William Marsdal's Awakening

I.

IT was eight o’clock in the morning ; Cæsar was sweeping the broad porch of the Marsdal mansion, his gray head and wrinkled black face occasionally visible through gaps in the tall oleanders that spread their pink panicles against the whiteness of Ionic columns. It was a vision familiar to many of the passersby ; for so, in the freshness of morn, had he swept it, when not traveling with his master, for more than forty years. He had reached the end where climbed an immense Lamarque, and was shaking his broom free of dust, when the slender Moorish gate at the street entrance, a hundred feet away, clicked and closed beneath its arch, and the quick footsteps of a child were heard upon the brick walk leading to the short flight of stone steps. There is character in every footstep, and there was decided character in the crisp, clear echoes of these little heels. Ere they had reached the steps Cæsar had transferred himself to the landing, and was holding up his hands, his earnest face wearing an anxious look, and his puckered lips giving forth a series of mysterious sounds intended to attract attention and bring about silence. The owner of the little heels, however, was placidly indifferent to the pantomime. They hit brick and stone with undiminished force until she neared him. Moreover, she called to him in a clear, silvery voice, not the least modulated, “ Where is Uncle William ? ”

The negro was in despair. “ For de Lord sake, honey, ain’t you see me makin’ signs for you ter stop er comin’ so hard ” —

“ Where is Uncle William ? ”

“ an’ hesh yo’ loud talkin’ ? Er runaway horse would er shied roun’ de house fum me ” —

“ Where is Uncle William ? ”

— “ an’ you ain’ so much as break yo’ pace! ”

“ Where is Uncle William ? ”

“ He in dere tryin’ to sleep in es chair” the old man continued petulantly, — 舠 tryin’ to snatch des er nap ’fo’ bre’kfus’ ; an’ you mus’ n’ ’sturb him, nuther! ” As the little girl laughed and passed on he raised his voice : “ Don’t you do hit, honey ! ’Deed an’ if he don’t get some sleep, I don’t know what’s goin’ to happen ! ”

“ Cæsar ! ” The tones of a quick, harsh voice floated out.

“ Yes, sah ! I’m er comin’ ! —Now, chile, you see what comes of trottin’ so hard on dem bricks, an’ not payin’ no ’tention.”

“ Cæsar, what the thunder are you talking about ? ” said the voice testily. “ Come off that porch and ” —

The sentence was suspended. The owner stood in the hall. He was tall, heavy, florid, and clean-shaven ; his thin grayish blond hair was scattered carelessly over his round head and gently waving in the draft. He was without coat or vest; his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, and he wore slippers. The frown disappeared as he beheld his visitor, and a hearty, cheery note came into his voice.

“ Ha, Humming-Bird ! Come in, come in ! Why, God bless me, child, did Cæsar dare halt an angel upon my threshold ? Cæsar, you black rascal! ” But Cæsar had gone a roundabout way through the shrubbery to sweep off the carriage-step, and for the moment was not visible. The gentleman thereupon lifted the child in his arms and kissed her. He looked into her eyes, and then quickly toward the sky. “ Bless me ! ” he cried again, 舠 you are wearing your blue eyes this morning! How becoming ! ”

The child laughed and struggled down to the floor. She clasped something in her hand, and went into the sitting-room without ceremony.

“ I’m going to make the birds sing,” she said, with a precision of language unusual with Southern children, and exquisitely funny to her host.

“ Oh, you are,” he said, imitating her walk and tones as he followed. “ Then I am coming to hear the birds sing. Silence ! ” he commanded, frowning around him upon the heavy furniture, “ silence while the birds sing! ” And everything obeyed, — everything except the gilt clock under its tall glass cover on the mantel.

The little girl climbed into a big leather chair, and seated herself upon the edge of the centre-table.

“ Won’t you try the chandelier ? ” he suggested. “ Birds like high places.”

But she was busy with the something she had been tightly clasping in her hand, and which proved to he a curious little silver toy, half bird, half whistle, partly filled with water. Blowing into this gravely, her eyes meantime watching his face for signs of delight, she produced a series of birdlike notes and trills. He dropped into the chair at her feet.

“ And what,” he said, with voice husky from the intensity of his interest, and with mouth corners drawn down, “ what bird in this world can sing as beau-u-utifully as that ? ”

She looked steadily at him and reflected.

“That’s a mocking-bird!” she said at last.

“ Oh yes, so it is. How well you do it! ”

She tried again, looking to him for approval.

“ Seems like I have heard that song somewhere ! ” he mused, rubbing his red ear. “ Where could it have been ? Surely ” —

“ That’s a canary,” she declared. Again she essayed her skill.

He clapped his hands. “ Lovely ! lovely ! You beat them all! But stay ! What bird sings now ? ”

Her bird lore was limited. She reflected again.

“ Oh, that’s a parrot! ”

And this time he really laughed. “ It is so natural! I ’ll have to give you a cracker. Polly have a cracker ? ”

She pushed away his hand, and went on with her concert.

舠 That is my little dog barking at night,” she said in explanation.

“ Good ! How does he bark in the daytime ? ”

She showed him. It was very much like his night bark. And again her auditor laughed.

“ Listen to the dog’s bark,” he said to the furniture.

Then the little girl from across the street gave him the cow’s moo, the little calf’s appeal for milk, and the hen’s cackle, waiting each time for applause. Presently she remembered the circus menagerie, and she gave him one by one all the songs, from the elephant’s down. They all sang like the mocking-bird, — a discovery that filled him with a huge delight.

“ I see now,” he said gayly to the furniture, “ how great an artist the mocking-bird really is.”

And the concert went on.

Cæsar had not returned. He was outside the gate, broom in hand, talking. A lady had come leisurely along the shaded walk for the morning air, and was turning back at the Marsdal mansion where the level land fell away abruptly, when Cæsar’s profound salutation claimed her attention. It was but natural that, having inquired kindly as to the old servitor’s health, she should inquire as to her neighbor, his master, and linger indulgently while he poured forth his voluble reply.

“ Des toler’ble, Miss Helen, — des toler’ble ! When a man don’t sleep, somep’n’ is out er fix ; an’ Marse William ain’t sleep er wink in er week, — not er wink ! ”

“ Is it possible ? ”

“Yes, ma’am. He orter be ersleep right dis minute, an’ I ’spec’ he would, but de little gyurl fum 'cross de street come in to blow her whistle for ’im, an’ he got to set up an’ hear it.”

“ Blow a whistle for him ! ”

“ Yes, ma’am,” and Cæsar stopped to laugh. “ Child sorter got erway wid Marse William yestiddy ; she sho’ did. She come ’long hyah, er whole passel of ’em, an’ tore up an’ down de yard an’ thoo de house like dey allus doing, an’ Marse William tell ’em, if dey don’t break down none of his rose-bushes, dey can catch all de hummin’-birds dey want. He been tellin’ ’em dat for twenty years, an’ his ma befo’ him.”

“ I remember that she used to tell me that,” said the lady, smiling. “ There was a tree on the other side of the house, in the grove, that attracted hummingbirds. They seemed to gather something from the bark and twigs, — no one could ever discover what.”

“ Hit’s dere yet, ma’am, de same tree. Well, dese chillun des lak all de rest. Dey hide in de bush, an’ wait for hummin’-bird to git ’mongst de fo’-o’clocks an’ sech-like, an’ dey run up an’ try to ketch ’em. Dey mos’ ketch ’em, dey say ev’y time ; an’ Marse William set up yonner on de po’ch, an’ look lak he los’ his las’ frien’. But dis here chile, de one in yonner right now, she ain’ lak nair ’nother chile ever come to dis house. She was born ole, an’ she do lak she please ’spite of ev’ybody. She was er settin’ up yonner on top step wid a big lily in her han’ yestiddy, an’ done gone soun’ ersleep, when ’long come ole Mis’ Hummin’-Bird an’ smell her flower. She back off suspicious-like, but she come ergin an’ stick her head down in dere fer to git de honey ; an’ ’bout dat time de chile wake up fum de hummin’ of de wings, — mebbe she ain’ been ’sleep, — an’ clamp her han’ down on dat flower, an’ des scream one time an’ ernother loud as she could, lak she done gone plumb crazy, ‘ I got ’im ! I got ’im ! I got ’im, Uncle William ! I got ’im ! I got ’im ! ’ An’ Marse William so skeered he mos’ fall over back’ards. ' Got what ? ’ he say, ‘ got what ? Got er fit ? got er spasm ? ’ An’, Miss Helen, she had ’im !

“ Den Marse William come an’ set down dere feelin’ mighty bad. De hummin’-birds was his ma’s special pets forty years back, and dey was his. Ain’ nobody ever hurt one on de place. He look solemn an’ worried, ’cause his word was out. First thing he do was to onclench her fingers, an’ he say, ‘ Soft, soft, my chile, or you 'll kill ’im. Soft; lemme see ’im ; he shan’t git erway,’ — des so. An’ he tear open de flower an’ give de bird some air. Den he sont me to fetch de big glass kiver fum over de gole clock, an’ he put hit on de flo’ wid de edge prop up, an’ ole Mis’ Hummin’Bird under hit. Lord ! but de chillun des fell over one ernother lak somep’n’ crazy, an’ Marse William had er job to keep ’em fum breakin’ de glass. De little gyurl say den she mus’ take de bird home to show her ma, an’ Marse William look sad ergin. Bimeby he tell me to watch de glass, an’ he tell dat chile to wait ; he mus’ go roun’ de corner an’ inform ole Mis’ Hummin’-Bird’s chillun dat she been ketched, an’ dey need n’ ’spect to see her no mo’, an’ not to wait supper for her. Little gyurl look mighty bad when she hear dat; but bimeby she brighten up an’ say, ‘ I reck’n deir pa can take care of ’em.’ An’ Marse William drop his eye on me an’ shet his lips tight; an’ I knowed hit warn’t no time to laugh.

“ But he go roun’ de corner, tellin’ all de chillun to stay back, ’cause he promise ole Mis’ Hummin’-Bird long time ago not to let nobody know where her house was hid.”

“I ’m not sure,” said Cæsar’s listener gravely, “ that anything would justify a deception of that kind. I think that children should be told the truth.”

“ Lor’, Miss Helen, I ’spect Marse William, if it come to er pinch, would tell er lie to save er hummin’-bird, or his word. Anyhow, bimeby,” continued Cæsar, laughing, " he come ’long back wid his han’k’ch’ef up, an’ say de hummin’-bird’s chillun was carryin’ on so he could n’ bear to stay, — said de baby of de fambly fairly moan an’ sob like hits po’ little heart’d break ; an’ she ask him to please tell de little gyurl to let her po’ ma come ’long home an’ nuss her, for she dat hungry she mos’ perish for somep’n’ to eat. She say, 'Ask little gyurl how she lak for her little baby sister to starve to death, an’ for somebody to steal her ma while she off 'cross de street.’ Well, missus, he mos’ make me cry, hit soun’ so natchul. An’ de little gyurl sorter lif’ de edge of de glass higher an’ higher while she was studyin’ ’bout somep’n’, — lif’ hit des a little at a time lak she can’t he’p herse’f ; an’ ole Mis’ Hummin’Bird bimeby see her way clear, an’ gone lak er streak er grease lightnin’. Well, ma’am, de little gyurl fell to cryin’ den fit to kill herse’f ; but Marse William ketch her up in his arms, an’ tell her he got somep’n’ for her. An’ he go unlock de liberry, an’ take out fum a drawer a little silver whistle what you put water in an’ blow tell hit des fairly sings. His ma gave him dat whistle when he was a little boy hisse’f. He take hit an’ show her how hit work, an’ tell her how much better to have somep’n’ what can sing lak all de birds, an’ not a po’ little hummin’-bird what ain’t good for nothin’ ’cep’n’ to nuss her babies. An’ dat settles it. But de little gyurl done caught on to de blowin’ herse’f, an’ come ’long back dis mornin’. She in yonner now blowin’ fit ter kill, — lissen ! Hear dat fuss ? An’ he des as much destracted as if he warn’t dyin’ ter sleep. — Yes, sah! ” continued the old man, lifting his voice as he heard his name called. “ I’m er comin’! — Des er dyin’ for sleep. Mornin’, missus ! Does me good to see you sometimes. Lord, but you got yo’ pa’s walk, — carry yo’ head des like ’im, high an’ proud. Seem like hit warn’t but yestiddy I seen Colonel Bailey stannin’ right dere in yo’ tracks, tellin’ me, ‘ Cæsar, ’spect some er dese days you goin’ to have er new ’ ” —

“ Well, good-by, Cæsar. Mr. Marsdal is calling again.”

“ Good-by, Miss Helen ! — Yes, sah! I ’m comin’ ! ”

Cæsar,” said his master gravely, when he did come, “ the young lady will honor us this morning at breakfast. Put a suitable chair to the table for her.” Seeing a troubled look upon the little face turned to his, he added, “ And step across the street and say to her mother that I shall be greatly obliged if she will not interfere with the arrangement.”

The child’s face brightened, and the bird concert continued.

Out of the garret’s dust came a child’s high-backed chair to do duty for the tiny guest; out of the great china closet, a little cup and saucer and plate, with their blue forget-me-nots and butterflies of gold ; out of the velvet-lined recess behind the sliding panel in the wall where gleamed the old Marsdal silver, the little knife, fork, and spoon. For Cæsar’s greatest value lay in his quick perception of the fitness of things.

And such a breakfast as it was ! There were the brownest of waffles, feathers in weight, cooled milk rich with cream, delicate broiled chicken, a golden omelet, and delicious rolls. Piled up about the vase of regal roses, behold the blended hues of the vineyard !

Long and wistfully the man watched his little guest and marked the workings of her mind. When Cæsar started the old ebony music-box, whose enfeebled spring failed in the middle of What are the Wild Waves saying ? she ceased for a while to eat, and resumed her whistle, to prove her loyalty ; and when at last, as the wonderful hour was drawing to its close, a humming-bird invaded the window, hovered above a box of nasturtiums a moment, and, remembering perhaps the drama whispered of in bird circles the day before, darted up a lane of sunlight to freedom again, she looked grave and startled.

“ Got to go now,” she said suddenly ; and sliding from the chair, she trotted out into the hall, her little feet making sweet music on the floor.

舠 Good-by ! ” he called to her. 舠 Come again and let the birds sing me asleep.”

“ Good-by! ” floated back from her lips.

“ What is it, Cæsar ? ” he asked of that worthy, who was silently laughing.

“ Gone to see if anybody done ketched her ma.”

“ You have a mind, after all,” said the gentleman, turning quickly toward him. Then, “ Go to the door and see that she gets back across the street safely.”

He was looking thoughtfully on the vacant chair ; perhaps he was dreaming some old dream anew, when a vision dawned upon him. Clad in the softest, whitest of muslins, with broad summer hat to match, a rich glow upon her dark Southern face, balancing on her hand a silver waiter full of blue celestial figs, ripe and blushing peaches, and gorgeous pomegranates laid open to their hearts, stood a young woman, the daintier reproduction of Titian’s daughter. Whether she interrupted or completed his dream may not be known. William Marsdal passed his hand across his eyes and came forward quickly. He took her face in both hands and kissed her forehead.

“ Mother sends these with her best wishes,” she said, “ and as soon as convenient would like to see you.”

“ See me ? 舡 Then a smile came upon his lips. “ I understand. Are you very happy, Marjory ? ”

But blushing Marjory, putting the waiter aside hurriedly, fled, looking back from the front door to kiss her hand.

II.

Few men have greater cause for congratulation than had William Marsdal at thirty. The only son in a family distinguished even in Southern society by its gentility and elegance, possessed of wealth and of a war record that would have made him a field marshal under the Empire, he came home from years of study and travel, to take his father’s place and face the responsibilities of life. Barring a slight haughtiness of manner which he wore in public, yet so perfectly blended with deferential courtesy that it did not offend, he was an ideal gentleman from even the critical standpoint of his own neighbors. It was understood that he would marry and settle down ; and aside from the commotion in many a cote of shy doves, there was public interest in the fact that the old house would be again thrown open to society.

The old house had seen many a gay throng within its walls. Withdrawn behind the loveliness of its shrubbery it brooded now ; but within doors were abundant evidences of refinement. The harmony of artistic natures was felt in the antique furnishings, and the total absence of the garish and bizarre ; a good woman’s heart, a good man’s thought, spoke in all that hand or eye might rest upon, from ground to garret. Those whose tastes were not blunted by contact with the coarseness of life outside caught there the flavor of lives that had passed away. It takes many a year for a bouse to earn such a character, — as long as it takes to make a gentleman. Dignity and that fine beauty which is called indefinable are axillary blossoms on family trees, and the home shares them. How soon, how easily, are they lost! A vulgar family can debauch such a house within a month, and break no civil law. Herein lies the gravest defect of the American system ; there should be no way to sell the family home while the family lives ; for within is the fountain-head of patriotism. That man who has a home full of memories and traditions is his country’s sentinel.

To his home came William Marsdal, and people waited. Then, after some months, society said, “ They were made for each other,” — William and Helen, the only child of Colonel Marcus Bailey, whose little cottage was hidden behind the magnolias and roses a few hundred yards up the street, whose orchard of fine fruits broadened out in the rear until checked by the pasture for his splendid Jerseys, whose pasture was limited by Spreading fields of cotton growing upon red levels, and whose cotton-fields — well, there is an end to all things, and the colonel’s land ended somewhere.

Made for each other, — that was the verdict. The verdict was seemingly indorsed ; for soon the colonel was often seen taking his martial form, with assistance from his gold-headed cane, down to the Marsdals’, and fanning himself upon the broad veranda, while old Mrs. Marsdal, with her lace cap above her aristocratic face, sat near, and they discussed the changes war had made, the solid South in Congress, and the alleged Kuklux. They discussed another matter with befitting dignity ; for Mrs. Marsdal mentioned her son’s devotion to Helen, now apparent to everybody, and gave her host an impartial outline of William’s character and a frank statement of his financial condition. The colonel said that William had always been a favorite of his, and that, however the young people might decide matters, he should be proud if Cupid brought about an alliance between his family and that of “ Edward Marsdal, God rest his soul,—than which no purer, broader, truer, ever animated the form of man.” Whereupon Mrs. Marsdal gave him her hand a moment, and pressed a filmy kerchief to her eyes, in which tears rivaled the rays of the single diamond upon her thin finger. From this Cæsar felt authorized to launch upon the undercurrents of society the announcement of an engagement.

But the matter was not settled.

William and Helen were much together. He told her of the scene upon the porch, and she blushed and looked from him. He did not say the necessary word ; he did not know how. Any statement from him, he felt, would be trite and useless. Could she not see for herself ? Was he not telling her his love every day in the most eloquent of languages, the language of the heart ? Alas, he was fourteen years her senior, and knew little of the girl’s heart. He drifted with the current, proud and happy. There were rivals, and among them was Robert Delamar, a cotton factor growing rich in the world of trade ; and Robert was confidently assiduous. But why should William fear any of them ? He had reason, but he did not know it. Lacking the something in his make-up that renders self-analysis possible, Robert did not perceive the truth of the situation. He had always been told that he was handsome and irresistible; how could the old planter’s daughter fail to find him so ? When, one day, she gave him hesitatingly a conditional “ yes,” he was only surprised at the conditions and at her refusal to add love’s token.

The news came to William from a source he could not doubt. Amazed, angry, sick at heart, he went to Helen, and stood by her side a moment. She looked away from him.

“ Is it true ? ” he asked.

Her lips seemed not to move, but she whispered, “Yes.”

He was silent, the girl’s bosom rising and falling with agitation. He lifted his hat, and went away. Her eyes sought him then, full of fright and anguish. She could not bring herself to speak. He never came again until fourteen years had passed, and, impoverished by speculation, broken-spirited, broken-hearted, Robert Delamar lay dying in the little cottage from excess of drink. Then he returned ; for the dying man, with a clear perception of the truth and the nobility of his rival’s heart, had sent for him. When he issued forth they were rivals no longer : one was dead, and the other a trustee and guardian.

The latter did his duty well. The fields had long before been sold ; likewise the pasture and the orchard ; and the cottage was mortgaged to its full value. How Robert Delamar had lived no one knew. But they came back, — the orchard first, then the pasture, and then the red levels ; and upon these levels, at William’s command, the patient mules went to and fro as of old with the heavy ploughs, until the fields were white with the summer snows of the South. One day the mortgage fell away from the little cottage, and a thrill of delight ran through the town; for with all their bickerings, jealousies, and heart-burnings, the people in these old towns love one another and the past.

But William Marsdal was another man in most respects. From the blow delivered by a woman’s hand he shrank back and back within himself and the old home, until he almost disappeared from public view. The mantle of haughtiness became as masque and mail of iron. Still, as a rule, coldly polite, he developed an irritability that made politeness difficult; and there were times when, impatient from interference or the neighborly efforts of uncongenial persons to be friendly, he lost restraint. As the years passed he found it easier to be alone. People accepted him as an eccentric, explosive man, with whom it was unsafe to trifle, but upon whom every one might rely to do the right thing at last in the wrong way.

And yet they loved him! Little Marjory Delamar, his ward, soon learned to brave the dragon for the wonders of the Marsdal house. He was no dragon with her. She called him 舠 Uncle William,” and as one by one she led in her playmates, they called him 舠 Uncle William ” too, and none were afraid; for, tolerating the boys, he became at last almost the slave of the little girls. People outside, who had felt the man’s irascibility, his biting sarcasm, and the thunders of his resentment, laughed to see his softer side. They came to realize that, like some strong tree crowded by wall or cliff, he was developing toward all the sunshine that could reach him. In these years no child’s demand ever went unnoticed by William Marsdal. Can any one ever forget the time when, losing a day by an accident, John Robinson’s circus thought to slight the old town for a rival in red and yellow paint, twenty miles away; and this after the bills were up, and William Marsdal’s promise had lain for weeks next to the hearts of the children who wore his flowers ? Not one of them, at least. They were frightened and distressed, it is true, by the bad news and William’s strange disappearance, and they paid many an anxious visit to Cæsar, much to that worthy’s discomfiture. One day there was a blare of trumpets, and William Marsdal rode into town upon his big black horse at the head of the circus procession, pointed out a site for the tent in his own pasture, went around and adjourned the schools, closed up business houses, and gave a free performance. The glory of that day was William’s, for had he not vanquished an impudent rival, and plucked victory from defeat ? But with William the glorious feature of the day was the bank of young girls rising to the canvas roof itself, their faces radiant with delight, their ribbons and tresses dancing under the swaying cloth, their little hands beating time to the music of the scarlet band.

He was the king! For at his command the lady in short skirts came back twice on the claybank horse and waltzed through rings of living flame ; the trained dogs went through their antics over and over, and the trick mule stayed in the ring until too tired to kick. He cornered for his small guests the market for peanuts and lemonade; and as though this were not enough, he gave Cæsar to the clown to make more fun for them ; but when the clown climbed the ropes for his present, and Cæsar, half afraid, resisted, and they rolled together in the dust, and the smallest girls began to cry, he bought Cæsar back for five dollars — extortion he called it — and stilled the rising tumult. Oh, the rapture of that day !

There was the recent affair of the new church organ. How violently, sarcastically, almost venomously, he opposed the purchase ! And yet when the committee lacked sixty per cent of the needed amount, and the local sheet outlined a church fair, he called in Marjory one day, and sent her with a check for the sixty per cent, and a message to the effect that as between two evils he chose the lesser one.

Marjory was twelve when she became the ward of this strange man. Now she was eighteen ; and as, rigidly erect in his faultless dress, he walked to the cottage responsive to her mother’s summons, a long procession of events filed past him in review. But he could count upon the fingers of one hand the times he had been to the cottage since Helen’s marriage : when Robert Delamar died ; when he was buried ; when the trust began ; and finally when, freed from all incumbrances and productive, the little property was turned over to its former owner. This was the fifth time : he would make it the last.

And Robert Delamar had been six years dead !

He lifted the latch and passed along the gravel walk to the house, and then into the living-room. The woman who entered was Helen Bailey grown older. He held her hand a moment, while her eyes rested upon him with a sad, inquiring gaze that he seemed to understand. It was a gaze that, passing rapidly over his attire, touched for a moment the thin gray hair upon his temples, and rested upon the stern, uncompromising lines of his face. He could not endure even the suggestion of pity in her. He flushed for an instant, and the perpendicular line between his eyes deepened ; but the gentility of his race quickly swept away all resentment.

“ I thank you, Helen,” he said, “ for your kind remembrance this morning, and dear Marjory’s bright face. How can I serve you ? ”

Her sad smile came back; for a woman at thirty-eight is wiser than most men at fifty-two. She hesitated.

“ Cæsar tells me you are not well; is it serious ? ”

“ Cæsar is a babbling fool, Helen ! I have suffered a little from insomnia for the week past.”

“ You have not slept at all! But be seated. There must be some cause for this,” she continued. “ You should consult a physician, Mr. Marsdal. Let me insist that you see a physician.”

A grim smile came upon his face. “ And you have one that you can recommend, I suppose.”

“Oh,” she laughed, “yes. But I had forgotten. It is of him I wish to speak. He told me,” she said, looking down, “ that you had given your consent to his marriage with Marjory ; and now I have to tell you — that — circumstances — render it almost necessary for the marriage to take place soon. In fact, they have selected the date two weeks from today. Henry is going North and abroad for several years’ study and hospital practice and ” —

“ I see. Let them go.” He said this so bluntly that the woman resented it with flashing eyes.

“ That is your reply ? ” she asked, somewhat coldly. “ I thought you would be more interested, at least.”

“ I am sufficiently interested ; I have neglected nothing. I know who Henry Vernon is ; and his family for four generations back. I knew them when he came to me ; for I am not blind, and found out in advance. And when I gave my consent, he signed a contract that will in a measure protect her. There is no longer any need of delay. He is able and keen in his profession ; that is, he is an accomplished humbug. But I make no complaint. He is a necessary evil.”

“ I see you are still unchanged in your opinion of physicians.”

“ Entirely so. Will you be pleased to read the contract ? I guessed at the nature of your business, and brought it with me.”

“ I shall be glad to read it,” she said, surprised.

He drew forth a document and handed it to her. It was in his own well-known hand writing, she saw. She read : —

“ In consideration of William Marsdal’s consent to my marriage to his ward, Marjory Delamar, before she is of age, I hereby agree that one week after said marriage I will send her back to her mother to remain twenty-four hours. If upon the expiration of that time she fails to return to me, I pledge my honor as a gentleman never again to seek her presence or attempt to communicate with her, and that I will consent to a legal separation without prejudice. If she does return to me, then at the expiration of two years she shall again return to her mother for one day, upon the same terms. And I hereby give to this contract all legal force possible, making it a part of the religious contract yet to be solemnized, and will faithfully abide by it.

[Signed] HENRY VERNON.”

Helen looked up from the paper, startled and embarrassed.

“ How strange ! ” she whispered. “ And yet ” —

“ I told him,” continued William Marsdal, “ that the average marriage credited to a heavenly making was a slander upon God Almighty ; that a woman at eighteen knows nothing, and my object was to save something of life for my child if she erred in her judgment. The fellow agreed with me instantly,” — he paused and stared at his listener, as though not yet recovered from astonishment ; “ and I had never liked him until then. He said he would sign anything that would throw safeguards about Marjory’s future ; that the husband was the only danger from which the law did not guard a woman. A man with a heart and mind like that ought to abandon humbuggery.”

“ It was thoughtful of you, — thoughtful of you,” said Helen.

“ The idea did not originate with me. I only carried out the unformed plan of your husband, revealed in his last moments.”

She made no reply to this. Her breath came in gasps for one instant, and then she buried her face in her handkerchief and wept silently.

He came to her side. “Yes, Helen, Robert Delamar saw his mistake when life’s perspective was complete. All that he could do was to turn it to account for his daughter’s sake. You were a good wife, a devoted wife to him. Look up. I have told you the truth, to — hallow his memory.” After a few moments’ silence he continued: “ I have two requests, Helen, to make of you: I want Marjory to wear this,” — he held out an exquisite little coronet set with diamonds, — “and I wish her marriage to take place in my house. It is eminently proper that it should, since I am her guardian, and your house is small. I want to see her a bride, crowned with these jewels, in the home of William Marsdal. I bought the trinket more than twenty years ago. You will not refuse me ! ” He wavered slightly and pressed his hand to his brow, a look of confusion in his eyes ; but before she could reach him with outstretched hand he had steadied himself.

“Won’t you let Henry come to see you, Mr. Marsdal ? You are really ill. Don’t refuse me. I refuse you nothing.”

He felt in his pocket and handed her some papers.

“Here,” said he, “are expressed a week’s efforts to calculate a year’s interest upon a simple note for six hundred and ninety dollars. The interest gets bigger and bigger every time, and upon the first trial it was greater than the principal. Something slipped in here,” he said, touching his forehead, “ and since then I have n’t slept. If Henry can prescribe for bad arithmetic, send him around.”

At the door he turned, to find her, sad and distressed, watching him. “ Let nothing delay the marriage,” he said.

III.

Keen, quick, modern, well balanced, and bold, a healer by intuition and a physician by conscientious acquisition, Henry Vernon had begun his professional life with the conviction that failure was impossible. He grasped the new solutions of old problems, and placed himself in harmony with the new methods as fast he could master them; and he mastered everything he attempted until he met with William Marsdal. Behind the abruptness, the cynicism, and the sarcasm of this man he found an intellectual force and perception unsuspected, an ego unknown, unknowable, and elusive. Moreover, he found a disbeliever in the claims made for medicine. This opposing combination of forces placed him at great disadvantage when he came to study into the disorder which affected the sick man. There was another disadvantage : he had not been called ; he had been sent. The pressure was behind. On the other hand, he and William Marsdal were practically of one family, and that fact, with the ironical message accompanying the arithmetical attempts, must perforce suffice for excuse to beard the lion in his den ; and putting aside pride he bearded him.

William Marsdal grasped the young man’s situation at once, and something like a smile hovered about his mouth when he contemplated the swarthy, square - jawed professional. How the data for a diagnosis were obtained Dr. Vernon could never entirely recall; but a dozen times during the hour he was sorely tempted to pick up his hat and leave without ceremony. Yet his host’s outward manner was perfect. Still, he seemed to be fencing with an unfriendly antagonist in the dark, and despite a determination and promise to keep his temper, he from time to time received thrusts and blows that were maddening. Only the memory of Marjory and the undoubted goodness of the older man sustained him. But he satisfied himself at last that his first suspicions were correct. Armed with his conviction he was on better ground. He suited his action to the strong character before him.

“ Mr. Marsdal,” he began, “ I have to tell you that you are not only ill, but threatened with a serious danger. It is best to tell you so frankly.”

“ Right so far, my young friend. Proceed.”

“ It may be paresis. It may be a growing tumor. It may be the effects of a slight lesion that will pass away by absorption, or a trifling inflammation that ten hours’ sleep will relieve. Whatever it is, it is in the brain.”

William Marsdal laughed. “ It is but another way of saying that I consider you a very able man, sir, when I say again I agree with you. Proceed.”

“ My advice is to board the first train with a competent nurse, and go to a specialist in New York under whom I studied. If any one can cure you, he is the man.”

“ I won’t go. What next ? ”

“ Then you must put your life in my hands.”

“ Ah ! That’s another question. What do you propose to do with it, young man ? ”

“ Preserve it.”

“ I see, — I see. Modest, but still it is to the point. However, I won’t do that, either.”

This was one of the times that Dr. Vernon reached for his hat, but he changed his mind. He looked his unwilling patient straight in the eyes.

“ You said ‘ yes ’ to me, Mr. Marsdal, when I asked you for Marjory Delamar, and at the same time told me she was dearer to you than life itself. I believe those were the words ? But you seem to be more careful of your life than of your ward, after all.”

The slightly raised eyebrows and distinct sarcasm, the impudence of it all, astonished his hearer so that for a moment he could but stare. William Marsdal had one profane word that he used on extra occasions, and on this occasion he used it eloquently.

“ I would not swear,” said the young man coolly, — “ unless for amusement. Avoid every form of mental excitement. There is too much excitement now, or you would sleep. My remark was not irrelevant nor intended for impertinence. I said you must put your life in my hands, but I did not say that I would accept the trust. I would do it only upon conditions. These might not suit you. There are other doctors in town ” —

“ All humbugs ! ”

“ As you please. I have nothing else to suggest. I sincerely desire to help you for reasons you know in advance, but I cannot do it by main force.”

“ Young man,” said William Marsdal, after a moment of silence, during which he perhaps tried to get his own consent to apologize for the profanity, “ you may have diagnosed my present malady correctly, but there are other things in there besides tumors and lesions and inflammation. There is a love for Marjory Delamar that escaped you. If William Marsdal puts his life in your hands, and you lose it, your future, in this town, is ruined. You would never survive the tongues of your professional brethren. My interest in the matter lies in the fact that professional ruin for you would cast a shadow over Marjory’s future. My life is of little value; it shall not become a menace to her. I know my case; it is serious. Nothing but sleep can save me.” His manner had changed. For one moment he was grave and serious.

Touched to the heart, amazed, repentant, Dr. Vernon sat silent, looking upon the floor.

“ Think no more of it,” said the host. “ Come in occasionally with Marjory, and suggest — mind you, I say suggest — things to try. If I get well, I ’ll tell the world you saved me. If I die, you can tell them that it happened because I would n’t let you.” His old manner had returned.

So the matter arranged itself. But sleep would not come to the tired brain. All medical remedies failed. And the days passed.

The singular illness of William Marsdal soon became the absorbing topic of the town. He was amazed to find how many friends he had, and was touched by their loving solicitude; and then he raved to Cæsar about the annoyance. Every one was forbidden the yard but Marjory and her fiancé, and the children. The little ones tiptoed in and gathered flowers as usual. They even invaded the cool sitting-room and looked into the haggard face for the old smile, and found it. A thousand remedies were suggested, and the little girl across the street broke loose from restraining hands and one day brought another. She sat upon the carriage-step and gravely took off her shoes, and then went in, slamming the gate with a little extra force ; so it seemed to Cæsar. She passed noiselessly on till she found her friend stretched upon the leather lounge, waiting. She had remembered his remark about the birds.

“ Goin’ to let the birds sing you to sleep,” she said positively.

He turned his head quickly, not having heard her enter the room, and he laughed silently.

“ Good! I have tried everything else! ” he said. “ Now, I ’ll shut my eyes tight, and you make the birds sing; and when I get to sleep, you can slip out and go home and tell them you beat the town. I’m ready; go ahead.” And with a smile still upon his face, he shut his eyes.

The little girl made the birds sing. Cæsar felt that their shrill voices would never, never cease ; but the invalid, judging from his facial expression, was floating in a sea of bliss. At last, however, her breath gave out. Coming close to her friend, she said, “ Are you asleep ? ”

“ Sound asleep,” he replied. “ Tell the birds I’m so much obliged.”

Full of the glory of her conquest, the child ran off. Cæsar watched her out of the gate.

“ Oomhoo ! ” he said. “ Done lef’ dem shoes settin’ out dere.”

That meant a trip across the street for Cæsar.

Dr. Vernon came up that evening with Marjory, bringing a message from her mother and a waiter of fruit. The next day was the marriage day. Their plans had been changed ; for William Marsdal would not listen to a postponement, and the doctor would not consider the performance of the ceremony in that house under the circumstances. The old Presbyterian church had been substituted.

“Since I have been lying here,” the sick man said, maintaining his playfulness, “ I have been wondering how I could have ever been so sleepy that I could n’t hold up my head; and yet I remember distinctly that, as a boy, there were times when I thought I should die if they did n’t let me sleep. My parents were strict church people, and I being an only child, they tried all sorts of experiments with me.” He laughed silently over some memory, and continued: “Sunday was to me a nightmare. I had to be scrubbed by the nurse before breakfast, have my ears bored out with a finger concealed in a coarse towel, and study my Sunday-school lesson. At nine o’clock I was taken down to the school, — same old school going on now every Sunday under the same old church up the street, — and very much as Abraham took Isaac into the mountains, to be sacrificed. At ten they led me upstairs for the two hours of prayer and sermon. How sleepy I used to get! —for I was only a little fellow at that time. My feet could n’t touch the floor of the pew, and my back would n’t reach the pew’s back. I knew about as much of what was going on as a cow does of astronomy. I would sit up, and wave to the right and left, and bob forward, and my father or mother would straighten me up patiently and frown. There was a Greek border around the ceiling — I saw the same thing in Italy when first I went abroad, and it made me homesick — that I played was a boulevard, and I drove my pony around the church, nearly twisting my head off when he went behind the organ, and twisting it back in a complete circle to see him come out on the other side. And there was a circle in the centre of the ceiling where I raced him. Sometimes he went so fast I would get dizzy and fall against mother, to be firmly elbowed up again and reproved with a grave face and compressed lips. Sometimes I would look at the cushioned seat and think that if I could just stretch out at full length there, with my head in mother’s lap, I should be willing to die for it. But I was too much frightened to try it, for in front of me was a being of great power. He was bald on the top of his head, with his hair roached forward over his temples, and wore a high stock that kept him from turning his head. The sunlight would come down through the round panes of colored glass above the tall windows and crown him with changing glories; and it is a fact that I picked him out as the person intended when the preacher spoke of an awful being whose face was forever hid from the eyes of man. When prayertime came, I prayed to him from behind. I do not remember that I ever learned his name.”

So the excited brain worked and worked, throwing off old impressions as one who digs in the garden upturns roots and bulbs, mementos of a bygone spring. Dr. Vernon listened intently, his brow in his hand, his face in the shadow. To him the pictured scenes were themselves symptoms. He could have placed his finger upon the localities of the brain that were affected. As, with Marjory, he walked home under the stars, he was strangely silent and thoughtful for one so near the realization of his dream. Marjory wondered and was piqued. It was the first but not the last time that a jealous mistress interfered with her plans.

“ Will you give me an hour to-morrow ? ” he asked. “ I am going to try an experiment.”

“ Certainly, Henry ; but to - morrow will be my busiest day.”

“ I know, but my experiment is for William Marsdal. You noticed that the progress of his malady has reached the mysterious records of youth; the little cells are giving back their impressions. I want to try and uncover some that will exert a good influence. I will explain to-morrow.”

“Just to oblige me, Uncle William; it is not far, and the walk will do you good. You have not heard the new organ, and you have never heard Marjory play. Don’t refuse; remember that this is the last day your little girl ” —

“ Get my hat.”

Marjory danced off delighted, and the two set out; William Marsdal still erect, but thin and haggard, and the old defiant look in his eyes changed to that of a hunted animal. Still, his splendid strength sustained him.

But few passers-by saw the two, and those who did supposed they were strolling for exercise only. They went into the old church, and Dr. Vernon joined them by what was apparently a mere chance.

“ Have you memory enough,” he said, smiling, “ to find your boyhood’s scene of suffering ? ”

William Marsdal had been standing, gazing about him abstractedly, thinking of the long-gone days.

“Yes,” he said gravely, and together they walked to the pew he designated. Again he sat in the familiar spot. “ It is more comfortable now. I can touch the floor and the back both. Nothing else appears changed. Dear me ! dear me! but where are the faces, the forms, I knew? Forty years! It is a long time, and yet it was but yesterday! ”

“ I must not tire you,” said Marjory, obeying a signal from Dr. Vernon. “ I ‘11 run up and try the organ now.”

As she began to play, William Marsdal looked back and upward to where he could see her curls above the rail.

Marjory made the beautiful instrument sing all the old-time tunes. Dr. Vernon excused himself to “ keep an engagement,” but he stood outside in the vestibule, and through a half - opened door watched the little scene within. And this is what he saw: The sick man sat dreaming in the pew, his chin in his hand, for many minutes, and then he began idly to study the surroundings, having forgotten the music and the player. His face was lifted, and his eyes followed in its zigzag course the Greek border under the ceiling, the boulevard of his boyhood days. Then they appeared to find the big circle. A half smile lit his face; his clinical aspect improved. He lowered his head and sank into reverie, and time and again he lifted it and went through the familiar pantomime. But when many minutes had passed, and the fair player was gently drawing from the instrument the strains of that sadly beautiful old hymn, “ Come, ye disconsolate,” Dr. Vernon started forward quickly : the figure in the pew had distinctly swayed. Instantly it recovered and was rigid. And then again the unmistakable motion made in nodding was apparent. William Marsdal was decidedly sleepy. He appeared to struggle with his weakness; then he involuntarily yielded. He did that which brought a smile of delight to the young man’s face: he looked about him cautiously, measured the cushion with his eye, and, with sudden surrender of his scruples, calmly stretched himself out at full length. Dr. Vernon rushed noiselessly, breathlessly, to the organ-loft.

“ Play on ! play on ! ” he whispered eagerly, for Marjory’s pretty mouth and eyes were open, and she was pausing in sheer astonishment. But she rallied, and played, “ Come, ye disconsolate,” over and over and over, until she almost dropped from the seat. Then Henry came up again, radiant and joyful.

“ Thank God, he sleeps ! ” he said. “ Don’t stop ! don’t stop yet! ”

She made only one false note, which was doing well when kisses were being showered upon her lips and her head was drawn back.

“ Keep a thread of music running through his dream, dear ; one hand will do, — chords, fifths. I am afraid of silence. Oh, if I could pray, I believe I should try the Presbyterians’ long prayer! ”

She had never seen him in this mood. “ Henry ! ” she said reprovingly.

And then he uttered an exclamation that was not a prayer, and dashed downstairs again ; for a dozen girls, laden with flowers, had passed into the church, and were preparing to decorate for Marjory’s marriage. In a moment he was among them, and they were silenced with six words : “ William Marsdal is asleep at last! ” But he suffered them to pass noiselessly through the aisles, and wreathe altar, lamp - stands, and brackets with flowers, and fill the vases.

It was a strange scene for that dim old church, the girls in white, working so swiftly, silently, intelligently, banishing the sadness of the solitude with their regal blossoms. It was as though Spring with her handmaidens had come into the little world. When all was ended, and the physician stood over the sleeper with lifted hand, the fairies glided by, each with a tender look into the familiar face touched with the violet hues of the painted glass, and were gone. In their stead were the odor of flowers, the gleam of white blossoms, and the thread of melody descending from above.

So slept the sick man; and another problem arose. The bride was forced away, and later, friends took the place of the groom. A guard stood at the door to bar intruders and answer questions, and one in the street to bar all vehicles. Noon’s short shadows lengthened toward the east, and the sun set. As the hour for the ceremony drew near, the physician ruled the groom. Henry Vernon declared that no consideration would tempt any of those interested to awaken the sleeper: that was out of the question. “ Postpone the wedding ? No,” said he promptly; “that will excite him when he does awake. We will carry out his original plan.”

So they went to work again. This time Cæsar slaved for the fairies. The old Marsdal mansion was thrown open, and the windows flashed outward their lights for the first time in many a year. A young bride wearing a tiara of diamonds stood beneath the smilax, an old man’s dream made visible, and was married to the man she loved. Nine o’clock rang as she gave him her pledge, and she did not notice a slight commotion near the door. But when the prayer was ended, and, pushing back her veil, she faced the phalanx of well-wishing friends, she saw standing there William Marsdal, his face bright with the dews of rest, his eyes lit by the old familiar flame. With a cry she ran to him and hid her head upon his breast, sobbing with happiness. He could but kiss her forehead over and over, and whisper. He turned from the eager congratulations pouring in upon him, and from the forms about him.

“ Kind friends,” he said, “ you caught William Marsdal napping. I missed some sleep forty years ago, but I caught up to-day. Enjoy yourselves ; the house is yours.” He retired precipitately, and hid himself in the shadow of the Lamarque at the far end of the veranda to recover his equanimity. As he stood there he felt a touch upon his arm, and, looking down, saw in a little patch of moonlight the face of Helen Bailey.

“ I am so glad,” she said, “ I must tell you! And, Mr. Marsdal, we have not met often ; we may not meet again. I want to thank you — oh, I wish I could thank you for your kindness to me and my child. I did not deserve it, — I did not, I did not! ” She covered her face with her hands and stood in the shadow.

“ Helen,” he said, “ how could you do it?” The question crying for utterance so long had burst from him at last.

“ Oh,” she said brokenly, “you did not understand, — no man understands! I wanted to be asked, to be wooed, every girl wishes that. It was all so matter of fact — and I was proud ! If you had spoken one word — that day—oh, if you had touched me with your hand, I would have thrown myself into your arms! ”

“What!” he cried. “You loved me! ”

“Every minute of my life since I met you! ”

“ And I,” he said in awe, as the sad mistake began to be apparent, “thought that my fourteen years — that I was too old — I thought that the trouble was there ! ”

She did not speak, but stood struggling with her emotion. He came and put his hand reverently upon her head.

“ Helen, he said, “ in the hours of that blessed sleep in the old church I dreamed of you. My mind ran all the way up from childhood to those happy days of ours; and I thought I saw you standing in this house a bride. I got no further than that. I awoke with the moon looking down into my face, and came away happy and yet sad. Is it too late for that dream to come true ? Let me see your face.”

And he saw it with the love-light shining through wet lashes.

“ To-night,” he whispered, — “ let it be to-night! ”

She was too much amazed to answer.

Then William Marsdal was himself again. “ It shall be to - night, now, madam ! You have robbed me of twenty years. You shall not rob me of another day.”

Her protestations were useless. She found herself laughing and half indignant over her situation; but resistance was useless. He marched her in through a side-window, and stood by while she laved her eyes and arranged her hair, and he checked her frequent rebellions in their incipiency. When he took her into the broad parlor, and, standing where the young couple had just stood, announced his intention, there was almost a cheer from the assemblage; for the romance in his life was a town legend. And under the smilax, in a silence that was almost too solemn, William Marsdal’s dream came true.

Little more remains to be told. Society was shaken to its foundation, of course ; and then it smiled over the affair, which it called thoroughly Marsdalesque ; for who else could have looked death in the face at nine A. M., and a bride at nine p. M., and in the meantime have secured twelve hours of sleep ?

Cæsar came out on the sidewalk next morning to sweep the carriage-step, and found a good - looking mulatto woman similarly engaged across the street.

“ Tell de little gyurl Marse William done ketch er hummin’-bird hisse’f up on de same po’ch,” he said. “ Ketched her once befo’ an’ turn’ her loose. Bet he don’t turn her loose no more ! ”

“ Caesar ! ” called an imperative voice from the porch.

“ Yes, sah! ”

“ Carry these roses down to your Miss Helen with my compliments, and say that I will call for her with the carriage at ten o’clock ! ”

Harry Stillwell Edwards.