A House of Entertainment

VI.

THE words which Alden Holcroft had said to Ruth Hanway might be thought sufficiently general, yet something of the unarticulated passion which impelled them followed the words as they lay in the mind of the young girl. They were so few, and were so distinctly uttered, that, she easily retained them in her memory, and in the quiet which was so abundant in her life she turned them over and over, and tried, with her confined experience, to discover the full force which, they had for him who had spoken them. “ It is a selfish life, after all. One may be selfish when he fancies he has very high ideals.” As spoken, she perceived these words were meant by him for himself, yet she found it easier to apply them to her own condition. She knew little of what shape Holcroft’s ideals partook. “ He is trying,” she said to herself, “to achieve in solitude what we have in our community. It is by escaping from the world into the wilderness that he hopes to lead the angelic life. But he has no one to help him. Yet father may help him.”

Although these words were not spoken, she started at the sound of her own thought, and sitting down buried her face in her hands, while her whole frame shook with suppressed sobs. It was the first time for many weeks that the name “father” had escaped from the dark recess into which she had crowded it. She did not call Elder Isaiah father. She had been taught to ignore the relationship, yet if any had watched narrowly they would have seen that neither did she call him Elder Isaiah. She accosted him in the manner of others, and spoke of him only when his name was not needed. But in secret she cherished the name, and once, in the fields, when she was out of hearing, she had uttered it aloud. She clung to it instinctively, and as instinctively held it for her own secret. He never used the word “daughter ” to her, but in the silent place where she kept his name she kept also the tones with which he spoke to her when he unconsciously used a father’s voice.

The Shaker life recognizes a constant conflict with the powers of evil and a sure victory of tranquillity. For herself, she was aware that she sometimes looked up from the inclosure in which she dwelt to a blue heaven above; the rapture of her countenance, the spring of her step, in the rhythmic procession, which had so appealed to Holcroft, were real signs of a spiritual exaltation. It was her aim to make such occasional moods permanent, and she was dismayed that she should pass from them to states of hopelessness and dreariness. These she felt to be expressions of her lower nature, and she knew no other way to extirpate them than by a relentless warfare. Site expended in the struggle all the energy of a resolute will not wont to manifest itself externally by any violence. For a long time past she had been dissatisfied with her progress. What stood in the way of her peace she knew not; but, one day, after listening to a discourse from Elder Isaiah upon the necessity of sacrifice if one would get the victory, in which he quoted the words, “ He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me,” a chill struck through her frame as it was suddenly borne in upon her that the one thing to which she clung most tenaciously was that name of father, and that if she could bury it past resurrection her triumphant peace was assured. She came out. from the little meeting-house into the bright sunshine, cold and pale. The elder joined her presently, and said a word to her; his own nature, at that moment, kindled by his theme, was animated by a new warmth, and recalling at the sight of her the sacrifice which he long ago had made, and — simple man that he was — supposed made forever, he was moved to speak with a certain tenderness. Ruth answered in a low tone that was the stifling of her cry for affection, and fearing to betray herself hurried from him. As she left him she caught sight of the face of one of the sisters passing by, Eldress Charlotte, the oldest in the family, and suddenly, as if by an impish suggestion, remembered a rumor that the eldress had cherished a more than sisterly love for a Shaker in her youth, and that the man had been sent away, in consequence, to the neighboring settlement of Salem. Now her face looked like nothing so much as the Indian pipe, which grows in ghostly erectness in the swamp.

The girl had shut the door upon her father’s name, had barred and bolted it, as she thought, and for weeks had resolutely refused her one secret pleasure. In the same spirit she had refused to join in the idle talk of the others respecting the silent, melancholy-looking man who had taken his place in the neighborhood, with so different a hearing from the other neighbors. It was only this day, while alone in the field, that she had suffered herself to fancy that the entire rest for winch she had longed was near at hand. She knew that she had not cared to look at the house where Holcroft lived, or to join in the whispered talk of the girls beside her; that she had heard her own father spoken of without feeling the quick response which once was sure to come. Yes, she felt that she was growing still and patient; that she was getting not to care, as she said. All at once the stranger had spoken to her: he had mentioned her father, then he had gone; as they passed his house she had a sudden rush of curiosity, and caught a glimpse of the interior of the lonely house in which he lived; and now, turning over his words in her mind, and perplexed by them, she had suddenly been betrayed into the old feeling, which was nothing less than of running to her father with her doubts. All her selfconquest seemed shattered by a single blow,—and that a blow of light. No wonder that she looked at the ruin of her many weeks’ work with a cruel sense of failure and agitated discomfiture. The paleness which her composure had been painting upon her face was gone, and deep color rushed over her cheeks and turned to sombre tints about her eyes.

It was at that moment that Eldress Charlotte entered her room, and stood surprised at the face of the girl.

“Crying, Ruth? What has troubled you? Has Miranda been unkind? I heard your name from her as I passed just now. Come; Elder Isaiah is asking for you. ”

Ruth had changed her face in the effort to repress her tears, but as these words came out her tears broke forth, — tears of bitter self-reproach, of anger, disappointment. It was as if the ice which she had been suffering to form had suddenly broken a way, and the pentstream flowed forth with new energy, Eldress Charlotte was unmoved.

“ Wash your face, Ruth,” she said, in cold, measured tones, “and come with me.” Ruth obeyed, and presently showed a placid countenance, which but for its color might have been matched with the elder woman’s for quiet. “ It ill to give way thus,” said Eldress Charlotte, as they left the room. “ Learn control yourself.” Elder Isaiah was waiting below, and held a letter in his hand.

“ I have had a letter from Maria,” said he. “ You may read it. You will see that she asks you to visit her again.” Maria was her mother’s sister whom once a young girl she had visited in the city. Ruth was silent a moment.

“ Nay,” said she, “ I will not read I do not wish to go.” She put out her hands with a gesture as if to push all away from her.

“ You may do as you please,” said the elder, looking with pride at the girl, who appeared by this act to express her entire renunciation of the world and her unhesitating acceptance of the Shaker life when they were momentarily placed contrast. To Ruth, at that instant, seemed only desirable to escape even from the world of Shakerism, so insufferable was all companionship and so oppressive her own solitude. She went about her trivial tasks with a sense of having been rudely invaded in her most private life, and there came, moreover, a sense of shame at she scarcely know what revelation of herself. All sorts of thoughts and recollections went tumultuously through her brain, usually so orderly, and she seemed unable to drive back the unwarrantable ones. She thought of Eldress Charlotte, and caught herself wondering whether she had ever subdued wholly the unrequited love which she had expended on the now dead Elder Abraham; she thought of Elder Isaiah himself, and father, father, father sounded in her ears, as if it were an unholy temptation; she thought of the glimpse she had caught of Holcroft’s house, and found herself in fancy going up the broad staircase, or looking at the pictures which she had dimly descried on the walls; Holcroft appeared again to her, and she renewed the recollection of his grave face bent upon her in the field; and then, bewildered by all these gathering images, the girl, as if chased by the hunters and fleeing to a refuge, cried out in her heart for her mother, whom she could not recall. “ Oh, if I might but have a mother! Why have I no mother? ”

VII.

The house in which Ruth Hanway lived, with other of the girls of the community, was looked upon with some special regard, because, as one of the oldest in the settlement, it had once sheltered Mother Ann, the Virgin Mary, if one may call her so, of this peculiar people. Denying the special mother, they allowed their reverence and affection to go out toward one who bore to the whole people a relation of divine motherhood, and the more thoughtful and pious among them brought to their half-worship of this woman all that remained of their instinctive love for their own mothers. In the new heavens and new earth which they believed themselves to he forming, they did not ignore the great dividing line of the sex, but fancied that they removed from the two hemispheres of human life those individual properties and functions which perpetuated differences instead of allowing them gradually to disappear. When they exalted Ann to the place of a leader and gave her the name of mother, they recognized in her a maternity which was typical of the entire feminine element of the universe, exclusive only of that which pertains to perishable attributes. Call no woman mother after the flesh, they would say; yet they thought to retain the idea of a spiritual mother, freed from the substructure of an earthly antitype.

The very room which Ruth Hanway occupied had once been the chamber of Mother Ann, and often had Ruth believed herself half visited by visions of that saint. Always was she anticipating that sublimity of her own nature which would open her eyes to a more perfect apprehension of the great mother whom she was taught to venerate. So now, when the cry burst forth from her heart, she was half frightened at the measure of infidelity which it seemed to denote, half expectant that Mother Ann would graciously answer her unbreathed prayer and descend to solace her. It was at dusk, and no one else was in the room. Suddenly she heard a sound in the remote part of the room, and turned her eyes, wondering and agitated, thither. She saw nothing, yet her ears assured her of some movement there. There was a window opening into another chamber, in the direction whence the sound came. All at once, a light flashed across it. " Is she coming, then, in vengeance?” asked the half-terrified girl. She fell on her knees instinctively and gazed at the opening. The sound increased, and with it the light which now grew Stronger. The whole window was illuminated, and with the tongues of flame came bursts of smoke. She started to her feet. At that moment she heard cries without, and then her own name was called. She flew to the door, and opening it was met by a gust of smoke. She closed it hastily, and went to a window on the outer wall. The building was not a high one, and throwing up the window she saw a hurrying crowd of men, boys, women, and girls. A ladder was instantly brought, and she descended to the. ground, to find herself in the midst of crying women who assailed her with questions, and of bustling men who were making haste to fight the flames. It was the hour when the people of the family were met in one of the other houses for their evening worship, and Ruth alone, forgetful of the hour, had been absent. She could tell nothing of the beginning of the fire, and indeed that must needs be left for another time, since the whole energy of the settlement was bent now on putting it out and saving the neighboring buildings. This society of Shakers was for convenience distributed among three groups of families, called, for distinction, the East, the West, and the Church families. It was in the East family that Ruth lived, while Elder Isaiah was a resident of the Church or central family, and was the head of the whole society, to whom all looked in emergencies. The three families were half a mile apart, but the news of the burning house spread quickly through the neighborhood, and almost the entire settlement was gathered at the East family.

It was a strange sight under the illumination of the flames to see the moving figures of these staid men, their broad-brimmed hats making them look like dwarfs in the half light. Some were saving articles of furniture or clothing, and all were working assiduously; the contrast between the sad garments and the fiery splendor was lost upon them. Conspicuous among them was Elder Isaiah, who gave his orders temperately, yet with a quickened sense which showed that he not only had his presence of mind, but could drive his thoughts down this narrow channel of exigency as surely as he could force his arguments along the road which led most directly to the desired conclusion. As he stood, a little remote from the others, he was tapped on the shoulder, and turning saw the stranger from Holcroft’s Tavern,

“This is very sudden, Elder Isaiah. I but just saw the flames as I came down the road. I am on my way to the station, and must take the late train, to be at my post to-morrow. Your people are houseless; let me offer you my house for them. I shall not be back for a week, and by that time you can make new arrangements. This is the key, and hanging on a nail in the hall you will find a key to the barn. Use both house and barn. I can trust you, and I am glad to he of some service to you.”

“ You have spoken generously,” said Elder Isaiah. “ Friend Holcroft, you will not repent this kindness. Give, and it shall be given to thee.”

Alden hurried away. His act had been an impulsive one, but it is not certain that he would have so quickly broken in upon the sanctity of his house if he had not, with the quickness of a lover’s inspiration, considered that one of the homeless was the girl Ruth Hanway. He scanned the groups as he passed for a sight of her, but he did not see her. Then, as he went down the road toward the Church family, the light from the burning house making the road a shining one. he perceived her standing by a round stone trough which was by the roadside, —a vast drinking-bowl which some patient Shaker had long since slowly chiseled, within and without, from a great rock. She had by her a little Jersey cow, which was drinking contentedly from the bowl. He stepped to the rock. A great public affair makes even strangers suddenly cordial, and these two, sheltered by the publicity of the fire, spoke freely, while one and another hurried by.

“Ruth Hanway,” said he, “you are standing here with this little cow as if you did not know that your house was burning! ’ ’

“ It is because our house is burning. The cattle are to be carried to one of the other barns. This cow was frightened; but she know me when I spoke to her, and followed me when I led her away. She stopped hero to drink.” The little Jersey had finished her draught, and was cropping the sweet grass near the bowl.

“ What faith she has in you! Do you think I could frighten her by telling her that her barn was burning? ”

“ Nay. She knows she will be taken care of. But I ” — Ruth checked herself.

“ I have offered to do that. I have given your father the key to my house, and begged him to use it for the East family.”

“And you?” she asked, looking up timidly.

“I am on my way now to the city, and must not linger. I shall not be back for a week, perhaps not so soon.” He held out his hand. She took it with a shy grace that made him turn away abruptly. His boldness had fled.

“ Good-by,” he said, without looking back.

“ Farewell,” said she, gently; and calling her cow she went down the road, while he strode on before, as if in haste to get away from a pleasure.

She found shelter fur the Jersey, and as she was providing for it Miranda came calling for her.

“ Ruth Hanway! Ruth Hanway! ”

“ What is it, Miranda? I am here,”

“ I have been hunting everywhere for you. Only think! we are all to go to Holcroft’s Tavern for the night. Elder Isaiah sent me for you. The wagon is ready, and eight of us girls are to go, while Jacob and Isaac are to sleep in the barn. To think of it! Friend Holeroft has lent his house to us. Did you ever hear the like? I am just possessed to see the inside. Eldress Charlotte is to go with us. I'd rather it had been Sister Abigail.” She rattled on eagerly, while Ruth followed her, confused and uncertain. It was not at all plain to her. Something told her it was not well to enter that house; yet her father had bidden her go. And then Holcroft himself had the same as invited her. It would be churlish to refuse. Moreover, she shrank from the sudden intercourse with the other families if she were to he cast among them. Many questions would be asked her, and she wanted to be alone. Perhaps the rest would be so easy in their new quarters that they would not mind her. Yes, she would go, and avoid all that a refusal might bring upon her. Her companion was too eager to notice Ruth’s silence, and she could not have seen the self-questioning which the girl’s silence covered.

Two wagons carried the party, with such needful things as they could hastily get together. They were forced to drive through the fields, to avoid the sparks which, under a change of wind, were carried from the burning settlement into the road. The old house had fallen in, and two of the neighboring buildings were in flames, which the men were fighting sturdily. The orderly habits of the Shakers stood them in good stead here, and under the direction of Elder Isaiah they were working as quietly and sedately as if fire were one of the customary incidents of their daily life.

“ We shall be long rebuilding that,” said Brother Jacob, who was driving one of the wagons. “ I think perhaps we will put the buildings a little farther apart.” The careful man was already arranging the little world over again. “Elder Isaiah will find a text in that for one of his discourses,” he added, not without a touch of sarcasm in his voice, for looking, as he did. after the temporal concerns of the family he had a little impatience, which seldom went beyond the tones of his voice, at the elder’s other-worldliness.

“ Eldress Charlotte could preach one on ‘A fire consumeth my members,’” whispered Miranda to Ruth, for the eldress herself was in the wagon.

“ Say not such things to me!” said Ruth, indignantly. Her indignation was the more explosive because she was herself at that moment recalling her meeting with Holcroft, and Miranda’s words were like the appearance of an accusing angel that foresaw guilt rather than recorded it.

VIII.

Holcroft had turned the key in his door, that evening, after closing his house, and taken it with him, as was his wont, on the way to town; coming suddenly upon the burning settlement, and seeing Elder Isaiah, he had impulsively given him the key and offered him the house. Hitherto no one save himself had passed a night there, and as he was whirled toward the city he was ready to repent of his generosity; he grew uncomfortable at the thought of its being invaded now by a company of inquisitive strangers. He tried to laugh at the possible comments of the scrupulous Shakers at his mannish housekeeping, and caught himself wondering how all his expenditure of thought and fancy would strike one of the number, if she were indeed to go. He reasoned that it was by no means certain she and her companions would be sent there; perhaps a parcel of boys would occupy it, and touch with horny hands all his delicacies. He tried to recall the several points which would catch her eye if she did go, and suddenly felt his heart beat rapidly at the possibility of her making her way into one room in particular.

In truth, the entire party was possessed of some curiosity, as the key was turned in the lock, the door thrown open, and a lantern held aloft to disclose the interior. The light, thrown into the broad hall was turned this way and that, and the Shakers moved cautiously along. The newel post of the staircase held a candelabrum, and that being lighted the hall showed its fine proportions, its pictures, statues, and carvings; but what chiefly took the eye was a cast of Luca della Robbia’s Singing Boys inserted in the wall of the chimney, where the figures in high relief appeared marching in procession, with numbers behind, only hinted at, and each fully absorbed in his hymn of praise.

“Do you suppose he made that?” asked Miranda. “See! they all have their mouths open. They are singing and marching. It is something like us, is n’t it? ”

Brother Jacob had gone out to the barn with his lantern, but finding a candle they lit it, and went curiously about the several rooms, peeping into passages, and keeping close together, for even the older ones were impelled to speak in whispers in this great, strange house.

“ I do not think we ought to go peering about so,” said Ruth, who had hung back, and felt at every step she took that she was breaking into a sacred privacy.

“ We must see if anybody is here,” replied Miranda, who had taken upon herself the lead, and was trying one door after another. “ Come in here! ” opening a door and holding her candle before her.

“Nay, nay,” remonstrated Ruth, growing more positive. “We must not go in there. We do not need that room.”

“ How do you know that? ” asked Miranda, pushing forward, and followed by the others, who dared not go far from the light, for they were several turns away from the lighted hall. " See! it is where he paints all the pictures we have seen. Here is a picture part finished.”

They all gathered about her, as if they could see the work still going on. Ruth alone remained by the door, refusing to enter.

“ Ruth Hanway! ” said several voices at once in surprise. They were all gazing at the picture, which stood on an easel, with the palette and brushes near by, where they had been laid by the painter before finishing his work. Startled by the words, which were not a summons, Ruth, by a sudden flash of intelligence, surmised what the picture was and fled from the doorway. The rest had not noticed at first that she was not with them. Then, looking about, they missed her.

“ Come here, Ruth! ” cried Miranda. “ Come here, and see your picture! ”

“ For shame! ” said a voice. It was Eldress Charlotte. “ Come away from this room! ” said she hotly; and silenced with surprise and confusion the party retreated and made their way to the hall. Ruth stood by the outer door, clutching the handle. Eldress Charlotte alone went to her, the rest remaining by the door through which they had entered the hall. The elder woman stood before Ruth, who hid her face in her hands.

“ Come up-stairs,” said she in her cold, hard voice. Ruth followed her, while the rest began to chatter together.

“ I saw him talking to her at the stone trough,” said one, eagerly. “ I passed them as I was going up to the West family. She had the little Jersey with her.”

“ Poh! ” broke in Miranda, “ that was not the first time. They met one day a fortnight ago, when we were out in the fields berrying. I came on them.”

“ I ’ve seen him watch her in meeting,” said a third. “ He ’d never take his eyes off her. They say he wants to be a Shaker.”

‘‘ A Shaker! ” scoffed Miranda, “ with this house and all these things ! I wonder if he would n’t paint a picture of me. Hark! There is Eldress Charlotte calling us.” The party went up the broad staircase, and were met by the woman at the head.

“ There are several rooms here,” said she, “ but they have not all beds. This room, Miranda, you are to share with Ruth. Go in there, and I will show the rest where they will lie.” Miranda entered the room designated and found Ruth there, her eyes swollen and her face pale.

“Never you mind, Ruth,” said the girl, good-naturedly. “ I never meant to plague you. Rut how should I know he had made your picture ? ”

“ I did not know it myself,” replied Ruth, in a low voice.

“ Not know it! How then did he paint it? ” Miranda asked, incredulous,

“ I do not know. How should I know ? ”

“ Did he not tell you? ”

“ Tell me! I do not know him.”

“ But he has talked with you. I saw him with you in the field, and Ann saw him talk with you by the stone trough.”

Ruth was silent.

“ What did Eldress Charlotte say to you? ” pursued Miranda. “My! I was glad I was not in your shoes. ”

“ Eldress Charlotte is a wicked woman,” said Ruth suddenly. “She is an unjust woman, too. She would not believe me.”

“ Will she tell Elder Isaiah, I wonder? ” said Miranda, looking at Ruth.

Ruth drew back. “My father is a perfect man. Oh, I wish he were here! He would believe me.” She turned away and paced the room. Finally she went up to her companion. “ Miranda, do you believe that I knew anything about that— that picture? ”

“ You did n’t want us to go into the room,” began Miranda, as if arguing the case. Ruth turned away and would say nothing more. Her companion in vain tried to induce her to talk. The girl refused to answer her questions or to notice her jests, and Miranda, finding it hard to amuse herself with so silent a companion, composed herself for sleep. So also did Ruth, hut though she lay still she could not sleep. She heard sounds, and knew that the others were moving. Eldress Charlotte came into the room, and seeing the two quiet and seemingly asleep went away. The sounds ceased, but for an hour and more Ruth lay, with her eyes open, turning over in her mind the strange experience. A sense of injury took possession of her. Her mind recurred to the scene by the trough, and she recalled all the words that were spoken there. “ What faith she has in you! ” Holcroft had said, as he watched the Jersey; and Ruth, turned against, as she thought herself, by all, clung to the remembrance of her patient little cow that had followed her so confidently. And Holcroft, — he had faith in her, that she felt; not much by anything he had said, hut by his perfectly trusting manner. She repelled with indignation the spoken and unspoken words of her companions which pointed him out as a crafty man. “ He is a good man,” she said to herself. “ I know it, I cannot prove it. He thinks no evil.” Then in the darkness she flushed, and her heart beat quickly as she thought of the picture he had painted. How could he have done it? Had he remembered her face? Surely he could not have painted it, unnoticed, in meeting? Could she see it. in the morning without attracting the attention of the others? But she shrank at the thought of all those inquisitive eyes turned upon her. Why not see it now? She recollected that the candle stood near by on a table, and that there were matches by it. She listened. Her companion slept soundly. There was no noise. She rose and meant to take the candle, when she saw that the moon was shining brightly, shut out from their room only by the blind which they had closed. “ I can see without the candle,” she thought, and opening the door she crept softly down the staircase and passed through the hall. The moon gave her light, and she remembered the few turns which they had taken. Nevertheless, as she crept from door to door, going farther away from the hall, she felt herself shivering with fear, with excitement, and with cold. She had thrown a shawl over her shoulders, and now drew it closer about her as she came to the room which the evening before she had refused to enter. The moon shone full upon the easel, and cast its light strongly upon the picture. She looked at it curiously. Her own face she could recognize; and certainly the likeness must have been strong, both for herself and for her companions to perceive it. The face and the pose of the head were hers, but what had become of the Shaker cap and the close-fitting dress with handkerchief demurely pinned about the neck ? In the place of a Shaker maid behold a fair and queenly girl, with wealth of hair lightly snooded, wearing a flowered silk, and having her throat touched by soft lace. The eyes were open with a wondering look, the lips were half parted, and the whole aspect was of one who had waked to find herself in some strange world. The counterpart indeed stood before the picture. Could Alden Holcroft have caught sight of the girl at that moment, he might well have pleased himself with the perfection of the likeness. Her hair had escaped from its confinement and was falling over her shoulders, and her whole countenance was animated by a singular life and intensity, as with almost a smile upon her lips she stood delighted before the picture. She forgot everything else for the moment; she quite forgot that it was her own face which looked .back upon her; she only saw a beautiful picture that seemed ready to speak to her. She wished she had brought a candle; that a full, clear light were upon it; that it were daylight and she could see plainly what now she saw a little dimly. It was all very strange and very delightful. The charm of that young girl in her beautiful dress, with that soft lace enveloping her throat, was a revelation to her of a world of beauty of which she had not dreamed; and suddenly the thought that it was she herself who was thus bewitching surprised her, and involuntarily she threw hack her hair from her face and looked at the picture as if she were looking into a mirror.

IX.

There was a knock upon the outer door. Ruth started, and drew herself together. Again the knock, louder and more peremptory. She turned and looked timidly about the room. Should she hide herself? Could she ascend the stairs again, and return to her room, without discovery? Already she heard movements above. The door by which she had entered was ajar, and through the opening she perceived more distinctly the sound of steps upon the distant staircase, and saw a light glimmering. She drew near the door and listened. She heard Eldress Charlotte speaking and asking who was there. The reply she could not hear, but it must have been assuring, for she heard the holt drawn and the outer door opened. A confusion of voices came to her, but in vain she tried to distinguish what was said. Meanwhile, she heard steps gathering from the rooms above. Could they be looking for her? Why had some one come from without? She wondered if she could steal up-stairs and join the other girls without being noticed. She left the room, when she saw a light moving toward her, and Eldress Charlotte was carrying it. Instinctively she retreated again to the room, and looked about for a place of concealment. The door was pushed open, and the woman approached, holding her light before her and trying the various parts of the room. Ruth, terrified, could not think what to do. She knew she would be discovered, and at that moment she was seen. The elder woman closed the door behind her, placed the light on a stand, and folded her arms. She looked at Ruth, who came forward and stood by the picture, facing the tall woman. A courage seemed to come to her.

“ So you are here. Ruth.”

“ Yea.”

“ And where is he ?”

“ Eldress Charlotte, you wrong me; you wrong him. ”

“ Where is he? ”

“ I know not. ”

“ So, you love this man enough to conceal him. ”

“ There is but one man I love,” said Ruth, looking steadfastly at the pallid face before her; “it is my father.”

“ Your father! How much longer will you love him? Wait till he comes between you and the man you love, as he came between me and Nathan Farlow. I hate him, I hate him! He killed Nathan. He sent him away and he killed me.” The words followed each other with fierce haste, and the voice rose higher. “ Now he is dying, too. Ah, God, it I could only die! Yea, do you hear? Isaiah Hanway is dying! Oh, but he shall know of this before he dies! I 'll tell him, I 'll tell the saint, —I ’ll tell him of his saintly daughter.” Eldress Charlotte struck at the girl, but Ruth turned aside, and the blow fell upon the picture, which toppled over upon the ground. The woman trampled on it in her rage, and rushed from the room. Ruth followed tumultuously.

“ What is it? ” she cried.

“ Have you not heard? Elder Isaiah has been hurt, and sends for you. Where have you been? We have looked everywhere for you. Simon is below waiting to take you to the Church family.” Ruth paid no heed to what was said except to make herself ready with all possible haste. Before she had descended again, she heard the door open and close. She ran down, and looked for Simon. She could not see him. She opened the door and peered out. There was wagon and horse in the road near by, and Simon waiting for her.

“ Is that you, Simon? ” she asked.

“ Yea. I am all ready,” and he made room for her beside him. “ I thought you had come out a moment since. Some one came out and ran down the road. She looked skeery, and the old mare started when she saw her. I thought at first may be you were frightened.” Ruth shuddered. “ Nay, it was not you; it was a taller woman. She came out, and just shut, the door behind her and ran down the road. The old mare she pricked up her ears and started, but I had the reins. She looked skeery like, and the old mare she was a little skeered. Thinks I, That isn’t Ruth. She’s not so tall. Nay, she was ahead taller than you. She ran down the road. Perhaps we shall catch up with her yet.”

“ What is the matter with Elder Isaiah? ” asked Ruth. “ I did not hear.”

“Did you not hear? Why, I thought you knew. He was there at the East family, when Jonas Harker was on a ladder trying to get at the second story of the brick house, you know; Jonas he was well up, when the ladder began to slip. Elder Isaiah he see it and ran forward to stop the ladder. He ran underneath and caught it; but it was too heavy, you see, and it fell on him and hurt him badly. Jonas he got off all right. He says the elder saved him from a bad fall. You see the ladder was up against the wall, and Jonas he was on it trying to reach the second story with some water, when the ladder began to slip; and the elder he was standing by, and he see it, and he runs up and catches the ladder. Yea, but the ladder, you see, was too heavy, and Jonas he was on it; but Jonas got off with only a rub, you see.”

“ Did they send you for me? ” asked Ruth, who dreaded another bald repetition, and dreaded also to know such worse things as might remain untold.

“ Yea. Elder Isaiah sent for you. He said he would see Ruth, and some who were standing by spoke to Ruth Shepard; but when she came, he said, ‘ Nay, it is my Ruth that I want to see.’ So they said, ' It is Ruth Han way;’ and he nodded, and I took the mare and the wagon and started for you. You see, there are two Ruths, but the elder said he wanted to see my Ruth, and so I came for you. Ruth Shepard she came forward, but it wasn’t her he wanted to see, though she’s a good woman, but it was you. He said he wanted to see my Ruth, and that is you.” Ruth did not mind how many times Simon repeated those words, and she sat saying them over to herself as they drove through the dark woods. They passed the thicket where the laurel had grown so luxuriantly a few weeks before, but had now dried and fallen away; they crossed the little brook that came down from the pasture land, and Ruth remembered the pleasant fields above, and the inclosure that was on the height, — the Holy Place, as it was called, — concerning which a sister, years ago. had had vision; so that the society had leveled and inclosed the. top of the hill, planting a four-square row of cedars and marking the centre with a marble monument. Under the moonlight, now, she could make out the quiet summit, where she had often gone for meditation. The scene, the still night, the rustling trees still wearing their crackling foliage, brought a peace and soothing relief that were inexpressibly grateful to the girl who had been so rudely shocked and cruelly wrenched from her wonted ways and habits.

They passed the East family, where the fire was still smoldering in a sullen way, but there were only one or two at work upon it. It was after the middle of the night, and the members of the little settlement had been distributed between the two other families and Holcroft’s Tavern, and were sleeping as only those can who have brought their life into subjection to a regular order not easily be disturbed. At the Church family there were lights in the nurse-house, and it was in front of that that Simon drew in his mare; a Shaker stood by the door and beckoned to them.

“ You are to come in without delay,” he said to Ruth, who entered the little building, and throwing off her outer wraps passed into the room where her father lay. Elder Isaiah was himself the surgeon and physician of the settlement, but in so extreme a case as this a professional man from the neighboring village had been called, who was now in attendance. His most obedient and active assistant was Eldress Charlotte, who with firm, set lips, but with a strange light in her eye, was quietly assuming the control of the room. Ruth had been schooled by Shaker ways into self-restraint, and when she entered and saw her father, the eldress, and the others, she was able to show the equanimity which the placid faces about her bore. Elder Isaiah lay upon a bed, his hands extended in the gesture so familiar to all who were wont to hear him speak in the meetings; he seemed indeed, though his eyes were closed, still to be giving his testimony; every now and then his lips moved, and his hands half opened. As Ruth entered and came to his bedside, the movement ceased, his eyes opened, and he appeared desirous of speaking to the girl. So, at any rate, she interpreted the sign, and bending over him placed her face near to his. She heard no word, but the lips moved, and for the first time within her remembrance her father kissed her. Her cheek was toward him; she turned and touched his lips with hers. A smile half formed upon the old man’s face.

At that moment Ruth felt an iron grip upon her arm. She was forced to one side, yet so noiselessly that those about only saw Eldress Charlotte hastening to perform some service. The woman bent over the elder, and Ruth by her side could hear her panting breath as she drew close to the dying man.

“Do you remember Nathan?” she hissed in his ear. “ Do you know Charlotte? There is your daughter Ruth. She” —

“ Come away!” said the stern voice of Elder Joseph, of the Salem settlement, who was standing by. The woman turned upon him.

“ Oh, yea!” she cried bitterly. “You saw Nathan die.”

“Come away!” he repeated. “The elder is dead. ’ ’

X.

t Holcroft returned to the office with a somewhat surer tread. He had hitherto been a restless fellow. Even while working, and working accurately, he had been unable to resist a tendency to mental vagrancy, and his long strolls through the city, though professedly in search of bricabrac, books, and pictures, were really vain attempts at escaping from his shadow. All his baseless fictions of love, moreover, had failed to supply for him that stability of feeling which he was conscious was requisite for peace and contentment. It was only since the purpose of his love had set slowly but confidently toward the Shaker girl, that he had been able to concentrate his life. Every time that he returned to the city, of late, there had been a marked increase of his steadiness. His “daily walk and conversation,” as the quaint phrase goes, grew firmer and more generous. He looked his companions in the eye, and even ventured to speak freely, though he would still be called a silent man. He found, to his amusement rather than to his dismay, that his little tricks for deluding himself into a belief in his own fancies failed somehow to be operative. He took long walks into the country, returning with vigor and freshness of eye and mind; but so far from seeking to be rid of himself, his thoughts were most healthy and agreeable companions. Books he found it difficult to read, unless it were some knotty prose. For the first time in his life he read and re-read, with hearty satisfaction, Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity, especially the first book. Its historical connection interested him least; he was fascinated by the strong grasp of thought, the sinewy, flexible language, the occasional mighty chords of feeling which make the book one of the masterly books. But undoubtedly his chief pleasure was in orchestral music, especially when Beethoven in his middle period was rendered. He knew by heart every phrase of the great symphonies, so that his mind was always eagerly just ahead of the music, and he seemed to be running before the waves of sound, exhilarated by the quickness of his own movements.

He knew not how soon the Shakers might find it convenient to abandon his house, and indeed he had in a measure abandoned it himself. Transferring his interest to a more living centre, he regarded it simply as a convenient resort, where he might, by such means as he knew, reach after his greater object. Desirous as he was, therefore, of seeing Ruth, he decided to let one Sunday intervene before he should again go to his house of entertainment. He heard nothing from Elder Isaiah; nor had he any right to hear, he argued, for he had not given him his address. His own movements were so silent that no one amongst the Shakers could be expected to know of his whereabouts, when he was not at Holcroft’s Tavern.

One evening of the following week he was seated in the concert-hall, waiting for the musicians and for most of the audience. He had come early, from a liking which he had of watching the people, and had brought with him an evening paper. He opened it, and in turning the leaf he found among the older news some account of a prominent leader among the Shakers at Salisbury who had recently died, in consequence of injuries received at a fire which destroyed nearly all the buildings of one of the families. It was Elder Isaiah Hanway. Holcroft read it through to steady himself and give his thoughts time to form themselves clearly. There was mention in the same paragraph of a Shaker woman who was found dead a few days afterward in the grave-yard of the neighboring settlement of Salem. She had disappeared directly after the death of Elder Isaiah, and it was said that the grave where she was found dead was that of a man whom she had loved, and whom Elder Isaiah had caused to be sent away from Salisbury to Salem on that account.

Holcroft closed the paper and left his seat. He went into a corridor and walked up and down. People were flocking in to their seats, and he could hear the tuning of the instruments. He tried to think and to present the whole matter clearly to himself. Ruth’s father was dead. How would it affect her? How would it affect him ? One thing was plain: he must go to Salisbury as soon as possible. The impulse to see her was stronger than when it first visited him, as he watched her pass his house on the way to the field. If the impulse were scarcely more intelligent, yet it had at least the added element of a wish in some way to help her. It seemed impossible but that he, a strong man, should in some way cast a shelter about the homeless girl,—for homeless he insisted she must be. The whole fabric of the Shaker society seemed, in his mind, to topple over when Elder Isaiah was removed; not that his eldership held it up, but his fatherhood. He connected Ruth with no one else, and instinctively he had resolved the whole frame-work of the association into the relationship of father and daughter. He could not say just what he should do if he now went to Salisbury; that was of less importance than the going, for he certainly could do nothing at all here.

He was not, however, so absorbed in his purpose as to rush out of the house and start on a run for Salisbury. There was no train at this hour, nor until morning, and he was willing to let his mind shape itself under the forming influence of the music. He returned to the hall and took his seat._ The orchestra had already begun, and catching the phrase which it sounded as he entered he went on with the piece, the excitement under which he was laboring making the music to be singularly clear and resonant. He sat listening and thinking and seeing nothing individual, when the movement which had been played ceased, and the clapping of hands brought him out of his preoccupied mood. At that moment a door opening upon the gallery not far from where he sat was pushed in, and an usher stood at the entrance holding it open for some one to enter who was lingering without. The delay attracted the attention of Holcroft as of others. The music began again, and he turned hack to the stage. The second movement was an exceedingly soft andante, in which the theme of the symphony was repeated again and again with a gentle iteration, each time with some new shade of earnestness, as one or another instrument led; and by some curious association he seemed to hear in it a strain which had often struck him in one of the self-renunciatory hymns of the Shaker brethren. He was interested in the coincidence. It was as if one of their rude harmonics had its companion in the full, complex creation of a master in musical art; as if a common humanity inspired each, the plain people of Salisbury and the richly endowed artist. He dwelt upon the likeness, and again there rose to his view the procession of sober-clad men and women, the chanting circle in the middle, the uplifted palms, the illumined faces, the wavering cloud of witnesses. Again he saw the pure face of Ruth Hanway, as she appeared to him at the first, the perfume of the cloud, the breath of the ascending worship.

It cannot be surprising, then, that though not given to superstitious feeling he should, as he turned away from the stage, have been for a moment bewildered at seeing the face of Ruth Hanway herself in the countenance of the person who had shortly before entered, and who now sat alone a little distance from him. Her lustrous eyes were bent upon the orchestra, and her lips, half parted, wore almost a smile. The sight to him was scarcely more strange than familiar. In recalling her face, as he sat at his easel, he had by some willfulness always seen her thus, though he could not say that he had ever caught sight of the exact expression; but he pleased himself with the fancy, as he recorded the look, that it was thus she would appear were the Shakerism to be by some power stripped from her. Carrying out the fancy he had clad her in the world’s garments, and substituted for the white kerchief the old, yellow lace of a gentlewoman. As he saw her now it was the face only which had in any way fulfilled his pictorial prediction. The Shaker garb was still upon her, and he could not avoid seeing that it was this rather than the intense expression of her face which was causing those about her to turn their glances that way. The movement ceased, and in the rustle and murmur of pleasure which followed the young girl sank back in her seat, as if suddenly awaked. Like Poor Susan, —

Holcroft had not had time to wonder how she came to be in the hall. He felt rather than saw that he must needs speak to her now, for her sake, and passing to a vacant Seat by her side he said in a low voice, “ Ruth.” She turned quickly, and discovered her neighbor. The third movement began, and Holcroft, seeing her intense agitation, said in a whisper, “Listen to this music before you try to speak to me.”

He half turned away, as if to give her greater freedom, and tried in vain to hear the music, which was now pouring forth in a lively scherzo, capricious, teasing, as though all the seriousness and aspiration of the andante had been but a summer cloud. It bad not gone on long before he heard a whisper from the girl. “ I cannot bear this. They are all staring at me. Take me away.”

“ Go out by the door through which you came,” he replied, “and I will follow you.” They rose, and were presently in the corridor. The usher looked curiously at them. Holcroft motioned Ruth to follow him up the next flight. “There is a gallery above this,” said he; “ there are very few people there, and we can speak without interruption.” She obeyed, and entering again the hall he placed her in a corner free from observation and sat beside her. He said nothing for a moment, for he saw that she was regaining her self-control. Presently she spoke, —

‘ ‘ My father is dead.” Holcroft bowed silently. “ The house where I had lived was burned. That yon knew. It was very hard to live there — there were reasons — things were not as they were — at least,” she went on more hurriedly. “ I thought it wise to come away for a time. I was once before here in the city. I had an aunt, and she lived at No. 30 Spring Street. I bade the coach take me there. The man stared. Everybody looked at me, and I was frightened. He drove me here. I said, ‘ This is not my aunt’s house.’ ' It is 30 Spring Street,’ said he. Then people began to gather, and I was frightened. ‘ Very well, I will go in,’ said I. I read that there was music within, and I suddenly thought, — for men and women were going in, — ‘I will go in there, for it will be safe among so many people, and then I will ask some kind-faced woman to help me.’ I followed the rest until I came to a little gate, and they asked for my ticket; and when I said I had none they sent me to another place, where I bought one and went back. I wanted so much to get inside of the house. But I did not understand at all. They took my ticket and tore off a little bit and gave it back to me, and I thought perhaps I could not get away unless I showed that, so I kept it tight; and as I was standing doubtful a young man asked to see the bit, and then be told me to go up-stairs, and there another young man looked at it and bade me go in and take the seat he would show me. I did not dare disobey, and I did not dare go in, but I could not stand by the door; and then the music began, and I thought I might hear it and nobody would see me, and I could look for some kind woman. But oh, what music! — what music ! I forgot everything else; I forgot where I was, I forgot—until it ended and you spoke to me, and then I saw all the people; and when the music began it seemed as if it were laughing at me, and I could not bear it.”

As Ruth, with her soft, melodious voice, told off this tale, her hands calmly folded in her lap, Alden both followed the recital and sent his mind on in search of wisdom. When she ended, he looked at her with a smile, and said, —

“ Do not be troubled; I think I can find the way for you. Sit here now, if you will, and listen to the rest of this piece. ”

There was something in the trust of the girl which moved him strongly. She asked no questions, but seemed to resign herself to his care. When the symphony was ended, he asked her for her aunt’s name, and getting such data as he needed he bade her keep her seat until he should return in a few moments. She sat and endeavored to listen, but was perplexed and disturbed. The music chanced to be one of Liszt’s wild passages, and she was excited by the rush of windy sound; but she was frightened also. The door behind her opened, and she turned to see Holcroft, but it was a stranger, who gazed hard at her, as had others. She shrank from his glance, and looked at the great audience below her. Never had she imagined such a sight. The lights shone upon gayly dressed women, and everywhere men and women were talking together, bowing, smiling. Groups stood about the doors, fans were fluttering, and a restlessness pervaded the house in such utter contrast to any gathering she had ever seen that she was bewildered with the dazzling effect. To her mind there was a horrible publicity about it all. Then, as the music ceased again, there was a pause, when a singer came forward to sing. She was dressed in white, and was received with hearty applause. Ruth looked, as in a trance, at the beautiful creature, and was seized with a timidity, as if she herself had been suddenly placed on the stage; but when the notes came forth full and free, as from a bird’s throat, she forgot all else and tears stood in her eyes. There was a loud tumult of applause. The singer bowed, and Ruth bowed too, unconscious of being the only one thus to respond. Alden returned at that moment, and found Ruth standing in her place looking eagerly toward the departing singer. She turned as he came down the aisle, and showed her radiant, dewy face.

“ Oh, did you hear her? ” she exclaimed. “ Did you hear her? It was like one of the angels.”

She spoke so clearly as she stood there, that her voice as well as her attitude began to attract the notice of people, and faces were uplifted from different parts of the house. Holcroft saw it, and spoke hurriedly: “ Yes, I heard her, and it was indeed beautiful. But come with me.”

“ Oh, will she not sing again? ” asked Ruth, and looked down upon the stage. Then she caught sight of the faces directed toward her, and a burning blush covered her face. “Take me away,” she whispered; “ take me away.”

Holcroft gave her his hand and led her again into the corridor. The door closed behind them, and they were alone in the passage. She came close to his side in her sudden fright. He still held her hand, and drew her arm beneath his. If, was a simple movement, but he could not trust his voice for a moment; never before had any one come thus close to him. For her, who had never before thus been held, there was for that moment no other thought than of security from she knew not what fancied danger. They passed silently down the staircase and out into the street.

“ I have your aunt’s street and number,” said Holcroft, when they were in the air. “This hall has not long been built, and doubtless her house stood here and was removed to make a place for it.”

“ Yea,” said she. " I remember something of this place, and I certainly remember the green yonder. I was but eight years old when I was here before, and then not for long.”

“ I hope your aunt will not he troubled,” said Holcroft, with a vague sense that this new relationship was to remove the girl farther from him than she had been before.

She does not know that I am coming,” said Ruth, simply.

“ And do not the Shakers know that you have come away?” he asked, in surprise. He would have recalled the words, if he could, the moment he had spoken them.

“ I shall go back again,” she said in a moment. They were crossing the green which lay in their way, and had come to a little sheet of water, by which they were passing.

“No,” said he, stopping on the edge of the water, “ you will not go back. Believe me, you will not go back. You cannot go.”

“ Cannot go? ” she said, faintly.

He dropped her hand and stood before her. “ See!” said he, “ I do not hold you, and yet. — can you go back? Can I take your hand and go back with you? Can you take me into that life? ” He stood waiting. “ Then will you go with me into my life? ” he asked, gently.

She paused a moment. He held out his hand; she took it and followed him.

XI.

The old turnpike grows older and more indistinct each year. The old signs of its passage have entirely disappeared in many places, and the corn tassels are shaken over what was once a portion of the dusty highway. The old house of entertainment, which still goes by the name of Holcroft’s Tavern, has little more than the name to live upon. It was long since dismantled, and year by year it is suffered to full before the gentle hand of nature, that slowly gathers it to herself, until it looks scarcely more human than the trees which creep toward it. Whatever stories its timbers might tell, there is one, the latest, which I have tried to set down here. The inn afforded in its old age but slight entertainment to man or beast. It served indeed as a resting-place for Alden Holcroft for a few years. For one night it held Ruth Hanway; but both of these people found a reality elsewhere which could be ill supplied by the ghostly house. They never returned to it to live. Ilolcroft sought to recover from it some of the work which he had wrought. He found a painting crushed upon the floor. He smiled as he raised it.

“ I will not trouble Ruth with this,” he said to himself. “ I think I can make her forget the rude shock of her transplanting.”

Horace E. Scudder.