The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 8, 1903, Page 4

pressed hi at she w gently cry g, wores in her the uim her more brus turned with s acar e sne sobbed, yuu somenow b wide awase when 1 tant murmur ot i 1ad you came!” fmce fult on k My own J that 1 m.gh at ten-thirty’ tter! How I me write it, hunself. But between the lines 1 1 covered it witn Kisses. of this sudden ward me? W oal cried and you I can't tell er tave 3 mo- ing it “Don’t know. There crets beiwedn L Wit never you. There thousand sianders breathed I me: them with fury and as dared repeat them wouid not poliute my e of them author? romised mama you, and she is cn was best. Papa to break our en- I defied him. We know I had the came to me. 1 said n 1 he said that as far as ard suffering pleadings. a for cease So I the to enemy to he ra.ses. dark lixe \ enough. 1 ted. “1 only his the darkest my life. You dear?”’ she my immortal this I do. me witk nt Then ut 4 mama is better to write t) »w tenderly an il this shadow No power shall when the final test ow weary."” interrupted. “1 s brought me nown me Ui ath shall not bring dread with sickening will make to plunge of frivolous society. I pusand miles y face near you letter can trust or at,” h ve that ws and “You You than ke in upon him. living presence. ar, closer t ame f a great bridge. wat 2 alf way to the leave you and re- sonorous He you been here?” minutes more rowding for oose what to desires to say 1 whisper to me 1ed in trem- ar she hand own dea placed her lips, ring aga love—unto_t forever® his lips on hot tears. thing of return to you he pleaded T Deace sake very weak now with ot live ior Keep 4 it burnt aced it in an rt. It felt ng him reproach- rder 1o strong: y whole fif r this cruel p call for both ts rose, to write to me, ) omise. [ can id send still?” he warm and nd it shall grav the darkest now, till we odby,” he He her one placed close E long and s, back 1o Hambright. The was fringed with the n he reached the town The more he had thought of his position and the way the general had treated him in attempting to setiie his fate sat of own will without the more it roused his v him for the strugg They were measure wills in a contest that on part had life for its stake. “I'll give the old warrior the fight of his career!” he muttered as he snapped juare jaw together with the grip “My brains, and every power which nature has endowed me his will and his money. And for ndered me there de slowly castern horizon t of dawn w his be a reckoning. was fighting in the down in him he had a soldier’s love for a fight. His soul rose to meet the chal- lenge of his hidden foe armed in the steel of a proud heritage of courage. He went 1o bed and »undly for six hours. CHAPTER XVL MYSTERY OF PAIN. Gasten awoke next morning at half ' ten o'clock with a dull headache, and a sense of hopeless depression. His iger had cooled and left him the pitiful sness of his loss. He slowly and mechanically dressed When he buttoned his coat he felt something hard press against his nea:.. It was the ring. He sat down on nis bed and drew it from his pocket. To his surprise he found cofled inside it and tied by a tiny ribbon a ringlet of her hair. She had taken off the ring in her mother's presence and promised her to register and mafl it in Atlanta. She had bound this little niece of herself with it. He 5 i it tenderly “My God. it is hard!” te groaned. And all the unshed tears that his eager in- terest in her presence and his kindling anger the night before had kept back now blinded him. He did not notice his door softly open, nor know his mother was near until she dark, but deep TH st his shoulder. full of tender het rebe'lious placed her hand gently on le ked up at her face trouble in a torrent of Words. W\ hat a dog in t trembling be treated like tded Wit & voice have 1 done way?’ he with prote “Pcrhaps you e eral in some way?’ “impossible. 1 ve been the soul of def- erence Lo him.” “Hc's a very proud man when vanity is touched, are you sure of it “As sure as that 1 live. No, some scoundrel has interfered between us and in sume unaccountable way covered e with Infamy in the general’s e; “But who could have done it? ‘I used my utmost power of persuasion to get it from her. But she would not tell we. 1 have Leen sta beu .n the vark.’ ‘Whom do you supect? She has a uuz- en sultors.” “There’s only one man among them who capable of it, Ailan McLeod.” “Nonsense, child. He is not one of her suitors,” she protested warmly “Then why does he hang around house with such dogged pers.stency “He has always had the run of the house. his father committed him to the general when he died on the battle-field.’ Her face clouded, and then a great Dity for his sorrow filled her heart. She stooped and kissed him. *““Come, Charlie, you must cheer up. If she loves you it's everything. You will win_her.” “But what rankles in my heart is that I have been treated !lke a dog. If he objected to my poverty that was as evi- dent the first day he welcomed me to his house as the day he dictated to her his brutal message, refusing me a word. He welcomed me to his house, and gave Miss Salde his approval of our love while 1 was there. There could be no mistake, for she told me so.” “I can't understand it,”” she interrupted. “Now he suddenly shows me the door and refuses to allow me to even ask an explanation. If he thinks he can settle my life for me in that simple manner, I'li show him that I'll at least help in the settiement.” “Good. 1 like to see your eyes flash that fire. Don't forget your resolution. Your enemies are your best friends.” She said this with a ring of her old aris- tocratic pride. “Come,” she continued, “I've a nice warm breakfast saved for you. You don't know how much good you have done me in my lonely life. “Dear mother!” he whnispered pressing her hand After breakfast he went to his office and read over slowly the letters he had received from Sallie, kissed them one by one, tied them up and sent them to her mother. He took the ring out of his pocket and locked it in onme of his drawers. rended the gen- his the CHAPTER XVIIL THE WAYS OF BOSTON. When Helen Lowell reached Boston from her visit with Saillie Worth, she found her father in the midst of his olitical campaign. The Hon. Everett Powell was tne representative of 'Con- gress from the Buston Highlands dis- trict. His home was an_ old fashioned white colonial house built during the American Revolution. He was not a man of great wealth, but well-to-do, & successful politician, enthus. iastic student, a graduate of Harvard nd_he had always made a specialty championing the cause of the ‘‘freed- man.” He was a chronic propcser of a military force bill for the South His family was one of the proudest in America. He had a family tree five hundred years olu—an unbroken line of unconquerable men who held liberty dearer _than life. He believed in the heri- tage of good honest blood as he belisved in blooded horses. His home was fur- nished in perfect taste, with beautiful old rosewood and mahcgany stuff that had both character and history. On the walls hung the stately portraits of his ncestors representative of three hundred ars of American life. He never confus- ed his political theories about the ab- stract rights of the African with his personal choice of associates or his pride in_his Anglo-Saxon biood. With him politics was one thing, scclety another. His pet hobby, which combined in one his philanthropic ideals &nd his practical politics, was of late a_patronage he had extended to young George Harrig. the bright mulatto son of Eiiza and Gecrge Harris whose dramatic slave history had made thefr son famous at Harvard. This young negro was a speaker of ability and was accompanying 1l on his campaign tours of the d trict, making speeches for his patron, who had .obtained for him a clerk’ tion in the United States Custom Harris was quite a drawing card at the meetings. Handsome, and almost white, he was a fine argument in himself to support Lowell’s political theories, who used him for all he was worth as he had the previous election Harris had become a familiar figure at Lowell's home in the spacious library, where he had the free use of the bunks, and frequently he dined with the family, when there at dinper time hard at work on some political speech or some study for a plece of mu Lowell had met his daugnter at the depot behind his pair of Kentucky thor- oughbreds. This daughter, his only child, was his pride and joy > a blonde beauty, and her T to her father was remarkable was a widower, . and this lovely at_once the Incarnation of his lost love and so fair a reflection of his heing, had ruled him Wwith absolute sway during the past few years. He was laughing like a boy at her com- ing “Oh! my beauty, the sight of your face gives me new life!” he cried smiling with love and admiration. “You mustn't try laughed “Did you really have a Dixie?" he whispered “Oh! papa, such a tim"" she e: shutting her eyes as though L ng to live it over again Really ?” “Besux, morning, to spoil me!” she good time in imed were noon and night— dancing, moonlight rides, boats gliding along the beautiful river and mocking birds singing softly their love songs un- der the window all night ““Well you did have a romance,” he de- clared “Yes,” she went on “and such people, such hospitality—oh! I feel as though I never lived before.” ““My dear, you mustn’t desert us all like that,” he protested. can’t help it. I'm a rebel now.” “Then keep still until the campaign’s over!”” he warned in mock fear. “And the boys down there’ she con- tinued, ‘‘they are such boys! Time doesn’t seem to be an object with them at all. idently they bave never heard of our uplifting Yankee motto ‘Time is money.” And such knightly deference! such charming old-fashioned chivalrous ways!" “But, isn't that date?” “How staid and proper Boston seems! I know I am going to be depressed by it."” “I know what's the matter with you! he whistled. “What?" she slyly asked. “One of those boys.” “I conf Papa, he’s as handsome as a prince. ““What does he look like A “He §s tall, dark, with black hair, black eves, slender, graceful, ali fire and energy.” “What's his name?’ “St. Clare—Robert St.. father was away from home. He's a pol- itician, I think.” “You don’t say! St. Clare. Well of all the jokes! His_ father is my Democratic chum in the House—an old fire-eating Bourbon, but a capital fellow.” “Did you ever see him?" “No, but I've had wood times with his father. He used to own a hundred slaves. He's a royal fellow, and pretty well fixed in life for a Southern poli- tician. I don't think though I ever saw his boy. Anything really serious?” “He hasn’t sald a word—but he's com- ing to see me next weck.” dear, a little out of Clare. His “Well things are moving, I must say!” ““Yes, | precended 1 must consult you, before telung him he could come. I didn’t want w seem too anxious. I'm half afraid to let him wander about Buston much, there are tou many nice girls father laughed proudly and lovk- at ner. “1 hope you will tind him all your heart moust desiies, and my con- gratuiations on your first love!” “It will be my last, too,” she answered ously. h! y?u're too youpg and pretty to y that? * “I mean it,” she said earnestly- with a smile trembling on_her lips. Her father was silent and pressed her hand for an answer. ~As tgey entered the gate of the home, they met young harrs coming out with some books un- ger ms arm. He bowed gracefully to them and pussed on. ‘Oh! papa, 1| had forgotten all about vour fad for that young negro!” “Well,. what of it, dear?"’ “You ‘love me very much, doA't you?’ she asked tenderly.” “I'm going to ask you to to be inconsistent, for my sake."’ “That's easy. 1'm often that for no- body's sake. Consistency i§ only the ter- ror of weak minds.” “I'm going to sak you to keep that young negro out of the house when Southern friends are here. After my sweetheart comes 1 expect Sallle and her mother. I wouldn't have either of them to meet him here in our library and especially in our dining-room for any- thing on earth!” “Well, you have haven't you?" “You know I never did like negroes any way,” she continued. “They always gave me the horrors. Young Harris is a scholarly gentleman, I know. He is 80o0d looking, taiented, and I've played his music for him sometimes to please you, but 1 can't get over that little kink in his hair, his big nostrils and full lips, and when he looks at me, it makes my flesh creep.” “Certainly, my darling, you don't need to coax me. The Lowells, I suspect, know by this time what is due to a guest. When your guests come. our home and our time are theirs. If eating meat of- fends, we will live on herbs. I'll send Harris down to the other side of the dis- trict and keep him at work there until the end of the campaign. My slightest wish is law for him." “You see, papa,” she went, “'they never could understand that negro's easy ways around our house, and I know if he were to sit down at our table with them they would walk out of the dining-room with an excuse of illness and go home on the first train.” “‘And yet, their homes were full negroes, Were they not?" “Yes, but they know their place. I've seen those beautiful Southern children kiss their old black ‘mammy.’ It made me_shudder, until I discovered they did it just as I kiss Fido.” “And this a daughter of Boston, the home of Garrison and Sumner!” he ex- claimed. “I've heard that Boston mobbed Gar- rison once,” she observed. “‘Yes, and I doubt if we have canonized Sumner yet. All right. If you say so, LIl order a steam calliope stationed at play Dixie jomned the rebels, of the gate and hire a man to for you!" She laughed and. ruf: up the steps. . Sallie determined to keeg the secret of her sorrow in her own heart. On the ocean voyage she had cried the whole first day, and then kissed her lover's picture, put it down in the bottom of her trunk, brushed the tears away and deter- mined the world should not look on her suffering. She had written Helen of her lover's declaration, and of her happiness. She would find a good excuse for her sorrow- ful face in their separation. She knew he would write to her, for he had said so, and she had slipped the address into his hand as he left the car that night. At first she was puzzled to think what she could do about answering these l-t- ters so Helen would not suspect her trouble. ~Then she hit on the plan of writing to him every day, posting the letters herself and placing them' in her own trunk instead of the post-box. ‘“He will read them some day. They will relieve my heart,” she sadly told herself. lielen met her on the pier with a cry of giriish joy, and the first word she ut- tered was: “Onh! Sallie, Bob loves me! He's been here two weeks, and he's just gone home. 1 ve been in heaven. We are engag- hen I'll kiss you again, Helen.” She gave her another kiss. “And I've a big letter at home for you already! It's post-marked ‘Hambright.’ It came this morning. I know you wiil feast on it. If Bob don’t write me faith- fully U'll make him come here and live in_Boston."” When Sallie got this letter, she sat down in her room, and read and re-read its passionate words. There was a tone of bitterness and wounde. pride in it. She struggled bravely to keep the tears hack. Then the tone of the letter changed to tenderness and faith and infinite love that struggled in vain for utterance She’ kissed the name ard sighed. I must go down and chat and smile with Helen. She's so silly about her own love, If 1 talk about Bob she will forget I live.” THE SHADOW OF A DOUBT. rs. Worth bad arrived in Boston a few days after Sallie, coming direct by rail. She was still weak from her recent attack, and it cut her to the heart to watch Sallle write those letters faith- fully, and never mail them out of def- erence to her wishes. One night she drew her daughter down and kissed her. “‘Sallie, dear, you don't know how it hurts me to see you suffer this way, and write, and write these letters your lover never sees. You may segd him one let- ter a week, I don’t care what the gen- eral says.” There was a sob and another kiss and, Sallie was crying on her breast. In answer to her first letter, Gaston was thrilled with a new inspiration. He sat down that night and answered it in verse. All the deep long.ngs of his soul, his hopes and fears, his pain and dreaws he set in rhythmic music. Her mother read all his letters after Sallie. And she cried with sorrow and pride over this poem. “Sallie, I don’t blame you for being roud of such a lover. Your life is rich allowed by the love of such a man, Your father is wrong in his position. If I were a girl and held the love of such a man, I'd cherish it as I would my soul's sal- vation. Be patient and faithful.” “‘Sweet mother heart!"” she whispercd as she smoothed the gray bair tenderly Allan McLeod had arrived in Boston the day befors and the morning's papers were full of an interview with him on his brilliant _achievement in_breaking the ranks of the Bourbon Democracy in North Carolina, and the certainty of the success of his ticket at the approaching election. McLeod sent the paper to Mrs. Worth by a special messenger, lest she might not see it, and that evening called. He asked Sallle to apcompany him to the theater, and when she refused spent the evening. ‘When her mother had retired McLeod drew his seat near her and again told her in burning words his love. “‘Miss Sallie, I have won the battle of life at Its very threshold. 1 shall be a United States Senator in a few months. I want to lead you, my bride, inta the gallery of the Senate before I walk down its aisles to take the oath. I have loved you faithfully for years. I have your father’s consent to my suit, I asked him before leaving on this trip. Surely you will not say no?" “Allan McLeod, I do not love you. I do love another. I hate the sight of you and the sound of your voice.” “If you do not marry Gaston, will you give me a chance?’ “If 1 do not marry the man of my choice, T will never marry. Now go.” McLeod returned to the hotel with the fury of the devil seething in his soul. He determined to return to Hambright if possible to entrap Giston in tion and Jestroy his faith in Saliie's loyalty. He wrote to the general rhat he had been rejected by his daughter, who still corresponded with Gasion. When Gen- eral Worth received this letter he wrote in wrath to his wife, peremptorily for- bidding Sallie to write another line to Gaston, and closed saying: “I had trusted this matier to you, my dear, now 1 take it out of your hands. 1 forbid another line or word to this man.” Gaston watched and waited in vain for the letter he was to receive next week. Again his soul sank with doubt and fear. What fiend was striking him with an un- seen hand? He felt he should choke with rage as he thought of the infamy of such a warfare. His mother said to him shortly after McLeod's arrival: Charlie, I have some bad news you “It can’t be any worse than I have, the misery of an unexplained silence of two week "'l feel that I ought to tell you. It is the explanation of that siience. I fear.” “What is it, mother?" he asked soberly. “I hear that Sallie has plunged into frivolous society, is dancing every night at the hotel at Narragansett Pier where they are stopping now, and flirting with a half dozen young men." I don’t beliéve it,” growled Gaston. “I'm afraid it's true, Charlie, and I'm furious with her for treating you like this. I thought she had more characrer.” “I'll love and trust her to the end!"” he declared as he went moodily to his office. But the poison of suspicion rankled in his thoughts. Why had she ceased to write? Was not - this mask of society a habit with those who had learned to wear it? Was not habit, after ali, life? Could one ever escape it? It seemed to him more than probable that the old habits should reassert themselves in such a crisis, a thousand miles removed from him or his personal influence. He held a very exaggerated idea of the cor- ruption of ‘modern society. And his heart grew heavier from day to day with the feeling that she was slirping away from m. for CHAPTER XX. A NEW LESSON IN LOVE. McLeod returned home. to find his plans of political success in perfect or- der. The programme went through with- out a hitch. “In spite of the most des- perate effqrts of the Democrats, he car- ried the State by a large majority and made, for the Republican party and its strange allies, the first breach in the ud phalanx of Democratic supremacy since Legree left his legacy of corrup- tion and terror. The Legislature elected two Senators. To the amazement of the world, the day before the caucus of the Republicans met McLeod withdrew. He had no op- position so far as anybody knew, but a curious thing had happened The Rev. John Durham discovered the fact that McLeod kept a still and had established his mother as an illicit distiler years before. One of his deputies who had be- come an inebriate informed the preacher. The preacher put this imporiant piece of information into the hands of a dar- ing young Republican who had always been one from principle. He went 1o Raleigh and interviewed McLeod. At first McLeod denied, and blustered, and swore. When he produced the proefs, he gave up, and asked suiienly: What do you want Get out of the rac All right. 1s that all? You're on top.” o, give me the nomuination.”” ever!” he yelled with an oath. Then T'll expose you in to-morrow morning’s paper, and that's the end of you. Mcleod hesitated a moment, and then said, “I'll agree. You've got me. But I'll make one little condition, You must give me the name of your informant.” “The Rev. John Durham.” “I thought as much.” To the amazement of every one McLeod waved the crown aside and plac- ed it on the head of one of his lieu- tenants. He returned to Hambright from this dramatic event with an un- ruffied front. To his cronles he said, “Bah! I was joking. Never had any idea of taking the office for myself. I'm play- ing for larger stakes. I make these pup- pets, and pull the strings.” He dewoted himsélf assiduously in the leisure which followed to Mrs. Durham. He never intimated to Durham that he knew anything about the part he had aken in his withdrawal from the Sena- torship. Nor, had the preacher told his wife of his discovery. They had quar- reled several times about McLeod. His wife seemed determined to remain loyal to the boy she had taught. McLeod in his talk with her intimated that he had withdrawn from a desire vaguely forming in his mind to get out of the filth of politics altogether, sooner or later, influenced by her v8ice alone. ‘With subtle skill he played upon her vanity and Jjealousy, and at last felt that he had entangled her so far he could dare a declaration of his feelings. There was one element only in her mental make- up he feared. She held tenaciously the old-fashioned romantic ideals of love To her it seemed a divine mystery linking the souls that felt it to the infinite. If he could only destroy this divine mystery idea, he felt sure that ner sense of iso- lation and her proud rebellion against the disappointments of life would make her an easy prey for his biandishments. He searched his library over for a book that could scientifically demonstrate the purely physicial basis of love. He knew that somewhere in his studies at a medi- cal college in New York he had read it. At last he discovered it among a lot of old magazines. It was a brief study by a great physician of Paris, entitled The Natural History of Love.” He gave it to her, and asked her to read it and give him her candid opinfon of its philosophy. He walted a week and on a Saturday when the preacher was absent at onc of his county mission stations he called at the hotel for a long afternoon’s talk. He determined to press his suit. “Do you know, Mrs. Durham, what gives a preacher his boasted power of the spirit over his auliences?” he in- quired with a curious laugh in the midst of which he changed his tone of voice. “No. You are an exper: on the diseases of preachers, what is it “Very simple. Religion is founded on love. There never was a magnetic preach- er who was not a resist'ess magnet for scores of magnetic women. If you don't belleve it, watch how resistless is the im- pulse of all these good-looking women to shake hands with their preacher, and how fondly they look at him across the ws If the crowd is too dense to reach Bis hana.* A frown passed over her. face, and she winced at the thrust, yet her answer was a surprising question to him. [7)0 you really belleve in anything, Al- 1an?” You ask that?’ he said leaning closer. ‘You whose great dark eyes look through a man's very soul?’ “I begin to think I have never seen yours. I doubt if you have a soul.” ““Well, what's the use of a soul? I can't satisfy the wants of my body.” “Answer my question. Do you believe in anythin, “Yes,” he replied, his volce sinking to a tense whisper: “I believe in woman—in love.” “In woman."” “You mean women,” she sneered. He started at her answer, looked in- tently at her and sald deliberately: “I mean you, the one woman, the only woman, the only woman in the world to “I do not believe one word you have uttered, yet, I confess with shame, you have always fascinated me."” “Why with shame? You have but one life to live. The vears pass. Even beauty so rare as yours fades at last. The end is the ground and worms. Why dash from your beautiful lips the cup of life when it is full to the brim?" “How skillfully you echo the dark thoughts that flit on devil wings through the soul, when we feel the bitterness of life's failure, its contradictions and my- steries!” she exclaimed, closing her eyes for a moment and leaning back in her chair. “You've often talked to me about the necessity of some sort of slavery for the negro if he remain in America. 1 begin to believe that siavery is a necessity for ail women.” “1 fail to see it, sir.” “All wome. are born slaves and choos~ to remain so through life. It is curious to see you, a proud imperious woman, born of a race of unconquerable men, slagger- ing to-day under iue chains of four thousand years of conventional laws made by the brute strength of men. And you, if you' struggle at all, beat your wings against the bars that slaveholu- ing maie brute has built about your soul, fall back at last and give up to the w:ll of your master. This too, wnen you hold in your simple will the key'that would unlock ur prison door and make you free. It's a pitiful sight.” “How shrewd a tempter “There you are again. to teil you that you are of yoursel! a living human being, divinely free, isa tempter from the devil. You are think- ing about eternmity. Well, now s eternity. ‘Live, stand erect, take a deep breath, and dare to be yourself and do what you please. That is what I do. The future is a myth.” “Yes, I know the freedom of which you boast,” she quietly observed. ‘It is the freedom of lust. The return to nature vou dream of is simply the fall downward into the dirt out of which a rational and spiritual manhood has grown. I feel and know this in spite of your handsome face and the fine ring of your voice.” “Dirt. Dirt!” he mused. ‘“‘Yes, I was in the dirt once, was born in it, the dirt of poverty and superstition and fears of laws here and hereafter. Byt I awoke at last, and shook it off, wasfed myself in knowledge and stood erect. I am a man now, with the eye of a king, consclous of my power. I look the lyirg hypoeriti- cal world in the face. 1 have made up my mind to live my own life in spite of fools, and in spite of the laws and con- ventions of fools.” “And yet I believe you carry a horse- chestnut in your pocket, and will not un dertake an important work on Friday? she returned. “‘But I never strangle a normal impulse of my nature that can satisfy. I am not that big a fool, at least.” She was silent, and tren sald, “I can never thank you enough for the book You sent me." McLeod sighed in rellef at her change of tone. After all she was just tan- talizing him. “Then you liked it?" glittering eyes. “I devoured every woid of it with a greed vou cannot understand. A great man wrote it.” “Then we can understand each other better from to-day, he interrupted smilingly. “Yes, far better. You gave me this book hoping that it might influence my character by destroying my ideal of love, didn’t you, now_ frankly?" ‘‘Honestly, 1 did hope it would emanci- pate you from superstition: “It has,” she declared, but with a curious curve of her lip that chilled him. “What are you driving at?' he asked suspiciously. ‘“This book has given me the key that unlocked for me, for the first time, the riddle of my physical being. It has shown me the physical basis of love, just as I knew before there was a physical basis of the soul ‘““What did you understand the book to teach?” he asked. “‘Simply that love is based in its ma- terial life, on the lobe of the brain which develops at the base of a child’'s head near the age of thirteen. That this lobe of the brain is the sex center, and love is impossible umtil it develops. That this center of new powers at the base of the skull is a physical magnet. That wnen a man and woman approach each other, who are by nature mates, these mag- netic centers are disturbed by action and reaction, and that this disturbance de- velops the second elemental passion call- ed love. ‘The first elemental passion, hunger, has for its end the preservation of the Individual; while love finds its fulfillment in the preservation of the spe- cies. Love finds its sacisfaction in the child, its ardor cools, and it dies, unless kept _alive by the social conventions of the family, which are not based merely on this violent emotion, but also on unity of tastes, which produce the sense of comradeshlf. For these reasons it is possible to fall violently in love more than once, and there are dozens of people who possess this magnetic power over us and would respond to it violently if we only came in social contact with them. That the romantic bombast about the possibili- ty of but one love in life, and that of supernatural origin, is twaddle, and lcads to false ideald. Have I given the argu- But what He who dares he cried with do you deduce he cr.ied licking his lips. “Freedom from superstitions about love,” she answered, ‘‘and ositive knowledge of its elemental wonder and brood over your charm for me. I know exactly what it means, and how it might occur again and again with another and another. 1 have simply throttied it in a moment by an act of my will, based on this knowledge.” “You _amaze me.” “No @oubt. One's character centers in the soul, or the appetites. Mine is in the soul, yours in the appetites. I see ou to-day as you reaily are, and I »athe you with an unspeakabie loathing. You have opened my eyes with this beautiful little book of nature. I thank you. Your scientist has convinced me that there are possibly a hundred men in the world who would affect me as you do, were we to meet. And when I looked back into the sweet face of my dead boy, 1 learned another truth, that in the union of my first great love 1 was bound in marriage, not simply by a social conven- tion, or a state contract. but for life by nature’s eternal law. The period of in- fancy of one child extends over twenty- one years, covering the whoie maternal life of the woman who marries at the proper age of twenty-four. This union of one man and one wWoman never seem ed to sacred to me as now. It is nature's law, it is God's law.” McLeod's anger w fast rising. “Don’t fool yourself,” Lie sneered, “you may overwork your maternal intultions. You remember the kiss you gave me when a boy just fifteen? Well, you fool- ed yourself then about its maternal quality. “‘Perhaps so, Allan. Your work is done. There is the door. I say a last good by, with pity for your shallow nature, and the bitter revelation you have given me of your worthiessness.” ‘Without another word he left, but with a dark resolution of slander with which he would tarnishh her name, and wring the preacher's heart with anguish. CHAPTER XXIL WHY THE PREACHER THREW HIS LIFE AWAY. While Mrs. Worth and Sallie were still in the North, the Rev. John Durham re- ceived a unanimous call to the lputorne of one of the most powerful Baptist churches in Boston, with a salary of five ithousand dollars a 'year. He was receiv- ing a salary of nine hundred dollars at Hambright, which could boast at most a population of two thousand. He de- clined the call by return mail The committee was thunderstruck at this quick adverse decision, refused to consider it final, and wrote him a long urgent letter of protest agaiust such iil- considered treatment. They urged that he must come to Boston, and preach one Sunday, at least, In answer to their gen- erous offer, before rendering a final de- cision. He consented to do so, and went to Boston. He sought Sallle the day af- ter his arrival. “Ah, my beautiful daughter of the South, it's good to see you shining here in the midst of the splendors of the Hub, the fairest of them all!” he said shaking her hand feelingly. “You mean pining, not shining,’ protested. “That’s better still. she 1 knew your heart was in the right “‘How is he, docto ‘“He’s trying to pull himself together with his “wor., and succecding. ‘Ine shock of a great sorruw bLas lied his nerves!broadened his sympathies, and it will make bim a maa. A look ol longing came over her fuce, “I dom’t want him to be too strong with- out me,” she faitered. “Never fear. kHe's so despondent at times I have to try to laugh him out uf countenance.” She smiled and pressed his hand for an- swer as he rose ta_go. “How do you like these Yankees, Miss Sailie?” “I've been surprised and charmed be: yond measure with everything 1've seen “You don't say How ? “Well, 1 ti ey were cold blooded and inhospi . 1 never made a more foolish mistake. I have never been 1 at home, or been treated more graciousiy in the South. To teh you the truth, tiey seem like our most cultured peo at home, warm hearted, cord.al, sensibie and neighborly. Mamma is so pleased she s trying to claim kin with the Puritans through her Scotch Covenanter ancestry “After all, I believe you are right. I never preached in my life to sith an audience, There’s an atmosphere solid comfort, good sense ana INiciusen: that holds me In a spell here. This the place in which I've dreamed I'd like to live and work.” hen you will accept, doctor?” Now iisten to yoh, child! Don't you think I've a heart, too? My brain and body longs for such a home, but my heart's down Soufh with miné own peo- ple who love and need me."” The committee did their best to bring the preacher to a favorable decision at once, but he smiled a firm refusal. CHAPTER XXIL THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT. Gaston tried to wait in patience another week for a word from the woman he loved and when the last mail came and brought ne letter for him he found himself face {o face with the deepest soul crisis of his e. After all, thoughts are things. The re- port of her social frivolities at first made Little impression on him. But the thought bhad falien in his heart and it was grow- irg a poisoned weed. 1t is possibie to kill the human body with an idea. The fairest day the spring cver sent can be blackened and turned from sunshine into storm by the flitting ot a little cloud of thought no bigger than a man’s hand. So Gaston found this report of dancing and flirting in a gay society by the wom- an whom he had enthroned in the holy of holies of his soul to be destroying his strength of character and like a deadly cancer eating his heart out. Ther he took out of his desk her pic- ture, lit his lamp and looked long and tenderly at it, until his soul was drunk again with the memory of her beauty, th warm touch of her hand and the thrill of her full, soft lips in the only two kisses he had ever recelved from the heart of a woman. Ther. the vision of a ballroom came to terture him. He could see her dressed in that delicate creation of French geni he had seen her wear the memorat night at the Springs. The French know so deeply the subtle art gf draping a woman's body to tempt the souls of men How he cursed them to-night! He could see Ler bare arms, white, gieaming shoul- ders, neck and back and round, full bos- om 'scftly rising and falling 'with hec breathing, as she swept through a bril- liant baliroom to the strains of entranc- ing music. The last note he had received from her weeks ago was the brief one announcing the new break in the poor little corre- spondence she had promised him. The last paragraph of that note now took on a sinister meaning. He recalled it word by word: ‘1 feel like I cannot trifle with you in this way again. It is humiliating to me and to you. I can see no light in our future. I release you from any tie I m huve imposed on your life. I feel I hav fallen short of what you deserve, but [ am so situated between my mother’s fail- ing health and my father's will and my love for them both I cannot help it. I will love you always, but you are free.” Was not this a kindly and final breaking of their pledge to one another? Yet she bad not returned the little medal he had given her with that exchange of eternal love ard faith. Could she keep this and really mean to break with him finally? He could not believe it. His whole life had been dominated this dream of an ideal love. For had denied himself the indulgences that his college mates and young assoclates had taken as a matter of course. He had never touched wine. He had never smoked. He had never learned the dif- ference between a queen and a jack in cards. He had kept away from women. He had given his body and soul to the service of his ideal and bent every en- ergy to the development of his mind that he might grasp with more power its sweetness and beauty when realized. Did it pay? The flesh was shrieking this question now into the face of the spirit. He had met the one woman his soul had desired above all others. There could be no mistake about that. And now she was falling him when he had laid at her feet his life. It made him sick to recall how utter had been his sur- render, Why should he longer deny the flesh, when the soul's dream falled the test of pain and struggle? ‘Was it possible that he had been a fool and was missing the full expression of life, which is both flesh and spirit? The world was full of sweet odors. He had delicate and powerful nostrils. Why not enjoy them? The world was full of beauty gavishing to the eye. He had keen eyes trained to see. Why should he not open his eyes and gaze on it all? The world was full of entrancing music. He had ears trained to he ‘Why should he stuff them with dreams of a doubtful fu- ture, and not hear it all? The world was full of things soft and good to the touch. Why should he not grasp them? His hands were cunning, and every finger tin- gled with sensitive nerve tips. The world was full of good things sweet to the taste, why should he not eat and drink as oth- ers, as old and wise perhaps? Was a man full grown until he had seen, felt, smelled, tasted and heard all life? Was there anything~after all, in good or bad? Were these things not names? If not, how could we know un- less we tried them? What was the good of good things? “‘Am I not a narrow-minded fool, instead of a wise man, to throttle my impulses and deny the flesh for an imaginary gain?” he asked himself aloud. She written he was free. “Well, by the eternal, I will be free!" he exclaimed, “I will sweep the whole ga- mut of human passion and human emo- tion. I will drink life to the deepest dregs of its red wine. I will taste, feel, see, touch, hear all! I will not be cheated. I will know for myseif what it Is to live.” A sense of new-found power weiled up in :-lm‘ He had regained control of him- self. “Good! I will no longer be a moping, love-sick fool. I am a man. To will is to live, to cease to will is to die. I have re- gained my will—I live!” “1 will never write her another line until she writes to me. I will not be a dog and whine at any rich man’s door or any woman's feet. The world is large, and I am large. I will be sought as well as seek. Besides, my country needs me. If T am to give myself it will be for larger ends than for the smiles of one woman!'™ And then for two weeks he entered de- liberately on a series of dissipations. He left Hambright and sought convivial friends on the seacoast. He mazed them by asking to be taught cards. He swept the gamut of all the senses without reserve, day after day and night after night. At the end of two weeks he found him- self haunting the postoffice oftener with a vague sense of impending calamity. she asked. by it_he Concluded Next Week.