by Myrtle Reed
XXIII
Letters to Constance
[Sidenote: Faith in Results]
Roger was in the library, trying to choose, from an embarrassment ofriches, the ten of his father's books which he was to be permitted totake to the city with him. With characteristic thoughtfulness, Eloisehad busied herself in his behalf immediately upon her return to town.She had found a good opportunity for him, and the letter appointing thetime for a personal interview was even then in his pocket.
Neither he nor his mother had the slightest doubt as to the result. MissMattie was certain that any lawyer with sense enough to practise lawwould be only too glad to have Roger in his office. She scornfullydismissed the grieving owner of Fido from her consideration, for it wasobvious that anyone with even passable mental equipment would not havebeen disturbed by the accidental and painless removal of a bull pup.
Roger's ambition and eagerness made him very sure of the outcome of hisforthcoming venture. All he asked for was the chance to work, and Eloisewas giving him that. How good she had been and how much she had done forBarbara! Roger's heart fairly overflowed with gratitude and heregistered a boyish vow not to disappoint those who believed in him.
It seemed strange to think of Eloise as "Mrs. Conrad." She had signedher brief note to Roger, "Very cordially, Eloise Wynne Conrad." Down inthe corner she had written "Mrs. Allan Conrad." Roger smiled as he notedthe space between the "Wynne" and the "Conrad" in her signature--thesurest betrayal of a bride.
"If I should marry," Roger thought, "my wife's name would be 'Mrs. RogerAustin.'" He wrote it out on a scrap of paper to see how it would look.It was certainly very attractive. "And if it were Barbara, for instance,she would sign her letters 'Barbara North Austin.'" He wrote that out,too, and, in the lamplight, appreciatively studied the effect from manydifferent angles. It was really a very beautiful name.
[Sidenote: Lost in Reverie]
He lost himself in reverie, and it was nearly an hour afterward when hereturned to the difficult task of choosing his ten books. Shakespeare,of course--fortunately there was a one-volume edition that came withinthe letter of the law if not the spirit of it. To this he addedBrowning. As it happened, there was a complete one-volume edition ofthis, too. Emerson came next--the Essays in two volumes. That made four.He added _Vanity Fair_, _David Copperfield_, a translation of the_AEneid_, and his beloved Keats. He hesitated a long time over the lasttwo, but finally took down Boswell's _Life of Johnson_ and the _Essaysof Elia_, neither of which he had read.
[Sidenote: A Little Old Book]
Behind these two books, which had stood side by side, there was a small,thin book that had either fallen down or been hidden there. Roger tookit out and carefully wiped off the dust. It was a blank book in whichhis father had written on all but the last few pages. He took it over tothe table, drew the lamp closer, and sat down.
The gay cover had softened with the years, the pages were yellow, andsome of them were blurred by blistering spots. The ink had faded, butthe writing was still legible. At the top of the first page was thedate, "_Evening, June the seventh_."
"I have lived long," was written on the next line below, "but a thousandyears of living have been centred remorselessly into to-day. I cannot goover, though in this house and in the one across the road it will seemvery strange. I knew the clouds of darkness must eternally hide us eachfrom the other, that we must see each other no more save at a greatdistance, but the thunder and the riving lightning have put heavenbetween us as well as earth.
"I cannot eat, for food is dust and ashes in my mouth. I cannot drinkenough water to moisten my dry, parched throat. I cannot answer whenanyone speaks to me, for I do not hear what is said. It does not seemthat I shall ever sleep again. Yet God, pitiless and unforgiving, letsme live on."
The remainder of the page was blank. The next entry was dated: "_Junetenth. Night._"
[Sidenote: No Other Way]
"I had to go. There was no other way. I had to sit and listen. I saw theblind man in the room beyond, sitting beside the dark woman with thehard face. She had the little lame baby in her arms--the baby who is ayear or so younger than my own son. I smelled the tuberoses and thegreat clusters of white lilacs. And I saw her, dead, with her goldenbraids on either side of her, smiling, in her white casket. When no onewas looking, I touched her hand. I called softly, 'Constance.' She didnot answer, so I knew she was dead.
"I had to go to the churchyard, with the others. I was compelled to lookat the grave and to see the white casket lowered in. I heard that awfulfall of earth upon her and a voice saying those terrible words, 'Dust todust, earth to earth, ashes to ashes.' The blind man sobbed aloud whenthe earth fell. The dark woman with the hard face did not seem to care.I could have strangled her, but I had to keep my hands still.
"They said that she had not been sleeping and that she took too muchlaudanum by mistake. It was not a mistake, for she was not of that sort.She did it purposely. She did it because of that one mad hour of fullconfession. I have killed her. After three years of self-control, itfailed me, and I went mad. It was my fault, for if I had not failed, shewould not have gone mad, too. I have killed her."
"_June fifteenth. Midnight._
"I am calmer now. I can think more clearly. I have been alone in thewoods all day and every day since--. I have been thinking, thinking,thinking, and going over everything. She left no word for me; she was sosure I would understand. I do not understand yet, but I shall.
[Sidenote: Estranged]
"There was no wrong between us, there never would have been. We weredivided by the whole earth, denied by all the leagues of sundering sea.Now we are estranged by all the angels of heaven and all the hosts ofhell.
"My arms ache for her--my lips hunger for hers. In that mysteriousdarkness, does she want me, too? Did her heart cry out for me as minefor her, until the blood of the poppies mingled with hers and broughtthe white sleep?
"It would have been something to know that we breathed the same air,trod the same highways, listened together to the thrush and robin, andall the winged wayfarers of forest and field. It would have been comfortto know the same sun shone on us both, that the same moon lighted themidnight silences with misty silver, that the same stars burnedtaper-lights in the vaulted darkness for her and for me.
[Sidenote: One Hour]
"But I have not even that. I have nothing, though I have done no wrongbeyond holding her in my arms for one little hour. Out of all the timethat was before our beginning, out of all the time that shall be afterour ending, and in all the unpitying years of our mortal life, we havehad one hour."
"_June nineteenth._
"I have been to her grave. I have tried to realise that the little moundof earth upon the distant hill, over which the sun and stars sweependlessly, still shelters her; that, in some way, she is there. ButI cannot.
"The mystery agonises me, for I have never had the belief that comfortsso many. Why is one belief any better than another when we come face toface with the grey, impenetrable veil that never parts save for apassage? Freed from the bonds of earth, does she still live, somewhere,in perfect peace with no thought of me? Sentient, but invisible, is shehere beside me now? Or is she asleep, dreamlessly, abiding in the earthuntil some archangel shall sound the trumpet bidding all the myriad deadarise? Oh, God, God! Only tell me where she is, that I may go, too!"
"_June twenty-first._
[Sidenote: The Hand Stayed]
"It is true that the path she took is open to me also. I have thought ofit many times. I am not afraid to follow where she has led, even intothe depths of hell. I have had for several days a vial of the crushedpoppies, and the bitter odour, even now, fills my room. Only one thoughtstays my hand--my little son.
"Should I follow, he must inevitably come to believe that his father wasa coward--that he was afraid of life, which is the most craven fear ofall. He will see that I have given to him something that I could notbear myself, and will despise me, as people despise a man who shirks hisburde
n and shifts it to the shoulders of one weaker than he.
"When temptation assails him, he will remember that his father yielded.When life looms dark before him and among the fearful shadows there isno hint of light, he will recall that his father was too much of acoward to go into those same shadows, carrying his own light.
"And if his heart is ever filled with an awful agony that requires allhis strength to meet it, he will remember that his father failed. Icould not rest in my grave if my son, living, should despise me, eventhough my narrow house was in the same darkness that hides Her."
"_July tenth. Dawn._
[Sidenote: Punishment]
"This, then, is my punishment. Because for one hour my self-controldeserted me, when my man's blood had been crying out for three years forthe touch of her--because for one little hour my hungry arms held herclose to my aching heart, there is no peace. Nowhere in earth nor inheaven nor in hell is there one moment's forgetfulness. Nowhere in allGod's illimitable universe is there pardon and surcease of pain.
"The blind man comes to me and talks of her. He asks me piteously,'Why?' He calls me his friend. He says that she often spoke of me; thatthey were glad to have me in their house. He asks me if she ever saidone word that would give a reason. Was she unhappy? Was it because hewas blind and the little yellow-haired baby with her mother's blue eyeswas born lame? I can only say 'No,' and beg him not to talk of it--noteven to think of it."
"_July twentieth. Night._
"The beauty of the world at midsummer only makes my loneliness morekeen. The butterflies flit through the meadows like wandering souls oflast year's flowers that died and were buried by the snow. The harvestmoon, red-gold and wonderful, will rise slowly up out of the sea. Thepath of light will lie on the still waters and widen into a vast arc atthe line of the shore. Cobwebs will come among the stubble when theharvest is gathered in and on them will lie dewdrops that the moon willmake into pearls.
[Sidenote: Cycle of the Seasons]
"The gorgeous colouring of Autumn will transfigure the hills with glory,and fill the far silences with misty amethyst and gold. The year-longsleep will come with the first snow, and the stars burn blue and cold inthe frosty night. April bugles will wake the violets and anemones, thedead leaves of Autumn will be starred with springtime bloom, May willdance through the world with lilacs and apple blossoms, and I shall bealone.
"I can go to her grave again and see the violets all around it, theirexquisite odour made of her dust. I can carry to her the first roses ofJune, as I used to do, but she cannot take them in her still hands.I can only lay them on that impassable mound, and let the warm rains,as soft as woman's tears, drip down and down and down until the fragranceand my love come to her in the mist.
"But will she care? Is that last sleep so deep that the quiet heart isnever stirred by love? When my whole soul goes out to her in an agonyof love and pain, is it possible that there is no answer? If there is aGod in heaven, it cannot be!"
"_October fifth. Night._
"It is said that Time heals everything. I have been waiting to see if itwere so. Day by day my loss is greater; day by day my grief becomes moredifficult to bear. I read all the time, or pretend to. I sit for hourswith the open book before me and never see a line that is printed there.Oh, Love, if I could dream to-night, in the earth with you!"
"_October seventh._
"Just four months ago to-day! I was numb, then, with the shock andhorror. I could not feel as I do now. When the tide of my heart came in,with agony in every pulse-beat, it rose steadily to the full, withoutpause, without rest. I think it has reached its flood now, for I cannotendure more. Will there ever be recession?"
"_November tenth._
[Sidenote: Death of Passion]
"I am coming, gradually, to have some sort of faith. I do not know why,for I have never had it before. I can see that all things made of earthmust perish as the leaves. Passion dies because it is of the earth, butdoes not love live?
[Sidenote: A Gift]
"If only the finer things of the spirit could be bequeathed, likematerial possessions! All I have to leave my son is a very small incomeand a few books. I cannot give him endurance, self-control, or the powerto withstand temptation. I cannot give him joy. If I could, I shouldleave him one priceless gift--my love for Constance, to which, for onehour, hers answered fully--I should give him that love with no barrierto divide it from its desire.
"I wonder if Constance would have left hers to her little yellow-hairedgirl? I wonder if sometimes the joys of the fathers are not visited upontheir children as well as their sins?"
"_November nineteenth. Night._
"I have come to believe that love never dies for God is love, and He isimmortal. My love for Constance has not died and cannot. Why should hershave died? It does not seem that it has, since to-day, for the firsttime, I have found surcease.
"Constance is dead, but she has left her love to sustain and strengthenme. It streams out from the quiet hillside to-night as never before, andgives me the peace of a benediction. I understand, now, the blindingpain of the last five months. The immortal spirit of love, which canneither die nor grow old, was extricating itself from the earth thatclung to it.
"_December third._
"At last I have come to perfect peace. I no longer hunger so terriblyfor the touch of her, for my aching arms to clasp her close, for herlips to quiver beneath mine. The tide has ebbed--there is no more pain.
"I have come, strangely, into kinship with the universe. I have afeeling to-night of brotherhood. I can see that death is no divisionwhen a heart is deep enough to hold a grave. The Grey Angel cannotseparate her from me, though she took the white poppies from his hands,and gave none to me.
"_December eighteenth._
[Sidenote: Day by Day]
"Constance, Beloved, I feel you near to-night. The wild snows of Winterhave blown across your grave, but your love is warm and sweet around myheart. The sorrow is all gone and in its place has come a peace as deepand calm as the sea. I can wait, day by day, until the Grey Angelsummons me to join you; until the poppies that stilled your heartbeats,shall, in another way, quiet mine, too.
"I can have faith. I can believe that somewhere beyond the star-filledspaces, when this arc of mortal life merges into the perfect circle ofeternity, there will be no barrier between you and me, because, if Godis love, love must be God, and He has no limitations.
"I can take up my burden and go on until the road divides, and the GreyAngel leads me down your path. I can be kind. I can try, each day, toput joy into the world that so sorely needs it, and to take nothing awayfrom whatever it holds of happiness now. I can be strong because I haveknown you, I can have courage because you were brave, I can be truebecause you were true, I can be tender because I love you.
"At last I understand. It is passion that cries out for continualassurance, for fresh sacrifices, for new proof. Love needs nothing butitself; it asks for nothing but to give itself; it denies nothing,neither barriers nor the grave. Love can wait until life comes to itsend, and trust to eternity, because it is of God."
* * * * *
[Sidenote: A Man's Heart]
Roger put the little book down and wiped his eyes. He had come upon aman's heart laid bare and was thrilled to the depths by the revelation.He was as one who stands in a holy place, with uncovered head, in thehush that follows prayer.
In the midst of his tenderness for his dead father welled up apassionate loyalty toward the woman who slept in the room adjoining thelibrary, whose soul had "never been welded." She had known life no morethan a prattling brook in a meadow may know the sea. Bound in shallows,she knew nothing of the unutterable vastness in which deep answered untodeep; tide and tempest and blue surges were fraught with no meaning forher.
The clock struck twelve and Roger still sat there, with his head restingupon his hand. He read once more his father's wish to bequeath to himhis love, "with no barrier to divide it from its desire."
[Sidenote: Out into the Night]
He found a sheet of paper and reverently wrapped up the little brownbook. An hour later, he slipped under the string a letter of his own,sealed and addressed, and quietly, though afraid that the beating of hisheart sounded in the stillness, went out into the night.
XXIV
The Bells in the Tower
The sea was very blue behind the Tower of Cologne, though it was not yetdawn. The velvet darkness, in that enchanted land, seemed to have amagical quality--it veiled but did not hide. Barbara went up the glasssteps, made of cologne bottles, and opened the door.
[Sidenote: The Tower Unchanged]
She had not been there for a long time, but nothing was changed. Thewinding stairway hung with tapestries and the round windows at thelandings, through which one looked to the sea, were all the same.
King Arthur, Sir Lancelot and Guinevere were all in the Tower, as usual.The Lady of Shalott was there, with Mr. Pickwick, Dora, and Little Nell.All the dear people of the books moved through the lovely rooms,sniffing at cologne, or talking and laughing with each other, just asthey pleased.
The red-haired young man and the two blue and white nurses were stillthere, but they seemed to be on the point of going out. Doctor Conradand Eloise were in every room she went into. Eloise was all in white,like a bride, and the Doctor was very, very happy.
Ambrose North was there, no longer blind or dead, but well and strongand able to see. He took Barbara in his arms when she went in, kissedher, and called her "Constance."
A sharp pang went through her heart because he did not know her. "I'mBarbara, Daddy," she cried out; "don't you know me?" But he onlymurmured, "Constance, my Beloved," and kissed her again--not with afather's kiss, but with a yearning tenderness that seemed very strange.She finally gave up trying to make him understand that her name wasBarbara--that she was not Constance at all. At last she said, "Itdoesn't matter by what name you call me, as long as you love me," andwent on upstairs.
[Sidenote: An Unfinished Tapestry]
One of the tapestries that hung on the wall along the winding stairwaywas new--at least she did not remember having seen it before. It was inthe soft rose and gold and brown and blue of the other tapestries, andappeared old, as though it had been hanging there for some time. Shefingered it curiously. It felt and looked like the others, but it mustbe new, for it was not quite finished.
In the picture, a man in white vestments stood at an altar with hishands outstretched in blessing. Before him knelt a girl and a man. Thegirl was in white and the taper-lights at the altar shone on her twolong yellow braids that hung down over her white gown, so that theylooked like burnished gold. The face was turned away so that she couldnot see who it was, but the man who knelt beside her was lookingstraight at her, or would have been, if the tapestry-maker had not putdown her needle at a critical point. The man's face had not beentouched, though everything else was done. Barbara sighed. She hoped thatthe next time she came to the Tower the tapestry would be finished.
[Sidenote: In the Violet Room]
She went into the violet room, for a little while, and sat down on agreen chair with a purple cushion in it. She took a great bunch ofviolets out of a bowl and buried her face in the sweetness. Then shewent to the mantel, where the bottles were, and drenched herhandkerchief with violet water. She had tried all the different kinds ofcologne that were in the Tower, but she liked the violet water best, andnearly always went into the violet room for a little while on her wayupstairs.
As she turned to go out, the Boy joined her. He was a young man now,taller than Barbara, but his face, as always, was hidden from her as bya mist. His voice was very kind and tender as he took both her hands inhis.
"How do you do, Barbara, dear?" he asked.
"You have not been in the Tower for a long time."
"I have been ill," she answered. "See?" She tried to show him hercrutches, but they were not there. "I used to have crutches," sheexplained.
"Did you?" he asked, in surprise. "You never had them in the Tower."
"That's so," she answered. "I had forgotten." She remembered now thatwhen she went into the Tower she had always left her crutches leaning upagainst the glass steps.
"Let's go upstairs," suggested the Boy, "and ring the golden bells inthe cupola."
Barbara wanted to go very much, but was afraid to try it, because shehad never been able to reach the cupola.
"If you get tired," the Boy went on, as though he had read her thought,"I'll put my arm around you and help you walk. Come, let's go."
[Sidenote: Up the Winding Stairs]
They went out of the violet room and up the winding stairway. Barbarawas not tired at all, but she let him put his arm around her, and leanedher cheek against his shoulder as they climbed. Some way, she felt thatthis time they were really going to reach the cupola.
It was very sweet to be taken care of in this way and to hear the Boy'sdeep, tender voice telling her about the Lady of Shalott and all theother dear people who lived in the Tower. Sometimes he would make hersit down on the stairs to rest. He sat beside her so that he might keephis arm around her, and Barbara wished, as never before, that she mightsee his face.
[Sidenote: The Angel with the Flaming Sword]
Finally, they came to the last landing. They had been up as high as thisonce before, but it was long ago. The cupola was hidden in a cloud asbefore, but it seemed to be the cloud of a Summer day, and not a darkmist. They went into the cloud, and an Angel with a Flaming Swordappeared before them and stopped them. The Angel was all in white andvery tall and stately, with a divinely tender face--Barbara's own face,exalted and transfigured into beauty beyond all words.
"Please," said Barbara, softly, though she was not at all afraid, "maywe go up into the cupola and ring the golden bells? We have tried somany times."
There was no answer, but Barbara saw the Angel looking at her withinfinite longing and love. All at once, she knew that the Angel was hermother.
"Please, Mother dear," said Barbara, "let us go in and ring the bells."
The Angel smiled and stepped aside, pointing to the right with theFlaming Sword that made a rainbow in the cloud. In the light of it,they went through the mist, that seemed to be lifting now.
"We're really in the cupola," cried the Boy, in delight. "See, here arethe bells." He took the two heavy golden chains in his hands and gaveone to Barbara.
"Ring!" she cried out. "Oh, ring all the bells at once! Now!"
[Sidenote: Ringing the Bells]
They pulled the two chains with all their strength, and from far abovethem rang out the most wonderful golden chimes that anyone had everdreamed of--strong and sweet and thrilling, yet curiously soft and low.
With the first sound, the mist lifted and the Angel with the FlamingSword came into the cupola and stood near them, smiling. Far out was theblue sky that bent down to meet a bluer sea, the sand on the shore wasas white as the blown snow, and the sea-birds that circled around thecupola in the crystalline, fragrant air were singing. The melody blendedstrangely with the sound of the surf on the shining shore below.
The Angel with the Flaming Sword touched Barbara gently on the arm, andsmiled. Barbara looked up, first at the Angel, and then at the Boy whostood beside her. The mist that had always been around him had lifted,too, and she saw that it was Roger, whom she had known all her life.
Barbara woke with a start. The sound of the golden bells was stillchiming in her ears. "Roger," she said, dreamily, "we rang them alltogether, didn't we?" But Roger did not answer, for she was in her ownlittle room, now, and not in the Tower of Cologne.
She slipped out of bed and her little bare, pink feet pattered over tothe window. She pushed the curtains back and looked out. It was a keen,cool, Autumn morning, and
still dark, but in the east was the deep,wonderful purple that presages daybreak.
Oh, to see the sun rise over the sea! Barbara's heart ached withlonging. She had wanted to go for so many years and nobody had everthought of taking her. Now, though Roger had suggested it more thanonce, she had said, each time, that when she went she wanted to goalone.
[Sidenote: "I'll Try It"]
"I'll try it," she thought. "If I get tired, I can sit down and rest,and if I think it is going to be too much for me, I can come back. Itcan't be very far--just down this road."
She dressed hurriedly, putting on her warm, white wool gown and herlittle low soft shoes. She did not stop to brush out her hair and braidit again, for it was very early and no one would see. She put over herhead the white lace scarf she had worn to the wedding, took her whiteknitted shawl, and went downstairs so quietly that Aunt Miriam did nothear her.
She unbolted the door noiselessly and went out, closing it carefullyafter her. On the top step was a very small package, tied with string,and a letter addressed, simply, "To Barbara." She recognised it as abook and a note from Roger--he had done such things before. She did notwant to go back, so she tucked it under her arm and went on.
It seemed so strange to be going out of her gate alone and in the dark!Barbara was thrilled with a sense of adventure and romance which wasquite new to her. This journeying into unknown lands in pursuit ofunknown waters had all the fascination of discovery.
[Sidenote: An Autumn Dawn]
She went down the road faster than she had ever walked before. She wasnot at all tired and was eager for the sea. The Autumn dawn with itskeen, cool air stirred her senses to new and abounding life. She went onand on and on, pausing now and then to lean against somebody's fence, orto rest on a friendly boulder when it appeared along the way.
Faint suggestions of colour appeared in the illimitable distancesbeyond. Barbara saw only a vast, grey expanse, but the surf murmuredsoftly on the shadowy shore. Crossing the sand, and stumbling as shewent, she stooped and dipped her hand into it, then put her rosyforefinger into her mouth to see if it were really salt, as everyonesaid. She sat down in the soft, cool sand, drew her white knitted shawland lace scarf more closely about her, and settled herself to wait.
[Sidenote: Sunrise on the Sea]
The deep purple softened with rose. Tints of gold came far down on thehorizon line. Barbara drew a long breath of wonder and joy. Out in thevastness dark surges sang and crooned, breaking slowly into white foamas they approached the shore. Rose and purple melted into amethyst andazure, and, out beyond the breakers, the grey sea changed to opal andpearl.
Mist rose from the far waters and the long shafts of leaping lightdivided it by rainbows as it lifted. Prismatic fires burned on theboundless curve where the sky met the sea. Wet-winged gulls, cryinghoarsely, came from the night that still lay upon the islands nearshore, and circled out across the breakers to meet the dawn.
Spires of splendid colour flamed to the zenith, the whole east burnedwith crimson and glowed with gold, and from that far, mystical arc ofheaven and earth, a javelin of molten light leaped to the farthest hill.The pearl and opal changed to softest green, mellowed by turquoise andgold, the slow blue surges chimed softly on the singing shore, andBarbara's heart beat high with rapture, for it was daybreak in earth andheaven and morning in her soul.
She sat there for over an hour, asking for nothing but the sky and sea,and the warm, sweet sun that made the air as clear as crystal andtouched the Autumn hills with living flame. She drew long breaths of thewind that swept, like shafts of sunrise, half-way across the world.
[Sidenote: The Boy in the Tower]
At last she turned to the package that lay beside her, and untied thestring, idly wondering what book Roger had sent. How strange that theBoy in the Tower should be Roger, and yet, was it so strange, after all,when she had known him all her life?
Before looking at the book, she tore open the letter and read it--withwide, wondering eyes and wild-beating heart.
[Sidenote: Roger's Letter]
"Barbara, my darling," it began. "I found this book to-night and so I send it to you, for it is yours as much as mine.
"I think my father's wish has been granted and his love has been bequeathed to me. I have known for a long time how much I care for you, and I have often tried to tell you, but fear has kept me silent.
"It has been so sweet to live near you, to read to you when you were sewing or while you were ill, and sweeter than all else besides to help you walk, and to feel that you leaned on me, depending on me for strength and guidance.
"Sometimes I have thought you cared, too, and then I was not sure, so I have kept the words back, fearing to lose what I have. But to-night, after having read his letters, I feel that I must throw the dice for eternal winning or eternal loss. You can never know, if I should spend the rest of my life in telling you, just how much you have meant to me in a thousand different ways.
"Looking back, I see that you have given me my ideals, since the time we made mud pies together and built the Tower of Cologne, for which, alas, we never got the golden bells. I have loved you always and it has not changed since the beginning, save to grow deeper and sweeter with every day that passed.
"As much as I have of courage, or tenderness, or truth, or honour, I owe to you, who set my standard high for me at the beginning, and oh, my dearest, my love has kept me clean. If I have nothing else to give you, I can offer you a clean heart and clean hands, for there is nothing in my life that can make me ashamed to look straight into the eyes of the woman I love.
"Ever since we went to that wedding the other day, I have been wishing it were our own--that you and I might stand together before God's high altar in that little church with the sun streaming in, and be joined, each to the other, until death do us part.
"Sweetheart, can you trust me? Can you believe that it is for always and not just for a little while? Has your mother left her love to you as my father left me his?
"Let me have the sweetness of your leaning on me always, let me take care of you, comfort you when you are tired, laugh with you when you are glad, and love you until death and even after, as he loved her.
"Tell me you care, Barbara, even if it is only a little. Tell me you care, and I can wait, a long, long time.
"ROGER."
Barbara's heart sang with the joy of the morning. She opened the littleworn book, with its yellow, tear-stained pages, and read it all, up tothe very last line.
"Oh!" she cried aloud, in pity. "Oh! oh!"
Fully understanding, she put it aside, closing the faded coverreverently on its love and pain. Then she turned to Roger's letter, andread it again.
[Sidenote: First Flush of Rapture]
Dreaming over it, in the first flush of that mystical rapture whichmakes the world new for those to whom it comes, as light is recreatedwith every dawn, she took no heed of the passing hours. She did not knowthat it was very late, nor that Aunt Miriam, much worried, had askedRoger to go in search of her. She knew only that love and morning andthe sea were all hers.
The tide was coming in. Each wave broke a little higher upon thethirsting shore. Far out on the water was a tiny dark object that movedslowly shoreward on the crests of the waves. Barbara stood up, shadingher eyes with her hand, and waited, counting the rhythmic pulse-beatsthat brought it nearer.
She could not make out what it was, for it advanced and then receded, orpaused in a circling eddy made by two retreating waves. At last a highwave brought
it in and left it, stranded, at her feet.
[Sidenote: A Fragment]
Barbara laughed aloud, for, broken by the wind and wave and worn bytide, a fragment of one of her crutches had come back to her. The bit offlannel with which she had padded the sharp end, so that the sound wouldnot distress her father, still clung to it. She wondered how it camethere, never guessing that it was but the natural result of Eloise'sattempt to throw it as far as Allan had thrown the other, the day hetook them away from her.
A great sob of thankfulness almost choked her. Here she stood firmly onher own two feet, after twenty-two years of helplessness, reminded of itonly by a fragment of a crutch that the sea had given back as it givesup its dead. She had outgrown her need of crutches as the tinycreatures of the sea outgrow their shells.
"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!"
The beautiful words chanted themselves over and over in herconsciousness. The past, with all its pain and grieving, fell from herlike a garment. She was one with the sun and the morning; uplifted byall the world's joy.
[Sidenote: The True Lover]
Her blood sang within her and it seemed that her heart had wings. All oflife lay before her--that life which is made sweet by love. She feltagain the ecstasy that claimed her in the Tower of Cologne, when she andthe Boy, after a lifetime of waiting, had rung all the golden bells atonce.
And the Boy was Roger--always had been Roger--only she did not know.Into Barbara's heart came something new and sweet that she had neverknown before--the deep sense of conviction and the everlasting peacewhich the True Lover, and he alone, has power to bestow.
It was part of the wonder of the morning that when she turned, startleda little by a muffled footstep, she should see Roger with his handsoutstretched in pleading and all his soul in his eyes.
Barbara's face took on the unearthly beauty of dawn. Her blue eyesdeepened to violet, her sweet lips smiled. She was radiant, from herfeet to the heavy braids that hung over her shoulders and the shimmeringhalo of soft hair, that blew, like golden mist, about her face.
Roger caught her mood unerringly--it was like him always to understand.He was no longer afraid, and the trembling of his boyish mouth was lostin a smile. She was more beautiful than the morning of which she seemeda veritable part--and she was his.
[Sidenote: Flower of the Dawn]
"Flower of the Dawn," he cried, his voice ringing with love and triumph,"do you care? Are you mine?"
She went to him, smiling, with the colour of the fiery dawning on hercheeks and lips. "Yes," she whispered. "Didn't you know?"
Then the sun and the morning and the world itself vanished all at oncebeyond his ken, for Barbara had put her soft little hand upon hisshoulder, and lifted her love-lit face to his.
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 4, "instrusted" changed to "intrusted" (china intrusted)
Page 272, "checks" changed to "cheeks" (fair cheeks)
Page 275, "venegeance" changed to "vengeance" (not of His vengeance)
Page 321, "anenomes" changed to "anemones" (and anemones)
Page 326, "assunder" changed to "asunder" (hopelessly put asunder)