THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OP Helen St. Vincent A STORY OF THE VANISHED CITY BY JOHN J. FLINN. ILLUSTRATED. CHICAGO: Geo. K. Hazlitt & Co., Publishers. 1895. COPYRIGHT 1895 BY JOHN J. FLINN. The Music to the songs, "When the Tide 13 Going Out" and "Take Thou My Hand," reproduced in this voluiMe, is published by the kind permission of Messrs. Brown Bros., Music Publishers, Chi. CAGO. The Helen St. Vincent compositions may be purchased of MUSIC DEALERS EVERYWHERE. PRESS OF GEO. K. HAZLITT & CO. CHICAGO. THE EDITOR EXPLAINS. Edmund Powers, who tells this story, was my life-long friend. I had many and the best of reasons for relying upon his unselfish devotion. On the other hand, I had given him frequent and ample proofs of my friendship and my love. I knew his secrets and he knew mine from boyhood up. I knew his faults and he knew mine. As young men, struggling for recognition, but oftener for existence, in the same profession, we had shared each other's earnings, each other's beds, each other's sorrows and each other's joys. All I had was his, all he had was mine. Our lives, our ambitions and our pursuits were so closely knit that what affected the one affected the other. If I failed in the performance of a task he would drop his own work and hasten to my assistance. If he proved unequal to an occasion single-handed, we would strive together to overcome the difficulty. I often received credit for an article inspired and practically dictated by him ; he often won smiles of approval from his editors for articles which I had written and he had simply copied. We were a joint stock company, held together by the closest bonds of fraternal regard. Later in life, when other interests and responsibilities arose, and our paths became wilder apart, we remained the same good friends, if not the same companions. In his travels he never forgot me. Whenever he accomplished a good or a brilliant piece of work he was not content, though all the world approved, till I applauded. His 4 HELEN ST. VINCENT. letters were long and interesting, and my replies were full and prompt. After several years of wandering at home and abroad, the year 1892 found him back in Chicago. He had dis- tinguished himself in literary work and carried with him commissions from several leading magazines and week- lies to write of Chicago and the great exposition, then nearing completion, as his fancy should dictate. I met him frequently and we talked over old times and dreamed over old dreams together, often far into the night and sometimes far into the morning, at the club or chop- houses. He told me of his love for Helen St. Vincent, told me everything from the beginning to the end of the story, which I now give to the public. He made me pledge my v/ord and honor — it was the first time he had ever ex- acted such a pledge — that I would never divulge the secrets which are here revealed. I held this confidence sacred until the time came when his reputation was assailed — almost blasted — by the ruffian Bolton. I knew how true, how honorable, how brave he was, and when charges of treachery and cowardice were made against him I could see but one line of duty before me. My conscience tells me I did right. He believed me false — -or, at least, he doubted my loyalty until — but let Edmund Powers tell his own story. J. J. F. EDMUND POWERS EXPLAINS. Before proceeding with this strange and eventful his- tory a few words of personal explanation, by way of introduction, in my judgment* (if I may presume to be capable of judging with regard to anything) are neces- sary. I am not a willing party to this publication. I have protested against it from the beginning, and I pro- test against it now. I fail to see how it can do anybody any good. If those who have been so ready to point out to me what they call my plain duty only knew the facts and understood the circumstances as I, unfortunately, know and understand them, they would have hesitated before urging the performance of this painful task upon me. In its accomplishment, as I view it, it cannot but prove painful — painful not only to myself, who must, during the unfolding of the narrative, be subjected to many un kind suspicions and aspersions, but to those who must, of necessity, be dragged into it, and to the relatives and friends of the beautiful girl, whose name it bears. As to Miss St. Vincent herself, the one glorious con- solation that strengthens me in this work is my belief that nothing my very good friends may do, and nothing I may do, can harm her now. I think that up to the close of the past month there were no means at my command which I did not employ to the uttermost in my attempts to escape entanglement in the net of circumstances which fate, it seems, was 5 O HELEN ST. VINCENT. determined to weave about me. It must have been fore- ordained that I should become enmeshed, and at the very- moment, too, w^hen I believed that Helen St. Vincent had finally passed out of my life, as a vision of loveliness and purity vanishes in a dream. I say that up to the close of the past month I struggled against this fatality. The betrayal of my confidence by one in vv^hose friendship I had reason to feel I might place the most implicit trust led ine about that time to abandon all hope of avoiding or shirking the consequences of my connection w^ith Miss St. Vincent and her history. The person who exposed my secret wishes me to understand, so he says in a letter now within reach, that his friend- ship for me compelled him to break his word! He vio- lated my confidence, so he adds, to save my honor ! Perhaps I am incapable just now of seeing things in their proper light. I don't know. So many things have happened of late to upset me ! I have undergone a great deal of mental excitement and physical pain, with conse- quent loss of sleep. Aside from other causes my health must have broken down under the intense strain of the past few weeks. I don't care to say much of my wound, which appears to be doing well. It has caused me, of course, consider- able physical suffering — but physical suffering, in reality, is a relief from the mental torture I am compelled to un- dergo day and night on this hospital cot. I must lie flat on my back while I dictate this statement — and be patient. The doctor tells me that had Bolton aimed just a trifle higher the ball would have pierced my heart. Well, I often wish now he had aimed higher. The news of this shooting was published widely, I am told. If Helen were alive she must have heard of it. If HELEN ST. VINCENT. 7 she were alive she must have known the cause of it. If she were alive she must have seen that I never faltered in my devotion to her. She would have forgiven that one — that dreadful mistake of mine — the mistake that lost me everything 1 Going back to that breach of confidence and the excuse offered for it, let me say that later on I may be able to understand and appreciate the delicate touches of philo- sophic disinterestedness in the letter alluded to. For the present I put it aside. I only refer to it again in order to be able to say that it was this breach of confidence which forced upon me finally the task I have now begun. The courts must know all, they tell me, because there is a great estate involved in this case ! I must make a deposi- tion — I must put my story into legal phrases and forms. I will tell it in my own way, or I will not tell it at all. What do I care about great estates? What does Helen St. Vincent care about great estates — now? Just a few words more. Helen St. Vincent was well known to many of the best people of Chicago two years ago. She is well and pleasantly remembered here now by scores of acquaintances who admired her and by scores of friends who loved her. These acquaintances and friends will be grieved and shocked by the revelations I am about to make, " for the best interests of all parties concerned," as my friends put it. If I have attempted to avoid or to shirk my respon- sibilities in this matter, it has not been done from any selfish consideration. Helen was gone ! Her going and the manner of her going I will speak of later. She was gone — gone completely ! Bolton had gone, leaving me the most infamous message one man ever received from another. For over a year I have been without hope. 8 HELEN ST. VINCENT. For months I have abandoned myself to despair. I could not believe w^hat everything conspired to tell me was the awful truth. I do not believe it now. Trusting in the eternal justice of God, I have hidden myself away from my friends — abandoned my profession and my name — lost myself in the crowd. The less said of my connec- tion with Helen's history, the less could be said of her relationship to anybody else. There were hundreds who believed that where I was Helen might be found also. Had she not been last seen in the company of Edmund Powers — with me? That was the worst of it ! I knew better, but could not deny it. You will soon learn why I had to keep silent — why I would like to keep silent now. E. P. CHAPTER I. Whether at a world's fair function, a fashionable reception, a Press Club " Night " — in the midst of the most select society Chicago had to offer during the Colum- bian year, or among the bohemians of this great city, in whose company she was most at home and happiest — Helen St. Vincent was always held in the highest esteem. She was admired, not alone for her beauty — which was of surpassing brilliancy — but for her native wit, her talents, her genius and her most agreeable manners. She posses- sed so many lovable traits of character that she disarmed envy and won the hearts of women as well as of men. No shadow was ever cast and no-ne ever fell upon her good name. An artist, a poet, a forcible newpaper writer — rich in descriptive power — a charming vocalist, a splendid musician, a good talker — even that rarest of things among women, a good story teller — of course she was more than welcome everywhere. She was ready to enter heart and soul into anything that promised fun or frolic, and she entered into plans for the amusement of others with all the innocent impulsiveness of a schoolgirl. She was always willing to bear more than her share of the burden of an evening's entertainment. During many months preceding the opening of the exposition, and for several months afterward, she appeared to be as free from all care or anxiety as it is possible for any of God's creatures to be. 9 lO HELEN ST. VINCENT. At the same time there was a gentle but positive reserve about her w^hich discouraged familiarity. If a rudeness occurred in her presence — and there are rude people in every mixed crowd — she would not seem to notice it, but it was never repeated. She had a most ainiable way of asserting her dignity, and it was none the less effective because she asserted it with a smile, that lit up the fairest, sweetest and frankest of faces. She knew well how to crush the most impertinent and persistent of boors by a mere glance of her lovely eyes. She could shame a fool by an almost imperceptible change in the expression of her face. She was not a prude, for she had seen the world, understood it, and was prepared to meet it in all its varying phases, with perfect confidence in herself. Having once established her position in the minds of those around her, and in the gentlest of ways, she was quick to make light of accidental or intended affronts. She was a perfect mistress of the art of forgiv- ing — a lost art among women generally — and those whom she had forgiven were soon on as easy a footing with her as were those whom she never had occasion to forgive. Miss St. Vincent was a little above the medium height, formed with a strong suggestion of, but not quite touch- ing the voluptuous mold ; graceful in her every attitude and movement, erect in poise, dignified in air, regular in feat- ures — a picture of health and a blonde in the very perfec- tion of the type. Shall I be more particular? Her complexion was pure, of transparent clearness, and at times, when she became unusually animated, flushes, varying in all the delicate tints from creamy pink to deepest crimson, woultl chase each other across her lovely face. Her nose was aquiline, HELEN ST. VINCENT. II her lips were full, her eyes large and a dark blue of matchless power and inexpressible tenderness. Miss St. Vincent's voice was an exceedingly clear and pleasant one, and her smiles and laughter were contagious. I have said she was a good talker. I should have added that she was one of the most patient and encouraging of listeners. In conversation she was epigrammatic, quick at reparte, but most considerate of the feelings of others. She seldom paused for a word in those early days of her visit to Chicago, and she knew how to give expression to her ideas in that good, strong, vigorous English which points plainly to something better in one's early grounding than the milk-and-watery superficialities of the faddist era in public education There were some peculiarities in her accent at times which might have been accounted for by the fact that she had studied and traveled abroad. She spoke French fluently — it came to her naturally — and would, now and then, become slightly confused in her construction of sentences, particularly when excited ; but when settled down to a quiet and comfortable conversation her accent was plainly and purely American, in a national sense the plainest and purest accent known among English- speaking people. CHAPTER II. During the delightful autumnal days (and nights!) of 1892, when everything was anticipation— when Chicago, standing upon tip-toe, as it were, was endeavoring to get a glimpse into the future — during the long and anxious winter and during the gloomy spring of 1893 ; during those months, never to be forgotten, when the marvelous White City was rising like a mirage above the dunes on the south shore of Lake Michigan — Helen St. Vincent came into contact with the most remarkable collection of men that had ever been brought together in an American city. She knew all the splendid fellows who had gravitated toward Chicago from the -four corners of the globe — the painters, sculptors, authors, poets, magazine writers, news- paper workers — the bohemians who fluctuated at forbidden hours between the Press and the Whitechapel clubs — and they all knew her and admired her. I am not going very far out of the way when I say that more than one of them loved her. She was almost invariably accompanied by a middle- aged very respectable looking person, whom she styled "Aunty," but who was not, as a matter of fact, related to her in any way. This chaperon was seldom more than ten feet away from her lovely charge. They came, or went, together, at night, in a hack or hansom — sometimes in a private carriage. At first it was known that Miss St. Vincent had a suite of rooms at the Richelieu ; later she stopped at the Auditorium. She had not been long HELEN ST. VINCENT. 13 in the city before the fact leaked out that she was the permanent guest of a wealthy south side family, that of William P. Flanders, on Michigan avenue. Miss St. Vincent, from this time on, was invited to society gatherings of all kinds, and attended many. She appeared to have unlimited means at her disposal. Her costumes were among the finest seen anywhere and were almost invariably described in the society columns of the nevv'spapers. She was pronounced the belle of the great dedicatory ball at the Auditorium on the night of October 21, 1892, shortly after her arrival in Chicago. Her girl friends were the daughters of millionaires. She was as exclusive in society as she was free in bohemia. There was no middle ground for her — no middle ground upon which to meet her. Wealth and fashion claimed her on one hand ; talent and genius on the other. She did not bring her society friends into her bohemian life, nor did she carry the atmosphere or the associations of bohemia into the drawing-room. Many of those who knew her in one sphere knew her in the other, but it was remarked that she rather discouraged all attempts to create connecting links of friendship between them. I have said she was most at home and happiest among the brainy, if rather careless set, that had no appreciable regard for the conventionalities of society, but, on the contrary, was rather inclined to spurn them. She was never anywhere else so much her own dear, delightful, beautiful self, so utterly unconscious of care, so full of girlish buoyancy, animal spirits and unalloyed happiness as she was on those Press Club "Nights," when her presence seemed to charge the air around her with something akin to divinity. " I wish," said one of the novelists of the club one evening, " I wish I could put her in a book !" 14 HELEN ST. VINCENT. " There's character enough in her for a library of books," remarked another, dryly. " Her place is in a poem," quietly observed a pale-faced young man, just becoming known as a sweet singer. "May God protect her against the poets we meet around here," said the club's cynic, who couldn't miss the oppor- tunity of running a poniard into somebody. But she found her way into many books and into many poems, through many hearts, during this period. She became to those who surrounded her and who felt lier influence, at once an inspiration and a theme. It can do very little harm now to confess that I loved her from the first — that I loved her sincerely, passionately. I don't know how it came about, nor would it interest you if I could explain it. My opportunities of meeting her were many and I flattered myself that I was honored with her friendship from the day of our introduction. She seemed to have the impression — a very strong one, indeed — that we had met somewhere before. Like her I had traveled much, and it would not have been remarkable had we met either in America or in Europe, but I was positive then, as positive as I am now, that I never saw her face up to the time I was presented to her in Chicago. She could not shake off the impression and she often looked at me with an earnest and puzzled expression in her face, as if endeavoring to recall some circumstance or incident in her life in which I had been a factor. But she had to abandon these attempts time and again. " I am very certain I have met you somewhere — a long time ago," she would say, " but I cannot recollect any- thing more about it now." And I would remark, perhaps : HELEN ST. VINCENT. 1 5 " It cannot be, Miss St. Vincent ; had you ever met me, I must, of course, have met you. I cannot recall such a meeting. I w^ould have a very poor and very worthless memory, indeed, if, once having seen it, I could ever forget such a lovely face as yours." Then, as if wakened from a reverie : " What nonsense you talk, Mr. Powers ; let us change the subject." The impression stole upon me gradually that Miss St. Vincent liked me very much. We were often together at the fair and elsewhere. At first Mrs. Arnold, her chap- eron, was generally close at hand. As we became better acquainted, however, that good woman gave us more and more latitude. She never failed to be ready at some appointed place, however, to take Helen home. One day Miss St. Vincent said to me, as I was bidding her good- bye at the Fifty-seventh street entrance : "I should be very much pleased to have you call, Mr. Powers. I have talked about you a good deal," she added laughingly, " and my friends are desirous of meet- ing you." I promised to avail myself of the earliest opportunity, but something happened a little later on which led me to change my mind. I had the afternoons to myself, and my favorite hours at the fair were between 4 o'clock and dark — the nearer dark the better. After a time Helen knew just when and where to find me — generally on the avenue running between the Transportation building and the lagoon. I was fond of looking across the water at the beautiful wooded island, with its Japanese Hooden partially hidden behind the foliage, and beyond toward the Fisheries, the 1 6 HELEN ST. VINCENT. Government and the great Manufactures structures. Wherever we wandered, evening was sure to find us here. I began to look for her, after a time, every day at a certain hour, and when something occurred to detain her or to prevent her from visiting the fair, as occasionally happened, I felt greatly disappointed and wretched. Yet, though we took long rambles and enjoyed many happy conversations — had begun to look upon each other as old friends — there was nothing bordering even upon a flirtation in our acquaintance. We were perfectly frank and honest with each other. I could tell her how beautiful she looked, or how charming she was, and she accepted my compliments in about the same spirit that a girl would accept them from an old schoolniate or a brother. In like manner, I came to accept anything flattering she might say about me or about my work. She had never given me the slightest encouragement — not the slightest — although, as I have said, I felt that she liked me very much indeed, until one evening — one of those transcendently beautiful evenings in July — when we were floating down the Grand Canal togther in a gondola. We had been walking over the grounds the greater part of the afternoon, viewing the dream city from different points of observation, and, to rest ourselves, we had agreed upon a water trip. The gondolier had no other passen- gers. I slipped a piece of money into his hand as I stepped into the boat, and he understood me. We were soon moving down the lagoon. The swarthy boatman propelled the gondola gently, humming a soft Venetian air, and took no notice of those who hailed him from the landings. We were going to have this ride all to our- selves. HELEN ST. VINCENT. 1 7 I believe that no matter how conversations began during those days at the great fair, they all drifted naturally into the same channel.' " I should hate to live in Chicago," said Miss St. Vincent, " when all this shall have passed away." "You mean — " " I mean the fair," she interrupted hastily, for I believe she read my thoughts at that moment. " Do you really mean the fair," I remarked, "or the fair and its associations ? " "It is impossible to separate them. The associations will be destroyed with the destruction of the fair. All that is good and generous and beautiful in men and women is developed by these environments. I have noticed, everybody has noticed, that people become more generous, more kindly, more sympathetic the moment they enter the gates. The oftener they come the larger their hearts grow. The desire to love one another — that feeling which is the outgrowth of the universal brother- hood of man and the fatherhood of God — is born in the hearts of those who linger here. In a few months this beautiful vision shall have disappeared, and with it all the nobler sentiments it has awakened in the breasts of those it has brought together," " Friendships, formed here .'' " "Will be forgotten!" "Love born here ? " "Will grow cold and perish !" " Why, you are a pessimist, I believe. Miss St. Vincent," said I. "How can you— you above all others — think or say such things ? " "I cannot help thinking them — I should not have said them, I know. I have no right to be disagreeable, 1 8 HELEN ST. VINCENT. especially when I am with you — you, who are always so kind — and so hopeful." "I have heard that ten thousand times if I have heard it once," I rejoined rather bitterly. "What have you heard ten thousand times .'' " she asked anxiously, fearing, no doubt, that she had offended me. " That I am so hopeful. People say ' Powers, you are so hopeful !' and they seem to pity me when they say it. I don't understand them. There must be something in life that is plain to them but hidden from me. Am I more hopeful than other people, Miss St. Vincent ?" "You are, and that is equal to saying that you are better than other people — than a great many other people, at least," She laid her beautiful hand on the back of mine as she said this, and an indescribable thrill shot through me. She must have noticed how this simple, sisterly little act ' affected me, for she withdrew her hand quickly, and began to talk about the beauty of the scene revealed to us through the openings of the peristyle. But the time for commonplaces between us had passed, and I caught her hand in mine and held it. She made no attempt ,to disengage it. I firmly believe she had made up her mind, in a moment, like a flash, that she had gone too far ; that she must take the consequences sen- sibly ; that there was no use in trying to avoid the inevitable now, and that it was best to meet it and be done with it. I learned afterward how rapidly she could think and how decisively she could act when emergencies arose. She was endowed by God with ready wit and good sense, and she never but once, to my knowledge, spoke or acted when she was not in full possession of both. HELEN ST. VINCENT. Ip I told her then that I loved her — that I had loved her from our first meeting ; that I was vain enough to believe she liked me. I asked her for her love, I asked her to marry me. I told her many things about myself, about my career, about my pi-ospects. I opened my heart to her — laid myself at her feet. I must have talked to her for a considerable length of time, for the gondola, I remember, had rounded the statue of the Republic when I ceased. While I vv^as talking she looked at me steadily, patiently, tenderly. She made no attempt to check me. She allowed me to finish. Her hand remained in mine. I thought she would not, at that moment, have been dis- pleased had I kissed her. Under other circumstances — in any other place — I certainly would have done so. There was love in every feature of her beautiful face. I believed that Helen St. Vincent was mine. It was not necessary for her to speak ! Oh, the happiness of those few moments ! I felt a slight pressure from her hand, and she spoke. Her voice was low and calm. There was not the suspi- cion of a tremor in it. " Mr. Powers," she said, " I will not offend you by making light of what you have just said, nor will I insult you by doubting your sincerity. From the bot- tom of my heart I believe you. I believe you love me, and I believe you capable of loving me unsel- fishly and devotedly. Now, believe me when I tell you that what you ask is out of the question. It must never be mentioned between us again. I greatly admire you. It would do you no good were I to say more than this." She withdrew her hand. 20 HELEN ST. VINCENT. "I never meant to say or to do anything to encourage you. I would not for the world have you think that I sought to trifle with your affections." "You have not encouraged me, Miss St. Vincent," I stammered, "nor do I blame you in the least; but " "You think I might give it further thought. No, Mr. Powers, I cannot think of it at all. We have been good friends — let us continue to be good friends; won't you?" I tried to reply, but my tongue would not move. "Now," she continued, in that mild and amiable way she had, and she spoke more like a matron than a maiden, "don't let this trouble or discourage you. For your own sake, and for my sake, don't think of it any more — or, at least, think of it as little as you can. If I needed a friend to-day, to-morrow or next year, I would try to find Edmund Powers, and I would trust him with my life and with my honor. Could I, need I, say more than this? I am grateful for your love. I am proud that you love mc, I would remember this evening through all my life with pleasure were it not for the pain it has brought to you. Here, Mr. Powers- — Edmund- — take this," she said, slipping a handsome diamond ring on the little finger of my left hand. "Now let us promise, no matter what happens, that we shall always be good friends." She extended her hand, and I took it and held it. Somehow, although sorely disappointed and sick at heart, I could not help feeling that Helen St. Vincent loved me. That tender, longing, pitying expression which had stolen over her features while I was telling her of my love was there again. It was in the dusk of evening, and we were floating in the shadow of the Administration building, close to the MacMonnies fountain. The gondolier was still HELEN ST. VINCENT. 21 humming a soft Venetian air and appeared to be obliv- ious. I looked into her lovely eyes. I felt, or thought I felt, again the pressure of her hand. I forgot time, place, everything, and kissed her. CHAPTER III. I did not meet Helen again for several weeks. I think she tried to avoid me. I know I tried to avoid her. She had told me enough, before we parted that evening-, to convince me that there existed an inseparable barrier be- tween us. Then, again, she had treated me with such delicacy ; she had talked to me with so much feeling ~ she had placed so much trust in my honor as a man — that I felt it a duty I owed her to avoid even a chance meeting, if I could. I was not a gentleman of leisure. My trade or pro- fession, or whatever people may be pleased to call it, was an exacting one. Men who write what others are ex- pected to read have no business to fall in love. One may be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a minister of the gospel, and mix sentiment with his avocation, but the man who writes of sentiment, who is expected to understand it as it exists in others ; to describe it, and, if necessary, to analyze it, must be above (or below) sentiment himself. It was my business to turn out so many columns or so many pages of readable matter every month, just as it might be the business of the tailor to turn out so many pairs of trousers, or the shoemaker so many pairs of shoes, and I had to be as particular as either of them about the cut, the fit and the style of the articles I sent to the market. They were examined just as critically as the handiwork of the tailor or the shoemaker, and were just as liable to be pronounced misfits. HELEN ST. VINCENT. 21 It was during those weeks that my work came to my assistance, however, and helped to sustain me in the greatest trouble I had ever experienced up to that time. The work had to be done, and I had to do it. Every man who writes — every man who loves to write and values his art as it ought to be valued — knows how speedily external influences disappear when he begins to let his thoughts flow with the ink from the point of his pen. Even now, as I run over this portion of my life, with all its happy and congenial associations, I forget my troubles and my sorrows, and find it difficult to abstain from recalling and talking of all the scenes and incidents which interested and amused me during those glorious and, for the most part, tranquil summer days. I hardly think my case is a peculiar or an isolated one. The least impressionable of minds must have been influenced by the magnificent spectacle, magnificent succession of spectacles, of that period. There are dreams that we never forget. They become a part of our lives. We cherish them after a time as we do the dearest of realities. And there are realities that by some mysterious process of the imagination become spiritual- ized into dreams. Do you ever find yourself doubting that the white city had any existence in fact.'' I do. Necessity compelled me to visit the fair almost daily. I preferred a ramble through the grounds, as I have said, in the early evening. An air of supreme restfulness in this hour of benediction seemed to settle upon the build- ings, avenues and waterways. The twilight lent an addi- tional charm to the classic architecture. One of my greatest delights was to watch the people who, about this time, were directing their footsteps toward 24 HELEN ST. VINCENT. the exits. Wearied and footsore, after a day of sight- seeing, they would turn in groups and look backward along the incomparable vistas, with wistful expressions on their faces, as though they would fain linger in the en- chanted spot. Then, rcluctlantly, and often with sighs, sometimes tearfully, they would proceed upon their way. How often has Milton's description of the departure of the fallen angels from paradise occurred to me at such times ! But after that evening with Helen everything was changed for me. My visits to the fair brought up recol- lections that I could not afford to dwell upon, if I expected to perform my tasks. Had I allowed myself to drift at that time, it woidd have been only a question of a few days or a few months until I would have been swallowed in a whirlpool. A feeling of melancholy stole over me every time I entered the gates. I walked through the grounds day after day, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. This would not do ! I realized my condition and I had will-power enough to overcome it. My salvation lay in work! — work I must do or become insane. Having aroused myself from the stupor that threatened to overwhelm me, there was no end to the subjects that suggested themselves nor to the subjects that demanded my attention. I felt more content in my room and at my table than I was able to feel {and I tried ever}- where) anywhere else. I filled pages, quires and reams Vv'ith descriptions of the white city. I pictured it as the sun rose out of the lake, tinting the domes and minarets in the golden hues of a summer awaken- ing ! I sketched it in the noonday glare ! I painted it in the glow of sunset, or bathed in the mellow light of an Auijust moon ! HELEN ST. VINCENT. 2$ I worked hard, early and late, and I worked conscien- tiously. Letters of approval came to me from editors and readers. More substantial evidences of appreciation came to me in the shape of handsome checks. I was encouraged to do my best, and I did my very best — aban- doned myself absolutely to my work in the hope that Helen St. Vincent would pass out of my sight, out of my memory, and out of my life. This went on for weeks, and my labor and confinement began to tell upon me. I was being missed, besides, in my usual haunts, and questions asked by my acquaint- ances and friends with regard to my seclusion became rather embarrassing. It was known that I had been often in Miss St. Vincent's society, and it was a matter or current belief that she favored me with something more than her friendship. I feared that any apparent change in our relationship might attract attention or give rise to comment. So I determined to show myself here and there, where she was likely to be seen. We met face to face at a private reception one evening, and the light that illumined her beautiful eyes told m_e plainly that she was glad to see me. As soon as an op- portunity presented itself she was with me. She expressed regret that I had locked myself up, as she put it, but she knew I must have been working very hard, for she had seen the results of my labor in print. She talked of my work, praised it, and wondered how I could keep up under such a strain. Then she talked of herself, of her pictures, which hung in the first room, near the door, in the Ameri- can collection of the Art building, and how they had been praised by critics and collectors. She asked if I had seen her articles in the newspapers, signed " H. St. V.," and when I told her I had read every one of them she 26 HELEN ST. VINCENT. insisted upon "my honest opinion" of their quality, as literary contributions. I could only tell her, as everybody told her, that she had struck a vein which could not fail to w^in her distinction for originality, and that her style was clear, forcible and finished. Then she said, laughingly, " Mr. Powers, once when 1 asked your opinion of an article I had prepared for publi- cation, I think you attempted to discourage me. You appear to have changed your mind regarding the quality of my work !" " Not at all. Miss St. Vincent," I replied. " You told me then that you wrote for the pleasure it afforded you, and not for compensation of any other kind. Am I right ? Well, that is what I disapproved of and that is why I tried to discourage you." " Then you will be glad to learn that I have become — " We were interrupted here. Miss St. Vincent was wanted at the piano. Wouldn't she be so good? So many were desirous of hearing her sing ! Helen St. Vincent was entirely free from affectation. There was not a grain of silliness in her composition. Her good, common sense was with her at all times. "Please excuse me, Mr. Powers," she whispered. "I'll sing for them. It will only take a few minutes, and I'll come back to you." She sat down at the piano and ran her fingers over the keys. Then she struck a few chords, paused, turned on the stool, glanced around the room until her eyes rested on me, and then, half apologetically, half playfully, she saitl : "I'll try something new. It is simple. The words were written by Mr. Powers ; the music is my own." Before I had time to think, let alone to offer a protest, she had played a short, dreamy prelude, and was singing — HELEN ST. VINCENT. 27 WHEN THE TIDE IS GOING OUT. Andante tranquillo^ Flows the Chan . nel If for . ev . er from the sea we might sail U J ■' J i Deep . er than Us In . ward with the 1 a j! — ^ ^=< J» ^ j| \ — |j«J ^^^■rf-.el--*** ^-^l-Si i-ii-i J Oi J J J i i ij r J r 1 14= F J r 1 Copyright IS9S by Broun 28 HELEN ST. VINCENT. rHem llu luit •• foing out ■ * HELEN ST. VINCENT. 29 30 HELEN ST. VINCENT. foco p!u animato -^r f= i F i j r J r i j r J r Affettuoso Whrm lAt (lift It f»