CHAPTER XII.
Thecoming of June brought an end to college life for Glenn Andrews. He had had a letter a few days before, deciding an important question—in fact, the question of the greatest importance to him just then. While he was waiting for Esther he read it over again:
“New York City.“My dear Andrews—Of course I hadn’t forgotten my promise nor my interest in you. It seems a lifetime since I stood in those priestly looking robes on that old stage waiting to receive my discharge and hustle or go hungry. You were at the foot then. I remember you; a solemn-faced chap, but mightily in earnest. I am glad that you are at the head, and readyfor the fight—the thick of it. I always knew that was the kind of metal you were made of, so it does me good to be able to give you a boost. You are to be associate editor of the magazine—give up most of your freedom and take an editor’s chair.“You may come right on. I wonder what you will be like after all these years since we cavorted over that campus. Yours fraternally,“Richmond Briarley.”
“New York City.
“My dear Andrews—Of course I hadn’t forgotten my promise nor my interest in you. It seems a lifetime since I stood in those priestly looking robes on that old stage waiting to receive my discharge and hustle or go hungry. You were at the foot then. I remember you; a solemn-faced chap, but mightily in earnest. I am glad that you are at the head, and readyfor the fight—the thick of it. I always knew that was the kind of metal you were made of, so it does me good to be able to give you a boost. You are to be associate editor of the magazine—give up most of your freedom and take an editor’s chair.
“You may come right on. I wonder what you will be like after all these years since we cavorted over that campus. Yours fraternally,
“Richmond Briarley.”
What did Glenn care for slavery? His love for his profession would even up scores. Going among strangers had no depressing effect upon him. He was singularly fitted for that kind of thing. He believed that every soul should be alone a part of its existence, away from the sight, the touch of affection, and seek deeper self acquaintance and understanding. This was how he came to cultivate his passion to know and be something.
Now he was going to try his hand—his life was to be full of interest and effort, and all thetraining he had given to his faculties were to be exercised and tested. Esther joined him presently to go for their last ramble.
“You are to lead the way anywhere. I am with you to-day,” he said.
Glenn felt a subtle sadness at leaving her. This human study had been most interesting to him, nor would it be the least of his regrets for what must be given up. The others were finished, he had reached the last page.
During the stroll, Glenn told her that the professor had agreed to make the exchange he spoke of at Christmas.
“Now you are to promise me that you will keep up your art. Don’t let circumstances overwhelm you.”
“I couldn’t keep from trying to go on, if I wanted to, but when you get away you’ll forget about me.”
“I don’t think I shall.”
He was very calm. No matter what he thought or felt, he didn’t intend to drop a wordthat might disquiet her mind or disturb their tranquil sense of comradeship.
“I expect you to do something some day. You’ll not stay buried down here all your life. You were not born for oblivion.”
“I am afraid you will be disappointed in me. But I’ll do my best.”
She looked down, pulling at the moss on the log.
His going so far away was her first great sorrow.
“I don’t believe I would though if I didn’t have next summer to look forward to; you said you would try to come back then.”
With her simplicity and daring directness she added. “Take good care of yourself, Mr. Glenn, for all the world couldn’t fill your place in my heart.”
“You think that now, Esther. You seem to see something complete in our friendship. It is all you want. A day will come when you’ll understand that it is not satisfying. The mist ofmorning is on the hills, and hides the outlines of the landscape; you can see but a little way. After awhile it will gradually lift, and give you a clearer and broader view.”
She shook her head.
“I know you can’t see it now. The ripening of your nature will show you the good fruit, and of how little use it was to cry over the pretty petals when it dropped its bloom.”
She looked at him, her lips parting as she slowly grasped the drift of his words.
“Patience and faith are what you must have.”
“The patience I would have to borrow, or steal, for I never did have any of my own.”
It was going to be the hardest lesson for her to learn.
She took the knife he was toying with, and asked suddenly:
“Put your foot up a minute.”
He was wondering what she would do.
“I’m going to leave something for you to remember me by.”
She began carefully to etch a sentence across the upper part of the leather.
“Bear harder, cut it—that little scratching won’t last—as long as you are putting it there.”
His eyes rested on her hair, that lay like a crown on her bowed head.
Slowly she cut each letter. “Don’t look until I get through.”
The fine, sharp blade was doing its work well; there was just one more word. She made a slip and the keen point plunged through. “Oh, did that touch you?” Suddenly withdrawing it she saw the blood leap out and run down his boot leg. Her eyes opened wide; the despair in them was enough to move him.
“Oh, Mr. Glenn, what have I done to you?”
“It’s only a pin scratch; don’t think of it.” He tried to console and reassure her.
She began unwinding the soft mull tie she wore. “I know you’ll bleed to death if we can’t stop it.”
He had taken his boot off. With tender,trembling fingers she was binding the cloth to his leg, winding it around again and again, trying to wrap out the sight of the blood.
It was no use, in a second the red stain would radiate over the white surface.
“What shall I do! oh, forgive me, forgive me!”
She knelt down and pressed his knee in her arms and bent over it with tears, the incense of her love mingling with self-reproach. Her penitence was pathetic.
He regarded her grief with compassionate softness. This came near disarming his resolve. He wanted to take her in his arms as he had never done in his life. As she held the wound close, he resisted the impulse to flinch.
“I’m all right, don’t you worry.”
He read the line on the boot.
“I wouldn’t take anything for that. It will sweeten the absence, and I hope this scratch will make a scar that I may wear all my life to remember you by.”
“I’ll never forgive myself for it—never!”
“Don’t say that. It’s a little thing after all. See, I walk all right. Let’s go home.” Putting one hand on her shoulder they started off, Esther watching every step he took with fear and alarm.
“Are you telling the truth. Don’t it hurt you to walk?”
Turning his face away, he bit his lips.
“Not much, you know there is always a little soreness, no matter how slight the cut.”
He wouldn’t tell that the knee was a very dangerous place to receive a wound.
All the way the joint was stiffening and getting more painful. His face beamed in the effort to conceal his suffering. When they reached the steps he leaned his head against a column; he was wearied and felt that he could bear no more.
“Come, lie down; I’ll fix the bed for you and find grandpa,” she urged.
“No, come back; I’ll sit here on the step awhile. I must be going soon.”
Dear little heart, he would never while he lived forget her.
“How can you go, hurt as you are?”
“Sit down here by me, I have but a few minutes with you. I ordered my horse for five o’clock.”
Without further resistance she took the seat. She had not forgotten that his will was the only one she ever met stronger than her own.
“Forgive me?” looking up to him, she asked.
“Don’t use that word between us.” He gathered her hands in his own, partly for fear she might touch his knee. Soon his horse came around.
“Poor cripple,” Esther said with a caressing accent, stretching her hand toward his knee, as he mounted. Then she pressed her hands hard against her eyelids as he said good-bye. When she looked up again he was gone. She stood sighing as if her soul would leave her body, as he rode on at a gallop, outlined against the far blue of the hills.