Payne Erskine

“ An artist? Look at your friend, Bertrand Ballard. What has he to live on? What will he have laid by for his old age? How has he managed to live all these years––he and his wife? Miserable hand-to-mouth existence! I’ll see my son trying to emulate him! You’ll be an artist? And how will you support a wife if you ever have one? You mean to marry some day?”
“I mean to marry Betty Ballard,” said Peter Junior, with a rugged set of his jaw.
Again the Elder made that despairing downward thrust with his open hands. ”

“ It was the Elder’s firm belief that his son had been murdered, yet he thought if no traces should be found of Peter Junior, he might be able to spare Hester the agony of that belief. He preferred her to think her son had gone off in anger and would sometime return. He felt himself justified in this concealment, fearing that if she knew the truth, she might grieve herself into her grave, and his request to Mary to help him had been made so pitifully and humbly that her heart melted at the sight of the old man’s sorrow, and she went to spend those weary hours with his wife. ”

“ They rounded the turn as he talked, and Larry Kildene stood forward under the stars and waved the torch over his head and held Harry back from the edge with his other hand. The air over their heads was sweet and pure and cold, and full of the roar of falling water. They could see it in a long, vast ribbon of luminous whiteness against the black abyss––moving––and waving––coming out from nothingness far above them, and reaching down to the nethermost depths––in that weird gloom of night––into nothingness again. ”

“ Then children come to us, and our very souls are knit in one, and still the mystery goes on and on; never are we completed by being lost––either one––in the will or nature of the other; but to make the whole and perfect creature, each must retain the individuality belonging to himself or herself, each to each the perfect and equal other half.”
Peter Junior paused in his walk and stood for a moment looking down on his mother, awed by what she revealed to him of her inner nature. “I believe you have done this, mother. You have kept your own individuality complete, and father doesn’t know it.” ”

“ It had been the effort of Milton Hibbard to work up the sentiment of those who had been so eagerly following the trial, in favor of his client’s cause, before bringing on the final coup of the testimony of the Swede, and, last of all, that of Betty Ballard.
Poor little Betty, never for a moment doubting her perception in her recognition of Peter Junior, yet fearing those doubting ones in the court room, sat at home, quivering with the thought that the truth she must tell when at last her turn came might be the one straw added to the burden of evidence piled up to convict an innocent man. ”

“ Is much to do that is very pleasant. But of those wild lions on the hills, they are not for a man to fight alone.” He restrained the horse, and walked slowly at her side, his hand on the pommel of the saddle, but did not speak. “You promise not? All night you stay in the cold, where is danger, and how may I know you will not again do such a thing? All is beautiful here, and great happiness may be if––if that you do no tragedy.” So sweetly did she plead he could no longer remain silent.
“There is only one happiness for me in life, Amalia, and that is forbidden me. ”

“ Then, arrived at the cabin, he would be all courtesy and geniality.
When Harry rallied him on his inconsistency, he gravely replied: “An Irish gentleman is an Irish gentleman the world over, no matter where you find him, in court, camp, or wilderness; it’s all one to him. Why do you think I brought that mirror you shave by all the way up the mountain? Why, to have a body to look at now and again, and to blarney, just that I might not forget the trick. What was the good of that, do you ask? Look at yourself, man. ”

“ Peter Junior’s heart melted. He took his mother in his arms and stroked her beautiful white hair. “I love you, mother, dear,” was all he could say. Should he tell her of Betty now? The question died in his heart. It was too much. He would be all hers for a little, nor intrude the new love that she might think divided his heart. He returned to the question of his father’s consent. “Mother, what shall I do if he will not give it?”
“Wait. Try to be patient and do what he wishes. It may help him to yield in the end.” ”

“ It was nearly time for the rigor of the winter to abate, but still a high wind was blowing, and the fine snow was piling and drifting about the cabin, and even sifting through the chinks around the window and door, but the storm only made the brightness and warmth within more delightful.
When Larry drew his crucible from the coals and poured the tiny glowing stream into his molds, Amalia cried out with joy. “How that is beautiful! How wonderful to dig such beauty from the dark ground down in the black earth! ”

“ CHAPTER I BETTY
Two whip-poor-wills were uttering their insistent note, hidden somewhere among the thick foliage of the maple and basswood trees that towered above the spring down behind the house where the Ballards lived. The sky in the west still glowed with amber light, and the crescent moon floated like a golden boat above the horizon’s edge. The day had been unusually warm, and the family were all gathered on the front porch in the dusk. The lamps within were unlighted, and the evening wind blew the white muslin curtains out and in through the opened windows. ”

“ When Bertrand and Mary entered, they stood for a moment aghast, seeing little likeness to either of the young men in the developed and bronzed specimen of manhood before them. But they greeted him warmly, eager to find him Peter, and in their manner he missed nothing of their old-time kindliness.
“You are greatly changed, Peter Junior. You look more like Richard Kildene than you ever did before in your life,” said Mary. ”

“ Mary Ballard stepped down from the open porch where Amalia and the rest of the family sat behind a screen of vines, interestedly talking, and walked along the path between the rose bushes that led to the gate. She knew Richard must be coming when she saw Betty, who sat where she could glance now and then down the road, drop her sewing and hurry away through the house and off toward the spring. As Larry knew the heart of a man, so Mary Ballard knew the heart of a girl. ”

“ Harry King, standing in the doorway of the cabin, with the firelight bright behind him, saw them winding down the trail and hurried forward. They were almost stupefied with fatigue. He lifted the mother in his arms without a word and carried her into the cabin and laid her in the bunk, which he had prepared to receive her. He greeted Amalia with a quiet word as the big man led her in, and went out to the horses, relieved them of their burdens, and led them away to the shed by the spring. Soon the big man joined him, and began rubbing down the animals. ”

“ It was the Elder’s custom to sleep after the Sunday’s dinner, which was always a hearty one, lying down on the sofa in the large parlor, where the closed blinds made a 133 pleasant somberness. Hester passed the door and looked in on him, as he lay apparently asleep, his long, bony frame stretched out and the muscles of his strong face relaxing to a softness they sometimes assumed when sleeping. Her heart went out to him. Oh, if he only knew! If she only dared! His boy ought to love him, and understand him. ”

“ Walters.
“Wrestling on the Sabbath evening! They are men, not lads.”
Mr. Walters looked down in embarrassment, and the old man continued. “Would a stone leave a handkerchief clinging to a thorn? Would it leave a notebook thrown down on yonder rock?” The Elder lifted his head and looked to the sky: holding one hand above his head he shook it toward heaven. “Would a stone leave a hat marked with a bloody hand––my son’s hat? There has been foul play here. May the curse of God fall on him who has robbed me of my son, be he stranger or my own kin.” ”

“ The flames rose high in the still air and stained the snow around his bonfire a rosy red. The redness of the fire-stained snow was not more deep and vital than the red blood pulsing through his heart. With all a strong man’s virility and power he loved as only the strong can love, and through all his brooding that undercurrent ran like a swift and mighty river,––love, stronger than hate,––love, triumphing over death,––love, deeper than hell,––love, lifting to the zenith of heaven ”

“ The ride was a short one, for the air was chill, and there were more signs of snow, but when they returned to the cabin, they found Larry seated by the fire, drinking a brew of Madam’s tea and conversing with her joyously about his trip and what he had seen of the new railroad. It was curious how he had succeeded in bringing her to take an interest in things quite alien to her. The very atmosphere of the cabin seemed to be cleared by his presence, big, genial, and all-embracing. ”

“ Thus Larry Kildene came back to his mountain. Exhausted, he still made light of his achievement––climbing through day and night to arrive before the snow should embank around him. He stood in the firelight swaying with weariness and tasted the hot coffee and shook his grizzled head and laughed. The animals came slowly on and stood close to him, almost resting their noses on his shoulder, while Harry King gazed on him with admiration. ”

“ The true meaning of Amalia’s faith, as she had brokenly tried to explain it to him, dawned on his understanding. God,––love, truth, and power,––annihilating evil as light eats up darkness, drawing all into the great “harmony of the music of God.”
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Sitting there in the red light of the fire with the snow falling around him, he knew what he must do first to come into the harmony. He must take up his burden and declare the truth, and suffer the result, no matter what it might be. ”

“ Although Amalia’s convent training had greatly restricted her knowledge of literature other than religious, her later years of intimate companionship with her father, and her mother’s truly remarkable knowledge of the classics and fearless investigation of the modern thought of her day, had enlarged Amalia’s horizon; while her own vivid imagination and her native geniality caused her to lighten always her mother’s more somber thought with a delicate and gracious play of fancy that was at once fascinating and delightful. ”

“ Again Madam Manovska addressed her daughter, and Amalia said: “She thinks this high mountain and the plain below, and that we are exile from our own land, makes her think of this; only that the conscience has never for her brought terror, like for Cain, but only to those who have so long persecuted my father with imprisonment, and drive him so far to terrible places. She thinks they must always, with never stopping, see the ‘Eye’ that regards forever. ”

“ Memory closed upon him like a deadening cloud and drenched his hurt soul with sorrow. He rose from stooping above her and looked back.
“Your mother is coming. She will be here in a moment and then I will set that room in order for you, and––” his voice shook so that he was obliged to pause. He stooped again to her and spoke softly: “Amalia Manovska, stop weeping. Your tears fall on my heart.”
“Ah, what have happen, to you––to Amalia––? Those terrible men ‘rouge’!” cried Madam Manovska, hurrying forward.
“Oh, Madam, I am glad you have come. The Indians are gone, never fear. ”