to me, and as I can make them of no use to you, I think you may as well keep them to yourself." This nettled him a little, but pleased him more, and brought him to the confession at once. "Read this poem," said he, handing me a book," and while you are reading it I will go upstairs and get you a cigar. Excuse me for a moment." The book was a blue-and-gold Tennyson, opened at the turning down of a leaf, the margins of the two facing pages scrawled over with pencil-notes, and the cover blurred and smeared as if it had been laid on wet grass. The poem was "Edward Gray." "Did you read it?" he asked, returning with a smoke-offering. "Yes," I replied; "I have read it before everybody has read it." 66 : 66 'Well," said he, a thousand people may have read it, and yet not one in a thousand comprehend it; that is, except-" 66 Except what?" I asked, noticing his hesitation. 66 Except,' ," said he, " some man who has suffered in the same way -some man who, like a perverse and headstrong fool, has committed suicide, not on his body but his heart." Exhibiting but little curiosity, I elicited the greater confidence. He showed a desire to be communicative. Having hinted at his story through the poem, he was about to make a more definite disclosure of it in prose. "But first," said he, "let me get away from this piazza, and sit under yonder chestnut-tree." Whereupon, in true picnic fashion, we stretched out our smoke-emitting figures on the shaded hill, and lay like twin Jupiters on Olympus, wreathed in our own clouds. "Now," said he, leaning on his elbow," a year ago, under this very tree, I sat one moonlight night and talked with a woman who in mid summer seemed as cold as ice; and I loved her and was vexed with her, both at once; and I wanted to marry her, yet hung back through a mad whim that I would first punish her and though I knew she loved me to the uttermost, yet I kept insanely arguing to myself that she did not; and then in a freak I tore my heart away her, and with a few disdainful words left her sitting speechless and pale; and here now, at this moment, I can turn day into night, and see her still sitting, dumb and stunned under my blow; and the gentle victim, like an unburied ghost, pursues me everywhere, uttering no reproach, but simply showing her suffering face; and I now know that I stabbed the soul of a woman who would have died for my sake; and ever since, for my crimes against her, I have lived like a dead man, carrying a hell in my breast." He said this with a vehemence that was fiery, and a sincerity that was pathetic. 66 Ah," said I, drawing breath, and taking time to think," the secret of your pain, then, is this, that you have inflicted an injury on another. You have broken the heart that loved you, and the memory of your crime is a punishment greater than you can bear. The very thought of what you have perpetrated makes you shudder, and yet you cannot help thinking of it all the time. It is face to face with you day and night. As a physician, I know something of the nature of your anguish. It is of a kind which fulfils the whole measure of possible vengeance. The human mind is competent to no higher type of suffering. God Himself chose it for His supreme penalty against the slayers of the Nazarene, when He simply ordained that they should look on Him whom they had pierced.' That look!-they could not bear it. Yes, that's the true analysis of your self-torture. You cannot say, Having delivered myself of these metaphysical observations, to which he made no answer, I added: "And the lady, I presume, followed her prototype in the poet's fable, and died of disappointed love?" "No, not at all," he replied spitefully. Not dead?" I exclaimed." Why, then, while there's life there's hope. It is not too late to right the wrong, and earn a pardon. Not dead," I repeated, dwelling on the words. "No, she's not dead," he answered, "she's married." At this sudden change in the tale I could hardly suppress a smile. Here, thought I, is a lovesick swain, who at first had played the capricious tyrant with his shepherdess; who then had ignorantly, but none the less cruelly, crushed the sweet and hiding violet of her unobtrusive love; who next had gone away and left her in her bruised beauty to be plucked by another hand; and who finally had nothing else to do save to punish himself properly with unavailing remorse and merited despair. "Served you right," I exclaimed, speaking my honest mind, and not compromising with him for a mo ment. "Yes, I grant it," he replied; 'served me right, but not her; she married a man whom she can never love, for a woman who loved as she did loves but once and for ever: Such a marriage is a mockery. Ever since I heard of it, I have been fit only for a madhouse." "A year ago, did you say, you met her? and I know not who else—have all gone to Europe for two years." “I believe,” said I, suddenly impressed with a reminiscence, "that I knew the lady myself, for I made the acquaintance of almost everybody here last summer; and I only wonder that you escaped me. Let me see. What was her name?" "Let you see? Yes," said he, "you shall see. Your eyes shall look and peer and gaze at her name which will save your ears from hearing it. That is her name," he exclaimed, taking out of his pocket a little French casket resembling a glove-box, and taking out of this a dainty little cambric handkerchief, on which was written, in the Chinese ink of indelibility, the name "Lucy Rayner." This disclosure opened my eyes wide. 66 Why do you stare?" he asked. I answered evasively. "I was simply thinking, sir, that there were two families of Raynors here last summer-one spelt 'n-o-r' and the other'n-e-r.'" "Well," said he, "I never heard of there being two; one was the death of me, the other may go to the dogs." "I will wager," said I, "that I can recall the young looks. She wasn't one of the belles. Too quiet for that. Rather retired and bashful. Hair light, natural, and all her own-no backstuff from the shops. Always a trifle poorly, but never enough to need medicine. I remember her well. Why, I once wrote for her this prescription, 'A horse and saddle-to be taken once a day.' Isn't that her ladyship?" 66 Well," said he, "the picture is something like a portrait." 66 "Yes," said I, "Lucy Rayner. I knew her. And so she's married. What's her name now?" "Yes, at this very spot; it was just here that I first saluted her; it was just here that I last parted with "She married her father's junior her. And she was married last year partner; his name's Baxter. The at Grace Church, New York. Her firm is Rayner, Clay, & Baxter, iron father's family-bride, bridegroom, merchants, and I would like to sup ply one of the company with cold steel." Taking out my watch I remarked as if in haste, I "Well, I have heard the case. know a medicine for a mind diseased, and I'll bring it to you tomorrow. Good day." was a loving heart; it was a heart which was his, his only, his against the world, and his for all time. But he mistook it; he did not understand it; he spurned it. At last, when too late, he came to his senses; he saw the wrong he had done, and he now scourges himself for his crime, and afflicts his fancy with a The Powelton House at Newburgh perpetual vision of the pale, sufferis an hour's easy drive from Corn- ing face of her whom he harmed; wall. It stands on high and stately yes, and he will go mad unless resground, and overlooks a superb cued from this perilous state of country, intersected by the finest mind; and I want you as a woman river of the whole earth. Among to tell me what you think this its summer occupants were my pre- woman would say to him if they vious acquaintances, the Rayners, ever again should meet: for I shall who, in coming to spend a second order him to go on a search through season in the same pure air, chose the wide world till he find her; but Newburgh instead of Cornwall. Miss I first want to know how such a Lucy Rayner had already been a woman would act on being found." semi-patient of mine for a month. I had visited her twice. She was not ill, but worse than that; she was lifeless, hopeless, and joyless. Some inward frost was nipping her outward bloom. The fountain of her feeling had ceased to flow, and was stagnant. What arrow had pierced her I could not tell, but I knew she was hiding a wound. All this I had witnessed for a month, and twice tried to fathom. I now drove to the Powelton House to try once more. "I did not send for you," she said, with her sad, calm voice. "No," I replied, "I have not come to give advice, but to get it. I am in a perplexity, and need a woman's wit to help me out of it. I have a patient who is beyond all hope unless I can contrive to inspire within him the cheerful heart that doeth good like a medicine. You know I am a great believer in my kind of religion-I mean faith and confidence between man and man, and especially between man and woman. Well, I have a strong man on my hands, who is on the verge of distraction because he misinterpreted a woman's heart. It was a true heart; it was a pure heart; it This little speech cast a sudden shade over my lady's countenance. She had been knitting with long wooden needles, but during my narrative had laid down her worstedwork in her lap; she now resumed her work, using her fingers somewhat excitedly, and made no reply. 66 Come," said I, rallying her attention; "you are a woman; you know a woman's mind; so tell me what this woman would do." "Well," said Lucy, "if she were a woman of a high and rich nature, as you picture her, I think she would love the sufferer all the more for what he had suffered for her sake." At this confession (which I had expected) I said to myself: “Ah, Lucy Rayner, that was spoken like a true woman: one who forgets her own pain in the remembrance of another's wounds; who allows no wrong to go unforgiven, and chides no penitent with reproach; who, like charity's own self (which is her other name), ' suffereth long and is kind;' and who, with a fine genius for conquest, steadies her own heart in strategic patience, and conquers back her wandering mate by invin cible love." My question was answered, and I was satisfied. 66 Well, Miss Lucy," I said, "your opinion is the same as mine. I thank you for the confirmation of my judgment. Now we will drop this disagreeable subject, and take up another. The chief object of my call to-day was to invite you to take a ride with me to-morrow. I must force you out into the open air. If you will not go of yourself I must come and take you. We can ride to Cornwall and back. Will you go?" I did not drive to the Atkins House, but to the chestnut-tree, where I left my horse and waggon in charge of my fair passenger-all three greenly pavilioned in the summer shade. "By-the-by," said I, turning back again before I had gone three steps, "Miss Lucy, you remember Mrs. Rhodes, to whom you sent the flowers last year? She is here again, laid up with the ague. Suppose you send her your card and compliments. The remembrance would cheer her." "Yes," said she rather demurely, "I have no cards with me," she "I would like to see the old chest-replied. nut-tree. I have not been there this year." “Then,” said I, "it's a bargain; to-morrow at three o'clock. Goodbye." I came away feeling that I was playing a part in a melodrama. My next day's ride from the Powelton House towards Cornwall, accompanied by my fair invalid, was noticeable for its clear sky, its smiling wayside flowers, its quarrelsome and melodious birds, its occasional ox-team, its frequent pleasure-riders both in carriages and on horseback -noticeable, I say, for all these, but still more for its voluble tongue and attentive ears; the_tongue being mine, the ears Miss Lucy's. "Here, then," said I, " is a blank card; write your name and a message on it, and date it to-day." She took my lead-pencil and wrote, "Good wishes. Lucy Rayner. July 21st, 1872.". It was the self-same handwriting which appeared in the Chinese ink on the handkerchief. On my way into the hotel I slipped this little card into an envelope such as I used in giving out medicines, and I wrote on the outside, "Elixir vita." Mr. Gordon was sitting under a grape-vine in the garden, which was on the opposite side of the house from the chestnut-tree. He was apparently reading, for he held a magazine, but he was really dozing, and it lay unnoticed on his knee. I saluted him with a good afternoon. He hastily arose, and welcomed me with something of the same sad indifference, almost bitterness, as on the day before. "By the way," I observed, "do you remember another family of Rayners who used to visit Cornwall? I think they spent last summer here, or perhaps the summer before. What has become of them ?" "Yes," she replied, "I remember "I am in some haste," I said, "so them slightly. It was two years I will first run across the road to ago. They have not been here Mr. Wilson's, and then ask you to since. There was a marriage in save my time by stepping down to their family last winter in New where my buggy is,by the chestnutYork, and what do you think?-tree. Here is the medicine I prothe absurd story went round that mised you. Take it at once. It will the happy event had occurred in my make you a new man." papa's household-though such a thing, you know, is not at all likely ever to happen," she added with a smile. So saying, I quickly stepped away, and passing behind some lattice work through which I could see without being seen, I saw him slowly open the envelope, suddenly start with astonishment, hold out the card with one hand, put the other to his bewildered brain, and then look around for me. He was in a rage like a lion in a snare; and, suddenly springing forward in the direction in which I had gone, pounced upon me before I could get out of the way. "What is this?" he exclaimed. "What is what?" "Why, this card." "Let me see. Oh, that was meant for old Mrs. Rhodes. I beg your pardon. The medicine I brought for you is in my waggon under the tree. I will join you there soon." tunity for pledges and protestations. There is mischief to be undone, and reparation to be made. There is a tangled skein to be unravelled, and a silken cord to be tied. I will be in no haste." So for a couple of hours I sauntered among the trees, and, like Jacques, moralised. These reunited lovers had just touched the summit and supreme moment of life; and yet, though my heart leaped and bounded with theirs, I was angry with the fools for their year's folly. At the very moment when they were undoubtedly forgiving each other, I was resolutely blaming both. They had no right to commit This time I walked far enough against each other such a blunder, to be out of reach, and left him such a crime, as the mutual misunalone. Why not? My own part in derstanding by which they had the play had ended. Even as mere well-nigh shipwrecked their lives. spectator, I had no courteous excuse I held them both in the wrong-not to remain. "Every heart knoweth both equally, but both actually; its own bitterness, and a stranger Miss Rayner as well as Mr. Gordon intermeddleth not with its joy."-Ellen Adair as well as Edward What right bad I to enter into the Gray. A shy and coy woman who chambers of this man's breast? None. So I took myself aloof from him on the instant, and left him to solve his enigma by himself. The tumult within him—of memories, misconceptions, guesses, hopes, hallucinations-all the stormy yet sunshiny conflict in his wonder-smitten, tempest-beaten breast; this, to a man like myself, interested in psychological phenomena, would have been a pleasant exhibition as portrayed on "the human face divine; "but it was a spectacle I had no right to gloat over, pry into, or gaze at. Therefore I went off into the woods-my thoughts and I together -these being a band of restless companions. My tramping feet wandered after them, crushing the mosses and breaking the harebells. I walked and meditated, both in fierce earnestness. "Let them have it out," said I; "it cannot be settled in a moment; they shall have full time for explanations and apologies-free oppor loves a strong and ardent man, should beware lest, in her reserve, she hide her love so completely that, like Genevra of the Mistletoe Bough, it is never discovered by him who seeks it, but is left sealed in its coffin for ever. Moreover, a strong, impulsive, and imperious man, who loves a reserved woman, should use his bright wits, and not trust to his blind jealousies, to determine the state of such a woman's heart. Half the misunderstandings of those who can least afford to misunderstand each other at all, arise from two joint reasons; first, from want of frankness on the part of those who think they have no need to explain; next, from want of faith on the part of those who can take nothing for granted without an explanation. The blunder of Ellen Adair and Edward Gray proved fatal; this was a natural result. The blunder of Lucy Rayner and Archibald Gordon was remedied; this was a happy incident. But there is the |
