The Forge

CHAPTER IX.

IT was not long before I was established in my new situation. Mr. Bray said, roughly,—

“ I s’pose new friends is better than them your father picked out for you ; leastways you must try ’em and see. I don’t say as I would n't on no account take you back, if I found you could n’t git along without me. You must n’t have that look of bein’ twenty mile away, when a hoss’s leg is in your hand, and you ’re ready to shoe him ; for I sha’n’t be by to bring you back again.”

Mrs. Bray said, —

“ Well, it is rather a long ride for the grand folks ’way down to Lower Warren, and Amos bein’ a family man, of course they would n’t expect him to be a-movin’ to suit them ; and as he’s had the trainin’ of you, they think it ’ll be all right. I hope it will, I ’m sure.”

Little Annie looked sadder than usual, but said nothing, until the morning when I was to commence work at the new forge ; then she followed me to the door with her little straw basket, in which she had packed a nice lunch, covered with lilac-leaves from the bush by the front door.

“ You said you should n’t have time to come home to dinner, as you go to Hillside this afternoon, Sandy,” she said, apologetically, as she slipped it into my hand. “ I hope it will be long before you go away altogether, it would be so lonely without you”; and the tears filled her blue eyes.

Why was that gentle, appealing beauty always luring me back to the village life, whose rustic, homely ways I was learning to despise ? I could not tell;

but she, part and parcel of it though she was, bound to it by parentage and pursuits, had never failed to touch my heart. I stooped and kissed her, as I so often had done before, and answered, laughing, —

“Go away? Never, Annie, until I take you with me.”

She blushed ; the old happiness stole back into her eyes at the first kind word from me, and she returned to her simple, daily tasks ; while I, filled with ambition and pride in my new life, soon dismissed her from my mind.

I had meant to ask Annie to help me in arranging my new forge, as she had helped me with my first picture ; and when the necessary purchases were made and in their places, when the woman living in the other part of the building I occupied had swept my floor and washed my solitary window, which was at one end and looked toward the hill, I resolutely determined to delay the unpacking of a box of pictures and books, of which the latter were to fill a small shelf above, and the former to hang around the window, until I could bring Annie up the next day to assist me. Deciding to read, therefore, until some custom should fall to me, I knocked a narrow board off the top of the box and slipped out a single book, when I heard the tramp of horses’ feet, and, going to the door, saw the party from Hillside returning from a horseback ride. Mr. Lang, mounted on his magnificent horse, hurried forward and rode fairly within the smithy.

“Why, Sandy, actually established? I thought it was but right that Warrior should be your first visitor. See how he paws ! He knows you, and will he getting a shoe off for your benefit.”'

I patted my old friend, who arched his neck still more proudly, as though hardly brooking the familiarity, when Miss Merton, Miss Darry, and Mr. Leopold rode up.

“ Are you entirely ready for work, Sandy?” asked Miss Darry, after the first greeting.

“ Ready for work, but not quite in order here,” I replied.

“ But if anything is lacking, why have a book there ? Why not arrange matters at once ? ” she continued, with her customary energy.

“ What is that shelf for? and that old box ? You may as well confess to any little adornments at once.”

“ I have a few books, and just one or two old pictures there,” I replied, reluctantly; “but I have made up my mind not to arrange them until to-morrow: little Annie Bray can help me then, and the poor child has seldom anything to amuse her.”

“ Nonsense, Sandy ! Little Annie Bray cannot put the books on that high shelf without your assistance, and very probably you will have other employment to-morrow. Then you will make yourself late for Mr. Leopold, and will begin wrong, which is about equal to going wrong all the way through. I have half a mind to dismount and help you myself. It will be a charming combination of forge and studio, won’t it, Mr. Leopold ? ”

Mr. Leopold smiled, but assented, as though his interest in the matter was by no means proportioned to hers ; and I could but notice that both Miss Merton and Mr. Lang looked as if quite enough of this sunny spring morning had been spent in examination of the new forge. So I replied, hastily,—

“Oh, well, Miss Darry, if it will give you any satisfaction, I 'll finish my work here at once.”

“ Thank you, Sandy. And now I think of it, Alice, a Madeira vine can be trained from the shelf up over the window to make a delightful green curtain. A man, you know, never understands exactly how to plan these things.”

“Ah, but I have planned, Miss Darry. This box will occupy the window ; but it is to be filled with water, aquatic plants, insects, and tiny fish, for Annie’s pleasure, when she makes me a visit.”

“ You mean to establish a kind of nursery, I see. I hope you won’t waste your time, Sandy,” retorted Miss Darry.

I could not fail to see that her disapproval of my interest in Annie Bray had not abated ; for no plans formed with reference to her seemed to meet with approbation. And so I was the more pleased when Miss Merton turned to me, as they were about to ride away, saying, —

“I forgot to ask you the other evening to bring that sweet little girl to Hillside some day, or let her come alone. I will find plenty of amusement for her that shall not interfere with the work which Miss Darry is so desirous should go on.”

They all laughed merrily, as they rode away ; but I felt in no gay mood. I was provoked that I had yielded so readily to Miss Darry’s wishes, and irritated by her evident dislike to the only person in the world whose affection I possessed.

“ Why not dismount and help me herself?” I muttered, impatiently, as I broke open the cover of my box. “ Far above me as she is, she has no right to interfere with my friendship with Annie, if she does not give me her own in its place.”

However, as the morning wore on, I became interested in my new arrangements ; the decorations of my low attic bedroom were displayed to greater advantage in the forge, where I should now pass so much more of my time ; and as for Annie, after all, she would enjoy seeing it far better when completed. Before noon, too, I had opened an account with one of the most prosperous farmers in the neighborhood, and in hard manual labor my excitement passed away ; and I presented myself at Hillside at the appointed hour, as grateful to its inmates as ever.

CHAPTER X.

PERHAPS no art differs more widely with individual mind and temperament than that of teaching. I soon appreciated this under Mr. Leopold s training. For the first few lessons, 1 was put to no copying, given no verbal instruction ; he showed me how to mix oil-colors, expecting his to be prepared for him, when, in his eagerness to produce an effect, he did not care to stop for the purpose himself; and for the rest, advised me to watch him, which I did narrowly, while he worked sometimes by the hour without speaking. When I commenced painting, therefore, I felt as though I was making constant discoveries, and began to think, in the conceit of my youth and developing power, that I was working without other guide than my own intuition, until I found a number of serious errors indicated. Miss Darry’s teaching made me feel that I could not do without her ; Mr. Leopold’s, that just so far as he carried me, I in turn could take some one else.

The summer days wore on. My hands grew rougher and coarser with hard work, yet just as surely increased their dexterity in holding the brush with a firm grasp and giving flexible and delicate strokes to finer work. My lessons and new forge left but little time for the cottage and Annie Bray now. Moreover, she, too, changed as the months wore on. When did I ever imagine, with all my growing plans and manhood, that she also was to have her work and purpose in the world ? Yet she had made her visit to Hillside, had been not only amused and delighted, but instructed, by all she saw there. I was too deeply engrossed in self-development to continue my attention to her studies ; but Miss Merton, inspired by Miss Darry’s example, or attracted by the modest sweetness so congenial to her own womanly character, undertook the unwonted occupation of teaching ; and Mr. Lang, greatly to my surprise, encouraged her in it. Three afternoons in the week Annie went to Hillside to receive a course of instruction, barren of system and conducted with supreme disregard of plainer and more useful branches, yet bringing out in a graceful way all her peculiarly refined tastes. Annie’s hours rarely admitted of my walking home with her; and though occasionally she stopped at the forge, on her way through the village, it was only for a moment, and that often a busy one with me. She had grown taller and paler, sadder in expression, too, I fancied, notwithstanding the new interest at Hillside. But then she was leaving childhood behind her; her father had been more rough than ever since I left him ; and with a momentary pity and wonder that she was more shy of my fond and brotherly ways than formerly, I ascribed it to these ordinary causes, and kept steadily at my work. It was not for me, the protégé of so brilliant a woman as Frank Darry, and a rising genius, to pause in my career for the pale cheeks of the village blacksmith’s daughter.

My intercourse with Mr. Leopold did not become more familiar with time. The idea of his not looking like a genuine artist, the disappointment and failure to comprehend his pictures, changed into awe of the inner force of the man, as I beheld his patient, earnest labor. To my shallow comprehension of the worth of genius, his persistent effort, after the attainment of all I hoped to realize, was marvellous. He was rich, famed, cultivated, yet the ideal excellence hovered ever above him, waiting like a resurrection body to clothe the escaped soul of inspiration ; and for this he toiled more unremittingly than I in my struggle for existence even in the world of Art. The secret of this man’s soul was not, however, revealed to my questioning. Ever considerate and kind, he was no friend in any sense implying mutual interchange of thought or confidence. With Miss Darry, on the contrary, he was his free and natural self. Whenever I saw them together, I was conscious that his great nature went out irresistibly to meet hers, a fact of which it seemed to me she was far less aware than I. She walked and drove with him, but merely because Miss Merton and Mr. Lang were engrossed with each other, and as a side-play from the main object of her life.

I had been employed for several weeks upon a picture of greater importance than any before attempted. Miss Darry confidently declared it would be accepted at the autumn exhibition of paintings in the city ; and Mr. Leopold briefly advised me to make the attempt, backed by his favor to get it in. It was the working up of the odd fancy in which Annie and I had indulged so long ago, — that the forest haunts were not deserted, even though man did not invade them. In a clearing in the midst of the woods I had assembled the familiar squirrels, birds, and flowers, to play their part in the revels Nature takes on summer afternoons ; and from the gnarled trunks and twisted vines whose grotesque involutions hinted the serpent-life within to the elves which peered from beneath the broad dank leaves, I had reasserted the old childish faith.

As I have said, Miss Darry approved my picture, though only as a preliminary to better things, saying, —

“ You must paint Chimborazo, or some of the mammoth California scenery, Sandy. The microscope, not the canvas, is the proper instrument by which to scrutinize the minute. Genius certainly need not forever be peeping at Nature through her key-holes, but can enter her open door and dwell amid the grandest scenes of the universe.”

CHAPTER XI.

I HURRIEDaway from the forge earlier than usual one July day, and, finding the studio vacant, worked a full hour before Mr. Leopold presented himself. He came in hurriedly, glanced at my picture, pointing out a fault or two, then seated himself at his easel for an hour longer of silent work. At the expiration of this time he rose, put away his materials, and said, as he turned toward the door, —

“ Miss Merton and Mr. Lang are to be married this afternoon, Sandy. They wished me to ask you down to the ceremony, which is to be private. An unexpected affair, hurried on account of business which calls Mr. Lang to town for a great part of the winter, and so would separate them much, if she could not go with him.”

I was extremely surprised. However, Mr. Leopold was so collected that I felt called upon to refrain all expression of astonishment.

“ You need not go home to make any alteration in your dress, Sandy,” he added. “ Come up to my room and help yourself to all the minor articles you need.”

It was not long before I entered the drawing-room, where I found Miss Darry, evidently expecting me.

“ Well, Sandy, this is a hurried affair. Your presence was particularly desired ; and, by the way, Alice insisted upon dispatching a messenger to Annie Bray with an invitation to the ceremony, but her mother sends word that she is away on some excursion. Alice will be sorry, she has taken such a fancy to her : you must explain that she was really wanted.”

“Oh, no,—Annie will be so disappointed ! I can hunt her up and be back here before Miss Merton is prepared for the occasion ” ; and I started for the door, but the will stronger than my own recalled me.

“ Sandy, pray reflect a moment, and you will attempt nothing of the kind. They leave in the eight o’clock train, and will be married some time about sunset. In the interval you could never go and return from Warren on any other horse than Mr. Lang’s, and I suppose you would not expect your little friend to ride before you. Besides, we have been busy to-day planning other matters, and the final decorations have not been thought of. You are the very one to make the proper disposition of light and shade, flowers, etc.”

“ Miss Darry, do call in Mr. Leopold to gather flowers and pull the shades up or clown, and let me try at least to find Annie,” I answered, impatiently.

But she only replied, —

“ Mr. Leopold ! why, you innocent youth, he has n't half your artistic capacity. I can see how you reverence him ; but trust me, it is only from the innate modesty of your nature.”

“ He exhausted the fanciful region in which I dwell years ago, Miss Darry, and has gone up higher. You surely must see you undervalue his great nature.”

“ I see nothing just at present, Sandy, but the need of your assistance,” she replied.

And by various devices she busied me until the arrival of the minister and the few intimate friends banished all further thought of Annie’s regret at not being present. Miss Merton’s loveliness and Mr. Lang’s manly beauty made a picture I would gladly have studied longer than the time required to make them man and wife. I had long ago seen the ceremony performed by Mr. Purdo for a rustic couple ; but this was a new and more fascinating phase of it. Impressed as I was apt to be by anything appealing to my emotions or sense of beauty, I did not care to join at once Miss Darry and Mr. Leopold, who engaged in their customary repartee directly after the bride retired to prepare for her journey ; but Miss Darry, slipping away from Mr. Leopold, soon joined me on the lawn, to which I had stepped from the French window.

“ What a serious expression, Sandy ! One might imagine you had been making all these solemn promises yourself. You must learn not to be so easily affected by forms and symbols. It is a weakness of your poetic temperament. Their love has existed just as truly all these months as now ; yet I never saw you grow serious over the contemplation of it, until a minister consecrated it by prayer and address.”

I started.

“ You do not give much of a niche to Cupid in your gallery of life, Miss Darry.”

“ Now that is poorer reasoning than I should have looked for even from you, Sandy. Because I laugh at your reverence for outward expression, do I necessarily depreciate the sentiment ? ”

“ No,” I answered, bluntly ; “ I was thinking how you bade me set aside Annie Bray, — how you always slight her claims upon me.”

“Ah, it has a personal application, then,” she replied, thoughtfully, but frankly as before. “It is only because I want you to make the most of your fine powers, that I would have you choose friends who can appreciate you.”

“ I know that you have been disinterested, noble,” I returned, remorsefully. “ But outward success would never atone to me for the lack of love. Perhaps it is through my very weakness that I cling so to the only human being who really loves me.”

Miss Darry’s face changed color. For the first time in her intercourse with me, she was strongly and visibly moved.

“ Sandy,” she said, after a pause, in a low, broken voice, strangely at variance with its usual ringing tone, “without this love I, as a woman, have lived all my life, until a week ago ; and then, because it was not the love I demanded, even though I could have taken it with inexpressible comfort into my lonely life, I rejected it. I tell you this merely as an encouragement. If Annie Bray is all you crave, forsake everything else for her ; if not, deny yourself the gratification of being worshipped, and wait until you also can bestow your whole heart.”

She stood there, in the waning light, plucking nervously the petals from the rose-bush, and scattering them on the grass, — her dark eye filled with a melancholy which I had never supposed could subdue its flashing light, or relax the outlines of the thinly cut lips, — unsatisfied, — her womanly nature rebelling against an unusually lonely lot. It needed just this humble acknowledgment of human need and human love to make Frank Darry irresistible, and my impressible fancy responded to the spell. Impelled by a passion which from its very force forbade analysis, I bent over her. Even then, as my hand fell upon her shoulder, and her eyes, still lulled in their dangerous trance of sadness, met mine inquiringly, my purpose was arrested by the voices of Nature around me, as if Annie Bray, herself allied to them, were reminding me of claims which had once held such power over me. I recall now the oriole whose nest swung like a pendulum from the branch above, marking the passing of the summer day, and whose clear note struck more sweetly than the cuckoo clock the evening hour. I noticed a humming-bird nestled in its silver-lined apartment, its long bill looking as though even the honeyed sweetness of the flowers must be rendered more delicate before it could help to nourish the exuberant and palpitating life of its little body. Then I looked at the begonias and fuchsias in Miss Darry’s hair, spilling their precious juices on the stem, as they hurried to reveal the glowing secret of their blossom ; and while I yielded to the fascination of the scene, the woman beside me was absorbed into its wonderful witchery. Annie Bray and Frank Darry — timid, loving child and brilliantly developed woman — both united to win from me the passion of my life. Had I waited, the affinity of moods which drew us together would probably never have been reproduced ; but I exclaimed, —

“ Miss Darry, I can never entirely love any other woman than yourself!”

She started almost convulsively from the contact of my hand, and met my burning glance with one of such alarm and astonishment that I was stung almost to madness. Undoubtedly, my anger was partly a reaction from the period of dependence and tutelage, so galling to a proud and sensitive nature.

“ You have no right,” I cried, passionately, “ to despise the love you have created. Listen ; I do not expect any return. I know how theories are practically applied, — how one may work for the poor and ignorant on the broad table-land of perfect equality before God, and yet shrink from contact with these befriended brothers and sisters at the same social meal or in the same church. Shakspeare might have blackened Othello’s skin by toil, instead of nature, and the obstacles to a happy love would have been in no de°ree lessened.”

I paused ; yet not a word did Miss Darry utter. Her face was so pale and

rigid that all my suspicion was confirmed ; and I exclaimed, more vehemently than, before, —

“ Remember, you cannot avoid the fact that I, a mere blacksmith, am your lover ; if rejected and despised, your lover still. I shall think of you daily. You will not come to me alone the companion of my studio, one of those delicate visions which flit through an artist’s brain. You shall stand beside my anvil. I will whisper your name when rough men are about me. You shall be the one gold thread embroidered into the coarse garment of my life,— my constant companion ; yes, though you marry the first man in the land.”

Still she stood immovable, as if carved in her favorite marble.

“Miss Darry,” I implored, “I know how unworthy my character is of your love. Speak ! If it is that you reject,

I say no more ; but what if your prophecies are fulfilled, — if I become what you desire ? ”

Then my statue glowed with life, a deep color on the cheek, a frank, loving smile on the lips, banishing the doubtful, troubled expression I had watched so narrowly.

“You do not understand the woman you profess to love, Sandy,” she replied, “ if you suppose her capable of staking her favor on your future distinction. Not as blacksmith or artist, but as the man I love, I think of you to-night,” she added, in a lower tone, returning to my side.

My happiness for the next few moments was complete. I held her closer in that fading light, and studied with delight the sweet, half-yielding, halfreproving expression with which she met my protestations of gratitude and devotion, and which I fondly fancied my love had stamped upon her face forever. Then I heard a quick step in the shrubbery, as of some one sent to summon us, and reluctantly released from my hold the embodiment at that instant of all I esteemed noblest and loveliest in woman. With characteristic composure, Miss Darry answered the message by gathering some of the roses beside us, and turning to reenter the house. Afraid of my own lack of self-control, I would gladly have gone home like a blushing girl ; but my new pride of protecting Miss Darry under all circumstances of difficulty compelled me to follow her. She was, however, on returning to the house, the same bright, helpful person as before. The scene on the lawn became, in half an hour, as the baseless fabric of a dream ; and thinking that Miss Dairy’s sentiment, like that of the Colosseum, was best revealed by moonlight, I trusted in the few parting words which I should seek occasion to speak to her on the steps, as likely to restore her most captivating mood. When we parted, however, she only said, with heightened color, to be sure, —

“ Sandy, I am well aware, that, were you the ‘mere blacksmith’ you called yourself in momentary passion to-night, bounded by narrow aims and desires, I could never love you. We must not, therefore, allow our affection to delay the destiny which, if you are faithful, most surely awaits you.”

The fervent nonsense which might naturally have disgusted or at least wearied her she endured at first, as a necessary drawback ; but it was soon toned down by the consciousness that she was guiding me, as usual, in paths best, if not always most agreeable to myself. She made no stipulations of secrecy with regard to our engagement. Her frank nature apparently admitted of no dim recesses to which only one must have the key.

After a few days, therefore, I resolved to disclose my new relations to the Brays, though I felt a most unaccountable reluctance to so doing. Mr. Bray received the information with indifference ; Mrs. Bray looked surprised, and said she always knew Amos was respected, still she should n’t have felt certain that the “school-ma’am” (in which capacity Miss Darry was spoken of in the village) would like to marry his apprentice ; and Annie stole from her seat at the breakfast-table, and, laying her little hand on my shoulder, with a troubled look in her large blue eyes, asked, —

“ Do you really mean it, Sandy, — that you have promised to marry the proud, handsome woman at Hillside ? ”

“ Certainly, my little Annie,” I replied ; “ I have promised to love and care for her, and I suppose we shall be married by-and-by. Miss Darry is not proud; it is only because you are too young to understand her that you think so.”

“ But I understand Mrs. Lang, and I thought I understood you, Sandy. Are you sure she will help you to grow happier and better ? ”

The tears were in her eyes. What induced these two — my betrothed wife and little sister — to have such doubts of each other ?

“ Of course I am sure of her, Annie. She has helped me to grow more of a man ever since I have known her; and as to being happier, two persons loving each other must, of course, be happy together. Besides,” I added, smothering a sudden doubt, and assuming the philosopher, “ we were not placed in this world to be happy, Annie, — only to make of ourselves all we can in every way.”

“ And to make others happy, Sandy,” she added, in a wistful, tremulous way, as though her heart were full.

“ Yes, certainly ; and when I have a wife and home, I will make my iittle Annie so. She shall live with me, and confess that my wife is not proud, but noble and kind.”

“ No, Sandy, I shall not leave my mother, father, and brother Tom, to live with any one. I shall work with them and for them,” she returned, with a womanly dignity I had never before noticed in her.

“ You do not love me, then, Annie ? ” I asked, selfishly grasping at the affection I had so lightly prized.

“ Yes, Sandy, as you love me ; but not as we either of us care for our own,— you for Miss Darry, I for my mother, father, and Tom.”

This final, clear settlement of my claims was all that was granted, though I lingered while she busied herself with her morning work, in the hope of more hearty sympathy. I carried about with me all day a restless, unsatisfied state of mind, quite strange in a newly accepted lover, and scarcely to be exorcised by Miss Darry’s bright cordiality in the evening.

CHAPTER XII.

MRS. LANG returned from her wedding-journey happy and beautiful, charmed by all she had seen, and Mr. Lang was unusually demonstrative to every one in the excess of his joy ; but I had reason to suppose that the announcement of our engagement reduced his exuberance considerably. Miss Darry did not, however, admit the least disappointment in their manner of receiving it; her own judgment was an estimate, from which, for herself, there was no appeal. She was the most entirely selfsustained woman I have ever met. Having decided that I was a genius, and that she loved me, the opinion of others was of no moment in her eyes. Mr. Lang merely offered his congratulations to me by saying. —

“ Well, Sandy, my dear fellow, you are to obtain, it seems, what many a man of wealth and position will envy you. You must pardon me for saying that Miss Darry’s choice is quite astonishing to her friends. If you possess the genius of Raphael, I shall still regard you as two very peculiar persons to come together; but I am in no mood to cavil at love.”

Mrs. Lang said, kindly, —

“ We must see more of you than ever, Mr. Allen, if you are finally to deprive us of Miss Darry. She has lived with me ever since the death of her parents, who were old friends of my mother, and we shall miss her very much. She is a splendid woman. You are sure you understand her ? ” she added, naively ; “ I freely confess I don’t”

My pride swelled at all this. Frank Darry’s love was the most blissful proof yet afforded of the personal power of the

man who had captivated her, and more vehemently than was perhaps natural under the circumstances, I professed to comprehend, love, nay, worship Miss Darry.

The efforts for my culture were now redoubled. In order to demonstrate the wisdom of Miss Darry’s choice, I must give palpable proof of superiority. I had earned enough for present support, and my forge must be given up. I must cut off all my old connections, go to the city, visit studios, draw from casts, attend galleries of paintings, have access to public libraries, make literary and artistic acquaintances, pursue my classical studies, and display the powers which Miss Darry, by her own force of will, projected into me, Such were the business-like plans which usurped the place of those mutual adulatory confidences presumed to occupy the first elysian hours of an engagement. Miss Darry’s love was not of that caressing, tendril description, so common with her sex, which plays in tender demonstrativeness around the one beloved; it helped constantly to keep the highest standard before him, and to sustain rather than depend.

About a week after Mr. and Mrs. Lang’s return, Mr. Leopold, who had accompanied them, came back ; and Miss Darry intimated that it would be well for me to inform him of our engagement. I said to him, therefore, rather abruptly one afternoon, as I was about leaving to seek Miss Darry, (who was never quite ready to see me, if my painting-hours were abridged.) —

“ Mr. Leopold, I have sold my forge to-day. I wanted to ask your advice about the course to be pursued in town ; but I am under orders now of the most binding kind. I am engaged to Miss Darry.”

Mr. Leopold was busy at his easel, his profile toward me. I was certainly not mistaken ; the blood rushed over his face, subsided, leaving it very pale, and he made a quick, nervous movement which overthrew his palette. He rose quietly and replaced it, however, saying, in his usual tone,—

“ Very well, Sandy. I am ready to help you in any way I can.”

“But you do not-—no one congratulates me,” I said, deceived by his calmness, and supposing the momentary suspicion that his was the love rejected by Miss Dairy must have been a mistaken one.

“ If they do not, it is not because of any lack of appreciation for either of you,” he answered slowly, “ but that they fail to see the point of union. I admire the pine ; it is straight, strong, self-reliant, and yet wind-haunted by many tender and melancholy sentiments ; I like the peach-tree, too, with its pink tufts of fanciful blooming in the spring-time: but if these two should grow side by side, I am not sure but I should wonder a little.”

His smile, as he looked me full in the eye, had genuine good-will mingled with its humor ; and it softened the indignation I felt at the implied comparison.

“ You make me out the weaker vessel of the two, then ? ” I asked, resentfully.

“ No, Sandy, I don’t say that; possibly, as whatever power we have runs parallel with Providential forces or against them, it makes mortal strength or weakness. But may you become a truly noble man, if you are to be Miss Darry’s husband ! ” be answered, rising and extending his hand.

I believe he was one to scorn a lack of self-control in himself; but I do not think he cared either to reveal or to hide the love which I read at that moment. I grasped his hand as cordially as it was given, and hurried down stairs, out of the door, and over the hill, with a strong conviction that Miss Darry was a mistaken and foolish woman, and a prompting to disinterestedness not quite compatible with my relations to her. I was in no mood for her society, so I resolved to delay seeing her until evening, and conclude my arrangements at the forge, as I was to go to the city the next week.

Approaching the village, I overtook Miss Dinsmore ; and though my new pretensions had not increased my popularity among the villagers, I had reason to consider her my firm friend and advocate ; so I was quite willing to escape my unpleasant train of thought in listening to her.

“ Well, Sandy, nobody gets a sight of you nowadays down this way, I never was so set up as when I heard tell you was goin’ to marry the schoolmarm. Why, I was always certain sure you ’d take to Annie Bray. Such a sweet little lamb as she is ; not a bit high-strung ’cause she ’s made much of at the great house on the hill, though she does sing like a bird in an appletree every Sunday, when Louisy Purdo does n’t drown her voice with screechin' ; but she ’s grown more sober an’ quiet-like than ever. Miss Bray says she helps a powerful deal about bouse, and Amos don’t swear so much now he sees it hurts her.”

“ She ’s a dear little thing,” I interrupted, impatiently ; “but, Miss Dinsmore, do you know Mr. Bray may have all the blacksmith-work to himself now ? for I'm going to town for the rest of the summer and autumn.”

“ You don’t say so, Sandy ! Well, old Dr. Allen was n’t one of us, as I tell ’em, and there 's no sort of reason why you should he ; and your mother was a real born lady, though she was so gentle-spoken ’t was n’t half the women could tell the difference between her and them.”

“ But, Miss Dinsmore,” I said, “ I don’t expect to forget my old friends, because I hope to do better somewhere else than here. I shall often come down to Warren.”

“ Oh. yes, you 'll come down, I don’t mistrust that,” she replied, slowly nodding her green calash, “ as long as the schoolmarm is at the Hill ; but Annie will look paler than ever. She thinks a sight of you, poor thing, and it will never be the same to her. She loves you like — a sister,” added Miss Dinsmore, the tears in her faded blue eyes, and her sense of womanly modesty supplying the familiar title.

We were very near the Variety Store. If I could for a moment drift away from this annoying theme !

“ How did you like Mr. Leopold, that afternoon I introduced him to you, Miss Dinsmore?” I asked, in desperation.

“ Oh ! ah ! Well, Sandy, to speak plain, I 've seen him a matter of three or four times, may-be, since. He set down, quite friendly-like, to a bit of supper, last time he come. I suppose he feels lonely; he seems pleasantspoken, and is liked by everybody round here ; poor man, he ought n’t to be without a mate. He's taken a great likin’ to Annie Bray ; but then, of course, he’s got some sense of what ’s becomin’; she ’s years too young for him.”

“Too young! I should think so,” I cried, indignantly ; “he’s old enough to be her grandfather.”

“ No, Sandy, — no, I think not,” said Miss Dinsmore, pausing thoughtfully at her door-step. “ Old Mr. Bray would have been nigh upon eighty come next harvest; but then Annie has nobody to look out for her now, you know, exceptin’ Amos, who a’n’t over wide-awake, between you and me, though an honester man never lived.”

I was very willing to part with Miss Dinsmore.

“ Another afternoon experience like this will make a hermit of me,” I muttered, impatiently, as I strode away in the same direction from which I had come.

Miss Darry, Mr. Leopold, anybody, was better than Annie Bray, with her sweet, pale face, in my present mood.

“Annie has nobody to look out for her now, you know”: many a day I remembered with a pang that this was too true.

CHAPTER XIII.

I SOLD my forge and went to the city. My name appeared in the catalogue of the fall exhibition:— "Forest Scene, by Alexander Allen. I have no reason to suppose that the genuine merit of my picture secured for it a place in the gallery, though doubtless some as poor by established artists found their way there ; but these having proved they could do better could afford to be found occasionally below concert pitch. However, Mr. Leopold commended it as highly as his conscience would permit, and I reaped the reward ; while Miss Darry gloried over its admission as an unalloyed tribute to ability, and treasured the catalogue more carefully than my photograph. The same course of study and labor which I had pursued in Warren was continued in the city, with this difference : I had not the pure air, simple food, regular life, manual exertion, or social evenings at Hillside. Miss Darry wrote to me regularly, but I felt wearied after her letters. There were no tender assurances of undying affection, so soothing, doubtless, to tired brain and heavy heart; but they read somewhat in this style : —

“ MY DEAR SANDY, — Won’t you begin at once a course of German reading ? ‘Das Leben Jesu ’ of Strauss will help you wonderfully. The old Platonic philosophers have done you some good; but you have a faith too childlike, a complete reliance upon Providence quite too unreasoning, for a man of your ability. Through your own developed self you must learn to find the Supreme Intelligence,—not to spell him out letter by letter in every flower that grows, every trifling event of your life. You began with belief in the old theological riddle of the Trinity ; then with perception of the Creator in his visible world ; but to your Naturalism you must add at least a knowledge of Mysticism. Transcendentalism,—mists which, veiling indeed the outward creation, are interpenetrated by the sun of personal illumination, more alluring by their veiled light, like those sunned fogs Mr. Leopold deals with occasionally, than the clear every-day atmosphere of beliefs sharply outlined by a creed. When you have sounded the entire scale of prevailing and past theories, even to the depths of unbelief, then alone are you able, as a reasoning being, to translate God’s dealings with you into consistent religious faith.”

And ended often with, —

“ I hope you work hard, intensely, in your art. Do not think, when you lay aside your brush, you lay aside the artist also. Genius is unresting. A picture may shape itself in your brain at any hour, by day or night ; and don’t be too indolent, my dear boy, to give it outward embodiment, if it does.”

“ I was sadly disappointed at the result of the last,” she wrote once. “ Mr. Lang showed it to Mr. Peterson, the sculptor, who pronounced it slightly below the average first attempts. Of course, from your devotion to coloring, you did not feel sufficiently interested to put forth all your powers ; still I accept the trial as a proof of your affection. Having greater genius for painting, you could certainly succeed in sculpture, nevertheless, if you heartily labored at it. I could never accept the definition of genius given by the author of ‘ Rab and his Friends,’ which limits it, if I remember rightly, to an especial aptitude for some one pursuit. Genius is a tremendous force, not necessarily to succeed only in one channel, although turned to one by natural bent”

Little Annie, at my earnest request, wrote to me occasionally. It was a brief parting with her: she feared her own self-control, possibly. I know I feared mine ; for, bad she showed actual grief, I might have pacified it at the cost of my profession or my life. She wrote in this wise : —

“ DEAR SANDY, — I know of course you are very busy, for Miss Darry told me at Hillside that your painting was in the Exhibition, and that you were rapidly becoming a great artist; and this makes me think I ought to confess to you, Sandy, that I was wrong that morning when I called Miss Darry proud. She has been very kind to me lately. She said it was not right that I should be taught music, and all sorts of lovely, pleasant studies, and not know how to write and cipher. So she teaches me with Mrs. Lang’s sisters. She says I already express myself better than I did, and I can cast up father’s accountbook every Saturday night; but, please forgive me, dear brother Sandy, I long for that stiff old work-hour to be over, that I may run up to Mrs. Lang’s sunshiny room, with its flowers, pictures, piano, and herself. Miss Darry, because of her very great talents, Sandy, is far above me. Do you know, though you are to be a great painter, she seems to me more talented than you, with your old home-like ways? But then we sha’n’t have those home-like ways any more. Oh, Sandy, we miss you ! but I do hope you will be good and great and happy. Miss Darry says you work night and day. But you must sleep some, or you ’ll be sick. I always fancied great men were born great; it must be hard to have to be made so. I guess you will be glad to hear that father don’t swear and scold now ; he says he is doing well, and be bought me a new dress the other day at Miss Dinsmore’s. She has got back from the city with the gayest flowers and ribbons. My dress is orange-colored. I don’t fancy one quite so bright, and wear the old violet one you gave me oftener ; but I can’t exactly see why I don’t like it, after all ; for the very same color, on the breast of the Golden Oriole that builds a nest in our garden, I think is perfectly splendid. I hope you won’t forget your loving little sister, “ANNIE BRAY.”

Sometimes she wrote less brightly and hopefully; but, oh, what a blessing it was to have her write at all ! I found

myself watching for those natural, loving words, for the acknowledgment of missing me, as, wearied after viewing Alpine peaks, one might stoop cheered and satisfied to pluck a tiny flower. Miss Darry never missed me. She discouraged the idea of a long autumn vacation, and offered to come to the city and board, that my work might still go on. I began to entertain serious doubts, if, when we were married, I should be suffered to live with her, — or whether she would not send me to boarding-school, or to pursue my studies abroad.

When October came, with the rich sadness of its days, at once a prophecy of grief and an assurance of its soothing. I broke down utterly. My æsthetic and literary friends did not feel that sympathy for my worn-out body and soul which both demanded. I applied to the only legitimate source for aid in my weakness and the permission to yield to it; but before either arrived, Nature proved more than a match for Miss Darry, and sent me exhausted to bed. Miss Darry appeared the next morning, and if the whole breezy atmosphere of Hillside had clung to her garments, she could not have had a more bracing effect. How bright, loving, and gentle she was, when she found me really ill! To be sure, she prescribed vigorous tonics, as was in accordance with her style ; in fact, she was one herself; but she relieved my weak and languid dejection by brilliant talk, when I could bear it, — by tender words of hope, when I could not. My late internal censures upon her, as a hard task-mistress, were now the ghosts of self-reproach, which a morbid condition conjured about my pillow ; and the vision of her healthy, self-restrained nature presided over every dream, recalling most derisively Mr Leopold’s simile of the pineand peach-trees.

I left my bed, from very shame at prostration, long before I was able, and returned with her to Hillside, whither Mrs. and Mr. Lang invited me for the rest which she now considered necessary. Mr. Leopold had left Warren, and retaken a studio in town for the fall and winter ; but many a memory of his kind deeds and pleasant manners lingered in the place. Every village must have its hero, its great man of past or present, looking down, like Hawthorne’s great stone face, in supreme benignity upon it. Mr. Leopold had been the first occupant of this royal chair in Warren; for the enthusiasm which seeks a better than itself had just been called forth by the teaching and influence of Hillside.

One morning, when Miss Darry was occupied with her scholars, I wandered through the village and to the Brays’ cottage to make my first call. Mrs. Bray was busy making cake. Annie, so tall and slender, that, as she stood with her face turned from me, I wondered what graceful young lady they had there, was prepared for her walk to Hillside, her books in a little satchel on her arm. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of my thin, pale face, though her own was fragile as a snow-drop; but she at once apologized for and explained her sorrow by calling me her “ dear old brother Sandy.” I proposed one of our old-time strolls together up the hill, and we soon started in company. Half way up, at the meadow, where we had arranged and painted our first picture, I yielded to the impulse, which heretofore I had resisted, to sit again on the old stump and recall the scene. I was really weary, for this was my first long walk, and Annie looked as though rest would not come amiss ; so I helped her over the stile, and we sat down. The rich, fervid hues I used so homœopathically by the stroke of my brush were spread over miles of forest; a vaporous veil of mist hung over every winding stream and mountain lake, and, reflecting the brilliant-colored shrubbery which bordered them, they glared like stained glass ; the sunshine filtered down through haze and vapor like golddust on the meadow-land ; gold and purple key-notes of autumn coloring in many varying shades of tree, water, and cloud blended to the perfect chord, uttering themselves lastly most quietly in the golden-rods and asters at our feet. That hazy, dreamy atmosphere uniting with my vague, aimless state of mind, I would fain make it accountable for the talk which followed.

First we went over the old times, I recalling, Annie assenting in a quiet, half-sad way, or brightening as though by an effort, and throwing in a reminiscence herself. We talked of those we had mutually known, and I was just recalling the rude admiration of Tracy Waters to her mind, when she suggested that she should be late for her lesson,— it was time to leave.

“ No, indeed, Annie ! ” I exclaimed, seizing her hand as she sat beside me, — “this is the first hour's actual rest I have had for months ; it is like the returning sleep of health after delirium. You shall not go. When have I ever had you to myself before ? The time is beautiful ; we are happy ; do not let us go up to Hillside to-day — or any more.”

I spoke not so much wildly as naturally and weariedly ; but Annie’s cheek flushed scarlet, as she started, with a touch of Miss Darry’s energy, from the stump beside me.

“ Yes, Sandy, we will go to Hillside at once ; you shall tell Miss Darry, that, in talking over by-gone days with your little sister, you forgot yourself and overstayed your time ; and I, too, must make my excuses.”

She walked quickly away, and before I had risen, in a half-stupefied way, she was at the stile.

It was rather difficult to rejoin her. I had the novel and not altogether pleasing sensation of having been refused before I had asked ; and my childfriend, taught of Nature’s simple dignity and sense of right, was more at ease for the remainder of the walk than I.

CHAPTER XIV.

I MEANT to have frankly confessed my talk with Annie to Miss Darry. No orthodox saint could have been more penitentially conscious of having fallen from grace. But she gave me no time. She was either so animated, so thoroughly agreeable and entertaining, that I felt only pride at the part I held in her, or else she gave premonitory symptoms of a return to the drill, which always suggested to me the absolute need of physical exercise, and ended in a walk or horseback ride, — in her company, of course. At last I really was so far restored, that my plea of being so much stronger, more at rest, near her, (which was true, for her oral teaching was not unmingled with subtile fascination,) failed to call forth the genial, loving smile. She began to pine for more honors, greater development, more earnest life. Strange ! I, the former blacksmith, was a very flower, lulled in the dolce far niente of summer air and sunshine, beside her more vigorous intellectual nature. Sensation and emotion were scarcely expressed by me before they were taken up into the arctic regions of her brain, and looked coldly on their former selves.

I resolved one day, by a grand effort, to leave the next. As I had not seen Annie since the walk with her to Hillside, and had declined Mrs. Lang’s offer to invite her to the house that I might see more of her, on the ground of fatigue and occupation in the evening with Miss Darry, it became incumbent upon me to go to the cottage for a farewell.

It looked very quiet, as I approached. The blinds were closed, as in summer, and there was no one in the kitchen. Hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, however, I entered, and met Miss Dinsmore with her finger on her lips and an agitated expression on her face.

" For mercy’s sake, don’t come here now, Sandy Allen ! You might have done some good by coming before ; but now, poor, sweet lamb, she’s very sick, and Miss Bray's ’most distracted. You ’re the very last person she’d care to see. You ’d better go out just the very same quiet way you come in.”

“ Annie sick ? How ? where ? when ? ” I asked, breathlessly.

Miss Dinsmore seized me by the shoulder, and pushing me, not too gently, into the kitchen, closed the door, and stood beside me.

“ She’s got brain-fever. I guess she caught cold the other day, when she went up to Hillside. She a'n’t been out since, and she’s been wanderin’,— somethin' about not wantin’ to go into a meader.”

“ I shall go up and see her,” I answered, turning again to the door.

“ Indeed you won’t, Sandy Allen ! You ’ll set her wilder than ever again.”

“ I shall go up and see her,” I repeated, firmly; and, pushing by Miss Dinsmore, I went up the front stairs to Annie’s little room.

There she lay, — her bright, golden hair on the pillow, her eyes closed, — a pale, panting phantom of herself, apparently in a troubled sleep, — her mother, the bustling, gaudily attired woman, as quiet as a little child beside her. She turned her head when she heard me, changed color, and the tears filled her eyes ; but it was probably owing to the self-control of this woman, whom I had so looked down upon, that I did not snap the thread of Annie Bray’s life that day. With her child on the brink of a precipice, she would make no moan to startle her off. The doctor said her sleep must be unbroken. He, too, sat there ; and, obeying Mrs. Bray’s quiet motion, I seated myself behind the others. The hours wore on ; the October sun went down. None of us moved, but gazed in mute apprehension at the figure of her who, it seemed, could awake only in heaven. This earthly love, so strong, so fierce, in the effort to retain her, — would it prevail ? This was the question which chained us there ; and when, at eight o'clock, she awoke, I waited until the doctor pronounced his favorable opinion, then, without Annie’s having seen me, stole out by the other door and away.

At Hillside, when I entered, pale with suppressed excitement, and told where I had been, Mrs. Lang rose at once.

“ I wondered why she missed her lessons, until her brother brought word she was not well. I will send some flowers and white grapes to her at once ” ; and she would have rung the bell, but Miss Harry prevented her.

“ Dear Alice,” she said, “white grapes are only water sweetened by a little sunshine, and flowers she is too ill to enjoy. Let me make up a basket. Come down with me, Sandy, to the pantry.”

Mechanically I followed her down, watched her moving busily about, and heard her talk, yet could not find a word to utter in reply.

“ White grapes are excellent for people who sit down to a luxurious dinner every day, but pale, feeble bodies like little Annie Bray’s must recuperate on richer fare, — a bottle of wine, some rich, juicy beef; and the sight of this old working world from the window is worth all the flowers in creation.”

She filled her basket, called a servant, and sent him off. Still pale and silent, I neither moved nor spoke.

“ What is the matter with you, Sandy? ” Miss Darry asked, a half-smothered fear in her voice. “You are not strong enough for such excitement. Come to the drawing-room, and I will play you to sleep with some of those grand old German airs. You shall have Mendelssohn or Von Weber, if you are not in the mood for Beethoven or Chopin,” she added, compromising to my nervous weakness.

She led the way, I followed, to the parlor, — only, however, once there, and finding it unoccupied, I led, and she listened.

“No music this evening, Frank, for heaven’s sake ! ” I cried, my voice thick with emotion, as she seated herself at the piano. “ I must be truthful with you. I have been a weak fool; and to you, whom I respect and admire so thoroughly, 1 will confess it. Bear with me awhile longer, then you shall speak,” I added, as she rose and came toward me.

“ In the first place, since I am a genius,” I continued, bitterly, “ I ought to have had a clearer vision. I ought to have seen, that, because you were the most fascinating, brilliant woman I had ever dreamed of, the most highly cultured, and planned on the noblest scale, — because you disinterestedly devoted yourself to my improvement, kindled a spark of what you were pleased to call genius, and then gave your own life to fan it into a flame, — I ought to have seen that all this did not necessarily imply that subtile bond and affinity between us which alone should end in marriage. But I did not see. I was touched to the heart by your kindness.

I thrilled with pride, when you turned from men of refinement and intellect, to smile cordially, tenderly, upon me. I longed to be a suitable companion for one so superior ; and I have worked — honestly, faithfully, have I worked — to become so. But what you grew upon made me languid. I was satiated with study, weary even of my brush. Metaphysics and mystical speculation bewilder a mind too weak to trust itself in their mazes, without the old established guides, the helps to a childlike faith. I was worn out and sick. Then your presence revived me ; all the doubts which have since become certainties were thrust aside. I came here ; I met Annie Bray ; I said some foolish words one day, when we were walking up here, about being worn out and staying where we were forever. They were dishonorable words, for they were due first of all to you ; and they have haunted me since like a nightmare. It was Annie herself who reproved and repelled them. To-day I went there with the thought of saying good-bye. I was sure that my feeling for you was firm as a rock ; it is only periodically and indefinably, Frank, that it has seemed otherwise ; and now I would lay down my life to restrain these words, to be worthy of the love I renounce. Some other and better man must win what I have been too weak to keep. This afternoon has proved to me that I do not belong exclusively to you.”

Was I base and unfeeling, or only weak, as I had said ? Frank Darry turned away, and walked to the long French window, looking out in the moonlight upon the very spot, perhaps, where I had so passionately declared my love. I could see her tremble with emotion. Yet I dared not speak or go to her. Perhaps five minutes passed,— it might have been an hour,— when, pale, but composed, she came to the sofa, upon which I had thrown myself.

“You love Annie Bray, then, Sandy ? ” she asked, calmly.

“ No,” I answered, “ I do not love her; but I feel that I have done violence to what might have grown into love between us. I do not intend to see her. I do not wish to ask for what would assuredly not be granted. I desire only to go away, to be alone and quiet.”

“ You are, indeed, forever rushing to extremes, Sandy,” she said, slowly. “ We have both done wrong: I, in tempting you, without, of course, a thought of self,” she added, proudly, “to set aside this first and strongest interest; and you, in your acceptance of fascination as love. We have done wrong; but you are now right, for you are true. Let me be so also. I consider it no disgrace to my womanhood to admit the pain your avowal gives me, yet I thank you for making it. Remember, Sandy, if a true affection spring up within you, do not crush it from a morbid remembrance of this : it would be a poor revenge for me to desire.”

She spoke sadly. I Could not reply to her. Such generosity was, indeed, like coals of fire on my head. Say as I might to myself that her strong will had held me spellbound,—-reason as I might that it was only because she had developed, made me, as it were, that this motherly, yearning, protecting love had been lavished upon me, — there was still the fact, that this rich, strong nature had given of its best treasure in answer to my passionate pleading, had wasted it on me.

“Frank Darry,” I said, “why I do not entirely love what I completely reverence and admire I cannot tell. To live without you seems like drifting through life without aim or guide. I would gladly think that one who suffered through my joy, one far better than I, should yet win what he longed for.”

Then only did her paleness vary.

“ Sandy, spare me, at least just now, such complete renunciation. Remember, I have not confessed what you have.”

She took my hand: it was, I know, burning, while hers was cold as marble. She stooped and kissed my forehead.

“Good night, and good bye, Sandy. The time may come, when, as teacher and pupil, we shall think of each other tenderly.”

Where was the passionate avowal I would once have made ? Had I learned a lesson ? Yes, the most bitter of my life. When I heard her firm footstep die away in the hall, I crossed to the library, and in a few brief words explained to Mr. and Mrs. Lang that I must leave their house at once, and that our engagement was broken because I alone had proved unworthy. The color mounted to Mr. Lang’s brow.

“ You are weak, Sandy,” he ejaculated, bitterly; “it is what I always feared.”

Mrs. Lang, in her gentle, kindly way, tried to soften his anger; but it must have been a hard task with one who, while he pitied sin, scorned weakness ; and I did not await the result, but, hurrying to my room, packed my portmanteau and left for the station.

A fortnight later I received from Miss Dinsmore, in reply to my inquiries, a letter giving a most favorable account of Annie Bray’s health. This was all I desired. I wrote a few lines of friendly farewell, and, hinting at no period of return, merely explained that I was about to leave for Europe. I restrained my desire to give her some advice as to her pursuits in my absence. Such mentorship, at present, seemed like creating another barrier between us. I assumed no superiority myself, I had no disposition to seek it in others.

CHAPTER XV.

WORN out and jaded, I began my travels. I strove to make these travels as inexpensive as possible. I walked much, and at times lived both cheaply and luxuriously, as one learns to do after a little experience abroad. At first I resolved to make this tour one long summer day of pleasure through the outward senses. I took no books with me. I painted no picture. I rarely even sketched. Brain and heart rested, while there flowed into them, through the outward avenues of eye and ear, new pictures and harmonies,— I fancied, for present enjoyment merely, but in reality for future use.

When I reached Rome, my funds, which had even previously been eked out by the sale of the few sketches I had made, were quite exhausted. Anticipating this, I had, after great hesitation, written to Mr. Leopold, desiring letters of introduction to some artists, in the hope of obtaining work from them. I found his reply to this letter awaiting my arrival in Rome ; and though I had not hinted at my destitution, he must have guessed it, for he inclosed a check and all the information I desired. I provided myself with a humble studio and recommenced work. How fresh and charming was this return to my old mode of life ! I even bought a few

choice books at the old stalls, and revelled in poetry. Dante opened his Purgatory to me just as I escaped from my own, and I basked in the returning sunlight of a free and happy life.

Copying in a painting-gallery one day,

I beheld with pain, albeit he was my benefactor, a ghost of my former life arising to haunt me. Mr. Leopold, having arrived the night before, was enjoying the pictures preparatory to hunting me up. His greeting was cordial; he cheered me by most favorable opinions as to my progress in my art, and was. dumb about the past. He desired that I should again work in connection with himself; and the profound respect I had always felt for his abilities was confirmed and heightened by the affection he inspired in me. His really harmonious character guided mine without the absolute surrender of my individuality. One by one I resumed the old interests, and began to feel the old heart which has throbbed through the centuries, from Adam downward, beating within me. flow very much I was like other men, after all!

“ Sandy,” Mr. Leopold said to me one day, as We sat sketching some old ruin on the Campagna, “is it your wish to be silent as to the past ? Are you restrained by fear of yourself or me?”

For only answer I exclaimed,—

“ How and where is Miss Darry ? ”

“ She is well, and at Munich,” he answered, smiling pleasantly, — “ developing in herself the powers with which she invested you. As a sculptress she gives great promise ; her figures show wonderful anatomical knowledge.”

“And you, Mr. Leopold,” I asked breathlessly, “ how could you forgive and befriend one who had so weakly treated the woman you alone were worthy to love ? ”

“ You are indeed breaking silence, Sandy,” he replied ; “ it is with you the Chinese wall or illimitable space. Perhaps you have not really wronged either her or me. She worked off some extravagant theories on you. You exhausted your weakness, I trust, on her ; and as for me, I have learned to conquer through both.”

I have lived several years since that morning in Rome, where, at the headquarters of the confessional, I opened my heart to Mr. Leopold. Standing, as he does, at the head of his art, I follow him. Those who prefer fancy to vigorous thought and imagination, the lovely and familiar in Nature to the sublime, sometimes rank me above him. Time has not evolved the genius which Miss Darrv prophesied, yet I am as fully convinced that I occupy my true position and do my appropriate work in the world as though it had. Mrs, Leopold professes occasionally to me, with a smile, that her opinion is unaltered, that my weakness was only an additional proof of genius, but that her husband is a hero worth all the geniuses in the world. She holds this subtile essence more lightly in estimation now than formerly. Some think she possesses it ; and her groups of statuary fairly entitle her to more laurels than in her happy domestic life she is likely to win. She laughs at my wife, and calls her sentimental, because her Art instincts, like vines over a humble dwelling, embroider only the common domestic life. Her many fanciful ways of adorning our home, and her own sweet, sunny self, its perpetual light and comfort, are to me just so many 'traps to catch the sunbeams ’ of life, especially as I see beneath all this the earnest, developed womanhood of the blacksmith’s daughter. Do you ask me how I won her? I can describe my passionate admiration, even the weakness and limitations of my nature ; but I will not unveil my love. Is it not enough that I am a thorough democrat, have little faith in the hereditary transmission of good or evil, and welcome Mr. and Mrs. Bray to my home and hearth ? I am not hurried now.

“You have only this lifetime to make a man in, Sandy,” Annie pleads occasionally, when a call for service outside my profession presents itself; “but any special power of mind, it seems to me, will have the mending ages in which to unfold.”

To love men, to labor for them and for the ideas which free and redeem them, seems the special mission of our times ; and my little wife has caught its spirit, and so helps me to recognize the virtue which eighteen hundred years ago was crucified to rise again, which has been assailed in our country, and is rising again to be the life and inspiration of Christendom, the deathblow to slavery and oppression, the light of many a humble home and simple heart. Unselfishness! keystone to the arch through which each pure soul looks heavenward !