in Portsmouth yet," he 
 said. " People still talk about Madam Wynne ; 
 but until within a few days I was stupid enough 
 not to identify you with my old home." 
 
 She had stood but a moment. " Sit down," 
 she said, — "a little nearer, please. I want to see 
 if you are like your mother." And she looked at 
 him steadily, to Olivia's amusement. " No ; you 
 favor the Blakes ; but you are not as handsome 
 as your grandfather was." 
 
 " But I have the advantage of being alive and 
 of seeing you to-day, which is only a just compen- 
 sation," he returned. 
 
 Olivia thought he talked like a gentleman of 
 her grandmother's time, — which was true for the 
 moment. He was himself unconscious of possess- 
 ing that rare form of courtliness which makes 
 every woman the queen of the moment. 
 
 " I see," said Mrs. Wynne, toying with her 
 ivory fan, " that you have inherited some of the 
 ways of those dangerous ancestors of yours. I am 
 so old that I can say I like you, Roland Blake. 
 Now I am tired. Come and see me again." 
 
 Roland rose, bowed, said a word or two of of- 
 fered service, and left the room. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 235 
 
 " Why, grandmamma, you did not say a word 
 about why Mr. Blake wished to see you ; and I 
 am dying of curiosity." 
 
 " My dear Olive, I forgot it. However, it can 
 wait. I will ask him to-morrow. I like the young 
 man; he has good manners. All those Blakes 
 were nice people. And now you had better write 
 to Mr. Pennell ; you need not mention Octopia ; 
 and then, dear, I should like a little reading." 
 
 Before Olivia had written a line they were in- 
 terrupted by a second knock. " Uncle John Les- 
 lie, — might he come in ? " Mrs. Wynne thought 
 he might, if he did not stay long. 
 
 Despite much experience. Uncle John knocked 
 his head against the door-lintel, — which never 
 ceased to astonish him. He seemed to fill the 
 room, — a great man with close-cropped gray hair 
 and a nose like a headland. 
 
 The old lady said, " How do you do, Mr. Les- 
 lie ? " and for a moment her hand was lost in the 
 huge brown freckled paw which frankly sought 
 her grasp. 
 
 " I guessed, marm," said he, " as the young 
 lady was wantin' to go round with me a bit, you 
 might like to see me ; not as I 'm much to see 
 'ceptin' for bigness." And he laughed. 
 
 The old lady looked him over coolly. She was 
 getting to be very much more alive than she had 
 been. 
 
 " I think I may trust you," she said. 
 
 " Jus' you leave her to me, marm. There shan't 
 no mawsel of harm come to her." 
 
236 ROLANi) BLAKE. 
 
 " And what are your terms, Mr. Leslie ? of 
 course I cannot expect you to give us your time 
 for nothing." 
 
 Uncle John smiled all over his hairy brown 
 face. " Guess 1 11 take it out in eddication, marm. 
 She did tell me she knowed French." 
 
 Mrs. Wynne did not like jokes from her infe- 
 riors. " I do not understand you," she said. 
 
 Olivia, who was quick and tactful, interposed, 
 " Uncle John and I will arrange all that on the 
 ' mashes.' Isn't that good Jersey, Uncle John ? " 
 The captain hospitably distributed another ample 
 laugh to his entire economy ; Mrs. Wynne said, 
 " Very well : arrange it, dear, as you please ; " 
 and then at last the letter was written. 
 
 A few days later Roland Blake wrote to 
 Francis : — 
 
 My deae Phil, — I begin to think the world 
 a very amusing place, despite your melancholic 
 calumnies. There is no need to squint it into 
 duplicity. I greatly regret that you are not to 
 join me sooner. There is some fishing, — poor 
 fun at best after a man has once handled a salmon. 
 As to shooting, you can get a few beach-birds, if 
 you want them. For my part, I am given over to 
 a love-affair with my Lady Nature, who smiles at 
 me from the skies and blushes for me in the sun- 
 sets, and bedecks herself with autumn primroses 
 and golden-rods, and yesterday scolded in an east 
 wind. How fair and peaceful it is, and how far 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 237 
 
 away from the horrors of that dreadful " Angle " 
 at Spottsylvania ! I shudder, remembering it, to 
 think how close to the devil our highest duties 
 bring us. Every angel seems to me to have a 
 twin fiend. How glad I am to be done with the 
 war business I can hardly say, nor how sadly I 
 think of the poor fellows who fought us so well. 
 
 There is no one here except, by strange 
 chance, an old lady named Wynne, who comes 
 from Portsmouth, and who is the same person you 
 came upon in your little adventure in New York. 
 Her granddaughter is with her, a tall girl, rather 
 quaintly formal at times and at others queerly 
 frank. She is a rather interesting and perplexing 
 combination of child and woman; yet she must 
 be, I should guess, at least nineteen. She knows 
 more of books than of people, but is so intelhgent 
 that I can hardly describe her as an inginue. I 
 fancy she must have lived a good deal out of the 
 world, and yet in cities. It is quite delightful to 
 see how she absorbs the loveliness of nature about 
 us, as if it were an interesting book and old Time 
 were standing by like a lover to turn the pages. 
 It is a drawback that she is related to that fellow 
 Darnell. However, I forget always that I talk 
 and must talk enigmatically when I speak of him 
 to you, and indeed to any one. Should he by any 
 chance turn up here, it wiU be — well, very un- 
 pleasant ; but when you come I will try to talk to 
 you a little more freely. Why not bring Miss 
 Francis down with you ? Yours, R. B. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " The punishment of another life may be to know too much." 
 
 " Truth could not speak to me with truer tongue. 
 When loTe doth lay his hand on age's heart. 
 The music that it beats is more eternal 
 Than all the feverish trumpetings of youth 
 That would out-protest nature/' 
 
 Whtt,b Roland Blake was studying nature in 
 more fashions than he was well aware of, Octopia 
 had reached a comparatively tranquil state of 
 mind. She was not capable of prolonged anger, 
 and what temptation the savagery of this passion 
 brought her was brief. Moreover, her brother 
 was becoming again, as he had often been before, 
 a source of grave anxiety. The war being over, 
 he was enabled to go about as freely as he pleased, 
 and this unchecked liberty had been serious 
 enough in its consequences. 
 
 He threw himself on a lounge one evening in 
 his sister's room, and said, " Octy, I am out of 
 money." 
 
 " Out of money ! " she said. " Why, Dick, I 
 gave you a hundred dollars last week. And you 
 said that you were about to receive the money 
 you left in Virginia." 
 
 " And what then, Octy ? " 
 
 " How did you get two thousand dollars, Dick? 
 I forgot to ask you." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 239 
 
 He hesitated, as he always did about lying: it 
 was curiously disagreeable to him, — perhaps be- 
 cause he connected it with ideas of cowardice. 
 
 " Well, I won it at play." 
 
 She was too shrewd to believe this. " For 
 shame, Dick ! " she said. " Nonsense ! " 
 
 He had to say something, and he was of course 
 unable to tell her the hideous truth. 
 
 "Well, why not, Octy?" 
 
 "Money was not so plenty in our poor Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 " Then, if you must know, it was money which 
 was to have paid for my journey to England." 
 
 " But I thought that had been given up. You 
 said so." 
 
 " Only postponed ; and I had not turned in the 
 cash again : my capture, you see, prevented it." 
 
 " But you surely did not spend that money? " 
 
 "Yes. I succeeded in getting it sent to me: 
 one of my friends had it in his care when I went 
 to the army ; and, if you must know, I spent it — 
 lost it — in the Gold Koom." 
 
 " Oh, Dick ! " 
 
 "Really, Octy, you are wonderful! Do you 
 suppose I meant to turn it over to Uncle Sam ? " 
 
 The ethical situation perplexed her, as he had 
 meant it should. 
 
 " I wish you had not done it." 
 
 " Better luck next time." 
 
 " And what now ? What do you mean to do ? 
 I have still about five thousand dollars. My small 
 
240 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 reserve of money in bank has almost gone. It is 
 slipping through my fingers and slipping out of 
 yours as fast as you get it." 
 
 " Yes, I have had bad fortune." 
 
 " And worse management. If you were even 
 reasonably prudent I feel sure that you could 
 marry Olivia. You are fast making it impossi- 
 ble." 
 
 " I did my best. I really do care for that girl ; 
 but no man can force a woman to marry him, and, 
 after all, you promised a great deal and did very 
 little. If you have any real influence over that 
 fool of an old woman, you might have used it. I 
 don't believe it amounts to anything after all." 
 
 " You are mistaken." 
 
 " Then use it. We know now where they are, 
 and it must be clear enough to you that we can't 
 live on air." 
 
 " I am willing enough to try again ; but I must 
 feel a little more certain of how we stand." 
 
 She believed at present that she had never 
 meant to use the secret she possessed further than 
 to secure her a home and indulgence in her crav- 
 ing for power and devotion, and at least the easily 
 believed show of affection desired by such invalids 
 as she. 
 
 When her too eager greed for sway and sym- 
 pathy began to fail of response, she had found it 
 needful, in her quite gentle deprecatory way, to 
 remind Mrs. Wynne and at last Olivia of their 
 debt to her. Then came the fiercer temptation 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 241 
 
 to assist her brother's love-affair, and she began 
 to substitute threats for mere hints, always reserv- 
 ing to herself the power to withdraw, and never 
 truly resolute to use implacably the weapon she 
 carried. She had been selling her soul in frac- 
 tions, but was irresolute as to completing the trans- 
 action. 
 
 At last she said, " And what is it you want, 
 Dick?" 
 
 "I want that woman, because I love her; 
 that is what I want. I want money for you and 
 for me, and I must have it. Mrs. Wynne has far 
 more than she can need ; you and I have nothing. 
 It appears to me, Octy, that the problem is of the 
 utmost simplicity. If I had ten or fifteen thousand 
 dollars I could use it so as to make us both rich. 
 Now is the time." 
 
 The cynical coolness of his statement appalled 
 his sister. Until of late she had clung to the 
 belief that although wild, reckless, and master- 
 ful he was free from the baser vices. She shud- 
 dered as she realized what she had done to tempt ; 
 him. 
 
 " And how do you propose, Dick, to get ten 
 thousand dollars ? Gratitude goes for little when 
 one comes to ask for its equivalent in coin. If 
 you or I were to say to Mrs. Wynne, ' Lend us 
 ten thousand dollars,' — I don't say ' give it,' I 
 never will do that ; but ' lend it,' — she would 
 laugh in your face." 
 
 " Not if I knew what you say you know. By 
 
242 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 George ! I have half a mind to try what the mere 
 threat will do." 
 
 " Dick," she said, starting up, " you can't mean 
 it!" 
 
 " Why not ? I am at my wits' end. I must 
 live. I can't work. If you never desired it, why 
 the deuce did you suggest it ? The fact is, you 
 would like to do it and are afraid." 
 
 She looked at him steadily. He was flushed. 
 Had he been drinking ? It accounted to her in 
 some degree for his unusual bluntness. A new 
 agony was on her. 
 
 " Dick, Dick," she said, and choked, so that she 
 ceased to speak and merely held him by the 
 sleeve, — " you could not, Dick ! — you cannot ! I 
 have been wrong, — wicked ! Don't say I tempted 
 you ; that is too dreadful. And — and — what I 
 do does n't matter ; but you, — a Darnell, a gentle- 
 man ! Dick, teU me you won't. I will do any- 
 thing for you. Only say you did not mean it." 
 
 The crime she herself had contemplated in his 
 interest and her own became to her monstrous 
 when he himself proposed to enact it. Her char- 
 ity had always covered his sins, but now at last it 
 was no longer possible. Shuddering she turned 
 from the naked crime she could no longer hide 
 with excuses. 
 
 He certainly understood her but too well. It 
 emphasized his own irregular knowledge of his 
 degradation that she should so clearly see it. Nor 
 was it his wish to alarm her. In her excitements 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 243 
 
 she was heroically capable, — a woman of ex- 
 tremes. He had known her to go to strange 
 lengths. He rarely drank, but to-day her suspi- 
 cion was correct. It had made him rough and 
 careless. 
 
 He tried the old plan of afEectionate demonstra- 
 tion. She would none of it. " I must know," 
 she said, " I must know clearly what you mean to 
 do. I wiU not help you." 
 
 " Then," said he, coldly, " the sooner we part 
 the better. I may as well speak out, I suppose. 
 I have spent my money, and I owe a lot in Wall 
 Street. Half of what you have wiU not pay it, 
 and the Yankee sharpers may whistle for it, as far 
 as I am concerned. As to the Wynnes, they have 
 treated you disgracefully, and I do not see why 
 you need be so careful of their feelings. I at least 
 do not mean to be." 
 
 She sat up, a stern look on her Italian face. 
 
 " You mean to threaten Mrs. Wynne in order 
 to get this money ? " 
 
 " I have some such idea." 
 
 " Then I will not let you do this sin. If I have 
 been wicked, I cannot bear that you should be. 
 Oh, that — that is my cruellest punishment." 
 
 "And how do you propose, my most suddenly 
 virtuous sister, to stop me ? " 
 
 "How? how?" she cried, wildly, starting up 
 to her full height, the warning sibyl not more 
 grand. "I — I have lied to you. It is not true. 
 There is nothing in it. I merely made believe I 
 
244 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 had power over them. I — I thought — oh, can't 
 you see what stufE it was ? How could I know 
 anything ? Why, you were silly, Dick ! " And 
 she laughed hysterically. 
 
 " Pshaw, Octy ! do you suppose me to be an 
 idiot? You were a little too mysterious about 
 old Arthur Wynne when you were here with him : 
 I suspected something then ; now I know." 
 
 " What do you know ? You know nothing. I 
 will say it is a lie. I lied. I tell you I lied. I 
 will say so to everybody." 
 
 " My dear sister, you have been educating Mrs. 
 Wynne too long for any such nonsense. There 
 was something wrong with Arthur Wynne and his 
 affairs, of that I am sure enough ; and it will be 
 all I need to know. Would n't it be better if we 
 made common cause? But if you will not aid 
 me I shall act alone. Now, why not tell me sensi- 
 bly all that you know, like a good girl ? " 
 
 " My God ! " she exclaimed ; " like a good 
 girl ! " 
 
 " Oh, damn it, then, like a bad one." 
 
 Octopia looked pitifully down at the manly fig- 
 ure, the flushed face, the rather delicate nose she 
 had always said was so high-bred, the too eager, 
 restless eyes. It was a moment of surpassing ag- 
 ony, on which be sure some pitying angel gazed 
 sadly. 
 
 " Brother, you have broken my heart. Tell me 
 you will not do this thing. Take all I have, — 
 take everything ; I shall not care. If I had a 
 million I would give it to you." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 245 
 
 " Oh, Octy, wliat on earth is the use of making 
 a fuss over it? Suppose we just drop it for to- 
 day?" 
 
 She had begun to know him, alas ! too well. 
 
 " No," she said ; " I must know." 
 
 " Well, I promise you I wiU do nothing for a 
 week or two. Could you let me have a little 
 money ? " 
 
 " Anything," she said, drearily, and went slowly 
 to her room. 
 
 Presently she came back and put her check- 
 book on the table. Standing beside it, she said, 
 " Please to fill in the check. I can't write : my 
 hand shakes." 
 
 It would be hard to say why this troubled 
 him, but it did. He sat down. " I don't want 
 much," he said. 
 
 " Fill it for a hundred dollars, Dick." He did 
 so. She took the seat he vacated, and writing 
 slowly, signed the check, scrupulously used the 
 blotter, and made entry of the amount drawn, 
 finding some assistance in this mechanical repeti- 
 tion of the ordinary little routine. 
 
 " Thank you, Octy," he said, kissing her. 
 
 " You are welcome, I suppose," she replied, and 
 could not help adding, " I have thirty-five dollars 
 left for expenses." 
 
 " But you told me you had five thousand dol- 
 lars." 
 
 "I have still four thousand in Mr. Pennell's 
 hands. He pays me interest. I have drawn in 
 
246 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 two weeks nearly five hundred. You best know, 
 Dick, where it has gone. I don't grudge it ; I am 
 only explaining." 
 
 In fact, she was by temperament prodigal, and 
 did not value money. She was sinking in a hope- 
 less quagmire of self-abasement and despair, so 
 that gold had for her no more physical value 
 than it has for the wretch alone in mid-Atlantic 
 surges. 
 
 "I didn't want to take so much," he said, "I 
 shall return it some day, and pretty soon, too." 
 
 Darnell felt the petty meanness of his recent 
 calls on her slender resources, being more open 
 to small remorses than to great ones. He had 
 the unthinking physical courage of a panther, 
 with some educated disinclination to oppress the 
 weak or to take small dishonorable advantages at 
 play or in the formal duels in which he had been 
 more than once engaged. He was, of course, 
 undergoing slow molecular moral disintegration, 
 but as yet he found greater temptings in large 
 wickedness than in small baseness. There are 
 men who will murder, but will not lie, who may 
 be guilty of astounding betrayals, but would not 
 rob a till. In crime the greater does not always 
 involve the less, and the amount of temptation 
 scarcely answers to explain the idiosyncrasies of 
 criminal natures. 
 
 When he said he was sorry and would soon re- 
 turn the money, he meant it for the minute ; for 
 what hope is like the gambler's, which finds food 
 in failure ? 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 247 
 
 " Well, never mind," she returned, In the same 
 dull monotone she had used throughout the last 
 sad minutes of their talk. " It does n't matter. 
 My money is your money. As it always was, so 
 it always will be." 
 
 " I will not ask you for another cent, Octy." 
 
 " I told you, Dick, that I did not care about 
 that. It is your threat that troubles me." 
 
 " I don't mean it to disturb you. After all, it 
 was only a wild scheme of mine to make these 
 people put their gratitude in a tangible form. We 
 won't talk about it any more." 
 
 "Very well," she said; but she observed that 
 he had not said he would not go on with the wick- 
 edness to which she had in a measure lured him. 
 He kissed her again, and went out, leaving her 
 physically exhausted. 
 
 She sat where he left her, thinking fruitlessly 
 of her innocent girlhood, and tried to go forward 
 from those happier days and explain to herself 
 how she had fallen as she had done. But honest 
 self-analysis is always too pitiless a task to be 
 easy for women of her sensitive temperament. If 
 only she could have thrown herself on some good 
 woman's breast and sobbed out her confession of 
 regrets, remorses, and sorrowful disappointments, 
 it would have been what she needed. There was 
 no one she could seek, and her religion had been 
 but a form, and was commonly put away like a 
 marker between the leaves of her prayer-book. 
 
 Why confession to another should be comfort- 
 
248 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ing is as yet one of the unanswered questions of 
 the human heart. The mere telling of a thing, 
 be it large or little, is pleasurable to the mass of 
 mankind. The instinct which makes us chatter 
 forth our useless comments on the trifles of the 
 day bids speak the poet and the preacher. His- 
 tory counts as few the heroes who could hold their 
 tongues, and even crime distests the loneliness of 
 silence. 
 
 Octopia did not believe that her brother's calls 
 upon her would cease, as he had promised. The 
 knowledge that there was money within his reach 
 had always been too much for Darnell to resist in 
 his better days ; and now, no consideration was 
 likely to stand long in his way. A fortnight 
 passed by, however, before he again drew upon 
 her slender purse, when he explained that he had 
 had a little good luck, — for which, as he had 
 been tranquil in the mean while, his sister felt 
 sadly thankful, — but that now he really must ask 
 her for a thousand doUars. 
 
 At first she declared that it was out of the ques- 
 tion. He then told her that he now knew Mrs. 
 Wynne to be near or at Cape May, because, hav- 
 ing called on Mr. Pennell a few days before, he 
 had been told by an unwarned and incautious 
 clerk that he had gone to Cape May to see Mrs. 
 Wynne. 
 
 Octopia had little doubt that he was correct in 
 his guess, and was soon made to feel that what he 
 said to her was a hint that he meant to see Mrs. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 249 
 
 Wynne in case of need. She said he should have 
 the money ; and in answer to a note Mr. Pennell 
 appeared that evening in her drawing-room. He 
 had seen her once or twice since his last visit, to 
 arrange some matters in regard to Mrs. Wynne's 
 furniture, and nothing more had passed between 
 them as to the affairs discussed when last they 
 met. 
 
 She came down presently. " You are very kind 
 to be so prompt," she said. " I am used now to 
 unkindness, and I really feel the friendliness of an 
 immediate call from so busy a man." 
 
 Her soft voice and a certain graciousness of 
 manner put him at his ease; but his last rebuff 
 had left him shy and doubtful. 
 
 " Oh, I am not so very busy. I do hope you 
 feel that you may count on my being always at 
 your service." 
 
 " Not always," she said, smiling ; " but now 
 that I know where Mrs. Wynne is, I shall quite 
 forgive you." She could not resist this little show 
 of power. 
 
 He answered promptly, "I am glad you do 
 know. I considered the whole thing very — well, 
 very inconsiderate, and perhaps I might even say 
 foolish ; but, after all, you must see that I had no 
 resource except to say I would not tell. I owe a 
 great deal to the Wynne family. I could not do 
 otherwise than I did. I should have told you in 
 a few days, however." 
 
 " Mrs. Wynne may rest easy. I shall not trou- 
 
250 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ble her. I certainly did not look for the treat- 
 ment I have received. If at any time she had 
 allowed me to see that I was unwelcome, I should 
 have been spared some pain." 
 
 "It was certainly very strange." 
 
 " It has but one good effect, Mr. Pennell : it 
 makes your constant kindness to me in these last 
 few years seem the more valuable because you at 
 least owe me nothing, — or even less than noth- 
 ing," she added, faintly blushing. 
 
 Almost without consciousness of the fact, she 
 was using her undoubted grace of voice and per- 
 son. In her recent intercourse with Pennell she 
 had hurt her own self-esteem, — that quality which 
 answers for conscience in the selfish, — and had 
 shocked a man whose respect she desired, just as 
 she more or less craved some contribution from 
 all who came near her. Aware of the flush on 
 her face, she took up her fan and used it for a 
 moment with nervous vigor, as Pennell's embar- 
 rassment returned. 
 
 " It is hardly worth while," he said, " to discuss 
 such very small debts as — as yours to me. After 
 what happened when — I mean, I misunderstood 
 you, — oh, yes, I have been thinking about it, 
 and I am quite sure I misunderstood you, — I 
 hardly could hope you would ever send for me 
 again or ask any service of me." 
 
 His eyes rose timidly from her slender feet and 
 dainty slippers to the face almost joyously lit up 
 by large - eyed illumination as he spoke. She 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 251 
 
 liked the words, and felt pleased at being made 
 sure that she had not lost a subject's reverent 
 homage ; yet, knowing men, she had a sudden de- 
 sire to ascertain if he honestly believed what he 
 said. Had she not had for him some ample leaven 
 of strong liking, she would not have cared. A 
 mob of liliputian motives assailed her, — a sense of 
 relief in his good opinion, a faint shame at unmer- 
 ited praise, a little dislike to being patronized by 
 Addenda Pennell's goodness, a mean pride which 
 sought to prefer to justify the evil she had meant 
 rather than to accept his explanation. 
 
 She hesitated, now smiling, and at last grave. 
 In this little heart - parliament many speakers 
 claimed the floor. At last, as he sat in wonder at 
 her silence, she said, proudly, — 
 
 "You are wrong. I cannot have you think 
 that you misunderstood me. I was angry with 
 Mrs. Wynne, and I was carried away by my pas- 
 sion. I told you that if you would help me to 
 punish her for her ingratitude to me I — I — you 
 know what I said. I wish to state that I meant 
 what I said. I will not have you think me good 
 when I know that I was not." 
 
 " Miss Darnell ! " 
 
 " Oh, it is true ; and I can thank you to-day 
 that you were honest with me. I do thank you," 
 she added, with real earnestness ; for as she talked 
 about it the unconcealment of uttered words made 
 the sin show darkly, and she said more than had 
 been in her mind when she began. Speech is 
 sometimes a friendly traitor. 
 
252 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I am sorry," said Pennell, kindly. "I should 
 have liked to be assured that I misunderstood you. 
 I am the last man to feel that there may not be 
 temptings to do wrong which I cannot compre- 
 hend. I have seen things in my own life, Miss 
 Darnell, which make me feel sure that no one can 
 fully know or measure the force of another's 
 temptations. You have forced me to see that a 
 woman I — that a friend has meant to do wrong ; 
 but you have not done that wrong, and it never 
 will be done." 
 
 " Thank you," she said, while over her came 
 some consciousness of the presence of a larger, 
 simpler nature than her own, and of such helpful 
 support as encourages all that is good in us to 
 cast away the weak crutches of self-cheatery and 
 of explanations plausible only to our self-esteem. 
 
 She had said she thanked him; and it was 
 true. Then she added, " I wish " — and her voice 
 broke. 
 
 " Please don't," said Pennell. " I dare say I 
 have hurt you." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! You have been a good friend to 
 me. I wanted to say that I wish I could say more 
 than that. I cannot. I am a fool ! Oh, there are 
 so many — too many — things in life ! " 
 
 " Yes," he said, with great effort at seK-control, 
 " life is confusing to us all. Miss Octopia, — very 
 confusing. But you must not trouble yourself 
 about me. I do not think that I ought to believe 
 myself deserving of so great a gift as — as what 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 253 
 
 you are so kind as to speak of. I have put away 
 the thought, or at least the expectation : let us 
 say no more of it. You sent for me. What can 
 I do for you ? I have a hope that there is some 
 real service you are going to ask. A friend in 
 need of him is the best friend a man can have." 
 
 " That is a pretty reading of the proverb," she 
 said, smiling, and feeling that her eyes were too 
 full and might run over. " I do not want much. 
 You have four thousand dollars of mine. It is in 
 a mortgage, I think." 
 
 "Yes, — in St. Louis, a very satisfactory invest- 
 ment. It pays eight per cent. What about it ? " 
 
 " I want you to let me have one thousand of the 
 four thousand." 
 
 " But in that case it would have to be called in, 
 — which it cannot be, as it has two years to run." 
 
 " But I must have it." 
 
 " Then I will arrange the matter : it is easy 
 enough. When do you want it ? " 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " You shall have it ; but — will you pardon me 
 if I ask why you want it ? " 
 
 " I would rather not say." 
 
 " Then I shall not ask you ; but pray remember 
 that now and always I am at your disposal." 
 
 She rose and put out her hand : " You have 
 done more for me to-day than I can repay. Good- 
 by." 
 
 " I will send you a check to-morrow," he said, 
 and, going out, left her to her thoughts. 
 
254 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 They were not all pleasant. Her recent need 
 to think of others had beneficently taken her out- 
 side of the slowly-narrowing circle of self-care and 
 self-contemplation, and, by relieving her of some 
 of the morbid habits of disease, had greatly bet- 
 tered her physical condition. The mind rose in 
 the scale of soundness with the body, — slowly, of 
 course, as when one long crouching in slavery, 
 straightening himself, tends to walk erect. To 
 do right became more easy, because to see the 
 right grew more possible. The changes were 
 fractional and irregular ; but surely when Olivia 
 hurried her relative away she did Octopia a ser- 
 vice of inestimable proportions. 
 
 For a while she sat now as one still under the 
 solemnizing influence of a grave moral lesson. 
 She thought of the man who had read her so po- 
 tent a sermon out of his abounding honesty and 
 tenderness. Unhappily, she had a capacity for 
 seeing only the conventionally ridiculous rather 
 than the not unfriendly humorous aspects of life, 
 and she found herself thinking of the uneasy 
 freckled hands, and of the tormented hat with 
 which Pennell shyly helped his embarrassments. 
 
 She reproached herself a little, and then her 
 brother appeared upon the stage of her conscious- 
 ness. If the time came when, her money being 
 gone, he would begin to carry out his schemes 
 relentlessly, what resource would there be ? The 
 wrong she had thought of as possible he would 
 do. Should she tell Mr. Pennell or Mrs. Wynne 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 255 
 
 that he really knew nothing? That might an- 
 swer ; but could she do it ? She would wait and 
 see. The waiters on the providence of time are 
 apt to be unconscious servants of the devil. Then, 
 aware that she was chilly and tremulous from 
 over-excitement, she rang for Judith, and, quite 
 unstrung, gave way to nervousness, and for a day 
 or two made the poor old servant uncomfortable 
 with her unending desire for sympathetic atten- 
 tion. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Out of tlie strong shall sweetness come, 
 Love's honey be the meat of life." 
 
 Meanwhile, three weeks had passed by at the 
 little seaside village. 
 
 Roland Blake found the life sufficingly agree- 
 able. He paid a daily visit to Mrs. Wynne, and 
 made her happy by listening to her genealogical 
 details of his own and other New England fami- 
 lies and her memories of a past which he found 
 interesting. 
 
 She had asked him on one occasion why he had 
 desired to see her, and he had said it was a matter 
 of a quite personal nature, and that he hoped to 
 explain it before long. Would Mrs. Wynne do 
 him the great kindness not to urge him further in 
 regard to it ? She was not fully satisfied, but did 
 not see her way clear as to insisting, and Olivia, 
 who was learning to trust him, and to whom her 
 grandmother had reported his words, thought that 
 really no more could be said at present ; and so 
 the matter rested. 
 
 Now and then, after he had come to know them 
 well, he read to tbe old lady, to Olive's great re- 
 lief, as she had grown rather weary of this form 
 of duty. At other times he answered Olivia's or 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 257 
 
 Mrs. Wynne's numberless questions as to the great 
 war in whicli lie had been an actor, but of the 
 horrors of which he talked with characteristic 
 reluctance. Mrs. Wynne being now quite at ease 
 about him, Olivia enjoyed such reasonable freedom 
 as liberal circumstance provided, and in this calm 
 atmosphere developed in mind and body to a de- 
 gree which had been impossible amidsb the exas- 
 perations and morbidness of her former surround- 
 ings. 
 
 The quiet breakfast-hour was a daily pleasure. 
 Blake puzzled her at times, but interested her 
 always, and his gravity gave her a half -felt sense 
 of his being older than he was, and enabled her to 
 think and speak with ease. 
 
 " I wish," he said at breakfast one morning, 
 " that my friend Francis would come. He writes 
 me that he will be here to-morrow, and then puts 
 it off. I would like you to know him. Your 
 grandmother would delight him." 
 
 Olivia was not over-eager to see the new man, 
 — why, she did not ask herself. The life she led 
 was full of wholesome, tranquil joy, and needed 
 no addition to its sum of satisfactions. 
 
 " When he comes, I suppose you will take to 
 fishing and shooting." 
 
 " He may. I have seen shooting enough. I 
 don't think I shall want to see a fly killed the re- 
 mainder of my days." 
 
 " Or a mosquito ? " 
 
 " Well, that 's going pretty far. Did you hear 
 
258 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Uncle John say yesterday that whenever a mos- 
 quito bites a Jerseyman it dies ' pizened ' ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. How delightful he is ! Don't you 
 think there is a quaint vein of poetry in him ? 
 But about Mr. Francis — what sort of a person is 
 he ? Tell me everything." 
 
 " The call on me is a large one," Blake an- 
 swered, smiling. " No one man can competently 
 describe another : it requires a man and a woman. 
 Miss Wynne. Outside, Phil is a mildly cynical 
 commentary on the world about him. If you be- 
 lieved what he says, you would think ill enough 
 of your fellows, including Philip Francis. What 
 he does is always kind and correct. He insists 
 that he is valuable to me because he represents 
 commonplace opinion. I think he has the grave 
 defect of enjoying the ridiculous more than the 
 humorous." 
 
 " Oh ! like Octopia, — my cousin Octopia Dar- 
 nell." 
 
 " Octopia ! Pardon me — but what a droll 
 
 name 
 
 " It does not strike me so now. It was Octopie 
 when her great-grandmother owned it : she was 
 French, I believe ; we have some Huguenot blood. 
 It is not half so odd to me as the name of my 
 grandmamma's business-man, — Addenda Pennell. 
 Imagine the calamity of being called Addenda ! 
 It ought to prevent a man's ever getting married." 
 
 Blake laughed, and amused himself with bal- 
 ancing his spoon on the lip of his coffee-cup while 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 259 
 
 he thought a moment of Pennell and his clocks, 
 and of his own en-and, the fulfillment of which he 
 kept on postponing from day to day. 
 
 " I am quite sure you will like him," she con- 
 tinued. " He will be here yery soon." 
 
 " Indeed 1 How soon ? " 
 
 " Oh, I cannot say. You wiU know he is here 
 when you see a tall man with a slight stoop and 
 an embarrassing friendship for his hat. When you 
 come to see more of him you will find him a pain- 
 fully accurate person, with a craze — I mean a nice 
 kind of craze — for clocks and queer reading, and 
 as shy as a swallow." 
 
 " I can see him. What a joy he will be to 
 Francis ! — Addenda ! By the way, would you 
 mind telling me what your own name is, Miss 
 Wynne ? I think it is pleasant to know people's 
 names." 
 
 " Olivia," she said, and the gray eyes rose to 
 his across the table. 
 
 " Olivia," he repeated, and then had a faint im- 
 pression that it would be pleasant to call her that. 
 " I should think people who cared for you would 
 like to caU you Olivia." 
 
 " It 's not very descriptive." 
 
 " I don't know," he said. " It rolls out softly 
 from one's lips. Shall you sketch to-day, or are 
 we to have our long-promised visit to the 
 beaches ? " 
 
 " Grandmamma is quite willing I should go 
 whenever Uncle John and our nice old landlady 
 
260 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 can arrange it. Mrs. Ludlam says she is ' waitin 
 for them chicken-grapes to git a little more sun ; ' 
 and I believe that the business of the grape jelly 
 will come off to-morrow. Can you go with us ? " 
 
 " I ? Of course. And to-day ? " 
 
 " I thought I should like to sketch the mead- 
 ows." 
 
 " Very good. I will have my cigar under the 
 wiUows and be ready whenever you appear." 
 
 He rose, and as she went out of the room, the 
 young man, looking after her, took note of the 
 proud carriage of the head and its coil of brown 
 hair. At the door she turned, smiling. " I give 
 you a half hour," she said. 
 
 His attentive attitude struck her, the gently 
 grave face, the look of vigor and masculine force. 
 She went up-stairs humming an air and thinking 
 how pleasant it all was. 
 
 As he lit his cigar and went out, he was aware 
 of the solid form of Uncle John, looking more 
 colossal than common by reason of a very short 
 and much-worn pea-jacket. 
 
 "Thought you might take it neighborly if I 
 fetched your mail up from the office. Ther 's 
 one for you and a lot of papers. Happened to 
 read one of 'em as I come along. Now the war 's 
 done ther ain't much in them papers. Oh ! and 
 ther 's one for Miss Wynne ; ye might hand it in 
 to her. I 'm kind of rushed to-day." 
 
 "Thanks, Mr. Leslie," said Blake. "I will 
 give it to her. And can you take us over to the 
 beaches to-morrow ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 261 
 
 " Should n't wonder if I could," said Leslie, re- 
 flectively, and pushing back his ragged straw hat. 
 "Ther'll be you, and Miss Wynne, and me." 
 
 » And Mrs. Ludlam." 
 
 " After chicken-grapes, as sure as ther 's sand 
 in Jersey ; all the old women gits chicken-grape 
 fever 'bout this time. Well, we '11 take the big 
 bateau. We '11 stay all day, and I '11 cook the 
 shellers for you myself. The women ken cohoot 
 together down at the old house, and me and you, 
 we '11 go a-fishin'." 
 
 " Would you kindly tell me what are shellers ? " 
 
 " Well, I do declare. Don't know shellers. Why 
 ther 's them, and there 's paper shells, and ther 's 
 soft shells, which ain't got no shells really, and 
 them 's all crabs, major ; the whole bilin' jus' like 
 people. Women is often like soft shellers, and 
 some ain't never got no shells on 'em and you 're 
 alius hurtin' 'em unexpected like." 
 
 Blake laughed outright. " Upon my word. 
 Uncle John, the women must have been unkind 
 to you in your time." 
 
 " I don't allow they were, major. What I were 
 a-tryin' to convey is that ther 's a heap of nat'ral 
 tistry in women. Chiefly ther 's two kinds." 
 
 " Well," said Blake. 
 
 " Ther 's females and shemales, major, an' that 's 
 the hul' of it." 
 
 " That is quite perfect ; but about the beaches ? " 
 
 " WeU, I '11 git the boats clean and we '11 settle 
 how we shall go to-morrow." 
 
262 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 The major's errand began more and more to 
 embarrass him, — to assume, indeed, a somewhat 
 ridiculous aspect. It was one thing to decide 
 that he owed a duty, quite another to act up 
 to this decision with people like these, who were 
 of his own world and seemingly well able to take 
 care of themselves. What, too, was their relation 
 to Darnell? and where was he ? On the whole, it 
 seemed well to wait, and perhaps, after all, to give 
 Mr. Pennell a share of his confidence. 
 
 He was about to open his letter, when Miss 
 Wynne appeared, and he made haste to take 
 charge of her sketching materials. 
 
 " I expect you to take me to some good point of 
 view. Major Blake," she said, as they moved up 
 the road. 
 
 " I think I know the place. But may I ask you 
 not to call me major? I should like to forget the 
 war and go back to the ways of peaceful life. I 
 dislike to talk about myself ; but I am sure you 
 will understand me." 
 
 " Yes, I understand you ; but I can't help feel- 
 ing some pride in what the North has done. I 
 see what you mean ; and yet I am afraid that if I 
 were you I should want to keep any well-won 
 title." 
 
 " As to that, I am proud enough of our work ; 
 but as to the label, I part from it with pleasure. 
 I went in as a private, and it was from circum- 
 stance rather than desire that I rose. I hated to 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 263 
 
 be paid for doing what seemed to me so clear a 
 duty." 
 
 " But every one was paid." 
 
 " No, I knew men who never took pay at all. 
 Of course they were men who could afford to do 
 without it. I never could make up my mind to 
 be paid." 
 
 " I think that was noble," said Olivia. 
 
 " Thank you. It hardly looks so large to me. 
 This way, Miss "Wynne ; and let us drop the war." 
 
 As he spoke, they came out of the low pine 
 woods. " This is the place," he said, arranging 
 her seat, and, as she sat down, throwing himself 
 on the ferns at her feet. 
 
 " It is large for a sketch," she said. " I will 
 take the wood corner and a bit of the meadows, 
 with the hay-stacks on piles. The border of brown 
 ferns comes in nicely, and those pools close by 
 with purpled arrow-weed and spatterdocks and 
 the fringes of pink salt-wort." 
 
 Around the wood edge came a small scow, 
 loaded with salt grass, on top of the heap a man 
 in a red shirt, on the bank another pulling the 
 scow. 
 
 " That is great luck ! " she cried, as she began 
 to draw. " It is like Holland, with a difference. 
 I am afraid you will be very tired before I am 
 through." 
 
 " I think I can bear it," he returned, lazily 
 stretching himself out. " But give me a scrap of 
 paper and a pencil." 
 
264 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 She tore out a leaf from her book. Then for 
 a time they were silent. 
 
 At last she said, "Why don't you talk? It 
 does not interfere with my work." 
 
 "Presently," he returned, and went on scrib- 
 bling. 
 
 After a few moments she said, " What are you 
 doing ? " 
 
 " Some nonsense-verses." 
 
 " Let me see them." 
 
 " If you like." He gave her the paper, and she 
 read them aloud : — 
 
 " What do they call you, my pretty maid ? 
 I'm a wandering day of June, she said : 
 Into the autumn woods I 've strayed. 
 And what are you doing, my pretty maid ? 
 I 'm kissing September, sir, she said : 
 Don't you see how he 's blushing red 1 " 
 
 " I like it," she said. " Might I keep it ? " 
 " If you please. It is poor stuff and at least 
 needs to be re-touched. I will better the bargain 
 by throwing in a letter for you which Uncle John 
 gave me. Pardon my forgetfulness." 
 
 He took the letters from his pocket, gave one 
 to Miss Wynne, and then, asking her permission, 
 began to read his own. It was from Francis : — 
 
 Dear Roland, — I shall be down in a week 
 or so, unless in the mean while you tire of the 
 place and the people you describe so agreeably. 
 It was odd that you should have lit on the 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 265 
 
 Wynnes. I ought to tell yoa that Mr. Darnell 
 has turned up at last, — a dark, handsome fellow, 
 with admirable soft Southern manners. He talks 
 a good deal of these Wynnes, his cousins, and I 
 rather suspect you will some day see him at the 
 shore. Very naturally, he speaks warmly of his 
 obligations to you; and yet there is something 
 about him I do not like, — I hardly know what it 
 is, and after all there is a luxury in such dislikes 
 as one cannot reasonably explain. It adds the 
 charm of mystery to the exercise of an interesting 
 human privilege. Darnell talked so much about 
 his State that when he asked about mine I said I 
 came from all the States. You Yankees are nearly 
 as bad. I rather hoped that we had put an end 
 to Stateriotism. I can see you shudder at my fee- 
 ble coinage. 
 
 I have been getting places for some of our men, 
 and shall not rest while one of them is out of a 
 place. Taking care of others is such an agreeable 
 form of self -flattery. On reflection, I think that 
 one reason why I do not quite like Darnell is his 
 name, but there are so many good causes for dis- 
 like and so many for likes that one feels as if 
 one's bread were buttered on both sides, and there- 
 fore cannot fall without coming to grief. That is 
 all pretty hazy, the result of being metaphysicked 
 too much by one R. B. 
 
 I wish I liked more people, but I. begin by not 
 liking. Your friend, 
 
 Phil. 
 
266 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 By the way, Darnell returned the money I 
 sent him when he was at Fort Delaware, and to- 
 day borrowed double tbe amount. A delay of a 
 few hours enables me to make this little contribu- 
 tion to contemporary biograpliy. But if collecting 
 the foibles of my kind amuse me, why should you 
 mourn ? 
 
 Blake looked up at tbe tranquil face above him, 
 which now glanced across the meadows, now bent 
 towards tbe sketch-block. Pretty little delicate 
 changes went over it, like faint cloud-sbadows 
 across the breadth of grassy plains she looked 
 at ; and perhaps there were also thoughts which, 
 like the birds high in air above ber, were too near 
 the sun of maiden consciousness to cast a shade 
 of expression. 
 
 " What do you do," he said, at last, looking up 
 from the letter, " when your friends vex you by 
 making believe to be other than they are ? " 
 
 The girl looked gravely down at his question- 
 ing face. " But I have no friends who are not 
 relatives ; and if I had, I should let them indulge 
 in what fancies they like, if only they cared for 
 me. You cannot imagine what an isolated life I 
 have led. I used to know a good many girls of 
 my own age in Europe, when we traveled, but we 
 were never very long anywhere ; and at home it 
 has been different, — so that what I say is really 
 true, that I do not know intimately a single girl of 
 my own age. You will think that very strange, I 
 am sure." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 267 
 
 "Then you are quite open to womanly woo- 
 ing," he said, lightly. " And pray, if you were 
 any other woman and wished to win the friendly 
 regard of Miss Wynne ' unattached,' as we said in 
 the army, how would you go about it ? " 
 
 " Oh, what a riddle ! " she cried, as she put in 
 here and there a decisive brush-touch, her head on 
 one side, contemplative. Then, as if the question 
 had captured her fuller attention, she ceased to 
 draw, and seemed to be busy a moment with the 
 far horizon and the umber pools girt round with 
 rings of red. 
 
 " To ask a woman who has no friend what man- 
 ner of friend she would desire, — now, that is very 
 interesting. Could n't you help me a little ? A 
 friend, — why, that is for life, — some one to last 
 through all changes." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I should want the friend better than I am, — 
 more just, — more exact, — oh, just every way 
 large where I am small. And charitable, — she 
 would have to be very charitable ; I need that." 
 
 " My friend Francis says charity consists mostly 
 in paying other people's moral debts." 
 
 " I don't think I shall like Mr. Francis. How 
 can he be a good friend?" 
 
 " And yet he is ; but his talk is apt to be a 
 mere masquerade." 
 
 "No, I am sure I should not like that. My 
 friend shall always mean what she says; and I 
 should want her to be very firm, and very — not 
 
268 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 afraid to tell me when I am wrong. And interest- 
 ing, too ; that I insist upon." 
 
 Blake studied with a certain contentment the 
 growth of seriousness in the eyes which looked 
 across the marshes. 
 
 " The ship we call friend will be well freighted 
 with duties," he laughed. " And how would you 
 repay all this devotion to Miss Wynne's moral 
 interests ? " 
 
 " Oh, I should love her well," said Olivia, 
 quietly. 
 
 "I am answered; Here is your letter; you 
 dropped it." 
 
 She took it as he spoke, and her face changed 
 abruptly. She had supposed it to be from Mr. 
 Pennell, her only correspondent. It was ad- 
 dressed in Octopia's handwriting. The shock was 
 rude. Then she laughed a bitter little laugh as 
 she opened the letter. " You can study the en- 
 velope while I read the contents." 
 
 He looked at the delicate thread-like writing, 
 free from strong markings. 
 
 " Writing ought to tell us something of people," 
 he said, reflectively. "I don't think it does, 
 much. Yet the hand and the head are very in- 
 timate. St. Paul says they need each other. I 
 think elaborate signatures mean self-conceit ; don't 
 you, Miss Wynne ? " 
 
 Hearing no reply, he looked up, and saw that 
 his companion was standing, her eyes full of tears, 
 the letter crumpled in her hand. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 260 
 
 Blake rose. " What is wrong ? " lie said. 
 " Are you in any trouble ? Can I be , of use to 
 you?" 
 
 "No; it is nothing, — nothing I can talk about. 
 I must go home." She was evidently much dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 He gathered up her sketch-books and paint- 
 box and camp-chair, and turned to join her. 
 
 "I am afraid," he said, "that now you need 
 that friend." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, absently ; " yes." And she 
 walked on in silence. 
 
 Many men would have found an obvious an- 
 swer. Blake did not. He was surprised for a 
 time at the strong emotion this woman's unknown 
 trouble caused him. It was great enough to give 
 rise for a few seconds to a sense of physical weak- 
 ness which annoyed him. 
 
 A vision of solemn battle-fields came before 
 him, — the dead, the agonized, for whom he had 
 had no such pang as a girl's full eyes had brought 
 him. That seemed to him inscrutable. He had 
 a feeling of helplessness unusual in his very 
 practical nature, and knew not that the true sec- 
 ond-childhood of life was on him, with its weak- 
 nesses and indecisions, its mystery and its ten- 
 derness. 
 
 The yearning to help her was too great for such 
 restraints as finer social usage and his own deli- 
 cacy of character imposed upon him. 
 
 " Miss Wynne," he said, " let me be the cold 
 
270 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 friend of just a minute. There is, I trust, no need 
 for me to say that I have no wish to know what 
 has hurt you." He tried to make his tones busi- 
 ness-like and untender, but failed, as men ought to 
 fail. " Let me advise you just to put aside your 
 trouble for an hour. Then, when you are at home 
 in the quiet of your room, try to think yourself 
 some one else, and read your letter over again. 
 That seems cool advice ; and yet I am sure it is 
 good." 
 
 Unused to kindness, the grave gentleness of his 
 manner touched her, and the good sense of his 
 words steadied her. 
 
 " No doubt you are right," she said ; " and it is 
 not very nice of me to make you the victim of my 
 annoyances. I think I have usually more self- 
 control ; and indeed I have had need for it." 
 
 Then she thrust the letter into her pocket, and 
 said resolutely, " God could not have meant one 
 to be sad to-day." 
 
 Blake liked the sudden show of self-restraint. 
 
 " No," he said, as they went through the pine 
 woods sweet with rich odors. " The air seems 
 full of gladness. I wonder if the birds so gay 
 above us have any consciousness of time. Let us 
 live in the blithe day with them for counselors, 
 and let to-morrow take counsel of them afresh." 
 
 " Ah, but there is that terrible to-morrow ! " 
 She was still thinking of what it might bring. 
 
 " To-morrow is the poet of hope," he cried, 
 laughing at his conceit; "and here is the first 
 red maple leaf, — red and gold." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 271 
 
 And ttus, with jesting talk of men and things, 
 he won her thoughts from herself and forced her 
 by the interest of his chat to forget the outside 
 world, its problems and its griefs. As one feels 
 in water the buoyancy with which it lessens our 
 weight and lifts us, she felt, without analysis of 
 its causes, the elevating and kindly support of the 
 influences this man brought to help her. 
 
 Meanwhile, the pines bent down with their 
 sombre foliage, and the southward bound birds 
 called to one another, " It is all right," and the 
 swaying golden-rods nodded socially, " We were 
 just so when we were young." And then they 
 came to the inn door, where Olivia, taking her 
 sketching material from Blake, said, " I am greatly 
 obliged to you." Upon which he returned, " You 
 will not forget my sketch," and walked away, 
 while Olivia went slowly up-stairs. They were 
 both busily thinking of one man. 
 
 Roland Blake felt that the time was near when 
 he must take some action as to Richard Darnell. 
 What had seemed a duty before he knew the 
 Wynnes had ripened by degrees into a yet more 
 imperative form of obligation. They were attrac- 
 tive people and singularly isolated. Any day 
 they might leave their present home and that be 
 still unsaid which might lead to a lifetime of re- 
 gret. He had begun to think he would talk to 
 Mr. Pennell ; and it was a relief to feel sure that 
 with Darnell himself he might deal if no other 
 way should open. Although he knew Darnell to 
 
272 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 be a man capable of the darkest crime, lie had as 
 yet no distinct evidence as to his having in any 
 way desired to injure his relatives ; to them in no 
 case could he say vrhat he knew of Darnell. After 
 a long bout of self-counsel, he gave it up, and went 
 a-fishing. 
 
 The matter assumed for Olivia a more definite 
 shape. 
 
 " Grandmamma," she said, " here is a letter 
 from Octopia. As you expected, she has found 
 out where we are." 
 
 " Well, I suppose we shall see her here soon. 
 What does she say ? Read me her letter." 
 
 Olivia sat down. " I have read it but once, 
 grandmamma, and it is not like my cousin, — not 
 at all like her. I hardly know what to make of 
 it. At first it troubled me, because it is so mys- 
 terious, — I do so hate secrets ; but I — I was 
 walking with Mr. Blake when I read it and I was 
 able to put it aside for a while. But it means — 
 oh, it does surely mean that we are going to have 
 some new trouble. And we have been so happy ! " 
 
 " Well, read it, my dear." Olive obeyed. 
 
 " ' Dearest Olive, — How shall I ever forgive 
 you and my dear cousin for running away and 
 leaving me with hardly a word? It makes me 
 feel that in my weakness and my pain I may 
 have asked too much of you and worn out your 
 gentle patience ' — 
 
 " My gentle patience, grandmamma I " 
 
 " Well, go on." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 273 
 
 " ' Even the claims of gratitude I have reason to 
 know may in time become valueless, for you have 
 been good to me, and now I miss the more your 
 soft touch and the morning kiss. Perhaps some 
 day you or yours may need me again ; and be as- 
 sured that I shall not fail you in your necessity. 
 I did not once ; I shall not again. 
 
 " ' If by any chance my brother Dick should go 
 to see you, as I think he will, you will be kind to 
 him, dear, will you not ? ' 
 
 " No, I will not," said Olivia. 
 
 " Olive ! Olive ! " returned Mrs. Wynne, " try 
 to keep your temper. I have kept mine under 
 worse provocation ; and really, considering all 
 things, Octopia has not said anything much out 
 of the way." 
 
 " She means — oh, you know what she means. 
 I do not see why the man is coming here. I said 
 I would not ask you again what Octopia's mysti- 
 fications are about ; and I will not ; it hurts and 
 pains you, I know ; but nothing — nothing could 
 be worse for me than to live in the midst of her 
 whims and affection and hints. If that man drives 
 me to the wall I will ask him what it all means. 
 Some one shall tell me." 
 
 "You would be insane, Olive. He knows noth- 
 ing. You would only make him guess that there 
 is something. I am sure his sister would not tell 
 him. Oh, why — why cannot you rest content 
 and leave me a little peaceful comfort ? I cannot 
 have long to live. Why do you make me so un- 
 happy?" 
 
274 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " They must let me alone," said the girl. " Why 
 am I always the one to be blamed ? Let me write 
 to Octopia and say we never wish to see her any 
 more, — never! never! Let her do what she likes." 
 
 " I forbid you to answer her, Olive. I shall 
 write myself. As to Richard Darnell, if he comes, 
 — which is not likely, — give him his dismissal 
 kindly: any man has a right to that. If you 
 could have married him, all our troubles would 
 have been over : but, as you will not, we must get 
 on as we can. Mind, dear, I don't say I like him ; 
 but you might, you know." 
 
 Olivia made no reply. 
 
 Octopia had said she would not come to them 
 unasked ; Olive did not believe her. 
 
 At last she sat down and wrote to Mr. Pennell 
 that if it were possible for him to come to the 
 Court-house and pay them a visit of a few days 
 it would be agreeable. There was nobody in the 
 house but a Mr. Blake, whom her grandmother 
 liked because, being New Hampshire born, he had 
 a due reverence for the Wynnes. The fishing was 
 good, and the air delightful. 
 
 The next day was rainy, and Olivia, who was 
 excited and worried, was not sorry to put off their 
 visit to the beaches. Blake read to them, and 
 theY sketched the wet willows, and Uncle John 
 came along and discoursed of " wracks " and finally 
 took the major away up the road to see the "most 
 awrfullest hornets' nest," which he proposed to 
 smoke out that night, seeing that " them thar 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 275 
 
 hornets' nests does cure up the asthma right 
 quick," and had become desirable as a means of 
 improving Mrs. Leslie's temper through the re- 
 establishment of her health. 
 
 The rain kept up for the usual three days of a 
 norther, and somehow the little inn seemed pleas- 
 ant enough to its inmates. The old twisted-legged 
 piano, which in its youth had known the " Battle 
 of Prague," was startled into life with bits of 
 Beethoven, until at last something went wrong 
 with it inside and it apparently gave up the 
 ghost of its musical life, amidst unseemly mirth. 
 Then a good walk on the never wet sandy roads 
 was always in order, until at last they woke to 
 sunshine again. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " Nightmare of youth, the spectre of himself." 
 
 It is said that in the best of us there is that 
 which ought to enable us to understand every form 
 of wickedness, — that we all possess this alphabet 
 of hell, and only do not use it. Yet nothing en- 
 tirely explains one human being to another, or, 
 indeed, to himself. 
 
 There are crimes which insult all human nature, 
 and surely of all of them the most horribly diffi- 
 cult to comprehend is the betrayal of one's coun- 
 try. It seems to involve indirectly almost every 
 other sin. Yet why it should have troubled 
 Richard Darnell less than his effort at a single 
 murder were hard to say. Nevertheless this was 
 true. He judged himself somewhat by the conse- 
 quences of his acts, and he had intellectual limita- 
 tions in his capacity for seeing these. The cause 
 of the Confederacy was lost before he began to 
 betray it, so that it had not been gravely hurt by 
 him. He had, too, the gambler's temperament, 
 which made a risk interest him in proportion to 
 its greatness. Reckless courage removes some ob- 
 stacles to crime, and the sensual needs of a life of 
 unrestrained indulgence are the final bribes. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 211 
 
 Darnell had but one cowardice, — the fear of 
 the public opinion of the caste to which he be- 
 longed. He had imperiled himself in this direc- 
 tion more than once, but had never come to com- 
 plete wreck. The large, open treachery of an 
 Arnold would have been for him difficult. 
 
 Like most men of his type, he retained for a 
 long while, and then, as we have seen, pretended 
 to retain, some special form of respect for truth. 
 Even at his worst a lie cost him something. He 
 did not cheat at cards ; and to kill would have 
 been for him easier than to lie. A cruel murderer 
 has been known to reproach one to whom he was 
 calmly describing his crime for supposing he could 
 tell a deliberate falsehood. 
 
 Darnell still clung to this shred of sentiment. 
 " I told you, Octopia," he said, " that I would not 
 trouble Mrs. Wynne. Why you have become so 
 tender all of a sudden I cannot tell. As to the 
 money, it has gone. I thought I could do better 
 in stocks in Philadelphia ; but I found it no easier 
 there than here." 
 
 " You are foolish to think you can gamble with 
 those men on Wall Street. How much do you 
 want to-day ? " 
 
 She was in a state of sad recklessness, the out- 
 come of her final realization of Richard's indif- 
 ferent selfishness and her own wrong-doing. She 
 had a morbid eagerness to give it all and get done 
 with it and see what would happen. It made her 
 lavish when she might have restrained him. 
 
278 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 As to Pennell, who had come to understand the 
 situation, he smiled a little as he honored each 
 check in turn, and, if he had been given to seK- 
 analysis, would have perceived that he did not 
 quite dislike the idea that Miss Darnell was ex- 
 pending her small capital. There was in this a 
 flavor of the commercial training of the man, and 
 he would have disliked it if it had been thus grossly 
 presented to his consciousness. 
 
 Darnell said he would like to have a few hun- 
 dreds. 
 
 "How much? I can't write a check for a few 
 hundreds. What do you want ? " 
 
 " Well, four hundred will answer." 
 
 He took the check. " Thank you, dear Octy," 
 he said. "I think of going to Virginia for a 
 week." He did not say he was going. 
 
 "And what for?" 
 
 "Oh, well, there are those coal-lands in Ka- 
 nawha : it seems possible now that something 
 might be made out of them. Don't you think 
 Pennell would " — 
 
 " We will leave Mr. Pennell out of the question; 
 I will not have you applying to him." 
 
 " By George ! if you talk to me in that way I 
 shall consider our little bargain at an end. I have 
 no doubt Mrs. Wynne would lend us the money I 
 want." 
 
 " My God, Dick, have you no pity left ? Am 
 I as nothing in your eyes? Have you lost all 
 sense of honor ? " She was beset by the Nemesis 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 279 
 
 of the menace which she herself had more or less 
 distinctly employed. 
 
 " Why I should not be free to borrow money," 
 he said, " I do not see." He began to dread his 
 sister's interference. " Do you think, Octy, that 
 there is any chance for me with Olivia ? " 
 
 " I do not know. You have done your best 
 to lessen your chances. Of course Mr. Pennell 
 knows well enough how foolishly you have been 
 living. What he knows they will know. I some- 
 times think you must be mad. And as to Olive, 
 you seem to have been as indifferent of late as if 
 you cared nothing for her. Women resent such 
 neglect." 
 
 " I wrote to her twice last week," he returned, 
 sullenly. It was true. She had burned his letters 
 unopened. " If," he added, " you had let the 
 matter alone I should have done better." 
 
 "You are ungrateful, Dick." She was sorely 
 hurt. 
 
 " Well, will you go with me to the Court- 
 house ? " 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " Then I think I shall go alone." 
 
 She was feeling the strain of this interview in 
 renewed physical fatigue, and longed to have it 
 over. She was pretty sure that he would not 
 limit his errand to seeing Olivia and deciding his 
 fate ; but what could she do that she had not 
 done? 
 
 " No, don't kiss me," she said. " What have 
 
280 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 I done that I should suffer so through you ? Oh, 
 Dick ! Dick ! " Then she started up. " Let us 
 go away, brother," she cried. " I have two thou- 
 sand dollars left. I — I can borrow some : I think 
 I can. We will go out West and begin life over 
 again, — oh, we could do it ! I could be so strong 
 if you would only try to be good again. Won't 
 you, Dick?" 
 
 The exaltation of a woman's noblest hope was 
 in her eyes as she stood facing him. 
 
 " Come," she said, yearningly. " You will 
 come ? " 
 
 He was silent a moment, and, as he stood, put 
 the check automatically in his breast-pocket. The 
 act broke in upon the rising impulse to accept 
 this ofEer and become free in that large Western 
 land. 
 
 She saw his doubt, and knew him well. " Shall 
 it be, Dick ? We should like it, — the plains, and 
 cattle, and a life in the saddle ; and if there were 
 risks, Indians and what not, — oh, you would like 
 them." 
 
 As he withdrew his hand he felt the rustle of 
 the check. It was a fatal possession. 
 
 "I will see, Octy. You are very good. I will 
 see when I come back." 
 
 Then she knew that she had failed, but not that 
 she herself had provided that which made success 
 just then improbable. She should have preached 
 to empty pockets. 
 
 As for Darnell, a moment and the touch of a 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 281 
 
 bit of paper sufficed to turn him. The sins of the 
 minute are visited on their offspring the years ; 
 and the time came to Darnell when this little 
 fraction of a day was remembered with that bitter- 
 ness of regret which is the remorse for murdered 
 opportunity. 
 
 As he went out she found strength to say, 
 " Perhaps you will think better of it then." 
 
 He was so handsome, she thought, as he paused 
 at the door, so strong, and so distinguished in 
 bearing. It added to her disappointment. She 
 was hurt all over, as it were. 
 
 He said he would really consider it, and went 
 away, leaving the tall woman steadying herself 
 with a hand-clutch that trembled on the chair- 
 back. 
 
 Not long after she wrote to Mr. Pennell, who 
 had, however, left the city, and also to Olivia the 
 letter we have read. She could not make up her 
 mind to say to Mrs. Wynne, " I have done wrong ; " 
 still less was it possible for her to explain that 
 Richard knew nothing they need fear. How could 
 she do this ? She made up her mind that there 
 was nothing she could do but live on, in the hope 
 that Richard would no more dare cheat them into 
 believing that he possessed knowledge which he 
 had not than she had dared to use that which was 
 truly available. 
 
 The next moment she was laughing, — that 
 wild, emotional laugh which is but weeping in 
 pitiful masquerade, — and found herself no more 
 
282 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 than just able to summon Judith, who aided her 
 with such mechanical routine of sympathetic ex- 
 pressions and manual assistance as enduring habit 
 had made easy. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 *' Ah ! not without some tender throes 
 Opes the red bosom of the rose." 
 
 When Olivia came down to breakfast Roland 
 Blake was standing at the open window of the lit- 
 tle dining-room. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Wynne," he said. " Come 
 and see what the good night has done for us in the 
 way of weather." He was busily arranging a 
 triple gang of hooks on a line for the benefit of 
 autumnal lingerers among the sheep's-head. 
 
 She came into the window-place, and they looked 
 out together. A strong northwest wind was tear- 
 ing the clouds and driving them like the white 
 scuds of foam on the sea beneath. There was a 
 virginal purity in the storm-cleansed air. The 
 rain was over. A little vapor was crawling up 
 the dark slopes of the newly-sunned shingle roofs. 
 The clink of the blacksmith's hammer sounded up 
 the road, and miles away the hoarse roar of the 
 breakers was faintly audible. 
 
 " How beautiful it is ! " she said. " And, oh, 
 there is Uncle John. I must ask him if we are to 
 see those beaches to-day." 
 
 As she turned to go, Blake said, " Take care." 
 He was too late. One of the hooks caught in the 
 
284 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 shoulder of her dress, and, as he instantly let go 
 his hold, a second fastened itself short in his coat- 
 sleeve and entered his arm. He cried, instinc- 
 tively, — 
 
 "Don't move for a moment. It did not hurt 
 you, I trust? I am rather better caught." 
 
 They were very close together, — so near, in- 
 deed, that he was unable to use his free arm to 
 extricate her. 
 
 The personal contact troubled the girl. " Pull 
 it out," she said ; " tear the dress ; " and she 
 flushed, and then added, " Pardon me : I hurt you. 
 Is n't it ridiculous ? " 
 
 " Halloa, Uncle John ! come in here, — quick, 
 please," he said. Then they both laughed. 
 
 When Uncle John, having put on his large sil- 
 ver spectacles, became aware of the situation, he 
 broke out into a laugh which filled the little room. 
 "Waal, now," he said, "major, no pawson could 
 'a' done it better. You air j'ined together sure 
 enough. You jus' hold on and I '11 divorce you." 
 
 Blake was angry. " Don't talk : just pull it out 
 of the sleeve. Can't you see I am suffering?" 
 And he was — for the woman. 
 
 " Waal, a hook are n't much for a man 's bin aa 
 much shot at as you. Thar ! " 
 
 " Thank you," said Olivia. " I begin to sym- 
 pathize with fish. Are you in pain, Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 " No : it is of no moment. I '11 be back pres- 
 ently." And so saying, he went out with Leslie. 
 There was a little rough surgery done in the 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 285 
 
 kitchen, and he returned in some twenty minutes, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I 'm all right, Miss Wynne." 
 
 Miss Wynne was gone, and the breakfast un- 
 touched. 
 
 He sat down and waited, hoping that she would 
 return. He missed her, and began to reflect that 
 she had become to him in some way necessary. 
 The little scene in the window had strangely 
 affected him. He rose and poured out his cup of 
 coffee, and then again sat down. By her plate 
 he had put a mass of golden-rod and asters; he 
 glanced at them, and a feeling of dismay came 
 over him. He had not made love to her or been 
 socially guilty of anything akin to courtship : he 
 had innocently committed the more fatal error of 
 showing to a rich feminine nature the best that 
 there was in an upright gentleman with a danger- 
 ous flavor of poetry and playful humor, and a 
 mind of unusual force. He was faintly conscious 
 that she liked to be with him, but beyond that he 
 did not dare to go in his effort at guiding conclu- 
 sions. 
 
 That he might be blamed by some one annoyed 
 him. The girl was almost alone in the world, — 
 certainly unguarded, — and her grandmother was 
 very old and apparently more thoughtful of her 
 own comfort than of Miss Wynne. 
 
 " I am too self-critical," he said to himself. In 
 fact, he had that fine honor which is to mere hon- 
 esty as is the flower to the leaf. 
 
 19 
 
286 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 He could go away. He could speak to Mrs. 
 Wynne. He could wait; but for what? And 
 there was that Darnell business. The sense of 
 possible danger or discomfort to this woman made 
 him decide that to leave her now was impossible. 
 
 She came in, looking pale, as he thought, took 
 up the flowers, and, thanking him, sat down and 
 began to talk rapidly. She hoped his arm did 
 not hurt him ; and had he arranged for the 
 beaches ? and would Mrs. Ludlam go ? 
 
 By and by they finished their breakfast, both 
 haying some sense of constraint upon them. 
 
 Then she went out, leaving her flowers ; but 
 when they assembled at the door for their expedi- 
 tion he saw that she wore a spray of the yellow 
 plumes in her belt. 
 
 As they were about to start, the little stage 
 from Cape May drove up, and, to their surprise, 
 Addenda Pennell and Philip Francis got out. 
 
 The former shook hands with Olivia. " Why, 
 Miss Olivia," he said, "you look like another 
 woman." 
 
 " I feel like one. Mr. Blake, our oldest friend, 
 Mr. Pennell." 
 
 " I think we have met before," said Blake, smil- 
 ing. " I am glad to see you again." 
 
 " Have you been here long ? " inquired Pennell. 
 
 " About three or four weeks." 
 
 " Indeed ! And how is Mrs. Wynne, Miss 
 Olivia ? " 
 
 " Oh, wonderfully well. She wiU see you later; 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 287 
 
 you know she sees no one but me in the morning, 
 and to-day I am off duty because we are going to 
 the beaches." 
 
 Then Francis, who had been looking after his 
 baggage and had merely lifted his hat, came up, 
 and was duly presented to Miss Wynne. 
 
 " Indeed," he said, " I am an older acquaintance 
 of Miss Wynne than you are, Blake." Olivia 
 laughed. " It is a pretty forlorn old town you 
 have all come to. What on earth do you do 
 with yourselves all day ? " 
 
 " We sew, we read, we sketch, we walk, and on 
 Sunday we go to church." 
 
 " But, as I neither sew, nor sketch, nor read all 
 day, unless it is a week of Sundays here, like a 
 camp-meeting, I do not see where my resources 
 are to lie." 
 
 " I forgot to say we talk," said Olivia. " But 
 now you must all go to the beaches with us. It 
 is a perfect day." 
 
 A half hour later they were at the bank of the 
 nearest water-way. 
 
 " You will have to pull Miss Wynne in the 
 small bateau," said Leslie. " Guess I '11 take care 
 of the rest. My big boat 's jes' a leetle mawsel 
 wet." The old fellow's eyes twinkled as they 
 rowed away. 
 
 The coast of New Jersey is guarded from the 
 sea along most of its length by a vast system of 
 inland water navigable for small craft. Countless 
 marshy inlands lie between the crossing net-work 
 
288 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 of salt streams, and to the eastward vast beaches 
 hold the sea at bay. 
 
 Through these water-ways the boats glided 
 under the warm sun of a faultless September 
 morning. On the banks at the water-line the 
 sedge oysters hung thick. Uncle John stopped 
 now and then to gather the best, or waded ashore 
 to secure a supply of luckless shedder crabs for 
 dinner. On the salt boggy islands long grasses 
 sparkled in the light, and here and there a fish 
 rose and broke the brown water. 
 
 A sense of happy peace came upon the girl 
 as she lay back in the stern and let her hands 
 hang over the low thwarts to feel the babble and 
 caress of the water. Sometimes, as they followed 
 Leslie, the boat passed through bayous so narrow 
 that the oars disturbed the monastic life of mussel 
 and sedge-oyster on the black mud of the banks, 
 then they shot out into a gleaming thoroughfare 
 and felt the rough greeting of the viking north 
 wind. 
 
 That these two young people had come to know 
 each other so well that silence had ceased to seem 
 awkward might have been significant. The boom 
 of the tumbled surf grew nearer. Miss Wynne 
 laughed gently, a girl's pure laugh of joy, — an 
 inheritance from childhood's possibilities of ex- 
 pression. He looked at her, wishing she had not 
 so tied down the broad straw hat as to hide that 
 pleasant profile, — the nose that was yet a trifle 
 pronounced, the chin that was so full and strong 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 289 
 
 that interpretative nature had felt the need of 
 qualifying it with the comment of a dimple. 
 
 "Why do you laugh?" he said. "What 
 amuses you ? " 
 
 " I am not amused ; I am only happy. Unless 
 one says so, there is no other way to tell except 
 just to laugh." 
 
 " And what makes you happy ? " 
 
 " What makes any one happy, Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 " Really, I do not know. As a Yankee, it is 
 my normal function to ask questions. When one 
 thinks it over, we Yankees have answered more 
 grave questions for the world than we have asked 
 it." 
 
 " Yes, that is true. I envy those who have 
 helped to answer them." 
 
 " But envy is incompatible with happiness," he 
 laughed. 
 
 " And yet I am happy," she said, contentment 
 in her whole attitude. " Why, all nature to-day 
 is like a fairy godmother fetching me gifts. The 
 sun says, ' I am yours,' and the water whispers 
 pleasant things — oh, very nice little secrets — to 
 my fingers as it goes by, and the wind is like a 
 friendly whisper, and I am young and well, and 
 how should I not be happy ? I wish I were a poet 
 to-day." 
 
 " Perhaps you are." 
 
 " I ? — oh, no," and she laughed, a good honest 
 laugh ; " I am only a foolishly glad young woman. 
 But, now I have confessed myself, pray what were 
 
290 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 you thinking of? You were silent too. Were 
 your thoughts worth a penny? The Spanish peas- 
 ants have a much nicer way of putting it. They 
 say, ' Give me of the gold of your thoughts.' " 
 
 " How pretty ! " he said. " If you really want 
 to know, my mind was on a holiday wandering. 
 I was thinking of my boy-life, and of our rough 
 New England coast, and of Paris, and of what the 
 future holds for me in its shut hand." 
 
 " You will go back to your work as an engineer, 
 I suppose. How comfortably it must steady a 
 person to have regular duties and to feel that they 
 are enlarging all the time ! Oh, that is where a 
 girl's life is wanting 1 And yet I am sure I should 
 not desire to be a man." 
 
 " You are quite right. I find I am beginning 
 to feel the want of daily duties. I think I shall 
 very soon return to France and complete my 
 course at the School of Mines." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " Yes. Ah ! here we are." And, as he spoke, 
 the boat ran upon the inner shore of the boggy 
 green marsh which lay to landward of the grea;t 
 island-beach. 
 
 Mrs. Ludlam, intent on chicken-grapes, walked 
 up towards the single small house which lay at 
 the north end of the island, and the rest of the 
 party kept on across a raised bank towards the 
 sea. Uncle John felt all the importance of a 
 guide. " Them 's fiddlers. Miss," he said, — " fid- 
 dler crabs. I can jus' set and see them by the 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 291 
 
 hour. There 's a lop-sidedness about them critters 
 that 's jus' like some men." Pennell was very 
 happy, and asked innumerable questions. Then 
 they watched the fish-hawks swoop down on their 
 prey and rise empty-handed or laden, while Olivia 
 gathered the several varieties of primrose and 
 asters and, to her delight, a rare plume of white 
 golden-rod. 
 
 Uncle John had some queer comment on all 
 they saw. He was an uneducated observer, with 
 a touch of the sentiment so often to be found in 
 the American of his class, the lonely dweller in 
 woods or by the sea. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Pennell, them mulleins is cur'ous ; " 
 as he spoke, he gave one to Olivia. " They 're 
 late flow'rin' on the beaches. If you bend one 
 of 'em like this, it don't break short-like, and in 
 about a week, maybe, it jus' turns up straight, — 
 this way. It don't mend, you see, Miss, but it 
 straightens up." 
 
 " That is singular," said Blake. 
 
 " Waal, the pixie '11 do much the same. If you 
 cut off the top of the tree, the next branches they 
 turns up. But them mulleins, — seems to me 
 they 're a bit like a man thet 's done somethin' 
 wrong and jus' sets himself to straighten up." 
 
 " Here 's another poet," said Blake aside to Miss 
 Wynne. 
 
 " Yes. Is n't he delightful ? " 
 
 Pennell stood still, gravely contemplative. " I 
 pity that mullein," he said, seriously, — " and the 
 man." 
 
292 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Not if he gets straight," returned Olivia. 
 
 " Oh, fellows that go quite crooked once don't 
 get straight," remarked Francis, while Pennell 
 turned and walked on in advance of the little 
 group. 
 
 " Don't believe that," said Uncle John, and pres- 
 ently was deep in tales of shipwreck. 
 
 Then Olivia joined Pennell and talked of her 
 grandmother, while Francis strayed aside to in- 
 spect an ants' nest; so that Leslie and Blake were 
 left together. 
 
 " Colonel," said the former, who liked titles and 
 occasionally promoted the young man a grade or 
 two, " I saw a man at the Cape wharf day before 
 yesterday inquirin' about Mrs. Wynne. He heard 
 Joe Holmes askin' if I would take a trunk to 
 the Court-house. He wanted to know who was 
 stayin' here ; and when I told him thar were Mrs. 
 Wynne and the young woman and you, he said he 
 knowed you." 
 
 " Indeed ! And what was his name ? " 
 
 " I did n't mind to ask him, sir. He was dark- 
 ish-complected, and had a heap of hair on his up- 
 per lip ; good-lookin' man ; straight as a ma'sh 
 cat-taU." 
 
 Blake had Httle doubt as to his identity. " Did 
 he say he was related to Mrs. Wynne ? " 
 
 " Now I mind me, he did. Guess he '11 be 
 along soon. He seemed to want to hear aU about 
 you folks." 
 
 " I think I know him. And now, here we are 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 293 
 
 together again ; and what is the programme ? 
 Who is in command ? " 
 
 Mr. Pennell thought he would like to see the 
 life-saving station, and how the mortar was used 
 to cast a line to a ship. Francis had been em- 
 ploying his sufficiently busy powers of observation 
 all the morning. He too professed intense inter- 
 est in life-boats, and wished to know a little more 
 about Richard Holmes, the hero of the coast-guard, 
 and would go with Mr. Pennell, whom he found 
 an agreeable study. Then Blake said that if Miss 
 Wynne liked to sketch the sand-dunes he was at 
 her service, and they could be back in time to 
 lunch at one. 
 
 "And be sure you see Booby-town," said Les- 
 lie ; but when Miss Wynne appealed to him to 
 know what this was, the old fellow replied that it 
 was "where them boobies is." 
 
 Francis ironically advised his friend to acquire 
 right of citizenship in Booby-town, which would 
 perhaps be a sufficient recognition of his folly in 
 having wasted four years in kUling men. Then 
 Blake said the honor ought to be divided, on which 
 Francis declared that he too was instinctively 
 drawn towards Booby-town, and would leave Mr. 
 Pennell to the edacating influences of Uncle John. 
 
 " It sounds promising, " he said. " Now, major, 
 you have only to obey your subjectivity in order 
 to attain Booby-town." 
 
 " Phil ! Phil ! " cried Blake, laughing, " don't 
 venture near that town ; you will never get away." 
 
294 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Pennell listened, and gravely examined Fran- 
 cis's remark. The latter went on with unmoved 
 countenance to state that trustful obedience to as- 
 similative yearnings might assist the dubious 
 seeker for Booby-town. There was saucy recog- 
 nition in Olivia's eyes, and a faint sense of not 
 liking the chaff because of its resemblance to some 
 one's familiar wheat. 
 
 " Oh, talk English," said Blake, " or good Jer- 
 sey, Phil. Miss Wynne won't understand your 
 camp-fire nonsense. He is nothing but an old 
 coffee-cooler, Mr. Pennell." 
 
 " And what is a coffee-cooler ? " inquired Uncle 
 John. 
 
 " A man who blows his coffee while the brigade 
 is going by into action. But, while you cool coffee, 
 where is and what is Booby-town ? " 
 
 " FoUer yer nose, down the beach, sou-sou- 
 west," explained Leslie. 
 
 " That 's clear, Mr. Leslie," cried Francis. 
 " Miss Wynne, how can a man with Blake's inti- 
 mate relations with nature fail to have some latent 
 cognition of Booby-town ! Intuitive acceptance 
 of the dominant is the true needle of the soul." 
 " Phil ! Phil ! for shame ! " cried his friend. 
 " The dominant ! " exclaimed Pennell, honestly 
 endeavoring to comprehend. 
 
 " Don't mind him," explained Blake. " He 
 can't help it." 
 
 " I was alluding to Mr. Leslie's directions," 
 laughed Francis. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 295 
 
 Every one laughed, — some for reason, some 
 for company in mirth. 
 
 " My latent benevolence becomes radiant at 
 times," said Francis, " like heat." 
 
 " Oh, a truce, a truce, Phil I Let 's be o£E." 
 
 " A truce ? with pleasure. Peace, if you like. 
 I thought you might prefer Concord." 
 
 " He is very bad to-day. Miss Wynne. Let us 
 go." 
 
 " I think Mr. Francis spoke of joining us," said 
 Olivia. " I should like to be further instructed." 
 In fact, she was shyly timid as to this walk. Her 
 maiden conscience was alert and on guard. 
 
 Francis said he should like it, and Blake pre- 
 tended delight as they strolled off down the white 
 sand beach. 
 
 " You took your time about coming to the Court- 
 house, Phil," said Blake, conscious that the disap- 
 pointment had not been without mitigation. 
 
 " It does not seem to have taken the bloom out 
 of his youthful cheek. Miss Wynne. I have no- 
 ticed that some elderly people show decay by an 
 improvement in color. I don't mean to offer any 
 excuses for absence. My acquaintance with you 
 is of so much older date than my friend's that I 
 can afford to retire behind your appreciation of 
 my character." 
 
 " Upon my word," said Miss Wynne, " I don't 
 think our mode of introduction was altogether 
 creditable to you, — a warrior who took refuge 
 from rain ! " 
 
296 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Oh, you can't make it worse than I made it 
 when I related it to Blake. It lost nothing of its 
 picturesqueness ; and I must say I was flattered 
 at having been taken for Mr. Darnell." 
 
 Blake was silent. 
 
 " Well," said Olivia, quietly, — not quite liking 
 the talk, — "as I had never seen my cousin, I 
 might have taken any one for him. Where did 
 you see him?" 
 
 " Oh, you know, after he got to Fort Delaware 
 I sent him some little luxuries." 
 
 " After he got to Fort Delaware ! Then you 
 knew him before? " 
 
 " Yes. I knew him through my friend Blake. 
 And after I was wounded, I came up to Fortress 
 Monroe on the same boat with him." 
 
 The moment he spoke he was conscious that he 
 had made a social stumble, as he saw Miss Wynne 
 glance quickly at Blake, who said at once, — 
 
 " I knew Mr. Darnell slightly. We met by an 
 odd accident." 
 
 " So I have heard." 
 
 Olivia made no further comment in words, but 
 it seemed to her odd that in some way Darnell 
 had never before been mentioned by Mr. Blake. 
 It troubled her, and yet she hardly knew why. 
 
 Presently they were between the sand-dunes 
 and the restless sea, — Blake quiet and monosyl- 
 labic, Francis in his gayest mood of reckless mer- 
 riment, Olivia happy, amused, and joyous. At 
 length, a mile or more down the beach, they 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 297 
 
 climbed a sand - hillock and sat down. To left 
 and right the dunes stretched north and south. 
 Landward rose a wood of oaks and maple touched 
 with the faint gold and red of hastening autumn 
 days. The trumpet-creeper was over them in ar- 
 bored masses and swung swaying clusters in the 
 fresh salt air. About them on the stunted cedars 
 the fox grapes hung thick. Below were scant 
 bushes, — honest yellow of golden-rod, and purple 
 asters, with the sand-loving prickly pear and brown- 
 ing ferns. 
 
 Francis stood up, smiling as usual, — a man 
 restless in mind and legs ; Olivia looked about 
 her and was silent ; and Blake sat watching the 
 green mounds of water crash into tumbled snow 
 upon the sands below them, the tide being at full 
 flood. The air, the sea, the sky, were full of gen- 
 tle interpretations for these two, while their com- 
 panion was quite outside of their mood of rela- 
 tionship to the sunny world about them. 
 
 Blake spoke first : — 
 
 " The north wind shall my kinsman be, 
 My soul call cousin with the sea " — 
 
 " The ma'sh a mother-in-law to me," cried 
 Francis. 
 
 " You are insufferable, PhU." 
 
 " Acceptivity is not regnant in all souls, Roland. 
 Good-by. I shall take a look for Booby-town. 
 Be back in a half hour. You won't come ? Well, 
 — if you only knew, Miss Wynne, how much meta- 
 physics I have endured at his hands or lips, you 
 
298 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 would consider my desires for vengeance natural. 
 I leave you at his mercy. He is pretty bad. I 
 have half a mind to give you a text, Roland, in 
 case you should chance to lack ideas." 
 
 " CJlear out, wretch ! " shouted Blake ; and the 
 tormentor went laughing around the dune and was 
 lost to sight. 
 
 And now she was glad at the minute ; he jarred 
 on her sense of contentment with the good things 
 around her. 
 
 "I was here last week at dusk," said Blake. 
 " You can't imagine how weird it was. These dead 
 trees — holly and scrub oaks, I think — buried in 
 the moving dunes, and on top those yet alive bent 
 landward, with their branches stretched away from 
 the shouting sea, like flying things agonized with 
 fear." 
 
 " How strange ! I should like to see it at sun- 
 set ; but I can imagine it. How splendid the roll- 
 ers are ! See that one ! It must be a mile long. 
 How straight it is ! " 
 
 " It brings back to me. Miss Wynne, a strange 
 memory. You know how often the rush of the 
 hurrying waves has been compared to a charge. 
 I was standing on the brow of Cemetery Hill at 
 Gettysburg when we saw the gallant charge of 
 the Virginians and Texans. As I watched them 
 a half mile away, the recollection of our seaside 
 at home and of the proud march of these long 
 rollers came over me with a sort of shock of re- 
 membrance, — the steady line getting larger as it 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 299 
 
 came, the small breaks and confusions here and 
 there, the growing sound, the last wild rush and 
 crash and thunder and the swift retreat. I had a 
 moment of confidence in the thought of our surely 
 routed waves, just as if it made the result certain. 
 They were almost on us before I got it out of my 
 head. Poor fellows ! " 
 
 " I can see it. How little you speak of the war, 
 Mr. Blake ! I hardly ever heard you say much." 
 
 " No. It was for me a merely sad duty. I 
 hated it. I hope I did it well." 
 
 " I am sure you did." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, simply, and they were 
 silent a moment, while Olivia took up the sand 
 in her hands and lightly shook it through her fin- 
 gers as he watched them. She had a mysterious 
 pleasure in the cool white contact. 
 
 " You make a nice hour-glass, Miss Wynne." 
 A line of " Locksley Hall " came into his mind. 
 He checked his speech in time. She laughed gayly. 
 
 " My hour-glass has advantages." And she shut 
 her hand. " Now time stops. What are you say- 
 ing, Mr. Blake ? Sometimes you have a way of 
 saying things with your lips but not aloud. It is 
 not at all fair, because I must have suggested the 
 thought." 
 
 He was murmuring, — 
 
 " Oh, grant to me the endless chime 
 Of one unchanged, unchanging hour." 
 
 "Some reflections are scarcely worthy of the 
 honors of speech," he replied. 
 
300 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " But I am curious. I always want to know. 
 Are you ever curious, like a girl, — really curi- 
 ous?" 
 
 " I ? " he said. " I have all of Eve in me." 
 
 "Then" — and she hesitated a little — "will 
 you mind my asking you why you wanted to know 
 where you could find us? You asked Mr. Pen- 
 nell, you know." 
 
 He was startled : he was at that moment think- 
 ing of this very matter. 
 
 " Yes," he returned. " I had a reason, and a 
 good one." 
 
 " Indeed ! oh, now I am really curious." 
 
 " Have you any near friend. Miss Wynne, — a 
 man, I mean, — whom I could talk to ? " 
 
 Olivia wondered, and was a little troubled also. 
 He felt that he had put the matter awkwardly, 
 and, divining her possible diflBculty, said, in haste, — 
 
 " Something came to my knowledge in the war 
 which made me think I ought to see Mrs. Wynne 
 and mention it. It may be of little real moment, 
 but it may be serious." 
 
 She looked her concern. 
 
 " I am puzzled what to do about it." 
 
 " There is only Mr. Pennell," she said. 
 
 " I wish I knew him better. I should like to 
 wait, bait events do not wait for us." 
 
 " You are very mysterious ; and I hate myster- 
 ies. Why not tell me ? or why speak of it to me 
 at all, if you cannot tell me ? " 
 
 " But you made me. I could not help it." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 301 
 
 " It is not about my father? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Your father ! no. I wish now I had not 
 spoken. If I had had a little more common sense 
 I would not have said a word ; but I cannot fib to 
 you. I had to say something, and, to tell you the 
 simple truth, I am puzzled what to say. I can see, 
 too, that I have troubled you ; and I — I would 
 do anything rather than to pain you. You will 
 forgive me ? " And he sought answer in her lifted 
 eyes. 
 
 " There does not seem much to forgive," she 
 answered. 
 
 " Yes, yes, there is. I have spoiled a pleasant 
 day for you ; I have seemed to distrust what I 
 trust utterly. What a world is this ! We try to 
 do right, and it is wrong. We grieve what we 
 yearn to help. If you were a man, a friend, I 
 could talk to you better ; but now I am at a stand- 
 still. I wish you were yourself and not your- 
 self " — and he laughed rather strangely. 
 
 A tiny little temptation arose and grew in the 
 woman's heart. His evident trouble began to 
 make sharp claims on her tender sympathies. 
 " But am I not a friend ? " she said, gently. " At 
 least I would rather you did not think I am not." 
 
 " I think nothing but good of you." 
 
 " Suppose, then, I tell you that I will ask noth- 
 ing more, — that as a friend I will trust you to 
 do right, just like one man with another." 
 
 " Thank you," he said. " If I felt that you 
 would be really secure from worry, I should be 
 
302 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 satisfied. I think I see my way better now. It 
 is but a matter of days." 
 
 " Only one thing more, Mr. Blake ; you will not 
 talk to grandmamma ? She is very old." 
 
 " No ; that was my first obstacle. I had not 
 realized that I should have to deal with a woman 
 so aged and inert." 
 
 " WeU, then, that is all," she said, rising. 
 
 "I am immeasurably grateful," he replied. His 
 tones were richer in meaning than his words. 
 
 " I like thanks," she returned, smiling. " They 
 help me to believe a little in my own goodness." 
 
 She was embarrassed by his manner, and said 
 whatever came first into her mind, laughing as she 
 stood, for he delayed to rise. Then she had a 
 shock half joy, half amazement, as when to a 
 spring bud the wooing sun first makes clear his 
 gentle purpose, — a flush, a stir, a tremor. He 
 had taken her hand as she stood, and put it to his 
 forehead, and, saying only, " God bless you ! " 
 rose, and went down the sand-dune. 
 
 She stood a second speechless and flushed. Then 
 she looked after the young man and at the back 
 of her hand, and put it up quite near to her own 
 lips ; but whether she kissed it or not remains un- 
 known to this day. Haply she thought that the 
 form the matter had taken was unusual as between 
 the two manly friends they had pretended to be. 
 The humorous aspect of it helped her ; for to run 
 away like a doe was her deep desire. 
 
 He waited at the foot of the hill, but said noth- 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 303 
 
 ing, the full force of nature's greatest ferment hav- 
 ing him in turbulent possession. 
 
 And now the world was with them again as 
 Francis came up through the space between the 
 dunes. 
 
 " I got quite lost, Miss Wynne," he said, " or I 
 should have relieved you sooner. Blake can be 
 pretty dull at his worst. Was he metaphysical, 
 romantic, or practical ? I think you look a little 
 puzzled. Tell me, now : did you really under- 
 stand him ? " 
 
 " I shall leave Mr. Blake to reply," said Olivia. 
 
 " Never trust what Francis may say about me. 
 Some people preserve their friendships, and some 
 people pickle them." 
 
 " I am incapable of denying anything so clever," 
 cried Francis ; and the others found relief in co- 
 partnership of laughter. 
 
 Presently Blake said he would walk on rapidly 
 to tell Uncle John they would be on hand for 
 lunch in a few minutes. 
 
 " There goes a dangerously good man," said 
 Francis. " If he does n't become conceited before 
 he 's forty it will be due to my education of him." 
 
 " Is he so very nice ? " she said, shyly. 
 
 " Oh, I suspect that women don't think so. 
 Rather a man's man. My sister declares that he 
 is duU." 
 
 Olivia began to have the obstinate sense of 
 being right which belongs to minorities. "I 
 should hardly call him duU," she said. " He is 
 
304 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 thoughtful and reserved at times, — rather, on the 
 whole, an interesting man, I should say ; but then 
 my experience of men is so limited." 
 
 Philip's sister had said that Blake was her 
 brother's one love-affair. " Interesting ? Yes," 
 he returned, "he is a man with a career before 
 him. It used to be curious to me to see him in 
 action. The worse the odds, the calmer he got." 
 
 " I wonder," thought Olivia, remembering his 
 recent emotion, " if he believed the odds to be in 
 his favor." She colored faintly. 
 
 " When we were sergeants of cavalry in the 
 West I saw him volunteer to cross a river in face 
 of the enemy's sharpshooters to see if it could be 
 forded. Four men tried it, but only Blake came 
 back alive. On the bank he found me wounded : 
 I always caught it. He dismounted under an aw- 
 ful fire and put me on his horse and carried me 
 into shelter. The rebs ceased firing when they 
 saw it. If they had not, I should not be here to 
 tell the tale." 
 
 "No wonder you are friends," she said, and 
 liked him from that minute. 
 
 " Don't tell Blake. He would never forgive me, 
 and he does endlessly lecture me." 
 
 " I will be very discreet," she returned, much 
 amused. 
 
 " But he is always doing these absurd things. 
 You know, Miss Wynne, a good many of us are 
 two people, and one is constantly getting us into 
 scrapes and leaving the other to get us out." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 305 
 
 " I don't think I fully understand you." 
 
 " Let me explain. Blake will do well enough 
 for illustration. At times, for a while he is a 
 romantic gentleman, seeing only the poetical and 
 chivalrous aspect of things, and acting on his creed 
 of the hour. Then in walks the other Roland 
 Blake, a practical New-Englander of this century, 
 and has to take the consequences of the other fel- 
 low's romance." 
 
 " I see," she said, smiling. " But what a curi- 
 ous mode of stating it." She was thinking that it 
 really made clearer to her some things which she 
 had found it difficult to comprehend. 
 
 Francis went on : " Now his saving your cousin 
 Mr. Darnell's life was a fair example of what I 
 mean." 
 
 " Yes," she returned. " Mr. Darnell told me 
 about it." 
 
 " Now, that was Roland Blake all over. Miss 
 Wynne." 
 
 Olive liked it, and walked on in momentary 
 silence, wondering again why Mr. Blake had never 
 mentioned so singular a story in their many talks. 
 Presently she remarked, " We must hurry a lit- 
 tle," and said something about fish-hawks. 
 
 Francis glanced at her with increasing curiosity. 
 He began to have certain interesting suspicions as 
 to his friend's relation to the handsome girl at his 
 side. Then he merrily recalled his visit in New 
 York, and the talk drifted about pleasantly with 
 ehat of men and things. 
 
306 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Very soon they were at the house, and had to 
 confess that they had never seen Booby-town. Un- 
 cle John declared it was the only thing worth see- 
 ing in all New Jersey, and described it vividly to 
 Olivia as she sat in the kitchen by the fire, watch- 
 ing him roast soft-shell crabs, — a thing " not to 
 be trusted to no woman." 
 
 " Now, you takes a big clam shell and puts in a 
 lot of sedge eysters, and a crab right in amongst 
 'em, and you shuts the two shells on the whole 
 family, and ties a wire round, — so, — and sticks 
 'em in the coals. Them boobies is blue heron. 
 There 's a thousand on 'em ; and for squawkin', a 
 camp-meetin' ain't nothin' to 'em. The young 
 uns, they 're about six feathers on two sticks. I 
 do wish you 'd 'a' seen them boobies. It raises a 
 man's notions of human nature when he sees 
 beasts like them. Fish done, Mrs. Ludlam ? " 
 
 The lunch was a vast success, what with 
 sheep's-head, crabs, terrapin eggs, and the fruit 
 they had brought with them. Olivia's gratitude 
 was such that she declared none but Uncle John 
 should row her home ; and what she did not learn 
 on the way as to boobies, terrapin, crabs, and 
 Jerseymen were little worth the seeking. He had 
 the talk to himself, and Olivia was glad to be si- 
 lent. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Cutsed be the sickly forms that err from honest nature's rule." 
 
 The little party collected at tlie inn door to- 
 wards sunset, after a walk up from the boats. 
 Olivia was tired, and went up-stairs at once to 
 see Mrs. Wynne. Mr. Pennell had heard from 
 Uncle John of an old timepiece in the village, and 
 turned to go down the street with Leslie to see it. 
 As the latter passed Blake, he said, — 
 
 " Colonel, the man I told you about is gittin' 
 his supper inside. Thought you might want to 
 see him." 
 
 " Thanks," said Blake, and, taking Francis 
 quietly aside, he said, — 
 
 " Phil, walk up the road with me ; I want to 
 talk to you a moment." 
 
 "All right," returned the other; and they 
 strolled away. 
 
 "Now, what is it, Roland?" 
 
 " That man Darnell is here in the same house 
 with us." 
 
 " And what then ? I shall eat my terrapin all 
 the same." 
 
 " He is a cousin of Miss Wynne's." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " He is a scoundrel. No matter how I know 
 
308 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 it. Let it suffice that I say so. He is capable of 
 every crime." 
 
 " And how does that concern you or me, Roland ? 
 We are not detectives." 
 
 " You see what kind of people the Wynnes are. 
 Here are two gentlewomen to whom he comes as 
 an unquestioned relative: at least I suppose so. 
 They may know all about him, and they may 
 know nothing. What is my duty in the matter ? 
 To give a fiiend half knowledge and then to ask 
 whole advice does not seem reasonable, and yet 
 that is the situation, Phil." 
 
 " It 's a little awkward. Could n't you talk to 
 Mr. PenneU? he seems a nice kind of man. I 
 fancy that he is an old friend of theirs." 
 
 " I have thought of that ; but suppose that I 
 can only say to him what I have said to you, and 
 no more : what then? I can't talk to the women." 
 
 " No, — clearly not. It seems to me that it is 
 narrowed down to a little conversation with Dar- 
 nell. Of course I am at your service if he makes 
 a row." 
 
 " Oh, there will be no duelling nonsense, PhU. 
 I should as soon think of a duel with a rattle- 
 snake. I must talk to him alone." 
 
 "I don't altogether like these talks without a 
 witness ; but I suppose you know best. What do 
 you fear?" 
 
 " Anything, — everything. The man may in- 
 tend no evil here, — God knows, — but as surely 
 as I am myself a man I do not mean that he shall 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 309 
 
 have a chance. I shall not act hastily, — of that 
 you may be sure; nor shall I speak until I am 
 certain what I mean to do in case my tongue does 
 not sufiBce. If I knew that he had any definite 
 mischief in his head, I should be better prepared to 
 deal with him. I want you to keep an eye on him. 
 Between us he cannot have much opportunity." 
 
 " All right, old man. It strikes me as a little 
 absurd, though." 
 
 " No matter. I have made up my mind. Now 
 let 's go in to supper. Absurdity may be instinc- 
 tive wisdom, Phil. A man who does not respect 
 his own individuality of opinion is like " — 
 
 "A turkey-gobbler in a hail-storm," broke in 
 his friend. 
 
 Blake laughed. "Indeed, Phil, I was enough 
 in doubt to need assistance. Do you think there 
 is any question on earth that you could not an- 
 swer ? " 
 
 "I might imagine one or two. All questions 
 are answerable. Infinity of un-response is incon- 
 ceivable. The Beon shall reply to the riddle of 
 the hour. Divinity alone is incomprehensible. 
 Surely, therefore, the more incomprehensible I 
 am, the more am I divine." 
 
 " Oh, Phil, Phil, you are outrageous ! Are you 
 ever serious ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I was once, for a minute, when I heard 
 a man of Concord declare that ' somewhere in the 
 Infinite there is an eternal teapot.' That made 
 me thoughtful : it did, indeed," 
 
310 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " I am not surprised," said Blake, laughing. 
 
 " It 's a comfort now and then, Roland, to make 
 you want to anchor or blow that fog-horn." 
 
 " Thanks. I shall owe you one. I see my own 
 feather on the fatal dart." 
 
 " Well, here we are. I rather want to see you 
 meet Mr. Darnell. As a student of human nature, 
 it interests me." 
 
 " Hush, Phil ! There he is." 
 
 As he spoke, Darnell, who was standing in the 
 doorway, came forward, smiling. His movements 
 were easy, and even graceful like those of his sis- 
 ter, and in the high carriage of his head and the 
 forward set of the chin there was some faint sug- 
 gestion of self-esteem. 
 
 " Good-evening, Mr. Francis," he said. " I am 
 glad to meet you again ; " and then, turning to 
 Blake, " we are older acquaintances, major. I owe 
 you a heavy debt. It is hardly my fault that it 
 has been so long unacknowledged in person. I 
 wrote to you twice from Fort Delaware, but pre- 
 sume my letters did not reach you. However, it 
 is not too late to say now what I feel." As he 
 began to speak, he put out his hand, which Blake 
 reluctantly took. 
 
 " The service was a small one, Mr. Darnell. 
 Suppose we say no more about it." 
 
 " That will not lessen the debt for me ; and per- 
 haps my turn may come some day. I can't but 
 feel very glad of the chance of knowing you bet- 
 ter ; and you are going to be here for some time, 
 I trust." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 311 
 
 " I am a little uncertain as to my stay. It de- 
 pends on circumstances." 
 
 " Well, the longer tlie better. I am a ruined 
 Confederate, and have nothing on earth to do. 
 I am waiting for something to turn up," he added, 
 bitterly. " I suppose we rebels are not very ac- 
 ceptable at the North just now." 
 
 " Oh, nobody cares much," said Francis, — 
 " certainly the army men least of all. Have a 
 cigar ? There does n't seem much to do here but 
 smoke." 
 
 " I suppose one can find a horse to ride ; and, 
 after all, there are cards. A light, please." And 
 then Francis and the Confederate fell into talk of 
 shooting, while Blake excused himself and strolled 
 away down the street. 
 
 He wanted to be alone. The feeling uppermost 
 in his mind was horror at the neighborhood of 
 this man to Olivia Wynne. He felt that he must 
 be careful. Something in the physical beauty of 
 Darnell also touched strange chords in the young 
 man's heart and surprised his consciousness with 
 a sense of pity that a man so well bred and 
 so gentle of speech should be so base. He was 
 haunted also, in some faint degree, by that idea so 
 often dwelt upon in romance, that he was meas- 
 urably responsible for the life which he had 
 lengthened. He smiled at the thought, but it in- 
 tensified the sadness with which he reflected on 
 his own duty. 
 
 Then he put it all aside, and turned to gentler 
 
312 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 dreams. He had done that in the morning which 
 he had not meant to do ; but he could see now 
 that it was inevitable. Self-forgiveness became 
 easy as he reflected that she had shown only- 
 sweet confusion and not anger. He wandered on 
 far into the sombre pine woods; and when he 
 came back, although it was not very late, it was 
 to find only one candle on the entry table beside 
 the matches. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " She carries a white angel in her breast, 
 That none can conquer ; and ail falsities 
 Sefore these two bright seraphs of her eyes 
 Turn to their native dlist ; a shame-clad cheek 
 Is stronger than a sword to guard the weak." 
 
 Blake breakfasted early, and was off for a 
 bath and a pull on the thoroughfare, whilst one 
 by one the rest came down. As far as being 
 merry was concerned, they were better without 
 him ; and he had good reasons for temporary ab- 
 sence. Francis found Mr. Darnell amusing, and 
 Pennell, having bought his clock, was serenely 
 happy, especially as he had succeeded in getting 
 it for less than it was worth. As they rose to 
 greet Miss Wynne, Francis was struck with the 
 ease of Darnell's manner, and, as he spoke, with 
 the soft inflections of his Southern tongue. He 
 had seen his cousin Miss Wynne for but a few 
 minutes the night before. She told him now that 
 Mrs. Wynne would be glad to see him after 
 twelve, and asked tranquilly for Octopia. 
 
 Darnell was a little surprised at her calmness. 
 She seemed to him more of a self-assured woman 
 and less of a girl. He noticed also that she looked 
 at the door now and then, and presently saw a 
 little flush and a slight stir in her face. He sat with 
 
814 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 his back to the windows, and could not see what 
 it was ; but, as she looked steadily down at her 
 plate, Blake came in, haTuig had his spin in a 
 boat and a cool plunge in the salt water. 
 
 Towards noon Blake saw her at some distance, 
 walking over the meadows with Darnell at her 
 side. That was natural enough ; but the young 
 fellow set his teeth as he watched them. They 
 were a long distance o£E, and the man was carry- 
 ing her sketching-chair. 
 
 Blake turned away, resolute to end the busi- 
 ness as soon as possible. For a while only duty 
 had urged him on ; now there was something 
 else which strengthened resolve. 
 
 Olivia had a pretty distinct will to-day to avoid 
 Roland Blake. When the men were having their 
 after-breakfast cigars beneath the willows, she 
 read awhile to Mrs. Wynne, and, pleading fatigue, 
 escaped with her drawing-materials by the back 
 garden, went around through the pine woods, and 
 walking swiftly across the low land was soon at 
 her ease. Presently she heard her name, and, 
 turning, saw Richard Darnell. 
 
 " I thought you were with grandmamma," she 
 said. She had no reason to fear him, but she 
 wished him away. 
 
 " Oh, I merely went in to tell her good-morn- 
 ing ; and when I found you had gone to the mead- 
 ows, as her maid said, I thought I would follow 
 you. Let me take your camp-stool. I should like 
 to see you sketch." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 315 
 
 " Very well," she said, and walked on, answer- 
 ing his questions as to the coast and the people. 
 
 He was bent on making her feel at ease, and 
 before they reached the landing he had succeeded, 
 so that she began to hope he would not recur to 
 the subject of their last interview in New York. 
 
 A brief time there had been when, as she re- 
 membered, she had come dangerously near to lik- 
 ing him well. Now she read his wooing in the 
 clear frank light a nobler nature had cast upon 
 her life. If he spoke again, as she feared he 
 might, she would be very gentle ; that was all. 
 
 " Where are you going? " he said, as she got 
 into the single boat at the landing-slip. 
 
 " I shall wait for Uncle John. I sent word to 
 him to meet me ; but he has failed me, I fear." 
 
 " Let me row you." 
 
 She hesitated. She disliked to say no without 
 a reason, and even more to say yes. 
 
 " Come, Olive," he said, " let me be your boat- 
 man. I shall be here only a day or two, and then 
 I shall go home to Virginia. You need not be 
 afraid," he added, seeing her reluctance. 
 
 " Oh, I am not afraid," she said, proudly. " Why 
 should I be afraid ? I suppose you can row ? " 
 
 "I? Of course." 
 
 She got in without more words, and he pushed 
 o£E. 
 
 " I want to go around that point. Then the 
 first turn to the left, and you row up a little creek 
 to the right. There is an old wreck I want to 
 sketch." 
 
316 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 She was silent for ten minutes, busily retouch- 
 ing an old drawing ; meanwhile he rowed on ab- 
 sently, wrapt in passionate study of her face. 
 Presently she looked up. " You are wrong, Cousin 
 Richard. I should have watched our course." 
 
 He turned the boat back, and took another 
 crossing creek. She stood up and looked. They 
 were in the hopeless mazes of a hundred water- 
 ways. She could see only grass and the mainland 
 woods. 
 
 " It is very provoking," she said. 
 
 At last he urged that she should let him try to 
 find their way back, but in ten minutes more he 
 had to confess failure : one creek was like another, 
 and tbey all seemed crooked past belief. 
 
 " Upon my word, I am sorry, Olive." 
 
 " That won't help us," she said, intensely an- 
 noyed. " I suppose some one will come ; but we 
 may be here all day." 
 
 Meanwhile, the boat lay adrift in the outgoing 
 tide. Olivia thought of her former scrape, and 
 laughed a little nervously. " It is so absurd," she 
 said. 
 
 Then she concluded that she would sketch, — 
 she might as well do something, — and would he 
 fasten the boat to the bank? This was not easy 
 to do, as there was no anchor, and he could only 
 hold on by the grasses for a time, until they broke 
 in his hands. 
 
 They had started quite late, and an hour or two 
 had gone by. It was after noon. She had told 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 317 
 
 Darnell he must not talk while she was sketching. 
 Therefore he sat and watched her, gnawing his 
 moustache, not saying a word, accepting the joy 
 of merely seeing her. He only knew that the 
 girl in one end of the boat was a presence which 
 filled him with a sense, of womanly competence of 
 face and form. When the winds petted her as 
 they went by and she put up her pencil absently 
 to push back a lock of hair they had displaced, the 
 prettiness of the movement did not capture his 
 attention. 
 
 He was capable of volcanic explosions. His 
 worst had been the result of abrupt temptation 
 backed by urgent needs or desires when the deyil's 
 recruiting-sergeant, Opportunity, had offered some 
 lure of gain or passion. It is a sad fact that 
 purity attracts the impure. The temperate maid- 
 enliness of this girl's acts and talk, her outbreaks 
 of joy or pleasure not yet free from childhood's 
 intensity of enjoyment of simple things, he liked, 
 and not less the flowing curves of her strong and 
 well-knit figure. 
 
 His failure to win her had made him angry, — 
 the sign of a low nature, — but he had place only 
 for the sway of one passion at a time, and the 
 anxieties arising out of the stock market had filled 
 his mind for a while as they could not have done 
 had he continued to see her. His was no spirit- 
 ualized love, — he was not capable of that, — but 
 it was just now as true an affection as his organ- 
 ization made possible. It must^ be indeed ajiopr 
 
318 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 sham of love which does not lift a man above his 
 worst level. This glimpse of heaven gentles us 
 all. 
 
 At last he said, " It is well I am not a woman, 
 Cousin Olive, or I might not have been so easy to 
 keep quiet." 
 
 " But I have been equally able to restrain my 
 tongue. You may talk now : I can't sketch : the 
 boat rocks too much. I was thinking we might 
 let her drift out with the tide : it may take us 
 into the main thoroughfare. If we stay here we 
 shall be left aground, and no one will ever see us." 
 
 " All right," he said, and pushed the bateau 
 into mid-stream. He, at least, was satisfied. 
 
 Presently, as he went on rowing with the tide, 
 they came into a broader creek, and at last, as 
 Olivia had predicted, into the main thoroughfare. 
 Then she saw, to her dismay, that the great beach 
 was not far off, and how utterly they had lost 
 themselves. 
 
 "Is n't that an inlet? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, and the tide sets towards it. You must 
 pull to the beach : there is a house there, and 
 some people. They will take us back. I can't 
 think how I could have been so foolish ; and now 
 grandmamma will be awfully frightened." 
 
 " I doubt, really, Olive, if she will trouble her- 
 self." 
 
 " But please pull a little harder. It is past four 
 o'clock." 
 
 Presently he urged the boat well up on the 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 319 
 
 shore, and tliey began to walk to the house. She 
 was worried, annoyed, self-reproachful ; he was 
 the slave of the hour's joy. They said little. 
 Then while he waited outside she went in at the 
 open door, saying that she would find Mrs. Hand, 
 but in a few moments came back and said there 
 was no one in the house, and, as they had seen no 
 boat at the slip, every one must be away. 
 
 " The worst of it is," she added, " they very 
 often go to stay all night at the Court-house." 
 
 " Then we are Robinson Crusoes, Olive ! " And 
 he was selfishly pleased that for hours he should 
 be alone with her. 
 
 Her trouble at the distress her absence would 
 cause did not move him greatly. However, to 
 quiet her, he said he would take a look among the 
 dunes. He came back in a half hour, and re- 
 ported that he could find no one; that the peo- 
 ple had left the fire covered with ashes, and that 
 this would not have been the case had they meant 
 to remain away all night. At last he persuaded 
 her to walk a little, and was sure that pretty soon 
 some one would come. 
 
 But before long she became so evidently dis- 
 turbed and so unwilling or unable to talk that he 
 said he would take the boat and try to find his 
 way home, so that some one could be sent to her. 
 
 She replied that it was useless, — that he would 
 never find his way. 
 
 Then they endeavored to call a boat passing up 
 the thoroughfare, but did not succeed in attract- 
 ing the attention of its crew. 
 
320 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 By and by he said, suddenly, as they stood in 
 front of the house, — 
 
 " What made you run away, Olive ? Was I so 
 very dreadful ? " 
 
 " No ; you were always kind to me. I persuaded 
 grandmamma to go, and it was I who asked Mr. 
 Pennell not to say where we had gone. It was 
 a little silly, I dare say ; but. Cousin Richard, Oc- 
 topia had simply worn me out. I wanted some 
 relief. No doubt I was selfish ; but between Oc- 
 topia and grandmamma I was — well, I merely 
 could not bear it any longer. I suppose even men 
 get desperate sometimes." 
 
 " Then it was not, Olive, that you wanted to fly 
 from me. When we learned where you were, I 
 wrote to you ; but you did not answer." 
 
 " No, I did not answer. I had nothing to say," 
 she returned, coldly. 
 
 " Yet it was all of a man's life you had in your 
 hands." 
 
 " Men's lives are in their own hands, Richard." 
 
 " By heaven, no ! " he said. " I was a spoilt 
 boy, — told every day how beautiful I was. I had 
 a dozen servants to do what I wished. No one 
 refused me any indulgence. I grew up half edu- 
 cated, among slaves and women who thought my 
 recklessness a thing to admire. Had I been a cow- 
 ard it would have been better. I spent money, — 
 my own and what my mother gave me. Then she 
 died, and things went from bad to worse." 
 
 He paused. It was part natural self-defense 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 321 
 
 and part an eager desire to enlist the sympathy 
 of the woman at his side. 
 
 His arrow went wide of the mark. She knew 
 well what it all led up to, but was angry that he 
 had so little tact or good feeling as to seize on this 
 awkward time to urge his suit. She glanced wist- 
 fully OYer the deserted thoroughfare. 
 
 Darnell went on : " How can you say a man's 
 life is in his own hands? My mother was like 
 Octopia. She indulged her own nervous system 
 and her children. I grew up with a taste for lux- 
 ury and found that we were poor, and then we 
 lived along, — God knows how, — until the war 
 came." 
 
 " I should like to help you," said Olivia. " But 
 what can I do ? " 
 
 The false note in all he said was ever disturb- 
 ingly present to her instinctive sense of moral har- 
 mony. 
 
 " My God ! can't you see," he answered, passion- 
 ately, " that it is the cry of a soul in hell, Olive? 
 Help me with your love. To-day my life is in 
 your hands, to make or mar. Love like mine must 
 win." 
 
 She was scared at his vehemence, and looked 
 aside at his flushed, handsome face with a certain 
 vague anxiety. 
 
 Then he paused before her : " Have you no an- 
 swer ? you are cruel ! " 
 
 " I am not cruel," said Olivia. " I do not see 
 why you talk to me in this strange way. You 
 know that I can have but one answer," 
 
322 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " And that ? " he inquired, sternly ; " and that? 
 What is it?" 
 
 " I do not love you." 
 
 " Then good-by, love," he said, hoarsely, and 
 caught her in his arms and kissed her passion- 
 ately. 
 
 " My God ! " she exclaimed, struggling, and 
 pushing him off with her strong young arms. 
 
 "Forgive me," said he. " Forgive me, Olive." 
 
 " Then let me go," she cried. 
 
 " And you do forgive me ? " he said, releasing 
 her. 
 
 " I will try," she said, faintly, feeling that her 
 strength was leaving her. 
 
 " And there is no one else, Olive ? I — I 
 thought once you might care for me." 
 
 " I will not be questioned," she returned, 
 proudly. " You are cruel and unmanly." 
 
 " Then there is some one, and I have lost you ! 
 It did seem to me once that you might come to 
 love me. No man shall come between us. No 
 man shall dare to take you from me. I would kill 
 him. As I live I would kill him." 
 
 The girl recoiled ; there was awful earnestness 
 in the threat. 
 
 " Fool ! " she said, " are you mad ? He saved 
 your life." 
 
 " What, Olive ! not Major Blake ? Curse him, 
 he is safe from me ! Please don't cry. You have 
 saved a man's life. Upon my honor I am speak- 
 ing the truth." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 323 
 
 The girl was sobbing bitterly, a tempest of fear 
 and shame and loathing and surprised love in her 
 breast. " Go ! go ! " she said ; " you have done 
 your worst," and motioned him away with out- 
 stretched palm. 
 
 Then, as he moved from her side, she called to 
 him. He paused. 
 
 " You won't say what I have told you ? " 
 
 He understood her in some measure. " You 
 shall be obeyed. I am not an utter brute. Can 
 I do anything else, Olive ? " He spoke now with 
 his usual gentleness. 
 
 " If — if you would go up to the house-top and 
 look and see if any one is in sight." 
 
 " Certainly," he said, and, walking away, dis- 
 appeared in the house. 
 
 She waited a moment, looked about her, and 
 then, gathering her skirts, ran like a deer to the 
 boat, and with difficulty shoved it into the water. 
 Then she got in, and with an oar pushed it out 
 resolutely into the sunset-lighted thoroughfare, 
 and awkwardly rowed away. 
 
 A few moments later she saw Darnell on the 
 shore. A sense of freedom gave her courage, 
 and something had forbidden her to remain alone 
 with him on the dusking beach. 
 
 " Olive ! Olive ! " he cried. " You will be lost! 
 Keep o£E from the inlet, — to the left, to the 
 left ! " 
 
 She did not reply, but pulled sturdily out on to 
 the thoroughfare, with fierce scorn of his advice 
 
324 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 and a sense of deliverance in her praying soul. 
 She had the sense to direct her course towards 
 the setting sun, but found it hard to pull against 
 the strong flow of the ebb tide. 
 
 By degrees the figure of the man grew indis- 
 tinct, the dusk grew in about her, and, quite ex- 
 hausted, she ceased to row, until the low head- 
 lands, dimly visible, began to seem to go by her 
 westward, as the strong flow of the water swept 
 her boat towards the inlet. Then she grew un- 
 easy, and rowed hard again, so that her pahns be- 
 came blistered from this unaccustomed labor. 
 
 And now the sun went down, and the brief 
 September twilight faded into night, and she was 
 cold, having let fall her cloak in her flight. At 
 intervals she tugged at the oars, trying to see 
 the village lights. At last she gave up and sat 
 stUl, utterly worn out. 
 
 A half hour went by. The terror of the black 
 water below and the star-lit dome above began to 
 possess her soul with an awful sense of isolation. 
 Would she drift out to death in the wild wash of 
 the inlet breakers ? They seemed to be nearer. 
 And life was rich to her just now. And Roland 
 Blake, — why did he not come ? Would not love 
 guide him like the birds ? Ah, if it would but be 
 he who should find her ! 
 
 "She tried again to row, hearing too well the 
 roar of the lion-like rollers as they ravened at 
 the inlet mouth. Again she gave up. It was use- 
 less to struggle. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 325 
 
 She recalled how sometimes when she had been 
 worried at home she used to find that to sit at the 
 piano and sing steadied her. She broke out in 
 the hymn, " Abide with me ; fast falls the even- 
 tide," her voice at first trembling, but soon clear 
 and resolute. She thought, smiling, as she heard 
 the wild breakers ramping on the bar perilously 
 closer and closer, that she was like the Christian 
 maids who sang hymns in the cruel arena. 
 
 The unguided boat was rocking dangerously. 
 She paused. The night was black all around her. 
 Of a sudden came hope ; far away she saw a flash, 
 and then heard the report of a pistol. She called 
 aloud, and, seizing the oars, pulled hard towards 
 the flash she had seen. A second shot helped her. 
 In some ten minutes she was safe. Uncle John 
 and Blake were beside her, and she was carefully 
 helped into their boat, to which they tied her own 
 little craft. 
 
 They said little until she was securely seated. 
 Then Uncle John spoke : " Well, you are a sure 
 'nough mariner now, Miss 'Livia. And how did 
 it come ? " 
 
 " I went out with my cousin, and we got lost." 
 
 " An' where on airth is that man ? " 
 
 *' We got down to the beach, and I happened 
 to get into the boat while he was at the house." 
 
 " Drifted off, like. Wa'al, he might be in a wus 
 place. Guess he '11 bide. You might be coolish, 
 miss ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am cold. It does n't matter." 
 
326 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Blake took off his coat. " Put this over you," 
 he said, and went on pulling. 
 
 " No," she replied ; " I cannot." 
 
 " Do as you are told," he said, curtly. 
 
 She ,put it about her, liking well to be com- 
 manded. It was an old army undress coat. As 
 she fastened it about her, one of the well-used 
 buttons came off in her hand. She laughed, and 
 put it in her bosom. 
 
 " What 's amusin' you, miss ? " said Uncle John. 
 
 " Nothing. I am only happy." 
 
 " Well, you 've had a nigh thing of it. Them 
 rollers is rather rampagin'." 
 
 Then they pulled with no more words said. 
 
 At the landing Blake walked away with her. 
 
 " Take my arm," he said. " The bank is full of 
 holes." She obeyed him silently. " Miss Wynne," 
 he added, gravely, " something has happened. 
 What is it ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you. You asked me to trust you 
 yesterday. Now it is my turn. You will oblige 
 me if you do not ask. It is not serious. Will you 
 be so kind as to meet Mr. Darnell just as usual ? 
 He is greatly to be pitied." 
 
 " And you are sure that you are acting wisely ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am very sure." 
 
 " Then that is enough. I will see that you are 
 not questioned." 
 
 " You are very good to me." 
 
 " That is as if you should say I am good to my- 
 self." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 327 
 
 She asked abruptly if her grandmother had 
 been troubled, and was surprised that the old 
 lady had not been more disturbed. 
 
 Blake could not help telling his companion of 
 Pennell's extreme distress when after dinner Miss 
 Wynne had been found missing and the boat gone 
 from the slip. " I think he has half the town 
 in his pay. About four o'clock he began to un- 
 derstand that Mr. Darnell must be with you. 
 That seemed to quiet Mrs. Wynne, but it made 
 Mr. Pennell twice as restless; I could see that. 
 I am afraid Mr. Pennell does not fancy Mr. Dar- 
 nell, or else he bad some anxiety about him. I 
 could see that there was something." 
 
 Olivia smiled as they moved cautiously along 
 the bank in the darkness. " Perhaps I can ex- 
 plain. Addenda Pennell has for years had a great 
 admiration for my cousin, Miss Darnell. It was 
 rather amusing. Really she made him fetch and 
 carry like a well-trained poodle. I used to think 
 it was a shame." 
 
 " I see," said Blake, thoughtfully. 
 
 After a pause he turned the current of their 
 talk. " We heard you singing. What was it you 
 sang ? " 
 
 She told him. 
 
 " And what made you think of singing ? " 
 
 " One's own voice seems like another person. 
 It made me feel less alone. It kept me from 
 thinking. One gets such strange thoughts." 
 
 " Yes ; at times I have felt so out on the picket' 
 
328 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 line. There death seemed always near in the 
 stillness and the night : you can understand that. 
 And here is the house. This way, Miss Wynne." 
 
 He led her round by the garden to the back 
 gate, took his coat, and saying simply, " Good- 
 night," left her. 
 
 In front of the inn he found Pennell and 
 Francis, to whom he explained the adventure with 
 such audacity of comment as did credit to his 
 powers as a master of fiction, so that they both 
 agreed with him that Darnell must have been 
 very careless about the boat, and that, on the 
 whole, the less said about the matter the better. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " Time in a cruel creditor : he saitll, What didst thou with this minute and 
 with that? " 
 
 RlCHAED Daenbll returned early in the 
 morning, having been brought over by a fisher- 
 man, who told him of Miss Wynne's safety. He 
 dressed, breakfasted before any one came down, 
 and walked sullenly away up the main road, with 
 no company but a cigar and his own reflections. 
 They were not consoling. 
 
 His anxiety about Olivia had been horrible as 
 he saw her float out into the dusk. He passed a 
 night of torture. When he learned that she had 
 been comfortably in bed he began to regain his 
 sullen wrath at her refusal of his love. Minor 
 motives, too, pricked him like nettles: they are 
 like mischievous boys in a mob, and make half 
 the trouble. His self-esteem was hurt, his money 
 almost exhausted ; indeed, he had borrowed from 
 Pennell a small sum, readily lent. No one had 
 cared even to send over to the beach for him. In 
 his bitter mood Francis's gayety annoyed him. 
 And it was clear, too, that the man who had taken 
 his place in Olive's heart haughtily avoided him, 
 and yet had saved his life. Better had he been 
 left to die. Was it not a clear settlement? — a 
 
330 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 heart for a life ? The logic of despair was in his 
 mind. He owed this man nothing. 
 
 It was raining heavily. He did not notice it, 
 but threw away his cigar and strode along, champ- 
 ing at the black moustache which hid his lip-lines. 
 Having never been taught self-control or mental 
 discipline, his consciousness was now like a mad- 
 house in which the mutinous insane range un- 
 checked without a keeper. At such moments crime 
 is in the air, murder at the elbow. He took out 
 of his pocket a photograph of Olivia and stared at 
 it. The cool maidenly purity, the white dress 
 and innocent face, but fed his rage. He kissed it, 
 and, tearing it to pieces, threw it into the thicket 
 at his side with a muttered oath. 
 
 As he turned, looking up he saw Roland Blake 
 coming quietly along the road. The young man 
 had passed a night of unrest, thinking over what 
 Olivia had told him. The very guarded nature of 
 what she had told him made him anxious, and at 
 last he had said to himself that he would do some- 
 thing which should drive this man away. He had 
 waited top long as it was, and would wait no 
 longer. 
 
 Learning that Darnell had gone up the road, 
 he followed him, naturally enough reflecting as to 
 what he should say. He had promised Olivia to 
 think as kindly as possible of this man, for whom 
 she had expressed pity. He would do his best. 
 He overtook the Confederate in the pine woods. 
 
 " Good-morninrr," he said. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 331 
 
 " Good-morning." 
 
 " I have followed you to-day that I might talk 
 with you. I have something to say to you which 
 I have put off for various reasons. It is not a 
 pleasant thing to do, but it has to be done." 
 
 " I am not in a mood for talk. I advise you to 
 postpone it." 
 
 "That I cannot do. You will have to hear 
 me." 
 
 " I am not in the habit of allowing men to die 
 tate to me, Mr. Blake." He was sobering fast 
 under a sense of the approach of some crisis, and 
 had relief in the possibility of action. 
 
 " I am not much afraid of consequences," said 
 Blake, " nor do I want to say what may be dis- 
 agreeable." 
 
 " Oh, very well. Go on. What is it ? Let us 
 sit down, if you please. I am tired." He was 
 now serenely tranquil. 
 
 They sat on a fallen tree, while Darnell calmly 
 lit a cigar, the rain still falling drearily. 
 
 " Let me ask you," said Blake, " to hear me 
 patiently. What I have to ask of you I want to 
 ask as a favor to a man who has done you, whether 
 willingly or not, the small kindness of saving 
 your life." 
 
 " Well," said Darnell, in profound amazement, 
 " there are few things a man ought not to be will- 
 ing to promise a gentleman who reminds him of 
 such indebtedness. Pray go on." 
 
 " I shall consider your debt canceled, if you 
 
332 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 will go away from this place and cease to make 
 any further effort to see your cousins. If I seem 
 to you absurd or exacting, or, if you like, insane, 
 be so good as to remember that I have reasons 
 which I do not wish "to state, — reasons which in- 
 volve your own safety. Do not force me to state 
 them. I have, I assure you on my honor, a real 
 desire to deal with you kindly ; and yet " — 
 
 Darnell laughed outright. " Well, of all the 
 cool things I ever heard of, this is the coolest. 
 You are not quite insane, I presume ? And I am 
 to go away to oblige you, who are in love with my 
 cousin ! It is n't a joke, is it ? " 
 
 " There is no question of Miss Wynne at pres- 
 ent. We wUl leave her out of the case, if you 
 please. I have chosen, quixotically perhaps, to 
 put it as a favor to me. You can have no strong 
 reason for remaining ; and if you say yes I shall 
 be saved — and you will escape — what I earnestly 
 desire to avoid." 
 
 Darnell turned sharply. " First I wish to say 
 to you, Mr. Blake, that no possible obligation can 
 justify your words. If I have permitted them at 
 all, it is because I do owe you my life. As to 
 your proposal, it is simply nonsense ; and as for 
 your rather enigmatical threats, I must now ask 
 you to explain them. This matter has gone far 
 enough. What do you mean ? " He rose as he 
 ended, and stood facing the younger man. 
 
 " I made a promise, Mr. Darnell, that I would 
 treat you kindly in this matter. I have kept my 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 333 
 
 word. I have no hostility to you, and, for many 
 reasons, I pity you." 
 
 tt was true. He did pity him, — more, indeed, 
 than Darnell could have dreamed. 
 
 " By heavens, sir, you must consider me a pa- 
 tient man." 
 
 " And you will not go ? " 
 
 " I ? no ! " 
 
 Despite his unusual capacity for self-control, 
 Blake lost his temper. " Then you must. If you 
 will have it, take it. I am the officer who met 
 you on that night in May, when you gave me cer- 
 tain information and were paid by me for it on the 
 spot. Your bullet wounded me, and I escaped. 
 You are a double traitor, — to your cause and to 
 the man who by after-chance saved your worthless 
 life. Do you suppose that I am going to allow 
 you to live in the same house with two helpless 
 women ? There you have my story. What do 
 you propose to do ? " He rose as he finished. 
 
 As Blake spoke, Darnell recoiled, his face a 
 livid mask, his jaw dropped. He was ruined. 
 The one thing he yet valued — the opinion of men 
 of his own caste — was lost. He said no words, 
 but his hand crept tremulously towards his breast- 
 pocket. 
 
 Blake was on him in a second, and caught his 
 groping arm at the wrist. Darnell struck him 
 wildly with his free hand as the young man, clos- 
 ing, tripped him with his right leg, and they fell 
 heavily to the ground. For a moment the strife 
 
 22 
 
334 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 •was doubtful ; but Blake held fast the dangerous 
 right hand, and fastening with a clutch of despair 
 on Darnell's throat, disregarded the blows of his 
 unfettered arm. The face beneath him he never 
 forgot in after days. The strong knee on the chest 
 and the fierce grip at the throat did their work 
 swiftly. The man's arm relaxed, a convulsive 
 movement went over his features, and Blake rose 
 tottering to his feet. Francis was at his side. 
 
 "By George, Phil," exclaimed his friend, 
 breathing hard, " I am glad to see you. I am 
 afraid I have killed this scoundrel." 
 
 Francis knelt down beside the prostrate man. 
 " No," he said, looking up ; " he is breathing. 
 The color is coming back into his face. He is only 
 a scotched snake. Are you hurt? Your face 
 is n't pretty ; but it is n't very bad. What on 
 earth shall we do, Blake ? " 
 
 " Wait a little. If he comes to, as he seems to 
 be doing, I must talk to him. By the way, just 
 put your hand in his breast-pocket ; I think you 
 will find a revolver." 
 
 Darnell was moving uneasily, and opened his 
 eyes as Francis sought for the weapon. " There 
 is none, Roland," said Francis, looking up. 
 
 " Indeed ? I might have escaped this row, but 
 he put his hand in his breast, and I did not wait. 
 I suppose the act was mere habit on his part. 
 But how did you come here, Phil ? " 
 
 " I followed you through the wood. I hardly 
 know why, but I feared something after our late 
 talk." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 385 
 
 Darnell was now seated, a wretched figure 
 smirclied with mud, his face still livid and blotched. 
 They stood quietly watching him. He stared 
 about him, bewildered. 
 
 At length Blake spoke. " Are you better ? " 
 
 Darnell swept a hand over his face. " Yes, I 'm 
 better." Then rapidly reviving, he rose with 
 Blake's help and stood uncertain and pallid, look- 
 ing curiously from one to the other. 
 
 Blake turned to Francis. " Just drop out of 
 earshot a moment, old fellow ; I must talk to this 
 man." 
 
 Francis shrugged his shoulders. " Exit," he 
 said, " at left side of stage," and walked into the 
 wood. 
 
 " Can you understand me, Mr. Darnell ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I remember now. I wish I had killed 
 
 you." 
 
 " Well, you have not. Can you recall what I 
 said to you ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And will you leave this place if I promise to 
 tell no one of what I know ? You are safe with 
 me, if you simply go away and see your cousins no 
 more." 
 
 " And if I do not, what then ? " 
 
 Blake's face set hard. 
 
 " As there is a God above me, I will tell Olivia 
 Wynne." 
 
 " I will go." 
 
 "When?" 
 
336 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " Remember, I shall keep my word, and ruth- 
 lessly. If I have to tell the whole world, I shall 
 do it." 
 
 " You have said enough." 
 
 As Darnell spoke he moved towards the Court- 
 house, at first slowly, but soon mth a more as- 
 sured step. Blake watched him a moment, and 
 then calling Francis, they turned into the wood 
 and walked around homewards by the meadows. 
 
 " You had a near thing of it, Roland." 
 
 "Yes. Don't talk to me. I am played out, 
 body and mind." 
 
 " All right. I am not in that gentleman's se- 
 crets, but I suppose, from my brief acquaintance 
 with him, that he is what people describe as his 
 own worst foe." 
 
 " He is to be pitied, Phil." 
 
 " Well, I don't know. He is probably engaged 
 just now in the easy Christian task of forgiving 
 his enemy." 
 
 " How can you jest about it ? " 
 
 " And pray what else can one do ? " 
 
 " Do nothing, say nothing." 
 
 " My dear Roland, your charity is all very fine 
 in theory, and yet you half killed him. But 
 frankly, Roland, is there any practical result ? I 
 hate rows between gentlemen, but most of all 
 those which end by leaving things as they were." 
 
 " This has not left things as they were. I have 
 done what I wanted to do, but I ought to have 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 337 
 
 kept my temper. If I had been a trifle less quick 
 there would have been no row." 
 
 "Well ! it 's done now. Will there be anything 
 further ? " 
 
 " Hardly, if you mean anything like a duel. 
 That, in this case, is simply impossible." 
 
 " One word more, Roland. I suppose you may 
 be said to have had a fall." 
 
 " Yes. It is true." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ** Will the springtime let thee gueSB 
 All of summer's loveliness ? 
 Canst thou from the rosebud know 
 Half how sweet the rose will grow ? " 
 
 Addenda PEijrtirELL was troubled about Dar- 
 nell. He had seen him depleting his sister's small 
 capital, and lately he had himself lent him money. 
 At one time he meant to offer him a place in his 
 oflBce ; but he had seen how incapable he was 
 of accuracy, and simply feared to put money- 
 temptation in the way of a man who could coldly 
 beggar a sister. He had aided many men in 
 trouble, but this man puzzled his capacity. Yet 
 for Octopia's sake he would do much. 
 
 He watched Darnell enter the inn, and, seeing 
 his disordered dress and blotched face, concluded 
 with surprise and regret that he had been drink- 
 ing. He had not liked the adventure with Olivia, 
 who had not been down at breakfast, but who 
 was said, as he learned on inquiry, to be well, 
 but tired. 
 
 When Blake passed him and laughingly ex- 
 plained that he had had a fall, Pennell began to 
 be suspicious. He thought it over a little, won- 
 dered if his house-maid had kept his clocks wound 
 up, and slowly wandered down the sandy road. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 339 
 
 He had half a mind to telegraph Miss Darnell 
 to come ; Mrs. Wynne would not regret it, and 
 Olivia seemed to him to have grown more amiable 
 as regarded her cousin. 
 
 At the post-office he found a letter from Octo- 
 pia, in which she said that she was anxious as to 
 many things, and had resolved to go to the Court- 
 house, and would he see about rooms and have a 
 fire and give orders as to the bed ? And perhaps 
 till she came there was no need to tell her cousins. 
 This he liked least ; but he nevertheless obeyed 
 her as usual. 
 
 In the afternoon Blake sent up a note to Miss 
 Wynne to ask if she would walk with him before 
 the supper-hour. 
 
 He found her, near the sunset time, in the small 
 parlor, and together they turned off toward the 
 sea, across the meadows. In the lowering light the 
 great levels were beautiful with hazy breadths of 
 modest colors hard to name. Fading sedge and 
 autumnal ferns, rigid salt grasses and the broad- 
 ening rings of salt-wort, with light of sun-touched 
 pools, set about with cat-tail and reeds, lent each 
 their hues to make one vast mottled mistiness of 
 browns and reds and intense lake and yellows, of 
 which only autumn knows the trick, — a confusion 
 of blended tints like the strange splendor of a 
 vast palette on which the great artist about to die 
 had left the lavish wealth of unused colors. 
 
 " I tried to paint it last week," she said, " and 
 became bankrupt of paints ; I mixed them to no 
 
340 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 purpose. These tints are like phantoms ; they 
 change and come and go, a,nd a breath of wind on 
 the grass and ferns is like the shaking of a kaleido- 
 scope. I gave up in despair. Even if one could 
 paint this maze of color, the sentiment would es- 
 cape ; and that is the thing one really craves." 
 
 "And just what is the sentiment of our early 
 autumn ? " he said. " It is not sadness, — or not 
 for me, at least. It is a reflective time. One 
 gets nearer to one's self." 
 
 Miss Wynne smiled. She was getting accus- 
 tomed to his occasional outbreaks of slightly hazy 
 speculative speech. He had a liking to set her lit- 
 tle puzzles, and delighted in her intelligent dealing 
 with them, or her easy way of disregarding them. 
 
 " Oh, I am always near enough to myself," she 
 returned. " The thing is to get nearer to other 
 people." Blake mentally agreed with her, and 
 she continued, hastily, " Now, I have lived years 
 with grandmamma and Octopia, and I am no 
 nearer to understanding them than at first." 
 
 "I am sure you know them better than you 
 think you do. Your real trouble is in stating 
 your comprehension in words." 
 
 " That may be it." 
 
 " Words are so stupid. The great word-artists 
 must gnash their teeth over them. Some day 
 there will be a man who will be able to express 
 what he wants to say equally well with brush and 
 words. Think, now, — if Shakespeare could have 
 also painted Viola and the Jew ! " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 341 
 
 "But I can always see his people. Listen to 
 the wind in the pines." 
 
 " It is like a drowsy waterfall," he said. " And 
 how plainly you can hear the surf ! " Olivia 
 shuddered at the memory of it. 
 
 Then they came to the landing-slip. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, " you would rather not go 
 out in a boat this evening." 
 
 " I should very much rather not. I dreamed of 
 boats and breakers all night long." 
 
 " Then we will walk." 
 
 " No ; I am so much afraid that I mean to go, 
 if you will kindly take me a little way. I have 
 no patience with nervousness." 
 
 Liking well the show of character, he returned, 
 " Well, we wiU use the big bateau, and not go 
 far." 
 
 Then they pushed out and he pulled to the 
 north, and came forth on the great wide thorough- 
 fare as the sun had nearly fallen and a fan of opal 
 rays grew broadening up the western sky. 
 
 She turned and looked at him. " You have 
 hurt your face, I see." 
 
 " Yes. I had a fall." 
 
 "You have had a trouble with Richard," she 
 cried, instantly. 
 
 How did she know it ? How do women know 
 anything ? She could not have told you. 
 
 " "Well, I 'm like G. Washington," he said, 
 laughing. " It is true. Of course I did not 
 mean to tell you. What I do want to say is that 
 
342 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Mr. Darnell will leave to-morrow, and that — and 
 this is my point — if you are, as I am sure you 
 are, a wise woman, you will avoid him for the 
 next twenty-four hours. He is not a nice man, 
 and I think him even a dangerous one." 
 
 " Thank you very much," she said, wondering. 
 
 Then they drifted out on to the wider space of 
 the wind-fretted water aglow with shimmering 
 lights. He threw a coat in the bottom of the 
 boat, and sat down, the woman on the seat above 
 him. 
 
 " I have been unspeakably happy. Miss Wynne, 
 these three or four weeks. The war is over, and 
 this is the pleasant turn for me towards a new 
 life of hopeful work." 
 
 " It cannot have been more tranquilly peaceful 
 for any one than for me," she returned. " You 
 may suppose me to have had a life of just a girl's 
 commonplace days ; but it is not so. Never in 
 years until this month have I known what it was 
 to control my own hours and tasks. I have lived 
 with two sick women." 
 
 " It must have been hard : I can see that." 
 
 She now knew this man so trustfully well that 
 she talked to him with a frank innocence which 
 at times gave her little shocks of surprise. She 
 was on the point of telling him of the mysterious 
 secret which had been to her so grave a trouble. 
 
 " Besides " — she said, and paused. 
 
 "Besides — what?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I was only thinking of an an- 
 noyance in my life at home." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 343 
 
 " Let it annoy me too." 
 
 " No. Why should I burden any one else ? " 
 
 " Burden me ! " he said. " What burden is 
 there you could lay on me that I would not gladly 
 carry ? " She looked past him over the dusking 
 water, and he went on, still gazing steadily up at 
 the pensive sweetness of her lifted face : " Don't 
 you know that I love you, Olivia ? " And the 
 soft vowels slid lingering over his lips. 
 
 The girl covered her face with both hands, and 
 murmured a brief prayer in the seclusion of the 
 httle chapel her white fingers made. 
 
 "Shall it be so, Olive? Shall we go through 
 life, by God's grace, hand in hand, helpful of each 
 other, till our days are done ? " 
 
 " Yes." And, bending over as she spoke, she 
 frankly put her hand in his. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, very earnestly. " How 
 can I ever thank you? How sweet you are, 
 Olive ! God's gold is in your hair." It was shot 
 through with sunset spikes of yellow light. 
 
 Life was too fuU for her to trust her lips with 
 speech. At last she said, timidly, "Don't you 
 think we should go home — Roland ? " 
 
 Then he took the oars, and, pulling slowly, 
 reached the bank, while the night-hawks wheeled 
 swooping over them under the deepening blue of 
 the star-lit dome. 
 
 They landed and walked hand in hand across 
 the well-known meadow as little children, because 
 they had entered the kingdom of heaven which is 
 
344 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 love ; but when they were yet some distance from 
 the inn, in the darkness, and heard voices on the 
 porch, she felt of a sudden the hot blood in her 
 cheeks, and pausing, said, " Good-by." 
 
 Then, facing her, he took her hands and kissed 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, Roland ! " she cried, and stood still a mo- 
 ment, and then was away through the darkness 
 like a deer, and was glad of its covert. He stayed 
 where she had left him, and watched the white 
 flutter of her gown until it disappeared. 
 
 At the side-gate of the garden she lingered with 
 her hand on the latch. " I love him," she mur- 
 mured. " Thank God for this day ! " 
 
 If there be no touch of religion for a young girl 
 in the first kiss of the man she worthily loves, life 
 must have been for her a meaner thing than one 
 could wish. 
 
 Blake moved slowly up to the porch, where 
 were Pennell and Francis chatting, and, farther 
 away, under the willows, Darnell pacing sullenly 
 to and fro. 
 
 Now here was Blake with the wine of life's 
 utmost joy in his veins, and here were Francis, — 
 light comedy, — his chair atilt, and Pennell, his 
 life a hidden melodrama, and under the willows 
 Darnell as imminent tragedy. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " A life of nothings, — nothing worth, 
 Irom that first nothing ere our birth 
 To that last nothing under earth, 
 
 SufKce it thee 
 Thy pain is a reality." 
 
 The surgeon's idea of "shock" as a result of 
 sudden physical injury should be imported into 
 the domain of criminal psychology. The ball 
 which crushes a joint stops or weakens the distant 
 heart, or palsies a remote limb, or enfeebles the 
 whole frame. In the sphere of mind and morale 
 the abrupt shock of fear or shame may in like 
 manner affect distant nerve-cells and thus deaden 
 memory, palsy the organs of reason, annihilate 
 for a while the power to loye or hate, and even 
 reduce a man for a time to the verge of inert 
 idiocy. 
 
 Under such a blow, emphasized in its force by 
 bodUy hurt, Darnell found himself all day incapa- 
 ble of thought, stupid and indifferent. Now and 
 then his head cleared, and he wondered at his 
 want of anger or his total lack of motive. 
 
 When he rose next morning, he was more 
 nearly himself again. He was conscious that he 
 was not quite well either in body or in mind ; but 
 a brisk walk and a little brandy helped him, so 
 
346 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 that he went coolly in to breakfast and sat down, 
 saying, — 
 
 " Good-morning, Olivia. I hope you are over 
 the effects of your voyage." Every one looked 
 up except Blake, and Francis, nodding, eyed the 
 man with curiosity. 
 
 Then Pennell, who sat near, told him that Miss 
 Octopia would arrive some time in the day. 
 
 Darnell glanced at his cousin, and said, " Do 
 you hear that, Olive ? Octopia is coming." 
 
 " Indeed ! " she returned. She did not care 
 now, and half wondered at her own indifference. 
 
 The meal went on awkwardly. As Darnell left 
 the table, he said, bending over Olivia's chair, — 
 
 "I am going away to-day, and I want to see 
 Cousin Anne to tell her good-by. I shall be at 
 her door at eleven. Please to tell her, will you?" 
 
 " I will. But shall you not wait to see Octo- 
 pia?" 
 
 " I do not know," he replied, absently. 
 
 " She will be sorry to miss you," said Olivia, 
 forcing herself to kindly speech. 
 
 " I shan't miss myself," he muttered absently. 
 " May I see you again before I go ?" 
 
 "I would rather not," said Olivia, still looking 
 down at her plate, they being now alone, and only 
 Blake walking uneasily to and fro near the door. 
 
 " As you like," returned Darnell, and went out. 
 
 Then Blake came back, and she told him what 
 had passed. He said to her that the stage went 
 at one, and if she would keep her room until then 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 347 
 
 she could thus easily avoid Darnell. As to him- 
 self, he would stay about until the man departed. 
 
 Darnell went up-stairs, packed his valise and 
 took more brandy, and reflected, sitting on the 
 bed. Even his passion for the woman he had in- 
 sulted was still dulled for the time. Fear, and 
 hatred of Blake, whose word he did not fully trust, 
 were the most distinct sentiments now in his 
 mind. It was dreadful to the wretch to think 
 that a part of his security from exposure would 
 be due to the fact that, loving Olive, Blake would 
 be less willing to disgrace one of her kin. 
 
 He had to leave ; and Octopia's resources were 
 getting low. What could he do when these quite 
 failed him ? He would see Mrs. Wynne and per- 
 suade her — and he smiled grimly — to lend him 
 money ; and then he wished that his sister had been 
 more free in her confessions to him. Once clear 
 from this awful fear and supplied with money, he 
 would go West and see what chance would bring. 
 
 At eleven he went down-stairs, and, knocking 
 gently, entered Mrs. Wynne's room. He was not 
 in a state to notice particulars, or he would have 
 observed — what was visible enough to Olivia — 
 that the old lady was losing ground physically. 
 She was never intellectually remarkable, but her 
 mind did not seem to fail equally with her body, 
 and no change of mind or body lessened her prej- 
 udices or altered her habits. 
 
 It has been seen that Darnell had been pleasant 
 to her in New York. If Olivia had liked him, 
 
348 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne would have tranquilly accepted it as 
 a release from certain unpleasant things which 
 Octopia kept too much before her as motive forces 
 for the perpetuation of gratitude, and which, 
 after such a marriage, would cease to be threat- 
 ening. Olivia had told her, however, only an 
 hour before, that it was not a possible thing, and 
 that once for all she had done with Richard Dar- 
 nell. The old lady was now comfortable over 
 this, too, since she would not be forced to give 
 her niece, with a husband, some means of support. 
 
 She was pretty and refined in her white wrapper 
 and laces, and, as always, she wore her long gloves 
 and had her Chinese fan and a soft handkerchief 
 on her lap. 
 
 " And so you are going away, Richard ? " she 
 said, " and Octopia is coming ? I did not think we 
 should be at rest very long. How you young peo- 
 ple move about ! I suppose it 's so easy nowadays. 
 When I was a girl and my father used to come to 
 Congress in Philadelphia, it took us weeks with 
 four horses and a coach, — weeks, Richard." 
 
 " They say you were a beauty. Cousin Anne." 
 
 The old lady smiled an autumnal smile. " I 
 have had men tell me that. But it 's a long while 
 ago. I think I danced the minuet well." 
 
 " I almost think you could now." 
 
 " The girls and the men would laugh at it, sir. 
 None but well-bred people could dance it; and 
 now there is no more good breeding ; it has gone 
 out." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 349 
 
 She paused, and he hesitated. Then he took 
 her thin hand. "Cousin Anne," he said, "we are 
 ruined, all of us, down in Virginia. I too am ab- 
 solutely penniless. If I had a little money, — a 
 few thousands, — I could start fresh and take Oc- 
 topia home with me. Don't you think you could 
 lend me four or five thousand dollars ? " 
 
 " Why don't you ask Octopia ? I gave her 
 five thousand dollars, — gave it to her. Where is 
 it ? I think it quite enough to give to one fam- 
 
 iiy." 
 
 " How do I know what she does with her 
 money ? " 
 
 " WeU, I can't do it." 
 
 " Then perhaps a less sum, cousin." 
 
 " I do not propose to give you anything." 
 
 Of Richard Darnell at least she had no fear, and 
 she liked to feel that security of increasing wealth 
 of which age, with its experiences of calamity and 
 loss, is so fond. 
 
 " Living is very expensive," she added, " what 
 with Olive and Octopia. Now don't ask me any 
 more." 
 
 " It seems very easy," he returned, " to forget 
 obligations." 
 
 " To whom am I obliged, Richard Darnell ? 
 Certainly not to you." 
 
 " To any one," he said, with slow articulation, 
 " who keeps your secrets. If Octopia has seen fit 
 to hide from the world what she knows, I at least 
 may not feel that it is needful to be quite so mer- 
 
350 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 ciful to a woman who cares as little as you do 
 about your husband's kindred." 
 
 The old lady grasped the arms of her chair and 
 rose to her feet, seizing him by the arm to steady 
 herself. 
 
 " What ! what ! " she said, " Octopia has be- 
 trayed us ! She has told you ! Ah, you were 
 traitors all, always. What Darnell ever kept faith ? 
 And you, — you, with your pretty devil face, — 
 the last and the worst of a bad breed! Oh, I 
 would pay you and let you go, but you would be 
 back again and again, until I died a beggar." 
 
 " If you give me this money," he said, " I will 
 swear to you that I will never trouble you any 
 more." 
 
 " And you would lie," she cried, her face twitch- 
 \ag. " Oh, my God ! I have prayed that this 
 might pass away and none know. But I am old, 
 ■ — old, — and I must bear it. And the shame of 
 it ! — the shame ! " Then she ceased a moment, 
 a quick light in her eyes. " What did she tell 
 you ? I must know. What is it ? " 
 
 " Arthur Wynne " — he said, slowly. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " .she wl^ispered, plucking with 
 agitated fingers at his sleeve. " Speak low. What 
 else?" . 
 
 He hesitated, knowing really nothing. 
 
 " Ah," she broke out, " you know nothing, 
 Richard Darnell. You are not clever enough for 
 a scoundrel. Go away." 
 
 The man's face darkened. " You had best help 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 351 
 
 me," he said. " It will be worse for some one if 
 you don't. I am a beggar. By heaven, I would 
 be afraid if I were you and you were I." 
 
 He hardly knew what he said. He was desper- 
 ate, and caught her by the arm. Something in 
 his look scared her. She tottered back. " Help ! 
 help ! " she cried. He turned as the door opened, 
 and Octopia entered abruptly, followed by Olivia 
 and Blake. 
 
 " What is this ? " said Blake. 
 
 " He — he " — gasped Mrs. Wynne inarticu- 
 lately. " Did you tell him, Octopia ? You did 
 not. No woman could be so base." 
 
 Octopia understood but too well. " I did not," 
 she said ; " oh, Dick ! — brother ! " 
 
 The shame of her sin was on her, its tiger-claws 
 in her dearest affections. She threw herself on 
 the lounge in an agony of sobbing. 
 
 Darnell stood looking at her, at Mrs. Wynne, at 
 Olivia. Hate that was like a visible blasphemy 
 came out on his face and played strange tricks 
 with his features. Then he said, " Olivia ! " 
 
 The girl turned from her cousin's side. 
 
 "What is it?" she .asked, greatly troubled. 
 
 " Will you speak to me a moment alone ? " 
 His voice fell as he spoke, and his-iace grew 
 softer. 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 " And I say no ! " cried Blake, moving forward. 
 
 Darnell took no notice of him. " In the entry, 
 one moment," he added. 
 
352 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " Mr. Blake," she said, " no one shall stop me." 
 
 An awful pity was in her eyes, and, so saying, 
 she turned swiftly, followed by Darnell. Blake, 
 intensely disturbed, stood resolutely in the door- 
 way. 
 
 " Roland," she said, " for my sake." 
 
 Darnell smiled curiously and they stepped past 
 her lover. Then Darnell caught her by both 
 hands and looked and looked in her eyes, — a 
 stare of yearning love, blurred by tears. 
 
 " Good-by," he said, and, dropping her hands, 
 drew a revolver from his breast pocket. 
 
 She recoiled, as Blake springing forward cried, 
 " Coward ! " — and then instantly controlling him- 
 self saw Darnell gently place the weapon in her 
 trembling grasp. 
 
 " Take it ! You have been sweet to me, and 
 dear, and good; you have saved that man's life. 
 Take it, quick, or I shall kill some one." Then, 
 as she stood, he looked at her anew in the eyes, 
 and, speaking low, said, — " And Octopia — my 
 sister — you will understand." With these words 
 he went down stairs slowly, step by step, and took 
 his straw bat from the rack near the door and then 
 dropped it, and went away up the road, unmind- 
 ful of Pennell, who spoke to him pleasantly as he 
 passed. The charity of God is perfect by reason 
 of perfect knowledge. The highest charity of 
 man involves something of poetic insight. The 
 woman's pity had been a quicker guide to a par- 
 tial comprehension of Darnell's meaning. But 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 353 
 
 Blake alone of those who were near possessed the 
 power to understand him. He caught the true 
 meaning of the Virginian's movement in time not 
 to interfere by rude action. A less ready and 
 less finely made man would have caused cruel mis- 
 chief. Men of practical capacity who are also 
 imaginative are advantaged thereby : large ranges 
 of the possible lie open to their reason, and the 
 improbable is not set aside as foolish. 
 
 As Darnell descended the stairs Blake took the 
 unaccustomed weapon from Olivia's passive hand, 
 as she stood pallid and awed, her eyes on the re- 
 treating form of her cousin. Blake put the re- 
 volver on a table. 
 
 " Miss Wynne," he said ; " Olive ! " 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " she exclaimed, looking about her, 
 as if recovering knowledge of her surroundings. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Do not you think that you had better attend 
 to your grandmother? Can you?" he added, 
 looking her over with anxious scrutiny. 
 
 " Yes, yes," and she turned. " But send me 
 some one, — Mrs. Ludlam, any one. This will 
 kill grandmamma." 
 
 " I will see to it," he said. 
 
 " And Richard. What does he want ? what 
 does he mean ? I — I must " — 
 
 " Trust me, Olive," he returned. " I understand 
 you ; I will find out." 
 
 As he left her he glanced, not incurious, at the 
 meagre little lady, seated with her two hands on 
 
354 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 her gold-lieaded dame's staff, quite past all power 
 to speak, tremulous, watching this drama in which 
 passions long dead for her wrestled on the edge of 
 the abyss of murder. Octopia lay moaning on the 
 couch. 
 
 Blake went down-stairs, and, with a word or 
 two of explanation to the landlady, went out at 
 the front door, where Pennell, unconscious of what 
 had gone on, was basking in the welcome sunlight 
 of the cool October morning. 
 
 "Mrs. Wynne is ill," said Blake. "There has 
 been trouble. I can't stop to explain. Where 
 didMr. DameUgo?" 
 " Up the road." 
 
 As Blake ran in the direction indicated, Pen- 
 nell looked after him a moment in bewilderment, 
 and then went into the house. 
 
 When Blake overtook Darnell, he found him 
 about unloosing one of the boats at the landing- 
 slip. He must have moved rapidly, since it was 
 a half mile from the house. Darnell turned as 
 Blake's quick step was heard, and, calmly sitting 
 down on the bow of the stranded boat, watched 
 him sternly. 
 
 Imagination has its penalties as well as its joys. 
 It represented to Blake responsibilities due to his 
 having saved this man's life. He smiled a little 
 at the thought as he ran across the meadows. 
 The tragic passion of the man, the unusualness of 
 his crimes, interested him ; and back of all was 
 that tenderness for all forms of suffering which 
 for Roland had made war so terrible a duty. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 355 
 
 Now he stood before Darnell, breathing hard. 
 " I am glad I caught you," he said. 
 
 " I thought I was done with you forever." 
 And rising to his feet, he began to untie the boat- 
 rope. 
 
 " Stop," rejoined Blake, touching his shoulder. 
 "Listen to me." 
 
 Darnell turned on him sharply. 
 
 "Don't touch me again, or I shall strangle you. 
 Are you a fool ? Can't you let a desperate man 
 go his way?" 
 
 "No. You mean to kill yourself. If, seeing 
 that, I do nothing, I am a sharer of your sin." 
 
 " Are you my keeper ? " 
 
 "Yes, surely. I wish I were not. Oh, you 
 must Ksten to me, — at any cost I must make you 
 listen to me." 
 
 Darnell, about to launch the boat, paused. 
 Blake possessed some of that singular power oyer 
 men which makes the eye despotic to control, and 
 which is strengthened by the habit of command. 
 The wretched man before him felt its force. 
 •'Well, speak quickly," he said; "what is it? 
 You can't very well hurt me more than you have ; 
 go on." 
 
 "Thank you," returned Blake, gently. "I 
 don't question your past. God alone knows what 
 your temptations may have been. I said to you 
 that I would tell Miss Wynne what I knew of you, 
 if you did not leave at once. I want to say now, 
 that I spoke in the excitement of the moment. I 
 
356 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 could not have done that. I never shall do that. 
 If fear of what I can say drives you to despera- 
 tion, be assured that not the grave will be more 
 silent than I." 
 
 " The grave ! I wonder if that will be really 
 silent ! Well, you have had your say. Is that 
 all ? " He was now strangely patient. 
 
 " One word more. I take it you are just now 
 crazed with all manner of torture. You cannot 
 think. Wait — wait ! Go away from here. If 
 money is wanting, I shall have Mr. Pennell's 
 authority to offer you what you need." 
 
 He did not say he would give it himself. 
 
 Darnell regarded him with a look half weari- 
 ness, half wonder. " You are a singular person," 
 he said. " I do not know that ever I met any one 
 like you. If I did not hate you, I should like to 
 shake hands with you, — once. At all events, 
 Mr. Blake, it is too late." 
 
 " Is it ever too late ? " 
 
 "Well, yes," he answered, in a tired way. 
 " For a gentleman, — yes. There are things a 
 man can do and keep his place, and some he can't 
 do; and these are known. If they had not been, 
 I should not have cared. Even the worst of 
 women likes the semblance of covering. Mine is 
 gone. I am sin-naked." 
 
 " But you are safe with me." 
 
 He did not reply to this. " You can do me one 
 favor," he said. "Promise me as a gentleman 
 that you will not annoy me by pursuit, — by say- 
 ing anything for a few hours." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 367 
 
 " I promise," said Blake, simply. 
 
 Darnell entered the boat, and pushed it from 
 the slip. Then he sat down, and began to row 
 away, saying nothing further, while Blake stood 
 still and watched him, thoughtful. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 " This is my secret. Let the rust of time 
 Eat dull its edge within the sheath of trust.'' 
 
 When Blake turned homeward, he met near 
 the inn his watchful friend, to whom he gave 
 rapidly such explanation as was possible. Miss 
 Wynne, he stated, had gone down-stairs to meet 
 her cousin Miss Darnell, who had just arrived 
 from the Cape. "It seemed all just so timed 
 tbat when they went up-stairs, I following, — I 
 was on my way to my room, — we heard Mrs. 
 Wynne cry, ' Help ! ' I ran into her sitting-room, 
 followed by the women. I will tell you more 
 fully another time. It amounts to this, as I see 
 it : Darnell wanted money, or something, I hardly 
 know what, and I suppose threatened Mrs. Wynne ; 
 and from what passed — though of course there 
 was too much confusion for one to be clear about 
 it — Mrs. Wynne seemed to think that Miss Dar- 
 nell had told her brother something which he was 
 using to terrify the old lady." 
 
 " Blackmail, I suppose," said Francis. 
 
 " It looked like that to me. There was a sec- 
 ond performance in the entry. Darnell bade his 
 cousin Miss Wynne good-by, hardly looked at 
 his sister, who was in tears on a couch, and then 
 walked off without his hat." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 359 
 
 " What a strange scene, Roland ! He must be 
 in love witli this handsome Miss Olivia. I sus- 
 pected as much. I presume that you have the 
 key to it." 
 
 " No man has all the keys to the human riddle 
 of a wrecked soul," returned Blake. 
 
 "Perhaps not. Darnell passed me as I was 
 standing talking to Uncle John, as you call him. 
 He did not speak to him or to me. Uncle John 
 said, ' What 's come to that man ? ' To my mind 
 he had the preoccupied intense look I saw once 
 in a poor devil of a deserter they shot in Sedg- 
 wick's corps. Did you follow him, Roland ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " I will tell you to-morrow." 
 
 " By George, Roland, that man meant to kill 
 himself. Now, if I know you, — and I do know 
 you well : oh, you may laugh, but I do, — you 
 had the same idea that I have, and you went after 
 him, like a fool-angel, to see what you could do 
 for him. It was like you, and it was nonsense. 
 You had a fool-devil to deal with." 
 
 " You do not honestly think it was nonsense ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. If I saw a mad dog about to leap 
 into a furnace, would I try to stop him ? " 
 
 " You can't converse with a dog ; and the moral 
 madness of a man may be cured." 
 
 " Stuff ! you know something terrible about this 
 man. I wish I knew it too. I think his case in- 
 terests you ; and then you have a soft side to you 
 
360 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 which turns up for all sorts of calamity. It will 
 play you a trick some day. Now, Roland, if you 
 saw a rascal condemned to death, and justly, and 
 led out to die, you would not set him loose? " 
 
 " No — I don't know — I 'm not sure." 
 
 " Well, here is a man who conducts his own 
 trial, with awful self-knowledge as witness, and 
 sentences himself as a useless wretch without 
 remedy ; and you would wish to stay his hand." 
 
 " That is just it ; no man is without remedy." 
 
 " Indeed ! but, as you would say, there is an infi- 
 nitely improbable which amounts to the practically 
 impossible. That 's the soi-t of thing you say to 
 me -when you are a little dreamy. What I mean 
 is that it is n't worth while to bother about a 
 scamp who intends to shoot himseK, — in other 
 words, to prevent the man from doing the only 
 service to his fellows he has ever willingly done 
 in his life. I am glad you did not catch him, if 
 that was what you were after." 
 
 Blake was silent for a moment. " It is amusing, 
 Phil, to hear you talk. You have always fifty 
 reasons for not helping a beggar, but when I have 
 given him five cents you sneak away and empty 
 your pockets for him. It is all talk." 
 
 " No. I represent the world and its common 
 sense." 
 
 " Then the common sense of the recording angel 
 will, I trust, be of a different texture." 
 
 " Possibly ; and, if so, he will have his hands 
 full. But here is Mr. Pennell." 
 
ttOLANb BLAKE. 361 
 
 " Leave me alone with him, Phil." 
 
 Pennell had been absent when Miss Darnell 
 came, and to him also Blake had to make some 
 such statement of facts as that which he had 
 made to his own friend. It caused Pennell to 
 look grave enough and to ask many questions, 
 some of which were hard to answer. At last he 
 
 " You have come within the knowledge of a 
 family trouble, Mr. Blake. It has taken a form 
 which, for certain personal reasons, distresses me 
 greatly. Of course the little you know will be 
 sacred ? " 
 
 " I have already spoken of it to Mr. Francis. 
 It will be as safe with him as with me. But be- 
 fore we go further, I think," added Blake, " that 
 I ought to tell you that I am engaged to Miss 
 Wynne." 
 
 " Indeed ! You are a fortunate man, Mr. Blake. 
 I do not know you well, but it is in a man's favor 
 that such a woman can love him. I had a little 
 suspicion about it, — I can hardly say why. You 
 puzzled me rather unfairly when we met in New 
 York. I was honestly sorry that you were not 
 more frank." 
 
 " I could not be. I was under a form of pledge 
 which obliged me to conceal what I knew, and yet 
 my sense of right made it a duty to guard Mrs. 
 Wynne and Miss Olivia from certain possibilities 
 of harm." 
 
 "I see, — in a measure," said Pennell. " Our 
 
862 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 trouble was that neither knew the other well 
 enough to trust him fully." 
 
 " I can say now what I hinted at then, — that 
 Darnell was known to me as a scoundrel. I came 
 here to see what I could do to warn these women. 
 Mrs. Wynne's age and Miss Wynne's youth made 
 my task more difficult than I had supposed it could 
 be. At last I settled the matter with Mr. Darnell 
 himself. What passed is now of no moment. He 
 wiU trouble them no more." 
 
 The agent paused; they had been walking 
 slowly down the road as they conversed. 
 
 " You are a young man, Mr. Blake, and a deci- 
 sive one. I trust that you feel the responsibility 
 of your act. You have, it would seem, some 
 power over Mr. Darnell, and you have used it, as 
 I judge, without hesitation." Then he paused, 
 and added, " Do you know his sister ? " 
 
 " I do not ; but I am sorry for her. Men like 
 this man sow misery broadcast. Men sin and 
 women suffer." 
 
 " Yes, and this one will suffer as few suffer. I 
 wish I could have had a talk with you before you 
 drove him away." 
 
 "It would have been useless. No power on 
 earth could have stopped me. Remember who I 
 was protecting ; but above all and once for all, 
 pray understand that this man is no common crim- 
 inal. There are cases where a man must judge 
 and condemn and sentence ; this was one. No 
 earthly shame was beyond this man's ; no soul 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 363 
 
 could have been more defiled. I thank God he 
 went. As to his story it will rest untold ; be as- 
 sured of that. And now let us drop him." 
 
 " Gladly," said Pennell. 
 
 " There is another matter to which I should like 
 to go back for a moment. You have said that 
 there was something in the nature of a secret to 
 which Mrs. Wynne alluded, and which Mr. Dar- 
 nell was basely using. Is it known to Miss 
 Wynne? Does it trouble her, or wiU it do so? " 
 
 " I do not think it will unless it comes to her 
 ears ; and I do not see how that can happen. I 
 myself think she should have known it long ago ; 
 but Mrs. Wynne did not agree with me, and it 
 has remained more or less a mystery. If it had 
 been treated more wholesomely, Richard Darnell 
 could not have pretended to make use of it. I 
 say pretended, because I had not thought that he 
 knew even of its existence. I shall be more sure 
 as to this in a day or two." 
 
 " If," said Blake, " I were what I hope to be, — 
 the husband of Miss Wynne, — I should ask you 
 to tell me more. As it is, I will only say now 
 that at some future time, when you know me bet- 
 ter, I shall expect to be allowed to decide whether 
 she should still be kept ignorant or not. She has 
 told me that there were things in her home life 
 which had weighed upon her heavily ; and possi- 
 bly this is one." 
 
 " Certainly Mrs. Wynne wiU not mention it, 
 and as surely Miss Darnell would not." 
 
864 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 As to this Blake did not feel quite so secure ; 
 but he merely added, " I should like to leave the 
 matter in this shape." 
 
 Then Pennell congratulated him warmly, and 
 they parted on friendly terms. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 *' I saw as I passed hither here 
 A white thing on the sea, 
 An roun aboon it sea mews screamedi 
 They screamed fu wistfully." 
 
 " My love, this is the bitterest : that thou — 
 Who art all truth, and who dost love me now 
 As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say — 
 Shouldst love so truly, and couldst love me still." 
 
 During two or three days Mrs. Wynne was ill 
 from the excitement to which she had been sub- 
 jected ; but the claim made upon OliYia by her 
 condition was of little moment compared to the 
 demands of Miss Darnell. She did not ask for 
 her brother, nor did she even mention his name, 
 but lay most of the time in a darkened room, hold- 
 ing Olivia's hand. To Judith she was irritable and 
 mercilessly exacting; Olivia used to wonder at 
 the stolid patience of the silent old woman. 
 
 As to Richard Darnell, Olivia knew only that 
 he had gone. Roland Blake had told her this; 
 but as to the rest of the scene in which she had 
 acted a part, she as yet did not understand it, and 
 would wait to hear, being of temperate curiosity, 
 and having a heart alive with thankful joy and 
 hands too full of care to leave leisure for more 
 than a few golden moments now and then with 
 Blake. 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 It was hard not to pity the tall, wasted, sick wo- 
 man, with her refined face and her gentle claims 
 to be soothed or caressed in her fits of self- 
 abasement. When Olivia tried to escape, she 
 would say, "Don't leave me, dearest! I am so 
 wretched ! " and then her long arms fell around 
 the girl and held her in a passionate embrace. 
 As Octopia slept little and refused to eat, Olivia 
 became alarmed, and proposed to send for a doc- 
 tor ; but this the invalid resolutely declined. 
 
 Thus the days went by, somewhat drearily. 
 Of Darnell no one heard, and Francis was obliged 
 to return home, carrying with him the pleasant 
 news of Blake's good fortune. 
 
 At last one morning Octopia said suddenly to 
 Olivia, " Where is my brother ? " 
 
 "I do not know," she returned. "He went 
 away on Thursday." 
 
 " Is Mr. Pennell here ? " 
 
 " Yes. He has been anxious about you." 
 
 " He is very good, dear. Every one is good, 
 except me. I have been foolish. I did not want 
 to do any harm. But you won't cease to love me, 
 Olive ? and please to shut out the light, dear, — 
 and a little cologne, my love." 
 
 Olivia rose to do as she was asked. 
 
 " You said Mr. Pennell was still here. Do you 
 think I am strong enough to see him ? I want to 
 talk to him. Could you turn the pillow ? " 
 
 " You might get on the lounge, cousin." 
 
 " Yes. Send Judith here. Do I look horribly, 
 Olive ? " 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 367 
 
 " You are very pale." 
 
 " Ah ! Send Judith, please, and at once. Tell 
 her I cannot wait. She is getting so lazy ! " 
 
 Olivia found the old black woman seated in the 
 entry, patiently waiting, as usual, without needle- 
 work, — merely gazing through the cobwebbed 
 window at the chickens in the garden below her. 
 
 " Miss Octopia wants you. Do you think, Ju- 
 dith, she is seriously sick? She does not seem 
 very weak, and yet she eats almost nothing, and I 
 do not believe she sleeps at all." 
 
 A lazy smile woke up, as if by degrees, among 
 the torpid wrinkles of the black's face. Then she 
 said, with a certain energy, — 
 
 " She not die dis time. Miss Olive. I hope she 
 don't go to die jes' yet. She been gittin' good 
 dese las' days. I has de hope she not die yet. 
 De Lord he might forgib dat woman." 
 
 " Judith ! " exclaimed Olivia, " how can you be 
 so wicked ? " 
 
 " Guess maybe I done say too much." 
 
 " You should be ashamed ! " 
 
 " Ain't had much shame sence I was 'bout as 
 ole as you, chile," said Judith. " You does n't 
 know much of dis world yet. Dar 's her bell." 
 And, turning, she left Olivia half stupefied at the 
 glimpse she had got of the old slave's desolated 
 past. 
 
 " I ought to be very good," said the girl, aloud, 
 and went down-stairs to meet her lover. 
 
 When, to Pennell's great delight, he was told 
 
368 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 that Miss Darnell desired to see him, he entered 
 her room, and found her lying on a lounge. Her 
 short hair curled over her pale face, and her little 
 cap and morning-dress were as neat as usual. 
 
 " You are very amiable to come and see me," 
 she said, in her pleasant Southern voice. " I 
 should have asked to talk with you before, but I 
 have been so utterly miserable. Do sit down." 
 
 He obeyed her. He was deeply moved : her 
 set, drawn face and melancholy eyes shocked 
 him. 
 
 "You know. Miss Octopia, that there is no 
 time when I am not at your service. Is there 
 anything I can do for you ? " 
 
 " Where is Richard ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 " I do not know. He went away suddenly on 
 Thursday, and has not come back." 
 
 " Does no one know ? " 
 
 " I think not ; but I have no doubt we shall 
 soon hear of him." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say," she returned, — " when he 
 wants money. And Mrs. Wynne, — she might 
 have been to see me." 
 
 " She is better, — much better," he said, eva- 
 sively. 
 
 Then there was a brief pause, and she spoke 
 again : — 
 
 " Why does Cousin Anne neglect me ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. She is still weak." 
 
 " It does n't matter. I want to say something, 
 Mr. Pennell, and it is very hard to say." 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 369 
 
 " Can I make it easier ? " 
 
 " No. No one can do that." And, hiding her 
 face in her hands, she continued, — 
 
 " I think Richard tried to get money from 
 Cousin Anne by pretending he knew something 
 of Arthur Wynne's death." 
 
 " He could not have done that ! " 
 
 " Yes, it was so. Oh, I am sure it was so. I 
 would give — oh, I would give my right hand to 
 be sure it was not so. I — I — you know what I 
 did for my cousins. Perhaps I overrated the ser- 
 vice I did them. If I reminded Cousin Anne of 
 it, — and I did ; yes, I did, — it was because I 
 wanted what they never gave me, — their love. 
 They never really loved me, and I had helped 
 them well. It is so hard to say ! I wanted Olive 
 to marry my brother, and the devil tempted me 
 to show them what power I possessed." 
 
 " My God ! " cried Pennell ; " please not to go 
 on. You are sick. Surely you cannot really 
 know what you are saying ? " He did not guess 
 the strange relief which the abasement of confes- 
 sion gave her. 
 
 " I know well enough," she cried. 
 
 He took her hand kindly, only half aware of 
 the act. 
 
 " Don't touch me," she said. " I am vile. 
 How can you touch me ? " 
 
 " We have all sinned," he said, his eyes full of 
 tears. 
 
 " But I did not tell Richard that Arthur Wynne 
 
370 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 had killed himself ; indeed I did not. How could 
 Cousin Anne believe that ? You believe me, do 
 you not ? " And she turned her questioning eyes 
 upon him in soft entreaty. 
 
 "Surely I believe you. I do not think you 
 have ever willingly done wrong. As to Mrs. 
 Wynne, you must allow something for her morbid- 
 ness. Arthur Wynne was negligent, and left his 
 partners unwatched. They brought the appear- 
 ance of dishonor on a sensitive man, and what 
 followed you know. It was unwise of you to hide 
 it. Of course any one who knows her can easily 
 understand Mrs. Wynne's horror at the idea of 
 her son's suicide coming to his daughter's knowl- 
 edge ; but there was not the shadow of wrong on 
 that man. I would have told the girl all there 
 was to tell as soon as she was old enough to hear 
 it. But with Mrs. Wynne it was almost an insan- 
 ity. It terrified her to mention it. There was no 
 course possible except to obey her wishes. I am 
 sure that you who are sensitive must in your self- 
 reproach have overstated your own blame." 
 
 " I have not," she said, shuddering. " I boasted 
 to Richard that I could have what I wanted ; I 
 told him that Mrs. Wynne was in my power ; I 
 played with the idea that one way or another I 
 could rule Olivia ; and then — oh, Mr. Pennell, 
 when I found that he meant to make believe that 
 he knew what I knew, when I grew sure that he 
 was really going to do what I had only just 
 thought of doing, — oh, then I saw ! then I saw.' 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 371 
 
 I wish I had done it ! Then he could not hare 
 been as wicked as I, — my beautiful boy-brother ! 
 Oh, I would have sianed in his place and saved 
 him." 
 
 He was the one strong love of a life, greedy of 
 tenderness, but incapable of a wide range of lov- 
 ing, eager to get, unable to give as largely. 
 
 Pennell was silent. He sat holding his hat be- 
 tween his knees. Then he set the hat on the floor 
 and put on his spectacles, and at once took them 
 ofE and wiped them, and finally put them in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Do you think Richard will come back ? " she 
 said. At that hour he was lying, a ghastly thing 
 to see, on the beach at Cape May, and about him 
 was a group of rough men wondering who he 
 might be and whence the dark breakers had 
 brought their prey. 
 
 " I do not know," said Pennell. " I have been 
 making all possible inquiries. If he is found, or 
 when he is found, be sure I shall help him." 
 
 " You are a true friend," she cried. " I could 
 not have believed that after what I have told you 
 any one would want to help us." 
 
 " But," he said, looking down, " I love you. 
 That is the simplest of all human explanations. 
 Don't let that annoy you. I did not mean to 
 trouble you again ; but there are things' too strong 
 for our common sense, and perhaps — perhaps it 
 may make you feel that you are not quite de- 
 serted." 
 
372 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 "How can it be?" she said. "No man could 
 love a woman like me, and least of all a man like 
 
 you." 
 
 " Try me, Octopia," he said. " It is not pity 
 that moves me." 
 
 " Don't ask me. How can I dare to think of 
 sharing a good man's life ? I cannot ! I cannot ! 
 always there would be this between us. The time 
 would come when — when — oh ! I cannot ex- 
 plain. You must surely understand. It would 
 end ill ! It would end ill." 
 
 He was still at least a minute, looking down at 
 the floor, and at last said, — 
 
 " Listen to me a little. I can say that with 
 God's help I have tried for many a year to live 
 a just and honest life. But " — and he paused, as 
 if in pain, and drew a long breath — " there was a 
 time — I was young and sorely tempted — when 
 I, too, deeply sinned. I did — I did a thing — I 
 will not tell you what. Your sin was light com- 
 pared to mine. One man was good to me then. 
 I tremble to-day at the thought of what but for 
 Arthur Wynne I might have become." 
 
 " Why did you tell me this ? " she cried, start- 
 ing up. She had a strange feeling that she would 
 rather not have known it. Then in turn some 
 womanly feeling of the awfulness of this self-sac- 
 rificial confession overcame her as she looked up. 
 " You are a noble gentleman," she said; gently, 
 and took his hand and kissed it and let it fall. 
 
 " Will you try to love me ? " he said. " Let us 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 373 
 
 ask God to help two souls that have been astray 
 to go righteously through what years He gives 
 them." 
 
 " I will," she whispered, feebly. " So help me 
 God, I will try to be a better woman. And — 
 and please to go now, and after a while — perhaps 
 in a few weeks — we can talk of this again. Now 
 I am worn out; and you have been — oh, you 
 have been so good to me ! " 
 
 Then Pennell arose, and, merely thanking her, 
 went away, more sad, more grave, and yet more 
 happy, than when, a half hour before, he had 
 climbed the narrow, creaking staircase of the inn. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " Prithee, sir, — 
 The end is the beginning." 
 
 Some weeks had gone by, Mrs. Wynne had soon 
 become well enough to be moved to Philadelphia, 
 and was comfortably settled in pleasant apart- 
 ments. Miss Francis aided to relieve Olivia of 
 this growing care, and new and happy associations 
 graciously illuminated for Olivia the joyous pages 
 of which the text was a strong and helpful love. 
 
 The death of Darnell was, of course, soon known 
 to all concerned. The manner of it was gladly 
 accepted as doubtful, and Octopia had gone to 
 Virginia for a long visit. 
 
 Soon after they came to the old city of Penn, 
 Blake had urged Olive to renew her youthful 
 habit of riding, and now he was to leave her for a 
 few weeks that he might see to some business in 
 the North. They had turned into the bridle-path 
 below Belmont in the Park, and followed it under 
 tulip-trees and over grass-lands, and again entered 
 the dense woods which skirt the Reading Rail- 
 road. 
 
 It was a late October day, with loving sunshine 
 everywhere, and the temperate friendliness of cool 
 winds. On the soft brown mould was a mottled 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 375 
 
 covering of many-tinted leaves, in which the hoofs 
 of the horses rustled as they walked. The brown 
 boles of oak and pine rose over them ; ragged 
 birches and silvery beeches made pleasant con- 
 trast ; at their feet the ruddy sumach and the 
 umber ferns ; over all a canopy of red and gold, 
 the gorgeous heraldry of the dying year. 
 
 The glamour of the autumn woods was about 
 them, and they rode on in silence, conversing only 
 with the ready eyes of youth and love. 
 
 There is something gently weird, a not un- 
 kindly sadness, in the time, — a faint promise of 
 something about to be, — 
 
 *' Lite that mysterious hour which comes before the break of day." 
 
 They crossed a brook flecked with dancing 
 leaves, and paused at a spring which all those 
 who love this delicious wood-ride know so well. 
 
 Olivia sat square in the saddle, rosy and vigor- 
 ous, the folds of her dark habit dotted with crim- 
 son and yellow leaves, in her waist-belt a spray of 
 ruby oak. A pretty picture, Blake thought, as he 
 stood folding a piece of birch bark that he might 
 make a drinking-cup for her. 
 
 " Thanks, Roland," she said, as he stood with a 
 hand on her horse's mane. " How can one be as 
 happy as I am? When I look back and think, it 
 seems to me incredible. You cannot imagine how 
 great is the change, because you cannot even yet 
 realize how trying was my life at home. You do 
 not know Octopia. She is very much altered, 
 poor thing ! " 
 
376 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " What made it so hard, Olive?" 
 
 " I can hardly say. She was gentle and kind, 
 — oh, quite too sweet, — except at times, when 
 nothing pleased her. But she wanted all of every- 
 body about her ; and then, as she had no serious 
 work, she thought about herself and thought she 
 did n't think about herself. You see, it 's quite 
 confusing, Roland." 
 
 " Rather," he said, laughing. " I presume that 
 no man can understand such women. But she 
 was really ill, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, — at times very ill. I think, Roland, 
 that what must be the worst evil of half-sick peo- 
 ple is the absence of regular work, of set duties, — 
 things they have to do." 
 
 " Must is a noble tonic," he said. " And now 
 we must go home." 
 
 " Thank you, my lord," she cried merrily, 
 
 " One thing more, Olive, as I leave you to-mor- 
 row. You are aware that there is some trouble 
 which Mrs. Wynne is desirous you should not 
 know." 
 
 " Yes," she returned, surprised. It had been 
 much on her mind of late. 
 
 " It is known, Olive, to her, to your cousin, and 
 to Mr. Pennell. I too have learned of late what 
 it is." 
 
 " Then I know it too." 
 
 " How, dear ? I don't quite see your meaning." 
 
 " Oh, stupid Roland ! What is yours is mine." 
 
 "But if I think best not tell you, — if I assure 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 377 
 
 you that it need not trouble you, — if I say it is 
 best, that now it is far away in time and cannot 
 help and may sadden you to know it, — will you 
 be satisfied to leave it in my keeping ? " 
 
 " It is about my dear father ? " she said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Kiss me, Eoland." And she bent over in the 
 saddle and met his lips. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, understanding her well. 
 
 Then they rode out of the wood and on to the 
 hills above the Schuylkill, and westward over 
 grassy turf into the lustre of the purple twilight. 
 
 I see them as they pass, the woman's face still 
 tender with the memory of a thought that sad- 
 dened, the man erect, — the trooper's seat, rather, 
 as it were, standing in the stirrups, — resolute of 
 feature, grave as if he shared her mood. 
 
 He turns and says something. I do not know 
 what it is : they seem to have got away from me. 
 She smiles, and it is like the smile of a trustful 
 child, — oh, very pretty in a woman's face. 
 
 A like expression gently stirs his strong brown 
 features. Their hands touch and part. She nods 
 affirmatively. 
 
 It is past my comprehension. Then I say, see- 
 ing them ride away, " Good luck have thou with 
 thine honor," and so resume my solitary walk. 
 
 Two years have gone. Mrs. Wynne is dead. 
 Roland Blake is in Paris with his wife, and now 
 is well through with his work at the School of 
 Mines and is looking homeward. 
 
378 ROLAND BLAKE. 
 
 " There is a letter from Phil," he says. 
 
 " And will you read it to me, please ? " 
 
 "'Dear Roland, — 
 
 " ' The lands in ' — Oh ! there is a lot of it 
 about business ; you won't care to hear that. 
 
 " ' It is good to hear of you as coming home. 
 
 " ' Your wife will be amused to bear that I am 
 to be godfather to Alice's baby, next week. It 's 
 the only form of paternity in which the sins of 
 the fathers are not too distinctly visited on the 
 children. I am afraid that in my own youth the 
 matter was, on the whole, rather reversed. The 
 world uses me kindly, being like a woman and 
 fondly attached to those who abuse it. 
 
 " ' I saw Mrs. Pennell last week. Poor Ad- 
 denda ! He is pretty bald — old Time, that relent- 
 less Indian, has got his scalp. He was dressed 
 like an Englishman, and had a rose in a well-but- 
 toned-up coat. He is not allowed to buy any 
 more clocks, but Mrs. Octopia Addenda Pennell 
 has some neat diamonds. I think she would like 
 him to give up business and spend most of his 
 time at home. He wisely resists, but I am of 
 opinion will go to the wall soon or late. She has 
 what I should call flabby obstinacy of purpose, — 
 a sort of unsteady fractional persistency, which 
 does not seem to have much fibre to it and yet is 
 pretty sure to win.' " 
 
 " Oh, I know," laughed Olivia, looking up from 
 her sewing. 
 
 " ' Nevertheless, the man seems to like it, as a 
 
ROLAND BLAKE. 379 
 
 whole. I dined there last week, and the thing 
 was very well done. She looked as much as ever 
 like that medal of Malatesta Novellas ; and really 
 you could go far before you saw so graceful a 
 creature. As for Pennell, be followed her about 
 with a shawl and a scent-bottle, and says he has 
 left the club and prefers the evening tranquillity 
 of domestic life. Altogether, it is an interesting 
 mSnage. As you can't chaff me with an ocean 
 between us, I can now tell you that on that un- 
 pleasant day at the Court-house when you left 
 Darnell at the slip I myself took a boat and pulled 
 after him. What idiocy I should have been guilty 
 of had we met, who can say ? No man can be al- 
 ways as wise as I am usually. His boat was at 
 the inlet, — no one in it ; and I found his hand- 
 kerchief on the beach. That 's all of it. Alice 
 sends love.' 
 
 " It was so like him," said Roland. 
 
 THE END.