Their Yesterdays

by Harold Bell Wright

  TEMPTATION

  The heights of Life are fortified. They are guarded by narrow passeswhere the world must go single file and where, if one slip from thetrail, he falls into chasms of awful depths; by cliffs of apparentimpassable abruptness which, if in scaling, one lose his head he islost; and by false trails that seem to promise easy going but lead inthe wrong direction. Not in careless ease are those higher levelsgained. The upward climb is one of strenuous effort, of desperatestruggle, of hazardous risk. Only those who prove themselves fit maygain the top.

  Somewhere in the life of every man there is a testing time. There is atrial to prove of what metal he is made. There is a point which, wonor lost, makes him winner or loser in the game. There is a Temptationthat to him is vital.

  To pray: "Lead us not into temptation," is divine wisdom forTemptation lies in wait. There is no need to seek it. And, when onceit is met, there is no dodging the issue or shifting the burden ofresponsibility. In the greatest gifts that men possess are the seedswhich, if grown and cultivated, yield poisonous fruit. In the veryforces that men use for greatest good are the elements of their owndestruction. And, whatever the guise in which Temptation comes, thetempter is always the same--Self. Temptation spells always the masteryof or the surrender to one's self.

  Once I stood on a mighty cliff with the ocean at my feet. Ear below,the waves broke with a soothing murmur that scarce could reach my earsand the gray gulls were playing here and there like shadows of halfforgotten dreams. In the distance, the fishing boats rolled lazily onthe gentle swell and the sunlight danced upon the surface of the sea.Then, as I looked, on the far horizon the storm chieftain gathered hisclans for war. I saw the red banners flashing. I watched the hurriedmovements of the dark and threatening ranks. I heard the rumblingtread of the tramping feet. And, like airy messengers sent to warn me,the gusts of wind came racing and wailed and sobbed about the cliffbecause I would not heed their warning. The startled boats in theoffing spread their white wings and scurried to the shelter of theirharbor nests. The gray gulls vanished. The sunlight danced no moreupon the surface of the sea. And then, as the battle front rolledabove my head, the billows, lashed to fury by the wind and flinging inthe air the foam of their own madness, came rushing on to try theirstrength against the grim and silent rock. Again and again they hurledtheir giant forms upon the cliff, until the roar of the surf belowdrowned even the thunder in the clouds above and the solid earthtrembled with the shock, but their very strength was their ruin andthey were dashed in impotent spray from the stalwart object of theirassault. And at last, when the hours of the struggle were over; whenthe storm soldiers had marched on to their haunts behind the hills;when the gulls had returned to their sports; and the sun shone againon the waters; I saw the bosom of the ocean rise and fall like thebreast of an angry child exhausted with its passion while the cliff,standing stern and silent, seemed to look, with mingled pride andpity, upon its foe now moaning at its feet.

  Like that cliff, I say, is the soul of a man who, in temptation, gainsthe mastery of himself. The storm clouds of life may gather darklyover his head but he shall not tremble. The lightning of the world'swrath and the thunder of man's disapproval shall not move him. Thewaves of passion that so try the strength of men shall be dashed inimpotent spray from his stalwart might. And when, at last, the stormsof life are over--when the sun shines again on the waters as it shonebefore the fight began--he shall still stand, calm and unmoved, masterof himself and men.

  Because those things are true, I say: that Temptation is one of theThirteen Truly Great Things of Life.

  And the man knew these things--knew them as well as you know them. Inthe full knowledge of these things he came to his testing time. To winor to lose, in the full knowledge of all that victory or defeat meantto him, he went to his Temptation.

  It was early winter when his time came but he knew that first morningafter he had returned from his vacation that it was coming. The momenthe entered the room to take up again the task of putting his dreamsinto action, he saw her and felt her power for she was one of thosewomen who compel recognition of their sex as the full noonday suncompels recognition of its light and heat.

  An hour later her duties brought her to him, and, for a few moments,they stood face to face. And the man, while he instructed her in thework that she was to do, felt the strength of her power even as astrong swimmer feels the current of the stream. Through her eyes, inher voice, in her presence, this woman challenged the man, made himmore conscious of her than of his work. The subtle, insinuating,luring, strength of her beat upon him, enveloped him, thrilled him. Asshe turned to go back to her place, his eyes followed her and he knewthat he was approaching a great crisis in his life. He knew that soonor late he would be forced into a battle with himself and thattremendous stakes would be at issue. He knew that victory would givehim increased power, larger capacity, and a firmer grip upon theenduring principles of life or defeat would make of him a slave, withenfeebled spirit, humiliated and ashamed.

  Every day, in the weeks that followed, the man was forced to seeher--to talk with her--to feel her strength. And every day he felthimself carried irresistibly onward toward the testing that he knewmust come. He was conscious, too, that the woman, also, knew andunderstood and that it pleased her so to use her power. She willedthat he should feel her presence. In a thousand subtle forms sherepeated her challenge. In ways varied without number she called tohim, lured him, led him. To do this seemed a necessity to her. She wasone of those women whose natures seem to demand this expression ofthemselves. Instinctively, she made all men with whom she came incontact feel her power and, instinctively--unconsciously, perhaps--shegloried in her strength.

  If the man could have had other things in common with her it wouldhave been different. If there had been, as well, the appeal of theintellect--of the spirit--if the beauty of her had been to him anexpression of something more than her sex--if there had been ideals,hopes, longings, fears, even sorrow or regret, common to both, itwould have been different. But there was nothing. Often the man soughtto find something more but there was nothing. So he permitted himselfto be carried onward by a current against which, when the time shouldcome, he knew he would need to fight with all his might. And always,as the current swept him onward toward the point where he must makethe decisive struggle, he felt the woman's power over him growing evergreater.

  At last it came.

  It was Saturday. The man left the place where he worked earlier thanusual that he might walk to his rooms for he felt the need of physicalaction. He felt a strong desire to run, to leap, to use his splendidmuscles that throbbed and exulted with such vigorous life. As hestrode along the streets, beyond the business district, he held hishead high, he looked full into the faces of the people he met with abold challenging look. The cool, bracing air, of early winter wasgrateful on his glowing skin and he drank long deep breaths of it asone would drink an invigorating tonic. Every nerve and fiber of himwas keenly, gloriously, alive with the strength of his splendidmanhood. Every nerve and fiber of him was conscious of her and exultedin that which he had seen in her eyes when she had told him that shewould be at home that evening and that she would be glad to have himcall. With all his senses abnormally alert, he saw and notedeverything about him. A thousand trivial, commonly unseen things,along his way and in the faces, dress, and manner, of the people whomhe met, caught his eye. Yet, always, vividly before him, was the faceof her whose power he had felt. Under it all, he was conscious thatthis was his testing time. He _knew_--or it would have been noTemptation--it would have been no trial. Impatiently he glanced at hiswatch and, as he neared the place where he lived, quickened hisstride, springing up the steps of the house at last with a burst ofeager haste.

  In the front hall, at the foot of the stairs, the little daughter ofhis landlady greeted him with shouts of delight and, with themasterful strength of four feminine years, dragged him, a willingcaptive, through the open door to her mother's pleasant sitting room.She was a beautiful, d
ainty, little miss with hair and eyes very likethat playmate of the man's Yesterdays and it was his custom to paytribute to her charms in the coin of childhood as faithfully and asregularly as he paid his board.

  Seated now, with the baby on his lap and the smiling mother lookingon, he produced, after the usual pretense of denial and long searchthrough many pockets, the weekly offering. And then, as though someguardian angel willed it so, the little girl did a thing that she hadnever done before. Putting two plump and dimpled arms about his neckshe said gravely: "Mamma don't like me to kiss folks, you know, butshe said she wouldn't care if I kissed _you_" Whereupon a sweetlittle rosebud mouth was offered trustingly, with loving innocence, tohis lips.

  A crimson flame flushed the man's face. With a laugh of embarrassmentand a quick impulsive hug he held the child close and accepted heroffering.

  Then he went quickly upstairs to his room.

  It was sometime later when the man began to prepare for the evening towhich he had looked forward with such eagerness and all his fierce anddriving haste was gone. The mad tumult of his manhood strength wasstilled. He moved, now, with a purpose, sullen, grim, defiant. Thefight was on. While he was still vividly conscious of the woman whosecompelling power he felt, he felt, now, as well, the pure touch ofthose baby lips. While he still saw the light in the woman's eyes andsensed the meaning of her smile, he saw and sensed as clearly theloving innocence that had shown in the little girl's face as it waslifted up to his. Upon his manhood's strength lay the woman's luringspell. Upon his manhood the baby's kiss lay as a seal ofsacredness--upon his lips it burned as a coal of holy fire. The fightwas on.

  The man's life was not at all an easy life. Beside his work and hismemories there was little to hold him true. Since that day when hestood face to face with Life and, for the first time, knew that he wasa man, he had been, save for a few friends among the men of his ownclass, alone. The exacting demands of his work had left him littletime or means to spend in seeking social pleasures or in the delightsof fellowship with those for whose fellowship he would have cared,even had the way to their society been, at that period of his life,open to him. He told himself, always, that sometime in the future,when he had worked out still farther his dreams, he would find the wayto the social life that he would enjoy but until then, he must, ofnecessity, live much alone. And now--now--the testing time--the crisisin his life--had come. Even as it must come to every man who knows hismanhood so it had come to him.

  The man was not deceived. He knew the price he would pay in defeat.But, even while he knew this--even while he knew what defeat wouldmean to him, so great was her power that he went on making ready to goto her. With the kiss of the little girl upon his lips he made readyto go to the woman. It was as though he had drifted too far and thecurrent had become too strong for him to turn back. Thus do such menyield to such temptations. Thus are men betrayed by the very strengthof their manhood.

  With mad determination he waited the hour. Uneasily he paced his room.He tried to read. He threw himself into a chair only to arise and moveabout again. Every few moments he impatiently consulted his watch. Atevery step in the hall, without his door, he started as if alarmed. Hebecame angry, in a blind rage, with the woman, with himself and evenwith the little girl. At last, when it was time to go, he threw on hisovercoat, took his hat and gloves, and, with a long, careful lookabout the room, laid his hand on the door. He knew that the man whowas going out that evening would not come hack to his room the sameman. He knew that _that_ man could never come back. He felt asthough he was giving up his apartments to a stranger. So he hesitated,with his hand upon the door, looking long and carefully about. Thenquickly he threw open the door and, down the hall and down the stairs,went as one who has counted the cost and determined recklessly.

  Two dimpled arms went around his neck]

  The man had opened the front door and was about to pass out when asweet voice called: "Wait, oh, wait."

  Turning, he saw a tiny figure in white flying toward him.

  The little girl, all ready for bed, had caught sight of him and, forthe moment, had escaped from her mother's attention.

  The man shut the door and caught her up. Two dimpled arms went aroundhis neck and the rosebud mouth was lifted to his lips.

  Then the mother came and led her away while the man stood watching heras she went.

  Would he ever dare touch those baby lips again he wondered. Could he,he asked himself, could he face again those baby eyes? Could he everagain bear the feeling of that soft little body in his arms?

  At the farther end of the hall, she turned, and, seeing him stillthere, waved her hand with a merry call: "Good-bye, good-bye."

  Then she passed from his sight and, in place of this little girl ofrosy, dimpled, flesh, the startled man saw a dainty maiden of hisYesterdays, standing under a cherry tree with fallen petals of thedelicate blossoms in her wayward hair, and with eyes that looked athim very gravely and a little frightened as, for the shaggy coatedminister, he spoke the solemn words: "I pronounce you husband and wifeand anything that God has done must never be done any different byanybody forever and ever, Amen." By some holy magic the kiss of thelittle girl became the kiss of his play wedding wife of the long ago.

  Very slowly the man went up the stairs again to his room; there tospend the evening not as he had planned, when he was in the masteringgrip of self, but safe in the quiet harbor of the Yesterdays where thestorms of life break not or are felt only in those gentle ripples thatscarce can stir the surface of the sea.

  The fierce passion that had shaken the very soul of him passed on asthe storm clouds pass. In the calm of the days that were gone, herested as one who has fought a good fight and, safe from out theturmoil and the danger, has come victoriously into the peace thatpasseth all understanding.

  In the sweet companionship of his childhood mate, with the little girlwho lived next door, the man found again, that night, his better self.In the boy of the long-ago, he found again his ideals of manhood. Inhis Yesterdays, he found strength to stand against the power of thetemptation that assailed him.

  Blessed, blessed Yesterdays!

  * * * * *

  It was the time of the first snow when, again, the woman sat alone inher room before the fire, with her door fast locked and the shadesdrawn close, even as on that other night--the night when her womanhoodbegan in dreams.

  In the soft dusk, while the shadows of the flickering light came andwent upon the walls, and the quiet was broken only by the tick, tick,tick, of the timepiece held in the chubby arms of the fat cupid on themantle, the woman sat very still. Face to face with her Temptation,she sat alone and very still.

  For several months, the woman had seen her testing time approaching.That day when, looking into her eyes, the man of authority had sokindly bidden her leave her work for the afternoon, she had known thatthis time would come. In the passing weeks she had realized that theday was approaching when she must decide both for him and for herself.She had not sought to prevent the coming of that day. She hadknowingly permitted it to come. She was even pleased in a way to watchit drawing near. Not once, in those weeks, had he failed to be verykind or ceased to make her feel that he understood. In a hundred ways,as their work called them together and gave opportunity, he had toldher, in voice and look and the many ways of wordless speech, that thetime was coming. He had been very careful, too--very careful--that, intheir growing friendship, the world should have no opportunity tomisjudge. And the woman, seeing his care, was grateful and valued hisfriendship the more.

  So had come at last that Saturday when, with low spoken words, at theclose of the day's work, he had asked if he might call upon her thefollowing evening; saying gravely, as he looked down into her face,that he had something very important to tell her. And she had gravelysaid that he might come; while her blushes to him confessed that sheknew what it was of importance that he would say.

  Scarcely had she reached her home that afternoon when a messenger boyappeared with a grea
t armful of roses and, as she arranged the flowerson her table, burying her flushed face again and again in theirfragrant coolness, she had told herself that to-morrow, when he askedher to cross with him the threshold of that old, old door, she wouldanswer: yes. But, even as she so resolved, she had been conscious ofsomething in her heart that denied the resolution of her mind.

  And so it was that, as she sat alone before her fire that night, sheknew that she was face to face with a crisis in her life. So it wasthat she had come to the testing time and knew that she must win orlose alone. In the sacred privacy of her room, with the perfume of hisroses filling the air and the certainty that when he came on themorrow she must answer, she looked into the future to see, if shemight, what it held for her and for him if she should cross with himthe threshold of that old, old, door.

  He was a man whose love would honor any woman--this she knew. And hewas a man of power and influence in the world--a man who could providefor his mate a home of which any woman would be proud to be themistress. Nor could she doubt his love for nothing else could havepersuaded such a man to ask of a woman that which he was coming to askof her.

  Beginning with her answer on the following evening the woman traced,in thought, all that would follow. She saw herself leaving the lifethat she had never desired because it could not recognize herwomanhood and, in fancy, received the congratulations of her friends.She lived, in her imagination, those busy days when she would bemaking ready for the day that was to come. Very clearly, she picturedto herself the wedding; it would be a quiet wedding, she told herself,but as beautiful and complete as cultured taste and wealth could makeit. Then they would go away, for a time, to those cities and landsbeyond the sea that, all her life, she had longed to visit. When theyreturned, it would be to that beautiful old home of his family--thehome that she had so often, in passing, admired; and in that home, solong occupied by him alone, she would be the proud mistress. Andthen--then--would come her children--their children--and so all thefulfillment of her womanhood's dreams.

  But the woman's face, as she looked into a future that seemed asbright as ever woman dared to dream, was troubled. As she traced theway that lay so invitingly before her, this woman, who knew herself tobe a woman, was sad. Her heart, still, was as an empty room--a roomthat is furnished and ready but without a tenant. Deep within herwoman heart she knew that this man was not the one for whom she waitedby the open door. She did not know who it was for whom she waited. Sheknew only that this man was not the one. And she wished--oh, how shewished--that this was not so. Because of her longing--because of thedreams of her womanhood--because of her empty heart--she was resolvedto cross with this man, who was not the man for whom she waited, thethreshold that she could not cross alone. Honor, regard, respect, theaffection of a friend, she could give him--did give him indeed--butshe knew that this was not enough for a woman to give the man withwhom she would enter that old, old, door.

  Rising, the woman went to her mirror to study long and carefully theface and form that she saw reflected there. She saw in the glass, asweet, womanly, beauty, expressing itself in the color and tone of theclean carved features; in the dainty texture of the clear skin andsoft, brown, hair; and in the rounded fullness and graceful lines ofthe finely moulded body. Perfect physical strength and health wasthere--vital, glowing, appealing. And culture of mind, trainedintelligence, thoughtfulness, was written in that womanly face. And,with it all, there was good breeding, proud blood, with gentleness ofspirit.

  This woman knew that she was well equipped to stand by this man's sidehowever high his place in life. She was well fitted to become themistress of his home and the mother of his children. She had guardedwell the choicest treasures of her womanhood. She had squandered noneof the wealth that was committed to her. She had held it all as asacred trust to be kept by her for that one with whom she should gothrough the old, old door. And she had determined that, to-morrowevening, she would give herself, with all the riches of her womanhood,to this one who could give her, in return, the home of her dreams.While her heart was still as an empty room, she had determined tocross, with this man, the threshold over which no woman may againreturn.

  Turning from her mirror, slowly the woman went to the great bunch ofroses that stood upon her table. They were his roses; and they fitlyexpressed, in their costly beauty, the life that he was coming tooffer to her. Very deliberately she bent over them, burying her facein the mass of rich color, inhaling deeply their heavy fragrance.Thoughtfully she considered them and all that, to her, theysymbolized. But there was no flush upon her cheek now. There was nowarmth in the light of her eyes. No glad excitement thrilled her.There was no trembling in her touch--no eager joyousness in hermanner.

  Suddenly, some roisterer, passing along the street with hiscompanions, laughed a loud, reckless, half drunken, laugh that soundedin the quiet darkness with startling clearness.

  The woman sprang back from the flowers as though a poisonous serpent,hidden in their fragrant beauty, had struck her. With a swift look ofhorror on her white face she glanced fearfully about the room.

  Again the laugh sounded; this time farther down the street.

  The woman sank into her chair, trembling with a nameless fear. To her,that laugh in the dark had sounded as the laughter of the crowd thatday when she was forced so close to the outcast women who were in thehands of the police.

  "But those women," argued the frightened woman with herself, "sellthemselves to all men for a price."

  "And you," answered the heart of her womanhood, "and you, also, willsell yourself to one man, for a price. The wealth of womanhoodcommitted to you--all the treasures that you have guarded socarefully--you will sell now to this good man for the price that hecan pay. If he could not pay the price--if he came to you emptyhanded--would you say yes?"

  "But I will be true to him," argued the woman. "I will give myself tohim and to him only as wife to husband."

  "You are being false to him already," replied her woman heart, "foryou are selling yourself, not giving yourself to him. You are planningto deceive him. You would make him think that he is taking to himselfa wife when, for a price, you are selling to him--something higherthan a public woman, it is true--but something, as true, very muchlower than a wife. What matter whether the price be in gold and silveror in property and social position--it is a price. Except he pay youyour price he could not have you."

  And what, thought the woman, what if--after she had crossed thethreshold with this good man--after she had entered with him into thelife that lay on the other side that door--what if, then, that otherone should come? What if the one for whom her empty heart should havewaited were to come and stand alone before that door through which shecould not go back? And the children--the dear children of herdreams--what of them? Had not her unborn children the right to demandthat they be born in love? And if she should say, "no," to thisman--if she should turn once more away from the open door, throughwhich he would ask her to go with him--what then? What if that one whohad delayed his coming so long should never come?

  And then the woman, who knew herself to be a woman, saw the lonelyyears come and go. While she waited without the door that led to thelife of her womanhood's dreams, she saw the beauty that her mirrorrevealed slowly fading--saw her firm, smooth, cheeks become thin andwrinkled, her bright eyes grow dim and pale, her soft, brown, hairturn thin and gray, her body grow lean and stooped. All the wealth ofher womanhood that she had treasured with such care she saw become asdust, worthless. All the things of her womanhood she would be forcedto spend in that life that denied her womanhood, and then, when shehad nothing left, she would be cast aside as a worn out machine. Neverto know the joy of using her womanhood! Never to have a home! Never tofeel the touch of a baby hand! To lay down the wealth of her womanlife and go empty and alone in her shriveled old age! With anexclamation, the woman sprang to her feet and stretched out her arms."No, no, no," she whispered fiercely, "anything, anything, but that. Iwill be true to him. I will be a faithful wife. He shall
never know.He shall not feel that he is cheated. And perhaps--" she dropped intoher chair again and buried her face in her hands as shewhispered--"perhaps, bye and bye, God will let me love him. Surely,God will let me love him, bye and bye."

  Sometime later, the woman did a strange thing. Going to her desk,softly, as a thief might go, she unlocked a drawer and took from it asmall jewel case. For several moments she stood under the lightholding the little velvet box in her hand unopened. Then, lifting thelid, she looked within and, presently, from among a small collectionof trinkets that had no value save to her who knew their history, tooka tiny brass ring. Placing the box on the dresser, she tried,musingly, to fit the little ring on her finger. On each finger in turnshe tried, but it would go only part way on the smallest one; and shesmiled sadly to see how she had grown since that day under the cherrytree.

  Turning again, she went slowly across the room to the fire that nowwas a bed of glowing coals. For a little she stood looking down intothe fire. Then, slowly, she stretched forth her hand to drop the ring.But she could not do it. She could not.

  Returning the little circle of brass to its place among the trinketsin the jewel box, the woman prepared for bed.

  The timepiece in the arms of the fat cupid ticked loudly now in thedarkness that was only faintly relieved by the glowing embers of thefire.

  With sleepless eyes the woman who had determined to give herselfwithout love lay staring into the dusk. But she did not see thedarkness. She did not see the grotesque and ghostly objects in thegloom. Nor did she see the somber shadows that came and went as thedying fire gained fitful strength. The woman saw the bright sunshining on the meadows and fields of the long ago. She saw again thescenes of her childhood. Again, as she stood under the cherry treethat showered its delicate blossoms down with every puff of air, shelooked with loving confidence into the face of the brown cheeked boywho spoke so seriously those childish vows. Again, upon her lips shefelt that kiss of the childhood mating.

  The soft light of the fire grew fainter and fainter as the embersslowly turned to ashes. Could it be that the woman, in her temptation,would let the sacred fire of love burn altogether out? Must thememories of her Yesterdays turn to ashes too?

  The last faint glow was almost gone when the woman slipped quickly outof her bed and, in the darkness, groped her way across the room to thedesk where she found the little jewel case.

  And I think that the fat cupid who was neglecting his bow and arrowsto wrestle with time must have been pleased to see the woman, a littlelater, when the dying fire flared out brightly for a moment, lyingfast asleep, while, upon the little finger of the hand that lay closeto her smiling lips, there was a tiny circle of brass.