Downstairs she found Mrs. Houston standing in the midst of boxes and packing materials. Judge Houston had told her the night before of Morgan's desire to leave on the first boat. Seeing the wisdom in such a step he had advised his wife to go on with the preparations for departure as if everything were already decided. So great was the confidence of this old couple in Sargent's ability, that they could conceive of no outcome of the trial other than they had planned.When Natalia had gone out on the back veranda, she went directly up to the old lady and kissed her. There were no words either of them could find to say. Mrs. Houston went back to her work, wrapping each article with the precise care of a vain housewife."I am nearly through," she said at last. "Almost all of the wedding presents are packed—except the peacock." She attempted a smile, and failed sadly. "Of course you do not want to take him with you."Natalia turned away quickly."I don't want to take any of them, Aunt Maria," she said, tears coming into her eyes. "I don't want to go away. It has all been terrible—these last days—but I still love this old place better than any in the world. But I must do it for Morgan's sake. He would be miserable here."The old lady put down her package carefully, then went to Natalia and gathered her in her arms."You'll forget all about it after a while," she said gently. "And some day you both will be coming back here, happier than ever. Now tell me," wiping her eyes and returning to matters of the moment, "when will you be married—to-night or in the morning?""To-morrow morning," Natalia answered slowly.Just then Dicey brought a tray on which a steaming cup of coffee and hot rolls were displayed temptingly."Now, you'se got ter drink hit, honey," she insisted, making a great fuss over placing it before Natalia. "'Cause we ain' gwine hab no dinnah, fer de Jedge done jes' send word fer us ter be in town fo' two o'clock."The Court House yard was crowded. Along the fence and beneath the protection of the trees was the gathering of carriages and wagons which always told that something unusual was taking place within the old brick building.When the carriage containing Natalia, Millicent and Mrs. Houston had stopped before the gate, Natalia looked silently at the building, feeling almost as if she were viewing it through the eyes of another person. That within it, her lover was being tried for his life, and defended by the man who had given up everything for her, seemed to enhance the feeling of aloofness and helplessness which had taken possession of her since the day before. She felt that she no longer lived in the same sphere with those about her; that she had reached a vague, uninhabited world where her surroundings were only dreams and weirdly haunting words and fiery tongues of conscience that moved in an endless circle and crushed her with their fearful cries.She had not heard the words addressed to her during the long drive; and it was only when Judge Houston came towards the carriage and spoke to them, that she awakened from the lethargy. Even then, as he told her that it was time to go into the court room, she seemed to be only half conscious of his words."Give me your hand, Natalia," the old gentleman said, standing beside the carriage. Mrs. Houston and Millicent were already on the sidewalk.Natalia looked at him a moment, then glanced beyond to the building where people were banked in the windows. Within, she easily imagined the sea of faces."Uncle Felix," she cried, shrinking back, and covering her face with her hands. "I can't go. It would be fearful to see Morgan there, before that crowd. I could not bear it! Let me stay here and wait, but tell him I am here, near him!"The old gentleman looked at the others, perplexed. Without a word, Mrs. Houston stepped back into the carriage and took her seat beside Natalia."I shall stay with her," she said.. "You all go in. We will be waiting for you over there—under that tree. Don't wait a minute to come to us, when you know," she added with a quick anxious look towards her husband.Zebediah drove a few yards away from the gate, where a great spreading elm cast a protecting shade. They were closer to the building than before, and from where they sat they could easily see into the court room through a wide window. The sounds of the stirring crowd within came to them quite distinctly, particularly as the grounds about the building were deserted for the great interest within.Mrs. Houston, alert and keen to see all that was taking place, sat bolt upright, one hand on Natalia's, the other moving with nervous jerks as she swayed a large palmetto fan. Natalia was in the same position as when she had shrunk back from Judge Houston—both hands covering her face while she huddled pitifully against the cushions.A half hour passed, with the sound of monotonous voices floating out to them. The murmur of some one reading seemed endless. Then came a long pause. Mrs. Houston suddenly leaned forward and listened."Sargent is speaking—at last!" she whispered. "Listen! Listen!"Natalia lowered her hands slowly from her face. At first she heard only a slight rippling of the leaves of the tree above her, then, on the stillness of the summer day, the sound of a voice drifted towards her—a voice she had heard years and years ago. Her hand tightened on Mrs. Houston's. Suddenly she stood up and stepped out of the carriage."Where are you going, Natalia?" Mrs. Houston cried after her.Without answering she walked to the gate and went rapidly up the walk. Reaching the steps to the main door, she seemed to change her mind quickly and went along the side of the building until she was just beneath an open window. Here she sank behind the protection of a shrub, and sat perfectly still.The voice that had drawn her was very near now. She could hear the words distinctly; they came in a steady stream, mellow, soft, fluent.At first she attempted to follow the words, vainly trying to force her thoughts into a comprehension of the reasoning employed. She soon found that useless; and with a long sigh in which a deep contentment enveloped her, she abandoned herself to the luxury of listening only to the music of the voice. It was sweet and clear like the ringing of silver bells in the early morning; it was deep and modulated and resounding, like the veiled diapason of a Cathedral organ; it was winning and gentle and fresh, bringing to her in some indefinable way, the faint fragrance of delicate flowers.Suddenly the years dropped away. It was all a dream—her thinking she was really grown. She was sitting on the terrace under the big magnolia tree and the schoolmaster was reading to her. It was such a very sad story he was reading; she could hardly keep back the tears, for it was all about some poor lady who sewed all day on her dress and had to spend the night ripping it. She had cried, she remembered now; and when he had asked her why, she had been so ashamed and said it was because she hated her frock so—a red and purple poplin that had come all the way from Boston. And then they were sitting there again, one cold winter afternoon, and were watching the sun sink behind the black, frosty lowlands. She had asked him why the Indians had called it the Land of the Setting Sun, and he had told her wonderful stories of a race that had inhabited all this country and were forced, step by step, to go out into that distant wilderness where the sun set every night. Trifling incidents crowded one upon the other, accentuating the reality of the vision, until she suffered as keenly, throbbed with as great a joy, as she had in living those days.A slight pause came.Then the flowing words continued. But in that moment the dreams had vanished. She knew now what the voice meant. It was fighting for her lover's life, her happiness. Her whole future was dependent on its continuance, its force, its compelling magnetism. She felt it now in every fibre of her being. It filled her with an indefinable happiness. She understood so well what it meant; it was the full glory of his love. She was satisfied now that he had carried her to that dizzy height with him. She would never forget; it would be with her for ever. In that lay its transcendent beauty. Through its divinity it would become eternal.Suddenly the music ceased. She looked up. Mrs. Houston was leaning over her and saying something. Finally she understood the words:"His speech is over. Come back to the carriage with me."She rose from the ground and walked unsteadily back to the carriage. In a few minutes Judge Houston and Millicent had joined them."Would you prefer to wait at my house?" she heard him asking. "The speech for the prosecution will last about an hour, I suppose. After that we don't know how long the jury will take.""Let us stay here," Natalia answered in a voice that did not seem her own. "I shall be nearer Morgan. It would be deserting him to go away.""Very well, my dear. I shall come to you as soon as I know the verdict."An hour more, with the sound of other voices. Endless arguments and set phrases and instructions to twelve men who had already reached a decision. Evening came on gradually, the trees grew dark and began their twilight whispers; negroes began to harness their horses to the wagons, coachmen straightened up and roused their teams; the air grew charged with expectancy. There was a deathly, waiting stillness. The case was before the jury. Natalia grasped Mr. Houston's hand."How much longer?" she asked. "How much longer, Aunt Maria?""The speeches are evidently finished, Natalia. We have not heard any voices for a good while.""Then the end is nearly here?"The old lady smiled, reassuringly."I believe we shall all be happy in a very few minutes."Suddenly Millicent stood up in the carriage."Here comes Judge Houston!" she cried, her voice shaking a little. "Oh! he is smiling! I can see him from here. Look, Natalia! Don't you see? Morgan is free! There he is—coming to us now!"CHAPTER XIIITHE GARDEN OF SHADOWSThey drove home in the fast-gathering dusk. The sun was gone, but through the breaks in the trees a gorgeous after-glow was illumining the skies. Mountains of clouds were piled up, bank upon bank, until the broad sweep of heavens was filled with pinnacles of deep rose, each vying with the other in more majestic composition.When they had reached the house the colour had faded; the bright light from the windows streamed out across the doorway; the magnolia grove was slumbering in the peaceful summer night.Natalia stepped within the hall, where the candles were burning cheerily and the savoury odours of supper came from the dining room, and smiled wistfully upon them all."You go with them, Morgan," she said, a weary note in her voice as she stood with his arm about her. "All of you have a good time at supper—but let me go to my room. You will not mind, dear?" She looked up at him yearningly. "I believe I would be a little happier alone—for a while," she ended, turning away.Judge Houston followed her to the steps, detaining her hand in his."Natalia," he said, in a lowered voice. "Everything is all right with you? You are happy again?"She smiled into his eyes a little sadly."Yes, I am very happy, Uncle Felix. Only—it is so different a happiness from what I used to know. It seems a deeper, a more meaning thing than I have ever felt before. That is why I want to be alone. You understand, don't you?"The old gentleman pressed her hand."Will you come down again?" he asked, after a moment's pause. "Sargent is coming out here to-night. I should like for him to see you."Natalia's eyes deepened and she came closer to him."I am glad, so—so glad, he is coming," she said thoughtfully. "Yes—I shall come down again. Tell him I shall be waiting for him in the garden—the garden of shadows—he will know."She went slowly up the steps to her room. It was empty; even Dicey had been attracted to the kitchen by reports of the wonderful supper that was being prepared.She stood looking about her for a long time. It was to be her last night among the old surroundings she had loved so well. The old bed, with its huge posts and carvings of fruit and flowers, seemed to respond to her caressing glance; the marble mantel spoke to her of the many winter evenings spent before its hospitable face; the wall paper and the carpet, each repeating a design of baskets of roses, held stories of the long ago; everything was overflowing with what had gone before—holding their story of her mother's life, and now, her own.She picked up a cashmere shawl she had found in an old cedar chest in the attic and pulled it across her shoulders. That, too, was of that elder day, and as she felt its folds about her, it seemed a link that brought her in even closer contact with the past.After a little while she went down the stairs again, avoiding the door to the dining room, and slipping into the parlour unnoticed. Her mother's portrait gazed down upon her, calm and peaceful, in the candle light. Was it their last parting, she mused as she stood before it; would they never look into each other's eyes again! She turned away with dimmed eyes, and went noiselessly out into the night.It was an evening in which the vibrant sounds of Nature became only a distant throbbing, vague and indistinct. It was very still for moments, almost breathless save for the occasional breeze with its burden of rustling leaves.Unconsciously Natalia went towards the bench under the magnolia, and sitting down, looked out across the wide, shimmering river, towards the far horizon. The minutes drifted along while the stars came out, and the evening deepened in beauty. The breezes slept now; all the world seemed to have sunk into a balmy somnolence.As she sat there, lost to her surroundings yet vividly in sympathy with them, the sound of a cane tapping lightly on the ground, broke the silence. She lifted her head quickly, with the movement of one who is startled by a memory; then, rising quickly, she looked through the grove and saw some one coming towards her. The light was in her eyes so she could see only indistinctly the silhouette of a figure coming directly towards where she stood. Suddenly she smiled, made a quick step forward, then drew back again."The schoolmaster!" she whispered to herself, smiling over the familiar name. Then she called to him in a low voice with the words that brought rushing back the night she had waited for him by the kitchen fire. "It's you—you've come—I'm so—so glad!"He was before her now, holding her hands in his and looking down into her face with the kind, sweet expression she had forgotten for so long a time."Natalia! Natalia!" he said as if a little dazed. "You have grown into a woman, haven't you?"Quite suddenly she drew her hands away from him and sank on the bench, the tears streaming down her face."I am so, so glad you have come," she repeated between her sobs. "If you only knew how I have suffered these last few days. I can't help crying—forgive me. You seem to bring back the old, happy days to me so. I know you will think I'm quite the little girl still."Sargent sat down beside her, drawing her hand through his arm, and holding it gently."They told me you were out here," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "and I asked them to let me find you. I thought I knew where you were. I did—you see."Natalia did not attempt to answer him; drying her eyes with her free hand, she began to look at him intently."When I got your message," he continued in the low, modulated voice that rang in her ears searchingly, "I believe I expected to see you again just as you had gone away. It brought back our days together, with such a rush; it made me realize thatyouhad not forgotten, either. You see, Natalia, even in politics, everything is not entirely blotted out."She drew her hand slowly away from him, clasping them both tight in her lap."And yet you threw away your chance, to come to me!""Don't you remember my promise to come to you? I said no matter where I was, I would come to you when you needed me. Do you think I should have deserved to win if I had done otherwise?""I had released you from that promise—by not keeping mine," she answered with unsteady voice."You were only a little girl then, Natalia—of course you did not know what you were promising. Besides, we were both children, and children forget quickly."She looked at him, curiously. Could it be true that she was mistaken?"Youdid not forget," she murmured."How could I forget what you had been to me! Those were long, long days to me, Natalia, and without you, I don't know how I should have gotten through them. You made them beautiful and happy for me, for in your confidence and dependence, I was brought out of my brooding upon those I had left behind me. You and Judge Houston were the only ones to whom I could tell my real yearnings, and even as a child, I felt you understood and sympathized. It was hard on me when you went away; only in endless work did I find any consolation. Ah, how I did work, Natalia! People say things come easy to me, but that is because when others begin to study a case my nights of ceaseless labour have been finished. But in the late afternoons, my thoughts always drifted back to you; and when this dear old place was closed, and your little brothers and their mother went away, I would come out here often and sit, right where you are now, and wonder where you were and if you would ever come back to me again."Natalia leaned back on the bench with a gradual lessening of all forces. Sargent's influence, the calm tones of his voice, the old charm of his presence, crept over her with a quieting effect that left her wholly contented. She had no other wish now than to hear him talking to her."And yet," he said wistfully, "there is so little that I know of you during those years; there is so much for you to tell me.""It seems nothing now," she answered, breaking the silence of a few moments. "I do not seem to have really lived until the last few days—the rest was only playing, and not worth recounting.""Ah—but you are wrong. It is because it was your life that I want to hear it."Natalia looked at him quickly and saw only his kind, glowing eyes bent on her."And since I have suffered," she continued slowly, "it seems to me those years of my life taught me so little how to know life.""They taught you to love," Sargent answered quietly. "Don't you count that as a great deal?""Yes,—but I—" she stopped abruptly. It was on her lips to say she had known that as a little girl, and in the knowledge that she could not say it to him, came to her the first feeling of restraint."That is all one need learn to be happy," he continued, as if unaware of the interruption. "It is the centre about which the world is circling—at least the part of the world that is worthiest. Tell me about yourself and Morgan, Natalia. Tell me as you used to, when we would sit out here after school hours, I forgetting that I was a teacher, and you, that you were a little girl. I wonder if you have forgotten the lines about 'books in brooks.'"As if in reply she leaned a little forward and looked up before her into the starlit sky, quoting softly:"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in everything.""Do you remember how you would explain to me over and over again, about sermons being in stones? And how you laughed when I asked Mammy if she understood. No, I don't believe I've forgotten anything," laughing lightly, as the restraint slipped from her and the old feeling of sympathy rushed back. "How your voice brings it all back to me! Have I been asleep and dreaming all these years and just awakened? I can shut my eyes and listen to you, and at once I am a little girl again. That is what I am going to do now. Talk to me, as you say I used to talk to you. Tell me of your great success."Sargent gazed at her as she leaned back against the bench, one hand over her eyes to shut out all sense of reality. He could see the gentle rise and fall of her bosom beneath the thin frock; and the helpless, tired look of her hand as it lay in her lap, struck him with a peculiar tenderness. It made him forget for a moment. He leaned forward to kiss it, then drew back slowly."I used to tell you fairy tales then," he began at last. "You see—I can't now. You wouldn't believe them."With her hand still before her eyes she answered him."Start at the time when I went away and tell me everything. I know it will sound like a fairy tale—your rise to the heights.""My rise," he said, questioningly. "I believe it has come."Natalia turned towards him, her face brilliant."Then you were elected—you go to Washington—Uncle Felix said the news would come to-night!"Sargent turned away from the brilliance of her glance. It was almost too much for him to bear that she should have thought that was what he meant. Suddenly his lips tightened firmly. She should not know!"You don't know what happiness it is to me to know it," Natalia continued, her face glowing with a new happiness. "I thought I had caused you to give up your election, to come to me. Now, it is all different. Everything with you is successful—absolutely everything you undertake."Sargent winced at her words, thinking of a time, years gone by, when Judge Houston had told him that success seen by the world, and felt by the man, were widely separated. "Yes, even my old friend calls it that—and yet," he leaned forward, letting his face sink into his hands, "it is not what I want. I care not one jot for all the politics in the world. What I love best is the work here in a restricted field where I am so close to those I help. Can't you see it as I do, Natalia? I feel that every man whose life I save and start on a new course of living in which he realizes his sin, and through repentance gains the true light—can't you see that such work is greater than all the arguments of government, the discussions of tariff, the settling of bank questions, all the impersonal work that goes to make up the life of a public man?"Natalia had turned towards him as he talked on, watching the glow of enthusiasm in his eyes, and gradually feeling the force of his magnetism sweep over her. Unconsciously her lips parted in her intentness, while she listened spellbound to the controlling influences of his life."You make me feel that religion and law are the same," she said, when he paused for a moment's rest."Theyarethe same. All our laws have their foundation in the word of God. No law without that basis is worthy of consideration. My first case taught me that, when I convicted Jacob Phelps; and ever since, when I see a man condemned to death, I feel all the suffering I endured the day he was sent to jail. I always feel an irresistible desire to rise up and cry out to leave vengeance to God. And now," his voice deepened vibrantly, "when a man comes to me and asks me to defend him for some crime, I feel a wonderful inspiration all through the work. The greater the crime the greater seems my inspiration, for out of the depths of the deed, I see the man's awakening, his regeneration, his approach towards God for it is only through suffering that we attain the heights."He stopped abruptly, carried further than he had realized, by his enthusiasm. When he turned to Natalia, he found her hand on his arm, her eyes glowing into his."Do you believe that? Are you sure? It only came to me to-day, that we reached the heights through suffering." Her voice trembled as the words rushed forth. "I had always thought before that suffering ruined everything; that life should be made up entirely of joy and sunshine and happiness—that suffering would rob it of its beauty. But in my love," she ended sadly, "I had hoped to escape it. I had wanted that perfect—always.""Perhaps this suffering has come to you, Natalia, to show you how deep your love for Morgan was—how much he meant to you. Perhaps it came to show you that—" Suddenly he stopped and turned away from her—changing his words with a violent shifting of thought. "Love is the only unselfish thing in the world," he continued, calm once more. "Everything else is but a gratification of self, some suffering undergone for an already estimated compensation. Even when we lead good lives, refrain from sinning, form for ourselves strict codes of honour—it is not because we wish to do all those things; it is the eternal benefit which we believe will be the outcome of such a course. The very motive of the world is selfishness, and that there should be in it such a wonderful thing as love, is incomprehensible; for in love the ego is lost; we feel only a desire to make the object of our love happy, to grant every wish, to anticipate every desire; and in the accomplishment of this, every part of selfishness is forgotten. We sink our being into that other one. It is the most beautiful thing God has given us, and it is the greatest sin of all; for in it we forget our duty to our Creator—we go directly against his great command."Natalia searched his face as she listened. When he had stopped and turned towards her, his eyes bent upon her in the great love he had just spoken, the blood rushed to her face, mounting higher and higher, until it pounded in her temples. Still she could not turn from him. The love in his eyes held her painfully. Words rushed to her lips. She strove to hold them back. Why should she ask it of him? She knew now from his own lips. He had told her everything. Again the words cried out to her for utterance. Her will was as nothing, and she listened to her own voice when she finally spoke, as if it came from a great distance."That is what love means to you?"He bowed his head silently."And you find in it a great happiness?"Her question died unanswered on the quiet evening. Far down the sloping hill, on the glittering expanse of water, the vague form of a flat-boat drifted by, a single light gleaming at the bow. At last Natalia stirred. One hand was pressed against her bosom, as she stared straight out before her."You make me feel unworthy all the love that has been given me," she said. "It seems I have done nothing for any one—always nothing.""Ah, but you have done a great deal, Natalia," Sargent answered quickly. "Think what you were to Morgan in his hour of adversity. He told me before the trial that without you his life would be wrecked. He says you are the only reason for taking up his life again. Is that not a great deal? And then," his voice lowered and grew very gentle, "you have brought a great happiness into my life. Without the memories of our happy days together, it would have been a very desolate old world to me. I always knew you would not forget me entirely; a guiding star, no matter how high it soars, never forgets its follower. If every man could have a memory, as I have had, to guide him through the pitfalls and temptations of his youth, when he is struggling on to the heights where character is formed, this would be a far better world. My greatest efforts could never be enough to show what I mean—Natalia."He waited for her to speak, but no words came. She sat looking out into the night, as if his voice had been unheard. Her shawl had fallen to the ground and lay at her feet. Sargent stooped and, picking it up, held it to his lips a moment."Our lives seem to have grown very far apart," he began once more, attempting no longer to keep the caressing notes from showing, "but I want you to remember that I shall never forget you. You believe that, don't you? There is only one thing I am going to ask of you." He paused and brushed his hand across his eyes. "When you and Morgan go back home—when you go back to Boston to live, will you go some day to see my mother? I should love for her to see you once. She knows all about you. I hardly believe that you would have to tell her your name."Suddenly, from a distance, the sound of music floated to them. Sargent lifted his head and listened; then stood up. "They are coming for me," he said, a great weariness creeping into his voice. "I must go back to the town and make my speech of thanks."Natalia's hand touched his arm."Don't go—yet," she murmured. "I have something to tell you."Sargent sat down beside her, her hand still resting on his arm. In the dim light he could see her tears:"I don't know how to tell you—you sent me Mammy Dicey—I can't thank you—now you have saved Morgan—"The music was coming nearer. The sound of drums and fife throbbed loudly in the quiet night. Suddenly the flare of lights shot through the grove. The torchlight procession had reached the gate, and now many voices were calling loudly for their new representative.Natalia stopped in the midst of her words. A streak of light from one of the torches fell full upon Sargent's face, in which she saw with pitiless detail the signs of his great renunciation. In the knowledge her heart grew cold and still. She moved nearer him, and held out both her hands. For a little while they stood thus, each meeting the other's glance steadily. "When you were a little girl, Natalia," Sargent said tentatively, his words a whisper, "I always kissed you when I went away."She leaned toward him, and in her uplifted face he read her answer. Putting his hands gently on he hair and pressing back the heavy coils, he kissed her on the brow.Another loud cry from the impatient crowd, and the gates were thrown open and the grounds brilliantly illuminated by the torches.Natalia stood where he had left her, watching him walk towards the crowd, his head held high, his figure outlined against the flaring torches. For a few moments she stood motionless, then going swiftly through the garden to the back veranda, she went up-stairs without meeting any one.When she had reached the upper hall, the hurrahs and loud cheering of the crowd floated up to her through the open windows. Hesitating a moment, she finally went to the door leading on the balcony, and stood looking down upon the gathering.Directly in front of the house the crowd was forming into a line. The band was already at the gate, closely following came the torch bearers, and last of all a carriage. She leaned forward, shading her eyes from the flickering illumination. He was in the carriage now, on the back seat, and beside him sat an old, grizzled-haired man, whose weather-beaten, joyful countenance beamed upon Sargent in his hour of triumph.As she watched them the signal was given, the drums beat a resounding tattoo, the fife took up the melody, and the parade began to move. Through the gate they went and out into the road, where the sounds gradually grew muffled and the flaring torches, gleaming through the trees, became faint as fireflies. At last the drum sounded in a faint echo; then the night grew once more dark and still.A hand grasped Natalia's. Starting, she turned and found Morgan's arm about her."We have been searching for you everywhere, dearest," he said, looking down into her face, his smile suddenly fading when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Sargent told me he had seen you."In the silence that was deepening about them, Morgan gazed intently at Natalia. Once he brushed his hands before his eyes as if clearing away a mist; then his arms tightened about Natalia as she lowered her head on his shoulder."I am beginning to understand, Natalia," he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "It was all foryoursake—foryourhappiness—what he has done!""Forourhappiness, Morgan," Natalia answered, the tears streaming down her face. "He has brought you back to me—he has saved our love."For a while they stood thus, looking out into the quiet night, her head upon his shoulder, his arm about her. "And, oh, Morgan," Natalia finally spoke, her eyes deepening with the glow of an inward light, "I can hear it still—the music of his voice," her words sank to a whisper, "it seems to me it will always be ringing in my ears—always—always."THE END.* * * * * * * *TITLES SELECTED FROMGROSSET & DUNLAP'S LISTMay be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's listA CERTAIN RICH MAN. By William Allen White.A vivid, startling portrayal of one man's financial greed, its wide spreading power, its action in Wall Street, and its effect on the three women most intimately in his life. A splendid, entertaining American novel.IN OUR TOWN. By William Allen White. Illustrated by F. R. Gruger and W. Glackens.Made up of the observations of a keen newspaper editor, involving the town millionaire, the smart set, the literary set, the bohemian set, and many others. All humorously related and sure to hold the attention.NATHAN BURKE. By Mary S. Watts.The story of an ambitious, backwoods Ohio boy who rose to prominence. Everyday humor of American rustic life permeates the book.THE HIGH HAND. By Jacques Futrelle. Illustrated by Will Grefe.A splendid story of the political game, with a son of the soil on the one side, and a "kid glove" politician on the other. A pretty girl, interested in both men, is the chief figure.THE BACKWOODSMEN. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated.Realistic stories of men and women living midst the savage beauty of the wilderness. Human nature at its best and worst is well portrayed.YELLOWSTONE NIGHTS. By Herbert Quick.A jolly company of six artists, writers and other clever folks take a trip through the National Park, and tell stories around camp fire at night. Brilliantly clever and original.THE PROFESSOR'S MYSTERY. By Wells Hastings and Brian Hooker. Illustrated by Hanson Booth.A young college professor, missing his steamer for Europe, has a romantic meeting with a pretty girl, escorts her home, and is enveloped in a big mystery.THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. By Meredith Nicholson. Illustrated by C. Coles Phillips and Reginald Birch.Seven suitors vie with each other for the love of a beautiful girl, and she subjects them to a test that is full of mystery, magic and sheer amusement.THE MAGNET. By Henry C. Rowland. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.The story of a remarkable courtship involving three pretty girls on a yacht, a poet-lover in pursuit, and a mix-up in the names of the girls.THE TURN OF THE ROAD. By Eugenia Brooks Frothingham.A beautiful young opera singer chooses professional success instead of love, but comes to a place in life where the call of the heart is stronger than worldly success.SCOTTIE AND HIS LADY. By Margaret Morse. Illustrated by Harold M. Brett.A young girl whose affections have been blighted is presented with a Scotch Collie to divert her mind, and the roving adventures of her pet lead the young mistress into another romance.SHEILA VEDDER. By Amelia E. Barr. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.A very beautiful romance of the Shetland Islands, with a handsome, strong willed hero and a lovely girl of Gaelic blood as heroine. A sequel to "Jan Vedder's Wife."JOHN WARD, PREACHER. By Margaret Deland.The first big success of this much loved American novelist. It is a powerful portrayal of a young clergyman's attempt to win his beautiful wife to his own narrow creed.THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT. By Robert W. Service. Illustrated by Maynard Dixon.One of the best stories of "Vagabondia" ever written, and one of the most accurate and picturesque of the stampede of gold seekers to the Yukon. The love story embedded in the narrative is strikingly original.Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE LEAD OF HONOUR***
Downstairs she found Mrs. Houston standing in the midst of boxes and packing materials. Judge Houston had told her the night before of Morgan's desire to leave on the first boat. Seeing the wisdom in such a step he had advised his wife to go on with the preparations for departure as if everything were already decided. So great was the confidence of this old couple in Sargent's ability, that they could conceive of no outcome of the trial other than they had planned.
When Natalia had gone out on the back veranda, she went directly up to the old lady and kissed her. There were no words either of them could find to say. Mrs. Houston went back to her work, wrapping each article with the precise care of a vain housewife.
"I am nearly through," she said at last. "Almost all of the wedding presents are packed—except the peacock." She attempted a smile, and failed sadly. "Of course you do not want to take him with you."
Natalia turned away quickly.
"I don't want to take any of them, Aunt Maria," she said, tears coming into her eyes. "I don't want to go away. It has all been terrible—these last days—but I still love this old place better than any in the world. But I must do it for Morgan's sake. He would be miserable here."
The old lady put down her package carefully, then went to Natalia and gathered her in her arms.
"You'll forget all about it after a while," she said gently. "And some day you both will be coming back here, happier than ever. Now tell me," wiping her eyes and returning to matters of the moment, "when will you be married—to-night or in the morning?"
"To-morrow morning," Natalia answered slowly.
Just then Dicey brought a tray on which a steaming cup of coffee and hot rolls were displayed temptingly.
"Now, you'se got ter drink hit, honey," she insisted, making a great fuss over placing it before Natalia. "'Cause we ain' gwine hab no dinnah, fer de Jedge done jes' send word fer us ter be in town fo' two o'clock."
The Court House yard was crowded. Along the fence and beneath the protection of the trees was the gathering of carriages and wagons which always told that something unusual was taking place within the old brick building.
When the carriage containing Natalia, Millicent and Mrs. Houston had stopped before the gate, Natalia looked silently at the building, feeling almost as if she were viewing it through the eyes of another person. That within it, her lover was being tried for his life, and defended by the man who had given up everything for her, seemed to enhance the feeling of aloofness and helplessness which had taken possession of her since the day before. She felt that she no longer lived in the same sphere with those about her; that she had reached a vague, uninhabited world where her surroundings were only dreams and weirdly haunting words and fiery tongues of conscience that moved in an endless circle and crushed her with their fearful cries.
She had not heard the words addressed to her during the long drive; and it was only when Judge Houston came towards the carriage and spoke to them, that she awakened from the lethargy. Even then, as he told her that it was time to go into the court room, she seemed to be only half conscious of his words.
"Give me your hand, Natalia," the old gentleman said, standing beside the carriage. Mrs. Houston and Millicent were already on the sidewalk.
Natalia looked at him a moment, then glanced beyond to the building where people were banked in the windows. Within, she easily imagined the sea of faces.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, shrinking back, and covering her face with her hands. "I can't go. It would be fearful to see Morgan there, before that crowd. I could not bear it! Let me stay here and wait, but tell him I am here, near him!"
The old gentleman looked at the others, perplexed. Without a word, Mrs. Houston stepped back into the carriage and took her seat beside Natalia.
"I shall stay with her," she said.. "You all go in. We will be waiting for you over there—under that tree. Don't wait a minute to come to us, when you know," she added with a quick anxious look towards her husband.
Zebediah drove a few yards away from the gate, where a great spreading elm cast a protecting shade. They were closer to the building than before, and from where they sat they could easily see into the court room through a wide window. The sounds of the stirring crowd within came to them quite distinctly, particularly as the grounds about the building were deserted for the great interest within.
Mrs. Houston, alert and keen to see all that was taking place, sat bolt upright, one hand on Natalia's, the other moving with nervous jerks as she swayed a large palmetto fan. Natalia was in the same position as when she had shrunk back from Judge Houston—both hands covering her face while she huddled pitifully against the cushions.
A half hour passed, with the sound of monotonous voices floating out to them. The murmur of some one reading seemed endless. Then came a long pause. Mrs. Houston suddenly leaned forward and listened.
"Sargent is speaking—at last!" she whispered. "Listen! Listen!"
Natalia lowered her hands slowly from her face. At first she heard only a slight rippling of the leaves of the tree above her, then, on the stillness of the summer day, the sound of a voice drifted towards her—a voice she had heard years and years ago. Her hand tightened on Mrs. Houston's. Suddenly she stood up and stepped out of the carriage.
"Where are you going, Natalia?" Mrs. Houston cried after her.
Without answering she walked to the gate and went rapidly up the walk. Reaching the steps to the main door, she seemed to change her mind quickly and went along the side of the building until she was just beneath an open window. Here she sank behind the protection of a shrub, and sat perfectly still.
The voice that had drawn her was very near now. She could hear the words distinctly; they came in a steady stream, mellow, soft, fluent.
At first she attempted to follow the words, vainly trying to force her thoughts into a comprehension of the reasoning employed. She soon found that useless; and with a long sigh in which a deep contentment enveloped her, she abandoned herself to the luxury of listening only to the music of the voice. It was sweet and clear like the ringing of silver bells in the early morning; it was deep and modulated and resounding, like the veiled diapason of a Cathedral organ; it was winning and gentle and fresh, bringing to her in some indefinable way, the faint fragrance of delicate flowers.
Suddenly the years dropped away. It was all a dream—her thinking she was really grown. She was sitting on the terrace under the big magnolia tree and the schoolmaster was reading to her. It was such a very sad story he was reading; she could hardly keep back the tears, for it was all about some poor lady who sewed all day on her dress and had to spend the night ripping it. She had cried, she remembered now; and when he had asked her why, she had been so ashamed and said it was because she hated her frock so—a red and purple poplin that had come all the way from Boston. And then they were sitting there again, one cold winter afternoon, and were watching the sun sink behind the black, frosty lowlands. She had asked him why the Indians had called it the Land of the Setting Sun, and he had told her wonderful stories of a race that had inhabited all this country and were forced, step by step, to go out into that distant wilderness where the sun set every night. Trifling incidents crowded one upon the other, accentuating the reality of the vision, until she suffered as keenly, throbbed with as great a joy, as she had in living those days.
A slight pause came.
Then the flowing words continued. But in that moment the dreams had vanished. She knew now what the voice meant. It was fighting for her lover's life, her happiness. Her whole future was dependent on its continuance, its force, its compelling magnetism. She felt it now in every fibre of her being. It filled her with an indefinable happiness. She understood so well what it meant; it was the full glory of his love. She was satisfied now that he had carried her to that dizzy height with him. She would never forget; it would be with her for ever. In that lay its transcendent beauty. Through its divinity it would become eternal.
Suddenly the music ceased. She looked up. Mrs. Houston was leaning over her and saying something. Finally she understood the words:
"His speech is over. Come back to the carriage with me."
She rose from the ground and walked unsteadily back to the carriage. In a few minutes Judge Houston and Millicent had joined them.
"Would you prefer to wait at my house?" she heard him asking. "The speech for the prosecution will last about an hour, I suppose. After that we don't know how long the jury will take."
"Let us stay here," Natalia answered in a voice that did not seem her own. "I shall be nearer Morgan. It would be deserting him to go away."
"Very well, my dear. I shall come to you as soon as I know the verdict."
An hour more, with the sound of other voices. Endless arguments and set phrases and instructions to twelve men who had already reached a decision. Evening came on gradually, the trees grew dark and began their twilight whispers; negroes began to harness their horses to the wagons, coachmen straightened up and roused their teams; the air grew charged with expectancy. There was a deathly, waiting stillness. The case was before the jury. Natalia grasped Mr. Houston's hand.
"How much longer?" she asked. "How much longer, Aunt Maria?"
"The speeches are evidently finished, Natalia. We have not heard any voices for a good while."
"Then the end is nearly here?"
The old lady smiled, reassuringly.
"I believe we shall all be happy in a very few minutes."
Suddenly Millicent stood up in the carriage.
"Here comes Judge Houston!" she cried, her voice shaking a little. "Oh! he is smiling! I can see him from here. Look, Natalia! Don't you see? Morgan is free! There he is—coming to us now!"
CHAPTER XIII
THE GARDEN OF SHADOWS
They drove home in the fast-gathering dusk. The sun was gone, but through the breaks in the trees a gorgeous after-glow was illumining the skies. Mountains of clouds were piled up, bank upon bank, until the broad sweep of heavens was filled with pinnacles of deep rose, each vying with the other in more majestic composition.
When they had reached the house the colour had faded; the bright light from the windows streamed out across the doorway; the magnolia grove was slumbering in the peaceful summer night.
Natalia stepped within the hall, where the candles were burning cheerily and the savoury odours of supper came from the dining room, and smiled wistfully upon them all.
"You go with them, Morgan," she said, a weary note in her voice as she stood with his arm about her. "All of you have a good time at supper—but let me go to my room. You will not mind, dear?" She looked up at him yearningly. "I believe I would be a little happier alone—for a while," she ended, turning away.
Judge Houston followed her to the steps, detaining her hand in his.
"Natalia," he said, in a lowered voice. "Everything is all right with you? You are happy again?"
She smiled into his eyes a little sadly.
"Yes, I am very happy, Uncle Felix. Only—it is so different a happiness from what I used to know. It seems a deeper, a more meaning thing than I have ever felt before. That is why I want to be alone. You understand, don't you?"
The old gentleman pressed her hand.
"Will you come down again?" he asked, after a moment's pause. "Sargent is coming out here to-night. I should like for him to see you."
Natalia's eyes deepened and she came closer to him.
"I am glad, so—so glad, he is coming," she said thoughtfully. "Yes—I shall come down again. Tell him I shall be waiting for him in the garden—the garden of shadows—he will know."
She went slowly up the steps to her room. It was empty; even Dicey had been attracted to the kitchen by reports of the wonderful supper that was being prepared.
She stood looking about her for a long time. It was to be her last night among the old surroundings she had loved so well. The old bed, with its huge posts and carvings of fruit and flowers, seemed to respond to her caressing glance; the marble mantel spoke to her of the many winter evenings spent before its hospitable face; the wall paper and the carpet, each repeating a design of baskets of roses, held stories of the long ago; everything was overflowing with what had gone before—holding their story of her mother's life, and now, her own.
She picked up a cashmere shawl she had found in an old cedar chest in the attic and pulled it across her shoulders. That, too, was of that elder day, and as she felt its folds about her, it seemed a link that brought her in even closer contact with the past.
After a little while she went down the stairs again, avoiding the door to the dining room, and slipping into the parlour unnoticed. Her mother's portrait gazed down upon her, calm and peaceful, in the candle light. Was it their last parting, she mused as she stood before it; would they never look into each other's eyes again! She turned away with dimmed eyes, and went noiselessly out into the night.
It was an evening in which the vibrant sounds of Nature became only a distant throbbing, vague and indistinct. It was very still for moments, almost breathless save for the occasional breeze with its burden of rustling leaves.
Unconsciously Natalia went towards the bench under the magnolia, and sitting down, looked out across the wide, shimmering river, towards the far horizon. The minutes drifted along while the stars came out, and the evening deepened in beauty. The breezes slept now; all the world seemed to have sunk into a balmy somnolence.
As she sat there, lost to her surroundings yet vividly in sympathy with them, the sound of a cane tapping lightly on the ground, broke the silence. She lifted her head quickly, with the movement of one who is startled by a memory; then, rising quickly, she looked through the grove and saw some one coming towards her. The light was in her eyes so she could see only indistinctly the silhouette of a figure coming directly towards where she stood. Suddenly she smiled, made a quick step forward, then drew back again.
"The schoolmaster!" she whispered to herself, smiling over the familiar name. Then she called to him in a low voice with the words that brought rushing back the night she had waited for him by the kitchen fire. "It's you—you've come—I'm so—so glad!"
He was before her now, holding her hands in his and looking down into her face with the kind, sweet expression she had forgotten for so long a time.
"Natalia! Natalia!" he said as if a little dazed. "You have grown into a woman, haven't you?"
Quite suddenly she drew her hands away from him and sank on the bench, the tears streaming down her face.
"I am so, so glad you have come," she repeated between her sobs. "If you only knew how I have suffered these last few days. I can't help crying—forgive me. You seem to bring back the old, happy days to me so. I know you will think I'm quite the little girl still."
Sargent sat down beside her, drawing her hand through his arm, and holding it gently.
"They told me you were out here," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "and I asked them to let me find you. I thought I knew where you were. I did—you see."
Natalia did not attempt to answer him; drying her eyes with her free hand, she began to look at him intently.
"When I got your message," he continued in the low, modulated voice that rang in her ears searchingly, "I believe I expected to see you again just as you had gone away. It brought back our days together, with such a rush; it made me realize thatyouhad not forgotten, either. You see, Natalia, even in politics, everything is not entirely blotted out."
She drew her hand slowly away from him, clasping them both tight in her lap.
"And yet you threw away your chance, to come to me!"
"Don't you remember my promise to come to you? I said no matter where I was, I would come to you when you needed me. Do you think I should have deserved to win if I had done otherwise?"
"I had released you from that promise—by not keeping mine," she answered with unsteady voice.
"You were only a little girl then, Natalia—of course you did not know what you were promising. Besides, we were both children, and children forget quickly."
She looked at him, curiously. Could it be true that she was mistaken?
"Youdid not forget," she murmured.
"How could I forget what you had been to me! Those were long, long days to me, Natalia, and without you, I don't know how I should have gotten through them. You made them beautiful and happy for me, for in your confidence and dependence, I was brought out of my brooding upon those I had left behind me. You and Judge Houston were the only ones to whom I could tell my real yearnings, and even as a child, I felt you understood and sympathized. It was hard on me when you went away; only in endless work did I find any consolation. Ah, how I did work, Natalia! People say things come easy to me, but that is because when others begin to study a case my nights of ceaseless labour have been finished. But in the late afternoons, my thoughts always drifted back to you; and when this dear old place was closed, and your little brothers and their mother went away, I would come out here often and sit, right where you are now, and wonder where you were and if you would ever come back to me again."
Natalia leaned back on the bench with a gradual lessening of all forces. Sargent's influence, the calm tones of his voice, the old charm of his presence, crept over her with a quieting effect that left her wholly contented. She had no other wish now than to hear him talking to her.
"And yet," he said wistfully, "there is so little that I know of you during those years; there is so much for you to tell me."
"It seems nothing now," she answered, breaking the silence of a few moments. "I do not seem to have really lived until the last few days—the rest was only playing, and not worth recounting."
"Ah—but you are wrong. It is because it was your life that I want to hear it."
Natalia looked at him quickly and saw only his kind, glowing eyes bent on her.
"And since I have suffered," she continued slowly, "it seems to me those years of my life taught me so little how to know life."
"They taught you to love," Sargent answered quietly. "Don't you count that as a great deal?"
"Yes,—but I—" she stopped abruptly. It was on her lips to say she had known that as a little girl, and in the knowledge that she could not say it to him, came to her the first feeling of restraint.
"That is all one need learn to be happy," he continued, as if unaware of the interruption. "It is the centre about which the world is circling—at least the part of the world that is worthiest. Tell me about yourself and Morgan, Natalia. Tell me as you used to, when we would sit out here after school hours, I forgetting that I was a teacher, and you, that you were a little girl. I wonder if you have forgotten the lines about 'books in brooks.'"
As if in reply she leaned a little forward and looked up before her into the starlit sky, quoting softly:
"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
"Do you remember how you would explain to me over and over again, about sermons being in stones? And how you laughed when I asked Mammy if she understood. No, I don't believe I've forgotten anything," laughing lightly, as the restraint slipped from her and the old feeling of sympathy rushed back. "How your voice brings it all back to me! Have I been asleep and dreaming all these years and just awakened? I can shut my eyes and listen to you, and at once I am a little girl again. That is what I am going to do now. Talk to me, as you say I used to talk to you. Tell me of your great success."
Sargent gazed at her as she leaned back against the bench, one hand over her eyes to shut out all sense of reality. He could see the gentle rise and fall of her bosom beneath the thin frock; and the helpless, tired look of her hand as it lay in her lap, struck him with a peculiar tenderness. It made him forget for a moment. He leaned forward to kiss it, then drew back slowly.
"I used to tell you fairy tales then," he began at last. "You see—I can't now. You wouldn't believe them."
With her hand still before her eyes she answered him.
"Start at the time when I went away and tell me everything. I know it will sound like a fairy tale—your rise to the heights."
"My rise," he said, questioningly. "I believe it has come."
Natalia turned towards him, her face brilliant.
"Then you were elected—you go to Washington—Uncle Felix said the news would come to-night!"
Sargent turned away from the brilliance of her glance. It was almost too much for him to bear that she should have thought that was what he meant. Suddenly his lips tightened firmly. She should not know!
"You don't know what happiness it is to me to know it," Natalia continued, her face glowing with a new happiness. "I thought I had caused you to give up your election, to come to me. Now, it is all different. Everything with you is successful—absolutely everything you undertake."
Sargent winced at her words, thinking of a time, years gone by, when Judge Houston had told him that success seen by the world, and felt by the man, were widely separated. "Yes, even my old friend calls it that—and yet," he leaned forward, letting his face sink into his hands, "it is not what I want. I care not one jot for all the politics in the world. What I love best is the work here in a restricted field where I am so close to those I help. Can't you see it as I do, Natalia? I feel that every man whose life I save and start on a new course of living in which he realizes his sin, and through repentance gains the true light—can't you see that such work is greater than all the arguments of government, the discussions of tariff, the settling of bank questions, all the impersonal work that goes to make up the life of a public man?"
Natalia had turned towards him as he talked on, watching the glow of enthusiasm in his eyes, and gradually feeling the force of his magnetism sweep over her. Unconsciously her lips parted in her intentness, while she listened spellbound to the controlling influences of his life.
"You make me feel that religion and law are the same," she said, when he paused for a moment's rest.
"Theyarethe same. All our laws have their foundation in the word of God. No law without that basis is worthy of consideration. My first case taught me that, when I convicted Jacob Phelps; and ever since, when I see a man condemned to death, I feel all the suffering I endured the day he was sent to jail. I always feel an irresistible desire to rise up and cry out to leave vengeance to God. And now," his voice deepened vibrantly, "when a man comes to me and asks me to defend him for some crime, I feel a wonderful inspiration all through the work. The greater the crime the greater seems my inspiration, for out of the depths of the deed, I see the man's awakening, his regeneration, his approach towards God for it is only through suffering that we attain the heights."
He stopped abruptly, carried further than he had realized, by his enthusiasm. When he turned to Natalia, he found her hand on his arm, her eyes glowing into his.
"Do you believe that? Are you sure? It only came to me to-day, that we reached the heights through suffering." Her voice trembled as the words rushed forth. "I had always thought before that suffering ruined everything; that life should be made up entirely of joy and sunshine and happiness—that suffering would rob it of its beauty. But in my love," she ended sadly, "I had hoped to escape it. I had wanted that perfect—always."
"Perhaps this suffering has come to you, Natalia, to show you how deep your love for Morgan was—how much he meant to you. Perhaps it came to show you that—" Suddenly he stopped and turned away from her—changing his words with a violent shifting of thought. "Love is the only unselfish thing in the world," he continued, calm once more. "Everything else is but a gratification of self, some suffering undergone for an already estimated compensation. Even when we lead good lives, refrain from sinning, form for ourselves strict codes of honour—it is not because we wish to do all those things; it is the eternal benefit which we believe will be the outcome of such a course. The very motive of the world is selfishness, and that there should be in it such a wonderful thing as love, is incomprehensible; for in love the ego is lost; we feel only a desire to make the object of our love happy, to grant every wish, to anticipate every desire; and in the accomplishment of this, every part of selfishness is forgotten. We sink our being into that other one. It is the most beautiful thing God has given us, and it is the greatest sin of all; for in it we forget our duty to our Creator—we go directly against his great command."
Natalia searched his face as she listened. When he had stopped and turned towards her, his eyes bent upon her in the great love he had just spoken, the blood rushed to her face, mounting higher and higher, until it pounded in her temples. Still she could not turn from him. The love in his eyes held her painfully. Words rushed to her lips. She strove to hold them back. Why should she ask it of him? She knew now from his own lips. He had told her everything. Again the words cried out to her for utterance. Her will was as nothing, and she listened to her own voice when she finally spoke, as if it came from a great distance.
"That is what love means to you?"
He bowed his head silently.
"And you find in it a great happiness?"
Her question died unanswered on the quiet evening. Far down the sloping hill, on the glittering expanse of water, the vague form of a flat-boat drifted by, a single light gleaming at the bow. At last Natalia stirred. One hand was pressed against her bosom, as she stared straight out before her.
"You make me feel unworthy all the love that has been given me," she said. "It seems I have done nothing for any one—always nothing."
"Ah, but you have done a great deal, Natalia," Sargent answered quickly. "Think what you were to Morgan in his hour of adversity. He told me before the trial that without you his life would be wrecked. He says you are the only reason for taking up his life again. Is that not a great deal? And then," his voice lowered and grew very gentle, "you have brought a great happiness into my life. Without the memories of our happy days together, it would have been a very desolate old world to me. I always knew you would not forget me entirely; a guiding star, no matter how high it soars, never forgets its follower. If every man could have a memory, as I have had, to guide him through the pitfalls and temptations of his youth, when he is struggling on to the heights where character is formed, this would be a far better world. My greatest efforts could never be enough to show what I mean—Natalia."
He waited for her to speak, but no words came. She sat looking out into the night, as if his voice had been unheard. Her shawl had fallen to the ground and lay at her feet. Sargent stooped and, picking it up, held it to his lips a moment.
"Our lives seem to have grown very far apart," he began once more, attempting no longer to keep the caressing notes from showing, "but I want you to remember that I shall never forget you. You believe that, don't you? There is only one thing I am going to ask of you." He paused and brushed his hand across his eyes. "When you and Morgan go back home—when you go back to Boston to live, will you go some day to see my mother? I should love for her to see you once. She knows all about you. I hardly believe that you would have to tell her your name."
Suddenly, from a distance, the sound of music floated to them. Sargent lifted his head and listened; then stood up. "They are coming for me," he said, a great weariness creeping into his voice. "I must go back to the town and make my speech of thanks."
Natalia's hand touched his arm.
"Don't go—yet," she murmured. "I have something to tell you."
Sargent sat down beside her, her hand still resting on his arm. In the dim light he could see her tears:
"I don't know how to tell you—you sent me Mammy Dicey—I can't thank you—now you have saved Morgan—"
The music was coming nearer. The sound of drums and fife throbbed loudly in the quiet night. Suddenly the flare of lights shot through the grove. The torchlight procession had reached the gate, and now many voices were calling loudly for their new representative.
Natalia stopped in the midst of her words. A streak of light from one of the torches fell full upon Sargent's face, in which she saw with pitiless detail the signs of his great renunciation. In the knowledge her heart grew cold and still. She moved nearer him, and held out both her hands. For a little while they stood thus, each meeting the other's glance steadily. "When you were a little girl, Natalia," Sargent said tentatively, his words a whisper, "I always kissed you when I went away."
She leaned toward him, and in her uplifted face he read her answer. Putting his hands gently on he hair and pressing back the heavy coils, he kissed her on the brow.
Another loud cry from the impatient crowd, and the gates were thrown open and the grounds brilliantly illuminated by the torches.
Natalia stood where he had left her, watching him walk towards the crowd, his head held high, his figure outlined against the flaring torches. For a few moments she stood motionless, then going swiftly through the garden to the back veranda, she went up-stairs without meeting any one.
When she had reached the upper hall, the hurrahs and loud cheering of the crowd floated up to her through the open windows. Hesitating a moment, she finally went to the door leading on the balcony, and stood looking down upon the gathering.
Directly in front of the house the crowd was forming into a line. The band was already at the gate, closely following came the torch bearers, and last of all a carriage. She leaned forward, shading her eyes from the flickering illumination. He was in the carriage now, on the back seat, and beside him sat an old, grizzled-haired man, whose weather-beaten, joyful countenance beamed upon Sargent in his hour of triumph.
As she watched them the signal was given, the drums beat a resounding tattoo, the fife took up the melody, and the parade began to move. Through the gate they went and out into the road, where the sounds gradually grew muffled and the flaring torches, gleaming through the trees, became faint as fireflies. At last the drum sounded in a faint echo; then the night grew once more dark and still.
A hand grasped Natalia's. Starting, she turned and found Morgan's arm about her.
"We have been searching for you everywhere, dearest," he said, looking down into her face, his smile suddenly fading when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Sargent told me he had seen you."
In the silence that was deepening about them, Morgan gazed intently at Natalia. Once he brushed his hands before his eyes as if clearing away a mist; then his arms tightened about Natalia as she lowered her head on his shoulder.
"I am beginning to understand, Natalia," he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "It was all foryoursake—foryourhappiness—what he has done!"
"Forourhappiness, Morgan," Natalia answered, the tears streaming down her face. "He has brought you back to me—he has saved our love."
For a while they stood thus, looking out into the quiet night, her head upon his shoulder, his arm about her. "And, oh, Morgan," Natalia finally spoke, her eyes deepening with the glow of an inward light, "I can hear it still—the music of his voice," her words sank to a whisper, "it seems to me it will always be ringing in my ears—always—always."
THE END.
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