Mr. Jack Hamlin's Mediation

by Bret Harte

  Produced by Donald Lainson and an Anonymous Volunteer

  MR. JACK HAMLIN'S MEDIATION

  By Bret Harte

  From: "ARGONAUT EDITION" OF THE WORKS OF BRET HARTE, VOL. 12.

  P. F. COLLIER & SON

  NEW YORK

  CONTENTS

  MR. JACK HAMLIN'S MEDIATION

  THE MAN AT THE SEMAPHORE

  AN ESMERALDA OF ROCKY CANYON

  DICK SPINDLER'S FAMILY CHRISTMAS

  WHEN THE WATERS WERE UP AT "JULES'"

  THE BOOM IN THE "CALAVERAS CLARION"

  THE SECRET OF SOBRIENTE'S WELL

  LIBERTY JONES'S DISCOVERY

  MR. JACK HAMLIN'S MEDIATION

  At nightfall it began to rain. The wind arose too, and also began tobuffet a small, struggling, nondescript figure, creeping along the trailover the rocky upland meadow towards Rylands's rancho. At times itshead was hidden in what appeared to be wings thrown upward from itsshoulders; at times its broad-brimmed hat was cocked jauntily on oneside, and again the brim was fixed over the face like a visor. At onemoment a drifting misshapen mass of drapery, at the next its vaguegarments, beaten back hard against the figure, revealed outlines far toodelicate for that rude enwrapping. For it was Mrs. Rylands herself,in her husband's hat and her "hired man's" old blue army overcoat,returning from the post-office two miles away. The wind continued itsaggression until she reached the front door of her newly plasteredfarmhouse, and then a heavier blast shook the pines above thelow-pitched, shingled roof, and sent a shower of arrowy drops after herlike a Parthian parting, as she entered. She threw aside the overcoatand hat, and somewhat inconsistently entered the sitting-room, to walkto the window and look back upon the path she had just traversed. Thewind and the rain swept down a slope, half meadow, half clearing,--amile away,--to a fringe of sycamores. A mile further lay the stage road,where, three hours later, her husband would alight on his return fromSacramento. It would be a long wet walk for Joshua Rylands, as theironly horse had been borrowed by a neighbor.

  In that fading light Mrs. Rylands's oval cheek was shining still fromthe raindrops, but there was something in the expression of her worriedface that might have as readily suggested tears. She was strikinglyhandsome, yet quite as incongruous an ornament to her surroundings asshe had been to her outer wrappings a moment ago. Even the clothes shenow stood in hinted an inadaptibility to the weather--the house--theposition she occupied in it. A figured silk dress, spoiled rather thanoverworn, was still of a quality inconsistent with her evident habits,and the lace-edged petticoat that peeped beneath it was draggled withmud and unaccustomed usage. Her glossy black hair, which had been tossedinto curls in some foreign fashion, was now wind-blown into a burlesqueof it. This incongruity was still further accented by the appearance ofthe room she had entered. It was coldly and severely furnished, makingthe chill of the yet damp white plaster unpleasantly obvious. A blackharmonium organ stood in one corner, set out with black and whitehymn-books; a trestle-like table contained a large Bible; half a dozenblack, horsehair-cushioned chairs stood, geometrically distant, againstthe walls, from which hung four engravings of "Paradise Lost" in blackmourning frames; some dried ferns and autumn leaves stood in a vase onthe mantelpiece, as if the chill of the room had prematurely blightedthem. The coldly glittering grate below was also decorated with witheredsprays, as if an attempt had been made to burn them, but was frustratedthrough damp. Suddenly recalled to a sense of her wet boots and thenew carpet, she hurriedly turned away, crossed the hall into thedining-room, and thence passed into the kitchen. The "hired girl," alarge-boned Missourian, a daughter of a neighboring woodman, was peelingpotatoes at the table. Mrs. Rylands drew a chair before the kitchenstove, and put her wet feet on the hob.

  "I'll bet a cooky, Mess Rylands, you've done forgot the vanillar," saidthe girl, with a certain domestic and confidential familiarity.

  Mrs. Rylands started guiltily. She made a miserable feint of looking inher lap and on the table. "I'm afraid I did, Jane, if I didn't bring itin HERE."

  "That you didn't," returned Jane. "And I reckon ye forgot that 'arpepper-sauce for yer husband."

  Mrs. Rylands looked up with piteous contrition. "I really don't knowwhat's the matter with me. I certainly went into the shop, and had it onmy list,--and--really"--

  Jane evidently knew her mistress, and smiled with superior toleration."It's kinder bewilderin' goin' in them big shops, and lookin' round themstuffed shelves." The shop at the cross roads and post-office was 14x 14, but Jane was nurtured on the plains. "Anyhow," she addedgood-humoredly, "the expressman is sure to look in as he goes by, andyou've time to give him the order."

  "But is he SURE to come?" asked Mrs. Rylands anxiously. "Mr. Rylandswill be so put out without his pepper-sauce."

  "He's sure to come ef he knows you're here. Ye kin always kalkilate onthat."

  "Why?" said Mrs. Rylands abstractedly.

  "Why? 'cause he just can't keep his eyes off ye! That's why he comesevery day,--'tain't jest for trade!"

  This was quite true, not only of the expressman, but of the butcherand baker, and the "candlestick-maker," had there been so advanced avocation at the cross roads. All were equally and curiously attractedby her picturesque novelty. Mrs. Rylands knew this herself, but withoutvanity or coquettishness. Possibly that was why the other woman toldher. She only slightly deepened the lines of discontent in her cheek andsaid abstractedly, "Well, when he comes, YOU ask him."

  She dried her shoes, put on a pair of slippers that had a faded splendorabout them, and went up to her bedroom. Here she hesitated for some timebetween the sewing-machine and her knitting-needles, but finally settledupon the latter, and a pair of socks for her husband which she had beguna year ago. But she presently despaired of finishing them beforehe returned, three hours hence, and so applied herself to thesewing-machine. For a little while its singing hum was heard between theblasts that shook the house, but the thread presently snapped, and themachine was put aside somewhat impatiently, with a discontented drawingof the lines around her handsome mouth. Then she began to "tidy" theroom, putting a great many things away and bringing out a great manymore, a process that was necessarily slow, owing to her falling intoattitudes of minute inspection of certain articles of dress, withintervals of trying them on, and observing their effect in her mirror.This kind of interruption also occurred while she was putting away somebooks that were lying about on chairs and tables, stopping midway toopen their pages, becoming interested, and quite finishing one chapter,with the book held close against the window to catch the fading light ofday. The feminine reader will gather from this that Mrs. Rylands, thoughcharming, was not facile in domestic duties. She had just glanced at theclock, and lit the candle to again set herself to work, and thus bridgeover the two hours more of waiting, when there came a tap at the door.She opened it to Jane.

  "There's an entire stranger downstairs, ez hez got a lame hoss and wantsto borry a fresh one."

  "We have none, you know," said Mrs. Rylands, a little impatiently.

  "Thet's what I told him. Then he wanted to know ef he could lie by heretill he could get one or fix up his own hoss."

  "As you like; you know if you can manage it," said Mrs. Rylands, alittle uneasily. "When Mr. Rylands comes you can arrange it between you.Where is he now?"

  "In the kitchen."

  "The kitchen!" echoed Mrs. Rylands.

  "Yes, ma'am, I showed him into the parlor, but he kinder shivered hisshoulders, and reckoned ez how he'd go inter the kitchen. Ye see, ma'am,he was all wet, and his shiny big boots was sloppy. But he ain't one o'the stuck-up kind, and he's willin' to make hisself cowf'ble before thekitchen stove."

  "Well, then, he don't want ME," said Mrs. Rylands, with a r
elievedvoice.

  "Yes'm," said Jane, apparently equally relieved. "Only, I thought I'djust tell you."

  A few minutes later, in crossing the upper hall, Mrs. Rylands heardJane's voice from the kitchen raised in rustic laughter. Had she beensatirically inclined, she might have understood Jane's willingness torelieve her mistress of the duty of entertaining the stranger; hadshe been philosophical, she might have considered the girl's dreary,monotonous life at the rancho, and made allowance for her joy at thisrare interruption of it. But I fear that Mrs. Rylands was neithersatirical nor philosophical, and presently, when Jane reentered, withcolor in her alkaline face, and light in her huckleberry eyes, and saidshe was going over to the cattle-sheds in the "far pasture," to seeif the hired man didn't know of some horse that could be got for thestranger, Mrs. Rylands felt a little bitterness in the thought that thegirl would have scarcely volunteered to go all that distance in the rainfor HER. Yet, in a few moments she forgot all about it, and even thepresence of her guest in the house, and in one of her fitful abstractedemployments passed through the dining-room into the kitchen, and hadopened the door with an "Oh, Jane!" before she remembered her absence.

  The kitchen, lit by a single candle, could be only partly seen by heras she stood with her hand on the lock, although she herself was plainlyvisible. There was a pause, and then a quiet, self-possessed, yetamused, voice answered:--

  "My name isn't Jane, and if you're the lady of the house, I reckon yourswasn't ALWAYS Rylands."

  At the sound of the voice Mrs. Rylands threw the door wide open, and asher eyes fell upon the speaker--her unknown guest--she recoiled with alittle cry, and a white, startled face. Yet the stranger was young andhandsome, dressed with a scrupulousness and elegance which even thestress of travel had not deranged, and he was looking at her witha smile of recognition, mingled with that careless audacity andself-possession which seemed to be the characteristic of his face.

  "Jack Hamlin!" she gasped.

  "That's me, all the time," he responded easily, "and YOU'RE NellMontgomery!"

  "How did you know I was here? Who told you?" she said impetuously.

  "Nobody! never was so surprised in my life! When you opened that doorjust now you might have knocked me down with a feather." Yet he spokelazily, with an amused face, and looked at her without changing hisposition.

  "But you MUST have known SOMETHING! It was no mere accident," she wenton vehemently, glancing around the room.

  "That's where you slip up, Nell," said Hamlin imperturbably. "It WAS anaccident and a bad one. My horse lamed himself coming down the grade. Isighted the nearest shanty, where I thought I might get another horse.It happened to be this." For the first time he changed his attitude, andleaned back contemplatively in his chair.

  She came towards him quickly. "You didn't use to lie, Jack," she saidhesitatingly.

  "Couldn't afford it in my business,--and can't now," said Jackcheerfully. "But," he added curiously, as if recognizing something inhis companion's agitation, and lifting his brown lashes to her, thewindow, and the ceiling, "what's all this about? What's your little gamehere?"

  "I'm married," she said, with nervous intensity,--"married, and this ismy husband's house!"

  "Not married straight out!--regularly fixed?"

  "Yes," she said hurriedly.

  "One of the boys? Don't remember any Rylands. SPELTER used to be verysweet on you,--but Spelter mightn't have been his real name?"

  "None of our lot! No one you ever knew; a--a straight out, square man,"she said quickly.

  "I say, Nell, look here! You ought to have shown up your cards withouteven a call. You ought to have told him that you danced at the Casino."

  "I did."

  "Before he asked you to marry him?"

  "Before."

  Jack got up from his chair, put his hands in his pockets, and lookedat her curiously. This Nell Montgomery, this music-hall "dance and songgirl," this girl of whom so much had been SAID and so little PROVED!Well, this was becoming interesting.

  "You don't understand," she said, with nervous feverishness; "youremember after that row I had with Jim, that night the manager gave us asupper,--when he treated me like a dog?"

  "He did that," interrupted Jack.

  "I felt fit for anything," she said, with a half-hysterical laugh, thatseemed voiced, however, to check some slumbering memory. "I'd have cutmy throat or his, it didn't matter which"--

  "It mattered something to us, Nell," put in Jack again, with politeparenthesis; "don't leave US out in the cold."

  "I started from 'Frisco that night on the boat ready to fling myselfinto anything--or the river!" she went on hurriedly. "There was a manin the cabin who noticed me, and began to hang around. I thought heknew who I was,--had seen me on the posters; and as I didn't feel likefoolin', I told him so. But he wasn't that kind. He said he saw I was introuble and wanted me to tell him all."

  Mr. Hamlin regarded her cheerfully. "And you told him," he said, "howyou had once run away from your childhood's happy home to go on thestage! How you always regretted it, and would have gone back but thatthe doors were shut forever against you! How you longed to leave, butthe wicked men and women around you always"--

  "I didn't!" she burst out, with sudden passion; "you know I didn't. Itold him everything: who I was, what I had done, what I expected to doagain. I pointed out the men--who were sitting there, whispering andgrinning at us, as if they were in the front row of the theatre--andsaid I knew them all, and they knew me. I never spared myself a thing.I said what people said of me, and didn't even care to say it wasn'ttrue!"

  "Oh, come!" protested Jack, in perfunctory politeness.

  "He said he liked me for telling the truth, and not being ashamed to doit! He said the sin was in the false shame and the hypocrisy; for that'sthe sort of man he is, you see, and that's like him always! He asked ifI would marry him--out of hand--and do my best to be his lawful wife.He said he wanted me to think it over and sleep on it, and to-morrow hewould come and see me for an answer. I slipped off the boat at 'Frisco,and went alone to a hotel where I wasn't known. In the morning I didn'tknow whether he'd keep his word or I'd keep mine. But he came! He saidhe'd marry me that very day, and take me to his farm in Santa Clara.I agreed. I thought it would take me out of everybody's knowledge,and they'd think me dead! We were married that day, before a regularclergyman. I was married under my own name,"--she stopped and lookedat Jack, with a hysterical laugh,--"but he made me write underneath it,'known as Nell Montgomery;' for he said HE wasn't ashamed of it, norshould I be."

  "Does he wear long hair and stick straws in it?" said Hamlin gravely."Does he 'hear voices' and have 'visions'?"

  "He's a shrewd, sensible, hard-working man,--no more mad than you are,nor as mad as I was the day I married him. He's lived up to everythinghe's said." She stopped, hesitated in her quick, nervous speech; her lipquivered slightly, but she recalled herself, and looking imploringly,yet hopelessly, at Jack, gasped, "And that's what's the matter!"

  Jack fixed his eyes keenly upon her. "And you?" he said curtly.

  "I?" she repeated wonderingly.

  "Yes, what have YOU done?" he said, with sudden sharpness.

  The wonder was so apparent in her eyes that his keen glance softened."Why," she said bewilderingly, "I have been his dog, his slave,--as faras he would let me. I have done everything; I have not been out of thehouse until he almost drove me out. I have never wanted to go anywhereor see any one; but he has always insisted upon it. I would have beenwilling to slave here, day and night, and have been happy. But he saidI must not seem to be ashamed of my past, when he is not. I would haveworn common homespun clothes and calico frocks, and been glad of it, buthe insists upon my wearing my best things, even my theatre things; andas he can't afford to buy more, I wear these things I had. I know theylook beastly here, and that I'm a laughing-stock, and when I go outI wear almost anything to try and hide them; but," her lip quivereddangerously again, "he wants me to do it, and it pleases him."

/>   Jack looked down. After a pause he lifted his lashes towards herdraggled skirt, and said in an easier, conversational tone, "Yes! Ithought I knew that dress. I gave it to you for that walking scene in'High Life,' didn't I?"

  "No," she said quickly, "it was the blue one with silvertrimming,--don't you remember? I tried to turn it the first year I wasmarried, but it never looked the same."

  "It was sweetly pretty," said Jack encouragingly, "and with that bluehat lined with silver, it was just fetching! Somehow I don't quiteremember this one," and he looked at it critically.

  "I had it at the races in '58, and that supper Judge Boompointer gave usat 'Frisco where Colonel Fish upset the table trying to get at Jim. Doyou know," she said, with a little laugh, "it's got the stains of thechampagne on it yet; it never would come off. See!" and she held thecandle with great animation to the breadth of silk before her.

  "And there's more of it on the sleeve," said Jack; "isn't there?"

  Mrs. Rylands looked reproachfully at Jack.

  "That isn't champagne; don't you know what it is?"

  "No!"

  "It's blood," she said gravely; "when that Mexican cut poor Ned sobad,--don't you remember? I held his head upon my arm while you bandagedhim." She heaved a little sigh, and then added, with a faint laugh,"That's the worst thing about the clothes of a girl in the profession,they get spoiled or stained before they wear out."

  This large truth did not seem to impress Mr. Hamlin. "Why did you leaveSanta Clara?" he said abruptly, in his previous critical tone.

  "Because of the folks there. They were standoffish and ugly. You see,Josh"--

  "Who?"

  "Josh Rylands!--HIM! He told everybody who I was, even those who hadnever seen me in the bills,--how good I was to marry him, how he hadfaith in me and wasn't ashamed,--until they didn't believe we weremarried at all. So they looked another way when they met us, and didn'tcall. And all the while I was glad they didn't, but he wouldn't believeit, and allowed I was pining on account of it."

  "And were you?"

  "I swear to God, Jack, I'd have been content, and more, to have beenjust there with him, seein' nobody, letting every one believe I was deadand gone, but he said it was wrong, and weak! Maybe it was," she added,with a shy, interrogating look at Jack, of which, however, he took nonotice. "Then when he found they wouldn't call, what do you think hedid?"

  "Beat you, perhaps," suggested Jack cheerfully.

  "He never did a thing to me that wasn't straight out, square, and kind,"she said, half indignantly, half hopelessly. "He thought if HIS kindof people wouldn't see me, I might like to see my own sort. So withoutsaying anything to me, he brought down, of all things! Tinkie Clifford,she that used to dance in the cheap variety shows at 'Frisco, and herparticular friend, Captain Sykes. It would have just killed you, Jack,"she said, with a sudden hysteric burst of laughter, "to have seen Josh,in his square, straight-out way, trying to be civil and help thingsalong. But," she went on, as suddenly relapsing into her former attitudeof worried appeal, "I couldn't stand it, and when she got to talkingfree and easy before Josh, and Captain Sykes to guzzling champagne,she and me had a row. She allowed I was putting on airs, and I made herwalk, in spite of Josh."

  "And Josh seemed to like it," said Hamlin carelessly. "Has he seen hersince?"

  "No; I reckon he's cured of asking that kind of company for me. And thenwe came here. But I persuaded him not to begin by going round tellingpeople who I was,--as he did the last time,--but to leave it to folks tofind out if they wanted to, and he gave in. Then he let me fix up thishouse and furnish it my own way, and I did!"

  "Do you mean to say that YOU fixed up that family vault of asitting-room?" said Jack, in horror.

  "Yes, I didn't want any fancy furniture or looking-glasses, and suchlike, to attract folks, nor anything to look like the old times. I don'tthink any of the boys would care to come here. And I got rid of a lot ofsporting travelers, 'wild-cat' managers, and that kind of tramp in thisway. But"--She hesitated, and her face fell again.

  "But what?" said Jack.

  "I don't think that Josh likes it either. He brought home the other day'My Johnny is a Shoemakiyure,' and wanted me to try it on the organ. Butit reminded me how we used to get just sick of singing it on and off theboards, and I couldn't touch it. He wanted me to go to the circus thatwas touring over at the cross roads, but it was the old Flanigin'scircus, you know, the one Gussie Riggs used to ride in, with its oldclown and its old ringmaster and the old 'wheezes,' and I chucked it."

  "Look here," said Jack, rising and surveying Mrs. Rylands critically."If you go on at this gait, I'll tell you what that man of yours willdo. He'll bolt with some of your old friends!"

  She turned a quick, scared face upon him for an instant. But only foran instant. Her hysteric little laugh returned, at once, followed by herweary, worried look. "No, Jack, you don't know him! If it was only that!He cares only for me in his own way,--and," she stammered as she wenton, "I've no luck in making him happy."

  She stopped. The wind shook the house and fired a volley of rainagainst the windows. She took advantage of it to draw a torn lace-edgedhandkerchief from her pocket behind, and keeping the tail of her eyes ina frightened fashion on Jack, applied the handkerchief furtively, firstto her nose, and then to her eyes.

  "Don't do that," said Jack fastidiously, "it's wet enough outside."Nevertheless, he stood up and gazed at her.

  "Well," he began.

  She timidly drew nearer to him, and took a seat on the kitchen table,looking up wistfully into his eyes.

  "Well," resumed Jack argumentatively, "if he won't 'chuck' you, whydon't you 'chuck' HIM?"

  She turned quite white, and suddenly dropped her eyes. "Yes," she said,almost inaudibly, "lots of girls would do that."

  "I don't mean go back to your old life," continued Jack. "I reckonyou've had enough of that. But get into some business, you know, likeother women. A bonnet shop, or a candy shop for children, see? I'llhelp start you. I've got a couple of hundred, if not in my own pocketin somebody's else, just burning to be used! And then you can look aboutyou; and perhaps some square business man will turn up and you can marryhim. You know you can't live this way, nohow. It's killing you; it ain'tfair on you, nor on Rylands either."

  "No," she said quickly, "it ain't fair on HIM. I know it, I know itisn't, I know it isn't," she repeated, "only"--She stopped.

  "Only what?" said Jack impatiently.

  She did not speak. After a pause she picked up the rolling-pin fromthe table and began absently rolling it down her lap to her knee, asif pressing out the stained silk skirt. "Only," she stammered, slowlyrolling the pin handles in her open palms, "I--I can't leave Josh."

  "Why can't you?" said Jack quickly.

  "Because--because--I," she went on, with a quivering lip, working therolling-pin heavily down her knee as if she were crushing her answer outof it,--"because--I--love him!"

  There was a pause, a dash of rain against the window, and another dashfrom her eyes upon her hands, the rolling-pin, and the skirts she hadgathered up hastily, as she cried, "O Jack! Jack! I never loved anybodylike him! I never knew what love was! I never knew a man like himbefore! There never WAS one before!"

  To this large, comprehensive, and passionate statement Mr. Jack Hamlinmade no reply. An audacity so supreme had conquered his. He walked tothe window, looked out upon the dark, rain-filmed pane that, however,reflected no equal change in his own dark eyes, and then returned andwalked round the kitchen table. When he was at her back, without lookingat her, he reached out his hand, took her passive one that lay on thetable in his, grasped it heartily for a single moment, laid it gentlydown, and returned around the table, where he again confronted hercheerfully face to face.

  "You'll make the riffle yet," he said quietly. "Just now I don't seewhat I could do, or where I could chip in your little game; but if I DO,or you do, count me in and let me know. You know where to write,--my oldaddress at Sacramento." He walked to the corner, took up his st
ill wetserape, threw it over his shoulders, and picked up his broad-brimmedriding-hat.

  "You're not going, Jack?" she said hesitatingly, as she rubbed her weteyes into a consciousness of his movements. "You'll wait to see HIM?He'll be here in an hour."

  "I've been here too long already," said Jack. "And the less you sayabout my calling, even accidentally, the better. Nobody will believeit,--YOU didn't yourself. In fact, unless you see how I can help you,the sooner you consider us all dead and buried, the sooner your luckwill change. Tell your girl I've found my own horse so much better thatI have pushed on with him, and give her that."

  He threw a gold coin on the table.

  "But your horse is still lame," she said wonderingly. "What will you doin this storm?"

  "Get into the cover of the next wood and camp out. I've done it before."

  "But, Jack!"

  He suddenly made a slight gesture of warning. His quick ear had caughtthe approach of footsteps along the wet gravel outside. A mischievouslight slid into his dark eyes as he coolly moved backward to the doorand, holding it open, said, in a remarkably clear and distinct voice:--

  "Yes, as you say, society is becoming very mixed and frivolouseverywhere, and you'd scarcely know San Francisco now. So delighted,however, to have made your acquaintance, and regret my business preventsmy waiting to see your good husband. So odd that I should have knownyour Aunt Jemima! But, as you say, the world is very small, after all. Ishall tell the deacon how well you are looking,--in spite of the kitchensmoke in your eyes. Good-by! A thousand thanks for your hospitality."

  And Jack, bowing profoundly to the ground, backed out upon Jane, thehired man, and the expressman, treading, I grieve to say, with somedeliberation upon the toes of the two latter, in order, possibly, thatin their momentary pain and discomposure they might not scan too closelythe face of this ingenious gentleman, as he melted into the night andthe storm.

  Jane entered, with a slight toss of her head.

  "Here's your expressman,--ef you're wantin' him NOW."

  Mrs. Rylands was too preoccupied to notice her handmaiden's significantemphasis, as she indicated a fresh-looking, bashful young fellow, whoseconfusion was evidently heightened by the unexpected egress of Mr.Hamlin, and the point-blank presence of the handsome Mrs. Rylands.

  "Oh, certainly," said Mrs. Rylands quickly. "So kind of him to obligeus. Give him the order, Jane, please."

  She turned to escape from the kitchen and these new intruders, when hereye fell upon the coin left by Mr. Hamlin. "The gentleman wished you totake that for your trouble, Jane," she said hastily, pointing to it, andpassed out.

  Jane cast a withering look after her retreating skirts, and picking thecoin from the table, turned to the hired man. "Run to the stable afterthat dandified young feller, Dick, and hand that back to him. Ye kin saythat Jane Mackinnon don't run arrants fur money, nor play gooseberry toother folks fur fun."

  PART II

  Mr. Joshua Rylands had, according to the vocabulary of his class, "foundgrace" at the age of sixteen, while still in the spiritual state of"original sin" and the political one of Missouri. He had not indeedfound it by persistent youthful seeking or spiritual insight, butsomewhat violently and turbulently at a camp-meeting. A village boy,naturally gentle and impressible, with an original character,--limited,however, in education and experience,--he had, after his first rusticdebauch with some vulgar companions, fallen upon the camp-meeting inreckless audacity; and instead of being handed over to the districtconstable, was taken in and placed upon "the anxious bench," "rastledwith," and exhorted by a strong revivalist preacher, "convicted of sin,"and--converted! It is doubtful if the shame of a public arrest and legalpunishment would have impressed his youthful spirit as much as did thisspiritual examination and trial, in which he himself became accuser.Howbeit, its effect, though punitive, was also exemplary. He at oncecast off his evil companions; remaining faithful to his conversion, inspite of their later "backslidings." When, after the Western fashion,the time came for him to forsake his father's farm and seek a new"quarter section" on some more remote frontier, he carried into thatsecluded, lonely, half-monkish celibacy of pioneer life--which has beenthe foundation of so much strong Western character--more than the usualreligious feeling. At once industrious and adventurous, he lived by "theWord," as he called it, and Nature as he knew it,--tempted by none ofthe vices or sentiments of civilization. When he finally joined theCalifornian emigration, it was not as a gold-seeker, but as a discovererof new agricultural fields; if the hardship was as great and the rewardsfewer, he nevertheless knew that he retained his safer isolation andindependence of spirit. Vice and civilization were to him synonymousterms; it was the natural condition of the worldly and unregenerate.Such was the man who chanced to meet "Nell Montgomery, the Pearl of theVariety Stage," on the Sacramento boat, in one of his forced visitsto civilization. Without knowing her in her profession, her frankexposition of herself did not startle him; he recognized it, acceptedit, and strove to convert it. And as long as this daughter of Follyforsook her evil ways for him, it was a triumph in which there was noshame, and might be proclaimed from the housetop. When his neighborsthought differently, and avoided them, he saw no inconsistency inbringing his wife's old friends to divert her: she might in time convertTHEM. He had no more fear of her returning to their ways than he hadof himself "backsliding." Narrow as was his creed, he had none of theharshness nor pessimism of the bigot. With the keenest self-scrutiny,his credulity regarding others was touching.

  The storm was still raging when he alighted that evening from the upcoach at the trail nearest his house. Although incumbered with aheavy carpet-bag, he started resignedly on his two-mile tramp withoutbegrudging the neighborly act of his wife which had deprived him ofhis horse. It was "like her" to do these things in her good-humoredabstraction, an abstraction, however, that sometimes worried him, fromthe fear that it indicated some unhappiness with her present lot. He waslonging to rejoin her after his absence of three days, the longest timethey had been separated since their marriage, and he hurried on witha certain lover-like excitement, quite new to his usually calm andtemperate blood.

  Struggling with the storm and darkness, but always with the happyconsciousness of drawing nearer to her in that struggle, he labored on,finding his perilous way over the indistinguishable trail by certainlandmarks in the distance, visible only to his pioneer eye. That heaviershadow to the right was not the hillside, but the SLOPE to the distanthill; that low, regular line immediately before him was not a fence orwall, but the line of distant gigantic woods, a mile from his home. Yetas he began to descend the slope towards the wood, he stopped and rubbedhis eyes. There was distinctly a light in it. His first idea was that hehad lost the trail and was nearing the woodman Mackinnon's cabin. But amore careful scrutiny revealed to him that it was really the wood, andthe light was a camp-fire. It was a rough night for camping out, butthey were probably some belated prospectors.

  When he had reached the fringe of woodland, he could see quite plainlythat the fire was built beside one of the large pines, and that thelittle encampment, which looked quite comfortable and secluded from thestorm-beaten trail, was occupied apparently by a single figure. By thegood glow of the leaping fire, that figure standing erect before it,elegantly shaped, in the graceful folds of a serape, looked singularlyromantic and picturesque, and reminded Joshua Rylands--whose ideas ofart were purely reminiscent of boyish reading--of some picture in anovel. The heavy black columns of the pines, glancing out of the concaveshadow, also seemed a fitting background to what might have been a scenein a play. So strongly was he impressed by it that but for his anxietyto reach his home, still a mile distant, and the fact that he wasalready late, he would have penetrated the wood and the seclusion of thestranger with an offer of hospitality for the night. The man, however,was evidently capable of taking care of himself, and the outline of atethered horse was faintly visible under another tree. It might bea surveyor or engineer,--the only men of a better class who wereit
inerant.

  But another and even greater surprise greeted him as he toiled up therocky slope towards his farmhouse. The windows of the sitting-room,which were usually blank and black by night, were glittering withunfamiliar light. Like most farmers, he seldom used the room except forformal company, his wife usually avoiding it, and even he himself nowpreferred the dining-room or the kitchen. His first suggestion that hiswife had visitors gave him a sense of pleasure on her account, mingled,however, with a slight uneasiness of his own which he could not accountfor. More than that, as he approached nearer he could hear the swell ofthe organ above the roar of the swaying pines, and the cadences werenot of a devotional character. He hesitated for a moment, as he hadhesitated at the fire in the woods; yet it was surely his own house! Hehurried to the door, opened it; not only the light of the sitting-roomstreamed into the hall, but the ruddier glow of an actual fire in thedisused grate! The familiar dark furniture had been rearranged to catchsome of the glow and relieve its sombreness. And his wife, rising fromthe music-stool, was the room's only occupant!

  Mrs. Rylands gazed anxiously and timidly at her husband's astonishedface, as he threw off his waterproof and laid down his carpet-bag. Herown face was a little flurried with excitement, and his, half hidden inhis tawny beard, and, possibly owing to his self-introspective nature,never spontaneously sympathetic, still expressed only wonder! Mrs.Rylands was a little frightened. It is sometimes dangerous to meddlewith a man's habits, even when he has grown weary of them.

  "I thought," she began hesitatingly, "that it would be more cheerful foryou in here, this stormy evening. I thought you might like to put yourwet things to dry in the kitchen, and we could sit here together, aftersupper, alone."

  I am afraid that Mrs. Rylands did not offer all her thoughts. Eversince Mr. Hamlin's departure she had been uneasy and excited, sometimesfalling into fits of dejection, and again lighting up into hystericallevity; at other times carefully examining her wardrobe, and then with asudden impulse rushing downstairs again to give orders for her husband'ssupper, and to make the extraordinary changes in the sitting-roomalready noted. Only a few moments before he arrived, she had covertlybrought down a piece of music, and put aside the hymn-books, and taken,with a little laugh, a pack of cards from her pocket, which she placedbehind the already dismantled vase on the chimney.

  "I reckoned you had company, Ellen," he said gravely, kissing her.

  "No," she said quickly. "That is," she stopped with a sudden surge ofcolor in her face that startled her, "there was--a man--here, in thekitchen--who had a lame horse, and who wanted to get a fresh one. Buthe went away an hour ago. And he wasn't in this room--at least, after itwas fixed up. So I've had no company."

  She felt herself again blushing at having blushed, and a littleterrified. There was no reason for it. But for Jack's warning, she wouldhave been quite ready to tell her husband all. She had never blushedbefore him over her past life; why she should now blush over seeingJack, of all people! made her utter a little hysterical laugh. I amafraid that this experienced little woman took it for granted that herhusband knew that if Jack or any man had been there as a clandestinelover, she would not have blushed at all. Yet with all her experience,she did not know that she had blushed simply because it was to Jack thatshe had confessed that she loved the man before her. Her husband notedthe blush as part of her general excitement. He permitted her to draghim into the room and seat him before the hearth, where she sank down onone knee to pull off his heavy rubber boots. But he waved her aside atthis, pulled them off with his own hands, and let her take them to thekitchen and bring back his slippers. By this time a smile had lightedup his hard face. The room was certainly more comfortable and cheerful.Still he was a little worried; was there not in these changes a fallingaway from the grace of self-abnegation which she had so sedulouslypracticed?

  When supper was served by Jane, in the dull dining-room, Mr. Rylands,had he not been more engaged in these late domestic changes, mighthave noticed that the Missouri girl waited upon him with a certaincommiserating air that was remarkable by its contrast with the frigidceremonious politeness with which she attended her mistress. It had notescaped Mrs. Rylands, however, who ever since Jack's abrupt departurehad noticed this change in the girl's demeanor to herself, and witha woman's intuitive insight of another woman, had fathomed it. Thecomfortable tete-a-tete with Jack, which Jane had looked forward to,Mrs. Rylands had anticipated herself, and then sent him off! When Joshuathanked his wife for remembering the pepper-sauce, and Mrs. Rylandspathetically admitted her forgetfulness, the head-toss which Janegave as she left the room was too marked to be overlooked by him. Mrs.Rylands gave a hysterical little laugh. "I am afraid Jane doesn't likemy sending away the expressman just after I had also dismissed thestranger whom she had taken a fancy to, and left her without company,"she said unwisely.

  Mr. Rylands did not laugh. "I reckon," he returned slowly, "that Janemust feel kinder lonely; she bears all the burden of our bein' outer theworld, without any of our glory in the cause of it."

  Nevertheless, when supper was over, and the pair were seated in thesitting-room before the fire, this episode was forgotten. Mrs. Rylandsproduced her husband's pipe and tobacco-pouch. He looked around theformal walls and hesitated. He had been in the habit of smoking in thekitchen.

  "Why not here?" said Mrs. Rylands, with a sudden little note ofdecision. "Why should we keep this room only for company that don'tcome? I call it silly."

  This struck Mr. Rylands as logical. Besides, undoubtedly the fire hadmellowed the room. After a puff or two he looked at his wife musingly."Couldn't you make yourself one of them cigarettys, as they call 'em?Here's the tobacco, and I'll get you the paper."

  "I COULD," she said tentatively. Then suddenly, "What made you think ofit? You never saw ME smoke!"

  "No," said Rylands, "but that lady, your old friend, Miss Clifford,does, and I thought you might be hankering after it."

  "How do you know Tinkie Clifford smokes?" said Mrs. Rylands quickly.

  "She lit a cigaretty that day she called."

  "I hate it," said Mrs. Rylands shortly.

  Mr. Rylands nodded approval, and puffed meditatively.

  "Josh, have you seen that girl since?"

  "No," said Joshua.

  "Nor any other girl like her?"

  "No," said Joshua wonderingly. "You see I only got to know her on youraccount, Ellen, that she might see you."

  "Well, don't you do it any more! None of 'em! Promise me!" She leanedforward eagerly in her chair.

  "But Ellen,"--her husband began gravely.

  "I know what you're going to say, but they can't do me any good, and youcan't do them any good as you did ME, so there!"

  Mr. Rylands was silent, and smiled meditatively.

  "Josh!"

  "Yes."

  "When you met me that night on the Sacramento boat, and looked at me,did you--did I," she hesitated,--"did you look at me because I had beencrying?"

  "I thought you were troubled in spirit, and looked so."

  "I suppose I looked worried, of course; I had no time to change or evenfix my hair; I had on that green dress, and it NEVER was becoming. Andyou only spoke to me on account of my awful looks?"

  "I saw only your wrestling soul, Ellen, and I thought you needed comfortand help."

  She was silent for a moment, and then, leaning forward, picked up thepoker and began to thrust it absently between the bars.

  "And if it had been some other girl crying and looking awful, you'd havespoken to her all the same?"

  This was a new idea to Mr. Rylands, but with most men logic is supreme."I suppose I would," he said slowly.

  "And married her?" She rattled the bars of the grate with the poker asif to drown the inevitable reply.

  Mr. Rylands loved the woman before him, but it pleased him to think thathe loved truth better. "If it had been necessary to her salvation, yes,"he said.

  "Not Tinkie?" she said suddenly.

  "SHE never would hav
e been in your contrite condition."

  "Much you know! Girls like that can cry as well as laugh, just as theywant to. Well! I suppose I DID look horrid." Nevertheless, she seemedto gain some gratification from her husband's reply, and changedthe subject as if fearful of losing that satisfaction by furtherquestioning.

  "I tried some of those songs you brought, but I don't think they gowell with the harmonium," she said, pointing to some music on its rack,"except one. Just listen." She rose, and with the same nervous quicknessshe had shown before, went to the instrument and began to sing and play.There was a hopeless incongruity between the character of the instrumentand the spirit of the song. Mrs. Rylands's voice was rather forced andcrudely trained, but Joshua Rylands, sitting there comfortably slipperedby the fire and conscious of the sheeted rain against the window, feltit good. Presently he arose, and lounging heavily over to the fairperformer, leaned down and imprinted a kiss on the labyrinthine fringesof her hair. At which Mrs. Rylands caught blindly at his hand nearesther, and without lifting her other hand from the keys, or her eyes fromthe music, said tentatively:--

  "You know there's a chorus just here! Why can't you try it with me?"

  Mr. Rylands hesitated a moment, then, with a preliminary cough, lifted avoice as crude as hers, but powerful through much camp-meeting exercise,and roared a chorus which was remarkable chiefly for requiring thatarchness and playfulness in execution which he lacked. As the wholehouse seemed to dilate with the sound, and the wind outside to withholdits fury, Mr. Rylands felt that physical delight which children feelin personal outcry, and was grateful to his wife for the opportunity.Laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder, he noticed for the firsttime that she was in a kind of evening-dress, and that her delicatewhite shoulder shone through the black lace that enveloped it.

  For an instant Mr. Rylands was shocked at this unwonted exposure. Hehad never seen his wife in evening-dress before. It was true they werealone, and in their own sitting-room, but the room was still investedwith that formality and publicity which seemed to accent thisindiscretion. The simple-minded frontier man's mind went back to Jane,to the hired man, to the expressman, the stranger, all of whom mighthave noticed it also.

  "You have a new dress," he said slowly, "have you worn it all day?"

  "No," she said, with a timid smile. "I only put it on just before youcame. It's the one I used to wear in the ballroom scene in 'Gay Times in'Frisco.' You don't know it, I know. I thought I would wear it tonight,and then," she suddenly grasped his hand, "you'll let me put all thesethings away forever! Won't you, Josh? I've seen such nice pretty calicoat the store to-day, and I can make up one or two home dresses, likeJane's, only better fitting, of course. In fact, I asked them to sendthe roll up here to-morrow for you to see."

  Mr. Rylands felt relieved. Perhaps his views had changed about the moraleffect of her retaining these symbols of her past, for he consented tothe calico dresses, not, however, without an inward suspicion that shewould not look so well in them, and that the one she had on was morebecoming.

  Meantime she tried another piece of music. It was equally incongruousand slightly Bacchantic.

  "There used to be a mighty pretty dance went to that," she said, noddingher head in time with the music, and assisting the heavily spasmodicattempts of the instrument with the pleasant levity of her voice. "Iused to do it."

  "Ye might try it now, Ellen," suggested her husband, with ahalf-frightened, half-amused tolerance.

  "YOU play, then," said Mrs. Rylands quickly, offering her seat to him.

  Mr. Rylands sat down to the harmonium, as Mrs. Rylands briskly movedthe table and chairs against the wall. Mr. Rylands played slowly andstrenuously, as from a conscientious regard of the instrument. Mrs.Rylands stood in the centre of the floor, making a rather pretty,animated picture, as she again stimulated the heavy harmonium swell notonly with her voice but her hands and feet. Presently she began to skip.

  I should warn the reader here that this was before the "shawl" or"skirt" dancing was in vogue, and I am afraid that pretty Mrs. Rylands'sperformances would now be voted slow. Her silk skirt and frilledpetticoat were lifted just over her small ankles and tiny bronze-kidshoes. In the course of a pirouette or two, there was a slight furtherrevelation of blue silk stockings and some delicate embroidery, butreally nothing more than may be seen in the sweep of a modern waltz.Suddenly the music ceased. Mr. Rylands had left the harmonium and walkedover to the hearth. Mrs. Rylands stopped, and came towards him with aflushed, anxious face.

  "It don't seem to go right, does it?" she said, with her nervous laugh."I suppose I'm getting too old now, and I don't quite remember it."

  "Better forget it altogether," he replied gravely. He stopped at seeinga singular change in her face, and added awkwardly, "When I told you Ididn't want you to be ashamed of your past, nor to try to forget whatyou were, I didn't mean such things as that!"

  "What did you mean?" she said timidly.

  The truth was that Mr. Rylands did not know. He had known this sort ofthing only in the abstract. He had never had the least acquaintance withthe class to which his wife had belonged, nor known anything of theirmethods. It was a revelation to him now, in the woman he loved, and whowas his wife. He was not shocked so much as he was frightened.

  "You shall have the dress to-morrow, Ellen," he said gently, "andyou can put away these gewgaws. You don't need to look like TinkieClifford."

  He did not see the look of triumph that lit up her eye, but added, "Goon and play."

  She sat down obediently to the instrument. He watched her for a fewmoments from the toe of her kid slipper on the pedals to the swellof her shoulders above the keyboard, with a strange, abstracted face.Presently she stopped and came over to him.

  "And when I've got these nice calico frocks, and you can't tell me fromJane, and I'm a good housekeeper, and settle down to be a farmer's wife,maybe I'll have a secret to tell you."

  "A secret?" he repeated gravely. "Why not now?"

  Her face was quite aglow with excitement and a certain timid mischief asshe laughed: "Not while you are so solemn. It can wait."

  He looked at his watch. "I must give some orders to Jim about the stockbefore he turns in," he said.

  "He's gone to the stables already," said Mrs. Rylands.

  "No matter; I can go there and find him."

  "Shall I bring your boots?" she said quickly.

  "I'll put them on when I pass through the kitchen. I won't be long away.Now go to bed. You are looking tired," he said gently, as he gazed atthe drawn lines about her eyes and mouth. Her former pretty colorstruck him also as having changed of late, and as being irregular andinharmonious.

  As Mrs. Rylands obediently ascended the stairs she heaved a faint sigh,her only recognition of her husband's criticism. He turned and passedquickly into the kitchen. He wanted to be alone to collect his thoughts.But he was surprised to find Jane still there, sitting bolt upright ina chair in the corner. Apparently she had been expecting him, for as heentered she stood up, and wiped her cheek and mouth with one hand, as ifto compress her lips the more tightly.

  "I reckoned," she began, "that unless you war for forgettin' everythin'in these yer goings on, ye'd be passin' through here to tend to yourstock. I've got a word to say to ye, Mr. Rylands. When I first kem overhere to help, I got word from the folks around that your wife aforeyou married her was just one o' them bally dancers. Well, that was YOURlookout, not mine! Jane Mackinnon ain't the kind to take everybody'ssayin' as gospil, but she kalkilates to treat folks ez she finds 'em.When she finds 'em lyin' and deceivin'; when she finds em purtendin' onething and doin' another; when she finds 'em makin' fools tumble to 'em;playing soots on their own husbands, and turnin' an honest house into amusic-hall and a fandango shop, she kicks! You hear me! Jane Mackinnonkicks!"

  "What do you mean?" said Mr. Rylands sternly.

  "I mean," said Miss Mackinnon, striking her hips with the back of herhands smartly, and accenting each word that dropped like a bullet fro
mher mouth with an additional blow,--"I--mean--that--your--wife--hadone--of--her--old--hangers-on--from--'Frisco--here--in--thisvery--kitchen--all--the--arternoon; there! I mean that whiles she waswaitin' here for you, she was canoodlin' and cryin' over old times withhim! I saw her myself through the winder. That's what I mean, Mr. JoshuaRylands."

  "It's false! She had some poor stranger here with a lame horse. She toldme so herself."

  Jane Mackinnon laughed shrilly.

  "Did she tell you that the poor stranger was young and pretty-faced,with black moustarches? that his store clothes must have cost a fortin,saying nothing of his gold-lined, broadcloth sarrapper? Did she say thathis horse was so lame that when I went to get another he wouldn't WAITfor it? Did she tell you WHO he was?"

  "No, she did not know," said Rylands sternly, but with a whitening face.

  "Well, I'll tell you! The gambler, the shooter!--the man whose nameis black enough to stain any woman he knows. Jim recognized him likea shot; he sez, the moment he clapped eyes on him at the door, 'Dodblasted, if it ain't Jack Hamlin!'"

  Little as Mr. Rylands knew of the world, he had heard that name. But itwas not THAT he was thinking of. He was thinking of the camp-fire in thewood, the handsome figure before it, the tethered horse. He was thinkingof the lighted sitting-room, the fire, his wife's bare shoulders, herslippers, stockings, and the dance. He saw it all,--a lightning-flash tohis dull imagination. The room seemed to expand and then grow smaller,the figure of Jane to sway backwards and forwards before him. Hemurmured the name of God with lips that were voiceless, caught at thekitchen table to steady himself, held it till he felt his arms growrigid, and then recovered himself,--white, cold, and sane.

  "Speak a word of this to HER," he said deliberately, "enter her roomwhile I'm gone, even leave the kitchen before I come back, and I'llthrow you into the road. Tell that hired man, if he dares to breathe itto a soul I'll strangle him."

  The unlooked-for rage of this quiet, God-fearing man, and dupe, as shebelieved, was terrible, but convincing. She shrank back into the corneras he coolly drew on his boots and waterproof, and without another wordleft the house.

  He knew what he was going to do as well as if it had been ordained forhim. He knew he would find the young man in the wood; for whatever werethe truth of the other stories, he and the visitor were identical; hehad seen him with his own eyes. He would confront him face to face andknow all; and until then, he could not see his wife again. He walked onrapidly, but without feverishness or mental confusion. He saw his dutyplainly,--if Ellen had "backslidden," he must give her another trial.These were his articles of faith. He should not put her away; but sheshould nevermore be wife to him. It was HE who had tempted her, it wastrue; perhaps God would forgive her for that reason, but HE could neverlove her again.

  The fury of the storm had somewhat abated as he reached the wood. Thefire was still there, but no longer a leaping flame. A dull glow inthe darkness of the forest aisles was all that indicated its position.Rylands at once plunged in that direction; he was near enough to see thered embers when he heard a sharp click, and a voice called:--

  "Hold up!"

  Mr. Hamlin was a light sleeper. The crackle of underbrush had beenenough to disturb him. The voice was his; the click was the cocking ofhis revolver.

  Rylands was no coward, but halted diplomatically.

  "Now, then," said Mr. Hamlin's voice, "a little more this way, IN THELIGHT, if you please!"

  Rylands moved as directed, and saw Mr. Hamlin lying before the fire,resting easily on one hand, with his revolver in the other.

  "Thank you!" said Jack. "Excuse my precautions, but it is night, andthis is, for the present, my bedroom."

  "My name is Rylands; you called at my house this afternoon and saw mywife," said Rylands slowly.

  "I did," said Hamlin. "It was mighty kind of you to return my call sosoon, but I didn't expect it."

  "I reckon not. But I know who you are, and that you are an old associateof hers, in the days of her sin and unregeneration. I want you to answerme, before God and man, what was your purpose in coming there to-day?"

  "Look here! I don't think it's necessary to drag in strangers to hear myanswer," said Jack, lying down again, "but I came to borrow a horse."

  "Is that the truth?"

  Jack got upon his feet very solemnly, put on his hat, drew down hiswaistcoat, and approached Mr. Rylands with his hands in his pockets.

  "Mr. Rylands," he said, with great suavity of manner, "this is thesecond time today that I have had the honor of having my word doubted byyour family. Your wife was good enough to question my assertion that Ididn't know that she was living here, but that was a woman's vanity. Youhave no such excuse. There is my horse yonder, lame, as you may see. Ididn't lame him for the sake of seeing your wife nor you."

  There was that in Mr. Hamlin's audacity and perfect self-possessionwhich, even while it irritated, never suggested deceit. He was tooreckless of consequence to lie. Mr. Rylands was staggered and halfconvinced. Nevertheless, he hesitated.

  "Dare you tell me everything that happened between my wife and you?"

  "Dare you listen?" said Mr. Hamlin quietly.

  Mr. Rylands turned a little white. After a moment he said:--

  "Yes."

  "Good!" said Mr. Hamlin. "I like your grit, though I don't mind tellingyou it's the ONLY thing I like about you. Sit down. Well, I haven't seenNell Montgomery for three years until I met her as your wife, at yourhouse. She was surprised as I was, and frightened as I wasn't. She spentthe whole interview in telling me the history of her marriage and herlife with you, and nothing more. I cannot say that it was remarkablyentertaining, or that she was as amusing as your wife as she was as NellMontgomery, the variety actress. When she had finished, I came away."

  Mr. Rylands, who had seated himself, made a movement as if to rise. ButMr. Hamlin laid his hand on his knee.

  "I asked you if you dared to listen. I have something myself to say ofthat interview. I found your wife wearing the old dresses that other menhad given her, and she said she wore them because she thought it pleasedyou. I found that you, who are questioning my calling upon her, hadalready got the worst of her old chums to visit her without asking herconsent; I found that instead of being the first one to lie for herand hide her, you were the first one to tell anybody her history, justbecause you thought it was to the glory of God generally, and of JoshuaRylands in particular."

  "A man's motives are his own," stammered Rylands.

  "Sorry you didn't see it when you questioned mine just now," said Jackcoolly.

  "Then she complained to you?" said Rylands hesitatingly.

  "I didn't say that," said Jack shortly.

  "But you found her unhappy?"

  "Damnably."

  "And you advised her"--said Rylands tentatively.

  "I advised her to chuck you and try to get a better husband." He paused,and then added, with a disgusted laugh, "but she didn't tumble to it,for a d----d silly reason."

  "What reason?" said Rylands hurriedly.

  "Said she LOVED you," returned Jack, kicking a brand back into the fire.Mr. Rylands's white cheeks flamed out suddenly like the brand. Seeingwhich, Jack turned upon him deliberately.

  "Mr. Joshua Rylands, I've seen many fools in my time. I've seen menholding four aces backed down because they thought they KNEW the otherman had a royal flush! I've seen a man sell his claim for a wild-catshare, with the gold lying a foot below him in the ground he walked on.I've seen a dead shot shoot wild because he THOUGHT he saw something inthe other man's eye. I've seen a heap of God-forsaken fools, but I neversaw one before who claimed God as a pal. You've got a wife a d----dsight truer to you for what you call her 'sin,' than you've ever beento her, with all your d----d salvation! And as you couldn't make herotherwise, though you've tried to hard enough, it seems to me that forsquare downright chuckle-headedness, you can take the cake! Good-night!Now, run away and play! You're making me tired."

  "One moment," said Mr. Ryla
nds awkwardly and hurriedly. "I may havewronged you; I was mistaken. Won't you come back with me and acceptmy--our--hospitality?"

  "Not much," said Jack. "I left your house because I thought it betterfor you and her that no one should know of my being there."

  "But you were already recognized," said Mr. Rylands. "It was Jane wholied about you, and your return with me will confute her slanders."

  "Who?" asked Jack.

  "Jane, our hired girl."

  Mr. Hamlin uttered an indescribable laugh.

  "That's just as well! You simply tell Jane you SAW me; that I wasgreatly shocked at what she said, but that I forgive her. I don't thinkshe'll say any more."

  Strange to add, Mr. Hamlin's surmise was correct. Mr. Rylands found Janestill in the kitchen alone, terrified, remorseful, yet ever aftersilent on the subject. Stranger still, the hired man became equallyuncommunicative. Mrs. Rylands, attributing her husband's absence onlyto care of the stock, had gone to bed in a feverish condition, and Mr.Rylands did not deem it prudent to tell her of his interview. The nextday she sent for the doctor, and it was deemed necessary for her tokeep her bed for a few days. Her husband was singularly attentive andconsiderate during that time, and it was probable that Mrs. Rylandsseized that opportunity to tell him the secret she spoke of the nightbefore. Whatever it was,--for it was not generally known for a fewmonths later,--it seemed to draw them closer together, imparted aprotecting dignity to Joshua Rylands, which took the place of hisformer selfish austerity, gave them a future to talk of confidentially,hopefully, and sometimes foolishly, which took the place of their morefoolish past, and when the roll of calico came from the cross roads, itcontained also a quantity of fine linen, laces, small caps, and othertrifles, somewhat in contrast to the more homely materials ordered.

  And when three months were past, the sitting-room was often lit up andmade cheerful, particularly on that supreme occasion when, with a greatdeal of enthusiasm, all the women of the countryside flocked to see Mrs.Rylands and her first baby. And a more considerate and devoted couplethan the father and mother they had never known.