Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

“ Ferns lined the way, and fragile little flowers; it was a sweet solitude, dim, cool, and fragrant. At last Marie stopped. They had come to a steep decline, where the path ended in a great boulder.
"The rest is a scramble," she said, "but it's worth it. Look! Is n't it lovely?"
He climbed on to the boulder beside her, and with her looked down upon a little pool, like a steel mirror, darkly clear, image of austere tranquillity, a place of unaccountable fascination.
"I wish you'd never been here before," said Stanley; "I wish no one had ever seen this place before to-day." ”

“ So, as Miss Ellis was once very kind to me, I tried here."
"Wait just a little longer!" cried Marie. "I want to tell auntie that—about your wife. I don't think she understood. Is it urgent? Ought she to go at once?"
"Every day counts," he answered.
She rushed up-stairs again, to argue passionately with the old lady.
"It's his wife!" she cried. "She's dying. Something must be done at once!"
She put all her ardent heart into her plea, so that tears sprang to the old lady's eyes; but they were tears not for him, but for Marie and her youth and her fervor. ”

“ A thin, dark young creature of eighteen, not pretty, but in her awkward immaturity giving promise of something rare to come; a sulky face with childish mouth and puzzled eyes, the face of an inquirer, an adventurer, that mingling of carelessness and earnestness that makes a Drake, a Parsifal, a Columbus.
"I don't believe you ever will fall in love," said Amelia. "You'd expect so much of a man that you could n't help being angry with him all the time."
"Perhaps," said Marie, with a sigh. "It's very likely I 'll never be suited. Or maybe no one will ever like me. ”

“ THE sisters were up-stairs in the cool, old-fashioned chamber leisurely making ready for bed. Amelia stood at the bureau, brushing her shining hair by the light of a dim lamp; Marie sat in a low arm-chair, unlacing her boots and talking vehemently.
"I do despise that sort of talk," she cried. "'Melie, if you 're sensible and prudent and cautious, as they want you to be, you 'll simply miss everything. Being sensible means not wanting anything much, and being prudent means not trying to get what you want, and being cautious means not taking what you want even when you can get it. ”

“ I thought the only drawback was my poverty. Please, my dear girl, you know poets are n't to be judged quite as other men."
"Are n't they?" said Marie, grimly. "Come on! We 'll miss our train."
Poor Amelia at home had found it impossible to sleep in the room left desolate by her sister. Forlorn and weeping, she lay beside her aunt, her head resting on the frail old shoulder, her smooth hair brushing the wrinkled cheek.
The shutters were all closed, and a night-light burned in a basin, shedding a feeble glimmer over the great, high-ceilinged room. She stared about her restlessly. ”

“ O 'Melie, just the sort of life I'd like! He fought in the Boer War, he's been in revolutions in South America, he's hunted tigers in India. One day he 'll have plenty of money, and the next day not a penny. No one to think of but himself; not a tie on earth—"
"But, Marie, his wife!" ”

“ She was a gourmet, perhaps, but not a glutton, like the lean, fierce Marie. There were times, though, when she envied Marie her feast.
"I'm not in a hurry," she said. "I'm only nineteen; there's lots of time ahead of me. I'm going to give myself the rest of this summer to make up my mind."
"But are n't you afraid he 'll go away or die—or something?" asked Marie. "I should be. If I liked a man, I'd marry him instantly."
"I'm not afraid of his going away," Amelia answered. "Anyway, if he wants to go, let him."
"You 're really not a bit in love with him!" said Marie, reproachfully. ”

“ Marie stopped short, and looked at her sister.
"Do you know, 'Melie, we both forgot all about her! Never mentioned her!"
"He should n't," Amelia answered sagely. "It was horrid. But, still, he's probably awfully unhappy with her. Poets make such awful mistakes about marrying."
Amelia, while a model of propriety, had an incurable softness for handsome young men. So much so that, after decent protest, she consented to go with Marie again the next day to say good-by to Stanley. ”

“ We 'll go anywhere, do anything you like. If you'd rather—"
"I don't care, Stanley," she cried, "only—I suppose I'm irritable. It's been such a strain making up my mind!"
"Don't I know, dear girl? Do you think I don't realize all you 're giving up? I only wish I were the greatest poet who ever lived, to put my heart into words. I'm so sorry, my Marie, that it must be this way, all alone, no kindly wishes, no wedding—"
"Oh, how can you!" she cried, jumping up—"how can you be so stupid as to speak of that!" ”

“ But I have n't been able yet—"
"But if you know that you love me, sweetheart, is n't that enough?"
"No," she replied sternly, "it's not. No, Stanley, I want—just another day. I 'll meet you here on Sunday, and I 'll tell you then. I 'll know."
"Marie," he said, "I'd like to go on my knees to you. You 're the finest, bravest—"
She cut him short with a vigorous, boyish sort of hand-clasp.
"Good-by," she cried. "See you on Sunday. Don't come with me; I'd rather go back alone." She scrambled up the hillside, as awkward and swift as a young colt. ”

“ But it was quite fifteen minutes more before she went up-stairs, and all that time Amelia, leaning out of the window, heard their low voices. Marie entered the bedroom as rapt and aloof as a sleep-walker.
"A man to see auntie," she explained to Amelia. "I 'll tell you all about him in the morning."
Their aunt, too, had something to tell. She took it for granted that Marie had talked to her sister and that both were indignant, and she began, not without hesitation, as they sat at breakfast the next morning. ”

“ It is always the same—something urgent. I cannot."
"And just because he's been in trouble before, you want to—to—turn him away like a dog!" cried Marie, with a sort of sob in her voice. She could n't think of telling arguments, because, after all, the chief argument was the young man himself, the chief recommendation his beauty in the moonlight.
She gave her aunt one look of profound resentment and started toward the stairs, but directly the old lady had closed her door, she turned back, and ran into her own room. Amelia was sitting up in bed. ”

“ I can't stay here, you know. Please! It's really my own. I don't need it at all. And I'd like so awfully to be a little bit useful to some one."
"No," he said in great distress; "I can't! Never mind, please; it really does n't matter."
"Your wife's health does n't matter!"
"I mean—I don't want—"
She thrust the envelop into his hand, and he kept it and her hand with it. ”