Betty Finds Her Opposite.
Betty stayed in Ephraim only three weeks, and then returned to New York, to study. She determined to give all her spare time to the missionaries, and she was welcomed back joyously.
She made her home in a quiet little boarding-house, not far from the Mission Home. There were only a few boarders. Miss Allen and Miss May were two kindly women, unmarried and middle-aged. A Mr. Mellor was as mild as his name, and though a devout Catholic, he overlooked Betty's faith, and was her enthusiastic admirer.
Then there was a Mr. Edgeway, a young man with a blond attractiveness. Sometimes Betty was inclined to laugh at his mischievous moods, and at other times she would pity his shallow conceptions of life, and manner of living it.
This morning he had joined her before she had gone to school.
"And won't you even take in the Henrick Hudson Celebration?" asked his persuasive voice, while the eyes of the speaker looked at Betty with a laugh that defied too serious an answer.
Betty returned his glance with a smile.
"Mr. Edgeway, you seem determined to make me spend my time frivolously. Well, this once I shall surprise you. I shall be delighted to accept your invitation, for this should be an event of interest to every American."
"Spoken like an oracle!" exclaimed Edgeway with a careless laugh. "But, really, I am glad you will let me take you out, just once."
Betty regarded him with a queer little smile. She rather liked this man with his completely boyish manners. There was an undercurrent of serious thought in him, which she could not always follow, but she felt sure that most of his flippancy was assumed, to hide sterner feelings.
"You know I would love to go out with you many times, but I haven't the time," she said to him, kindly.
"Time! You have twenty-four hours in the day—the same as anyone. You mean you prefer to use your time differently?" he asked with a semicomic expression.
"Exactly!" she responded, laughing. "I would not be such a spendthrift with the hours as you!"
"All a matter of opinion. Methinks you are wasting the precious days of your youth, fussing over religion with people who can't possibly appreciate you, while here I am, languishing for attention!"
He regarded her in mock misery, as she fastened her coat.
"If they needed my attention as little as you do, I might not give them my time," she returned gravely. "O, I would love to see you make some use of your life!"
"Well, I like that!" he exclaimed, and he opened the door for her to pass out. He was in the habit of accompanying her as far as their way lay together. "Here am I going to a hard day's work, and you talk to me about using my life," he added ruefully.
"Yes, but you work for the sole purpose of getting money to spend in the pursuit of pleasure."
"How horribly frank you are!" he said good-humouredly. "Well, do you know what might make me change into the most active 'Mormon?'"
"What?" she asked him, facing him in wondering interest.
"You!" he said, with a little shake of the head. "If you would just get interested in me, enough to go out with me now and then, to keep me from getting 'lonesome, oh, so lonesome,' I would devote all my time to investigating your Gospel."
Betty looked her delight. "O? I will indeed. Everything I will do to to help you!" she returned earnestly, and they parted with bright smiles of friendship.
"Queer girl!" he muttered to himself, grimly, as he left her. "Just thinks I am about to be reawakened," and he gave a little laugh of amusement. "I wonder if she will ever"—and then he drew out a cigar, and puffed seriously while he thought.
"Just as those little rings of smoke form perfectly to ascend to the heavens, and then vanish into nothingness, so my aspirations for your hand, fair lady!" And he quickened his pace to suit his impatience at the flatness of things.
That same evening, at the supper table, all seemed in excellent spirits and talkative.
"What great weather!" exclaimed Frank Edgeway, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, as he started to eat of the bountiful repast spread before him.
"Do say something original," said Mr. Mellor, with his quiet little laugh. "I have remarked that fact at least ten times today."
"Worthy of repetition," returned Edgeway, brightly. "And now, good friends, I'm going to make you all fairly jump with surprise."
"What now?" mildly interrogated Miss May, fastening her sharp little gray eyes upon him, while the rest smiled without comment, so accustomed were they to his jokes.
"Miss Emmit has consented to let me escort her just once to the Hudson-Fulton Celebration. Just think of her indulging in such frivolity!"
All eyes turned to Betty with mild amusement.
"You will certainly pay for the pleasure, by being tormented by the giver," remarked Mr. Mellor. "And, ladies, since the spirit is in the air, you must promise to give me the pleasure," he added, turning with courtesy to the two other ladies.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Edgeway. "The true patriotic spirit stirreth the masses!"
During the next week, the celebration was the main topic of conversation at the table. The spirit of patriotism pervaded the city. Betty's anticipation was full of delight.
New York suddenly awakened from its slumbering pride in its wonderful history of achievement. All classes, rich and poor, seemed enthused to the point of childish glee. The preparations were marvelous. Groups of men and women stopped to point to the million tiny bulbs, everywhere being prepared to make New York the gayest illuminated city of the world. Children chatted, as they went to school, each longing to be one of the favored to march in the great children's carnival, something long to be remembered as one of the gala days of their youth.
The days sped by rapidly, and the great festival opened with unprecedented enthusiasm.
On the Sunday morning, Betty and Mr. Edgeway went to church.
Coming home, Betty asked him if he enjoyed it.
"Yes, indeed," he replied. "I'm thankful for a few hour's relief from Sunday's stupid monotony!"
"You have found Sunday stupid then?"
"Most abominably, I always do. Everyone parades the streets, stiff to the neck with Sunday clothes and faces to match, that look as though they were starched for the occasion. I always hated Sunday, from the day my mother put on my stiff collars and made me sit straight and solemn in the family pew for two hours!"
He was evidently in a dissatisfied mood.
"The impressions of your childhood were unfortunate," she said gravely. "Mine were so different. I suppose it was no virtue in me to have loved Sunday, arid looked for its coming. But today! Any church should be interesting, even to you. All are celebrating the event, and you could hear something attractive almost anywhere."
"Attractive! Yes, to those who live on the surface of things. What does all this hubbub and show mean after all? When the city is poor, and needs money to help those who are striving to keep above water, it calmly appropriates half a million for—what? A world-renowned pageant! The people can look on; yes, look with fascination upon the boastings of a city that grinds them down to the depths, those depths you and I know well. Then the churches hold festivals to applaud all this! I do not profess to be a Christian, but how you, with your spirit of one, can look upon this as you do, is beyond my understanding!"
Betty had met before this pessimistic spirit in Edgeway. There were few that knew its existence, but somehow, coming in contact with Betty's purity of thought, the smothered discontent of his own nature seemed ever rising to the surface to defy her criticism. At times, he wondered at himself cynically. With the world, he shrank from uncovering his real self, and hid his gloom with a gay mask. With her, he dropped it entirely, said what was uppermost in his mind, and though he longed for her good opinion, he laid his unattractive thoughts before her with careless defiance.
For a few moments Betty was lost in deep thought; then she turned to him with a bright smile.
"Such thoughts seem at first utterance to be true, and they sow discontent among many of our people. But they are first thoughts and not the deepest. We cannot lay too much stress upon true sentiment—especially public sentiment. This grand carnival carries with it a spirit of homage to peace and progress more enthusiastic and sincere than the great war pageantries of victory. Increase public sentiment, and we increase public good. True, the city might appropriate that half a million, and distribute it to the poor, but in a city of such great want, it would be of little account. It would soon be forgotten, and in a year would need to be repeated, to recall to mind that it had ever been given. But in this appropriation, the city has purchased a huge mass of public sentiment. It will be distributed to rich and poor alike, in fact, the whole world will feel the influence of this tribute to peace and industry. As all things of spirit, time increases instead of diminishing its good."
Betty paused in her earnestness, for him to answer.
"Don't stop, until you have exhausted your thoughts," he said.
"Do you remember," she continued, "the Bible story about the woman anointing Christ's feet with precious ointment, purchased with her entire wealth? There were those then, who asked if it would not have been better for her to have given her money to the poor. But our Master rebuked them, saying, "The poor ye have always with you, but me, ye have not always." The woman's wealth was a mere penury compared to the great public influence spread abroad in every land by her tribute to sentiment."
"Completely out-argued!" exclaimed Edgeway, at once assuming his easy good-natured manners. "I shall never try to defend slothful public spirit again!"
That evening Betty walked with Mr. Edgeway, enjoying the illuminations. She preferred to walk, winding their way through crowded thoroughfares, watching the eager faces, and contemplating the panorama of varied characters with a keen appreciation of a great cosmopolitan city.
Their conversation consisted mostly of exclamations. But each enjoyed the scene too much to lose any passing effect by ordinary conversation.
It was eleven o'clock when they returned home.
A carriage stood outside the door.
"It looks like the doctor's," Betty remarked, as they ascended the steps of the house.
As they entered the door, they met Miss Allen and Miss May, excitedly running here and there.
"A boy hurt," they explained hurriedly. "Was knocked over in the crowd. Mr. Mellor and a Salvation man brought him here."
"Can I be of assistance?" asked Betty eagerly.
"I guess the doctor won't let any more about him at present. He's unconscious—in Mr. Mellor's room." And so, the two women hurried back to the scene of disaster.
Betty had just entered her own room when a tap came at her door. It was Mr. Mellor.
"I have come to ask a great favor of you," he said. "The little chap I picked up hurt, is very low, and I thought you might sit with him, until his father and mother come. We are going to telephone to them now. Miss Allen and Miss May have both been kind, but the doctor won't have any excitable people around, and they act like a couple of flustered hens disturbed from their nest."
"O, yes indeed! I will come directly. How did you know where to telephone?" she asked as they left her room.
"That is the strange part of it," he answered. "I will tell you about it before you go to him. I was making my way through a crowded corner, when suddenly I felt myself thrown violently to the side. I escaped falling, by catching a post; but several around me were thrown to the ground. Among them was this boy, who was evidently separated from his folks. He fell face downward, and hit his temple against the sharp curbstone. A big fellow fell on top of him, nearly crushing him. There was a Salvation Army man trying to get through the jam, and he was pinned up against me. He and I extricated the youngster, then unconscious. He evidently knew the boy. He turned the ashiest kind of color, and almost fell over him. Then he controlled himself, and said he would hold him fast, if I could get an ambulance. We could not do this, so we carried him here, and sent for the nearest doctor. He says he has a broken limb and that the cut in his head is serious. The Salvationist won't move from his bedside, and eyes him with such absolute absorption and tenderness, that I know there is some hidden link in their lives. He said he knew his parents slightly, and would inform them."
"Strange," answered Betty, with ready sympathy, "Poor child, I hope he will live."
As they reached Mr. Mellor's door, the Army man came out. He met Betty's gaze with a far-away look of intense pre-occupation.
"You will surely send word directly?" asked Mellor.
"Assuredly," he answered, in a husky voice.
As he made his answer, Betty looked once more in the face of the stranger. Again their eyes met. A scarlet flush surmounted to his temples. He turned hastily and made a hurried exit.
Betty stood thoughtful.
"You know him?" asked Mellor, surprised.
"Yes, and no, his eyes are so perfectly familiar. I must have met him somewhere. I can't place him, though."
"Come, you are getting fanciful," said Mellor gently, and he led her to his room.
Upon the bed lay out-stretched the long slim figure of a boy of fourteen. His dark curly hair was a striking contrast to the white handsome face, so death-like in its unconscious state.
Betty approached the bed softly. One moment she looked at the still form. Her own face became deathly white. In consternation, Mellor took her arm.
"What is it?" he exclaimed.
Unheeding his question, she slipped to the side of the bed and sank to her knees.
"Harold! Harold!" she cried in sudden anguish.
Then her head bowed in prayer.
Reverently Mellor lowered his eyes, and stood awaiting her in silence.
Betty prayed with her while heart and strength. Finally, Mellor left the room, and closed the door gently.
"Some great sorrow is hers," he said wondering.
At midnight, the bell rang sharply.
Edgeway, guessing it to be the parents of the boy, opened the door.
"I have come in response to a telephone saying my boy is hurt, and has refuge here," said the man who confronted him.
"I am glad you have come quickly. The doctor attending him will return any minute. He thinks the case is extremely serious. This way, please," and he led George up to the room where Harold lay.
"One moment," he said, as he reached the door.
Opening it carefully, he discovered Betty still at prayer. She did not even hear the opening of the door.
"Miss Emmit," he said softly, "the boy's father is here."
Betty started. Summoning all her strength of mind, she arose slowly, and stood by the bed.
"Come in," said Edgeway kindly.
Hurriedly George entered. Eagerly his eyes scanned the form upon the bed. He did not instantly perceive Betty. From the prostrate Harold, he glanced up at the woman standing near by.
"It can't be you, Betty!" he exclaimed, with his eyes thrilling her with their warm welcome.
"It is Betty," she returned gravely, her lips quivering with strong emotion. "O, George, forget my presence. Fetch Alma, it may be that Harold won't live. This is Mr. Edgeway," she added, suddenly realizing they were not alone.
The two men shook hands.
Then, leaning over Harold, George examined him carefully.
"He will live," pronounced George with a great sigh of relief. "It is serious, but I have handled many such cases with sure success. Betty, Alma was so upset when we lost Harold in the crowd, that I didn't tell her he was hurt. Simply reported the telephone message that he was found, and left her rejoicing."
Turning to Edgeway, he asked, "How long has he been unconscious?"
"Ever since Mr. Mellor picked him up."
"Ah! It was lucky then that Miss Emmit knew him. How came you here Betty?"
"This is my home," she answered. "I have boarded here since my return from Ephraim. It was indeed a wonderful chance that brought Harold our way, though it was not through me, Mr. Mellor telephoned to you."
"No? Through whom, then?" he asked surprised.
"A Salvation Army man who helped to carry your boy home. He was quite overcome over the accident, and said he knew you slightly."
"Strange!" returned George, wonderingly. "It must be someone Mrs. Cadman has helped."
The doctor soon arrived, and while he and George consulted, Betty turned to Frank Edgeway who was sitting on the other side of the room, contemplating her seriously.
Surely this friend deserved some explanation of the mysterious happenings.
"Mr. Edgeway, this boy's mother is a very dear friend of mine. When a widow, she married Dr. Cadman. But he cares for her child as if it were his own."
Edgeway received this explanation with no comment. He had witnessed her meeting with George. He felt certain this man held control of Betty's feelings. With a reckless despair, he awaited the next move.
George re-entered the room.
"Betty, could you manage to stay with Harold while he is here?"
"You may be sure I will not leave his side," replied Betty, "and I will go with him tomorrow, and stay with Alma a few hours," she added impulsively, putting self-consideration aside.
"Thank you," said George, simply.
Edgeway escorted both doctors to the door.
With a hurried "goodbye," they left the house.
The doctor's auto stood outside.
"You will, of course, let me take you home?"
George was glad to accept, and he jumped in.
The doctor lingered a moment, to examine his tire.
As he did so, a man, coming forward out of the darkness, accosted him.
George leaned forward slightly, as he distinguished the Salvation Army uniform. His face was quite indistinctly seen.
"Will you kindly tell me if the boy is out of danger?" he asked in a low, eager voice—so low that George did not catch the words.
"I think so," the doctor answered. "I guess his father would like to thank you for your share in the rescue," he added, nodding toward George. "There he is!"
One moment he looked toward George. Then, without a word, he turned hastily, and walked rapidly away.
Something in his familiar gait, made George tremble. With a sudden impulse, he jumped to the ground.
"You will excuse me, I must talk with him," he said quickly. "Thank you, just the same for your wish to accompany me home."
The doctor stared after George in surprise, then jumped into his auto, and started off.
The Army man had turned the corner, but George hurried on, possessed with a determination not to let him escape.
"Hunting a spectre!" he said to himself grimly. "I must be a fool, but—"
He turned the corner sharply, and looked ahead.
The object of his pursuit, thinking himself safe, had slackened his pace, and was not far ahead of him, walking slowly, with head bowed in thought.
Quickly, George came up to him.
"I would like to speak with you," he said, grasping him by the shoulder.
The man wheeled about suddenly.
As he did so, the street lamp shone full upon his face.
With a cry of horror, George let go his hold.
Almost fiercely the man grasped George's hands.
"I'm dead, George! You understand? I'm dead to the world! This miserable chance has brought my spirit across your path!"
***********
The time we deem ourselves the strongest, we are often reminded of our weakness.
Before Edgeway retired for the night, he went back to see Betty.
Harold was beginning to stir restlessly, and she was leaning over him, stroking his hands lovingly.
"Miss Emmit, if you don't mind, I would like to keep watch with you tonight. There must be something I can do for you, and I hate the idea of leaving you up alone when you are so tired."
"O, I am used to this," she returned, smiling gravely. "I feel no fatigue whatever. Thank you for offering to stay."
"O, if you don't want me!" said Edgeway, in such a sudden bitterness, that Betty looked up in troubled surprise.
"I have not offended you?" she asked anxiously.
"You? O, no, only Fate! She has a knack of always boosting me out—therefore she displeases me! You understand?" he asked with a slight smile.
She nodded her head smiling.
"I think I do. You are just a trifle lonesome, aren't you? We will have a good heart to heart talk on Tuesday. I have not forgotten your promise to study 'Mormonism.'"
"On condition, you know," he answered, the smile becoming genuine.
Edgeway went to his own room, with a restless spirit that promised little sleep.
"She understands?" he said to himself. "The deuce she does!"
On the broad arm of his chair lay a book. He took it up for inspection.
"Book of Mormon!" He fingered the leaves, half amused, half serious. Curiously he began to read.
"Simple trash! How can she be led away by such fancies," he thought cynically, after reading a few pages.
"But the language is pretty good," he admitted. However, he kept on reading. Gradually his interest was awakened. Then it became stronger and stronger. The night wore on, but still he sat, absorbed and wondering.
Meanwhile, Betty knelt in fervent prayer. Thus she spent the entire night.
At stated intervals, Betty gave Harold the medical aid that George had ordered.
Harold's restlessness soon ceased. By daybreak, he opened his eyes full upon Betty with clear gaze, as if awakening from a sweet sleep.
"How did you come here?" he asked Betty in surprise. "Where is Mus? Where am I?" he asked, looking around the room in wonder.
"Don't be alarmed, dear," she answered, taking his hand fondly. "You had a slight hurt, and were brought in here. Cousin George will take you home today. Mus is all right."
The boy was full of questions, all of which Betty answered soothingly. The sun was just peeping in his window, and the darkness of night had flown.
George came early in the morning. He expressed considerable surprise at Harold's condition.
The boy was so rejoiced at seeing him, he begged him to stay. But George pleaded urgent cases demanded his time.
"Where's Mus?" asked the boy disappointed.
"Mus is busy preparing things for your return home. She is quite worried about you."
"Poor Mus," said Harold, regretfully.
"Betty," said George in a professional tone, "you look tired. You must take a little rest yourself."
She looked up at him. His usual healthful countenance was drawn and haggard. Doubtless he had been greatly shocked with Harold.
"And you?" she returned anxiously. "I never saw you look so worn. Have you been up with a case all night?"
"Yes, a very serious one," he returned with a shadow of perplexity. He leaned over Harold fondly.
"Be a little man, sonny. I'll come for you this afternoon."
The boy nodded gravely, and Walter turned to Betty.
"Goodbye," he said.
His tone sounded cold and formal.
She crossed to the door with him, and was about to accompany him downstairs, when he turned to her and said:
"Don't trouble to come farther, thank you. Goodbye."
How unnatural he was! His manner cut her, and she stood silent, embarrassed with the fervor of her own feelings.
He glanced at her quickly.
"What is the matter?" he asked, almost sternly.
"You seem so changed, Dr. Cadman. Have I done wrong?"
"You—done—wrong?" he said, in the same hard tone. "No! But when a man wrestles with the hardest problem of his life,—One which tears at his very heart-strings in its solution, he must be stern or completely lose himself!"
He held out his hand to her and she took it.
A momentary thrill from his warm pressure,—then a great loneliness engulfed her heart, and she knew it was because he had left her presence.
"Will I never cease striving?" she asked herself fearfully, as she turned back to Harold.
That afternoon there was some commotion in the neighborhood, when an ambulance-coach drew up in front of the boarding-house, and Harold was carried out and placed in it.
Betty and Dr. Cadman accompanied him.
When they reached home, Alma awaited them.
"And Betty, my dear Betty,—this has brought you to us once more! You don't know how I have longed for you!" And the two women embraced fondly.
"And this gentleman who saved Harold—I must see him soon," continued Alma, busily fussing about Harold.
Betty saw plainly that she was extremely nervous and hysterically joyous.
"Are you going to stay with us now?" asked Alma.
"I will stay a few hours," returned Betty, smiling.
"Only a few hours!" exclaimed Alma, disappointed.
"Yes, Alma, but I shall come often, until Harold is better."
When Edgeway called for Betty, she went down to him directly.
"Come into the library a moment," she said. "Dr. and Mrs. Cadman will be down very soon. I want you to meet them."
She led the way, and he followed her. Betty had not been in this room, since she had directed the men in the hanging of Will Lambert's picture, George's gift to his bride. With this thought, she unconsciously turned toward the portrait.
First she looked casually, then her gaze concentrated. She stopped abruptly in a remark to Edgeway.
"What has struck you?" he asked quickly. "You look as though—"
"Those eyes!" she exclaimed, excitedly clutching his arm,—then she stood speechless.
He turned and followed her gaze. Will's eyes looked at them both with a life-like expression.
"Why, Miss Emmit," exclaimed Edgeway in surprise. "That is the picture of the Salvation Army man!"
Betty made no reply. She stood staring at the portrait, too dazed to think.
George entered unobserved, and stood watching them keenly.
Finally Betty turned to Edgeway.
"You must be mistaken," she said in a voice little above a whisper. "That is Harold's father; he is dead."
"Then I've seen his ghost!" returned Edgeway, unpersuaded.
Betty's heart beat quickly. The longer she looked, the more certain she felt she had seen Will Lambert.
"How could it be?" she asked falteringly.
George came forward quickly.
"Betty!! Mr. Edgeway! Be careful! Say nothing before Mrs. Cadman. The shock would kill her now. What you surmise is true. Will Lambert lives!"
A fearful cry made them turn.
Rigid as a statue, white as death, they beheld Alma! Her lips moved, but she uttered no words. Her eyes gradually roved from their excited faces to the picture smiling on all.
For a moment her gaze was fixed and burning.
"Will!" she cried in a wild ecstasy.
Then she quivered piteously. As she fell, George caught her in his arms.
***********
The Efficacy of Faith.
That night George and Betty never left Alma's bedside. White and still she lay, and George's anxiety was great.
A trained nurse had already arrived for Harold, so he tried to persuade Betty to return home with Edgeway.
But she refused, and as she said "good-bye" to Edgeway, she said,
"You can understand how I am needed here tomorrow. I am sorry to break my engagement with you."
"O, that is of little account," he replied with genuine sympathy. "Perhaps Thursday you can go with me to witness the great military parade."
"We will see," she said with a grave smile. "I can think of nothing but her now."
And she returned to watch by Alma.
George observed her endurance with wonder.
The following morning there was no change in Alma.
"I fear the worst," he said to Betty, in a husky voice. "The shock was more than she could stand. I shall call a consultation."
Betty's eyes filled with tears, but she made no answer.
"Are you able to keep up?" he asked of her.
"O, yes, for anything I can do!" she replied earnestly.
"Then go to Harold for awhile, and try to make him think lightly of this. The nurse says he is constantly asking for his mother."
Betty went to Harold, and stayed with him a long time.
Meanwhile the doctors consulted together in fearful earnestness.
When she finally heard them leave the house, she went softly to Alma's room.
George was leaning over Alma, gazing at her with a countenance so full of sorrowing, that Betty guessed the decision.
He looked up at her as she entered.
"We agree there is no hope," he said with that stern gravity she understood now.
"You can do nothing?" she asked quickly.
"Absolutely nothing. It is just a question of time. Her heart is very weak."
Betty approached him and laid one hand upon his arm pleadingly.
"O, Dr. Cadman," she said earnestly,—and he thought he had never seen her so radiantly beautiful before—"You can do nothing, you say,—but with God all things are possible!"
"Yes," he said, not fully understanding, "we must leave her to Him now. All human efforts are in vain."
"But did not Christ command us to heal the sick? If it were impossible, why would he tell us to do so?"
For a moment he looked at her curiously.
"You are pleading for your Mormon Elders?" he asked gently.
"Yes. Cannot they come? Alma would wish it."
Her eyes, luminous with faith, thrilled him.
"I do not believe very firmly in that kind of healing, but I appreciate your enthusiasm."
"But will you give your permission?" she asked eagerly.
"Why not pray yourself?" he returned.
"Let us take God's way," she replied with sincere humility.
"As you wish, Betty," he returned tenderly.
"O, thank you," she said with a great joy,—and in her zeal to save Alma, she forgot her own struggles entirely.
***********
George was alone in the library, pondering over the advisability of bringing Will to see Alma. It would complicate matters greatly, for Will to be seen at the house, and he might not even get to her in time to see her alive. But it was right to call him. He could not argue that fact away. He decided to go, himself, and bring Will as soon as possible.
Just at the moment of his decision, Betty entered.
"Dr. Cadman," she said with a great calm joy, "our dear Alma has awakened from her long sleep. She asks for you."
For a moment he looked at her incredulously. Then eagerly he took her hands.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed earnestly, and hastened to Alma.
As he approached her bed-side, the pale face on the pillow smiled up at him.
"Am I ill?" she asked, lifting a weak hand from the coverlet.
He took it and kissed it gently.
"Just a little," returned George soothingly, "Don't waste strength by talking, dear."
She looked at the elders standing by, regarding the scene with sympathy; then her gaze wandered to Betty.
"Dear Betty, always with us in trouble," she murmured.
Her brow contracted, and she tried to think.
Then she looked around with a bright smile.
"Ah! I remember now—the shock of Harold's accident upset me awfully, did it not? No wonder! But the dear boy is safe now."
She closed her eyes in weakness.
"Try to sleep dear," Walter said.
In silence they watched her sink into a quiet, restful slumber.
George carefully listened to her heart—then he walked towards the door and beckoned the others to follow.
When they were outside the room, he said to them:
"She remembers nothing of the cause of her prostration. I have had cases where they do not recall it for weeks. We must not allude to it in any manner. There certainly is great hope now. Her heart is stronger—and no stimulants! Assuredly your prayers have been answered!"
"To God be the glory!" exclaimed one of the elders fervently.
George looked at his shining countenance with a puzzled admiration.
"And do you really believe, that had you two not administered to Mrs. Cadman, her condition would have remained unchanged?"
"That is not for me to say," he answered gravely.
"Well, to put it differently, how can your prayers change the course of nature?"
"It is not given to us to know God's methods," returned the elder promptly. "He is the creator of all—does he not, therefore, control his own? It is simply our part to obey. Christ's commands are simple, unquestionable. His is the power and the glory that we but reflect!"
From this man's speaking with the tone of authority, George turned to Betty. Her expressive countenance glowed with enthusiasm.
"Your arguments are good,—and your faith is enviable," said George, impressed.
The next few days Alma steadily improved. But Betty did not leave her until she was almost herself. By that time, Harold was wheeled into her room daily.
There they talked and read of the Hudson-Fulton celebration, and the hours passed quickly for the active boy.
It was Sunday when Betty at last returned home. Everyone of the little group greeted her warmly.
In her room, she found a beautiful bunch of American Beauties—the card attached was Edgeway's.
A knock at the door seemed to answer her thought,—for, with a pleasant "Come in," Edgeway entered.
"Is this evening mine?" he asked smiling.
"O yes! Will you take me out for a nice long walk? I would appreciate the fresh evening air immensely."
"And my company, too," he said laughing.
"Of course," she returned brightly.
After tea, at which time her friends were unusually lively and talkative, she left the house with Edgeway. She did not feel in harmony with the eager crowds and gay brilliancy of the illuminated city, but she felt anxious to please him, so she put all thoughts of George and Alma temporarily from her.
Edgeway was in one of his gayest moods.
"This is great!" he exclaimed as they started. "To really, really feel the realism of your presence!"
She looked up at him smiling. In these moods, he seemed to her, like a big, happy boy.
"I'm glad such a little makes you joyous," she returned.
"Such a little! Perhaps if you knew the immensity of my pleasure, you would not regard it so lightly," he said gaily.
It seemed to Betty, he could hardly contain his exuberance of spirits. Talking rapidly, remarking every detail of the illuminations and the crowd, he completely engrossed her attention, and she was surprised at her own enjoyment of the evening.
They returned about eleven o'clock, and not until they were nearing home, did Edgeway cease to be lively.
For several minutes he did not speak, and she looked up into his face, to discover a gloom gathering in his eyes.
"What troubles you?" she asked, kindly.
"All good things have an end," he returned with a sigh. "This evening seemed quite long when it began,—but it's gone already," he added crossly.
"What a spoiled boy you are," she said laughing, amused at his erratic moods. "There is always another beginning, you know. I will go again, and again, and again!"
"Will you?" he asked eagerly, and the sunny smile came back.
***********
Monday morning, Betty resumed her regular school work. On her return in the evening, a special delivery awaited her.
She knew George's hand-writing, and opened it quickly.
"Dear Betty,"I have determined suddenly to take Alma and Harold away for a change. Will start tomorrow morning early. We may be gone a long time, so try to call tonight. We wish to bid you 'good-bye.'"Yours in haste,"George."
"Dear Betty,
"I have determined suddenly to take Alma and Harold away for a change. Will start tomorrow morning early. We may be gone a long time, so try to call tonight. We wish to bid you 'good-bye.'
"Yours in haste,
"George."
With an odd mixture of feelings, Betty went to Alma's home.
She found her anxiously awaiting Betty.
"I was so afraid you might miss our letter, dear," she said. "I couldn't be happy in going, without saying 'Good-bye' to you."
"Are you going for long, then?" Betty asked, feeling a sudden lonesomeness coming over her.
"I don't know. The truth is, Betty, I am nearly strong, but I find myself so continually lost in a painful effort at thinking,—I'm trying to remember something—I don't know what,—but it worries me, until I almost cry with disappointment. George says it is my nerves, and if he does not take me away directly, he fears I will be ill again."
Betty took her hands lovingly.
"Perhaps it is best. Dr. Cadman always knows best," she said with a slight flush. "You must write to me often, dear, and let me know directly you return."
That night George took Betty home. When they reached the door, he said,
"I will not come in, for I have much to prepare for the trip."
"I hope it will benefit you all," returned Betty, suddenly realizing that their going was a new trial to her.
"I expect great things to happen before I see you again," he said earnestly, "It would not be honorable for me to even mention my plans, but"—he stopped abruptly, and held out his hand "Good-bye," he said, gravely.
"Good-bye," she said, trembling.
He held her hand for a moment; then, dropping it slowly, he reached over and rang the bell.
Quickly the door was opened by Edgeway.
George, raising his hat, walked rapidly away.
"I have been waiting for you," said Edgeway, smiling down at her.
She looked up at him with sudden pity.
"He seems always lonesome for me," she thought, "and now I am lonesome, too."
Then she said impulsively, "The rest of this week is yours."
"Thank you," he said warmly, and his eyes shone with a fervor that suddenly brought a question to her mind.
To Save a Soul.
"Reaction follows all exceptional enthusiasm,—even be it of a religious nature. We may try to plead an exception in religion, but we deceive ourselves, if we do.
"The time following a great spiritual effort, is the hardest to meet. If we conquer ourselves, we rise to loftier planes. If we fail, we are worse off than before the exaltation. There is a proverb, "Success is built on failure." True, but the reverse also holds good. "Failure is built upon success." The idea of one grand moment of conversion when the soul of man is roused to great things, never to become earthly again, is at best an idle dream. The ladder to perfection must be climbed slowly and with care. The rounds of that ladder are marked either "Success" or "Failure." Often our feet are resting surely upon the one, when we go to step higher, and we feel the painful contact with the other."
Betty laid down the tract which she had been reading, and arose from her chair with a deep sigh.
She had been resting a few moments, before dressing to go out with Edgeway.
George and Alma had been gone just five days, and in that time, she had come to realize that the past late experiences with George had not only re-awakened her love, but, if possible, made it stronger and more unconquerable.
She had kept her promise and had gone out every evening with Edgeway. He had been more than grateful, but she began to see that his attentions were more than friendly ones.
How dull she had been, to remain blind to the fact! She blamed herself greatly.
"Poor Edgeway!" she said, taking up one of his roses, and fastening it on her dress. "You are suffering for a hopeless love, and—I also. George is so fond of Alma—poor Alma—she needs all the love possible, if she remembers the cause of her shock. Probably George will make it appear to her like a dream. Will Lambert will vanish again, and she will never know the real tragedy of her life."
She began to dress her hair slowly.
"Perhaps," she thought on, "if I think of others, I will forget myself. I thought I had conquered selfishness, but it seems not."
That evening Edgeway was quiet, and possessed none of the animation of previous evenings.
They witnessed the grand display of fireworks with slightly aroused enthusiasm, but it subsided instantly when the excitement was over.
"Miss Emmit, this is the last night of the celebration we will enjoy together. Won't you favor me by prolonging it with a little supper?"
She acquiesced, and they were soon seated in a private room, as far apart from the world, in this big hotel, as if they were at the north pole.
The subdued, red glow of the candelabra, and the distant strains of the orchestra, were restful after the glare and noise of the streets.
"I suppose," said Edgeway gravely, "that from now on, your mind will be only upon your art."
"I hope so," she returned earnestly. "I find myself strangely unbalanced in my thoughts, when I lose the thread of my life."
"Suppose there was one person, who needed to be saved from absolute uselessness, and you were the only one who could influence him. Would you try very hard?"
"What a question! Of course I would!" she returned earnestly.
"How much would you sacrifice for one soul?"
"Almost anything."
He looked into her fair, pure face, and his own flushed hotly.
"I believe you would," he said eagerly. "But I feel almost ashamed to acquaint you with such a one. You would sacrifice too much."
"Tell me of any one I can help," she returned. "I especially need to think of others, now."
At that moment the supper was served.
"Eat," said Edgeway, "I will talk of him later."
Edgeway ate little, but regarded Betty with a wistful despondency.
She felt his mood and tried to brighten him with light comments on the evening's display.
At last they finished, and Betty looked at him with a grave smile.
"You must not forget to tell me who needs me so much."
"Miss Emmit, it is none other than poor, unfortunate I."
Betty colored crimson. There was no mistaking his words, and the look that accompanied them.
"Yes," he continued, "without you, my life will be a useless hollow affair. With you, I believe it would be worth while. Your very presence exalts me to better things. O, could you,—could you stoop to poor insignificant me?"
His humility was genuine, and Betty beheld the absolute prostration of a man's heart at her feet.
She gazed at him with a look of great sorrow.
"Oh, have I led you to this?" she asked gently. "I shall never forgive myself to have let you so misunderstand me!" she exclaimed in sudden self blame.
"Misunderstand you?" he said, and there was a slight bitterness in his tone. "I would not dream thatyoucould loveme! I only ask permission to loveyou!" he declared passionately. "You—my salvation from life's pitiful 'Nothingness!'"
She regarded him with pity and surprise.
"You ask no love from me in return?" she asked tremulously.
"None!" he pleaded, "Perhaps some day my devotion may give it birth, but I shall expect nothing! Don't, don't refuse me, or—I'm a lost soul! I possess no strength in myself. I know it. I have lived to learn my cradle's curse. But I have the power of loving—poor dog-like trait! You could strike me now, and I would still turn to lick your hand!"
His wild devotion made her tremble. Did she indeed hold this man's soul in her hands? Was he really weak and helpless without her? Perhaps God had sent him to her for her care to save.
She was confused, almost tortured with her thoughts.
"Ask me no answer tonight," she said trembling. "I must think and—pray."
"You do not scorn me, then?" he asked with a great joy lighting his eyes.
"Scorn you? It will be my happiness to arouse you to a real sense of your worth!"
***********
One month later, Betty announced her engagement to Frank Edgeway.
She had thought and prayed over it, and he had not ceased his persuasions. It did not seem quite natural to be contemplating marriage with another, when her heart's idol was surely George. But George belonged to another, and the hopelessness of her own love, gave her greater sympathy for Edgeway.
"Frank, sometimes I think you love me too much," said Betty, "are you sure that you will not be disappointed in my poor return?"
"Disappointed? O, if you only know what you have done for me. I thought it impossible to ever be really content. I hardly know myself. The world is a very different affair with my Betty. My Betty!—How strangely beautiful those words sound! Just to repeat them over and over again gives me untold joy!"
She looked into his adoring eyes, and felt a certain delight in the thought of his satisfied longings. She smiled at him happily.
"To make one heart so perfectly transformed with happiness is indeed a privilege," she said, running her hand through his abundance of hair with almost a maternal caress.
Another month passed happily, and Edgeway seemed indeed transformed. He needed no gay mask to cover his cynicism now—it had all entire vanished.
Suffused with the light from Betty's radiant nature, he suddenly developed all his latent aspirations. They read and talked together, and he felt her spirit touch all things.
Sometimes he asked himself if this dream could possibly last. Would Betty be satisfied always? Then his complete happiness would chase away the doubt.
One night when she and Edgeway were alone together, the post brought a letter from Alma.
"Ah," she said delighted, "I have wondered why she did not write?"
She opened it quickly and was surprised to find only a note.
"Dearest Betty:—George returns alone tomorrow. You may expect to see him very soon. He will tell you all—I dare not trust myself to write now. We are all well and oh! So happy! My darling girl, my heart's best to you.
"Devotedly,
"Alma."
Betty handed the letter to Edgeway in astonishment.
"Is that not a strange note? What could have happened?"
Edgeway read, and re-read thoughtfully. Then he handed it back saying,
"Something unusual, surely. Maybe Dr. Cadman has had their marriage annulled, and your friend is reunited with her first husband. That Dr. Cadman has brains enough to engineer a case like that successfully."
"You think it possible?" she asked in an awed voice.
He took her hands and pressed them hard.
"Does it concern you, if he did?" he asked quickly, his eyes compelling hers with sudden fear.
"I'm not sure that it would be best," she answered evasively, and he read in her eyes a shrinking from his scrutiny of her.
Turning the conversation, he talked of their future life together, but the light had died from his eyes, and Betty noticed the effort of all his remarks.
That night and the next day, she never ceased to think of Alma's note, and Frank's surmise.
"Yes, all things are possible of George. Perhaps even"—then she stifled the thought. A sudden misery that seemed unbearable, demanded all her strength to overcome. She was bound in honor to Edgeway. How dared she even run her fancy so far!
In the evening she was dressing to go out again with Frank, when the maid announced Dr. Cadman.
Trembling, she grasped the chair. With effort she finished her toilet, almost too dazed to think. A vague fear possessed her.
"I am weak," she said hopelessly. "O God, give me strength!"
Her prayer was answered. She found herself descending to the parlor with an outward calm covering her inner pain.
Dr. Cadman stood awaiting her.
As she entered, he took her outstretched hand.
"A long time away, Betty," he said, holding it fast, "but a short time considering all that has been accomplished. Alma wished me to come and tell you everything."
"Yes?" she asked in a low tone. "You must tell me all about it. How is our dear Alma?"
She sat down as she spoke, and he drew a chair near to hers.
"Our Alma is well and ever so happy! Can you possibly realize it when I tell you she is re-united with Will!"
Betty caught her breath and looked at him fearfully.
"You are not glad for her?" he asked in surprise.
"Yes, but—" she could not say anymore, but gazed at him piteously.
"You are not glad, Betty?"
Neither saw Edgeway at the door. George's back was to him, and Edgeway saw Betty's eyes looking at George with infinite longing.
Edgeway turned, and slowly and thoughtfully went to his room.
"Yes, I am very glad," said Betty.
"You don't look it," he said gently. "Tell me girlie, what troubles you?"
She smiled up at him bravely.
"I have good news, too, not bad. I'm engaged to be married."
"You? Why, who is the lucky man?"
"Mr. Edgeway."
"Well, my dear girl, I do wish you all the happiness in the world. You are sure you are happy, though?" he asked in deep concern.
Betty dropped her eyes in confusion.
At that moment, Mr. Mellor and the ladies entered the parlor, so Betty and George were no more alone. He did not stay long. As he said goodbye, he added, "Betty, you are hiding something from me. I must know what. I have to return to Chicago to arrange some details. When I come back, I shall call again."
And so he left her, standing pale, but determined—determined to be true to Edgeway and save a soul.
"'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
"Has Mr. Edgeway gone away for long?" asked Mr. Mellor of Betty.
"He did not say for how long," returned Betty. "He said he was called away very suddenly, and would write me as soon as he reached his destination, and tell me particulars. I am expecting a letter tonight surely—it is two days now since he went."
Betty's mind dwelt little with Frank. She wondered slightly what could have called him away, but she was rather relieved at his absence. Her thoughts of George were so intense, and her conflicting emotions so difficult to contend with, that she feared she might betray her secret to Frank, who seemed ever watching her every word and look. Sometimes she almost believed he held some suspicion of her trial. She was determined to be true to him, and make him the man he was capable of becoming.
Her sacrifice was great, and as yet, the days were too young, for her to feel much joy in her resolve. She seemed groping in the dark, sure that the course she had taken was right, but seeing no light ahead. But she knew that the day would come, when she would enjoy the happiness of right doing.
When Frank had said goodbye, he had been unusually calm and gentle. His wild love for her seemed subdued. She felt its power, more than that of his usual passionate adoration. His last words came to her with sudden force:
"Betty, you have taught me how to live. What greater thing could a man ask from the woman he loves?"
A letter awaited her as she surmised. When she went to her room, with a new interest she turned to the letter before dressing for supper.
"I must be more interested in you, dear boy," she thought rather regretfully, "I hope I can learn to give you more and more."
She opened and read:
"My own beautiful good one:—This is the last time I may write 'My Own.' Yes, dearest Betty, you are too beautiful and good to be sacrificed upon the altar of one man's selfishness!"
"From this day I shall glory in your freedom. Yes, poor, selfish me has suddenly found out the joy of forgetting self,—a strange, new joy, emanating from your own lovely self!
"At first I was mad with the joy of loving you. But the mad joy wore itself out. Then I beheld my loved one, fair and pure, dragging through life a bleeding heart!
"The vision never left me, night or day. It tortured me and I knew no rest, even in your sweet presence.
"Then, the fire of a greater love kindled in my heart. I desired to see you glowing with perfect happiness. This desire grew stronger and stronger until it evolved a way by which it could be satisfied. That way has been accomplished. I am far, far away from the dearest girl on God's fair earth. She will never see me again, but the vision of her shall be the inspiration of my life!
"Soon you will forget the man to whom you have given new life and strength to bear all things.
"Your Frank."
Betty laid the letter down with a sense of relief at her release. Then a sudden pity for Frank brought a mist to her eyes. But she seemed to hear him say again,
"You have taught me how to live—what more could a man ask from the woman he loves?"
The words comforted her, she had not harmed him, then,
"God keep him strong and good!" she said fervently.
Slowly and thoughtfully she dressed. Then she noticed another letter which she had not seen before. It was from Ephraim. With great anxiety she read, that her mother was very ill, and she must come home directly.
So Betty's mind instantly planned for her sudden departure for the West and once more, her own trials were forgotten in thinking of others.
***********