Joseph O'Brien

“ In an alcove in one corner an open fire burned brightly, casting a red glow over the big, comfortable arm-chair drawn up before it, with its high, pulpit-shaped back toward them. Karl walked over to Olga and said with quiet earnestness:
"We have tried to avoid it, Olga; tried for six years. Now that the situation is forced upon us, why not be honest? Let us talk about it frankly."
"I think it was sweet not to discuss it for six long years," Olga said, smiling at him. "A clean conscience is like a warm cloak, Karl; it enfolds us and makes us feel so comfortable." ”

“ Karl threw himself moodily into a chair as Olga fled into the outer studio, and sat there, not looking at his unwelcome visitor. Dr. Millar seemed to find his dejection amusing. He allowed the silence to remain undisturbed, while he puffed a cigarette. Then he said, half to himself, half to Karl:
"Full of temperament, that woman, and pretty, too; extremely pretty."
"Yes, she is pretty," Karl acquiesced, without looking at him.
"It's a pity she doesn't love her husband," was the next cynical remark that fell on Karl's ears. ”

“ As she sat there, the tall, sinister figure of Millar, in his fur overcoat and his top hat, passed the window.
"It would be better if I went to sleep," Olga repeated to herself slowly.
Just then the shadow of Millar, as he passed in front of one of the garden lamps, was thrown against the white wall of the room, and she could hear distinctly his cynical chuckle. With a cry of horror she raised herself to her full height, put out her hands to ward off the evil spell, and shrieked:
"No! no! no!" ”

“ Karl's arm slipped down to Olga's waist. He felt himself drawing her closer to him.
"Don't be a liar," Millar urged, his eyes still burning into them; "don't be a hypocrite. Be a rascal, but be a pleasant rascal and the world is yours. Look at me; all the world is mine, and what I have told you is the honest confession of all the world. We are baptized, not with water, but with fire. Love yourself; only yourself; wear the softest garments, sip the sweetest wine, kiss the prettiest lips."
No subtler tempter ever spoke to the hearts of a man and a woman. Karl was leaning over Olga now ”

“ Millar, cynically misunderstanding his question, said quickly:
"Why, that is an opera cloak."
Olga turned quickly, fearful that the remark might cause an eruption which she could not control. She cried impulsively, seeking to divert the threatening train of conversation:
"The ball is a great success. Every one is merry; every one dances as if it were the first affair of the season. The girls are all as happy as young widows who have just taken off mourning."
"I have observed it," Millar agreed with enthusiasm. "It is splendid. But why is Karl so sad amid all this merry-making?" ”

“ He lied deliberately about the letter, which even then reposed in the inside pocket of his immaculate frock coat. But he reserved it for a final coup. He knew that Olga, believing Karl was in possession of the letter, would yield to the inevitable; that she would again confess her love, even to Karl himself, and that only a miracle of resolution and faith and strength could save the two young people from the abyss of dishonor and unhappiness into which he was about to plunge them. ”

“ Millar went on in a light tone:
"She does not love her husband. He must be a genius or a very commonplace man. Marriage always is a failure with such men. Common men live so low that women are afraid some one may steal into their lives at night through a cellar window. Genius—well, genius lives on the top floor, up toward the clouds, and with so many gloomy steps to climb and no elevator, it's very uncomfortable for a pretty woman. Her ideal is one easy flight of stairs to comfortable living rooms on the first floor."
Karl maintained silence, and continued to walk the floor. ”

“ She was startled, though, when she was ushered into the reception-room and saw Millar there, his hands on his breast, bowing profoundly.
"You seem to be everywhere," she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Are you Karl's secretary?"
Millar was transformed back into his frock coat, his immaculate trousers, his wine-colored waistcoat. He was again the polished, suave, affable gentleman of the afternoon, with ingratiating manner, cynical smile and insinuating words.
"No, I am not Karl's servant; only his friend," he said. "How are you feeling to-day?" ”

“ Karl turned away from him, trying not to listen to him.
"Kill a man for a found sovereign," he repeated.
"That woman will become sweeter, dearer, more precious to you every day," the malignant one went on, his words searing Karl's soul. "You will realize that she could have given you wings, that she is the warmth, the color—her glowing passion the inspiration of your work. ”

“ Elsa Berg was a brilliant, vivacious girl, rarely beautiful, with lively blue eyes, chestnut hair and a tall, slender, willowy figure. The romance and excitement of her meeting with Karl made her seem doubly beautiful, and she gladdened the artist in him, but he helplessly confessed to himself that she made no impression on his heart. His thoughts were with Olga, and he was abstracted, almost to the point of rudeness, while Elsa tried to talk with him.
[Pg 93] "Who is that terribly rude person who seems to be frightening every one?" ”

“ He drew a shining revolver from his hip pocket and laid it on the table at Karl's elbow.
"And with this pistol I nearly killed a man for a found sovereign which I did not need," he finished quietly.
Karl was profoundly stirred by the story, although he could hardly tell why.
"I give found money away," he said, laughing uncertainly, and adding, "for luck."
"So do I," said Millar quickly, "but it slipped through my fingers, and what slips through our fingers is what we want—we seek it breathlessly—that is human nature. You, too, will seek your found treasure once it slips through your fingers. ”

“ By a sheer effort of will he forced himself to turn to Elsa. He resolved that he would talk to her; that he would make love to her; that he would marry her and banish from his heart those hateful emotions which Millar had aroused. He leaned forward and spoke of love to the girl in low tones, while Elsa, with color coming and going in her face, listened and watched the woman she knew for her rival.
"Our first love usually is our last love [Pg 108] —our last love always is the first," Karl said. ”

“ There is not much sentiment in me, but I am a man, and I tell you, little girl, you possess the weapon that will deal the death blow to the most attractive, the most experienced woman in the world. That weapon is purity."
"Should I listen to all this?" Elsa asked.
"You should not," Millar replied promptly; "but listen just the same. It may help you. And now, go dance with Karl. You must conquer. But don't try to be a woman; be a girl. Don't try to be saucy."
"I don't care to be saucy, but it is so original," Elsa said contritely.
"Don't try to be original," Millar said earnestly. "Be yourself. ”

“ Generations of conventional treatment will try to prevent you from doing so, by pretending it is impossible. But down in your hearts, in their depths where truth is not perverted by the veneer of convention, I know and you know that it is the simplest thing on earth. Here you are full of talent and longing; here is a woman, beautiful, passionate——"
Karl made a last struggle against the inevitable consequence of this demon's urging, drawing Olga away from him. ”

“ Millar leaned down, placing his hands over Karl's and Olga's as they rested on the back of the chair. Looking at Karl, he said:
"Why didn't you stay at home? You ran away to become an artist. You refused a professional position and ordinary morals; a decent occupation at so much a week. You wanted to go out and seek the Golden Fleece of Fame. Now, fight your battle; fight it alone; don't get married." ”

“ All this you will realize when she has slipped through your fingers. You might have become a master—a giant. Not by loving your art, but by loving her. Oh, to be kissed by her, to look into her burning eyes and to kiss her warm, passionate mouth."
Karl covered his face with his hands. Millar picked up the delicately scented shawl which had covered Olga's bare shoulders. ”

“ With a maddened scream of rage Karl reached the table with a bound and snatched up the revolver. But Millar, with a spring as lithe and agile as a cat, was there beside him, holding the arm with which he would have shot down the man who was pouring insidious poison into his ears—into his soul.
Millar smiled as he looked at the helpless [Pg 82] boy before him. Karl released the revolver, and as he replaced it in his pocket, Millar said quietly:
"You see, Karl, a man may kill a man for a lost sovereign." ”

“ Then he seized his hat and overcoat and flung himself out of the door into the gathering winter storm.
For an hour he plunged through the snow, the chaos of the storm matching his mood. Almost exhausted, he turned back toward his home and entered. The room glowed warmly. In front of the inviting fire was the big arm-chair with its wide seat, comfortable cushions and high pulpit back. As he laid aside his greatcoat he stepped toward the chair, intending to bury himself in its depths and surrender to his mood. ”

“ Many a good wife, who shrinks with horror at the thought of a vulgar amour, or of any act which could pain or anger her husband, has been led into the Devil's net by indulging in retrospective dreams of a vanished romance and through the stirring of old ashes to see if one little spark remained. ”

“ You are a very strange man."
"I will deliver the letter to Karl," Millar repeated slowly.
"You know I did not mean it; you know I did not want to write it," Olga said.
"A woman does not always write what she wants," Millar said lightly, "but she always wants what she writes."
"The letter was not for him; it was for me," Olga insisted.
She arose and her hand was extended imploringly, begging Millar to return the missive to her, when Herman entered. The house had grown still. The music was hushed, the guests were gone. Only Millar, spirit of evil, incarnation of the devil, remained. ”

“ Drinks, drugs, avarice, money mania, jealousy, love of power, desire to outshine neighbors, lust, sensuality, gross appetites, gourmandism, love of praise, personal conceit and egotism, selfishness in every form—all these are webs which the Devils spin about humanity.
Even beautiful, romantic sentiment, memory and imagination, become aids of the Devil, at times, when coarser and more common methods fail in the snaring of a refined soul. ”