Cibrara of 
 Q:1]c Unicersihj of Hortl] Carolina 
 
 COLLECTION OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINIAN A 
 
 ENDOWED BY 
 
 JOHN SPRUNT HILL 
 
 of the class of 1889 
 
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 FOR USE ONLY IN 
 THE NORTH CAROLINA COLLECTION 
 
 
 
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 )rm No. A-368, Rev. 8/95 
 
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When the Gates Lift Up 
 Their Heads 
 
 A S'TORT OF rHE SEVENTIES 
 
 By 
 
 Payne Erskine 
 
 "Lift up your heads, O ye gates, . . . 
 and the King of glory shall come in." 
 
 ** All I could never be, 
 All, men ignored in me, 
 This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Fool ! All that is, at all, 
 
 Lasts ever, past recall 5 
 Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure j 
 
 What entered into thee. 
 
 That was, is, and shall be : 
 Time's wheeJ runs back or stops : Potter and clay endure." 
 
 Robert Browning 
 
 i ' 
 
 Boston 
 Little, Brown, and Company 
 
 1901 
 
Copyright, igoi. 
 By Little, Brown, & Company 
 
 All rigbti ^t&ierved 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
 AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. Chiaro-oscuro I 
 
 II. The Return to Old Scenes and Ac- 
 quaintances 30 
 
 III. Past and Present 53 
 
 IV. Old Friendships 62 
 
 V. The New Boarding-house 79 
 
 VI. Hopes and Plans 99 
 
 VII. Under Cover of Darkness 105 
 
 VIIL JosEPHus' Secret 113 
 
 IX. A Dusky Coquette 126 
 
 X. Morning Songs and Dogwood Blooms . 132 
 
 XI. The Excursion 143 
 
 XII. The Girl at the German Bridge . . . 155 
 
 XIII. "Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids " 166 
 
 XIV. The Drive Home 180 
 
 XV. "Why n't yo' shoot Turrer Mule?" . 192 
 
 XVI. "Ol' Missus' Return" 199 
 
 XVII. A Girl's Way 210 
 
 XVIII. Special Pleading 230 
 
 XIX. Mammy Cl'issy's Buryin' Clo'es . . . 247 
 
 XX. The Blind Woman's Visit 262 
 
vi Contents 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XXI. Marguerite Sets the Fashion . . . 280 
 
 XXII. Confidences 290 
 
 XXIII. Rescue and Surrender . . . .- . . 310 
 
 XXIV. Aunt Isabel Remonstrates ....*. 331 
 XXV. Portia Sings the Old Songs • • • • 351 
 
 XXVI. The Old Days Revived 365 
 
 XXVII. A Midnight Visit 377 
 
 XXVIII. A Bitter Cup 392 
 
 XXIX. The Judgment of Portia 418 
 
WHEN THE GATES 
 LIFT UP THEIR HEADS 
 
 A ^TORY OF THE SEVEJVTIES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 CHI ARO-OSCURO 
 
 JOSEPHUS, dat yo' clut'rin' roun' dar? Wha' 
 yo' s'poses I hyah dis mawnin'? Yo' t'ink 
 'case I don' git roun' spry, like I use tu, no 
 mo', I don' hyah nuffin'. Dem folkses f om de 
 No'f 's gwine fix up de ol' place an' take bo'dahs." 
 The speaker replaced a cob pipe between her lips 
 and laughed a low, soft chuckle. ''Take bo'dahs 
 f om de No'f in de ol' place ! My, ef ol' missus' 
 ghos' won't r'ar roun' de place 'nd make dem screach 
 in deir baids ! " 
 
 The heavy step, lumbering over the loose board 
 floor of Mammy Clarissa's lean-to addition to 
 her one-room cabin, ceased a moment. Presentlv 
 Josephus' huge figure darkened the small doorway. 
 He must stoop if he would enter. Leaning against 
 the door-post, he regarded the old woman, com- 
 placently smoking by the chimney-side, with a 
 curious gleam of humor lighting his broad black 
 face. 
 
 ** Wha* fo' ol' missus' ghos' r'ar roun' de place 'fo* 
 shedaid?" 
 I 
 
2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Ef she daid, sonny, ef she daid. She ain' hate 
 nuffin' like she hate dem No'f Yankees. She nebber 
 gwine leab dem lib in de ol' place 'daout she pester 
 'em. VVhar missus hate, she pester. She ain* 
 gwine leab go her teef no mo' 'n a bulldog, foh all 
 she so slim an' limber, like de win' gwine blow her 
 'way. I knows ol' missus, I does. I knowed ol' 
 missus eber sence we war gals 'nd uset tu play 
 togedder. She hate yallah gal, wus 'n she hate nig- 
 gers 'nd po' white trash. I knows her." With 
 another soft laugh she puffed away at her pipe in 
 meditative silence. 
 
 *'Whar yo' git so much hyahin' o' de news, 
 mammy?" Lovers of gossip are the negroes all. 
 
 " Chas," was the laconic reply. 
 
 " Chas ! " thundered the man, with sudden anger. 
 "Chas! Did n' I tol' Chas nebber come dis-yer 
 way 'g'in 'daout he want one good squarin' up wid 
 me? Did n' I tol* Chas ef he come walkin' daoun 
 dis road wid he's gen'l'man clo's, an' greased ha'r, 'n' 
 sassy maouf, I gwine roll him daoun de branch like 
 he a gum log struck wid de lightnin'? Which-a-way 
 Chas go ? " 
 
 The old woman puffed on In silence. 
 
 " Which-a-way Chas go?" he shouted, striding in. 
 
 Slowly, with the aid of her stick, she rose to her 
 feet, and lifted one hand in warning, " Haish, 
 Josephus! 'Case I ol' an' crupple up, yo' t'ink I 
 gwine sit heah an' hyah yo' hollah at me like dat- 
 a-way ! I ain' hoi' yo' bof In my ahms an' take de 
 kyah an' patronage ob yo' an' nuss yo' fo' no sich 
 wrastlln's 'n' fightin's an' goln's on like yu'ns been 
 goin' on dese days. Ef yo' wan's Gabr'ella, take 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 3 
 
 yo'se'f yandah in de co'n patch, whar yo' b'long. 
 She ain' no fool. She know whar de silvah dollah 
 weigh de heavies', on de back, o' in de pocket. 
 Yo' git de dollah in de pocket, 'n* see whar Gabr'ella 
 du de pickin'." 
 
 *' I ain' kyah'n 'bouts sich trash." Josephus 
 lowered his voice. " Mammy Clissy, yo' alius 
 favohs Chas 'case he cahy yo' white face, 'n' slim, 
 fine figgah, like he a bohned white man. He ain' 
 no mo' white man 'n I is. Heah yo' is ol' an' 
 crupple, wid de rheumatiz in de bones. Wha' he 
 duin' fo' s'pote yo' ? Stannin' raoun' de stoah, 
 smokin' de gen'l'man' segyah, wahin' de gen'l'man 
 clo'es, dat buy yo' light-'ud fo' bile de kittle? Huh ! 
 Ef he come heah wid he sassy mouf, I gwine knock 
 dat fool smile aout'n him like I knocks de grunt 
 aout'n de slick po'kah time de hog-killin'." With 
 this angry threat he stooped to pass through the 
 low doorway. 
 
 " Josephus Ma'shall, yo' look me squah in de 
 eye." He paused at her solemn tone. *' Min' now, 
 yo' knows yo' ain' got no grudges 'gin Chas ontwell 
 yo' bof git's sot on Gabr'ella Gunn wha' plays de 
 melogimum daoun tu de cullud folkses' meet'n- 
 haous like dey does in de white folkses' church. 
 Humph ! No use in ouh folks puttin' on dese heah 
 fine ahs 'n' ways like dey whitah 'n white folkses. 
 Wen I war gal I min' haou dey uset tu git 'ligion 
 daoun tu de cullud quatahs. Dey git daoun on dey 
 knees an' cry aout an' call on de Sperit, an' rock 
 dey se'fs back an' fo'th wid de powah, an' Brudder 
 Thomas Ma'shall line off de hymn, an' dey niggahs 
 dey jes* rise up an' jine in de cho'us wid de ' Glory 
 
4 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Hallelulia Ahmeii ' ontwell dey nigh lif de ruff off 
 dc cabin, clar up tu Heaben, an' de Sperit come 
 daoun like de lightnin' f'om de stohm claoud. 
 Sho' nuff, yo' don* hyah nuffin' like dat dese days, 
 wid her a-grin'in' aout de chune on dat ar machine, 
 an' de niggahs gaupin' raoun' at de fine clo's jes' fo' 
 all de worl' like white folkses." 
 
 " Huh ! Wha' all dat du wid me 'n' Chas? " 
 " Yo' t'ink I favahs Chas? Look a-heah. Ef 
 yo' a min' yo' kin win' Chas raoun' an switch off 
 he's haid like he been a willah twig in de spring. 
 Wid he's fool ways he ain' got no show long side 
 Josephus no-ways. Yo' leab Chas 'lone, hyah, an' 
 leab Gabr'ella du de pickin'. I 'low she hab eyes, 
 'n' mo' sense 'n bof yu'ns put togedder. He ain' in 
 yo' way no mo' dan I is. Jes' yo' own lazy way an' 
 mannah, clutt'rin' raoun' de haous co'n-plant'n' 
 time mo' in yo' way wid sich a right smaht peart 
 gal like Gabr'ella." 
 
 " G'long 'bouts Gabr'ella," returned Josephus, 
 doggedly. " I ain' gvvine 'low dat high-tone Lawd 
 Chastahfield Mahshall smile dat gran' smile tu me 
 like he haff tu step daoun off 'n de white folkses' 
 meet'n-haous ruff ebcry time he 'low he's se'f tu 
 say haoudy." 
 e/.<^ / *' Nuvva yo' min', honey, yo' don' git no highah 
 ' ^ n up in dis worl' knockin' nuddah man daoun. Yo' 
 ■f-4 \^^ ca'y yo* haid up like dat ah rock top o' yandah 
 maountain. Hit a mighty brack rock, heap bracker 
 'n yo' is, but I 'low Chas' smile kyan touch hit, an' 
 dar hit stan' f'om de beginnin's ob de yearth. Wen 
 yo' feels like yo' gwine git daoun an' t'rash Chas,^ 
 jes' yo' look yandah an' t'ink w'at yo' ol' mammj 
 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 5 
 
 tells yo'. Wen dat rock gwine kill sump'n hit 
 baoun' tu leab de maount'n top, an' roll daoun in de 
 branch, an' hit ain' gwine git back no mo'." 
 
 There remained no more to be said. Josephus 
 drew a huge silver watch from his pocket, and, 
 scowlingly consulting it, said, " I 'low ef I git ol' 
 Jude shod dis ebenin' I betteh scuttle roun'." 
 
 Knocking the ashes from her pipe and placing it 
 on a shelf suspended near the chimney. Mammy 
 Clarissa proceeded to rake open the embers of the 
 morning's fire. 
 
 ** Fotch heah leetle mo' light-'ud, sonny. I 's 
 gwine knock togeddah a co'n pone. Sho' nuff, yo' 
 gwine hab dinnah 'fo' yo' goes. Yo' ol' mammy 
 gits mighty lonesome w'en dey ain' nobody heah 
 tu smack dey lips ovah her cookin'." 
 
 Stepping about with considerable alertness, with 
 the aid of her cane, there was a cheerful sound in 
 its thump, thump, to the ears of Josephus; she soon 
 had a crackling fire and a boiling kettle, while the 
 odor of toasting bacon pervaded the room. She 
 chattered cheerfully as she worked, while her son 
 sat in the doorway whittling and watching her. 
 
 ** I reckon yo' steps raoun' heap peartah dan half 
 de gals ef yo' is crupple," he remarked, as she set 
 a plate of smoking corn-bread on a little table 
 under the one unglazed window, and poured out 
 a generous cup of black coffee. 
 
 " I reckon," she said, a quick gleam of pride 
 flashing from her eyes. Seventy years of toil and 
 submission had not quenched their fire. 
 
 *' Mammy, whar was yo' rose? Yo' tells a heap 
 'bouts ol' mars'r 'n' de ol' place, but yo' nuvva 
 
6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 goes back on dat ar ontvvell yo' 'lowed yo' an' ol' 
 missus uset tu play tugeddah. Wan' ol' missus 
 fotch up heah fom New O'leans o' daoun dat-a- 
 way ? " 
 
 " Laws ! Play wid ol' missus ! I speck nobody 
 evah knowed ol' missus like I." She took a cup 
 of coffee and sat down opposite her son. " Yo' 
 nuvah hyeard me tell 'bout'n my maw. She war 
 ol' missus' mammy. We war 'baout 'n age, liT Miss 
 Is'bel 'n' me. On'y she war mo' darker 'n me fo' 
 all she war white bohned." Mammy Clarissa leaned 
 forward with her elbows on her knees, and her cup 
 of coffee held in both hands, while she gazed far 
 away into the past. ** Her paw war Spanish. He 
 come fom Cuba o' Mexico, o' New O'leans, some 
 o' dem islands daoun dat-a-way. I don' rightly 
 reckon whar. W'en we war long 'baout 'n eight 
 y'ar ol', he took he's fambly an' my maw long back 
 whar he come fom. My maw war mighty peart 
 an' putty, an' nigh whitah 'n I is, wid a cl'ar, pale 
 sof skin, wha' look like de moon w'en hit come up 
 yandah ovah de maount'n in de daytime. Many 's 
 de time she uset tu look at me wid dem great eyes 
 o* hern, so still an sad like I uset tu kiver my 
 haid wid de baid clo'es so 't she could n' look no 
 mo'. I min' haow she took on w'en mars'r lef me 
 behine. ' Oh, my li'l' gal, my li'l' gal.' I kin hyah 
 dem words yit like hit war yes'day, an' I kin see 
 her yit, leanin' ovah dat ar side railin' long side 
 de boat wha' she sail off in. Dem de las' words 
 I evah hyah her say, an' dat de las' I evah see o' 
 her, jes' her white, white face wid de dark ha'r 
 crumple raoun' hit, — her ha'r wan' like yo' rale 
 
^ %il i ^^^-"f 
 
 \ 
 
 Chiaro-oscuro 7 
 
 niggah ha'r 110 way, — wid her fine red silk tur- 
 ban, an' her white dress blowin' aout wid de win', 
 so sof an' fine (mars'r al'us war mighty proud man, 
 he kep' her jes' so find dressed an' peart) wid de 
 tears runnin' daoun an' droppin' in de watah, an' 
 * Oh, my H'r gal, my li'l' gal ! ' ovah an' ovah. I 
 nuvah fogit hit, nuvah, an' li'l' Miss Is'bel stannin' 
 by puUin' on her dress dis-a-way an' dat-a-way, an' 
 callin', * Mammy, mammy, leab go dat railin', come 
 heah an' see de boats.' She war al'us mighty mars- 
 terful war Miss Is'bel, mighty marsterful, young an' 
 ol'. I spec' ef she libbin' she marsterful still. Dey 
 don' break nowhar aout, dem kin'." She paused 
 and sipped her cofTee. 
 
 *' T'ank de Lawd, dem days is pas' an' gone by," 
 ejaculated Josephus, fervently. 
 
 ** Yas, yu kin du dat. Yo' tink yo' mighty ha'd 
 used w'en yo' kyan vote yo' own papah, but, laws, 
 dat ain' nufifin' like de ol' times 'fo' de wah. Yo' 
 nuvah rightly had no 'speunce like we ol'-uns. 
 VVe-uns war jes' kep' undah, an' bought an' sol' 
 fom one nuddah. I kin feel de ol' feelinsf rose 
 up in my t'roat w'en I t'ink on dose times, an' hit 
 a mighty big lump tu swallah. Yo'-uns wha' war 
 chillun hab a mighty heap tu t'ank de Lawd fo'." 
 
 *' De day comin' w'en I 's gwine stan' up an' 
 vote free as any white man. Nex' time dey has 
 a votin' I ain' gwine stan' an' see de cullud people 
 knocked raoun*. Ef any man pestah me, I 's gib 
 him sump'n dat tek him cl'ar aout 'n dis worl' intu 
 de nex' an' I 's gwine raoust up de res' o' de cullud 
 people tu du de same. Dey's one cullud man tu 
 ev'y white man in dis-yer No'th C'liny, I reckon." 
 
J 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Navv, honey, yo' ain' du dat. Yo' lib de hones', 
 squar' Hfe, an' leab de Lawd du de knockin'. He 
 did n' set yp' free, fo'^no sech bloodsheddin' an' bad 
 duin's. Yo' mighty marsterful dese days. 'Pears 
 Hke yo' been cotchin' Chas' high-headed way an' 
 mannah." 
 
 '' I ain' cotch nuffin' f om Chas, but yo' min', de 
 day comin' w'en I 's gwine vote fa'r an' no man tu 
 hendah." 
 
 " Me'by so, but hit won' be none o' yo' bringin'. 
 Ef hit come, de Lawd gwine fotch hit. He done a 
 heap mo' fo' we-uns dan yo' rightly reckons, yo' 
 ain' had de 'speunce like we ol' ones. He may du 
 a heap mo', but yo' kyan fo'ce de Lawd, hit baoun* 
 tu come in his own time an' way, onless yo'-uns 
 gits tu fo'cin' an' sheddin' bro'dah's blood. I 'low 
 we-all don' t'ink on dat like we 'd aughtah, dat all 
 we f om de whites' tu de brackes' stain wid' dat 
 white stain. Dar kyan no sich stain be wash aout 
 wid bro'dah's blood. Hit a ha'd sayin', but hit 
 de troof. Yandah sits Joe, brackah dan a burnt 
 pine knot, but daoun undah de brack, in de h'a't 
 ob him lies dat white stain, an* heah sits he's ol' 
 muddah, de white stain all ovah her, but way 
 daoun, in de core like, lies de black streak, like 
 de red in de h'a't o' de wine apple. Hit dar fom 
 de far way pas', 'fo' I war bohned, an' 'fo' my maw 
 war bohned. Yo' kyan wipe hit aout no mo' 'n yo' 
 kin wipe dat shadow off 'n de wall yandah." 
 
 Josephus rose, and, placing his two great hands 
 on the top of the door casing, leaned his head 
 against them and looked moodily out. His mother 
 began to clear away their few dishes. The thump 
 
Chiaro-oscuro g 
 
 of her cane seemed to have lost its cheerful sound. 
 A patient weariness settled over her face like a 
 cloud, and she worked in silence. 
 
 Suddenly the sun, bursting through clouds, 
 streamed in at the little window, glorifying the 
 cabin. She stood full in its light, deftly moving 
 her slender hands. The quivering water in the pan 
 cast dancing reflections over the rough ceiling and 
 walls. Her silvery hair, waving and crinkling from 
 her forehead, reflected the light, making a halo of 
 glory round her head. She made a fine study in 
 chiaro-oscuro, standing thus in the warm glow, 
 the blackened wall and smoky old fireplace for a 
 background, the strong outlines of her face and 
 figure in the rich radiance of yellow light, which 
 shaded suddenly away into the surrounding black- 
 ness of darkness, — a Rembrandt portrait typifying 
 her life ; the shadowy background of the past dark- 
 ened by slavery and its attendant evils, her wrinkled 
 face still bearing its stoical expression of patience, 
 her mind still blighted with ignorance, yet standing 
 now in the sunlight of freedom, the clouds swept 
 away by an unseen hand, and her spirit feeling the 
 warm glow and expanding to a realization of the 
 true meaning of aspiration and trust, of adoration 
 and peace, ignorant, yet having that wisdom which 
 is learned not from books, nor from the tongues 
 of men, but from the soul's temptations and 
 afflictions. 
 
 " No, sonny, yo* ain' had de 'speunce like we. 
 Dem days nuvah gwine come back no mo', t'ank de 
 Lawd ! Yo' don' rightly reckon what-all he done fo' 
 yo'." 
 
1 o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 She began putting away the dishes, using one 
 hand while she held the cane with the other. " I 
 kin see dat time yit, de bitterness and de heavy 
 h'a't, de nights o' cryin', an' de days servin' twell 
 missus 'low ef I keep on dat-a-way she gwine sell 
 me off South C'liny way, 'case I spile my eyes fo' de 
 fine stitchin'. Dem days mars'r in Wash'nton, an' 
 she run de place. Hit a good time tu fo'git, mighty 
 good time tu fo'git, but 'pears lak I kyan fo'git no 
 mo' 'n I kin walk 'daout dis-yer cane. Yo'-uns wha' 
 war raised sence de wall, count yo' marcies, an' 
 t'ink a heap on dem ar 'fo' yo' gits tu dis'beyin' de 
 comman's o' de Lawd wha' set yo' free. 01' Brudder 
 Thomas Ma'shall used tu tell de niggahs daoun 
 tu de quatahs, * Ef a man hit yo' on one cheek, 
 tu'n de oddah, an' nuvah lif yo' han'.' 'Pears 
 like hit gitt'n' late ef yo* gwine git Jude shod 
 dis ebenin'. Time 'fo' de wah, I nebber 'lowed tu 
 lib dis-yer way, in my own cabin, wid no missus 
 tu say fotch heah, no' go dar, wid my own son 
 tu plant de co'n, an' dribe he's own mule team 
 long de road." 
 
 Josephus grew radiant for a moment with kindly 
 light. *' Yo' kin t'ank de Lawd, an' yo' own se'f tu, 
 I reckon. 01' missus ain' he'p none wha' yo' wo'k 
 an' strive fo' all yo' life, no' de white folkses heah- 
 bouts neidah. Yo' git dis cabin an' Ian' wo'kin' 
 wid de right han' an' de lef heah an' yandah, I 's 
 gwine tek right smaht keer o' hit tu." He entered a 
 rough shed a few paces away as he spoke. 
 
 " Dat de trues' wo'd yo' done spoke dis mawnin'," 
 she called from the cabin doorway. ** Yo' min' de 
 co'n patch, an' leab 'sputin' wid Chas an' de white 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 1 1 
 
 folkses. Yo' 's a heap bettah off dan de run o' 
 niggahs, I reckon." 
 
 She carefully drew the coals in the fireplace 
 together, covering them with ashes, and proceeded 
 to fill her pipe from a leather pouch hanging by a 
 cord from a nail in the wall near the chimney, within 
 easy reach from her chair. 
 
 " Yas, I reckon," she soliloquized. " Did n' I wash 
 fo' Miss Mann Torn de No'f wha' larnt de chillun 
 daoun tu de schule-haouse, de hul' time she war heah, 
 an' she larn' him de read'n' an' writin' an' figu'in' tu 
 pay fo' hit? 01' Missus 'lowed niggahs could n' I'arn 
 dem ar. Dem No'f Yankees done larn sech as her 
 heap sence dem days." 
 
 Again her thoughts wandered to the past. With 
 hands clasped, and eyes fixed vacantly on the hearth, 
 she leaned forward, musing and smoking in silence. 
 Long since Josephus had clattered away on old 
 Jude's back, riding without saddle or bridle, guiding 
 the animals by a stroke of the strap by which Bona- 
 parte was led, or rather ignominiously dragged, for 
 he scuffled along reluctantly after Jude, carrying 
 his nose high in the air at the pull of Josephus' 
 powerful arm. 
 
 It was two miles in a straight line from his cabin 
 to the village, but he had to traverse four, up hill and 
 down, before he reached the blacksmith shop, which, 
 with two rival notion stores, — in one of which was 
 the post-office, — a lodging-house with saloon 
 attachment, and diminutive railway station, occupied 
 the main street. Also the place was provided with 
 three churches, a schoolhouse, and a huge pile of 
 lumber, which it was fondly hoped would sometime 
 
1 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 be so disposed and arranged as to form a hotel 
 for refugees from a more rigorous clime. Having 
 been put there when the road was first put through, 
 it had lain undisturbed ever since, owing to a quarrel 
 between the owners of the land, which lay back of 
 the town, and comprised the whole of Blue Hill, 
 so named from the color of the pines by which it 
 had been covered ; now it bore a bare and stumpy 
 appearance, broken by low scraggy black oaks, 
 which had miraculously sprung into existence after 
 the pines were cleared ofif. 
 
 Josephus kept his mules to their fastest gait, a 
 nimble scamper, swinging the strap above his head, 
 and giving an occasional admonitory whoop, but 
 he neither whistled nor sang, as was his wont. Being 
 a leading voice in the colored choir, he took evident 
 pleasure in his own rich mellow tones, but to-day 
 he was silent. His mother's words were with him. 
 Halfway to the village a stream of clear water 
 cut across the road and wound musically along 
 beside it, among stones and boulders, taking its 
 reckless downward course, now hidden by clumps 
 of laurel and rhododendron, thick vines and jut- 
 ting, mossy rocks, now laughing in open spots 
 and flashing back the sunlight, now resting in 
 some deep, shaded, inaccessible pool, where the 
 fish lie in hiding. The road, winding up, up, round 
 the steep hillside, ever widened the distance be- 
 tween itself and the stream below, until, looking 
 down from his far height on the jolly little torrent, 
 the traveller sees its flash and glitter, but hears 
 not its brawling, as an aged man, looking back 
 from the summit of his years, sees only the bright- 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 1 3 
 
 ness of his youth, but hears not the turmoil of 
 his early life. 
 
 The stream was not bridged where it crossed the 
 road ; of what use, where people preferred driving 
 through the sparkling water, on its hard, pebbly 
 bed? In the fabled days *' befo' de wah," a bridge 
 had spanned it; an abutment of one remained, on 
 which rested one end of a hewn log which had 
 been felled and allowed to fall across for the 
 benefit of foot travellers, the other end resting 
 on and partly attached to its own stump. As 
 Josephus neared this spot, a young negress, trim 
 and straight as a sapling, was crossing, bearing 
 on her head a good-sized basket covered with a 
 white cloth. Instantly, on perceiving her, his whole 
 face expanded. 
 
 " Howdy, Miss Gunn, howdy ! " he exclaimed, 
 vaulting from old Jude's back onto the log with a 
 spring like a tiger's. *' Hit 's a right smaht time 
 sence we seed one 'nudder." 
 
 " I declar', Mistah Ma'shall, yo' mighty sudden. 
 Yo' put' nigh upsot me 'n' dese heah aigs an' buttah 
 in de branch." Putting one hand up to steady the 
 basket, she slowly turned on the narrow footway, 
 facing him a moment with a half-defiant look, and 
 then moved on. 
 
 " Ain' yo' nuvah gwine make up wid me no 
 mo' " ? he asked, jerking at the mule's leading 
 strap. 
 
 " Naw," she returned, skilfully balancing the 
 basket; " I don' du no makin' up tu yo', no mo' 'n 
 I 'lowed tu roust up dis-yer fuss. Yo' own se'f 
 done dat." 
 
1 4 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Heah, Gabr'ella, gi' me dat basket to ca'y tu de 
 stoah fo' yo'. I 's hu'ted 'baouts yo 'n' Chas sweet- 
 hea'tin'. I aiii' gwine say no mo'." 
 
 "As yo' like, Mistah Ma'shall, I nuvah axed yo' 
 fo' tu say nuffin', noh is I gwine say yo' sha'n't, noli 
 is I gwine tu de stoah." She seated herself on the 
 stump and rested the basket at her feet. '' I 's 
 take a contrac' fo' tu supply fo' de new bo'din'- 
 haouse," 
 
 Leaving the mules to drink, Josephus crossed and 
 sat by her side, slapping the palm of one hand with 
 the end of the strap, while he eyed her furtively. 
 
 " Listen heah, Josephus," she resumed, " s'pos'n' 
 Chas come daoun de road and see we a-sittin' heah 
 side one 'nuddah dis-yer way, an' den go talk like he 
 t'ink I come long heah dis mawnin','case I t'ink I 
 gwine see yo' heah. Humph ! p'r'aps hit my fault 
 yo' come clat'n' daoun de hill. P'r'aps hit my fault 
 Jude got dat white streak daoun her nose. Ef yo' 
 bides 'way f'om meetin', an' Bruddeh Jefson say 
 ]\Iistah Chastahfield Ma'shall pleas'n lead in de 
 singin', haow dat my fault?" 
 
 " Ef Chas Stan' long side Gabr'ella Gunn, he 
 mighty neah-sighted all o' a suddent, kyan see dem 
 ar hymn tune words rightly 'daout he look mighty 
 clost, a bowin' daoun tu see, an' a-rosein' up tu 
 hollah, an' a-bowin' daoun an' a-rosein' up 'g'in, 
 rubbin' dat fine greased ha'r ovah Miss Gunn's bes' 
 bunnit. I heah tell hit done look like hit laid in 
 de fryin'-pan on dat side long nex' whar Chas 
 Stan'." His great frame shook with inward laughter, 
 as, with head dropped sideways and broad shoulders 
 lifted, he continued to watch her face. 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 1 5 
 
 " Is yo' any call tu wah de bunnit? Ef yo' keeps 
 way f 'om dat side Miss Gunii yo' own se'f, hit won' 
 pestah yo' none." With face perfectly unmoved 
 by his raillery, she slowly fanned herself with her 
 sunbonnet. The spot was sheltered by the hills 
 from the wind, and they sat, as negroes love to 
 do, in the full glare of the sun. Presently voices 
 broke the silence, and two people approached the 
 opposite side of the stream, walking slowly down 
 the hill. 
 
 " I must do it, grandfather." The tones were 
 decided, and the girlish voice was clear and sweet. 
 ** She is better here, so we can't take her back. I 
 am sure I can manage, and if you are too lonely 
 and homesick, could n't you spend part of the 
 year with Aunt Anna?" 
 
 ''Impossible! I wouldn't think of leaving you 
 alone with your mother in this wilderness. Over 
 half the population are negroes, and the rest seem 
 to be afflicted with some kind of lethargy. You 
 might both die here, and no one be the wiser. No, 
 I must stay by you, but I own to being disappointed 
 in the place." 
 
 The man was past sixty, though he appeared 
 much younger. His face was fine and keen, and 
 his figure tall and thin; his great-coat, of the finest 
 material, hung on him with the air of having been 
 long worn, and well kept. Its folds followed the 
 lines of his slender figure, and draped it with the 
 easy familiarity of old friendship. 
 
 " I know you are, and it troubles me. I don't 
 care for myself. At any rate, if mamma gets well 
 here, the place will be paradise to me. We are n't 
 
1 6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 half settled yet; when my piano comes, you will 
 take up your violin again, and we will have some 
 of the good old times together once more." She 
 stopped abruptly as she saw her grandfather 
 hesitate. " Oh, we can cross on that log. I did 
 it yesterday. It is quite firm, see?" She stepped 
 lightly up and held out her hand. 
 
 But he stood still, and shook his head. " I am 
 growing old, Portia, I am growing old," he said 
 sadly. 
 
 Josephus rose and stretched himself. " Hoi' 
 dis-yer strop, Gabr'ella ; I 's gwine holp de ol' gen'l'- 
 man ovah." She took the leading strap, and he 
 sauntered toward the hesitating couple. 
 
 " Dis-yer log is mighty ticklesome crossin', sah," 
 said he, with a gleaming smile. '' Ef yo' tek a hoi' 
 o' my han', I 's hoi' yo' stiddy like." 
 
 " Yes, grandfather, do," said the girl. ** It will 
 be too much for you to go back the way we came." 
 After a glance at the negro and another at the 
 brawling water below, he gave his thin, nervous 
 hand into Josephus' strong grasp, and was soon 
 on the other side. " Thank you, my good fellow ; 
 it is a fine thing to be strong," he said. 
 
 "And I thank you too," said the girl, looking 
 brightly up. She nodded to Gabr'ella as they 
 passed on. 
 
 " I do believe that 's the one who is to bring our 
 eggs and butter," she said after a moment. " That 's 
 the way with every one about here, to judge by 
 their actions. They have all the time there is and 
 a little more. One of our greatest trials will be to 
 get anything done unless we do it ourselves." 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 1 7 
 
 *' Yourself, not ourselves. I am only a draft 
 upon your nervous energy. Hav' n't you, for all 
 your wise little head and busy little hands, think 
 of it, dear, undertaken too great a burden? You 
 have not gone so far but that you can still give 
 it up." 
 
 ** I have thought of it in all its hideousness." 
 
 " The Percys will spend the first season, — that is 
 all very well, very pleasant; but you might get in a 
 disagreeable set, and then there is the chance that, 
 after all is done, the house furnished, the horses 
 purchased, and help engaged, we might get no 
 boarders." 
 
 " We won't get the horses until we see if they 
 come, — the boarders, I mean. As for the disagree- 
 able set, I don't take them for companionship, but 
 because we must have money. I will do my part 
 as well as I can, and if people are unpleasant, will 
 try not to mind. There is no other way in this 
 place of earning a living ; and as for the place, well, 
 if it were not for the inhabitants, I should think 
 myself in paradise. Now that romantic spot where 
 we crossed on the log, no wonder they wanted to 
 sit there ; only they are so used to the wildness, I 
 suppose they have no idea of its beauty. Every- 
 thing is so clean here, — all nature, I mean. In 
 mamma's room in the evening, I lean out of the 
 window and listen, and every sound seems like a 
 musical note. But, oh, noisy, dirty Chicago ! I 
 can't forget that awful night when we thought you 
 dead, and had such a time getting mamma out of 
 the burning district. It comes back to me like a 
 nightmare. When I think of it I don't care for the 
 
 2 
 
1 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 home or anything, since I have you and mamma 
 safe." She paused in her hurried words, and her 
 grandfather switched at the azalea bushes with 
 his cane. 
 
 " At the conservatory I had my piano and papa's 
 portrait, so we have them still." 
 
 "Yes, Portia, we have you to thank for all we 
 have left; but I am an old dog, and 'It's hard to 
 teach an old dog new tricks.' " 
 
 " You are not an old dog, you are a dear young 
 grandfather," she contradicted. " You know you 
 didn't care for society; how often you only went 
 with me because I wished it ! Here you won't have 
 to do that. No dress affairs to bore you, no operas, 
 more 's the pity, no musicals but our private 
 rehearsals, yours and mine, and then here 's the 
 garden. You always said you would rather dig in 
 the ground than ride in a carriage, and here you 
 have it, — plenty of ground and no carriage." 
 
 The anxious look faded from his face, and he 
 put out his arm and drew her towards him. In 
 silence they walked on like a pair of lovers. The 
 path led them away from the road to the village 
 through a wild ravine, past a mill-pond, an old mill, 
 and a rickety bridge. Nature had overrun and 
 adorned what the hand of man had constructed for 
 purposes of utility only, and the place was a per- 
 fect wilderness of beauty. They paused on the 
 bridge, leaning over the railing, to listen to the 
 falling water, the steady burring of the mill, and 
 the wind in the treetops. The drops flashed from 
 the great paddles of the clumsy wheel like diamonds. 
 
 " Perhaps that is the wheel of fortune grinding 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 1 9 
 
 out my destiny along with the negro's corn," said 
 Portia. 
 
 A very black negro was mounting a thin white 
 horse to ride away. They had watched him carry 
 in his grist, brought in two ends of a sack hung 
 over the back of the horse. Her grandfather shook 
 his head sadly. '' It makes me dizzy to watch it ; 
 let us walk on," he said. 
 
 ** Grandpapa Ridgeway, we have gone too far ; 
 why did you let me?" she cried in sudden 
 contrition. 
 
 ** No, child, I am not tired, but I wish I could 
 look into your future and know what it is to be." 
 
 " Are n't you willing to trust that to my Maker? " 
 she asked gayly, though with a quick glance in 
 his face. She darted away to gather a cluster of 
 delicate little iris that grew under a boulder. " Oh, 
 you sweet things ! How lovely ! I must find more 
 for mamma," and she did, kicking among the dead 
 leaves and sticks. The road led them through 
 woodland with much undergrowth, interspersed 
 with huge rocks jutting out of the ground, half- 
 burnt logs, and great fallen trees, and winding 
 gradually upward emerged on an open level space, 
 fenced in, and showing signs of former cultivation. 
 It was an old tobacco plantation. The road here 
 was hard and smooth, and a worn footpath ran 
 along one side, bordered by wild flowers, and 
 brambly shrubs which caught at Portia's dress as 
 she passed. On the left a rail fence stretched its 
 long line of triangles, its corners filled with a wild 
 tangle of blackberry bushes and laurels and azaleas, 
 while dogwoods and redbuds and other flower- 
 
20 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ing trees lifted their graceful heads above the 
 tangle, and swung their long branches over the 
 path. Now they were bare, but full, bursting buds 
 gave promise of glory to come. On the right 
 stretched a line of whitewashed picket fence. The 
 kindly hand of Nature had not yet softened its 
 ugliness enough to harmonize it with herself. On 
 this side, halfway up the slope, which an Illinois 
 farmer would call a hill, stood a house, so situated 
 as to overlook the plantation, as well as the whole 
 fertile valley of which it was a part, and the hills 
 which bound it stretching away in receding perspec- 
 tive, green, purple, and blue in the far distance, 
 where a glimpse of a gleaming river cut its way 
 through the mountains. 
 
 The house had now only a semblance of its 
 former grandeur. The ample piazzas had a warped 
 appearance, and the roof lines seemed to be trying 
 to conform themselves to the undulating sky-lines 
 of the surrounding hills. From its evident antiquity 
 it must have been built years " befo' de wah," 
 and solidly, with extensive red-brick masonry un- 
 derneath. Farther up the slope, on each side and 
 behind, was the usual litter of small detached 
 buildings and sheds formerly occupied by the throng 
 of negro domestics that used to overrun, and were 
 considered necessarv to a Southern home of af- 
 fluence. The neglected grounds had once been 
 skilfully laid out. A broad drive led through one 
 arched gateway in the now whitewashed picket 
 fence, past the wide porches and off out through 
 another arched gateway some distance away, and 
 directly in front of the house was an old fountain 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 2i 
 
 with well-cemented basin, long since gone dry. 
 Giant acacias and mimosas drooped slender branches 
 over it, and tall forest trees arched the drive, while 
 all manner of ornamental shrubbery and vines ran 
 riot over the winding paths and dry garden beds. 
 Heavy timber in great variety covered the broad 
 slope of land above and around, up to the sky-line, 
 and the tinkle of cow-bells was he'ard at intervals as 
 the patient creatures that bore them browsed among 
 the undergrowth. 
 
 Mr. Ridgeway and his granddaughter paused as 
 they turned to enter the gateway. He looked at 
 the neglected home, she at the glowing distance. 
 
 *' It is pathetic, this faded grandeur," he said. 
 ** So much is gone forever, eager happy lives, whose 
 ambitions and hopes are ended, and whose labor 
 is ending in this ruin, desolation." 
 
 Portia shaded her eyes with her hand. " Look 
 at the other side, grandfather. This beautiful little 
 valley in the sunlight, it is lik\^ one of God's smiles 
 on the earth. It makes me think of his wonderful 
 promises to humanity, so sheltered and safe, as if it 
 lay in the hollow of his hand ; and off there beyond 
 that shining line of the river, it looks, when the sun 
 is setting, as if it opened into heaven. Of course, 
 the ruined home is pathetic, as you say, but only 
 because it represents one of our great human 
 failures, don't you think? They failed to adjust 
 themselves to divine laws. I don't mean that the 
 people w^ere wicked, but the home was founded 
 on a curse, and this is the end." 
 
 *' Perhaps, Portia, yes. The view is a never-fail- 
 ing delight, certainly." 
 
 • 
 
22 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ** This whitewashed fence appeals more to me. 
 It speaks of one poor old soul's faithfulness to 
 his master's memory and the past dignity of the 
 family. Alexander did it ; he told me '01' mars'r 
 al'us kep' t'ings mighty fine an' tidy. He done 
 hyahd folkses f'om de No'f comin' an' 'lowed he 'd 
 fix hit up li'l' fo' ol' mars'r's sake.' So he white- 
 washed the fence and arches, and then put what 
 lime he had left on his little cabin. It went half- 
 way round. The back and one side are bare. 
 Poor fellow, he was so proud of it ! " 
 
 " Yes, poor old fellow, but it was well the lime 
 gave out when it did, or he would have begun on 
 the house. There is your mother. Well, Portia, do 
 your own way. It is usually a good way. I will 
 help all in my power, but don't attempt too much, 
 child." 
 
 A sHght, delicate woman in black, wrapped in a 
 soft white shawl, emerged from the doorway as he 
 spoke. Portia ran lightly up the drive to meet her. 
 
 '* We have had such a good time together, mamma 
 deary," she cried, '* only never before in such a per- 
 fectly charming place. The walks around here are 
 as romantic as they are in books. I shall be so glad 
 when you can go too." She gathered the fleecy 
 shawl close under her mother's chin, and kissed her 
 on one cheek, then on the other. " See these little 
 iris. I found them growing along by the roadside, 
 just anywhere." 
 
 " Oh, they are lovely, and fragrant too," said her 
 mother, taking the cluster from Portia's warm, plump 
 hand into both her own thin, cold ones, and the 
 three generations entered this old Southern home 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 23 
 
 together. The father and daughter bore a strong 
 resemblance to each other, but the granddaughter 
 was of a quite different type. 
 
 Within, the mansion presented a less neglected 
 and more homelike aspect than without, owing to 
 the continued gracious and home-making presence 
 for the last two or three months of Portia Van 
 Ostade. This rambling old house, with twenty 
 acres of the wooded hillside, and nine hundred 
 dollars in her own right, had been bequeathed to 
 her by her grand-uncle, Oscar Van Ostade. A 
 strange bequest it had seemed to the family at the 
 time. It was now their sole dependence. " Portia's 
 white elephant," they had called it, and the question 
 arose, what could she do with it? It coukl never be 
 sold ; no one would go to live in that far-away place. 
 " We will just let it lie," said Grandfather Ridgeway, 
 good-humoredly ; ''the interest on the money will 
 pay the taxes, and keep it in repair," and he put the 
 deed away among his private papers. Four years 
 afterwards the great treasure-box was exhumed from 
 a huge heap of debris, and the deed taken from it, a 
 woful bit of charred parchment. 
 
 To-day, as they entered the sitting-room, a wood 
 fire burned brightly in the huge red-brick fireplace. 
 
 *'Ah, this is pleasant," said Mr. Ridgeway; ''it 
 makes a cheerful room of this, after all." 
 
 " Now, grandfather," said Portia, reproachfully, 
 " are n't you glad we have my ' white elephant ' to 
 come to? But I know you said that 'after all' 
 because you had such a forlorn time trying to man- 
 age here those first few weeks all alone, and these 
 great piazzas keep out the sun so." 
 
24 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I am an ungrateful wretch, I fear," he repHed ; 
 ** your grand-uncle Oscar must have had a prophetic 
 soul." He dropped wearily into his armchair and, 
 leaning back, closed his eyes. The two women 
 looked lovingly at him, and exchanged glances. 
 
 Mrs. Van Ostade put the flowers in water and 
 then lay down on the couch. Portia seated herself 
 in a low rocker and began sewing on some blue 
 denim that lay piled on a chair before her. She 
 was making portieres for one of the upper rooms. 
 They remained silent for some time, and then began 
 chatting quietly about the future. 
 
 *' You must not give up your music even if we are 
 living an isolated life. It may not always be so ; it 
 must not," said her mother. 
 
 " When I saw you really on the road to recovery, 
 mamma," Portia laid a broad hem and creased it in 
 place with a firm pressure of her thumb, "I — I 
 advertised for boarders. Don't, mamma; such a 
 look of horror makes me shiver. I knew you would 
 call me crazy, but think, here I am, young, strong, 
 and poor. Desperately poor we shall be. When 
 the little sum we have now is gone, we shall have 
 nothing at all to live on even from day to day, and 
 grandpapa won't hear of our touching the little 
 legacy that came to me with this property, and if 
 we did how short a time it would last ! I have 
 simply faced the fact. Either I must go away from 
 you both to earn for us all, or you must live in 
 some stuffy city while I teach, for I won't be de- 
 pendent on relatives, and you would not have me. 
 If I make a profession of my music, I must travel, 
 and we should be parted. This surely is best." 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 25 
 
 She spoke hurriedly, vehemently, her hands 
 dropped passively in her lap, her face averted, and 
 her eyes fixed on the dry fountain without. There 
 the sun shone warmly. The leafless trees cast sharp 
 shadows on the road and the piazza floor. Two 
 bright little green lizards darted over the gray old 
 stone edge of the fountain, overgrown in places 
 with woodbine which quivered in the breeze. Her 
 grandfather shifted his position with a little nervous 
 movement, but did not open his eyes. Portia, turn- 
 ing suddenly, saw two tears course down her mother's 
 pale cheeks, which were quickly wiped away. In- 
 stantly she was on her knees with her arms around 
 the little woman, cuddling her, comforting her, with 
 a woman's divination using arguments most potent 
 to dispel the sorrowful foreboding she knew was the 
 cause of them. 
 
 " Why," she laughed in a smothered way, hiding 
 her face in her mother's neck, *' before our various 
 calamities, as you call them, I thought I was the 
 happiest girl in existence. I did n't know what 
 happiness was then. I lived in a misty halo of sen- 
 timentalism, dreaming of living for art alone, and 
 pure devotion to a sort of a something or other, I 
 guess I did n't know what; and people were entirely 
 left out, and you, httle mamma, were letting me 
 think it was noble, and all that. Listen, mamma, 
 that awful fire has swept away all that nonsense 
 along with our wealth, and has let a little real light 
 into my befogged brain. I don't say this just to 
 comfort you ; I never was so truly happy as I am 
 now, here, planning for us all, since you began to 
 recover. I never had so many lovely things all to 
 
l6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 myself before, — you and grandpapa, and all nature, 
 mountains, streams, woods, and wonderful wild 
 places ; how I love them ! " She lifted her head 
 and drew in her breath as if she were out in the 
 woods breathing the freshness and fragrance. 
 
 Her mother drew her fingers through Portia's 
 fluffy hair. '* But when your boarders come, you 
 won't have it all to yourself any more, and that 
 money — " 
 
 ** Don't talk about the money. I must do things 
 right, or not at all. The fountain must be set going, 
 and horses and carriage bought. I must train 
 some of the most hopeful material about me into 
 good housemaids to help Maggie, dear soul. Help 
 costs but little, and I shall keep all I need. I have 
 thought it all out, mamma. Mr. Hacket will keep 
 me in supplies sent daily from Asheville. They 
 have very good markets there, Mr. Clark tells me." 
 
 ''Who is he?" 
 
 " He is the station agent here, and is a Northern 
 man. He seems to have some genuine refinement." 
 
 "Are there none of the real old Southern families 
 here who have culture? " 
 
 ** Yes, but they are so far apart, and seem to be 
 so dispirited. I have n't had a chance to meet them 
 yet. You are not vexed, mamma, that I did n't ask 
 you? I couldn't; you were too ill. You are not 
 strong enough now." - 
 
 " How could I be vexed, deary? Yet I always 
 said, if I ever should be thrown on my own resources, 
 I never would resort to keeping boarders." 
 
 " My advertisements have been answered, mamma. 
 Mrs. Percy is coming first. She put the idea in my 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 27 
 
 head, writing me and begging to come ; I wrote her 
 I should have her to practise on." 
 
 ** She is lovely and lovable. Well, as you say, 
 something must be done. Your head is like your 
 father's, I can trust it; still, don't be too sanguine, 
 and think. But there, it is all right ; think what 
 you please, do what you please. Your sunny 
 nature is your safety, and action is always better 
 than foreboding." 
 
 Mr. Ridgeway rose, and paced the floor, his hands 
 behind his back, and his head drooped forward. 
 He was about to speak, when a light tap was heard 
 at the door, and the same instant a woman of thirty- 
 eight or forty years, with red cheeks, dark blue 
 eyes, and heavy black hair, put her head into the 
 room. 
 
 *' Miss Porrtia, arre ye's herre? There's a black 
 nagur gurrel out by, settin' on me clane chair, wid 
 'er two feet on me clane flurre, an' be the powers, 
 whin I would tell 'er ye's were out waalkin' wid yer 
 gran'fetherr an' it's takin' 'ersilf aff she'd betherr 
 be, did n't she jist pit 'er basket doun, an' 'ersilf the 
 same, an' 'It's stayin' herre I'll be,' sez she, 'fur 
 I seed the young leddy an' the ould jintleman 
 down bi the brranch yanderr,' sez she. ' Bi phwat 
 brranch? ' sez I, ' an' surre w^harre else 'ould they be,' 
 sez I, ' fer the woods is full of thim,' sez I, an' there 
 she be 's this minut, an' she that black ye's 'ould 
 smootch yer two hands wid the touch av 'er." 
 
 " That 's the one we passed, then." Portia rose 
 quickly. *' I slandered her, for she got here before 
 us. Never mind, Maggie, the black won't come off,, 
 you know that." 
 
2 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 '* More 's the pity, thin," said Maggie as they dis- 
 appeared together. 
 
 " The woods is full of them," said Mr. Ridgeway, 
 smiling. " Well done, Maggie." 
 
 *' Good faithful soul ! Portia has her strong Irish 
 arm to lean on," said Mrs. Van Ostade. 
 
 " I was surprised when Maggie announced her 
 intention of coming with us," he replied. 
 
 •* I was not; it would have broken her heart if 
 Portia had left her. She has loved Portia since she 
 was a baby, and seems to think she is a child still. 
 She is in years, yet I have given every care into her 
 hands ; she has gathered up the reins which fell from 
 my useless ones. But, oh, I hate to see that money 
 touched." 
 
 " The money is nothing, Clara. The pity is deeper 
 than that. What is her ability worth here? What 
 can she look forward to? Where will it end? We 
 have entered a narrow lane leading to a blank wall, 
 with all the loveliest things of life, which should be 
 hers, on the other side. Here I am stranded, too old 
 to begin again ; it — it is — What have we come to? 
 I can scarcely hold up my head under it." 
 
 ** No, father, you were brought to this, you did n't 
 come to it. We must be watchful of her, and wait. 
 A few years of struggle may only broaden and 
 deepen her character. She has only lost worldly 
 prospects and wealth as yet ; she is heart whole." 
 
 A wide hall ran the whole length of the house, 
 opening at either end on immense piazzas. Portia 
 and Maggie traversed its whole length, passed out 
 through the farther door, and entered the house 
 again at the far end of the back piazza, where a long 
 
Chiaro-oscuro 29 
 
 ell addition to the main part meandered a little dis- 
 tance up the hill, forming a court-like square, open 
 and sunny now, but later In the season shaded by a 
 spreading, magnificent old locust-tree. This room 
 In the ell was Maggie's own sitting-room, low, 
 pleasant, and spotlessly clean. It was the pride of 
 her big Irish heart. Here sat the young negress 
 awaiting them. 
 
CHAPTER n 
 
 THE RETURN TO OLD SCENES AND 
 ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 THE sun was setting. Its farewell glance threw 
 a celestial glory over Patterson. The dingy 
 station, the ugly boarding-house with false front, 
 the store and barber's pole before it, the rude black- 
 smith shed with creaking sign on which was painted 
 an impossible horse, all were bathed in the same 
 golden light that made splendid God's handiwork. 
 The hills, the mountains, rising peak above peak, 
 and the wonderful rocks, each from its own point 
 of vantage sent back toward its Creator a portion of 
 the radiance streaming over it. The miracle of the 
 spring was being enacted anew in and all about 
 Patterson. Trees stiffened and grew strong with 
 sweet sap filling their veins, — - tender greens of 
 hillside and woodland growing daily deeper and 
 richer; all the charming phalanx of mountain 
 shrubbery bursting into bewildering profusion of 
 bloom ; ugly things becoming hidden by the 
 young greenness of the earth ; old stumps by the 
 roadside, decaying logs, and last year's dead leaves 
 slowly, by their own death, nourishing the wild 
 tangle of fragrance and color that covered them, 
 being thus, in the lavish provision of nature, them- 
 selves resurrected. The mountain streams laughed 
 loudly in their opulence. 
 
 30 
 
 ..•-'V 
 
Return to Old Scenes 31 
 
 Up the long slope to the southwest crept the 
 incoming mail-train, now seen turning an outward 
 curve, now hidden by an intervening hill, — a live 
 little, consequential demon, impudently puffing its 
 hot breath toward heaven, trailing after it a long 
 line of vaporous smoke, as if vainly trying to ob- 
 scure the gorgeous pageantry of the western sky, 
 in zealous self-assertiveness. Crawling cautiously 
 over the long dizzy trestle, then darting on again, 
 it neared the little station, gave two demoniacal 
 shrieks that were caught up by the echoes of the 
 hills, and paused a moment with insistent hissing 
 while it emitted one traveller, a pair of completely 
 collapsed mail-bags, and a trunk which was vio- 
 lently hurled to the platform, as if those who handled 
 it were trying to bestow on one poor box all the 
 rough usage they would have given other baggage 
 had they had it. 
 
 The traveller, a young man, turned with a quick 
 shrug as his trunk struck the platform ; the little 
 train impatiently bustled off. A lank, leather- 
 colored, disconsolate-looking mail-agent dawdled 
 away with the collapsed bags, and the traveller was 
 left sole mark for twenty or more pairs of eyes 
 belonging to as many professional loungers of Pat- 
 terson, who had been waiting for two mortal hours, 
 with a patience born of inherited lassitude, for the 
 evening mail, although they were well aware it was 
 not due until six-thirty, and was usually late at that. 
 
 Apparently unaware of their languid yet critical 
 scrutiny, he walked around a moment, taking a 
 general survey of the surroundings, then disap- 
 peared in the little hole of a depot and began 
 
32 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 talking with the station-agent. The loungers ceased 
 supporting their lank forms against the buildings 
 opposite and gathered in knots, spitting tobacco 
 juice and speculating as to the probable business of 
 the stranger, his destination, and other questions 
 concerning him, hard to answer without positive 
 knowledge, but affording these meditative loungers 
 endless opportunity for the exercise of their pecu- 
 liar function. Presently the object of their curiosity 
 appeared, and crossing the track with alert step, 
 came toward them. His hat was set a little back, 
 and his forehead, fair and open, showed a slight 
 red line where it had pressed. His hair, damp with 
 perspiration, was soft and curling underneath it. 
 He approached one of the groups, and held out his 
 hand with a pleasant smile to a powerfully built 
 man, lean as Pharaoh's lean kine. 
 
 " Mr. Patterson," he said. The individual ad- 
 dressed started as if he were a huge dried specimen, 
 well wired, on which the traveller was experiment- 
 ing, and which was electrified and set into spas- 
 modic, irresistible motion by the touch of that 
 human magnet. His face expanded until the radi- 
 ating wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened 
 into folds and creases. He caught at the top of 
 his trousers, jerking them violently up, grasped the 
 hand extended to him in both his own, and moved 
 it vigorously up and down. 
 
 " Why ! Bless my soul, boy ! GenTmen, bless 
 my soul! Ef here ain't ol'.Gen'l Marshall himself 
 come tu life again. Gen'l'rpen, shore 'nuff." 
 
 " Wall now, Mr. Marshall, the sight of ye is good 
 foh sore eyes," said another. 
 
Return to Old Scenes 33 
 
 " Sho'ly, we ah right glad tu see yu," said a 
 small man, trying to reach over taller ones for a 
 hand-shake. There was instant recognition of him 
 on all sides. Only a few new-comers stood aloof, 
 smilingly looking on. 
 
 ** John Marshall did ye say? Jes' give me a look 
 at 'im now. I 'd give my eyes, what they is lef of 
 'em, foil a look at Gen'l Marshall's boy." The 
 speaker, an old man, limped from behind the 
 counter of the notion store where he had been 
 busied with a customer. 
 
 " Here he is, Mr. Hackett, the same boy who 
 used to run his hounds through your cotton-fields 
 after rabbits. What a plague he must have been 
 to you ! " answered the young man, turning quickly. 
 He was shaking hands with one and another, calling 
 each by name. 
 
 " Ye don't seem to forgit none of us," said one. 
 
 *' Oh, no. You have changed very little." 
 
 " You '11 see changes 'nufif, I reckon, in them 'at 
 was small fry when ye lef." 
 
 " He only needs tu look at his se'f tu know that. 
 Ye were only a striplin' when ye lef, and look at ye 
 now, bless ye, yer own father over again." 
 
 " I knew him," said the old man, — *' boy an* man 
 I knew him. He saved my life jes' befoah he lost 
 his own. The Unions was too strong foh us, the 
 gen'l was orderin' a retreat, when a minie bullet 
 tore th'ough this leg, and down I went right in the 
 path of the cav'lry. Youah father reined up, and 
 says he, ' Hackett, give me yeh hand.' I tell ye 
 I grabbed foh 'im like despair. He hauled me over 
 the horse in front of him, and took me to the shade 
 3 
 
34 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 of a big hick'ry and give me his water-flask, and 
 says he, ' There, He low. They 'U come foh th' 
 wounded a'terwards ;' and there he was lying with 
 the dead ten minutes later, was yeh father." 
 
 " Thank you for telling me that. My father was 
 my hero. You will tell me more of him sometime?" 
 
 "We kin all take a turn at that," said the little 
 man. 
 
 " Gen'l'men," said fat Mr. Budd, putting his hand 
 in his pockets and turning puffily to address the 
 crowd, '' ah we-all treating the young squire jes' 
 right? Walk in here an' take a drink all roun'. I '11 
 Stan' treat foh th' crowd, gen'l'men, in honoh of 
 young Squire John Marshall's return." 
 
 "Naou, I reckon yu ah 'bout right thar, cunnel," 
 acquiesced half a dozen, with languid alacrity. 
 
 The sun had entirely disappeared, leaving the 
 earth wrapped in still shadows of softly deepening 
 blues and grays. The air of a spring evening in 
 the mountains, delicious with subtle, delicate odors, 
 swept past them all, and gently lifted John Mar- 
 shall's hair. He was thinking of his father. Look- 
 ing into the dirty saloon, a disgust seized him as 
 he imagined himself there, drinking corn whiskey 
 with these tobacco-saturated men. Old neighbors 
 though they were, he knew them only through 
 boyish recollections, as friends by force of circum- 
 stances, not of his father's own choosing. Looking 
 into their faces, kindled for him with kindly light, 
 he shrank from giving offence, yet go in there he 
 could not. He must do neither. His thoughts 
 flew rapidly as he wiped the crown of his hat with 
 his handkerchief. He had kindly feeling for them 
 
Return to Old Scenes 35 
 
 all, for some even respect, yet there was that in 
 himself which raised a barrier between him and 
 them they might not cross. To drink with them 
 and treat in return, would secure their friendship. 
 To refuse might make some of them his lasting 
 enemies. Should he pay for their drinks and 
 excuse himself? His hand wandered to his pocket. 
 He had never been impelled to do such a thing 
 before in exactly this way. No, the whole thing 
 was disgusting, he would risk it. 
 
 His deliberation was but for a moment. " Your 
 reception does me good, gentlemen. A young 
 man could n't ask better of his father's old neigh- 
 bors than the greeting you have given me. I am 
 here to look after my mother's affairs, and will see 
 you often, I hope, when we can talk over old times, 
 but now I can't accept Mr. Budd's invitation. I am 
 as hungry as if I had just returned from a coon 
 hunt, so I '11 bid you all good-evening, and many 
 thanks for your kindness." He took up his valise, 
 and had entered the boarding-house before they 
 realized that he was gone, and if they drank to 
 honor his return they must do so without him. 
 Since Budd's invitation was not repeated, they 
 chose not to do so. 
 
 " Young squire is mighty sudden,'* said that 
 individual. 
 
 " He 's not changed much, I reckon, alius was 
 quick 'nd clever as a boy," said Patterson, pulling 
 at the string of a dirty tobacco pouch. He took 
 from it a portion of the contents, which hung from 
 his thumb and forefinger stringily, like a limp 
 little dead mouse, and dropping his lower jaw put 
 
36 when the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 the brown tuft in the cavern thus formed. When 
 his mouth was again ready for words, some of his 
 companions had dropped into the saloon, others 
 were untying their horses, and all were talking of 
 young John Marshall, and making conjectures con- 
 cerning him and his mother, whom they had not 
 even asked after, partly from delicacy, as they did 
 not know whether she were living or dead. 
 
 Mr. Hackett was wrapping up a card of white 
 porcelain buttons for a stout colored woman. " Who 
 was dat ah man I seed yu all talkin' tu as I come 
 up? " she asked. 
 
 " That was old General Marshall's son, Mr. John 
 Marshall." 
 
 " Laws naow, yu doan' say ! I nevah knowed de 
 boy. He 's growed tu putty foh a man. I kin 
 'membah him right well, ol' gen'l uset tu be my 
 mars'r. Cl'issy, she'd give her eyes tu see him. 
 I nuvah seed no body grieve like she done grieve 
 foh dat boy. Come on, Jess." She took the hand of 
 a fat, round-eyed little black boy and ambled away. 
 
 When John entered the dusty little parlor of the 
 boarding-house, he found Hanford Clark, the station- 
 agent, waiting for him. 
 
 " They have a room for me? Thank you. I have 
 had a narrow escape. I might have been in this 
 hole next door drinking corn whiskey, but I refused 
 the treat, preferring a retreat." 
 
 *' ' The Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters ' is 
 near, did you know? " said his friend. *' I shall take 
 you to it for a bad case to-morrow." 
 
 " I am content, most noble Hanford ; yet prithee 
 tell me, are poor travellers fed as well as housed in 
 
Return to Old Scenes 37 
 
 this secluded wayside inn? If not, then I must needs 
 eat thee, since I no longer can endure this fast, and 
 since, forsooth, a poor and meagre meal were better 
 than no meal at all." 
 
 " Nay, gracious John, for soon you will be fed 
 with corn meal. Other than corn meal is no* meal, 
 and on it shall you feed three meals a day, like any 
 other hog, until your soul shall utter this wild cry, 
 ' No meal for me to-day, thanks, no, no meal.' " 
 
 " ' Et tu, Bruti? ' In vulgar parlance, are you also 
 reduced to making puns? " 
 
 '' It's catching. Well, old man, I ordered chicken 
 to be served quickly (as it can be caught, killed, 
 dressed, and cooked), hot corn bread, and a glass of 
 milk. Black coffee at night is unhygienic. If you 
 sleep after their hot bread and hog's lard, you may 
 have it for breakfast." 
 
 They were in the unlighted parlor, their chairs 
 tilted against the casing of the open windows, 
 through which the sweet, cool air — the only lux- 
 ury the place afforded — was gently blowing. 
 Presently a negro boy entered carrying an un- 
 shaded kerosene lamp, which he deposited on the 
 dusty table. 
 
 '* De gen'l'man's suppah 's ready," said he. 
 
 John rose to follow. His friend looked at his 
 watch. " I '11 have your trunk brought over and 
 landed in your room, and join you soon," he said. 
 
 *' Hanford, you are the same kind, thoughtful 
 fellow you were five years ago." 
 
 The agent caught the young man's shoulder and 
 turning him about, looked in his face. He was a 
 trifle older, and taller, and the smile with which he 
 
38 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 regarded him was almost fatherly. " I have n't told 
 one of these fellows here that I ever knew you," said 
 he, *• so keep mum." A look of surprise flashed 
 into Marsliall's face. '* It's all right, old man, we '11 
 have a good chat as soon as I look after your trunk. 
 I 'm riot due at the station for forty minutes." 
 
 John swallowed his supper, with more impatience 
 than relish. Although the milk was sweet and good, 
 the corn bread was soggy, the chicken tough, the 
 butter greasy, and the sorghum molasses contained 
 two hapless flies. Because their misery jarred on 
 him he released them from slow, saccharine death, 
 placing them on a soiled spot on the tablecloth. 
 The smoky lamp stood in dangerous proximity to 
 the bread. He moved it, and happening to glance 
 up (he had thought himself sole occupant of the 
 room), saw in the obscurity outside the radius of the 
 lamp a white jacket, a row of white finger-nails, two 
 shining eyes, and a wide set of gleaming teeth. The 
 small black waiter who had announced supper was 
 silently grinning and watching him. 
 
 " Hello, whose boy are you? " he said. 
 
 " Ain' nobody's boy, sah. I jes' b'longs tu my 
 own se'f." 
 
 ** Ah, indeed ! You are a fortunate little chap. 
 Some people, you know, belong to the devil." Why 
 John said this he could not have told. Perhaps 
 something in the uncanny appearance of the little 
 imp suggested the remark. The boy's grin grew 
 wider. 
 
 '' Yes, sah." 
 
 " What's your name? 
 
 *' Name Andy, sah,* 
 
 
Return to Old Scenes 39 
 
 ** Is that all the name you have, just Andy? " 
 
 " No, sah." 
 
 " Well, what's the rest ? " 
 
 Andy's great eyes rolled toward the ceiling as if 
 he expected to find the rest of the name written 
 there. *' Name Andrew Jackson Franklin Abra- 
 ham Lincum Wells, sah." 
 
 ** Spoken like a man; that's the way to tell your 
 name. Andrew-Jackson-Franklin-Abraham-Lincoln- 
 Wells. Peculiar combination." 
 
 *' Yes, sah, dey jes' calls me Andy heah'bouts." 
 
 " So you used to be one of old Colonel Wells' 
 little niggers, did you ? " 
 
 " Doan' know, sah." 
 
 ** Who was your father? " 
 
 ** Doan' know, sah." 
 
 " Well, who was your mother? " 
 
 ** Name Linda, sah." 
 
 "Linda what?" 
 
 " Name Linda Angelina Wells, sah." 
 
 " I guess you must have been one of the old 
 colonel's little niggers, then." 
 
 *' Mammy say as haow I nuvva did n' b'long tu 
 nobody, sah." Andy spoke with some warmth. 
 Evidently the mother had fostered the idea in the 
 child's mind that he had been born free. 
 
 Marshall smiled. In spite of his natural, inherited 
 disbelief in the normal condition of the African race 
 as a state of freedom, he respected the little rascal's 
 pride in the thought of having been free born, al- 
 though he was morally certain the boy's father was 
 one called Unc' Jupe, whom Colonel Wells had sold 
 off the plantation before the war to be rid of him. 
 
40 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 And Marshall was right. Andy's mother had added 
 
 Abraham Lincum to her boy's already extensive 
 
 name, in gratitude to the great deliverer of her race, 
 
 after the child was old enough to steal hens' eggs on 
 
 her old " mars'r's " premises, to go with their bacon. 
 
 And Andy was right also. He had no recollection 
 
 of either master or mistress, and belonged to no one 
 
 on the face of the earth but '' he's own se'f." He 
 
 was an anomaly and yet a type ; a type of a new 
 
 race which had sprung up since *' de wall," a sort of 
 
 ^ ^-NjJtWtV ££tributive scourge to the Southern people for hav- 
 
 . . J ing — not inlquitously, perhaps, but blindly — kept 
 
 ii^^i %-» 1 ^ whole race of human beings in a state of rnoral 
 
 .'>^.^ N- i ^"^ physical bondage and childish ignorancel^ 
 
 fir NJ^N'tA!^* " Well, Andy, I won't dispute it, and here 's a 
 
 ^ ^ dime to help you take care of your precious 
 
 possession." 
 
 " T'ankee, sah." Andy clapped the dime in his 
 mouth. 
 
 Marshall rose from the table. At the door of the 
 dining-room he paused a moment. "Andy, what's 
 become of old Colonel Wells and the family ? " 
 
 '' or Mars'r Gunnel daid, sah. Missy Gunnel, she 
 mos' daid tu." 
 
 '* Most dead ! what do you mean? " 
 
 " She blin', sah, kyan see nuffin'. Mars'r Dick, he 
 daown in Richmon'. Miss Angelina, she in Rich- 
 mon' tu." The dime had loosened Andy's tongue. 
 " An' Miss Katherine, she lib on de ol' place an' 
 te'k kyah on ol' missy." 
 
 "What's become of the young captain?" 
 
 " Daid, sah. Miss Katherine she mou'nin' fo' him 
 yit. She ain' du nuffin' but mou'n an' f^riebe. 
 
 A 
 
Return to Old Scenes 41 
 
 Mammy say she b'leebe Miss Katherine she gwine 
 die yit wid dat griebin', she dat so'-ha'ted." 
 
 A shadow crept over Marshall's face. As he 
 closed the door, a woman met him in the hall 
 carrying a lamp. 
 
 " Good-evenin'," she said. '* Likely you are the 
 gentleman who come in on the train. Your trunk's 
 gone to your room, 'nd I was just goin' to take 
 up your lamp." She stepped forward, expecting 
 him to take it; but he moved aside, allowing her 
 to pass. 
 
 " Thank you, I was looking for some one to show 
 me my room." 
 
 The woman was tall and stout, and walked with a 
 heavy rolling gait. She eyed the young man over 
 the top of her glasses from head to foot. " They 
 tell me you used to live here," she said. " Well, 
 I 'm sure you 're welcome back, but it 's a poor 
 place to make a livin' in. I come f'm Ohio my- 
 self, 'nd goodness knows I wish 't I 'd stayed there. 
 Patterson is the slowest place 't I ever did see. 
 Budd, he makes all the money they is here in 
 his saloon. They ain't nobody here but what 
 drinks." 
 
 Although tired, sad, and nervously irritated by 
 her loquacity, Marshall answered pleasantly, — 
 
 *' I never lived right here exactly. Patterson was 
 not in existence when I left." 
 
 " You don't say. Well ! And where have you 
 been livin' all these years? " 
 
 " In San Francisco. I have an uncle there." 
 
 '' So ! And your paw is dead. Your maw, is 
 she dead too? Where is she?" 
 
42 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Marshall winced. Her strident voice rasped on 
 him. '* My mother's home is in Cuba. She spends 
 her winters there." 
 
 " You don't say ! Well ! And where does she 
 spend the rest of her time? Is she comin' back 
 here too? " 
 
 '^ I hardly think so." He ignored the rest of her 
 question. She rolled on a step or two. He thought 
 the catechism ended, when she faced about with a 
 new question, — 
 
 *' Who was your paw? I must 'a' heard tell o' 
 him, all the years I been here, ever since they run 
 the road through. I was one o' the very first 't did 
 come, 'n' I'm sure I wish 't — " 
 
 ** My father was General Marshall," he replied, 
 shifting impatiently from one foot to another. 
 
 ** You don't say ! Well ! I have heard tell o' 
 him, sure enough. He owned all the land here- 
 abouts, 'nd all Patterson too, they tell me. Well ! 
 You don't say ! " She rolled on a step and stopped 
 again. *' I suppose your maw must 'a' sold all this 
 'ere land to the railroad. How much 'd she get fer 
 it, think? They tell me the house 's been took by 
 some Chicago folks 'nd turned into a board'n'-house. 
 Well ! I guess they '11 make a lot keepin' boarders 
 here, that 's what — " 
 
 " Pity my soul, madam, are you never going to 
 show me my room? I mean — Beg pardon," he 
 added, recoiling from his own rudeness. " If you 
 will give me the lamp and direct me, I won't trouble 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, that 's all right. Guess I better go ahead 
 'nd light th' way." She gathered her skirt in one 
 
Return to Old Scenes 43 
 
 hand and began climbing the stair without delay. 
 ** Step a little careful here, this step 's broke 'nd 
 may give way," she panted, as Marshall stumbled 
 on in the shadow of her broad figure. "That's 
 your door, firs' to th' lef. I hope you '11 sleep 
 well," she said, standing puffily at the top and 
 pointing into the obscurity. "I'm sure I do the 
 best I can fer my boarders, if they ain't nothin' 
 in it, nd — 
 
 "Thank you, thank you." Marshall took the 
 lamp and moved on in haste, to check further con- 
 versation. As he pushed open the door, " firs' 
 to th' lef," it crowded against something piled 
 against it. 
 
 " Hello, come in. Never mind obstacles," cried 
 the voice of his friend from within. 
 
 Marshall wedged the door open about a foot, 
 thrust the lamp through first, and edging in side- 
 ways, stepped over a pillow and confronted Hanford 
 seated on the edge of the empty bedstead, with a 
 feather in one hand and the lamp without the burner 
 in the other. 
 
 "What's all this?" said John, surveying the dis- 
 ordered box of a room. " Holding high carnival 
 all by yourself in the dark? " 
 
 " Light enough to serve my purpose, and I 'm 
 through now. I'm saving you a little annoyance, 
 my boy." He threw the feather out of the window, 
 and taking the burner which lay on the sill with the 
 dripping wick hanging outside, proceeded to screw 
 it on the lamp, which he lighted and placed on the 
 cluttered little washstand. Seeing John still hold- 
 ing: his with a dazed air, he took it from him, cleared 
 
44 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 another space, and set it down also, talking in a de- 
 tached way as he worked. 
 
 ** Sit down and take it easy a minute while I 
 straighten things up," he said. " Finding your 
 room inhabited, I began a work of extermination. 
 You '11 find blood-suckers enough without sleep- 
 ing with them. Coal oil is a good thing applied 
 liberally with a feather, although the odor may 
 not rival that of violets in spring. My first night 
 here at Scrapp's was a memorable one. Before 
 the moon silvered the mountain tops I rose and 
 pitched every shred of my bedding out of the win- 
 dow, and spent the * wee sma' ' hours tilted back 
 in one of these rickety chairs, reading my Bible. 
 Smile ; that 's right, smile ! You looked like a 
 whipped dog when you came in. Was n't the 
 supper to your taste? It's not bad reading; be- 
 sides, I had nothing else to do for five good hours, 
 unless to stand around and swear. Help a fellow on 
 with those springs. Steady there. If we drop them, 
 old Scrapp will be up to see if we 're both drunk. 
 He does nothing for the place but confer his sug- 
 gestive name on it. His wife does the work. She 
 ambles about, making the best of things. Never 
 said a word about where she found the beddine 
 next day, and the place was so thoroughly scrubbed 
 I did n't have to repeat the performance for a 
 month ; but nowadays I don't trouble her, I work 
 the thing with a kerosene lamp and a feather." 
 
 " Only you would have thought of this. You are 
 your old self, Hanford Clark." 
 
 ** Now my housework is done, I have just twenty 
 minutes for gossip," said Cla^k ; " then I must be on 
 
Return to Old Scenes 45 
 
 duty, — there's an eight-o'clock freight, — so fire 
 away." 
 
 " First then, why in Heaven's name must n't I 
 speak of our friendship?" 
 
 " Because I have not, that is all. You wish to 
 untangle things peaceably; take my advice. Give 
 me the cold shoulder in the presence of your father's 
 old neighbors. Moreover, if your life in San Fran- 
 cisco impregnated you with Northern ideas, drop 
 them for a time or you will bring up against a wall 
 of quiet opposition that even your father's repu- 
 tation will not take you over." He paused, and 
 Marshall was silent. 
 
 " Two years have given me some experience. 
 The first station-agent being a Southern man, they 
 naturally thought he was ousted for me. I have 
 lived down that odium now, however ; at least, the Pat- 
 terson faction treat me well. They rather favor the 
 company. You see, they received a good price for 
 their land, and your mother was to have had the same 
 price for hers, but her lawyer here, I. M. Monk — " 
 
 "What! Does mother still keep Monk? I al- 
 ways — Beg pardon. Go ahead." 
 
 "That's all right. Say on, anything you please." 
 
 " I am surprised. She knew I disliked the man. 
 Mother has been reticent about business until she 
 wrote the letter that brought me here. Even then 
 she did not mention Monk by name. She used to 
 detest Yankees, but she is shrewd. She knows they 
 are good business men, however obnoxious they 
 may be otherwise." 
 
 " I can give you the ins and outs of the matter. 
 She has left you too much in the dark. You are 
 
46 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 at a disadvantage. It was this way. The land- 
 owners between here and Milton wished the com- 
 pany to put the road through Pine Gap, to open 
 up their property there for sale, and Monk hood- 
 winked them into sending him to negotiate the 
 business for them. Then the old fox persuaded the 
 company that they would save fifty miles of steep 
 grade if they put the road into Milton from the 
 north, building that trestle you went over just this 
 side of Carlton, and skirting the French Broad. So 
 they did, and left Pine Gap forty miles off the line 
 of travel. Never went near the place." 
 
 ''What was that for?" 
 
 " He schemed the whole thing out to bring his 
 own land over in Broadgate into the market. He 
 owned a thousand acres there. Moreover he 
 screwed a bonus out of every Broadgate land-owner 
 who made anything out of the transaction, and 
 worried another big payment out of the company 
 on your mother's property, in consideration of his 
 services, (1 would look after that if I were you ; I 
 doubt if she ever received a cent more than the 
 original price), and sold his own land at an immense 
 profit." 
 
 '* Where does Patterson's quarrel come in in all 
 this?" 
 
 " He agreed the whole of Blue Hill here should 
 be made over to the company for a mere nominal 
 sum, as a site for a hotel to bring travel to the road, 
 in consideration of their making that detour around 
 by Broadgate." 
 
 " But, as I remember it, the Chaplains owned 
 that." 
 
Return to Old Scenes 47 
 
 " They own one half and your mother the other. 
 He has been disposing of her property as he Hkes, 
 and teUing her what he pleases. The Chaplains also 
 own land at Pine Gap, and Jud swears his half of the 
 hill shall never be owned by a set of ' damned thiev- 
 ing Yankees ' until they pay his price, which he has 
 put at enough to cover the worth of this and all his 
 Pine Gap property put together." 
 
 " How on earth did Monk ever bring about the 
 agreement between Chaplain and the company in 
 the first place? He had only authority over 
 mother's part." 
 
 *' He trapped Chaplain first, by talking about 
 getting the road through Pine Gap. Oh, he 's 
 smooth as grease." 
 
 ** Why can't Chaplain be brought to terms then?" 
 
 '' He employed a lawyer from the city, and be- 
 tween them they found a way out of the bargain." 
 
 ** Well, some of the heaviest stockholders are San 
 Francisco men, as you know, and Uncle Darius has 
 set his heart on having me build that hotel, and I'll 
 do it." 
 
 " He 's one of the largest owners, but that must 
 not be known here ; you never will build it if 
 it is." 
 
 " First I '11 dismiss Monk and then see Judson and 
 get him interested pecuniarily." A look of doubt 
 passed over Hanford's face. Marshall smiled. "It 
 can be done," he said ; " it's got to be done, that 's 
 all." 
 
 '' All the Pine Gap faction are down on Monk. 
 They 'd pitch him off his trestle into Mill River if 
 they could," said Hanford. 
 
48 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 *' Naturally ; but I fail to see how all this necessi- 
 tates my giving you the cold shoulder. I can't do 
 it, old fellow." 
 
 *' The whole facts of the case necessitate it. We 
 are all in the same rank hole. Monk is a Northern 
 man, and his meanness and double dealing have 
 brought distrust down on us. He has the hatred of 
 the whole community here, and of course some 
 of that odium falls on me. Since I am well posted, 
 and an employee of the company, if you seem con- 
 fidential with me, they will distrust you. Now you 
 are one of them, which is to your advantage." 
 
 ** I see," said John. 
 
 " Here 's another complication. An especial 
 election comes off soon, to fill the place of circuit 
 judge. As all the places interested in the road 
 squabble are in the circuit, there is war to the knife. 
 The Broadgate faction have succeeded in getting 
 Monk's name on one of the tickets, and if he has 
 the negro vote he stands a good chance. He is top 
 of the heap in Broadgate, is a great swell there, 
 and sticks at no kind of wire-pulling; is engaged 
 to Senator White's daughter, and all that sort of 
 thing. She is an old-maid, as raw-boned as he is, 
 but he wants the office. The other party, as I hap- 
 pen to know, have some bulldozing scheme on foot, 
 and naturally they look on every Northern man 
 as a spy on their actions. Judson Chaplain is their 
 candidate." 
 
 ** Monk 's a rascal," said John ; " I '11 settle him as 
 far as mother's afi'airs are concerned." 
 
 " Take my advice, and be prudent," continued 
 his friend. '* Strike up a casual acquaintance with 
 
Return to Old Scenes 49 
 
 me after a while. In the mean time, be sure I '11 
 serve you in any way in my power." 
 
 " You are an out-and-out true friend, Hanford — 
 you always were. I '11 do as you say, but it 's 
 mighty hard on me." 
 
 '' You won't find everything on such an easy foot- 
 ing as when you were a boy." 
 
 " Oh, no, but, then, everything is in such a con- 
 founded mess here in the South. \A/Iiatjdght_iisye yi^y"'^ Q 
 the negroes to the ballot anyway? Children hand-^ -^^ ,rJL», 
 ling edged tools, no more fit to govern themselves I -^ 
 than that mule out there by the fence, nor as much." / 
 
 Hanford Clark burst into a laugh. " No need 01 
 an}" suggestions from me, I see. You '11 pass with 
 this crowd. How came they here in the first place? 
 Of their own free will or through stress of circum- 
 stances? (Mild way of putting it.) What right 
 have they here? Have they any rights? If not, 
 why not? " 
 
 *' Oh, come ! we can't argue, Hanford. We were 
 always cats and dogs on this point. We know each 
 other's arguments as we know our grammars. It 's 
 right here that the trouble lies. While they were 
 kept where they belonged there was no difiiculty. 
 We needed them, were even fond of them, petted 
 them, and all that sort of thing ; but given absolute 
 freedom, turned loose like a pack of wild colts, 
 given power to govern us perforce when they 
 never knew how to take care of themselves, I don't 
 wonder. It is too much to be borne. I know it 
 was only war policy at first, but now to submit to 
 such a state of affairs is madness, that *s all, — sheer 
 madness." 
 4 
 
50 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Look here, my man, affairs have changed down 
 here. Ten or twelve years makes a big difference. 
 You will find the negroes better prepared to handle 
 the ballot than a lot of your ignorant whites up 
 North are. They are pretty intelligent. They con- 
 fide in the Northerners here and get a fairly good 
 idea of the political issues. Even those who can't 
 read — " 
 
 " Yes, I see. Men like Monk prime them up. 
 Fine confidant he is for them. I guess a little 
 wholesome bulldozing would be a good thing for 
 the whole set of white scoundrels as well as black. 
 There, old man, don't let the glow die out of your 
 face in that way ; I love to see it if it does shine on 
 the wrong side, — the shadow side, so to speak." 
 They were silent a moment; then Marshall added, 
 " Maybe you are more in the right than my preju- 
 dices will let me believe." 
 
 Clark laughed, and looked at his watch. "You 
 think you are right in these arguments of ours, and 
 I know I am ; but you know how to be generous, at 
 all events, and so ^stand that much ahead of me in 
 
 an argument." 
 
 John sat lazily tilted back in his chair, his hands 
 clasped behind his head. His friend rose and paced 
 restlessly about the room. " The same old stride," 
 said John. '' How did you ever blunder into such 
 a place and position as this? The company is 
 looking up a little in the matter of employees. A 
 college-bred station-agent, and — What are you 
 ruminatincr about now ? " 
 
 " I must go," said Hanford, looking absently at 
 his watch again. He opened the door half-way, 
 
Return to Old Scenes 51 
 
 shut It, and walked over to the window, where he 
 stood with his back to his friend. " You have 
 given me no news yet of your mother. Does she 
 come North this summer?" 
 
 "Yes; she is in New York by this time. She 
 wrote she should sail two weeks ago." 
 
 "So early! Alone?" 
 
 ** No ; Marguerite is with her, of course." Han- 
 ford shifted himself uneasily, and began pointing 
 a pencil with his knife. Marshall was not looking 
 at him, and went on wearily : " She could n't live 
 without Marguerite, and yet the child is heartless, 
 perfectly heartless. Mother seems wrapped up in 
 her, though." 
 
 " She seemed to me to have heart enough, and a 
 good one at that." 
 
 " A perfect little demon when she can twist a 
 man around her finger. Mother would have had us 
 tied together three years ago if she could have had 
 her way. You knew we were engaged ; but that 
 was mother's doing, not mine." 
 
 " I knew. Your mother told me." Hanford 
 turned half round, and gave his friend a keen 
 scrutiny, still occupied with his knife. John talked 
 on. 
 
 " I had a few words with the midget, and she con- 
 fessed she did not care for me any more than she 
 did for an old shoe, nor as much ; for an old shoe 
 was comfortable, and when I taxed her for pretend- 
 ing to care, she admitted she did it to have peace at 
 home, and to — as she said — 'keep other frauds at 
 bay.' " 
 
 " But your mother said you were devoted to her." 
 
52 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I was, — am still, for that matter. I would gladly 
 see her married to my dearest friend if I thought 
 he could manage her. We agreed amicably to 
 break the engagement and keep it to ourselves 
 until they were back in Cuba, when she was to 
 break it to mother, as she said, ' little at a time.' " 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me you never have 
 had a pang of regret at such a denouement?" 
 
 " Never since we settled it to both our hkings, but 
 many a one before." 
 
 Hanford's eyes shone with a peculiar light as he 
 regarded his friend. " I wonder if I am a fool ! " 
 he said quietly, shutting his knife with a sharp click. 
 Marshall looked up in sudden surprise. The in- 
 coming freight whistled the same instant as it neared 
 the long trestle, and Hanford was gone. 
 
CHAPTER m 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT 
 
 JOHN MARSHALL rose, and shook himself 
 impatiently. "Straws," he muttered. "So 
 that 's the way the wind sits. Poor fellow ! He 's 
 too good for her." He moved restlessly about, 
 then stood staring out of the window. " She '11 
 make a fool of him. I can't interfere. If I write 
 mother to leave her in New York, she '11 be dead 
 set to start for Patterson on the next train." He 
 whistled softly a minute, then threw up the window 
 as far as it would go, seized his hat, and passing 
 out of the room, turned the key in the door. He 
 felt his way along the upper corridor, and by the 
 feeble light of a lamp in the hall below found his 
 way out into the night. 
 
 The train was thundering up to the station, and 
 Marshall turned toward the silence of the hills. A 
 moment he looked off on their softened outlines, 
 in the bewitching moonlight, to get his bearings. 
 '* The blacksmith shop stands just as it used," he 
 thought, " but all this other trash has beerTUumped 
 here since. Even Hackett's store is new. Well, so 
 wags the world ; every man for himself, and all for 
 the shillings." 
 
 He turned down a familiar road, walking aim- 
 lessly, drinking in the sweet cool air, which scarcely 
 stirred the leaves. Faintly in the distance came 
 the cry of a whippoorwill, sharply answered from 
 
 53 
 
 s-^' 
 
54 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 a great gum-tree over his head. He looked up, 
 feeHng the impulse of his boyhood to throw a stone 
 into tile tree to discover the bird's whereabouts, and 
 saw the moon looking down through a network of 
 branches from the crest of a distant hill. ** She 
 seems to touch the earth," he said. 
 
 The road made a sudden turn down a declivity 
 of broad shelving rocks to the ford below, and he 
 heard the sound of the stream mingling with the 
 noise of frogs and the chirping of tree-toads. He 
 stopped on the footbridge to listen, and dropped a 
 stone into the water which sent back the sparkle of 
 a thousand gems. His heart expanded under the 
 influence of this sweet solitude. This was a part of 
 his boyhood. Why had he never visited it in all 
 these years? Why had he ever left it? 
 
 " There 's a deep pool behind that boulder where 
 old Alexander gave me my first lesson in fishing. 
 I wonder if he 's still alive." He threw a stone 
 toward the great rock. It splashed into the water, 
 and instantly the noise of the frogs ceased. 
 
 "They've been croaking there all these years," 
 he said. The moonlight spread broadly over the 
 little bridge, leaving one end in dense shadow where 
 Marshall leaned on the railing, completely hidden. 
 Suddenly the sounds of horses' hoofs and men's 
 voices broke the stillness. 
 
 ** 'T ain't no use s'arch'n' these parts, he 's highah 
 up th' maount'n. Black devils! Thar's plenty 
 ut'll hide 'im." 
 
 " Naw, he's feared o' th' maount'n. They're 
 pizen on him thar. He '11 make fer th' low country 
 'nd git cl'ar that-a-way." There were four riders. 
 
Past and Present 55 
 
 They stopped in the stream to let their horses 
 drink, and Marshall recognized one as the man he 
 had greeted earlier in the evening. 
 
 '' Patterson don't go much on a niggah till he gits 
 a fa'r chance tu shoot 'im." 
 
 " Yas, we-all takes a lively int'rust in a niggah 
 these days when we kin let daylight into 'im." 
 
 '' Wall now, they is some good uns," said a little 
 man perched on a tall, raw-boned horse. *' Thar 's 
 that ar Josephus, he's stiddy an' hones', but they 
 all needs a mastah ovah 'em. I alluz was fa'r, even 
 tu a niggah. All they need is tu be kep' whar 
 they belong." 
 
 As they dashed away past the place where 
 Marshall stood screened by the shadows and veil 
 of wallow branches, Patterson's horse shied violently. 
 *'Whoah thar," he shouted, and turning fired his 
 revolver into the bank above John's head. '* I 
 reckon thar 's a niggah creepin round thar ut's 
 skeered 'im. I 'd put a bullet through every durned 
 black hide in th' country 'f I hed th' chance." 
 
 John Marshall shuddered and walked out into 
 the moonlight, feeling as if he had awakened from 
 an ugly dream ; but he sauntered on. One sensa- 
 tion would be all he could reasonably expect to 
 experience in one evening, and he would not be shot 
 at if he kept in the light where he would show for a 
 white man. Although shocked, he smiled, thinking^ 
 of the time when " niggers " were too valuable to be 
 shot at, at random. A man would as soon think of 
 shooting at his blooded mare in sport nowadays, 
 as he would then of hazarding a shot into a thicket 
 at a " nigger." 
 
56 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "That is like Patterson," he thought. *' Cool 
 and daring, but a good friend withal. And the 
 little man is right; under masters they did well 
 enough, but in these changed circumstances they 
 must be insufferable." 
 
 Like the jack-rabbits and gophers of California, 
 the negroes were well enough when they committed 
 no depredations ; when they did, it was quite proper 
 to hunt them down. There were too many of them — 
 more than were needed. The small man on the tall 
 horse seemed to have on an official coat and manner. 
 Marshall wondered what was up, as he sauntered on, 
 mechanically taking the road which led past his 
 boyhood's home. How familiar it all was ! Every 
 gnarled old gum-tree and boulder brought back to 
 him events of those free and happy days. 
 
 " It is not so long ago," he thought. Even the 
 wagon ruts seemed the very ones the loaded 
 tobacco wagons cut then, as the negroes, whistling 
 and cracking their whips at the mule teams, wound 
 their way to the next town. Some of them were 
 trusted to do all the business of selling the long 
 train of loads in their charge, even bargaining for 
 the price and taking the money home. ** Shoot 
 one of those niggers down in the dark? Not much," 
 he thought. There was old Thomas, the preacher 
 at the negro quarters, black as ebony, noted for 
 honesty and good sense. He was his master's 
 best friend in one sense. He married John's 
 mammy, but that was before John could remem- 
 ber. She often told him about how they were 
 married by a white minister, and they were all given 
 a holiday ; how " mars'r " was away at the time, and 
 
Past and Present 57 
 
 how he swore when he returned and found her mis- 
 tress had made her marry old Thomas during his 
 absence. 
 
 John thought of his sh'ght, dark, imperious 
 mother, reigning as queen in the old home. All 
 the servants feared her. The piccaninnies dodged 
 round doorways and corners at her approach. She 
 seldom had them punished, but they feared her 
 nevertheless. Only Mammy Clarissa seemed to be 
 without this fear. She waited on her mistress day 
 and night without complaint, yet never seemed sub- 
 missive. She was tall, fairer than her mistress, and y 
 wore always a silk turban and white gown. Her 
 step was long and rapid. She moved easily, but 
 with the sudden directness which indicated under- 
 lying force. Always quiet and inscrutable, her 
 expression seldom changed ; only when he was tired 
 and crept into her lap in the twilight, she laughed, 
 and rocked him in her arms, and told him stories of 
 the time when she *' war a liT gal, an' her mammy 
 war mos' like her." She told him of a great city 
 by the sea where she had lived, of the ships, and 
 the moonlight on the water, and the songs of the 
 negroes rowing boats full of pleasure-seekers past 
 her " ol' mars'r's haouse " in the summer evenings. 
 
 *' I war right happy den, honey, right happy," 
 she used to say, '' a-rollin' on de grass an' a-listenin' 
 tu de watah. 01' mars' uset tu go dar eve'y y'ar 
 w'en de long hot days come. Missus she uset tu 
 sit in de po'ch an' sing tu ol' mars'r in de dark, w'en 
 I war li'l' gal." 
 
 In the years that had passed, it was Mammy 
 Clarissa's caresses he remembered more than his 
 
58 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 mother's, and yet she never had seemed to him 
 to be exactly a human being, as he appHed that 
 term to his mother or himself. She was his father's 
 chattel, no more, no less. As a child, he loved her 
 with a child's delight in her affection and caresses ; 
 as a man he thought of her kindly, and wondered if 
 she were still living. 
 
 " I must hunt her up, if she is, and give her some- 
 thing. Faithful old soul ! " he said. 
 
 She had a boy of his own age, he remembered, — 
 a pale, lithe imp, with eyes as black as sloes, wilful, 
 always getting into scrapes and domineering over 
 the other piccaninnies. His mistress petted him, but 
 his mother paid no more attention to him than to 
 any other of the swarming raft on the place. She 
 never allowed him in the house. " Yo' stay dar 
 wha yo' b'longs," she would say when his black 
 eyes peered into her face from some doorway. 
 This boy had been John's own little body-servant, 
 playmate, and scapegoat, as prolific in mischievous 
 schemes as his young master was daring in carrying 
 them out. Clarissa had a younger boy, black as 
 the ace of spades. John wondered what had be- 
 come of him. He thought of the numerous house- 
 servants, the loquacious old cook, the little " house 
 birds," who " toted ashes, fotched vvatah," and loi- 
 tered on all the numberless errands of the house- 
 hold. He smiled as he thought how their black 
 legs would fly and the white soles of their feet 
 twinkle, as they darted away from the kitchen door, 
 with a splint broom scudding after, hurled by the 
 irate cook for some impudence from their " sassy 
 maoufs." 
 
Past and Present 59 
 
 He thought of Alexander and his tribe of assist- 
 ants. Every servant of importance had corps of 
 under helpers being trained and " fotched up." He 
 thought of the mellow voices of the field hands sing- 
 ing together in the quarters on just such moonlit 
 evenings as this. He was never allowed among 
 them unless accompanying his father on his rounds 
 over the plantation when his political duties per- 
 mitted his being at home, but they were fond of the 
 young master, who sometimes dispensed their semi- 
 annual allowance of rations and clothing, adding 
 thereto small gifts from his own pocket money. 
 
 ** I wonder if I could remember them all ! " he 
 said, counting them off by their names and nick- 
 names. Ah ! the busy old place in those days 
 teemed with exuberance of life. 
 
 Although happy, his boyhood still lacked in 
 some part that which childhood should have to be 
 looked back upon with tenderest, sweetest memories. 
 He was fed, petted, and indulged by Mammy 
 Clarissa and the household servants, and reproved 
 by his mother for his misdemeanors. Hospitality 
 reigned in the home. Distinguished political friends 
 of his father's came for a week's relaxation, or a 
 day's sport, and in summer his mother's Cuban 
 relatives and friends thronged around her, and all 
 was gayety and life. 
 
 How well he remembered loitering about the 
 piazza, watching the languid, dark-eyed ladies in 
 their full luminous silks and soft muslins, fluttering 
 their fans, and chatting in low tones, sometimes in 
 French or Spanish, but oftenest in English made 
 soft by their melodious drawl. There their partners 
 
6o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 came for them for the dance, or sat beside them 
 smoking; there wines were served by hthe young 
 negresses. How he loved the merriment and badi- 
 nage, and the soft sweet odors that filled the evening 
 air from waving fans and overhanging vines of jas- 
 mine and honeysuckle ; and now the negroes were 
 scattered, and the old home left to run wild and 
 drop into decay, and at last turned into a boarding- 
 house ! " Why did mother ever sell that one spot, 
 of all others?" he said. '* She had no need of the 
 money." 
 
 Suddenly he stood listening. The sound of a 
 voice, a sweet high soprano, rang out on the still 
 air, full, clear, penetrating the wide reaches of space, 
 as if searching the listener. Ah, the charm of that 
 woman's voice ! He lifted his head and gazed about 
 in bewilderment. Was he there, at the old place ? 
 There was the arching gateway casting a circular 
 shadow at his feet, the curving drive, the fountain 
 playing as of old, the shrubbery run wild and 
 tangled, but still there. He peered about in the 
 moonlit darkness, and lingered while the music 
 floated out to him through the open windows. The 
 singer was rendering an aria, florid and difficult. He 
 had heard it before, but here, in this place, lonely 
 and forsaken, how incongruous ! Thrilled with the 
 outpouring of melody and rhythm, he walked nearer 
 and nearer, drawn by the magic of the voice and the 
 hour, and finally sat down on the edge of the basin 
 of the old fountain. 
 
 The song ended, and a soun'd of children's voices 
 and laughter came from the open door. Had the 
 old times returned? But none sang thus in those 
 
Past and Present 6i 
 
 days. This must be some Northern guest. The 
 children ran out into the moonhght. A man's 
 voice called them to come in. *' Where is the 
 nurse? Where is Mary?" said the man. ''These 
 children ought to be in bed." They ran in again, 
 and Marshall felt as if being shut out from his own 
 home as the door closed after them. He rose to go, 
 but again the voice of the singer filled the air, and 
 he sat down, with his head between his hands, and 
 listened. A merry little English ballad, and a cradle- 
 song, dulcet and mellow ! Marguerite sang them, but 
 not in this way. Not jike any instrument were the 
 tones, — only a woman's voice, incomparably sweet 
 and J ijgnder. Song followed song. Twice more 
 he rose, and twice remained. " To-morrow I will 
 find out about her," he said. At last the voice w^as 
 still. The lights disappeared one by one from 
 the windows. He hurried away, but the voice re- 
 mained with him. All night long it haunted his 
 slumbers. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 OLD FRIENDSHIPS 
 
 JOHN MARSHALL was awakened next morning 
 by a glare of sunlight streaming through the 
 open window. The air was fragrant with bloom. 
 A bird sang its ecstasies in a bush outside. He lay 
 still and listened until, in his dreamy state, the voice 
 of the evening mingled with the song, and the deliri- 
 ous bird-notes resolved themselves into arias and 
 plaintive cradle-songs, and again a woman's voice 
 seemed to take up the notes and warble them like a 
 bird. Suddenly a gong was struck under his win- 
 dow, and with that hideous sound, the odors of 
 sausage and vile coffee pervaded the room. He 
 dressed hurriedly and tried to form a plan for the 
 day's action, but every scheme seemed to turn on 
 discovering the owner of the voice. 
 
 " I am growing fairly sentimental," he said. 
 ** She may be the mother of those children, and 
 forty at the least." He smiled, and a crooked little 
 mirror sent back a twisted reflection of himself with 
 a diabolical grin. 
 
 There were few boarders at Scrapp's and the 
 dining-room was nearly empty. During his hurried 
 breakfast his loquacious landlady regaled him with 
 an account of a murder, news of which reached 
 her through the posse who had breakfasted there 
 early that morning. 
 
 62 
 
Old Friendships 63 
 
 ** Do' know what ever is goin' to become of this 
 place," she said. " Thievin', moonshinin', murderin' 
 killin' lot they be. I 'm sure I wisht I was back in 
 Ohio myself, where folks know how to live decent. 
 There 's that old Toplin woman up the mountain, 
 she 's been murdered, they tell me, found her in the 
 branch where she done her washin' with her throat 
 cut 'nd her clo'es torn half off'n her, 'nd every single 
 thing in the cabin smashed to pieces, 'nd they 'low 
 it 's the nigger 't worked for the old man 't 's done 
 it, fer they found his striped jail clo'es in the corner 
 o' the cabin, 'nd the old man's clo'es gone." 
 *' Where is the old man? " 
 
 " He's in the penitentiary servin' out a term for 
 moonshinin', 'nd the nigger was took up when he 
 was, but they tell me the nigger's got out, so 
 they 're after him fer the killin', 'nd when they git 
 him they '11 hang him, sure." 
 
 Marshall hastened out into the bracing morning 
 air. Although early, there was considerable stir in 
 the little place. Men were gathered in front of 
 Budd's saloon talking in low tones, and another 
 group lounged in the post-office. He glanced about, 
 and seeing the barber's pole near by, and also the 
 sign " I. M. Monk, Attorney at Law," a few steps 
 farther, he turned his steps in that direction, avoid- 
 ing both groups of loungers. Monk had heard of 
 his arrival and was expecting him. He sat at his 
 desk, his hat drawn down to his eyebrows, a pen 
 over his ear, a toothpick between his teeth, and a 
 pile of papers before him. He rose instantly, as 
 Marshall entered, extending a bony hand. The 
 lower part of his face smiled broadly, while his eyes 
 
64 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 scrutinized his visitor from under his hat rim. He 
 was bland and alert. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Marshall, glad to see you, glad to see 
 you indeed. This is a surprise. A little cool this 
 morning. Come over by the fire. I must have a 
 fire. I have a fire right up to midsummer. Can't 
 stand the cold here in the mountains." 
 
 He placed a chair for Marshall near a rusty little 
 cracked stove in which a feeble fire was burning, 
 and seating himself still nearer, with his elbows on 
 his knees, he stretched his wiry hands toward the 
 heat, alternately opening and shutting his fingers as 
 if he were grasping at something. 
 
 John felt in no mood for elaboration, and hurried 
 through his interview with the agent with what 
 seemed to that individual scant ceremony in his 
 dismissal, and set off to look up some of the old 
 neighbors whom he used to like in his boyhood. 
 Chief among them was the family of old Colonel 
 Wells. Andy's words of the evening before, *' Missy 
 Cunnel mos' daid tu," came back to him. " I will 
 go to them first," he said, rubbing his chin. It was 
 rough, and returning to Scrapp's he gathered up 
 his shaving-tools and proceeded to the sign of the 
 striped pole. Chas was busy. A young surveyor 
 from Asheville was in the chair who rolled his eyes 
 abnormally to get a look at the new-comer without 
 moving his head. John walked to the window 
 and looked out on the street. He saw Patterson 
 and another man ride over the brow of the hill and 
 gallop rapidly down the street, stopping in front 
 of Hackett's store. The proprietor came out and 
 the three men held an animated conversation, 
 
Old Friendships 65 
 
 Patterson gesticulating violently with his long arms, 
 and firing tobacco juice right and left. Budd joined 
 them from his saloon, and others gathered. It was 
 about ten in the morning and the professional 
 loungers were all on duty. Patterson drew a revol- 
 ver from his hip pocket, and Marshall shuddered. 
 The barber touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Now, sail, de gen'lem 's done gone, sah." He 
 turned and recognized the speaker. 
 
 " Why, Chesterfield, is this you? Don't you know 
 me?" 
 
 The pale yellowish face of the barber lighted with 
 a pleasant smile. '* Sho' now ! I jes' reckon, sah ! 
 I done hyeah'd yo' come home 'gin." 
 
 " You are a fine strapping fellow too. All set 
 up in business here?" 
 
 " Yas, sah, I 's fixed right smaht, I reckon. Dis 
 heah is mighty fine razor, sah. Is yo' gwine bide 
 'long o' we-uns? Dis place lookin' up a heap in de 
 las' yeah. Heap o' gen'lems draps in now long 
 back." 
 
 Marshall inquired after the hands on the old 
 place, learned of the whereabouts of Mammy 
 Clarissa and Josephus, and having set Lord Chester- 
 field's tongue wagging, the shaving began. Chas 
 was an expert at his trade and deft. He had not 
 hung about the place, as did most of the negroes 
 after being set free, but with more than their usual 
 enterprise had worked his way to Raleigh, and there 
 learned the tonsorial art. Although a great dandy, 
 he was of an acquisitive nature and had soon saved 
 up enough to set up his own pole in Patterson with 
 the modest announcement, " Tonsorial Parlor. L. C. 
 5 
 
66 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Marshall, Artist and Proprietor." The male inhabi- 
 tants used the gay pole as a mark for well-aimed 
 shots of tobacco juice, and the first few months of 
 the " artist " in his parlor were a dismal failure ; but 
 he continued to strut among the colored population 
 as ** cock o' the walk," and relished the distinction 
 of being the only travelled and well-informed speci- 
 men of their race too well to be easily dismayed. 
 His well-saved earnings, being spent only on him- 
 self, lasted, eked out by the occasional patronage 
 of strangers, and he lived well and dressed smartly. 
 Beside his trade he had acquired the accomplish- 
 ments of reading and writing after a fashion, and he 
 loved to sit in his window in plain sight from the 
 
 street, as he perused the columns of the *' Asheville 
 
 C>> 
 ourier. 
 
 A few arrivals on the morning train were driven 
 off in the equipage belonging to the new boarding- 
 house. Old Alexander, with a revival of former 
 dignity, looked neither to the right nor left, yet con- 
 trived to keep an eye on the bronze urchins who 
 clustered round the carriage, cracking his whip at 
 their bare brown legs, '' tu larn 'em day mannahs," 
 if they ventured too near. Marshall, emerging from 
 the tonsorial parlors, saw him drive off, and recog- 
 nized the grave, withered little face with a certain 
 pleasure. He resolved to visit the old home, even 
 if it cost him a few pangs, for the sake of this faith- 
 ful old man. He thought of the singer of the even- 
 ing before, and his resolve was strengthened. 
 
 The crowd had now collected in Budd's saloon. 
 Marshall heard loud voices as he passed, and caught 
 a little of the talk. One man, perched on the coun- 
 
Old Friendships 67 
 
 ter, taller, lanker, and if possible yellower than the 
 rest, appeared to be giving a detailed account of the 
 last evening's search. 
 
 ** He 's layin' low som'ers hyarabouts, an' th' var- 
 mints are givin' 'im victuals," he said. " His maw 
 'lowed 't she never knowed 't he was out o' jail. 
 Said 't she seed a white man round thar in jail 
 clo'es. Laws ! They '11 lie faster 'n a hoss kin run." 
 
 " Yas, they is tu many niggahs alive." 
 
 John passed on. It was warm, and he mopped 
 his forehead with his handkerchief, and removed his 
 coat. '* I'll have a saddle horse if there 's one left 
 in the country," he said. Men, horses, even the 
 very dogs, seemed to have undergone a deterio- 
 rating change, as well as the younger growth of the 
 negro population. He wondered if there were any 
 ladies left in the land. 
 
 Miss Katherine was in her garden among the 
 lilacs. A sturdy little negro girl trudged after her, 
 carrying a waterpot full of water. She spoke to 
 the child in a gentle drawl that was musical and 
 sweet, — 
 
 *' Gertrude, stop slopping watah ev'y step yue 
 take. Yue ah making the path right muddy." 
 
 Had Miss Katherine possessed the means, her 
 home would have been filled with works of art, and 
 every object which refinement and exquisite good 
 taste would suggest. As it was, having no other 
 outlet for her passionate love for the beautiful, her 
 sweet soul gave itself to the cultivation of flowers 
 with a devotion that was pathetic, — her flowers and 
 her blind old mother. With barely means for their 
 daily necessities, and no hope to shed brightness 
 
68 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 over her future, she awaited the yearly resurrection 
 of her flowers with intense delight, as each unfolded 
 itself, a new creation, with the advancing season. 
 
 " Here, Gertrude, mind now, yue due step all 
 ovah. Watah those Sweet Williams I set out last 
 evening. They ah hanging down like they wanted 
 tue be back in their old bed. This ribbon grass is 
 growing ovah the bo'dah. I promised Miz Chaplain 
 some. Yue take it tue her aftah lunch, and mind, 
 Gertrude, due yue heah ? " 
 
 '' Yas, 'm." 
 
 " Yue hand me the trowel. Ask Miz Chaplain 
 tue come ovah tue lunch to-morrow. Ma gets so 
 lonesome. But there, yue '1 fohget, yue need n't 
 ask her anything, I '11 write a note. There 's ma's 
 bell, put down the watahpot and run. Run, child, 
 yue ah so slow. Don't step all ovah the bo'dahs." 
 
 The path from the grass-grown roadway was long 
 and winding. John caught sight of Miss Katherine's 
 slight, black-robed figure among the bushes, and 
 walked rapidly toward her. The lilac blooms 
 nodded as he brushed past, and the slender leaves 
 of the corn lilies rustled, but she, buried in her vast 
 black bonnet, stooped over the ribbon grass, unaware 
 of his approach until the gate, swinging slowly 
 back, clicked behind him. She rose quickly, 
 and regarded him a moment with a bewildered 
 look on her thin, fine face, while she brushed 
 the dust mechanically from her slender hands and 
 her dress. 
 
 John smiled down upon her with head uncovered. 
 She looked so frail. Was this Miss Katherine or 
 her wraith? A moment they faced each other thus. 
 
Old Friendships 69 
 
 then the light of recognition dawned in her face, and 
 she took a quick step forward. 
 
 " Due I really see John Mahshall? " she said. 
 
 ** Yes, Miss Katherine." He took both her hands, 
 looked in her eyes, and then with a boyish impulse 
 of reverence and affection, pushed back the ugly 
 bonnet and kissed her on the cheek. Although 
 twenty years his senior, a faint flush crept over her 
 face. " I wanted to make sure it is really you and 
 not your ghost," he said., 
 
 " Yue ah the very same boy, if yue ah grown so 
 tall and grand like yuah fathah. Where have yue 
 come from?" She led him to a seat under a 
 branching chestnut. He remembered the seat and 
 the tree. Her heart gave a little flutter, and she felt 
 faint as the past rushed before her in a flood of 
 painful recollections. She removed the obnoxious 
 sunbonnet, and dropped her hands in her lap, 
 " Donald is gone," she said. 
 
 *' I know," he said, and was silent. They did not 
 look at each other for a few minutes, and two large 
 tears left her brown eyes and dropped on her folded 
 hands. She wiped them away, and two more fol- 
 lowed. John shifted his position uneasily. Had 
 she been his own little older sister, or his little 
 " Aunt Katherine," as he had called her when he 
 and Donald were boys, he could have taken her 
 in his arms and kissed them away. The wholesome 
 impulse to give comfort possessed him, but how 
 could he? He took one of her slight, worn hands 
 between his own and stroked it gently. Ah ! when 
 he saw her last those hands were soft and white, and 
 almost plump. They had rested in his curls, and 
 
JO When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 touched his boyish cheek. She was a lady then. 
 What was she now? Toil had hardened her 
 hands, sorrow had aged her face, and Donald — 
 Donald was gone, — the only boy friend he had 
 ever had. 
 
 ** Yes, Miss Katherine, I know. The merry heart 
 of life has gone out, gone with Donald and the rest 
 of the brave fellows, and you are here alone with 
 your mother." 
 
 *' Ma is blind." 
 
 " Yes, I know that too. But things are going to 
 change. New life will come in. There is a little 
 stir already." 
 
 " Dick and Angeline come home every summer. 
 Ma looks forward to that the whole year through, 
 but Dick can't stay long when he does come; his 
 practice is large. They ah in Richmond. He 
 neva' has married, neitha' has Angeline. She is 
 a right good housekeeper." 
 
 Miss Katherine's speech was slow. Her sweet 
 voice lingered over the long vowels and treated 
 the r's with true Bostonian slight. 
 
 " I always liked Dick, but Donald was my hero," 
 said John. 
 
 ** Almost every one yue used tue know is gone. 
 Oh, some of the old folks ah left, like ma and me, 
 and Mr. and'Miz Chaplain, but their boys ah moved 
 tue Pine Gap. A few of the old fine families ah in 
 Asheville duing something foh a living, and some ah 
 clean died out o' killed off, and theih fine places 
 sold o' run tue waste. The fine horses were rode 
 into the ahmy, or taken by the Unions, none were 
 left foh the growing up boys tue due with o' 
 
Old Friendships 71 
 
 handle, they were obHged tue leave the country tue 
 live. The old folks that stay on like we due, barely 
 live on what they can get the niggahs tue raise. The 
 niggahs ah good foh nothing, — the young ones, — 
 and the old ones ah feeble now. Have yue been tue 
 the old place yet ? " 
 
 *' I only walked past it after sundown. They 
 seemed to be having a good time. Some one was 
 singing — a lady." He placed Miss Katherine's 
 hand back in her lap, and rising paced the path in 
 front of the seat. *' Yes, evidently a lady," he said. 
 ** Have you met them, the present owners?" 
 
 *' I did n't go foh a right good while, then Dick 
 sent one of his patients there, and wrote me tue call 
 on her, and I did." She paused, watching the young 
 man restlessly striding up and down. *' I due wish 
 ma could see yue," she said at length. " Yue ah the 
 very image of yuah fatha' and yue ah right hand- 
 some tue." 
 
 John laughed. He sat beside her again and took 
 her hand as before. " You look at me with different 
 eyes from most people," he said. " You know how 
 I loved Captain Donald, and you let a 'little of your 
 feeling for him color your thoughts of me; but 
 although I don't deserve it, I hke it, Miss Katherine. 
 I wish — " He hesitated. 
 
 " Where ah yue stopping? " she asked. 
 
 " At Scrapp's." 
 
 *' Oh, John ! That horrible place ! Come here 
 and stop. We-all can't due foh yue like we used 
 tue, but ouh doahs ah never closed tue old friends." 
 
 " Will you let me come as you would Dick or 
 Donald, were he here now? Will you let me pay 
 
72 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 my way and be no burden to you?" he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 She drew away the hand he had taken, and a 
 shadow crept over her face in a crimson flush. 
 '* I neva' meant so," she said. " We neva' have 
 kept bo'dahs, ma and I. We neva' could due 
 that." 
 
 *' Why, no, of course ! " he exclaimed instantly. 
 *' I only meant — " He hesitated. *' I can make it 
 right some other way," he thought. " But there ! 
 It is like you to take pity on me in that way. I 
 need it too. It is a confoundedly dismal place 
 there." 
 
 Miss Katherine rose, and stood before him, slight 
 and straight, her head lifted like a queen. " Yue ah 
 General Mahshall's son," she said. ** Youa rightful 
 place is with youa fatha's old friends. Ouh grand- 
 fatha's came tue No'th Carolina from Virginia to- 
 getha' and bought their plantations joining, and 
 lived and died as friends. Ouh fatha's fought in 
 the same ahmy, and died on the same day, and 
 were always like brothahs, and youa rightful place 
 is heah. Yue bring youa boxes this evening, and 
 Donald's old room is youas. Come in now and 
 
 see ma." 
 
 John's eyes glistened. He felt like kissing her 
 again. " I will do what you say," he replied, fol- 
 lowing her to the house. " I will obey you as I 
 used when a boy. I believe you were the only 
 being I ever did mind implicitly in those days." 
 They both laughed. 
 
 "Yue and Donald did have right good times/* 
 she said. 
 
Old Friendships 73 
 
 Her mother sat in a large cushioned chair by an 
 open window, where the honeysuckle and matri- 
 mony vines floated in, with her hands folded in 
 her lap, and her eyes closed. 
 
 *' Ma is asleep," said Miss Katherine, softly. 
 
 *' No," said the old lady, sitting erect. " Who is 
 with you, Katherine ? " Her eyes were turned toward 
 them. John never would have thought her blind 
 but for a turn of the head as if she were listening 
 rather than seeing. 
 
 John came close to her chair. ** It is the boy 
 who used to come to your house with Donald and 
 turn everything topsy-turvy, who wore your wed- 
 ding-dress in a pantomime, who used to play ghost 
 at midnight to frighten the negroes; the boy who 
 used to drop in on you at five in the morning 
 from a coon hunt, draggled and tired and hun= 
 grier than the coon himself, because he did not 
 want to go home and be reprimanded by his 
 mother. Have you still a warm place for him in 
 your heart? " 
 
 She rose, trembling a little. '* I know the voice," 
 she said, " but it is not the boy's voice, it is the 
 voice of his father." 
 
 " It is John Mahshall, ma," said Miss Katherine. 
 
 " It is the general," said the old lady. 
 
 John took one soft hand in his, and she passed 
 the other lightly over his face and through his hair, 
 then sank back in her great-chair and covered her 
 face with her hands. 
 
 Katherine placed a chair for their guest. " Why, 
 ma," she said, " ar'n't yue going tue give John a 
 welcome?" 
 
74 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Clever Katherinc ! She knew how to keep her 
 charge from sad thoughts, by rousing her to her 
 duties as hostess. These duties, with loving tact, 
 she had never usurped. She would manage the 
 house, would labor, contrive, and save, but it was 
 the mother who received and entertained, and led 
 in conversation. The delight of being herself the 
 hostess, so dear to woman's heart, was never taken 
 from her. Now she put aside the recollections that 
 overwhelmed her, and spoke again. 
 
 ''For your own sake, John, for your father's and 
 Donald's, you are thrice welcome. Are you near? " 
 She touched the arm of his chair. '* It is useless 
 to mourn, or wish to see you. It is a pleasure to 
 hear your voice, and if you resemble your father 
 as much in your appearance, it is as if I saw you." 
 
 Her tongue was not so strongly tinctured with 
 dialect as was her daus^hter's. 
 
 *'Do you remember father so well?" 
 
 "As if I saw him an hour ago. You must be 
 like him, though your hair curls closer and thicker. 
 Are your eyes blue? " 
 
 John laughed and turned to Katherine. '* They 
 are party-colored ; one is blue and the other half 
 brown," he said. 
 
 " Oh, I had forgotten that, but it is not so notice- 
 able now," said Katherine. 
 
 " I had not," said her mother. 
 
 With a quiet smile of understanding with Mar- 
 shall, Katherine left the room. She went to look 
 after the lunch. Her mother heard the latch click. 
 '' Katherine," she called. 
 
 *' Yes, ma," 
 
Old Friendships 75 
 
 " Give John Donald's old room, daughter," 
 
 " Yes, ma." 
 
 ** And, Katherine," her mother lifted her voice a 
 little, but she was gone. 
 
 " Shall I call her back?" asked John. 
 
 " No, she never makes a mistake. Now," she 
 turned her sightless eyes on him as if she would 
 look him through, — *' Now, John, tell me about 
 yourself. Is your mother living?" 
 
 '* Indeed yes, and a lively little mother she is. 
 She does n't grow old. She flies back and forth 
 between New Orleans and New York, — always 
 takes Marguerite with her. She loves society, the 
 theatre, and gay times as well as Marguerite does. 
 During the severest weather she goes to Cuba, and 
 protests she loves Cuba best of all." 
 
 " No, she will never grow old until she drops 
 into the grave," said the blind woman, placidly. 
 ** Yet she is older than I. Who is Marguerite?" 
 
 ** She is mother's ward. Mother is the only one 
 living who is any kin to her, except me of course, 
 in a very distant way. She is an heiress." 
 
 " Tell me about her." 
 
 *' Mother loves her dearly." 
 
 " Ah, but tell me about her," persisted his old 
 friend. " What is Marguerite like?" 
 
 "Like?" he laughed. ** I really wonder what 
 she is like ! She is called beautiful, — artists 
 say so. I don't care for that dark style. She is 
 not tall, but she is a shapely little thing, and she 
 has dimples and pretty little perfect teeth. Her 
 eyes would be called black if they were not so 
 large. Oh, I can't describe her. She is, frankly, 
 
76 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 the most fascinating little piece you ever looked 
 at, though." 
 
 His companion laughed. *' I think I can help 
 you," she said. " She has a little flush in her cheeks, 
 and her mouth is full and inclined to pout, but 
 beautiful, nevertheless." 
 
 ** Oh, yes, of course she is beautiful, she must be." 
 
 " And her hair is luxuriant, and curling, and black 
 as night." 
 
 ** Not curling, straight as an Indian's; but she 
 dresses it charmingly." 
 
 ** She is not as beautiful as her mother, T judge." 
 
 ** You knew her mother? But of course you 
 must have known mother's friends. I have lived 
 so apart from her that they are mostly strangers 
 to me." 
 
 ** Ah, yes." The old lady's face brightened ; she 
 was living again some of the scenes of her young 
 womanhood. " She was the loveliest woman I ever 
 saw, — a little Cuban of very aristocratic family. 
 She spoke little English, and talked with your 
 mother in Spanish. A young Scotchman, a friend 
 of your father's who used to visit at our house, fell 
 in love with her, poor fellow, and wooed her per- 
 sistently with his great blue eyes. I shall never 
 forget their love-making. He tried to learn Spanish, 
 and she spoke to him in the prettiest bad English. 
 They were married at your father's house, and he 
 took her to Scotland, but the climate there was too 
 severe for her, and he carried her back to Cuba, 
 bringing her here every summer. But he could n't 
 keep her. She died, leaving him only the little 
 Marguerite and a broken heart. I have held her 
 
Old Friendships 77 
 
 baby in my arms many a time, but she can't be as 
 beautiful as her mother." 
 
 '' Marguerite has been sadly spoiled," said John, at 
 length. " She was educated in a convent until she 
 was seventeen, and since that time mother has 
 petted and indulged her atrociously. You must tell 
 me about my father, Mrs. Wells. I know too little 
 of him. He was such a busy, absorbed man, as I 
 remember him." 
 
 " A busy man, year in and year out. He was 
 for waiting and maintaining peace, but when the war 
 really came he was one of the first at the front, 
 strong for our Southern principles, stanch and 
 true. A more gallant soldier never wore our 
 uniform." 
 
 " And I left home before that, and never saw 
 father again. Why did he send me to Uncle Darius, 
 I wonder? I might have entered the army with him. 
 Many a boy went at fifteen, and I was well grown. 
 Mother never was pleased that I was sent from 
 home." 
 
 " Your father did what he thought best for you. 
 The war did n't break out until a year later, but he 
 had begun to fear it, and spent that whole year in 
 Washington. He hoped it might be averted. He 
 spent a day with us just before his last battle. I 
 heard him say to the colonel, — my colonel was at 
 home with a wound — " She paused a moment, and 
 then resumed : ** I heard him say, ' My boy is safe, 
 thank God, and in good hands. If I never come 
 out from our next engagement, there will be no more 
 need of me in the world. We are certainly leading 
 a forlorn hope.* He was sad that day. Two weeks 
 
78 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 later he lay on the field, shot through the heart. 
 The colonel died on the same day, but that was 
 different. He died in his bed, with Katherine and 
 me by his side. Your father had no one; but 
 then — " She was silent again. John went to the 
 window, and pulling a sprig of honeysuckle tore 
 it to bits. ** No," she continued, ** your father 
 knew best. War is terrible. God save us from it 
 forever. You would have been an added burden, 
 and he had enough. We could scarcely feed our 
 troops, let alone clothe them." 
 
 Katherine came in with a pretty flush in her 
 cheeks. '' Come tue luncheon," she said cheerily. 
 '* Ma, bring John out, please. Gertrude, step spry 
 now; yue ah so slow, child." 
 
 Marshall lingered after lunch, chatting with the two 
 lonely women, and then left promising to return in 
 the evening. 
 
 "Gabe shall go tue Scrapp's foh youa boxes," said 
 Katherine. " He 's a no 'count niggah, like all the 
 young lot, but we keep him foh his ma's sake. She 
 takes on so when we make out tue discha'ge him." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE NEW BOARDING-HOUSE 
 
 PORTIA VAN OSTADE stood in her mother's 
 room arranging her tumbled hair. Her hat 
 was thrown carelessly aside and her cheeks glowed 
 with exercise, but she seemed excited and nervous. 
 
 "Portia, you are overworking, I see it," said 
 her mother, anxiously. " Lie down on my bed, 
 child." 
 
 Portia gathered her long hair deftly in one hand 
 and drew it to the crown of her shapely little head. 
 " No, mamma deary, I am just frightened a bit, 
 that 's all. Now don't worry. I '11 tell you about 
 it. I took those napkins to old Clarissa to mend — 
 and, by the way, don't let me forget to tell you 
 what happened while I was there; I will tell this 
 first — and coming home I went down under that 
 old bridge by the mill for ferns to decorate the 
 dining-room with this evening. You remember 
 there are great shelving rocks piled up on one 
 side; well, all at once my heart gave a thump, 
 right in my throat, and I felt such a queer creep- 
 ing sensation all over me, as if some awful thing 
 were near; and I looked up, and right above me, 
 crouching in a kind of cleft of those rocks, was the 
 wildest, wickedest looking creature I ever saw, 
 peering down at me. He was a negro, and he held 
 a stone as large as my head, as if he were going to 
 
 79 
 
8o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 hurl it at me. I couldn't scream, I just stood still 
 and looked into his terrible bloodshot eyes, and he 
 looked at me. Everything was so still, as if there 
 were no one in the world to help me. I dared not 
 move, lest that should break the spell and he would 
 throw; but he must have been listening, for there 
 came a clatter of hoofs over the bridge, and he dis- 
 appeared into the gray rocks as if he were part of 
 them. Then how I screamed ! Then Josephus, 
 who did the teaming for us, looked over the bridge, 
 and called, ' Hi, Miss Po'tia, dat yo' done hollah .? ' 
 It all happened in a moment, but it seemed an age 
 of agony. Even when he called I could n't speak. 
 He came down and took me in his arms, and car- 
 ried me bodily up that steep path and set me on 
 the bridge, and then went back for my ferns — 
 good-hearted fellow ! — I have them in water, a 
 great tubful. He left his mule at the mill and 
 came all the way home with me. He has gone 
 back for it now, and will ride into Patterson and 
 tell the sheriff. He said, ' Dat Pete Gunn, sho', 
 wha' done kill de ol' woman up de mountain.' " 
 
 "Now, Portia, this is wrong. Do you never go 
 alone again in this awful country, where murders 
 are committed in broad daylight." 
 
 " Oh, that was away off in a lone place in the 
 mountain, mamma." 
 
 " It was done, Portia, and you must take some 
 one with you when you wish to go off on your 
 tramps." 
 
 "Very well, I will invite one of the boarders. 
 Usually some would like to go, — or I can take 
 Lucyleese. " 
 
The New Boarding-house 8i 
 
 " Lucyleese ! That child would be of no service 
 in the world. You should take Alexander. " 
 
 " She has a screech that would scare the breath 
 out of a — a — ' squinch owel, ' as she calls it, and 
 then she is great fun ; only I do love to be alone 
 sometimes these busy days." 
 
 "Then you must lock yourself in your room, 
 where you will be safe." 
 
 Portia laughed merrily. " Go off and have the 
 sulks like a baby," she said. "But don't be 
 troubled; I promise not to do this again." She 
 patted and poked the fluffy mass of hair rolling up 
 from her forehead, scrutinized the newly adjusted 
 coiffure in the mirror, turning her head this way 
 and that like a bird preparing to sing, then dropped 
 at Mrs. Van Ostade's feet, and laid her head, care- 
 less of consequences, in her mother's lap. 
 
 The invalid stroked delicately her daughter's 
 forehead and cheek and full white throat. 
 
 , " Oh, mamma, your magic hand ! It brushes my 
 nervousness away. I am sure he would have killed 
 me if Josephus had not come ; but now I am going 
 to tell you something pleasanter, only a little sad 
 too. Old Clarissa was showing me her keepsakes, 
 which she had so carefully put away, that she said 
 her * young mars'r had given her befo' he went 
 No'f to lib wid he's paw's twin brudder, ' when a 
 nice young man came to the door and stood a mo- 
 ment, and then walked in, and seeing me stopped 
 again. She looked at him, and you know she is 
 lame and slow, but all at once her face lighted up 
 with an expression — well, such as she might 
 
 wear in heaven, and she hobbled a step forward, 
 6 
 
§2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 and then dropped her cane and held out both 
 arms toward him and fell. She had fainted. In 
 trying to catch her we both sprang forward into 
 each other's arms in a way that would have been 
 funny but for our anxiety." 
 
 " You always see funny things at the most appall- 
 ing times." 
 
 "I know. It's dreadful. 'The step from the 
 sublime to the ridiculous ' is one of the figures in 
 my dance of life. Is that the Dutch in me ? Was 
 papa like that .-* " 
 
 "Yes, very like. But go on." 
 
 "Where 's grandfather.? " Portia started up with 
 a frightened look. 
 
 " He is with Mrs. Percy and the children, and Alex- 
 ander is driving. You are all unstrung, child." 
 
 "No, mamma; but the same thing might happen 
 to him, only worse." 
 
 " You must neither of you go about alone, or 
 any one." 
 
 "When that murderer is taken, it will be all 
 right. There is no more peaceful place." 
 
 "Go on, dear, don't leave Clarissa on the floor 
 any longer." 
 
 " He took her up as tenderly as if she were his 
 mother, and would have laid her on the bed she is 
 so proud of, but that would have broken her heart ; 
 so I had him place her in her large chair, and he 
 tipped it back while I brought water and bathed 
 her head. 
 
 " ' She used to be my mammy when I was a 
 child,' he said; and then I knew who he was, and 
 told him where I lived, and when she was herself 
 
The New Boarding-house 83 
 
 again I left. Poor old woman! her look into his 
 face was pathetic. * I done waited fo' yo' home- 
 comin' mighty long time, honey, an' now I done 
 los' yo', sho',' she said. * Yo' look dat like yo' 
 paw, w'en he young man an' come an' paid de 
 money fo' me an' tuk me home dat time, like he 
 done come back he's own se'f I declar' ; hit nerved 
 me so, hit tuk my strenk cl'ar 'way.' Oh, 
 mamma, what an awful thing slavery must have 
 been ! Do you suppose he saw it as I did ? " 
 
 " I assume not. The values of life are all 
 changed, sometimes, by education." 
 
 "I wonder if his ideas would be more like ours, 
 being educated for the most part in the North," 
 said Portia, dreamily. " I wonder — " She stopped. 
 
 "What are you wondering, daughter.-* " 
 
 " I was only thinking. I often wonder about 
 those who lived here then. If his mother is liv- 
 ing, what would she think if she should come and 
 find her old home turned into a boarding-house and 
 kept by Northerners .-* She used to perfectly hate 
 us, of course." 
 
 " She might think us low-bred, and treat us 
 accordingly." 
 
 "Dear little mother," said Portia, laughing, and 
 kissing her. 
 
 As Portia entered the huge old dining-room with 
 her guests that evening, she looked with a shud- 
 der at the ferns she had arranged so charmingly, 
 but she told no one of her adventure, and showed 
 no trace of a2:itation save in her heis-htened color. 
 Her few guests were all pleasant and congenial. 
 Thus far her venture had not been disagreeable. 
 
84 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Mr. Ridgeway remarked on the chill in the room, 
 owing to the brick floor. " I believe these bricks 
 gather dampness," he said. 
 
 "Won't you light the fire, grandfather?" said 
 Portia. Materials for one were laid in the great 
 fireplace, built of red brick like the floor. " It is 
 pleasanter, and mamma is coming down." 
 
 Mrs. Van Ostade's chair and cushion were placed 
 at the table nearest the fire, where Portia sat at the 
 head. Mr. Ridgeway took the head of the other 
 table, while Portia poured the tea for both. With 
 Portia were Mr. and Mrs. Percy and the children, 
 and a much travelled, silky-haired artist from New 
 York; a middle-aged woman of means, from Chi- 
 cago, and her daughter, also middle-aged; an 
 elderly gentleman of wealth, whose gallant and 
 open admiration for Portia embarrassed her and 
 amused the rest; and a merry little Englishman 
 travelling for pleasure. It was surmised, in con- 
 fidential aside to the elderly gentleman by the 
 lady from Chicago, that he was really looking up 
 some fabulous mine for some equally fabulous and 
 monstrous London syndicate. 
 
 At Mr. Ridgeway' s table were two young men 
 with work-stained hands and ruddy, open coun- 
 tenances. They were starting a peach plantation 
 on a mountain-side. Enterprising and strong, they 
 carried an air of good cheer which was not lost on 
 the sensitive nerves of their host. With them were 
 seated Mrs. Barry and her four-year-old daughter 
 and a nurse, and gentle, elderly Miss Milbourn, 
 who wore a lace cap and had a sweet matronly air, 
 and her younger friend, Mrs. Clare, who had come 
 
The New Boarding-house 85 
 
 to the wilds of North Carolina to battle alone with 
 an inherent taint of consumption. These and a 
 serving-maid constituted the dramatis persoiics of 
 the dining-room. 
 
 Mrs. Barry was of German descent, with large 
 bright eyes and luxuriant dark hair, worn low on her 
 shapely head, in a heavy, loose coil. Her clear, 
 ringing voice was loud, but not unpleasant. As she 
 settled herself voluminously at table, she snatched 
 up three letters addressed in the same hand, and 
 waving them triumphantly over her head, cried : 
 " Ha, ha ! What did I say ? Three ! Some awkward 
 delay in the mails has brought these all at once, 
 but I knew they would come. He always writes 
 every day. Was there ever a husband like mine.-* " ■-"' 
 
 "One," said little Mrs. Clare, timidly, display- 
 ing a bulging envelope addressed in a heavy square 
 hand to Mrs. La Mott Clare. 
 
 "Only yours puts several letters in one," said 
 Miss Milbourn, gently. 
 
 "Ah, but that is not like being thought of every ^r^M Z ^ 
 single day, you know," said Mrs. Barry, content- ,y^?^^ (^ 
 edly turning her attention to the large slice of roasts 
 before her. ^- 
 
 " Portia, where did you find these lovely ferns? " 
 said Mrs. Percy. 
 
 "Think of it," said Mrs. Keller, the middle-aged 
 lady from Chicago. " Such large growths at this 
 season ! " 
 
 "Think of it," said the middle-aged-looking 
 daughter, who always echoed her mother, "and 
 at this season too ! Why, the snow is hardly off 
 the ground with us." 
 
86 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I found them under the bridge by that tumble- 
 down gristmill where the negroes take their 
 corn," said Portia. 
 
 ** I have it in one of my sketches," said the artist. 
 
 "Oh, the one you showed me yesterday," said 
 Mrs. Barry. 
 
 "No. That is a sawmill, and has an undershot 
 wheel, not nearly so picturesque." 
 
 "Yes," said Portia, "the overshot wheel is better 
 to sketch. It 's clumsier and more primitive." 
 
 "But when it comes to business, it's a pretty 
 slow affair," said one of the enterprising young 
 men. "Ever see the miller?" 
 
 "Yes," said Portia. 
 
 " He 's a queer chap, — slow as his mill." 
 
 " He keeps something there beside corn meal," > 
 said the other young man, with a laugh. '^^-**'^ ^-^^vv 
 
 "Ah," said the elderly gentleman, smiling, "you 
 have means of knowing.^ " 
 
 " I tracked a few old codgers there and made a 
 discovery. He 's in with these mountain fellows. 
 He 's a sharp one, — innocent as a baby." 
 
 "Richard has mistaken his calling," exclaimed 
 his partner. "Raising peaches on a mountain 
 hasn't enough variety in it to suit him." 
 
 "What! Are there real moonshiners here."*" 
 cried Mrs. Barry. 
 
 "And w'at might they be, — moonshiners? " in- 
 quired the Englishman, Mr. Betts. 
 ' "Illicit distillers," replied Mr. Ridgeway. 
 " Some of these mountaineers make corn whiskey, 
 and smuggle it on the market without paying 
 government tax on it." 
 
The New Boarding-house 87 
 
 " Ah, I see. So they do that here. It certainly 
 is interesting to know." 
 
 " You must not give Mr. Betts such information, 
 grandfather," said Portia. "He may write a geog- 
 raphy for little English children, and tell them the 
 principal industry of the mountainous regions of 
 the United States is illicit distilling of whiskey." 
 
 " Oh, now, you are rather 'ard on me, you know, 
 I must say." 
 
 "No, Mr. Betts' book will be on geology," said 
 Mrs. Keller. " You should have seen him unload 
 the stones from his pocket this afternoon." 
 
 " You should have seen him, " echoed her daughter. 
 
 "Do you find any ore, Mr. Betts .^" queried the 
 artist. 
 
 "Not to speak of I 'ave n't, but they tell me this 
 is the oldest rock formation in the world, you 
 know, and it is interesting to trace the history of 
 the place in the stones. And they do tell me 
 fossils 'ave been found here, w'ich is strange, very 
 strange, you know, and I find a curious mixture of 
 vitreous and volcanic rock, plainly volcanic, to- 
 gether with stratified rock of a water formation, 
 and limestone character, you know. Now, 'ow 
 came these all to be so thrown together, so far 
 inland.?" 
 
 " Ah, you must answer that, Mr. Betts ; we cer- 
 tainly can't, not I at least," said the elderly 
 gentleman. 
 
 "Your question will hardly be answered for a 
 generation to come, I fear," said Mr. Ridgeway. 
 "This region affords an interesting field for nat- 
 uralists, I think." 
 
88 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "It is as full of poetry as it is of scientific 
 interest," said the artist. "We who look on the 
 externals of things find nature glorious here." 
 
 "I think," said Portia, refilling the artist's cup 
 with tea, "the hardest things to reconcile with 
 each other are just simple, plain facts. The 
 scientists are continually stating facts, and then 
 overturning them with other facts, and then find- 
 ing still others that clash with these, and all seems 
 out of tune, and still the turmoil goes on, and 
 there is no end." 
 
 "You are right, Miss Van Ostade," said the 
 artist. "Your profession and mine are, after all, 
 the only ones that search out the harmonies. The 
 realm of Music and the domain of Art, they are 
 really one." 
 
 "But mine is often out of tune, though," said 
 she. 
 
 "Not when you are its exponent, Miss Van 
 Ostade, never," said the elderly gentleman. 
 
 Portia shook her head, laughing. Mrs. Keller 
 exchanged glances with her daughter. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Percy were privately discussing the unde- 
 sirability of allowing the children the full bill of 
 fare, and lost this bit of table talk. The old maid 
 looked up and spoke in her quiet voice. 
 
 "I think herein lies an evidence of the Omnipo- 
 tent mind, overruling and controlling, bringing 
 harmony out of these stubborn facts; so that Mr. 
 Held exclaims, ' This region is poetic, and nature 
 is glorious,' and Miss Van Ostade can order the 
 sometimes discordant waves of sound into such 
 perfection of harmony and melody that we delight 
 
The New Boarding-house 89 
 
 in it. Harmony and beauty are part of the facts, 
 or we should never find them." 
 
 Mrs. Percy's face lighted up. "Miss Milbourn 
 touches the keynote of the universe," said Mr. 
 Ridgeway. 
 
 " And where there is a keynote there may be 
 harmony," said she. 
 
 Poor Johnny Percy, who had been denied his 
 dessert and had only a few nuts in his chubby fist 
 to crack at his leisure, yawned audibly. Miss 
 Milbourn laughed. 
 
 "Why, Johnny!" said his mother. 
 
 " ' Ard nuts to crack, aren't they, little man.?" 
 said Mr. Betts. 
 
 " Naw. I can do it; take a stone," said the 
 imperturbable youngster, gravely wondering where 
 the laugh came in. 
 
 "That's what I 've been trying to crack them 
 with, and failed," said the Englishman, slapping 
 his knees heartily. 
 
 "That's right, sonny, stick to nuts you can 
 crack and you '11 get on," said his father. 
 
 "But don't use your teeth, child," said his 
 mother, as he set a filbejij: between his sturdy little 
 jaws. 
 
 A clang sounded from the great brass knocker at 
 the front door as they rose from the table, — an un- 
 usual event of an evening. The neighbors, in their 
 kindly Southern way, had begun to show the family 
 some attention ; but as the neighbors were far be- 
 tween, their visits were generally in the afternoon. 
 
 "I wonder if Miss Van Ostade is to have a caller 
 this evening," said Mrs. Keller in an aside to her 
 
90 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 daughter, as she shook out her heavy silken skirts. 
 The trim waiting-maid was handing her mistress a 
 card. 
 
 They all swept out of the dining-room, up the 
 broad stair, into the long, dimly lighted hall. Mr. 
 Betts pranced at the head, with little Juliet on his 
 shoulder, followed by the screaming children, and 
 Mr. Ridge way, with his daughter on his arm, 
 brought up the rear. A blazing fire of logs and 
 pine branches in a huge red brick fireplace filling 
 one end of the great old-fashioned drawing-room, 
 threw ruddy, quivering light over cracked walls, 
 and plain, comfortable, modern furniture. Mrs. 
 Clare seated herself at the piano and played a 
 lively galop. That and the dancing firelight 
 wrought a contagion of merriment, and in a mo- 
 ment the party, old and young, were flying over 
 the smooth walnut-colored floor in time to the 
 music, while peals of hilarious laughter from the 
 children re-echoed through the vast empty halls. 
 Portia entered a small, firelit room opening from 
 the other side of the hall, used by the guests as a 
 reading-room. Here she found John Marshall 
 awaiting her. 
 
 " I have hastened to accept your invitation to 
 call," he said. 
 
 "Ah, how good of you!" She hesitated, flush- 
 ing slightly. Why had she said *' how good"? 
 she thought; "he will mistake my meaning." 
 She hastened to explain. " Of course, everything 
 is so changed, I feared — I thought — even if it 
 might be painful to you, you might like to see 
 the old place again." 
 
The New Boarding-house 91 
 
 "Please don't think it is the place only I come 
 to see. After our odd meeting this afternoon it is 
 yourself." He also spoke a bit nervously, and not 
 as he had intended, and hastened to add : " I wanted 
 to thank you for your kindness to old Clarissa. 
 She was one of the few faithful servants in the 
 past." 
 
 "She certainly is loyal to your family. When 
 did you return to Patterson, Mr. Marshall ? " 
 
 He laughed. "Return to Patterson.? I protest. 
 I have returned to the soil on which it stands, and 
 to these grand old hills. There was no Patterson 
 in my day here. " Portia sat gravely looking into 
 the fire, and he watched her face a moment as the 
 light played over it with rosy tint, and resumed : 
 " I arrived at dusk last evening, and to-day have 
 been roamino; about seeking old friends. It is as 
 you say, yet everything is not changed ; the everlast- 
 ing hills are unchangeable. I had forgotten how 
 beautiful they are, if I ever knew. Boys don't think 
 deeply on the beauties of nature, you know. " 
 
 Portia's face lighted with a smile. She looked 
 up, and their eyes met. " Perhaps you are one of 
 those happy natures who never look wholly on the 
 dark side," she said. "But, speaking of changes, 
 I was thinking only of this particular place, — your 
 old home." The smile faded as she spoke, and 
 she looked gravely into the fire again. John was 
 charmed with her every movement, but in his 
 heart he vaguely wondered who the singer of the 
 evening before might be. 
 
 "Then I shall disappoint you," he said. "I am 
 very prosaic, or — what shall I call it? — lacking 
 
92 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 in sentiment toward this old place. There were 
 others, one in particular, — I visited it this morn- 
 ing, — which I used to love more than this. It is 
 very shocking, I know, and shows a hardened and 
 villanous nature, but true it is. You must re- 
 spect my candor, if not my heart, when I tell you 
 that I came here this evening with a feeling of 
 expectation and pleasure in the — pardon me, I 
 won't tell all my thoughts, but among them was no 
 regret. As I walked up the drive, I thought only 
 in a vague way of the changes, as that this was 
 gone, or that grown past recognition, and since 
 you have set the fountain playing, the sound of 
 dropping water is as sweet as when I used to sit on 
 its edge with a row of mischievous piccaninnies and 
 stir up the gold fish. It is a pleasure to find the 
 house occupied and serving some useful purpose, 
 instead of falling farther into decay." 
 
 Portia burst into a merry laugh. 
 
 "Now, Miss Van Ostade, that is not fair. I 
 was willing you should be shocked, but to laugh — " 
 
 " Indeed, I am only laughing at myself. The 
 light of your good sound sense shows me what a 
 sentimental creature I have been, — like a board- 
 ing-school novel girl. Now you have confessed, 
 I will do the same, and you may laugh at me. 
 Ever since our unaccountable encounter this after- 
 noon I have been filled with misgiving. I have 
 dreaded your coming, thinking you would be so 
 pained to find your old home turned into — of all 
 things — a boarding-house, that you would detest 
 us. I tried to contrast its past beauty with its 
 present state of partly resuscitated decay, and to 
 
The New Boarding-house 93 
 
 imagine your sadness as you would walk up the 
 drive, once so well kept, feeling that it is yours no 
 longer, and that you are in a sense shut out and a 
 stranger; and then I imagined you taking note of 
 all the signs of past neglect and general dilapi- 
 dation, until I was positively sad myself, and 
 distraught all through dinner, and was half embar- 
 rassed by my own thoughts when I found you 
 were actually here and I must face you, and 
 now — " 
 
 " And now to discover how unpoetic I am, with 
 no natural feelings ? What a revulsion ! " 
 
 "Please don't mistake me. I couldn't help 
 laughing at myself for constructing an unreal situa- 
 tion, and distressing myself as if it were real, 
 before knowing anything about the facts. I won- 
 der, do we ever judge our fellow creatures at all 
 justly, or only judge our own unreal fancies about 
 them, which we set up and call our fellow creatures?" 
 "Only a few could do that, Miss Van Ostade. 
 Most of us common mortals must take things as 
 we find them, without the power of adding thereto. 
 What is beautiful we sometimes lose sight of, 
 seldom that which is not." The sound of laughter, 
 subdued by distance and closed doors, came to him 
 as he spoke, and he rose to go. " I am keeping 
 you from other guests," he said. He had not 
 accomplished his wish. Who was the singer of 
 the night before .-^ Might it be the hostess herself.? 
 "If she only had that voice!" he thought. "I 
 have disgraced myself, I know, but may I come 
 again.? I will think up, in the mean time, reasons 
 for a becoming degree of melancholy, and so prove 
 
94 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 to you that I have at least enough sentiment to 
 connect me with the rest of the human family." 
 
 " Now it is you who are laughing at me. Do 
 not go. Coffee is being served ; won't you stay, 
 and allow me to introduce you to my guests ? — 
 unless you detest Northerners," she added with a 
 quick glance, which he returned in kind. 
 
 " Detest ? I adore them. " 
 
 "Then I can't allow you to go until you have 
 accepted hospitality here at least. Please! " — She 
 led the way into the drawing-room. A shout of 
 delight greeted them as she opened the door. It 
 was dear little music-loving Juliet who pounced 
 upon her thus uncerem.oniously. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Van Ostade! Please, please sing, 
 Miss Van Ostade, sing." 
 
 The formal introductions over, John found him- 
 self seated in pleasant conversation with Mr. 
 Ridgeway and his daughter. At a prettily laid tea- 
 table in the corner near the piano, Portia poured 
 the fragrant coffee. It was passed by the children, 
 to whom this was an especial privilege, after which 
 service they were promptly put to bed by the nurse- 
 maids, unless Juliet could persuade their mammas 
 to let them stay longer while Portia sang to them. 
 
 "After a little, deary," she said to that impor- 
 tunate little miss; "when I have finished here. 
 Now you may carry this cup to Mr. Marshall, 
 and, Johnny, you may take the biscuit. Carefully, 
 little man, or they will slide onto the floor. Don't 
 look at Juliet, look at your own tray." 
 
 " Donny can't carry bi'kets, he's on'y a boy," 
 said his little sister Helen, watching his uncer- 
 
The New Boarding-house 95 
 
 tain course, and envious of the honor reposed 
 in him. 
 
 "Can too," shouted the belligerent, looking 
 back at her, and deftly sliding the dainty wa- 
 fers, plate and all, into the lap of the lady from 
 Chicago. 
 
 "Now, now," cried the elderly gentleman, amid 
 the burst of laughter which followed. " That is 
 unkind, to take them all, Mrs. Keller." 
 
 "Oh, Johnny," cried his mother. "Portia, why 
 do you trust him.^ And your lovely plate, too! 
 What if it had gone on the floor.? " She took the 
 tray from the humbled boy, and began passing it 
 herself. 
 
 "I said Donny couldn't pass bi'kets," asserted 
 Helen. 
 
 "But boys can learn as well as girls," said 
 Portia, passing her arm around the affectionate 
 little piece of impetuosity, who had tearfully slunk 
 back to her chair, well knowing where to find com- 
 fort. "Helen may pass the sugar." She placed 
 the pretty blue bowl comfortably in the chubby 
 hands, and went on pouring the coffee and inter- 
 ceding for Johnny. " Please let him try once more. 
 It won't happen again." The little fellow's face 
 became radiant, while two tears, one on either 
 flushed cheeky were pathetic, and the tray was 
 placed in his hands. "Johnny is a little soldier, 
 and this time he will pay attention only to what 
 he is doing." 
 
 "Do you like coffee in pretty cups.'*" said the 
 small maiden, Juliet, as she paused in front of 
 Marshall. 
 
96 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "Indeed I do, and little girls too," he replied. 
 
 "Oh, you said a rhyme," she cried, as he took 
 the cup. 
 
 " Now won't you sit on my knee while I drink it, 
 and take the cup back for me.? " 
 
 She demurely shook her head, eying him gravely. 
 "I 'm not 'quainted yet," she said. 
 
 "That's so. Then, if you'll bring Mr. Ridge- 
 way his, we will be acquainted when you come 
 back, and you can sit on my knee while Miss Van 
 Ostade sings." 
 
 She nodded assent, and danced back to Portia's 
 side. 
 
 " Is that the way you hurry up an acquaintance 
 with a young lady.?" queried Mr. Ridgeway. 
 
 "Certainly, with very young ones." 
 
 "You and I must fight a duel, then," said Mr. 
 Betts. "You have stolen my young lady." 
 
 Conversation was going on all over the room. 
 Portia heard all, but kept her eyes on her cups and 
 saucers. Marshall watched her without appearing 
 to do so. 
 
 Mr. Ridgeway turned and spoke quietly to 
 the young peach-planter, whom his partner had 
 called Richard. " Have you really discovered 
 signs of illicit business there at the mill, Mr. 
 Button .? " 
 
 "Signs! It's a regular whiskey hole. It was 
 Clark there at the station who put me on the track. 
 He hears a word or two now and then not just 
 intended for his ears, there at Scrapp's. " 
 
 "Take my advice, then. Don't let it be known 
 that you have such knowledge, if you wish to go 
 
The New Boarding-house 97 
 
 on with your planting instead of being planted 
 yourself. I was sorry to hear you mention it even 
 in our select circle this evening. There are slum- 
 bering elements here you would best beware of. 
 I am sure of it." 
 
 "Guess you're right," said the younger man, 
 thoughtfully. He drew something from an inner 
 pocket which Mr. Ridgeway took and looked at a 
 moment, and then returned with a smile. 
 
 "Ah," he said slowly. "Yes, it's dangerous 
 business, though, Mr. Button." 
 
 " But it must be looked after. We never can 
 make anything of this place with that kind of open 
 law-breaking going on." 
 
 " No, surely not. Neither can we afford to have 
 such young fellows as you killed off." 
 
 "Well, I may not use this. I had myself ap- 
 pointed because I happen to know the ropes. We 
 may be forced to clean the whole thing out for self- 
 protection. There is deviltry enough going on 
 about election time without free whiskey." 
 
 The coffee disposed of, and the cups returned to 
 the tea-table by the small carriers, Portia rose to 
 fulfil her promise to the children. Marshall lifted 
 the dancing Juliet to his knee. 
 
 "You were to sit here, you know, while Miss 
 Van Ostade sings." 
 
 "I am afraid you will regret it," said Mrs. Barry. 
 "Juliet never stops asking questions." 
 
 The child gravely regarded her mother a mo- 
 ment, then said, " But I am going to listen now, 
 mamma." Then turning to Marshall, she inquired 
 in a half whisper, " What 's your name ? " He drew 
 7 
 
98 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 the midget up to him comfortably. "John is my 
 name. Now we are acquainted." 
 
 She nodded, and, pointing with a dimpled hand 
 to young Master Percy, said: "His name is John, 
 too, only we call him Johnny. He is rough some- 
 times. Are you rough ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I hope not. Never with little children." 
 
 She looked into his face once again seriously, 
 and then, apparently satisfied, nestled down, and 
 folded her hands to listen, while Portia's rich voice 
 filled the room. And John.'* John was satisfied. 
 He had discovered the singer of the evening before. 
 After a time the songs for the little ones ceased, 
 and the children were put to bed. Conversation 
 became general again. The guests made plans for 
 excursions to one or two beautiful waterfalls in the 
 vicinity, and a visit was proposed to a little log 
 church where the negroes held services a few 
 miles away. John was invited to make one of the 
 party. Then Mrs. Clare and Mrs. Barry played a 
 duet, v^hich was followed by more songs, sometimes 
 with obligato accompaniment from Mr. Ridgeway's 
 violin, which he handled not strongly but with 
 great sweetness and grace. The selections grew 
 more difficult. Portia sang now in Italian, now in 
 German, and at last in plain English to please 
 Mr. Betts. 
 
 And John Marshall, passionate lover of music 
 that he was, was satisfied. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 HOPES AND PLANS 
 
 THE moonlight covered the ground at Mar- 
 shall's feet with a wonderful network of 
 shadows. He paused in his rapid walk and stretched 
 out his arms to the cool night air, straightened him- 
 self to his full height, drew in a deep breath, and 
 said to himself, " At last I have found her — my girl 
 of the bridge ! " He buttoned his coat about him- 
 self as if he had her secreted in an inner pocket. 
 " It must be she. No other could be so like my 
 girl of the German bridge." He walked on thought- 
 fully. Whichever way he looked he still saw Por- 
 tia's bright, proud head. *' Found at last, in the 
 dilapidated, forsaken, dishonored old home, keep- 
 ing boarders, and — " he drew a letter from his 
 pocket, turned it over in his hand, and replaced it. 
 " What shall I do if mother and Marguerite persist 
 in coming on ? " 
 
 " Ma 's gone tue bed," said Miss Katherine, as he 
 entered. '* She nevah sits up aftah eight." 
 
 Miss Katherine had been reading by a shaded 
 lamp. She had had Gabriel light a fire to make the 
 room look cheerful to John, and indeed it was home- 
 like enough after the wretched bedroom at Scrapp's. 
 He saw around him the same furniture he and 
 Donald used to think so grand. The great mahog- 
 any sofa, its rags now decently covered by knitted 
 
 99 
 
lOO When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 and crocheted tidies, would have held twelve such 
 boys. Now he settled himself comfortably in one 
 corner of it. 
 
 " Miss Katherine, what are you reading ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 She handed him a little old leather-bound volume 
 of Thomson's " Seasons." He turned it over in his 
 hand, but all he saw on the title page was Portia 
 Van Ostade. 
 
 " Miss Katherine," he said at last, *' my head is 
 full of schemes. Come over here on the sofa and 
 let me talk to you. It will seem like old times." 
 So she settled herself in the other corner, as he had 
 in his, and they chatted far into the night, — of the 
 past, and his boyhood, of the happenings during his 
 long absence, and how all the desolation had come 
 about, and her voice was low and sad with a slow, 
 patient sadness as it lingered over the words. At 
 last he broke in with the impetuosity of undaunted 
 youth : ** Miss Katherine, things will be better soon. 
 I am come to stay, to settle up mother's affairs 
 and look after some matters for Uncle Darius, and, 
 for one thing, that hotel 's going to be built." He 
 rose and paced the room. 
 
 " Yue can't. There 's a hitch somewhere. Miz 
 Chaplain knows. She says Jud 's mad at the road, 
 and won't sell his half of the hill." 
 
 " Yes, he will ! He '11 sell to me." 
 
 ** To yue ! " She opened her eyes in affright. 
 
 John laughed. ** You look as if I had said I would 
 swallow him and his hill." 
 
 *' Yue might as well try that as tue move Jud, oh 
 buy a hill of pure gold." 
 
Hopes and Plans loi 
 
 " Well, cheer up. I won't tell you how it is to 
 come about, but that rascally Monk is to have the 
 wind taken out of his sails, and Jud and I will build 
 that hotel. I have the plans with me. They are 
 my own. He must move back here and help, that 's 
 all. What 's he standing in his own light for ? He 's 
 the only one left of the old set that I can work with. 
 In three weeks you '11 see a gang of men grading 
 that hill. Then you '11 believe me." He paused 
 and stood looking down at her whimsically. '* But 
 first I want you to promise, — no, you need not. I '11 
 do it, anyway." 
 
 " What will yue do, John?" 
 
 He sat beside her and took her hand. " I will, if 
 you will let me, try to be some of the things to you 
 that Donald would have been. You have taken me 
 in as if you were my own sweet sister, for his 
 sake, and as if this were my home ; and now, for 
 his sake, let me be, in a sense, brother and son 
 in this house." Her pathetic brown eyes filled 
 with tears, and her thin hand trembled in his. 
 He placed it gently back in her lap. " Let me," 
 he said; **you know what Donald would do." He 
 settled himself again in his corner. '' It 's late, I 
 know, but may I talk a little longer, this time about 
 myself ? " 
 
 *' Oh, yes, John, yes. The Lord sent you to us ; 
 the Lord sent you back." ' 
 
 '' You know my father and Uncle Darius loved 
 each other, if they were opposed in politics. Uncle 
 Darius has done all for me a father could, — sent me 
 to college, given me my choice of a profession and 
 sent me abroad, and Aunt Mary has mothered me, 
 
I02 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 scolded, trained, and loved me, until I feel for her 
 what I suppose, according to the ties of blood, I 
 should give to my mother. They both came clear 
 across the Continent to hear my oration. I worked 
 for my life to take honors, to please them, and, on 
 the whole, did fairly well. They stayed in New 
 York to see me start for Europe. Mother was there 
 too, she and Marguerite, but then — " 
 
 " Youh mothah nevah returned aftah your fathah's 
 death." 
 
 ** Mother loved society, and there was nothing 
 here." 
 
 " Except a few of youh fathah's old friends." 
 
 " Father and mother were so unlike ; if he had 
 lived it would have been different." 
 
 " How long were you abroad, John .-* " 
 
 " Three years. I worked hard there, studying." 
 
 " Architecture? Were you alone? " 
 
 " Mother and Marguerite were with me off and 
 on, but I was there for work, and they for pleasure, 
 you know. Strange to say, I saw more of them 
 than I ever had before. Mother seemed to grow 
 fonder of me, too, but you know her way, the fonder 
 she is of one, the more she wants to rule. She set 
 her heart and soul and will, which last is the greater 
 part of her, on my marrying Marguerite." He 
 laughed a little. " We were engaged for a time, 
 until Marguerite confessed she only became engaged 
 to me because she found it expedient, and because 
 she did n't ' dislike me exactly,' and as we were of 
 the same mind, we quietly broke off the engagement, 
 stopped fighting, and have gotten on fairly well 
 since. Now here is my predicament. Mother 
 
Hopes and Plans 103 
 
 writes me from New York (they are both there) 
 that she has half a mind to visit me and the old 
 home together. Half a mind with her is equal to 
 the whole minds of a dozen other people. They '11 
 come, that 's what they '11 do, and what shall I do 
 with them?" 
 
 *' I wish we — " 
 
 "They can't come here; I'll accommodate them 
 at Scrapp's first." Miss Katherine held up both 
 hands in horror. " I 'd take them to the old place, 
 only I called there this afternoon, and found them 
 such thoroughly charming people." 
 
 " Why, John, that's all the bettah." 
 
 " It 's all the worse. You know mother. She 'd 
 make them feel like the dirt she walks on. She 'd 
 set her heel on — " 
 
 " Yue need n't fear foh Miss Van Ostade. She 's 
 smaht enough." v 
 
 "Yes, and she is refined and sensitive also." 
 
 " But they ah keeping bo'dahs, yue know, and 
 she works ha'd with her own hands." 
 
 John smiled. He saw two little work-browned 
 hands lying in Miss Katherine's lap. 
 
 " I '11 have to take them there, there 's no alter- 
 native, but I '11 — " 
 
 " Build the new hotel first," she said with a teasing 
 smile. 
 
 " Now, Miss Katherine, that 's like yourself. No, 
 but I '11 do something to keep them from having too 
 much unoccupied time on their hands. I '11 have sad- 
 dle and carriage horses brought from Asheville, — 
 there 's nothing here, — if you '11 let me have the 
 stables put in order." 
 
I04 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I shall take yue at youh word, John. What 
 would Donald do?" 
 
 ** Thank you. Then, we will do it, you and I." 
 She laughed a tremulous little laugh. " We will 
 make things hum here. They can have a suite of 
 rooms at the old place for them and their maids, if 
 the present owners will consent, and I will be the 
 devoted son I ought to be. I '11 put off their coming 
 as long as I can, and get Hanford Clark there at the 
 station to take up his quarters at the house. He 's 
 a splendid fellow. I knew him at college. But that 
 matter of bringing Judson Chaplain around must be 
 looked after first. But now. Miss Katherine, good- 
 night. I have tired you out, I know." 
 
 ** Good-night, John." She took the lamp and 
 conducted him to Donald's old room. Happy 
 Katherine ! A new lease of life seemed to have 
 come to her. Softly she looked in on her mother 
 calmly sleeping. "What would ma say?" she 
 thought, and all that night visions of the old gay 
 life filled her slumbers. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS 
 
 IT is well that we are imprisoned in the bodies we 
 inhabit during our short span of earthly exist- 
 ence; that we are not allowed to imperil our 
 peace, and enjoyment of merry thoughts, and the 
 beauties that are revealed to us in the natural order 
 of events, by erratically wandering about and pene- 
 trating into dark places and miserable secrets that 
 would be better hidden from us forever, since the 
 only unutterably terrible and humanly incompre- 
 hensible problem in this world, after all, is the 
 existence of sin. 
 
 Peacefully sleeping on Donald's bed, in Donald's 
 old room, where everything had been so reverently 
 cared for because it was Donald's, lay John Mar- 
 shall through that tranquil April night. Could his 
 spirit have gone with the moonbeams, it might 
 have entered the dirty windows of Budd's saloon, 
 where a knot of the male inhabitants were holding 
 an impromptu political meeting, screened from 
 human eyes by coarse paper curtains over the 
 upper half of the windows, and a smearing of white 
 paint over the lower. A kerosene lamp lighted 
 the place. Ranged in a half-circle around a rusty 
 stove and a box of sawdust, some standing, some 
 tilted back in rickety chairs, were the men. None 
 were seated near the stove, for, being in dangerous 
 proximity to the box, they might be hit by the 
 
1 o6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 shots of tobacco juice, which made a continuous, 
 slippery fusillade at it. They talked in low tones, 
 with a languid air, that was at the same time full 
 of suppressed intensity, like the atmosphere of a 
 sultry day before a storm. 
 
 One, seated in a chair placed on the hacked and 
 whittled counter, pounded with a stick when all 
 talked at once, or one lifted his voice above the low 
 pitch adopted by all. Patterson, with one leg 
 swung over the corner of the counter, and his 
 elbow on his knee, chewed the end of an elm twig 
 and eyed his companions sharply. He seldom 
 spoke, but was evidently the leading spirit of the 
 meeting. 
 
 " We don't want th* m'litia down on us, noh du 
 we want any women 'nd childern cut up," he said 
 at last. " This 'ere 's p'litical business solely, an' th' 
 end justifies th' means, 'nd th' means we 'r' goin' tu 
 use is tu hesh up th' niggers, 'nd cool off some o* 
 
 them No'thern intruders over tu Broadgate. 
 
 We ah conservative citizens, and we ah not tu 
 
 be led around by th' nose by a No'thern monkey 
 
 like Monk, noh ah we goin' tu let th' niggers 
 drive. We hold th' reins, gentlemen, an' ah goin' 
 tu keep aholt of 'em." 
 
 There was suppressed laughter and murmured 
 applause. Though all had been drinking, none 
 were drunk. Several spoke at once. '' Pitch Monk 
 over his trestle." " Tar 'nd fether 'im." '' What 's 
 th' matter 'ith givin' Clark a little cold peppeh?" 
 '' Send 'im off on one o' his freights." ** Wipe out 
 th' niggahs, 'nd one or two o' their backers, 'nd th* 
 thing 's done." 
 
Under Cover of Darkness 107 
 
 The chairman thumped with his stick. ** Gen'le- 
 men, I 'low Mr. Patterson ain't thoo." Patterson 
 threw his chewed twig into the sawdust. " Naw, 
 gen'lemen, I kyan' rightly say as I am thoo ; you- 
 all hev been talkin' c'nsiderable, now I '11 talk. Th' 
 hosses is stompin' outside; th' regalia's in th' closet, 
 ain't it, Budd?" 
 
 " Hit's thar," said Budd. 
 
 ''Wall, what's tu hender beginnin' this evenin'?" 
 he looked at his watch. 
 
 " That 's th' talk," said one and another. 
 
 " Gen'lemen, here 's my plan. Keep th' road on 
 ouh side. Th' prosperity o' th' place demands it. 
 Leave th' agent alone. They 's nothin' ag'in th' 
 agent, an' he leaves us alone. We must take th' 
 head off'n theih party in this section, by quietly 
 removin' theih candidate." 
 
 " That 's th' talk." " Git red o' th' trash." " Drop 
 'im ovah his trestle." 
 
 "They's tu be no row about it, mind. Ef theih 
 candidate skips th' place, thet 's theih look-out. 
 Hit's eleven o'clock. We goes tu Monk's room, 
 now. Th' first outgoin' freight passes at one, an' 
 three men bo'ds it, an' tue of 'em returns on hoss- 
 back tu theih own homes (whar they hev been all 
 night, of co'se) befo' daybreak." There was a mur- 
 mur of assent, and Patterson talked on. " Which 
 of yu gen'lemen will take th' ridge mule trail an' 
 lead th' hosses around tu th' first stop beyond th' 
 trestle foh them 'at takes th' freight? " One of the 
 party rose and hitched at the top of his trousers. 
 " Bettah go tue tugethah. Ef one gits stuck, t' other 
 kin make it." Another man rose and hitched at his 
 
1 08 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 trousers. '' Thet 's well. Yu tue bettah start. Yu 
 won't mo' than make it in two houahs. Hold on a 
 minute. Whose hosses yu goin' tu take?" Two 
 more men rose, one a huge muscular mountaineer, 
 hitched at the tops of their trousers, and silently 
 removed the plugs of tobacco from their mouths. 
 " Thet 's well," said Patterson again, with slow inten- 
 sity. " Take theih hosses 'nd be gone." 
 
 They went out, and soon the clatter of hoofs was 
 heard going toward the ridge trail. Addressing the 
 men who rose last, Patterson continued : " Youh 
 th' right men fo' th' right place. That settles Monk. 
 By duin* these things sharp, they 's no need tu du 
 th' dirty work ovah again." 
 
 ** Mount make an example o' one o' th' niggahs," 
 said Budd. *' This 'ere cussed young strut ovah- 
 head is top o' th' heap amongst 'em, readin' th' 
 papahs an* retailin' trash at theih meetin's. Swing 
 'im f'om his pole, an' they won't be no mo' niggahs' 
 p'litical meetin's, I reckon." 
 
 *' Naw, let 'im strut awhile. We '11 look aftah 'im 
 latah ef he don't hesh." Patterson left the counter 
 where he had remained with scarcely a change of 
 position during the whole of his talk. The chair- 
 man came down from his perch. 
 
 Half an hour later a small band of draped figures, . 
 masked and armed, left Budd's saloon, and marched 
 silently to the corner store, where the lawyer had 
 his rooms, and divided. Four of them quietly 
 climbed the stairway, an outside one, the door at 
 the top was quickly pried open, there was the sound 
 of a few low-spoken words, a short scuffle, and soon 
 five figures left the room, one led between two, 
 
Under Cover of Darkness 1 09 
 
 draped and masked like the rest. No word was 
 spoken. They joined the party waiting below, 
 crossed the street, and stood back silently in the 
 shadow of the freight-house. Soon the outgoing 
 train, consisting of three empty cars and a caboose 
 also empty, thundered up to the station. One of 
 the men was roughly lifted into the caboose, two 
 others climbed hastily in after him, and the train 
 moved on. When the agent had locked the freight- 
 house, and taken his way back to his quarters at 
 Scrapp's, the rest emerged from their concealment 
 and moved stealthily away. 
 
 Could John Marshall's spirit have gone with the 
 moonbeams in all their silent journeyings, he would 
 have peered into a little log church a few miles from 
 Patterson, half hidden in a wild glen. Behind it 
 was a perpendicular wall of lichen-covered rock, 
 down which water was forever trickling. Ferns 
 growing in the ledges nodded as the sparkling drops 
 fell on them. In front a small stream dashed with 
 continuous rushing noise over immense boulders. 
 A path, a mere narrow mule-track, wound high up 
 along the bank of the stream. The glen was beau- 
 tiful beyond description, and wild as if so tame a 
 creature as man never had visited it. 
 
 While the men gathered in Budd's saloon were 
 still meditatively firing at the box of sawdust, some 
 thirty or more negroes had stealthily collected here. 
 They sat on rude benches of plank, resting on rough 
 blocks sawed from solid logs. A wooden chair and 
 a table on which were two tallow candles were in one 
 end of the room and near them — - a strange article of 
 furniture for so rude a place — was a small cabinet 
 
1 1 o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 organ covered with a shabby green cloth. After 
 being addressed by one and another of their num- 
 ber, a tall, sinewy, gray-haired mulatto arose. He 
 was an exhorter, and spoke much after the fashion 
 of the camp-meeting. 
 
 " Bred'ren, an' ," he was going to say sisters, but 
 recollecting that no sisters were present, added, 
 ** an' all yo'-uns wha' is heah. Dis ain' no com- 
 mon subjec' wha' has drawed we-all heah. Yo'- 
 all t'ink yo' gwine vote nex' week? Naw, bred'ren, 
 an' — naw, yo' gwine stan' raoun' an' be knock' on de 
 haid like yo' 's ol' used up bosses, wha' ain' got no 
 mo' pow' fo' tu hoi' yo'se'fs tugedder. I tell yo', 
 bred'ren, I 's seed an' had de 'speunce. Yo' reckon 
 yo' 's free 'case yo' ain' had de lash ovah yo' haids, 
 but I tell yo', yo' ain' free yit. I kyan' read like Jose- 
 phus yandah, or Brudder Chas heah, — I kyan' tell 
 what-all is in de papahs he done brung tu de meet'n', 
 but, bred'ren, we-all ain' sot free ontwell we kin call 
 de souls de Lawd done gib us ouh own." 
 
 Josephus left the room at the beginning of the 
 old man's talk. He had already spoken, urging 
 upon them that they had a right to vote their own 
 ticket like white men, that they were all free men, 
 and had only to do a little knocking on their own 
 account, and show themselves men to succeed. 
 
 After the old man had spoken at some length, 
 Lord Chesterfield came forward, unbuttoned his 
 coat, and drew out some papers and a notebook 
 with a pompous air. Although a fop, he was no 
 fool. He possessed a strong will, and loved power. 
 The moonlight stole through the dusty little win- 
 dow and fell on his softly curling, silky black hair.. 
 
Under Cover of Darkness 1 1 1 
 
 His face seemed a dead white in the dusk of the 
 candle-light. He spoke well, using notebook and 
 papers ostentatiously. He had evidently been 
 primed by Monk, who was running for the office 
 of circuit judge. 
 
 " Uncle Isaac 's done tol' de troof We-all 's not 
 free yit, an' we nebber will be free ontwell we gits 
 a No'thun jedge in dis-yer No'th C'liny, an' Monk 's 
 de man, gen'l'men. He has de hull taoun yandah 
 tu Broadgate on his side. They 's put' nigh all 
 No'thun men dar." 
 
 " Yas, yo' 's nuffin' but a young cock I'arnin* tu 
 crow. Yo' has a heap tu I'arn yit," muttered old 
 Isaac. 
 
 While Chas strutted about with coat thrown open, 
 and thumbs thrust in the armholes of his vest, 
 Josephus was wandering far from the cabin, with 
 a brown paper parcel under his arm, evidently 
 searching for some one among the rocks, and leaving 
 poor Bonaparte tied to a sapling near the church. 
 
 " Yas, gen'l'men, we-all 's got tu be cl'ar dum still 
 an' circumspec' an' nebber let on like we-uns gwine 
 tu jump," continued Chas. " Dis-yer 's mighty 
 ticklesome business. I hyahs a heap yandah ovah 
 de sto' an' nuvvah lets on like I hyahs nuffin'. Ef 
 dey 'low tu hendah we-uns in ouh fa'r, right, an' jus' 
 privileges, I 's gwine — " 
 
 Suddenly every man sprang to his feet and the 
 lights were extinguished. A shot rang through the 
 glen and reverberated from rock to rock of its per- 
 pendicular sides. Uncle Isaac peered through the 
 window, screened by the darkness within, and saw 
 two horsemen ride over a rise in the path and dis- 
 
 i 
 
\ 
 
 1 1 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 appear in the shadows. Along the trail rode the 
 two men who had first left Budd's saloon, each lead- 
 ing a horse saddled. They took note of the light in 
 the cabin, and the mule tied to the sapling. 
 
 " Thet thar 's Josephus' mule," said one. " Th' 
 niggahs is up tu sump'n in thar. See th' light in th' 
 winders? " 
 
 The other said nothing, but levelled his revolver at 
 the creature's head and fired. The animal dropped 
 with a groan, and the men rode on. 
 
 " Josephus is a mighty high-steppin' niggah," said 
 he who fired the shot, slipping a new cartridge in 
 the place of the one just used, and pocketing the 
 weapon. 
 
 The candles were not relighted in the little log 
 church that night. The men stole out and scattered 
 silently to their homes. 
 
 " Naw, bred'ren, we-all ain' free yit. We *s undah 
 de sto'm-claoud," said Isaac, in a low voice, as he 
 looked at the dead mule. 
 
 " Cl'issy, she '11 be mighty cut up ovah dis-yer," 
 said another. " She lays a heap on Josephus an' 
 dat ah mule team o' his'n." 
 
 " Hit sarves Joe like he'd ought tu be sarved, fo' 
 duin* sech a fool trick. What he done brung de 
 mule heah fo' anyhow? Hit jes' lets on we-all's 
 hol'n' meet'n's heah, a-hee-hawin' outside. He ain' 
 nufBn' but a fool nigger anyhow, — kyan' du nuffin' 
 but hoUah an' sing," said Chas, angrily. ''Whar is 
 he gone now ? Hunt'n' a'ter a possom mo' 'n likely." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 JOSEPHUS' SECRET 
 
 JOSEPHUS, prowling among the rocks near the 
 bridge, where he had rescued Portia that after- 
 noon, heard the shot in the distance, but gave no 
 heed. Creeping among the blackest shadows, he 
 entered a sort of cave high among the crags over- 
 hanging the stream. 
 
 " Pete Gunn, come out o' dar," he called in low 
 tones ; " no use o' yo' hid'n' heah." No answer 
 came. *' Pete, ef yo' doan quit hangin' raoun' dis 
 hole, I 's gwine tu Patterson, 'n' tell de she'iff yo' 's 
 heah." His eyes, grown used to the darkness, de- 
 scried a black bundle in one corner. He touched it 
 with his foot, and a man struggled to his feet with 
 an inarticulate snarl, like a wild animal. The 
 wretched creature shook from head to foot. 
 
 " Wha' yo' hunt'n' me fo', Josephus? I ain' done 
 nuffin' tu yo'-uns." 
 
 Josephus leaned against the wall of the cave, 
 regarding the trembling creature before him. 
 "Why n't yo' behave yo'se'f? Wha' yo' done wid 
 de money Gabr'ella gib yo' fo' tu git tu Raleigh?" 
 
 The man muttered about being sick and starving. 
 
 " Naw, yo' low daoun niggah ; yo' 's drinkin'. I kin 
 smell de whuskey oft'n yo'. Yo' 's hangin' raoun 
 steal'n' Jim Throop's moonshine whuskey, an' 
 pitchin' rocks daoun on folkses' haids, an* kiUin' 
 ol' women." 
 
 8 113 
 
1 14 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I nebber, fo' de Lawd, I nebber did n' kill nobody, 
 sho 's I bohned a niggah." 
 
 " Wha' fo' yo' stan'in' dar wid de rock ovah de 
 lady's haid?" 
 
 "I's starvin', I tell yo'." 
 
 "Well, yo' gvvine eat de lady?" Josephus lifted 
 his arm as if he would strike the cowering figure to 
 the earth. 
 
 " Lawd ! Josephus, doan strike. I 's starvin' an' 
 dyin'. I war gwine git dat ar gol' off 'n her, — dat gol' 
 chain an' pin, — and, git Kit tu sell 'em tu git me 
 victuals. I 's starvin'. Crawlin' an' hid'n', an' nuifin' 
 tu keep de life in me but sasafrax root 'n' whuskey. 
 Gabr'ella gone back on me. Mam Gunn won' he'p 
 none. I kyan' move in de daytime 'daout de officers 
 haul me back tu de chain-gang." 
 
 " Naw, Gabr'ella ain' gone back on yo' neider." 
 Josephus opened his parcel. " Heah I been totin' 
 dis-yer meat 'n* co'n bread she done sont yo' — 
 'pears like I kyan' b'leeb yo' no kin tu her no- 
 way. Ef 'twain' fo' her I 'd sen' de she'iff a'ter 
 yo'. Sho nuff, yo' gwine kill de lady, heav'n* 
 rocks daoun on her haid?" The poor creature 
 clutched at the meat, and began tearing it with 
 his teeth. Josephus seated himself on a boulder, 
 watching him in silence. " I 's baoun' tu git de 
 troof aout'n yo'," he said at last, "or gib yo' up, 
 one. What-all yo' been duin' sence yo' git shet 
 o' de chain-gang? Wha' fo' yo' kill de ol' 'oman 
 yandah up de maount'n?" 
 
 Pete paused with his chunk of meat half-devoured. 
 " Wha' fo' yo' talkin' 'baouts kill'n' foh ? Ain' I done 
 tell yo' I nebber did n' kill nobody?" 
 
Josephus' Secret 115 
 
 ** Whose clo'es yo* got on? " 
 
 " His'n. Hi. Toplins 's wha' I wo'k fo' ; dat time 
 de officers come daoun on us. I roll off'n de han'- 
 cah, 'n' cut fo* de bresh when all han's was driben de 
 cah ontu de bredge. De ovahseeah holla an' shoot, 
 but dey could n' stop de cah ontwell hit cl'ar on de 
 middle o' de bredge, en dey baoun' tu git on, 'case 
 de train comin' on 'hine dem. Dat-a-way hu-come 
 I git shet o' de chain-gang. I been nigh daid wid 
 de starvin', kyan' take nuffin' 'daout dey track me. 
 I jes' made aout tu lib an' crawl back tu Toplins' 
 place 'g'in. De ol' 'oman she daoun by de branch 
 washin*, an' I he'p myself tu all de victuals in de 
 cabin, an' I see her haid a-bobbin' ovah de tub, an' 
 de ol' man's clo'es hangin' 'hine de do' an' I tuk 
 his'n an' lef mine dar. Dat-a-way hu-cum I got 
 shet o' de jail clo'es." He began tearing at the 
 meat again. 
 
 *' Mine, ef yo' 's lyin* I 's gwine gib yo' up." 
 
 " Fo' de Lawd, I ain* tellin' no lie. I done went 
 home, an' Nance, she kep' me awhile, twell Kit, she 
 see de officers comin', den I run 'n clum in de wash- 
 kittle daoun 'hine de big gum, 'n' Nance, she wait 
 twell she see 'em lookin' at her, den she pitch in 
 hul' ahmful o' clo'es, an' trow in bucket o' watah, 
 like she gwine begin wash'n', 'nd holla, ' Kit, yo' 
 light de fiah,' an' Kit she git de chips tugedder like 
 she gwine light de fiah undah de kittle right smaht, 
 an' Nance she g' long tu de haouse, an' talk wid de 
 men. Dey sarch de haouse, an' pitch de baids aout 
 de do* 'n' cahy on like dey debbles, an' Nance 'low tu 
 me, dey done tol' her I done kill ol' man Toplins' 
 wife yandah up de maount'n. Mo' likely he done 
 
1 1 6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 hit he's own se'f. I knows him. I hyearn him holla 
 at her heap o' times like he gwine kill 'er." 
 
 " Yo' knows he ain' dar. Dey tu'k him 'long 
 o' yo'-uns moonshinin', and put 'im in de white 
 'tentiary." 
 
 " Huh ! He ain' dar? " shouted the wretch, angrily. 
 *' Did n' I see 'im snoopin' raoun' de mill yis'day? 
 Gohses doan walk in de day, baig'in' fo' whuskey. 
 He kill 'er he's se'f. He come home, an' dar he 
 fin' de clo'es gone, an* 'low she done sell 'em, an' 
 kill 'er. Dat ar hu-cum she daid." He gave a low 
 guttural laugh, and began tearing the bread from 
 the loaf with his teeth. Josephus kicked at him, and 
 stepped out of the cave into the moonlight. 
 
 ** Yo' brute hog, I 'low dat tu good name fo' yo'. 
 I 'low yo* ain' no kin tu Gabr'ella noway." 
 
 The man called after him piteously: "Josephus, 
 O Josephus, doan gib me up. I tell yo' he done 
 hit he's own se'f." 
 
 *' Haish ! Yo' gwine gib yo' own se'f up holla'n* 
 like dat-a-way? " 
 
 There was sudden silence in the woods, then a 
 great owl in a thicket close to Josephus hooted with 
 a wild fearful cry, that rang through the wood like 
 the shriek of a despairing soul, making the flesh 
 creep and tingle. " Trouble gwine come," he mut- 
 tered. The cry was answered from farther up the 
 gorge, like a reawakening of the first echo, whereat 
 the bird left the thicket, and flew softly and swiftly 
 past him, like the despairing soul itself impelled to 
 its doom. Its shadow fell on him as it passed. 
 
 "■ 'Pears like Pete done holla an' died, an' dar goes 
 he's ghos*. Trouble gwine come now sho." But 
 
Josephus' Secret 1 1 7 
 
 Pete had only crawled into the farthest corner of 
 the cave, and was drinking from a jug of whiskey he 
 had stolen from the mill the day before. There in 
 drunken stupor he lay, only rousing at the close of 
 the second day to drink himself again unconscious 
 with what remained in the jug. 
 
 Josephus hurried toward the little log church, 
 scrambling dexterously over rough, dangerous 
 places, and cutting across an intervening hill, and 
 down the precipitous sides of the gorge, hoping to 
 reach the cabin before his absence would be dis- 
 covered. All was still, and the lights out. 
 
 ** 'Pears like dey done cl'ar out o' heah mighty 
 suddent," he said. He saw the mule lying where he 
 had tied it, and gently touched it with his foot. 
 " Git up. Bony, yo* lazy. H'ist, mule." Something 
 uncanny in its stillness startled him. He stooped 
 and touched its ears. *' Daid, sho nuff daid. I 
 knowed trouble gwine come when dat owel done 
 hollah at me." He scratched his head, ruminating 
 mournfully, as he walked around the dead beast. 
 *' Dey done come daoun heah, an' broke up de 
 meet'n', 'an kill de po' critter." 
 
 He sat down on a log, his head between his hands, 
 his pride broken. If they had sought out a way to 
 hurt him with a refinement of cruelty, they could not 
 have done so more effectually than by killing his 
 mule, except by shooting its mate as well. He heard 
 the trampling of horses' hoofs over the stony trail. 
 Screened as he was by his blackness blending with 
 the dark bank and the shadows, he remained unseen 
 as the four riders passed. Their voices sounded 
 clear and strong in the narrow ravine. 
 
1 1 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I 'low we 've done this puty slick," said one. 
 
 " We '11 know soon, ef we see th' buzzards hangin' 
 round th' spot," said another. Supposing they 
 spoke of his mule, Josephus determined to bury 
 the animal next day. 
 
 Old Clarissa had waited his return through the long 
 slow hours, meditating, smoking her cob pipe, and 
 now and then adding a stick of " light-'ud " to keep 
 the fire going as she crouched over the hearth. 
 She hated darkness, and the dancing flame and 
 old lame pussy at her feet were her companions. 
 
 " Whar yo' been loafin' ? " she queried as he 
 entered, long past midnight. 
 
 '' Nowhar," he said, scowling and touching the 
 cat with his foot. 
 
 " Yo' leab de cat 'lone. Is yo' niggers been 
 hol'n' meetin's? did n' I tol' yo' leab dem ah tu de 
 white folkses? Dey'll hab yo' hangin' f'om a tree 
 one o' dese days, I reckon." 
 
 He stood by the fire a few moments in sullen 
 silence, then climbed a ladder leading through a 
 trap-door into a loft above. She heard his steps 
 overhead, and then all was still. He had thrown 
 himself, dressed as he was, on his straw bed, de- 
 cently covered with patchwork quilt of his mother's 
 own making. 
 
 Old Clarissa puffed at her half-consumed pipe 
 until it went out. She moved her lips from time to 
 time as if communing with herself. At last the words 
 broke out in a sort of half-moaning prayer : — 
 
 " Oh, Lawd ! doan yo' know de h'a't ob de sor- 
 rowin' Lawd? I ain' done nuffin', Lawd. Yo' knows 
 hu-come I done hit, Ef yo' visits de sins ob de 
 
Josephus^ Secret 119 
 
 fathahs on de chillen, ain' dat nuff, Lawd, 'daout 
 visitin' de sins ob de mudders on 'em tu? Lawd, 
 leab de boy 'lone, an' tek he's ol' niudder 'way fom 
 de trials an' de tribulations comin'. Leab de boy 
 'lone. Lawd, I done ax yo' heap o' times tek ol' 
 Cl'issy home. Kyan' I go home, Lawd? Hu-come 
 yo' leab me heah in de way? I ain' done nuffin'. 
 Tek me an' leab de boy 'lone." 
 
 She drew the ashes over the coals, and crept 
 shivering into bed. Not into the best bed with its 
 gay pieced cover and pure white pillows, — no, no. 
 That was a sacred ornament to her little cabin. 
 Only one being had ever slept in it. She, like an 
 angel from heaven, had come among them, lived 
 among them, and brought on herself the contumely 
 of her white neighbors by teaching the blacks; 
 but while they ostracized and ignored her, she was 
 saved from brutality by her sw^eetness and beauty 
 and physical frailty. During a few short years, 
 what had she not accomplished, unrewarded, as 
 men reckon rewards ! She had brought a measure 
 of refinement into a few^ degraded homes, had 
 taught day school and night school, had organized 
 a Sabbath school, and had taught Gabriella Gunn to 
 play her little cabinet organ, which she bequeathed 
 to their little church at her death. Lovingly she 
 had been laid to rest on the wild hillside, and a 
 rude board placed at the head of her grave, which 
 had been fenced about to prevent stray cattle from 
 tramping over it. 
 
 Mammy Clarissa never w^earied of telling how 
 Miss Mann had slept in her " bes' baid dat time 
 she got cotched in de sto'm o' lightnin'," 
 
I 20 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 In the earliest dawn Josephus climbed down his 
 ladder, softly stepping past his mother's couch, 
 and gently drawing to the door after him. He 
 rode away from the little clearing on old Jude's 
 back with a shovel and pick strapped together over 
 his shoulder. The earth smiled drowsily under the 
 charm of a sweet May dawn, but he felt none of 
 the sweetness. He set his teeth hard as he dug- 
 his heels into the mule's sides and galloped up 
 and down the mountain road, through patches of 
 slanting shadows, and under boughs still dripping 
 from a slight shower. 
 
 " Dey ain' gwine kick me dat-a-way," he muttered. 
 *' I 's hab anuddah mule right smaht, I reckon." 
 
 After covering the carcass of poor Bonaparte, 
 and concealing the place with brush, he rode on. 
 A cat-bird whistled merrily in a thicket of dogwood 
 and oaks ; the breath of the morning blew in his 
 face, sweet with the odor of blossoms and the earth, 
 but he rode sulkily with head drooped. Presently 
 he drew an old stocking from his bosom and began 
 counting his little hoard of savings, mostly dimes, 
 three-cent pieces, and pennies, with one or two bills 
 which he had earned doing odd jobs for Mr. Ridge- 
 way and the two young planters. Suddenly he 
 drew rein so quickly as to set Jude back on her 
 haunches. His face expanded. He lifted his head 
 and drew in a deep breath. 
 
 " I 's gwine see Mist' Button 'n' Mist' Craig," he 
 said. " I 'low dey '11 le' me job fo' de money. Git 
 up, Jude, yo' 's gwine hab nurrer mate right smaht. 
 I 'low Gabr'ella sha'n't know dis-yer ontwell I 
 come clatt'n' 'long wid de span. Git." 
 
Josephus' Secret 121 
 
 He turned and took another trail, which led over 
 an intervening hill into a sheltered valley, where the 
 soil was deep and enriched by washings from the 
 surrounding slopes. Here the young orchard was 
 set, and its thrifty owners were already on the edge 
 of the plantation preparing for a day's cultivating. 
 
 " I tell you there is something at the bottom of 
 all this," said Richard, as he buckled the horses' 
 head-strap. " I rode by Throop's mill yesterday, 
 and if I did n't see old Toplins disappear through 
 the shed door I have no eyesight. I knew his 
 limp. If he's been discharged, what's he hiding 
 for? Why doesn't he walk up and make a stir 
 about the murder? The old sinner is back in the 
 old business, or else he knows more of the other 
 affair than is safe for him." 
 
 *' Both, more than likely," said Craig. 
 
 " Well, what 's to be done about it ? " 
 
 "Nothing. Let them manage their own concerns. 
 I see no reason why we should meddle. Pete 's a 
 low-down nigger anyway, so what's the odds? If 
 he gets lynched now it may save him from commit- 
 ting a murder in the future, if he did n't do this." 
 
 Richard laughed. ** Your idea of justice is on 
 a par with Lord Chesterfield's idea of religion. 
 * He's baoun' tu be 'ligious, 'case de niggers heah- 
 'bouts doan know no bettah nohow. Dey'll t'ink 
 he a bohned fool ef he doan holla glory hallelooya 
 tu de meet'n's.' — Hello, Josephus, where did you 
 drop from? " 
 
 " How'dy, Mist' Button, how'dy. Mist' Craig." 
 Josephus made his most deferential bow. " I jes' 
 thought as haow I'd drap raoun' heah dis maw'n — " 
 
I 2 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 He hesitated, then throwing himself off Jude's back 
 he took a step nearer. " Is yo'-uns been intu Pat- 
 terson sence las' ebenin' ? " he dropped his voice to 
 a low tone. 
 
 " No. Why do you ask? " 
 
 " Dey done been up tu some debblement, I 'low. 
 Some fool debble done kill my mule." His voice 
 shook. *' Dey kyan' kick me dat-a-way. I 's gwine 
 git de law on 'em. I 's gwine — " 
 
 "Where was the mule ? " interrupted Dick. 
 
 *' Yandah by de log chu'ch in de hollah. I 's 
 gwine — " 
 
 ** How did he come to be there?" said Craig, 
 impatiently. " When was it ? " 
 
 ** I done rode 'im dar." 
 
 " What were you doing there?" 
 
 Josephus looked off over the treetops in an absent 
 way. 
 
 *' What are you niggers up to ? " Craig spoke 
 sharply. 
 
 " Dar's de chu'ch. We cullud people all goes tu 
 chu'ch right smaht." 
 
 " Yes, you colored people are a right smart set. 
 You 've been holding political meetings right smart, 
 and I opine you '11 some of you be swinging from 
 the trees in Patterson with ropes round your necks 
 right smart too, before you know it." 
 
 Josephus' face grew, if possible, a shade darker 
 than its wont. Richard spoke up with a short 
 laugh. " Why don't you put a bullet into some o* 
 their mules? " 
 
 *' Richard, you know better than to give such ad- 
 vice as that. I tell you, Josephus, you fellows have 
 
Josephus' Secret 123 
 
 got to keep quiet. There 's no use in your holding 
 meetings and trying to get into pohtics ; you must 
 wait till the South cools off. They 're red hot yet 
 from the licking they've had. You keep still and 
 wait and educate yourselves. Get ready to vote 
 by learning to read and write and think, and 
 then — " 
 
 '*Lawd! Mist' Craig, what's yo' talkin' 'bout? 
 We ain' no skyule o' ouh own. Ouh chillun ain' 
 'lowed in de white folkses' skyule. Dar ain' five 
 niggahs in dis-yer county kin read 'nd figgah. Git 
 de ed'caishun ! Ef we kyan' git de law fo' we-uns, hu- 
 come we gwine git de ed'caishun? " 
 
 Richard, seated on a stump, was pounding a sap- 
 ling twig with the handle of his knife. His was one 
 of those rare natures that never outlive their boy- 
 hood. He was making a whistle. " Jim," he said, 
 looking up in his friend's face, *' I tell you what I 
 think. I think this whole business is darned mean. 
 It 's low-down mean." The bark came off with a 
 quick jerk. He looked at it, and turned it over in 
 his hand meditatively. " You wanted something 
 of us, didn't you, Joe? Out with it, don't mind 
 him. Craig barks; he never bites. I'm the fel- 
 low that bites." 
 
 Josephus' heart was too heavy. He could not 
 smile. " I 's baoun' tu git nurrer mule," he hesi- 
 tated. The young men were silent. Richard kept 
 on whittling. ''I — I — come raoun' tu ax yo'- 
 uns fo' de loan o' de money. I 'low I kin git 
 right smaht o' jobbin' f'om Mist' Ridgeway, and 
 dar's young Mist' Mahshall come back 'g'in, I 
 'low he '11 he'p some, an' I done save a right smaht 
 
1 24 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 o' money heah." He drew the stocking from his 
 bosom. 
 
 ** Well, how much have you there?" said Craig. 
 
 Josephus poured the money into his red cotton 
 handkerchief and began laboriously counting it. 
 ''Heah's eight dollahs." 
 
 ** I guess there 's more than that," said Craig, 
 stooping down and separating the coins with one 
 finger. " Eight dollars and seventy-five cents." 
 
 Josephus took a silver quarter from his trousers' 
 pocket, adding it to the heap. It had a hole in it, 
 and he was saving it for luck. "Dar's nine dol- 
 lahs," he said. 
 
 " How much will a mule cost?" said Craig. 
 
 " I done give fifty-one dollahs fo' dat ar mule 
 dey done kill." 
 
 " He can't get a mate for this one for less than 
 that," said Dick. 
 
 " Well," said Craig, taking the reins of their 
 idle team, and drawing up their heads impatiently, 
 "well, what do you say?" 
 
 Richard laughed in his deliberate way. He 
 placed the whistle between his lips and blew a 
 shrill note. " We must have that stone hauled 
 for the lower road," he said, then shutting his 
 knife with a click he thrust it deep in his trousers* 
 pocket, and drew out his wallet and proceeded to 
 investigate the contents. " I declare, I 'm not very 
 flush," said he. " What do you say? " 
 
 Josephus drew out a huge silver watch and eyed 
 it lovingly. It had been given to his father by his 
 old master, and was a precious possession. He 
 turned it over in his hand and watched the faces 
 
Josephus' Secret 125 
 
 of the two young men. They quietly calculated 
 their expenses for the next two months, and made 
 up the money between them. Then James Craig 
 turned sharply around. 
 
 "Look here, Josephus," he said, ''you're no fool, 
 if you are black. You 're not to let on to a living 
 soul where you got this money, hear? Here. Give 
 me that watch. There ! Now, if anything is said, 
 say you sold your watch, and when this money is 
 made up, we '11 give it back, and you can say you 
 bought it back again. See? That lets us out, 
 and you, too. Mind, we don't want your watch; 
 you must job for us for part of the money, and 
 pay down what you can, and we '11 give you all 
 summer to do it in." 
 
 " I decla'r', fo' de Lawd, Mist' Craig, I '11 job fo' 
 de money right fa'r, an' I '11 ax de Lawd fo' tu bress 
 yo'-uns," exclaimed Josephus, fervently. 
 
 Craig smiled grimly as Josephus disappeared 
 over the trail. " I suppose we are a pair of fools," 
 he said, gathering up the reins again. 
 
 Dick threw away his whistle, and seizing the 
 handles of the cultivator jerked it into place, and 
 they started down the long row of young trees. 
 " It was a dirt mean trick," he said at last, " and 
 the fellow deserved help." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A DUSKY COQUETTE 
 
 WHILE Josephus was solemnly burying his 
 mule, Gabriella Gunn was preparing a 
 breakfast of bacon, corn bread, and molasses in her 
 stepmother's cabin, for a swarm of hungry black 
 urchins. Nance, the mother of the brood, sat in 
 one corner spinning, and smoking her cob pipe, 
 unheeding the hubbub around her. Gabriella went 
 back and forth from the fireplace to the table, 
 around which the children stood, cooking and serv- 
 ing them at the same time. A coffee-pot and a 
 few dishes were in a rude cupboard near the fire- 
 place, but on the table were only an iron pan of 
 corn cakes, baked nearly an inch thick, and the 
 black jug of sorghum molasses. The corn cakes 
 she broke apart and saturated with molasses, or 
 sandwiched with bacon, and gave into the out- 
 stretched, greasy little black paws. 
 
 ** Yo' Alexandah, haish." A howl of anger burst 
 forth from a chubby youngster who had been 
 quietly licking the corn-cob stopper of the molasses 
 jug. " Sal, quit yo' snatchin' ; I '11 box yo' d'rec'ly." 
 The rude meal finished, she gave to the largest girl 
 a long homespun towel and sent them all down " tu 
 ■de branch," to wash off the grease and molasses. 
 Then she set the table with a few dishes for Nance 
 and herself and made coffee. 
 
 126 
 
A Dusky Coquette 127 
 
 "Come, Nance," she said at length, " leab go 
 an' eat." Nance rose slowly, shook the ashes from 
 her pipe into the fireplace, and laid it on the table. 
 She was a large, comely negress, with a red cotton 
 turban on her head, and huge gold loops in her ears. 
 
 Her husband had been dead a year, but she and 
 Gabriella had done much better without him, since 
 his presence in the household had brought no other 
 income to the family than the addition yearly of 
 another black urchin to the swarm around their door 
 to be clothed and fed ; yet Nance had mourned him 
 loudly ever since he had been found dead in the 
 branch, where he had fallen in a drunken fit. 
 
 "I 'low Pete's daid," said Nance. 
 
 '* Naw, Pete ain' daid. He 's hid'n' yandah by 
 Throop's mill. We ain' shet o' Pete yet." 
 
 "Why n't yo' leab Pete be took? He ain' no 
 good tu we-uns nohow." 
 
 " I ain' gwine 'low no kin tii me be hung. Pete 
 gits drunk, but he doan kill ol' women." 
 
 The doorway was suddenly darkened, and both 
 women started. 
 
 " Laws, Mist' Mahshall ! " said Nance. " Hu- 
 come yo' heah fo' sun-up? I declar' yo' gib my 
 h'a't sich a jump hit like tu made me holla." ^ 
 
 It was Lord Chesterfield. Nance and he greeted 
 each other with elaborate courtesy, while Ga- 
 briella, with her back to him, went on with her 
 cooking. Nance looked on him as a fine match for 
 her stepdaughter, and beamed on him with shining 
 face as she urged him to sit and eat. Piqued at 
 Gabriella's silence, he would not be pacified by 
 Nance's kind ofi"er. He remained standing, leaning 
 
I 28 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 against the doorpost, and made facetious, sarcastic 
 remarks, and told of Josephus' loss with evident 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Gabriella took a wooden bucket and left the cabin 
 as he talked. She entered a cow-shed at the rear, 
 and began milking. Soon he came sauntering by 
 the door and stooped to look in. She glanced up 
 at him sideways. 
 
 *' Ain' yo' mighty fine an' peart tu be stan'in' 
 raoun' a caow-shed ? " she asked. 
 
 "Yo' haish," he said with a laugh. ''Yo' gittin' 
 so big-feelin' I kyan' keep step wid yo' no mo', sence 
 Mist' Ridgeway come daoun heah sta'tin' a bo'din'- 
 haous, yo' tu'nin' ovah sich a heap o' money wid 
 dis-yer caow 'n' chick'ns." 
 
 Gabriella made no answer; the milk streamed 
 into the pail with a steady swish, swish, while the 
 cow stood with half-closed eyes, chewing her cud. 
 A black hen scratched and clucked contentedly to 
 her brood outside the door. Chas walked away, 
 but as Gabriella ceased milking and took up her 
 pail, he turned back. 
 
 "Look a-heah," he said, going close to her side, 
 "ain' yo' an' me nebber gwine git jined? Heah 
 I been co'tin' yo' ebber sence I come back, an' yo' 
 doan say nuff 'n' 'g'in hit, an' now yo' go cuttin' sich 
 capahs, like I wan* no mo* dan de graoun' yo' 
 walks on." 
 
 She put down her pail, and stood facing him with 
 arms akimbo, then swaying her lithe form back and 
 forth, she broke into laughter. Chas bore her 
 merriment a moment, then seizing her by the arm 
 he shook her. 
 
A Dusky Coquette 129 
 
 " Quit dis-yer foolin'. I come heah fo* ax yo' is 
 we gwine git jined. I ain' gwine be fooled wid 
 dis-a-way no mo'." 
 
 She pulled away, and taking up the pail turned 
 toward the cabin, still shaking with laughter. With 
 one stride he placed himself between her and the 
 door. 
 
 " Yo' ain' gwine git shet o' me dat-a-way." 
 
 " Naw, I ain' gwine git shet o' yo' dat-a-way," 
 she said, and turning again she entered the shed, 
 and passing through a place where a board had 
 fallen from the farther side, was back in the cabin 
 singing and talking with Nance before he realized 
 how she had escaped him. 
 
 ** Dar 's Sis' Catherine jes' dyin' fo' a sight o' yo', 
 Chas," she called after him as he strode sullenly 
 away. " Why n't yo* call thar, sence yo' out an' 
 right peart dis mawnin' ? Heah, Kit," she continued, 
 as the children came scuffling back from the stream 
 below, '* yo' tu'n de cow loose, an' mine yo' 
 watch aout; do'n let her run off like yo' did 
 yis'day." 
 
 Well might Chas be sullen. Often had his dusky 
 Phillis tormented him thus, only to stimulate his 
 wilful nature to more persistent attentions. This 
 morning he had meant to gloat over Josephus' loss, 
 and say smart things at his expense, not to press his 
 suit. Since she would not listen to the former, 
 he had been teased into the latter, and now, vexed 
 beyond measure, he kicked the sticks out of his path, 
 and shied stones at the few stray cows browsing in 
 the underbrush, along the way to his lonely striped 
 pole. 
 
130 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Yo' ain' nebber gwine git nudder man like dat 
 come co'tin' yo','' said Nance, watching him disap- 
 pear down the windings of the road. " Yo' cahy 
 yo' haid like yo' tu good fo' de bes', yo' does. 
 Cutt'n' capahs Hke yo' a bohn'd lady wha' sits in de 
 po'ch an' waves de fan, an' calls de fine gen'lem tu 
 de railin' tu bow deir haids, an' talk an' laugh, yo' 
 does." 
 
 " Oh, g' long. He t'ink'n haow he gwine set in 
 de po'ch he's own se'f an' 'low me du de totin' fo 
 him. I knows Chas. He 'lows tu git de cow an' 
 de buttah, an' de chickin an' de aigs. Ain' yo' 'n' 
 me wo'k an' strive fo' dese heah? I ain* longin' fo' 
 no man tu hang raoun' de doah, I ain'." She seated 
 herself at a rude loom in one end of the cabin. 
 These women spun the yarn and wove the cloth for 
 many of their neighbors as well as themselves. Her 
 body swayed back and forth as she threw the 
 shuttle, and the heavy beam rose and fell. **Dar's 
 Pete," she went on. '' No good he is. Alius 
 drunk." 
 
 " Yo' paw nuvvah did n' brung Pete up right," 
 said Nance. 
 
 " Dey ain' nobody brung up right, I reckon," said 
 Gabriella. 
 
 *'Yo' ain' nuthin' tu say," said her stepmother. 
 She was proud of Gabriella's accomplishments, and 
 never missed an opportunity of telling how she 
 could ** play on de melogimum dat fine yo"s would 
 cl'ar jump and holla, tu hear how she make de 
 chune fly." 
 
 '' Pete moughnt 'a* had de same chance I had ef 
 he 'd a min' tu wo'k like I done wo'k." 
 
A Dusky Coquette 131 
 
 " Pete did n' ought tu lef wo'kin' on de co'n- 
 patch," said Nance. While the two women talked, 
 the subject of their conversation still lay in the cave 
 of gray rock, in drunken stupor, the jug of whiskey 
 half empty, and the food Gabriella had sent him 
 half eaten. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 MORNING SONGS AND DOGWOOD BLOOMS 
 
 PORTIA stood under one of the arched gate- 
 ways in the early morning, looking up at the 
 great silent house, and then down the road where 
 the line of rail fence stretched itself, a fascinat- 
 ing tangle of wild shrubbery in full bloom. Lift- 
 ing her dress a little, she moved one neatly clad foot 
 about in the long grass and weeds to see if it were 
 too wet to venture after dogwood blossoms. 
 
 " Good-morning, Josephus," she said brightly. 
 ** Has the man been taken yet? I would have been 
 hurt if you had not come along yesterday." 
 
 " Naw, Miss Po'tia." He looked meditatively ofif 
 a moment, then dismounting, he approached her, 
 and said in a low tone, " Miss Po'tia, is yo' gwine be 
 mad wid me? I nuvvah tole 'em whar Pete war. 
 Gabr'ella, yo' knows her, wha' totes yo' aigs 'n' but- 
 tah, she 's a right smaht, peart gal. She no low- 
 down niggah. I ain' gwine 'low no kin tu her be 
 took an' hung tu de fus' tree come 'long, fo* what 
 he nuvvah did n' du." 
 
 *' Why, Josephus, how dare you? He might kill 
 some one else, and the murder would be on your 
 head," she exclaimed in horror. 
 
 '' Naw, Pete nuvvah," he replied, earnestly. " Her 
 own husban* done hit. De ol' man he bery debbil, 
 he are. He 's aout'n de 'tentiary hid'n' yandah in ol' 
 
 132 
 
Morning Songs and Dogwood Blooms i 33 
 
 Throop's mill. He do'n dar show he's se'f. Ef he 
 did n' done hit, hu-come he doan come aout an' 
 make a fuss 'bouts de killin' o' he's woman?" 
 
 " But you don't know, Josephus; you may be put 
 in prison yourself for hiding him." 
 
 " Yas, I knows. Pete low-down good-fo'-nuth'n' 
 niggah, but he ain' no mo' ha'm dan any po' fool 
 wha' kyan' leab de whuskey 'lone. He .starvin', 
 pore critter. He kyan' git nuffin' tu eat 'daout he 
 gits took." 
 
 *' But you see what he was going to do to me." 
 
 " Yas, Miss Po'tia, I knows. He war gwine git 
 dat gol' chain off'n yo' 'n' git Kit tu sell hit tu git 
 'im victuals." 
 
 '* Why, can't you see, Josephus, what a risk you 
 are running to let such a man have his liberty? 
 What if you had n't come by when you did? What 
 would have become of me?" 
 
 ** I knows, Miss Po'tia, dar 's whar 't is. De Lawd 
 done sont me dat time. Ain' yo' b'leeb de Lawd 
 watchin' aout right smaht fo' we-uns?" 
 
 "Why, certainly, but he doesn't always interfere. 
 How was it with the poor old woman up the moun- 
 tain, else? The Lord doesn't mean creatures like 
 that to run at large ; he ought to be shut up." 
 
 Josephus scratched his head a moment. Jude was 
 contentedly eating grass by the roadside. '' Miss 
 Po'tia, heah 's wha' I t'inks. De Lawd done sont me 
 tu save yo' an' he'p Pete. 01' man Toplins kill 
 he's woman he's own se'f. He wusser 'n a mad 
 pizen ho'net. I done took Pete a hunk o* co'n 
 bread 'n' meat fo* Gabr'ella, fo' keep de life in 'Im ; 
 n* I done got tu bury de mule fo' dat tu," he added 
 
 )_> 
 
r 34 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 bitterly, " an' when dey debbles gits off'n de scent, 
 we gwine sen' 'im aout'n de country right smaht." 
 His voice rose in an angry quiver. " Ain' I hones' 
 man? Hu-come dey go shoot'n' my mule? We 
 kyan' git nothin', noh hoi' nothin', 'daout dey debbles 
 tek hit. Ef I 'low Pete be took, dey '11 hang him 
 'daout a hyarin'. Ef I 'low him git cl'ar, dey '11 fin' 
 out ol' Toplins, an' de right man '11 be hung likely. 
 Oh, Mis Po'tia, doan tell 'em. I sw'ar Pete nebber 
 done hit. Dar's Gabr'ella, she ain' done nuffin' tu 
 hab sich a brudder nohow. Miss Po'tia, yo' doan 
 know how de worl' are in dis-yer No'th C'liny. I 
 kyan' 'low Pete be took." 
 
 "I don't know, Josephus," Portia shook her head. 
 
 With shaking voice he implored, "Oh, doan! I 
 sw'ar he won' do no ha'm. I '11 watch 'im an' sen' 
 'im away, shuah. Dar 's Gabr'ella ; yo' knows her ? " 
 
 *' Yes, I am sorry for her, but think how dreadful 
 to be the means of having any more such awful 
 crimes committed." 
 
 **Miss Po'tia, I sw'ar fo' de good Lawd, I kyan' du 
 no mo', dat I won' 'low no ha'm come. Doan say 
 nuffin' ontwell yo' knows like I knows. Ef Pete 's 
 took, dar '11 be murder too, an' de white folks '11 du 
 de kiUin'." 
 
 •* Well, I '11 wait a little, Josephus, but it 's a fear- 
 ful thing, unless you are perfectly sure." 
 
 *' Ef I wan' pufeckly shuah I would n' ax yo', but, 
 Lawd, I kyan' 'low him be took. I knows how dey 
 debbles does, I kyan' 'low Pete be took, 'case he 's a 
 libbin' critter, an' de way dey does, 'pears lak dey 'd 
 hu't 'im ef he war stone daid." He spoke almost in 
 a whisper, and she shuddered. " De Lawd bress yo', 
 
Morning Songs and Dogwood Blooms 135 
 
 Miss Po'tia, de Lawd's sun shine on yo' all yo' 
 days." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " she said, looking after him. " What 
 can one do? But there, I can't help it now, and I 
 am going to keep still." She shut her lips firmly and 
 pushed back her hair with both hands. 
 
 ** I don't care if it is wet," she said. She tucked 
 up her skirts, glanced down the road at a tall dog- 
 wood waving over the rail fence, and then at the 
 house, where the curtains were still drawn, and 
 started on a run, arriving at the goal with rosy 
 cheeks and shortened breath. The flowers were 
 out of reach, but she climbed the fence and pulled 
 the boughs down, loosening her hair and losing her 
 hat. '* There ! " she said at last, adding one more 
 spray to the heap below. The sun, just rising, 
 touched the tops of the hills with gold, while the 
 valley still slept beneath the mists. Oh, the enchant- 
 ing world ! A fairyland of beauty and song ! She 
 sat on the top rail of the fence, and throwing one 
 arm around the dogwood, leaned her head against 
 it and looked off, watching the mists slowly rise like 
 a curtain, revealing the long slopes of meado\y 
 beneath and the shining river in the distance. A 
 cat-bird in a laurel thicket began singing anew. 
 Portia lifted her head, listened a moment, and then 
 sang too. 
 
 That tormenting rascal, Cupid, a regular will-o'- 
 the-wisp for leading poor men into swamps of 
 dilemmas, had perched himself at John Marshall's 
 bed's head before daybreak, and pricking him with 
 an arrow, had whispered, " Portia Van Ostade," 
 in his ear. That was enough. His poor victim 
 
I 36 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 tossed and turned. If he dozed, it was only to see 
 the great hving-room of the old home, and the tea 
 table, and Portia's fair face above it. The oftener 
 he saw this winning face, the more determined he 
 became to some day possess it, — to own it, as it 
 were. Men, young men at least, always expect to 
 own their wives just as they have owned their 
 devoted mothers and sisters. What were wives and 
 mothers and sisters created for, if not for men, of 
 course? The only creature of womankind a man 
 cannot own is his daughter, if he be fortunate 
 enough to have one. Her he must educate, earn 
 for, live for, and love, that some other man may 
 eventually own her. O righteous retribution ! Poor 
 fathers of daughters ! 
 
 John bore the torments of the mischievous arrows 
 for a time, then rose and plunged his head into a 
 basin of cold water, and soon was out in the sweet 
 cool air, striding up the red road that led past the 
 old home. Cupid made John his sport that morn- 
 ing. He led him Into the laurel thicket to get rain- 
 jewelled blossoms for Miss Katherine, and there 
 persuaded him to sit on a boulder and think It all 
 over. There John sat when Josephus rode by with- 
 out seeing him, and there he sat when Portia flashed 
 by like a bird and stopped just beyond him, and 
 his heart had to stand still, and his tongue was 
 tied, and wicked little Cupid's work was done in 
 that same instant. He laughed and perched on 
 the fence at Portia's side, while the birds sang; and 
 she, unheeding his presence, or that of the poor 
 smitten wanderer in the laurel thicket, turned her 
 head this way and that and sang too. 
 
Morning Songs and Dogwood Blooms i 37 
 
 John thought of his dream, the voice that burst 
 upon his ear while he waited in the moonHght and 
 shadow, sounding again in the beautiful early morn- 
 ing, and mingling with the bird-notes in arias and 
 trills. Portia sang anything and everything as she 
 watched the mists rise. She mixed her songs in a 
 joyous medley and invented new caprices, after the 
 manner of the cat-bird in the thicket. John sat 
 on the boulder, his head between his hands, his 
 heart gone. What should he do? Presently she 
 stopped singing, and still sat looking off over the 
 valley lost in thought. Her lips parted with a 
 smile. She was thinking of her caller of the even- 
 ing before, and wondering a dozen different things 
 about him. 
 
 '* Good-morning." She started to see him stand- 
 ing before her. " Is this your custom, to do your 
 practising with the birds?" 
 
 She leaped from the fence in haste, as he stepped 
 forward to assist her, and laughed while her cheeks 
 reddened. ** I got up alone, so I can come down 
 alone," she said. " No, indeed, this is not my 
 custom. It is the event of a lifetime." 
 
 " What a fortunate man I am, then, to happen 
 along as I did ! " 
 
 " No, you are not. The birds put me out. Think 
 of all the instruction I have had, and no one teaches 
 them." 
 
 " Singing comes by nature, just as the voice 
 does. You would sing if you had never had any 
 instruction." 
 
 " I was thinking of Haydn's ' Creation ' as I looked 
 over the valley ; think of singing the arias in that 
 
I 38 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 without instruction." She laughed, stooping to 
 gather her arms full of the dogwood blossoms. 
 
 *' Let me take those for you. You will be wet; 
 they are covered with rain." 
 
 " I don't care now ; I am wet already, — com- 
 pletely draggled. Why did you come here and 
 catch me in such a plight? I am very particular." 
 They both laughed merrily, neither knew why, but 
 John took the wet sprays from her as they walked 
 on together. 
 
 " Now you can hold up your dress," said he. She 
 demurely obeyed. 
 
 " I intended trying to see you to-day, at any rate, 
 only not befdre breakfast," he said after a moment's 
 silence. *' I have a great favor to ask. I would 
 make a bold plunge and ask it now, only that I 
 want a good excuse for calling again soon." 
 
 ** Does it require so much courage ? " She glanced 
 up and saw his eyes fixed on her face. 
 
 ** It does indeed. My mother, her ward, her 
 maids, and trappings are thinking of swooping down 
 on poor little Patterson, to be near me this summer, 
 they say. What shall I do? You see, I must 
 appeal to you for help." Portia smiled, although 
 the color left her face, and then surged back, ting- 
 ing her neck and ears, and up into the roots of her 
 hair. He saw it, and his heart beat faster. 
 
 " In that case it is I who need courage, not you," 
 she said ; '' when will she be here? " 
 
 ** I don't know ; they may not come at all, but if 
 they do — " he paused, and they both stood still. 
 A great drooping acacia hid them from the house- 
 Portia looked up and met his eyes once more. 
 
Morning Songs and Dogwood Blooms i 39 
 
 ''What shall I do? " she aske^ frankly. '* There 
 is no other place." 
 
 " Why need there be? " he replied. 
 
 ** That is so," she said, straightening herself 
 proudly, and striving once more for self-mastery. 
 " Bring them to me certainly, and I will try to 
 make them at least comfortable, and — " she hesi- 
 tated — ** thank you for telling me in time." Her 
 manner had grown cold, but how could he blame 
 her? She could not know what he was repressing. 
 He felt angry with his mother. Why could she 
 not stay away and leave him to woo this fascinating 
 enienia before him unmolested? ''She will ruin 
 my hopes," he thought; "she will be cruel if she 
 once suspects." 
 
 Portia moved to walk on, but John stood still, 
 holding her flowers, and looking off not to see her 
 motion. He wished to say more, but how? " Miss 
 Van Ostade," he said desperately, " I hope — at 
 least I am sure — you will be kind enough to under- 
 stand me. I know you would prefer to have almost 
 any one rather than my mother come into your 
 home, but, believe me, you are too sensitive. It is 
 very different from what you imagine. This home 
 was sold long ago ; it is yours now, not ours, and 
 you are an angel of mercy in it. Where could I 
 turn in this predicament if you were not here?" 
 
 Portia smiled. " Mrs. Marshall may not disap- 
 point me as you did. She may feel all the disgust 
 at the present and longing for the past that I 
 endued you with." 
 
 " In that case I will take her away. She shall not 
 stay to annoy you." 
 
140 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Portia looked up in astonishment. His manner 
 of speaking of his mother seemed cold but for his 
 smiling, kindly face. He divined her thoughts. 
 ** "VVe are not in the least alike, mother and I, but 
 we understand each other. Now to me it was 
 delightful to see the old home lighted up, and 
 to hear music in the old rooms. All the pretty 
 little modern touches you have added seemed 
 just right. I did not care to have the old time 
 back." 
 
 *' Ah, but your mother would, although it is kind 
 of you to speak as you do." 
 
 ''Kind? I can't help it." 
 
 *' Oh, I think you could. I have thought the sit- 
 uation all over. There are many things you might 
 think if you were not kind enough to think other- 
 wise. Really, I must go back. It is nicer out here, 
 but I am not one of your old-time Southern ladies. 
 I am dependent on my exertions that we may live, 
 — grandfather, mother, and I." He noticed the 
 proud lift of her head as they walked on. 
 
 " I am sorry you have thought the situation, as 
 you call it, over so much." 
 
 ''Why so?" 
 
 " I don't know that I want to tell you," he 
 laughed. " Are n't you giving us credit for the 
 same sensitiveness you possess in that way? We 
 may not deserve it." 
 
 " In what way? " 
 
 "Why, in thinking the situation over, as you say, 
 and deciding what we think, and how we would feel, 
 before you had even seen us. You see, you must 
 have been reckoning from within, out." 
 
Morning Songs and Dogwood Blooms 1 4 1 
 
 "I understand, — judging others by myself. 
 That is wrong, I know, but — " 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! No, no, not wrong. I 
 only realize that we must suffer by comparison, 
 when you really come to know us." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Marshall, I am not quite so conceited." 
 They had reached the gate. 
 
 " What can I say, what can I do, to make you 
 understand me?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Nothing. Forgive me. It was not your in- 
 tention, I know, to make me out conceited, but I 
 have had reasons outside of myself for my conclu- 
 sions. People here have tried to be friendly, have 
 been really kind, but I can see plainly enough that 
 I do not answer to their ideas of a lady. To them 
 I am a Northern woman keeping boarders, and 
 working with my own two hands at homely house- 
 hold labor." 
 
 Marshall looked down respectfully at her shapely . 
 hands as they held her skirts from the wet grass,, i^^ j^ 
 and straight into her eyes. In that instant a simple ^'T't?*' 
 
 telegraphy of mutual understanding passed between « 1 1^ - 
 
 them. 
 
 " I believe you," he said. " What fools they 
 are ! " 
 
 *' Oh, no ! I don't think that. Perhaps if I were 
 one of them, I should think as they do." 
 
 " If you were one of them, undoubtedly. Thank 
 Heaven, you are you." 
 
 " I must go in." She glanced at the house ner- 
 vously, and reached for her flowers. " It won't do 
 to be seen looking like this. I have had my run, 
 now I must don my dignity and wear it all day." 
 
142 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 She sighed and looked down the road. John smiled 
 a little. She turned quickly and caught the telltale 
 expression before he could cough it away. In that 
 instant she knew he had seen her all the time, and 
 felt that she wanted to get away from him immedi- 
 ately. In that same instant he knew that she knew 
 it, and saw the color flame back into her face. 
 
 ** Forgive me; I couldn't help it," he said peni- 
 tently, and gave her the flowers. His hand touched 
 hers as she took them ; she did not notice it, but 
 he did. Some of the sprays fell on the ground. 
 *' Never mind them," she said, turning away hur- 
 riedly, but he did mind them, and ran after, adding 
 them to the rest. 
 
 "I may call again sometime?" he asked. She 
 hesitated. He looked distressed. 
 
 *' Indeed, yes, — if you care to — if your — " 
 
 " If my mother comes, of course, it will be neces- 
 sary, but that may not be for some time." 
 
 She paused in her rapid walk. He looked at her, 
 and she looked up at the still closed house. Some 
 one began raising a curtain. *' We shall be glad to 
 see you," she said. 
 
 " Thank you," he replied, and hurried away. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 THE EXCURSION 
 
 PORTIA sat in her place at the breakfast-table, 
 a full-blown rose among the ferns and dog- 
 wood blossoms. The color that came into her 
 cheeks under the arched gateway had not all left. 
 Mr. Russell praised the beauty of the flowers, but 
 looked at her, much to Mr. Ridgeway's annoyance ; 
 however, as all the other guests did the same, 
 where was the harm? She was the life and soul of 
 the place, and it was the fashion there to admire her. 
 When it was not done in too personal a manner, her 
 grandfather did not object, but he dearly loved to 
 have her to himself once in a while. She alone 
 could accompany his violin as he liked, and during 
 these days her time was never her own, seldom his ; 
 yet she watched over his happiness and her moth- 
 er's with jealous eyes, and, in a sense, all her devo- 
 tion to her guests was for them. How else could 
 she make a success of her undertaking, and keep 
 her sweetest of all mothers in that health-giving 
 climate? So she went bravely on planning, under 
 many difficulties, entertainment for her guests. 
 On dull days indoors her musical talent and her 
 grandfather's violin formed a delightful feature. 
 For their excursions, there being no livery in the 
 place, she was obliged to hire from their neighbors 
 horses and rigs which, to say the least, were an- 
 tiquated. 
 
 143 
 
144 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 These days, for John, passed happily and busily. 
 He spent some time in New York and Asheville, 
 making aruangements for the building. Judson 
 Chaplain, a hearty, pleasant-voiced young Caro- 
 linian gentleman, was won by Marshall's courteous 
 frankness into enthusiastic partnership. He re- 
 joiced that he need have no dealings with Monk, — 
 who, by the way, was not missed for a time, — and 
 that a telling blow to that individual's plans would 
 be to insure Patterson's superiority over Broadgate, 
 by the erection of a hotel, that would ** eclipse 
 anything in the country, suh." To this end the 
 contract was let to first-class builders in New York, 
 who were to bring skilled workmen with them. 
 John, being the architect, acted as superintendent. 
 He was happy in this work. He felt his spirits rise 
 in an exuberance of joyousness as each day passed. 
 
 " If I can strike a bargain for a couple of good 
 saddle-horses, will you help me to use them now 
 and then? " he asked of Hanford Clark, one day. 
 *' I must have one." 
 
 " I doubt if I can get off," said Hanford, ab- 
 sently. 
 
 " I shall get two and risk it. It is about time 
 you and I struck up an acquaintance, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 They both laughed. " Go slowly, John. Does 
 the time seem long to you?" 
 
 *'Long? Why should n't it? I would run in 
 twenty times a day for a word with you." 
 
 *' Don't yet awhile. At least don't appear to be 
 intimate. You see, John," Hanford laid his arm 
 affectionately over his friend's shoulder, ** my life 
 
The Excursion 145 
 
 has not been as successful as yours. I have learned 
 to wait." 
 
 Marshall looked in his face frankly. ** To wait 
 for what? " he said. 
 
 Hanford laughed a sober little laugh. *' Oh, 
 what you please, — fortune, fame, anything. I 
 did n't set out to become a station agent down 
 here, you know." 
 
 "Why have you never married?" asked John, 
 bluntly. 
 
 " For lack of money to make a fit home first, and 
 just as that was in reach, lack of health, and then — " 
 he spread out both hands with an almost petulant 
 motion and lifted his shoulders. 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 " Another man had stepped in before me." He 
 spoke slowly, without looking at John, who laughed 
 self-consciously, and drummed on the window ledge. 
 They were in Hanford's stuffy little room at 
 Scrapp's. 
 
 " Then she may not have been the right one. 
 At any rate, ' There are as good fish in the sea as 
 ever were caught,' " said John, tritely. 
 
 Hanford glanced keenly in his friend's face. 
 ** To change the subject, when do you expect 
 your mother on? " 
 
 " To continue it, you mean. She never travels 
 alone." 
 
 " Very well, as you will." 
 
 " Own up, Hanford, own up. Even you — " 
 
 " You have n't answered my question yet." 
 
 " Oh, beg pardon. What was it? " 
 
 " When will your mother be here? " 
 10 
 
146 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Ah, yes. My mother, of course ! I forget your 
 deep interest in her. In about three weeks, more 
 or less." 
 
 " So soon.> " said Hanford, but he thought it long 
 to wait. 
 
 " Marguerite will only entrap some poor fellow to 
 his ruin for her summer pastime. Woe be to who- 
 ever falls into her snares ! I shall write mother 
 there is no sense in bringing her out here," said 
 John, mischievously. 
 
 ** Do so," said Hanford, grimly. 
 
 " Too late. My last letter betrayed the fact that 
 I found you here. I half suspect that knowledge is 
 at the bottom of the sudden determination to spend 
 their summer in the mountains." 
 
 " Why should your mother care? " 
 
 '' She would n't." 
 
 " Now you are talking nonsense. What do you 
 suppose has become of Monk? I have n't seen 
 him for days." 
 
 ** I neither know nor care." 
 
 ** He 's a great fellow to go off now with the 
 election coming on next week. His interests are 
 suffering, I can tell him that." 
 
 "Let them suffer. Who cares?" said John, 
 stretching himself leisurely. *' Look over that trestle 
 yonder. I have been watching those buzzards sail 
 round and round in one spot ever since we stood 
 here. There, one has lighted away down below on 
 that dead tree." 
 
 " Some poor carcass there, no doubt," said Han- 
 ford. They both stood watching the ominous birds 
 a moment, each busy with his own thoughts. 
 
The Excursion 147 
 
 " I must go," said Marshall at length. " See 
 here, you have night service to relieve you now, 
 why do you stay on in this hole? Go up to the 
 old place, — Miss Van Ostade's, I mean." 
 
 " I think I will." A few days later found him in- 
 stalled at the house, seated at Mr. Ridgeway's right, 
 at table, a valuable addition to the small coterie 
 there. 
 
 The next day John made choice of saddle-horses. 
 He was very particular with regard to the extra 
 horse, that it should be suitable for a lady to ride. 
 He whistled softly a measure of one of Portia's songs 
 as he walked away after the bargain was completed. 
 Suddenly a thought struck him. " There are no 
 saddles to be had in Patterson. She can't ride 
 bareback." When the animals were led into the 
 stables at Miss Katherine's, behold, the pretty little 
 chestnut mare, which had been recommended to 
 him as being " gentle as a kitten," was equipped for 
 a lady's use, even to the carved, ivory-handled whip. 
 
 John was impatient and restless. He begged 
 Miss Katherine to go with him at once to try them, 
 and as they galloped over the mountain road, the 
 color came into her cheeks and the fire to her eyes. 
 She talked brightly as of old. The old times seemed 
 really coming back to her. When John lifted her 
 from the saddle, he thought she seemed ten years 
 younger. Ah, what a beautifier happiness is ! She 
 sang a bit of an old song he had heard her sing 
 years before, as she prepared their simple dinner, 
 stopping every now and then to admonish Gertrude. 
 The child went to and fro, carrying dishes from the 
 kitchen — a separate building a rod away from the 
 
1 48 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 house — to the dining-room. John smiled as he 
 Hstened to the low, sweet tones and the pleasant 
 clatter. 
 
 Mrs. Wells sat at an old-fashioned grand piano 
 and made pretty tinkling music, such as she had 
 made for the colonel in her young ladyhood. John 
 wondered where her thoughts were, as she played 
 over the tripping airs with their rippling accompani- 
 ment. A portrait of the colonel, stiff and dignified, 
 hung in the great square room. Her sightless eyes 
 were turned toward it. He saw her through the 
 open French window from where he sat on the 
 piazza, and a suspicious moisture gathered in his 
 eyes. He rose and sauntered down the path, and 
 smelled of Miss Katherine's lilies. '' If Donald 
 had only lived ! " he thought. 
 
 " John, dinnah is on the table," called Miss 
 Katherine from the doorway. *' Come, ma." 
 
 The meal over, Gertrude brought a pan of hot 
 water, and Katherine washed the few pieces of china 
 and the old silver and glasses herself. *' Gertrude is 
 so careless," she said. 
 
 Half an hour later John strolled toward the old 
 home, drawn thither by sundry little cords called 
 heart-strings. He had been there before that week, 
 and was trying to think of some adequate excuse 
 for calling again so soon, when a rattling team and 
 a merry whistle caused him to look behind him. 
 The two young planters were driving home from 
 their orchard among the hills. 
 
 '' Going our way? " said Richard. '' I 'd ask you 
 to ride if there was only another seat." 
 
 " I am on my way to Mr. Ridgeway's. Thanks." 
 
The Excursion 149 
 
 " I guess we can make room for you up here," 
 said James Craig, hitching along. 
 
 " No, no, sit still. I can stand and enjoy the 
 ride," said Marshall. Placing one hand on the rear 
 oi the long wagon-box, he leaped lightly in and 
 stood, steadying himself by the shoulders of the 
 two on the high spring seat in front, and they 
 drove on. 
 
 ** We have a go on hand this evening," said Craig. 
 *' We are to seat this wagon with bundles of fodder 
 and cushions, and the crowd are to pile in and drive 
 over to Towanee Gorge. The negroes are having a 
 big time there." 
 
 " Heavens ! What a dolt ! " exclaimed Marshall. 
 *' They were kind enough to include me in the 
 party, and it had entirely slipped my memory." 
 Richard laughed, and the wagon rattled on. 
 
 Portia stood on the steps, smiling, enthusiastic. 
 The elderly gentleman stood near. Mrs. Van Ostade 
 moved quietly among the guests who were collected 
 on the piazza, with her arms full of wraps. 
 
 '* You would better take this shawl," she said to 
 Mrs. Clare. "The air seems mild enough now, but 
 later in the evening it may be quite cool." 
 
 " Oh, you thoughtful little woman ! Thank you." 
 
 "Do you think she ought to go?" said Miss 
 Milbourn. 
 
 " Indeed she ought, and you too," cried Portia. 
 " Where is your bonnet? I will get it." She disap- 
 peared in the house. 
 
 "Aren't you going, Mrs. Keller?" said Mr. 
 Betts, drawing on his gloves, alert and ready, with 
 his umbrella under his arm. 
 
1 50 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " No, I think I will leave all this nonsense to the 
 young folks," she said, glancing at the elderly- 
 gentleman. 
 
 *' What, what ! " said he ; '* it won't do to let them 
 have all the interesting things to themselves. I 
 don't believe in growing old. Keep young, I 
 say." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percy came down the long stair- 
 way. " Why, Miss Milbourn, are you not going 
 with us ? " they asked in a breath. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Clare, '' Miss Van Ostade has 
 gone for her bonnet." 
 
 " I think as I am old, and there will hardly be 
 room for all in the wagon, perhaps — " 
 
 " Oh, but the carriage is going," said Portia, re- 
 turning, '* and I have the use of the Gebbs' buggy; 
 two can go in that." She caught the dear old lady, 
 turned her about, and tied the bonnet under her 
 chin. *' There ! The moon will be up as we come 
 back, and this is the last moonlight evening this 
 month. Now you and grandfather and Mrs. Clare 
 must take the carriage, and Alexander will drive, 
 and you, Mr. Russell" (to the elderly gentleman), 
 " will have to go in the wagon with us, — unless — " 
 
 " Can't I drive with you in the Gebbs* buggy? 
 That will leave two extra places in the wagon." 
 
 Instantly there was an outcry on all sides. *' Oh, 
 no ! " '' What an idea ! " 
 
 ** We want Miss Van Ostade with us." 
 
 Portia felt annoyed, but smiled pleasantly. ** You 
 see, Mr. Russell, I can stand the rough wagon ride 
 better than some," she said in a low tone to her 
 discomfited admirer. 
 
The Excursion 151 
 
 Hanford Clark was just coming up one driveway 
 as the wagon rattled up the other. " Here they 
 come," shouted Mr. Betts. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Marshall, so you did not forget about 
 our little excursion," said Portia. 
 
 James Craig began arranging the bundles of 
 fodder passed up to him by a negro boy, and 
 placing the cushions for the seats. He glanced up 
 quickly at John and laughed. A serving-maid stood 
 by with her arms full of rugs. 
 
 ** Forget? Of course he did," said Richard. 
 *' Jim and I picked him up down the road and 
 brought him on by main force. Hello, Mr. Clark, 
 glad to see you." 
 
 '' I was on my way here in spite of Mr. Button," 
 said John. 
 
 ''Now we are ready, aren't we, Mr. Craig? " said 
 Portia. She ran back into the house for something 
 and was detained by Maggie. 
 
 " See here," said Dick aside to Mrs. Barry, '' Jim 
 and I have a scheme. You hustle them all in, — 
 the carriage load is made up, — and contrive so 
 that Mr. Russell sits with Miss Keller. He 's manoeu- 
 vring to be left behind to drive in the Gebbs' buggy 
 with Miss Van Ostade, Mr. Betts says. We'll do it 
 before he knows what 's happened, and start before 
 she gets back." 
 
 " Good," exclaimed Mrs. Barry with keen relish, 
 *' but who will go with her? " 
 
 " Oh, leave her to Mr. Marshall. He won't 
 object, I '11 warrant. Hello ! All aboard for Towanee 
 Gorge," he shouted, gathering up the reins. ''Jim, 
 where are you ? " Craig gravely helped Mrs. Barry 
 
152 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 in, then came Mr. and Mrs. Percy. " Get Mr. 
 Russell to follow you," said Mrs. Barry as they 
 settled themselves. 
 
 '* Come, Mr. Russell," said Mr. Percy. "We 
 need another gentleman next." 
 
 *' Now Miss Keller," said Craig. 
 
 '* Where is Miss Van Ostade? " said Mr. Russell, 
 looking about. 
 
 *' She '11 be here immediately," cried Mrs. Barry, 
 hilariously. " Get in here on this seat with Miss 
 Keller, and Portia can sit on the other side. There 
 is room to sit three on a seat, is n't there, Mr. 
 Cfaig?" 
 
 *' Certainly, certainly ! Here, Mr. Russell, that 's 
 not fair, to monopolize all the ladies. I ought to 
 have that seat, or Mr. Clark there." 
 
 John, conversing with Mrs. Van Ostade, looked 
 on, only half comprehending the badinage. 
 
 "No," said Hanford, "you and Mr. Russell 
 decide that between you. I '11 sit at the end with 
 Mr. Betts." 
 
 " That 's right, Mr. Russell, climb in, or Mr. Craig 
 will be ahead of you," said Mrs. Barry. 
 
 " There, Jim ! You '11 have to content yourself 
 with me once more," said Dick. "You're no 
 match for Mr. Russell." 
 
 " Right you are," said Craig. " All aboard." 
 
 "Ay, ay," cried Mr. Betts. 
 
 " We 're off," said Dick, waving his whip. 
 
 "Why, but Mr. Marshall and Miss Van Ostade 
 are neither of them in," said Miss Keller. 
 
 " I '11 go for her," said the elderly gentleman, 
 rising. The horses sprang forward at a quiet 
 
The Excursion 153 
 
 little fillip from the whip, and he sat down again 
 quicker than he got up. " Oh, beg pardon," said 
 Richard. 
 
 "How now! We are not starting," said Mr. 
 Russell, discomfited. " There she is now," he beck- 
 oned frantically. 
 
 " Oh, nev^er mind, we shall have to go slower 
 than the carriage, the wagon jolts so, sha'n't we, 
 Mr. Button ? " said Mrs. Barry, complacently. " The 
 carriage has started, and the buggy is coming for 
 them." 
 
 Mr. Russell made one more attempt to stem the 
 tide against him. " But Miss Van Ostade may not 
 like it. I think she is beckoning us to wait." 
 
 ** No, she is signalling us to go on," said Craig, 
 and they went. As they drove out of one gate, 
 Mr. Gebb's small darky boy entered by the other, 
 driving a little gray mare hitched to a buckboard. 
 
 ** Is that the buggy? " said Portia, dismayed. 
 
 " Yas 'm," said the impassive youngster. 
 
 " I ought to have seen it before I engaged it. 
 Why did they start in such a hurry? There would 
 have beefi room for us in the wagon. This was 
 only intended as a contingency, so to speak." 
 
 " Why, what 's the matter with it? " said Marshall, 
 walking around the rude outfit, and pulling a little 
 here and there at the straps of the old harness. 
 " It's a mighty good sort of a contingency, that's 
 what I think. Shall we start?" 
 
 *' I suppose we must, if we make this little gray 
 thing keep up with that team of Mr. Button's." 
 
 He stepped back and took her wraps, and seeing 
 a thick traveller's rug on the piazza, he arranged it 
 
1 54 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 over her side of the seat for her comfort. She 
 watched him doubtfully. 
 
 '' That is Mr. Russell's. He must have intended 
 taking it. Perhaps that is what they were stopping 
 at the gate for." 
 
 " We will take it to him, then," said John, laugh- 
 ing. Portia sprang lightly in, and he followed, with 
 a delight in the situation not easily disguised. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE GIRL AT THE GERMAN BRIDGE 
 
 " ^^"^ OOD-BYE, Mrs. Keller. Take good care of 
 
 G 
 
 mamma," called Portia, as they drove off, 
 tilting up and down with the easy sway of the long 
 buckboard as it passed over uneven places in the 
 road. " This is fun. It makes me think of the days 
 when I played see-sav/." 
 
 ** I call it an improvement on the old plan ; the 
 board being hung at both ends instead of in the 
 middle, we can both tilt up and down in the centre. 
 It 's more sociable." 
 
 '* Oh, dear ! The wagon is so far ahead it will be 
 out of sight. Do you know the way? I don't." 
 
 *' I do, unless the hills have changed places since 
 I was a boy." 
 
 Portia drew in a deep breath and looked quietly 
 about her. She loved the mountain air, sweet with 
 the scent of growing things, and the glowing colors 
 in the sky, where the sun seemed sinking into a 
 seething furnace. " Without coming to the moun- 
 tains and living among them, one never could know 
 how beautiful the world is," she said. 
 
 *' I have been where the mountains are much 
 grander, in Switzerland, and among the Rockies ; 
 but I must say these North Carolina hills have a 
 fascination peculiarly their own." 
 
 They were both silent a few minutes, — she calmly 
 happy in these moments of relief from care, and he 
 
1 56 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 intoxicated with a delight he dared not show. At 
 last he broke in upon her quiet reflection. 
 
 ** It is the strangest thing — I always think of 
 some one I saw only for a moment over in Germany, 
 when I look at you, — it seems as if you must be 
 she." 
 
 "That is odd. Was she a German?" 
 
 ** I don't know." 
 
 ** If you had said in Holland I would think you 
 might have seen a descendant of some possible 
 Dutch ancestor of mine." 
 
 " No, it was in Germany near the Danish bound- 
 ary. I saw her only a moment, and never since, 
 but I always connect you with the incident." 
 
 ** Oh ! I wonder — " she leaned forward and 
 looked at him with a new light in her eyes. " Please 
 go on." 
 
 '* What do you wonder? Tell me that first." 
 
 *' No, I interrupted you, and I can't wait. Was 
 it in Schleswig? " 
 
 ''Were you ever there?" She laughed. "See 
 here ! I want to know if you ever saw me 
 before." 
 
 " No," she replied, " I have n't even a vague im- 
 pression that I ever saw you before or any one like 
 you, until that day in old Clarissa's cabin." 
 
 " But you have been abroad? " 
 
 " Yes, nearly two years. But please tell me what 
 you were going to." 
 
 " But look at me squarely first and tell me if 
 you ever saw me before." 
 
 " I have looked at you squarely, and now I tell 
 you roundly I will not answer any more questions 
 
The Girl at the German Bridge 157 
 
 until you go on with what you were going to say 
 when I interrupted you." 
 
 They turned a curve and came in sight of the 
 wagon rattHng merrily on before. They were 
 greeted by a waving of handkerchiefs, and Portia 
 answered with a gay call. 
 
 *' Let us keep this far behind them," said John. 
 " It will be pleasanter." 
 
 *' I would rather. Sometimes I long to be alone. 
 To-night I was tired, and really felt glad they 
 started on as they did." 
 
 " And you were not allowed the privilege of 
 being alone, after all. What a pity I could not 
 have known ! " 
 
 " You know very well I did n't mean that, but if 
 you won't go on and tell me about the girl you saw 
 in Germany, I will say I did." 
 
 " No, please. I will tell you anything rather, 
 only I don't believe you would say it even if you 
 thought it." 
 
 ** Perhaps not, but this I will say, you are cruel 
 to keep me in suspense." 
 
 " After all, there is little to tell. I was sketching 
 a quaint old bridge, and bit of river and rock, when 
 a party came toward me from the other side, riding 
 rapidly, and the foremost had passed on, when the 
 horse of one of the ladies began plunging and rear- 
 ing. He took fright at my umbrella and canvas, or 
 possibly at me. I thought for an instant they would 
 both go over the side of the bridge, but in a moment 
 she had regained the mastery and they dashed on. 
 That is all, but this is the strange part. When I first 
 saw you, that whole scene at the bridge away off 
 
158 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 there In Germany flashed into my mind, even the 
 color of her dress and her horse, and the appear- 
 ance of the two gentlemen of the party who seemed 
 to be her particular escort, all came back to me as 
 if it had occurred yesterday; yet they came and 
 were gone before I could collect my traps and my 
 senses." 
 
 "Why, this is like a bit from a novel. I was 
 almost sure you were going to tell that very incident. 
 I have always wondered who the artist was. You 
 were so quick to get your things out of the way, 
 and I never should have gotten control of that horse 
 if you had not caught his bridle and led him by. 
 After the excitement was over I remember feeling 
 that I had not even thanked you." 
 
 *'I don't remember touching the bridle. Perhaps, 
 after all, your young man was not I, nor my young 
 lady you." 
 
 '' What was the color of her habit? " 
 
 " Green." 
 
 *' So was mine, and what had she on her head?" 
 
 *' Nothing. I always wondered why she rode 
 bareheaded." 
 
 " Then surely it was I. My horse was badly 
 trained and very nerv^ous. He had acted badly once 
 before, and my hat, one of these horrid high ones, fell 
 off, and he put his foot through it and wore it for an 
 anklet until I could stop him. I wonder my neck 
 was not broken." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " said John to himself. 
 
 *' Oh, I wish I had not told you how I came to be 
 riding bareheaded in a pleasure party. I should 
 have kept that for a mystery." 
 
The Girl at the German Bridge 159 
 
 " It Is a mystery without that. To meet as we did 
 in that instant, and then here, in this out-of-the-way 
 place again, coUided as it were, over poor old 
 Mammy Cl'issy, it would seem as if we were fated 
 to — " 
 
 "Become acquainted? " she asked, forestalling a 
 more serious conclusion. 
 
 " Yes, become acquainted." 
 
 '* Maybe, but I am not the least bit of a fatalist." 
 
 " Decreed by Providence, then?" 
 
 " I think things just happen sometimes. I don't 
 believe in attributing every strange thing to occult 
 influence, like saying it is fate, or Providence, you 
 know, that brings about such odd meetings as ours. 
 Do you?" 
 
 " Some say there is no such thing as chance." 
 
 " I know, but perhaps some are mistaken," she 
 said with a merry glance in his face. 
 
 " I hope not," he said gravely. 
 
 *' Do you think Providence plans every single 
 thing that takes place in this world ? " 
 
 He laughed. *' ' There 's a divinity that shapes 
 our ends, rough-hew them how we will.' Aunt 
 Mary taught me to believe that." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! How little we know of what our 
 futures are to bring ! Mine is so different from — 
 I presume our plans are nothing but dreams, after 
 all." 
 
 " Perhaps you formed your plans too early in life 
 to have them definite." She was silent, and he 
 wondered what they might have been. 
 
 They drove dow^n a sharp declivity, and through 
 a small stream that made a pleasant sound in their 
 
i6o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ears. The sun was set, and the air had grown cooler. 
 He unfolded her wrap and placed it about her with 
 a gentle thoughtfulness that pleased her. They 
 heard the wagon in the distance rumbling; on. 
 
 " Shall we hurry a little? " he asked. 
 
 *' If we are nearly there, no. If not, I suppose we 
 must." 
 
 '* I '11 let the little nag take her time, then." 
 
 ** I only meant — it 's pleasanter here than crowded 
 in that little cabin with a lot of negroes. Do those 
 who have been born and brought up among them 
 feel that repugnance to them? Is it a natural feel- 
 ing? I can be kind to them and like them well 
 enough, and I do truly want to see them improve 
 and become good educated citizens, and all that, and 
 I always feel like taking their part, but I can't bear 
 to have them touch me, poor souls." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. It's a matter of custom, I 
 guess. I never felt any of it. Take old Clarissa 
 now. I used to cuddle up in her arms and go to 
 sleep, I remember it well ; and as for the piccanin- 
 nies, they were regular little playmates, and no end 
 of fun." 
 
 " How strange ! How could you ? " Portia 
 shuddered. 
 
 "You Northern people never really did the South- 
 erners justice in a way. When it comes right down 
 to plain facts, we like the colored people better than 
 you do. Why, I actually loved that old mammy." 
 
 ** And there I could n't bear to touch her," said 
 Portia, humbly. *' I fear you are right. Of course, 
 we thought slavery horrible, but at heart we were n't 
 much kinder, only a little more just, don't you think? 
 
The Girl at the German Bridge i6i 
 
 I 'm not used to them yet. There 's Lucyleese, the 
 maid who brought out the cushions, almost as white 
 as I am, she wanted to dress my hair the other day, 
 when I was tired, and I could not let her. I am sure 
 for myself it is innate repugnance. It can't be educa- 
 tion, because I have tried to overcome it, and all my 
 education has been against allowing such a feeling." 
 
 *' Why should you try to overcome it ? " 
 
 " Because I think it wrong." 
 
 " Please explain. You are worlds higher up in 
 the scale of creation, why should you try to place 
 them on a level with yourself ? " 
 
 " Perhaps if our standards were other than human 
 ones, some of the blackest of these might rank much 
 higher than I." 
 
 Marshall laughed, and leaning forward, stole a 
 quick glance at her face as he touched the horse 
 with the whip. "You have n't told me yet why you 
 fight against your own nature," he said. " I recog- 
 nize a difference, but I accept it. I no more try to 
 look upon them as other than they are than I would 
 imbue this horse with my attributes, and try to con- 
 verse with him. To me a horse is a horse, and a 
 negro is a negro, and not a white man." 
 
 She turned on him a look of horror. " Why, 
 Mr. Marshall, you believe them human beings with 
 souls like ours, do you not, undying ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; but are all souls the same kind or 
 
 quality? They are black human beings; we are 
 
 white ones. There are fundamental differences. 
 
 Can you expect to overcome a repugnance that 
 
 the finer, more sensitive nature must feel toward 
 
 a coarser one ? " 
 II 
 
1 62 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Portia looked away, speaking slowly. '' What 
 you say seems true, but it does not make me feel 
 right. You see, I feel, after all, that only evil 
 should excite repugnance in one human being 
 toward another, not mere differences in color. The 
 reason should be more than skin deep, — should lie 
 in the heart." Marshall did not answer imme- 
 diately, and she resumed : " For instance, old 
 Clarissa, just before you came in, was showing me 
 trinkets she had kept with such care because you 
 had given them to her, and telling me about her 
 'Young Mars'r;' and when you entered at that 
 moment, how her old face lighted up ! Can you 
 ever forget that expression? Of what quality is her 
 soul, do you think? Her look at you condemned 
 me. It was heavenly." 
 
 " Do you expect me to solve the problem by 
 answering all those questions? " said John, laughing. 
 ** I 'm afraid we are getting into deep waters." 
 
 *'What shall we do, sink or swim?" she asked 
 with a responsive laugh. 
 
 "Why, swim, of course. We always do." 
 
 They relapsed into silence, each thinking his own 
 thoughts. John vaguely wondered who were her 
 companions when he saw her first. Had he set her 
 thinking of some love affair? If she would only 
 speak, and give him a clew to her thoughts, — but 
 no, when she did speak it was only of the present. 
 
 " How dark it is cfrowincr ! How wild it is here ! 
 Are these the same roads you used to ride over 
 when you were a boy?" 
 
 " The very same, but they were in better repair 
 then." 
 
The Girl at the German Bridge 163 
 
 " People seem to have lost heart here. They all 
 seem so dispirited." 
 
 " No wonder ! VVe were so badly used by you 
 Northerners a few years ago." 
 
 '' You say we. You spent over half your life in 
 the North with us. Do you count yourself one of 
 them?" 
 
 " Certainly I do. My father lost his life in the 
 Southern army ; how could I help it? " He straight- 
 ened himself, lifting his head proudly. In the 
 gathering dusk she ventured to look more intently 
 at him, and thought him handsome at that moment. 
 
 " Do you wonder I fear your mother's coming 
 when I see how deeply you feel about the past? " 
 
 *' Ah, but it is past," he answered with a quick 
 smile. *' The old animosities are dead and should 
 be buried along with the brave fellows who fought 
 so desperately on both sides. At least, we of the 
 younger generation, who have never fought, should 
 not revive them." 
 
 " Yes, you are right. Yet ever since I have lived 
 here I have felt the past hanging over me like a 
 cloud. I have been happy, but it seems to confront 
 me everywhere I turn." 
 
 " I see it also, but clouds are never stable. It is 
 only the shadow of the old troubles, — the flying 
 edge of the storm that has passed over. Coming 
 from the North, where all is thrift and enterprise, 
 you may feel the depressed state of affairs more 
 than they do." 
 
 ** Now you say they, not we. I guess when it 
 comes to the present, you do not feel so much one 
 of them, after all." 
 
1 64 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " In sympathy I am, in feeling not. They need 
 stirring up down here." 
 
 "They need something to look forward to. 
 There is nothing so utterly hopeless as hopeless- 
 ness. There is a sweet old blind lady I have met. 
 She seems really to enjoy life more than her 
 daughter, for she has all the past in which she lives, 
 while the daughter has more of the hopeless future 
 before her with its loneliness." 
 
 " I am there now. They were my father's dearest 
 friends. Will you go with me sometime and sing 
 for Mrs. Wells? Everything done for the mother 
 gives Miss Katherine pleasure. They are really 
 very charming." ^ 
 
 " I would love to do it." The deep bay of 
 a hound near by startled her. '* I wish men 
 would n't hunt with hounds. It is cruel," she said 
 impetuously. 
 
 " This is some hound hunting on his own account, 
 I guess." 
 
 *' What a weird place we have come to ! There, 
 where the shadows are black among the under- 
 growth, I seem to see figures moving. See, is that 
 a man?" 
 
 "Some burnt stump, no doubt. It is a weird 
 place. Are you timid? There is nothing to fear. 
 I have been here hundreds of times." 
 
 " I 'm not afraid. I am enjoying the strangeness 
 of it all. I love to be in wild places and imagine 
 dreadful things." 
 
 " Imagine your dreadful things quickly, then, while 
 the opportunity lasts. We are almost there." She 
 laughed merrily. " How can 3^ou, and laugh like 
 
The Girl at the German Bridge 165 
 
 that? Tell me the horrible things you are imagining, 
 so I may laugh too." 
 
 '' Where does this interminable road end? " 
 
 " Does it seem so long? You are cruel. It is 
 very short. It cuts across the gorge here, and there 
 is a horse trail leading to the cabin which is more 
 interesting. It winds along skirting the stream. I 
 have two saddle-horses now, very good ones, I 
 think. Miss Katherine and I tried them this after- 
 noon. Will you ride with me here sometime? " 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Marshall," she said, drawing in a deep 
 breath, " I have been longing for a ride over these 
 hills ever^since we have been here." 
 
 *' Then we will go," he said gladly. Just then 
 lights gleamed out ahead of them, and they came 
 upon the wagon and carriage in a small level space, 
 where the rest of the party were waiting them. 
 
 % 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 "WEN DE GATES LIFT UP DEIR HMDS" 
 
 H 
 
 ELLO ! So you 're not lost," said Dick 
 Button. " We are to leave the horses 
 here in charge of Alexander and foot it a few rods 
 along the mule-path." 
 
 It had grown quite dark, but by the aid of lan- 
 terns they made their way merrily along the trail. 
 A group of negroes on ahead were singing as they 
 walked. 
 
 ** Why do they have their church so far from the 
 village?" asked Mrs. Barry. 
 
 *' They seem to have a fancy for having them in 
 wild out-of-the-way places," said Marshall. " You 
 may come upon one anywhere among these 
 mountains." 
 
 " A negro church, or a moonshine still," said 
 Dick. 
 
 The narrow path bordered steep declivities in 
 some places. The flickering light of their lanterns 
 made the darkness visible, and the chasms seen 
 more awful, lending a touch of excitement to 
 excursion. 
 
 '* What kind of a gathering is this we are going 
 to?" said Mrs. Percy. ** I wish Mr. Held were with 
 us. Could an artist paint such a weird effect as 
 this?" 
 
 i66 
 
 tne 
 
(( 
 
 W'tn de Gates Lift Up deir Haids " 1 67 
 
 ** They are holding protracted meetings, and hav- 
 ing a revival," said Mr. Ridgeway. " Alexander has 
 been off duty every evening this week because of 
 them." 
 
 ** I have some twinges of conscience," said Miss 
 Milbourn. 
 
 ''Why so?" said Mr. Russell. 
 
 " Going just out of curiosity. It seems not 
 
 right." 
 
 ** We 're not going like a parcel of bad boys," 
 said Craig. '* My conscience is all right." 
 
 ** How long since? " said Dick. 
 
 " Here we are," said Mr. Betts. " Hear them 
 singing? " 
 
 '' That sounds like a dirge," said Mrs. Clare. 
 
 " They seem to be marching," he replied. 
 
 The door of the rude cabin stood open, and the 
 light streamed in long rays out into the darkness. 
 Within, black . figures could be seen, their bodies 
 swaying, and their feet and in some instances their 
 hands also, keeping time to the singing with a gen- 
 tle patter. A few negroes hung around outside the 
 door, and others were still coming along the trail. 
 The singing ceased, and the voice of an old man was 
 heard in prayer. The quavering tones rose and fell 
 with a monotonous insistence that seemed to blend 
 0th the sounds of the waterfall and the wind among 
 the tree-tops. The cabin, the same in which the 
 political meeting had been held, was lighted by tal- 
 low candles stuck in rude improvised candle-sticks, — 
 pieces of wood with holes bored in them, in which the 
 candles were put, — thrust here and there between 
 the chinks of the loes. The visitors waited without 
 
1 68 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 until the prayer ceased. Now and then would be 
 heard a groan or a cry, " Amen, bress de Lawd." 
 These sounds grew more frequent as the prayer 
 progressed. 
 
 John stood near Portia. " I presume you have 
 attended these meetings often," she said. " I never 
 did before." 
 
 " Indeed, yes. A negro revival was a regular 
 thing. The masters encouraged them. They con- 
 sidered a nigger worth more who had experienced 
 religion." 
 
 *' How horrible ! " she said under her breath. 
 
 Marshall, bending toward her, caught the words. 
 ** Yes," he said, in a low voice, " I see it now ; I 
 didn't then." 
 
 Again the bay of a hound awoke the echoes, start- 
 ling Portia as before. " What a hideous sound ! " 
 she said. 
 
 " I have heard the blood-hounds bay in the night 
 when they were tracking some runaway nigger, the 
 most unearthly noise you could imagine. This 
 sounds as if it might be one of their descendants." 
 
 " Oh, don't let us think of those horrible things 
 here in this wonderful, beautiful spot. I wish I 
 may never hear a hound bay again. I shall always • 
 think of what you have just said." 
 
 " I thought you liked to think of dreadful things 
 in these wild places." 
 
 " Oh, not those that have really happened." 
 
 The moon, creeping up over the mountain top, 
 looked like a rim of fire. The prayer ceased, and 
 they entered, seating themselves on the rough 
 benches near the door, which were vacated for 
 
" Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids " 1 69 
 
 them with prompt courtesy. Portia was glad they 
 did not have to go farther into the close, dimly 
 lighted room. Negroes of all ages filled the cabin 
 in curious variety of motley attire. Josephus' rich 
 tones rolled out in starting the next hymn, followed 
 by Gabriella's high treble, while every voice sounded 
 strong in the chorus. 
 
 " Oh, frien's, don' yo' b'leeb me ? 
 Oh, frien's, don' yo' b'leeb me ? 
 Oh, frien's, don' yo' b'leeb me .'' 
 
 Come hyar what Jesus say. 
 
 " We 's gvvine tu hab a hyarin', 
 We '.s gwine tu hab a hyarin'. 
 We 's gwine tu hab a hyarin'. 
 
 At de awful jedgemen' day." 
 
 The service, a mixture of praying, exhorting, and 
 singing, grew more fervid, and the ejaculations 
 louder and more frequent, as the moments passed, 
 until it became almost impossible to make out what 
 was being said. The leader was one adored by 
 the colored people, and a general favorite among 
 the whites. He never talked politics, but confined 
 himself to his own simple interpretation of the 
 Scriptures, travelling wherever he felt the spirit 
 move, to preach and hold protracted meetings. 
 A picturesque figure he was, tall and spare, with 
 intensely black skin, which looked the more dense 
 owing to his heavy head of snow-white wool. In 
 the dim obscurity of the room he appeared posi- 
 tively uncanny. Now in the midst of the confusion 
 he rose, and there was instant silence. He an- 
 nounced that a contribution would be taken up. 
 
170 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 A hymn was sung in rhythmic chant, while the 
 congregation, by twos and threes, walked forward, 
 all singing together, passed in front of the preacher, 
 and laid their money on the table, passing around 
 it and back to their seats in time to the music, in 
 such a manner as to avoid moving in each other's 
 way. In the uncertain light, the grotesque proces- 
 sion seemed to be performing some heathen rite, or 
 witch dance. This ceremony over, two men passed 
 their hats, giving their visitors a chance to be 
 benevolent. 
 
 Then old Pauldo, the preacher, holding his 
 worn Bible in his hand, whole chapters of which 
 he could repeat by rote, although he could nei- 
 ther read nor write, gave out his text: ** Lift up 
 your heads, O ye gates ; even lift them up, ye ever- 
 lasting doors ; and the King of glory shall come 
 in ; " and proceeded to detail the glories of the com- 
 ing of the Lord. This was his favorite theme. 
 
 " Oh, bredren, hoi' up yo' han's in pra'r, fo' de 
 King ob g'ory baoun' tu come. He may come in 
 de lightnin' an* de sto'm-claoud, — he may come in 
 de evenin' w'en de sun go daoun yandah 'hine de 
 maount'n, — he may come in de mawnin* w'en de 
 cock crow, — yo' kyan' rightly tell w'en he gwine 
 sen' de angel Gabr'el blow de ho'n, but w'en de 
 Lawd come, de glory gwine come tu. De glory 
 gwine come tu, bredren, an' we-all wha' has kep' de 
 comman's o' de Lawd hyahin spaounded an' 
 splained, wha I done preachify tu yo' all dese y'ars, 
 is gwine be tuk cl'ar up tu de glory. We 's gwine 
 walk de streets ob gol'." (" Ahmen, bress de 
 Lawd.") ** We-all 's gwine be playin' on de gol' 
 
 I 
 
" Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids " 171 
 
 ha'ps, 'n' w'ar'n' de gol' crowns 'n' de white clo'es 
 wha' shine hke de moon yandah wid de gre't shinin' 
 Hght f'om de t'ron' o' de Lamb. 
 
 ** O bredren, what glory '11 be dar w'en de gates 
 lif up deir haids, 'n' de Lawd come through, like de 
 shinin' sun, wid de angels follerin' a'ter a-walkin' on 
 de claouds, an' wavin' deir palms, an' swinging deir 
 shinin' gyarments, an' singin', * Glory Hallelujah fo' 
 de Lawd come daoun.' O bredren, we-all 's gwine 
 be dar tu jine in de song. Oh, de glad h'ahts an' de 
 free ban's an' de white skins, like de white angels in 
 heaben." 
 
 ** We-all's gwine be dar, Brudder Pauldo," cried a 
 withered old soul, swaying back and forth, with the 
 tears streaming down her cheeks. 
 
 " Oh, yas, yas, we '11 be dar. Glory ! Glory ! " 
 
 ** De debble gwine be knock daoun, an' chain' on 
 de bottom o' de flo'less pit." 
 
 "Whar'U be de tears den, my bredren 'n' my 
 sistahs? Oh, dey'U be wipe' away. Whar '11 be de 
 achin' feet an' de heaby h'ahts? Oh, dey '11 be light 
 like de wing ob de bird, like de bol' ob de cotton 
 w'en de pickin' time come." New shouts and cries 
 of " Glory" burst forth. '' Hyah what I tells yo'," 
 he said, and all was still again. 
 
 ** All yo'-uns wha' nebber war convarted, git daoun 
 on yo* knees an' call on de Sperit fo' tu hyar de 
 pra'rs o' de righteous. Ben' de knee, an' bow de 
 haid. Kyan' yo' gib yo'se'fs up tu pra'r? De 
 bressed Jesus done pray tu de Fadah; I done seed 
 'im. Hyar wha' I tells yo'," he said again as the 
 responses grew fervent. He was going to tell his 
 vision, he always told his vision, and his hearers 
 
1 72 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 always listened with breathless attention, like the 
 children they were, to the oft-told tale. 
 
 ** I mine de time w'en I wan' mo' 'n a lad like 
 dis 'n' peekin' in de windah yandah " (the faces in- 
 stantly left the window and appeared at the door). 
 " My mars'r owned a lime kiln an' I war 'bleeged tu 
 mine de kiln all night, — 'case yo' kyan' 'low de fiah 
 bu'n low in de kiln 'daout yo' spile de lime, suah, — 
 I mine de niggahs been hol'n' pertraked meet'n's like 
 we-all been horn' heah, an' dar come 'long mighty 
 pow'ful preacher f'om Cha'leston wha' spaoun' de 
 scripter an' tell we-all a heap 'baouts de day ob 
 wrath an' de day ob glory ; 'baouts de fiahs ob 
 hell like de bu'nin' fiah in de kiln ; 'baouts de 
 streets ob gol' whar de saints walkin' in deir white 
 robes, playin' on deir ha'ps o' gol' an' singin' in 
 de New Jerusalem, an' I hyar all he a-talkin' an' 
 de words he done spoke wid de tongue ob flame, 
 fall on my bad, ha'd h'aht like de spa'ks ob libin' 
 fiah fall on de col' ha'd stone in de lime kiln, 
 w'en we sta'ts up de heat. My bredren, I know'd 
 de Lawd callin' me. I done wait all day fo' de 
 fiah ob de preachah's wo'ds tu bu'n dat ar bad 
 ha'dness aout'n my h'a't, an' I wait all night sitt'n' 
 dar by de kiln, an' I feel de ol' h'a't in me still hke 
 de col' ha'd stone. 
 
 *' Nex' day mars'r le' me off once mo' an' I go 'g'in 
 tu hyah de preachah an' dar he tell haow de Lawd 
 done fas' in de wild'ness. I did n' know wha' no 
 wild'ness war. My mars'r would n' le' me go tu no 
 wild'ness, but I 'lowed I 'd fas' tu, like de Lawd done 
 fas' an' I 'lowed p'raps de h'a't melt daoun wid de 
 fas'n like gol' in de furnace, an' de debble leab go 
 
*' Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids " 173 
 
 an' le' me git cl'ar fo' tu go tu glory an' be free in 
 de New Jerusalem. I did n' eat nuff'n' dat day, an' all 
 dat night I sot by de fiah, an' feed de fiah in de 
 kiln, an' dar I call on de Sperit tu set me free, but 
 de debble hoi' on like deff, bredren. De debble 
 nebber leab go w'en he gits a fa'r holt. He nebber 
 leab go he's own se'f I kin tell yo' dat ar de troof. 
 An' dar I set lookin' in de kiln, an' de fiah bu'nin' 
 white hot, an' de stone crumblin', an' dar 'pears like 
 I see — wha' yo' s'posses I see? Bredren, I see de 
 Hebrew chillen in deir shinin' robes like silvah, 
 a-walkin' in de fiah, an' a-trompin' daown de stone 
 like, an' a hol'in' aout deir ban's, a-movin' raoun' like 
 dey steppin' some high-toned dance in de fiah, an' 
 den, bredren, I could n' look no mo'. I jes' cry aout 
 like I see kingdom come, an' run daoun in de hollah 
 'hine de kiln, an' dar I falls on my knees an' call on 
 de Sperit like I nebber gwine draw breff no mo', an' 
 I feel de debble pullin' back an' I cry aout, ' Naw, yo' 
 don'. Yo' gwine leab go dis time.' An' I call on de 
 Sperit 'g'in, an' dar all on a suddent come a bright 
 light streamin' long fo' sun-up, an' de light grow 
 brighter ontwell I kiver up my eyes wid my ban's 
 like dis-a-way, an' a'ter a while I look, an' I see, — 
 wha' yo' s'posses I see? I see a tall raoun' post of 
 shinin' light, an' top o' de post like I see a shinin' 
 man leanin' ovah de post an' a-lookin' daoun like 
 dis-a-way, an' at de foot o' de post, on de groun' 
 like, I see 'nudder man like de first, all white shinin' 
 like de bu'nin' fiah in de lime kiln, an' de one dat 
 Stan' at de foot kep' a-bowin' daoun, an* a-rosin' up 
 'g'in an' a-bowin' daoun an' a-rosin' up wid he's two 
 han's hoi' up like he a-prayin'. I 'clar', bredren, I 
 
1 74 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 look on dat sight ontvvell I fall daoun wid de glory- 
 shinin' cl'ar froo me, an' de debble leab go, an' I feel 
 my h'a't grow all light wid de bu'nin' ob dat white 
 fiah, an' dar I nebber knowed nuffin' no mo' ontvvell 
 I hyahed my mammy say, * Oh, Pauldo, is yo' daid, 
 honey?' I tell yo', bredren, hoi' yo' ban's up in 
 pra'r tu de Fadah like de bressed Son done pray. I 
 seed 'im ; I knows. Dat ar' de bressed 'zample o' de 
 Saviour wha' done died fo' yo'-all, — wha' done save 
 yo'-all fom de def an' de fiah seven times mo' 
 hottah dan de bu'nin' white fiah in de lime kiln." 
 
 During this whole discourse, the cries and groans 
 of agitated spirits constantly begun and suppressed 
 caused a pervading feeling of excitement, extend- 
 ing its influence even to the visitors. When the 
 preacher had nearly reached his close, a crouching 
 figure moved rapidly across the small moonlit space 
 without, and crept like a shadow in at the door, un- 
 noticed by any but Portia. To overcome the emo- 
 tion which she felt stealing over her as she watched 
 the thrilling gestures and earnest face of the densely 
 black speaker, she had turned and was gazing into 
 the moonlight and stillness without. Like a shadow 
 the figure dropped behind the men and boys gathered 
 at the door, and crawling on all fours stretched him- 
 self like a dog beneath one of the benches against 
 the wall, where he lay concealed by the skirts of the 
 women and the legs of the men who sat upon it. 
 Portia could see the whites of his eyes as he peered 
 cautiously out. The same instant several hounds 
 bayed at once in the near distance, and the cower- 
 ing figure slunk farther back and was lost to sight- 
 Portia felt the cold chills creep over her. She 
 
" Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids '* 1 75 
 
 clutched Marshall's arm, and for a moment could 
 not speak. 
 
 Seeing the look on her face, he took the hand 
 with which she had grasped him. "What is it?" 
 lie whispered. 
 
 '' Take me out. Take me away from here." 
 
 He drew her hand through his arm, and they 
 stepped out into the moonlight. She trembled, 
 "What is it?" he said again, gently keeping his 
 strong hand over hers as it rested on his arm. 
 
 " That creature, the murderer, the one at the mill- 
 bridge. I saw him. He is in there. Oh, they are 
 after him." 
 
 " No, no. It must be some — " 
 
 " It is. I saw him creep in. See, there are men 
 — there in the shadow of the rocks. Oh, come 
 away. No. Call grandfather, — call him out. 
 Go ; I will wait here." He turned at her bidding, 
 but she held him back, for two men had stepped 
 out in the moonlit space. Within the cabin the 
 negroes we reshouting and singing. John grasped 
 the situation, though he knew nothing of her pre- 
 vious fright at the bridge. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed ; they are after that brute." 
 He drew her with him back into the cabin, and 
 spoke a few hurried words to their companions. At 
 the same instant a low, long-bodied hound, a de- 
 scendant of the old Southern breed, rushed in at the 
 door, and with furious yelps began tearing at the 
 legs of the poor creature under the bench. Men 
 shouted, women screamed, and the wildest confusion 
 reigned. Some, supposing Satan was turned loose 
 when they saw Pete crawl out, desperately fighting 
 
176 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 the dog, fainted where they sat, or leaped up crying, 
 ** O Lawd, tu'n 'im out. Chain 'im in de bottom 
 ob de flo'less pit." 
 
 The guests, being nearest the door, were the first 
 to escape from the cabin. Josephus, leaping over 
 benches and prostrate forms, came to the poor 
 wretch's assistance, kicking the cur out of the cabin 
 and breaking its leg. It crawled off, dragging the 
 useless limb, to the group of men gathered outside. 
 The guests hurried away. Marshall walked by 
 Portia's side, keeping her arm within his. As Jose- 
 phus appeared in the doorway, a shot was fired. 
 The dog was quickly avenged. Portia and John, 
 turning, saw him fall face downward. 
 
 ** It is Josephus," she cried. " Oh, stop them. 
 What shall we do? Speak to them." 
 
 " It will do no good. Come." He tried gently to 
 lead her away, wishing to save her anguish, but 
 horror at seeing a man shot down overcame her 
 personal fear. The others, thinking the two young 
 people were immediately in their rear, walked 
 rapidly on toward the wagon. 
 
 ** Ought we to go back there and help the poor 
 devils? " said Richard, mechanically placing his hand 
 on his hip pocket, as another shot rang in the air. 
 
 " We can neither help nor hinder," said Clark, 
 carefully lighting the way for the others to follow. 
 
 "That's so," muttered Craig. "There's hell to 
 follow those shots if the negroes resist. The wisest 
 thing is to get these ladies home as soon as possible." 
 
 " Where is Portia?" said Mr. Ridgeway. 
 
 " She 's coming," said Miss Keller, pantingly, 
 stumbling short-breathed in her tight tailor-made 
 
" Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids " 1 77 
 
 costume, trying to hasten in the uncertain hght. 
 Mr. Russell hesitated and turned back. *' I saw her 
 just this moment on Mr. Marshall's arm," she con- 
 tinued, and he walked on. 
 
 ** Here, yu-all stan' aroun' thar 'nd gyard th' 
 cabin," said Patterson, levelling his weapon and firing 
 the second shot as the white-haired old preacher 
 appeared in the door, while Portia's pitiful voice 
 of entreaty died on the air unheard. *' We'll shoot 
 down airy devil 't tries tu run till we git th' one 
 we 'r' a'ter." Josephus staggered to his feet as old 
 Uncle Pauldo fell across the threshold with a bullet 
 through his heart. 
 
 Portia screamed, and, springing forward, caught 
 Patterson's arm while the weapon still smoked in 
 his hand, before Marshall could get his slower brain 
 ready for action. 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Patterson, don't do it again! Don't 
 shoot men down like that." 
 
 The touch of her woman's hand softened his 
 chivalrous Southern heart. He spoke to her as 
 tenderly as to a child. Flinging his pistol to one 
 of the other men, he said in a low tone, " Jes' yu 
 gyard th' door, will ye," and led her away from them. 
 ** This here looks hard, but it's jestice, yu see. Miss 
 Van Ostade. It has tu be done, but hit's no place 
 fo' yu tu be. Whar 's yu' comp'ny ? " 
 
 " They 're here. Oh, they are gone ! Mr. Mar- 
 shall is here." She looked about and saw him lead- 
 ing Josephus away to keep the poor fellow from 
 being shot at a second time. She drew a sigh of 
 relief, but still kept her trembling hands on Mr. 
 Patterson's arm. In the darkness she saw men 
 12 
 
1 78 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 quietly gathering about the cabin. From within the 
 shrieks of the frightened women came out to them, 
 pitiful voices of terror. 
 
 '' Oh, hear them, Mr. Patterson, — those poor 
 frightened creatures. You seem always so gentle 
 and kind, don't do it again. Hear them." 
 
 " I 'm mighty cut up 't any lady should be hyar 
 tu-night, 'nd be skeered as yu air. Yu see yu' 
 heart's tetched, but it can't be helped. It's no 
 mo' 'n jestice 'nd se'f-defence." Marshall approached 
 them. " Good-evenin', John. Yu ah this young 
 lady's escort, I take it. Ah yu with us or not?" 
 The question had a menace in it which Marshall 
 wisely ignored. He drew Portia's hand through his 
 arm, speaking lightly, — 
 
 "We came to-night, half in frolic. A negro 
 revival is a curious sight to our Northern visitors, 
 you know. What's all the fuss? What 's Josephus 
 been doing? " > 
 
 " Hit 's Pete Gunn we 're a'ter, 'nd Joe 's been 
 hid'n' 'im, I reckon. We'll hev tu clap 'im in irons 
 fer it tu, 'f he don't git hung. When jestice has tu 
 be done, it 's mighty hard Ijold'n' the men back." 
 
 ** I don't believe Pete 's there. I was in the cabin 
 myself and didn't see him." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he is," exclaimed Portia, honestly. '* I 
 saw him creep in. That was what frightened me so." 
 
 " He 's thar all right, — psalm-singin' devils ; 
 they're hid'n' 'im. We'd ought tu blow up th' 
 cabin 'nd send 'em all tu hell." Josephus, making 
 his way from tree to tree, was lost in the darkness as 
 these few words were spoken. " Whar is that dog 
 now?" said Patterson, peering after him. 
 
" Wen de Gates Lift Up deir Haids *' 1 79 
 
 " I '11 take Miss Van Ostade to her party, and 
 come back and hunt him up for you." John felt it 
 wisest to placate, falling easily into Patterson's own 
 vernacular, for the sake of the trembling girl at his 
 side. " He 's too badly hurt to do any harm for 
 one while, I reckon." 
 
 Portia drew back and laid her hand again on 
 Patterson's arm. " Please, Mr. Patterson, — you seem 
 able to control all the rest, — don't blow up the 
 cabin. It is murder, even if they are black." 
 
 Patterson, always tender and gentle to a white 
 woman, looked into her pleading face upturned to 
 his in the moonlight, and felt himself swayed by the 
 quivering hps and trembling touch. 
 
 " Young lady, I 'm mighty cut up ovah this. 
 Thar ain't wuth enough in all th' niggah trash on 
 earth tu make up tu ye fer hit. Mind ye, we won't 
 du no mo' killin' fo' yu' sake than we are mortally 
 obleeged tu. Ef 't wan't foh yu, we might o' blowed 
 up the whole kit. Now yu go with John 'nd git 
 ovah yu' skeer, 'nd we '11 keep 'em still till yu' fairly 
 out o' hyarin'." 
 
 '' Your heart is kind ; please let it rule," she 
 pleaded again. They hastened, stumbling along 
 in the dark ravine. For the second time they had 
 been deserted by their companions. They heard 
 Patterson shout to the negroes penned in the cabin, 
 **Yu haish thar, yu black catterwaulin* catamounts, 
 we '11 talk fa'r when yu pan out th' niggah we 'r' 
 a'ter." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE DRIVE HOME 
 
 MARSHALL peered among the shadows for 
 Josephus. He had told him to watch for 
 them down the trail. He still had Portia's hand 
 grasped in his. " I can't let go of you on this rough 
 path," he said. She was glad, although she felt her 
 cheeks glow in the darkness. She was frightened 
 and weak after the first excitement, and the touch 
 of his hand was strong and warm. 
 
 " I wonder at their leaving us here with no light," 
 she said. 
 
 " We can see very well where the moonlight falls. 
 You are too courageous to care. You were the 
 only brave one among us." 
 
 " I am cowardly. I am trembling yet for fear I 
 shall hear shots again. I wish they would quiet 
 those horrible dogs. Hear them ! " 
 
 " Don't think of it, — you have done all you can." 
 
 They came to a wide ledge of rock. " Stop here 
 and rest a moment. We shall be missed soon, and 
 some one will come back for us." 
 
 Far below them sounded the water rushing among 
 the rocks. The moonlight filtered over them through 
 the leafage. He saw her face, white in its silvery 
 light. He still held her hand, loath to resign it 
 " Lean on my arm and rest a moment," he said. 
 
 1 80 
 
 I 
 
The Drive Home i8i 
 
 "No, I am not tired, only — oh, hear that! " A 
 shriek rent the air, followed by scream after scream, 
 the howling of dogs and the hoarse cries of men's 
 voices. Portia felt her knees giving way under her. 
 She clutched at John's coat, frantic with horror, 
 thinking of the negroes penned in the cabin, and 
 sank down on her knees at his feet with her hands 
 over her face. Marshall stooped and raised her 
 gently and tried to lead her on. 
 
 ** Come, you must not stay here another moment. 
 Don't take it to heart so. It is not as bad as it 
 sounds. They are only frightened. There is no 
 shooting." 
 
 "No, no. Go to them. Go back. You can stop 
 them." 
 
 " I can't leave you here alone ; it would be villany. 
 I am powerless. They don't care for me." 
 
 " Oh, they will. Try, try to stop them. Oh, 
 hear ! I will go with you." 
 
 ** I will not let you go to be mixed up with that 
 crazy crowd," he said firmly. ** Come." Could he 
 have done so, he would have carried her away 
 bodily. 
 
 " I am only one. Do you think one soul of more 
 worth than all those helpless creatures? I am not 
 afraid, I tell you. Go back and try. I shall detest 
 you else." In her frenzy she did not know her own 
 vehemence. She stamped her foot. Placing both 
 hands on his breast, she pushed him from her. He 
 turned away. 
 
 " God forgive me if any harm comes to you," he 
 said in a tone that reached her heart through all her 
 excitement and brought her to herself once more. 
 
1 8 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " What have I done, what have I done ? " she said, 
 sinking down on her knees again and trying to stop 
 her ears with her fingers. '* Everything is wrong." 
 
 John ran in the darkness, stumbling, falling, and 
 running again, in his haste to accomplish his errand, 
 and return. At the scene he found quiet restored, 
 while the men parleyed for the prisoner. The ne- 
 groes would have willingly given him up, but he 
 had escaped them, having crept up the chimney. 
 The screams had arisen from fright. The invaders 
 had piled brush about the cabin, and threatened to 
 burn it down while they guarded the door with their 
 rifles unless Pete could be produced. The dead 
 preacher still lay across the threshold. 
 
 Marshall stirred among the men, and sought out 
 Patterson, but finding he had been drinking, realized 
 the futility of argument and his own helplessness, 
 and once more hurried along the trail to regain 
 Portia's side. As he neared the flat rock he saw 
 lights twinkling among the shadows. She had been 
 missed by the party, and Craig had returned for 
 them with a lantern. John, hurrying on, stumbled 
 over something across the path. It was Josephus, 
 lying faint from loss of blood. Marshall ran on for 
 the light, and with Craig's assistance they roused 
 him. Then, while Portia held the lantern, they 
 stanched the bleeding and bound the wound, using 
 all their handkerchiefs and tearing his shirt sleeve 
 in strips to bind them. The ball had passed through 
 the fleshy part of his arm, and glancing had lodged 
 in his breast. 
 
 *' I wish I had a drop of old Toplins' stuff now," 
 said Craig. " Got any whiskey, Joe ? " 
 
The Drive Home 183 
 
 " Naw, sah," he said weakly. 
 
 *• We can never get him to the wagon in this 
 state," said John. 
 
 " Here," said Portia, diving her hand into her 
 pocket and drawing out a dehcate Httle fih'gree 
 smelUng bottle. " Will this be of any service? " 
 
 '* Just the thing. Here, Joe, take a sniff. That 's 
 a man. Can you stand? " said Craig. 
 
 " I reckon, sah." 
 
 " Then we '11 hurry," said Marshall. *' They may 
 be after him if we don't make haste." Josephus 
 straightened himself with a quick start, and they 
 moved on. 
 
 " That last remark seems to be of more service 
 than your smelling bottle," said Craig. They walked 
 slowly and silently. Reaching the anxious, waiting 
 crowd at last, they were greeted with excited excla- 
 mations and questions. 
 
 '' What was the trouble ? " " What were those 
 men after?" ** Why didn't you come along with 
 us? " " We have had such a fright about you ! " 
 
 " Portia," said Mrs. Percy, " where on earth were 
 you? We supposed you were on ahead, — you were 
 the first to leave the cabin. Your grandfather has 
 been frantic." 
 
 '* Why, I was all right," said Portia, turning to 
 her grandfather, and anxious to avoid questions. 
 " Mr. Marshall was with me. But now what shall 
 we do with this poor fellow ? " 
 
 " Alexander might take him home in the car- 
 riage," replied her grandfather. " If the ladies 
 could — " 
 
 ** We can ride in the wagon ; of course we can/' 
 cried they. 
 
I 84 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " You would better be a little careful what you 
 do, or rather how you do it," said Mr. Clark. " You 
 don't want the whole community down on you." 
 
 " Here," said Mr. Percy, " I can arrange that. 
 You who live here, get yourselves home. You need 
 know nothing about it. Loan Mr. Betts and me the 
 carriage, and Alexander, and the rest of you pile in 
 the wagon and drive on." 
 
 '' Mr. Percy is right," said Mr. Betts. " I will go 
 with him gladly." The rest of the party hastily 
 seated themselves in the wagon without ceremony, 
 where room was easily found for one more. 
 
 " Mr. Russell, we brought your rug," said Portia. 
 " Was that what you were beckoning for at the 
 gate ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Van Ostade, it was for you — I — we — 
 that is — I wanted you to ride with us, but somehow 
 we seemed to get started without you. Please keep 
 the rug — and — " 
 
 " Oh, we don't need it, thank you," said Portia, 
 and hastened to take her place in the buckboard, 
 lest she be urged to go with the rest. They started, 
 and she drew a long sigh of relief. Looking back 
 in the darkness, she dimly saw Josephus being 
 helped into the carriage. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! How old Clarissa will feel ! " she 
 said. 
 
 " She '11 take on terribly, but she may be thank- 
 ful it was no worse. A little more and that ball 
 would have reached his heart." Portia shuddered. 
 •' It was kind of you, and courageous too, to ride 
 back with me." He wished to change the subject, 
 and spoke the thought uppermost in his mind. 
 
The Drive Home 185 
 
 *' Why so? Oh, because you thought me afraid 
 when we drove along here? I was only indulging 
 my imagination then, but — I do believe I saw 
 those men prowling along in the underbrush." 
 
 " I have no doubt you did ; and very few women 
 would be as brave." He looked in her face. He 
 thought she would not know the look his eyes had 
 for her in the darkness, but she vaguely felt it. 
 
 She drooped her head. " I am not courageous, 
 only cowardly. I should have had to answer all 
 their questions, you know, so I avoided them. 
 Curiosity seems to me sometimes horrible," she 
 shuddered. 
 
 '* Of course they will want to know why we stayed 
 and what happened when we get home, but I will tell 
 them all, and you must go directly to your room." 
 
 A little wave of grateful feeling swept through 
 her heart. Ah, he was making a place for himself 
 there, surely, surely, with the delicate tact which 
 comes by nature to some men, and which others 
 stumble through a whole lifetime without. 
 
 " I wish I knew — " she began and stopped. 
 
 "What do you wish you knew? " 
 
 ** I do and I don't. I am cowardly. I wish I 
 knew what is happening, yet I would not dare," 
 she covered her eyes with her hands as if to keep 
 out the sight. " It was awful to see them shoot men 
 down. And that good old preacher, so earnest ! 
 He looked like a spirit with those gleaming eyes, 
 I and his white head, preaching there in the dim 
 light." 
 
 " Don't think of it any more. He died at his 
 post, like a soldier on the field of battle." She still 
 
 ^ 
 
I 86 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 kept her hands over her face. '* Think of something 
 else," he said gently. " Are you aware what a 
 perfect night this is?" 
 
 ** Yes, yes, I am. When the world all around 
 them is so beautiful, how can people be so wicked ! 
 It is sentimental bosh that the beauty of nature 
 has a softening effect." 
 
 " All souls are not awakened, you know," he was 
 glad to lead her thoughts away through the channel 
 of argument. *' They are not sensitive to beauty." 
 
 " But Mr, Patterson seems sensitive, — how anxious 
 he was that I should not suffer, even when he was 
 so cruel to them." She shivered. 
 
 ** Where is your shawl? " 
 
 " Here in my lap. I do not need it." 
 
 " You must let me put it around you nevertheless. 
 Don't you know that people take cold more easily 
 after excitement ? " He placed it comfortably over 
 her shoulders, but his hand shook a little as he 
 gathered it together under her sweet chin. '* There ! 
 Now I shall feel more comfortable even if you 
 don't," he said with a laugh. And well he might, 
 had he known how surely, unknown even to herself, 
 he was folding himself in with that fleecy white wrap. 
 
 *' Thank you. I wish we were at home. I wish 
 we had never come out this evening. It seems a 
 sacrilegious thing to look back at now." 
 
 He would try argument again. '' I begin to think 
 you misunderstand yourself," he said. ** Where 
 was all that feeling of aversion when you were pity- 
 ing them? Own up. Did n't you forget they were 
 all negroes, and feel just the same as if they were 
 white?" 
 
The Drive Home 187 
 
 ** Oh, no, no ! I did n't, I did n't. I caught my- 
 self feeling thankful that they were not white people. 
 Oh, why do you make me own up? I did n't. Oh, the 
 shame of it ! I prayed to be forgiven, there while 
 I waited for you to come back, and the next 
 moment I caught myself feeling the same again ; 
 and in the cabin, I felt as if I could not stay crowded 
 in with them. I presume if I am ever good enough 
 to go to heaven I shall find them there, and they 
 will forgive me." 
 
 John laughed a contagious, irresistible laugh. 
 The great rocks hemming them in on either side 
 took it up in merry echoes. The stream they were 
 fording seemed to repeat the sounds ; and the 
 wagon rattled on before. 
 
 Portia looked at him gravely. " Why do you 
 laugh? " she said. 
 
 " Forgive me," he replied. " Won't you laugh 
 a little? Is it so serious a matter that you feel 
 yourself different, set apart from these people? I 
 can't imagine your feeling any other way." 
 
 " Perhaps I could n't, but my white skin is no 
 credit to me. I might have been one of them." 
 
 " But since you were given a white skin, you .^' 
 cannot be blamed for having white tastes." 
 
 She was silent. He wished she would talk again, 
 and flicked at the gray horse impatiently, making 
 him take a livelier pace. What could he say t 
 Would she ever talk with him again with the hght- 
 heartedness and laughter that she did a couple of 
 hours ago? The moon, riding high in its course, 
 hung over the hills, a glowing, molten ball, and 
 threw its rays in Portia's face, giving her spirituelle 
 
1 8 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 countenance a white, evanescent look, as if she 
 were intangible, and would presently fade from his 
 side, and become part of the quivering light. He 
 felt a frantic desire to lay hands on her and detain 
 her by force. The tenderness so lately come into 
 his heart kept his tongue tied, lest he betray him- 
 self and say that which would only keep her from 
 him. He framed one thought after another in set 
 words, but they died on his lips unuttered. He, 
 the quick-witted, the ready-tongued, was silent. 
 This travelled, educated, well-poised, light-hearted 
 winner of friends was floundering in a chaos of 
 unuttered, unutterable thoughts and feelings, be- 
 cause the little god of love had followed him into 
 these wilds and shot an arrow into his heart and 
 then laid his finger on his lips. Ah, well ! Let 
 him triumph over our hero. Have not all the 
 greatest heroes of the world bowed before him — 
 done him homage? Nay, more. Has he not even 
 created heroes out of common souls, this masterful 
 little god? 
 
 Soon they were within hearing distance of the 
 voices from the wagon. Then Portia roused her- 
 self as from a dream in which his presence had 
 been forgotten. 
 
 " Why, we must be nearly home." 
 
 "I think so," he replied, checking the swinging 
 pace into which his impatience had urged the little 
 gray, with a quick movement of regret. 
 
 Portia sighed. "What can I do, what shall I 
 do, to rid myself of the remembrance of this even- 
 ing? " 
 
 " Don't think of it ; don't. Why should you ?" 
 
The Drive Home 189 
 
 " Because it is there, and will stay by me as 
 another awful scene has. Only that was simply 
 awful, — this was wicked." 
 
 John made no reply, and she looked away at the 
 great ball of fire rolling over the mountain's crest. 
 " Look at the moon. I never saw it so wonderful. 
 Now these dead pines are making black marks over 
 its face. It is like this evening, — beautiful, and 
 then defaced." 
 
 *' Not forever," he said with a smile. ".We shall 
 soon pass the pines, and then — " 
 
 ** I know what you mean, — but now, — at this 
 very minute, — we cannot know what they may be 
 doing back there." 
 
 ** It would do no good if we did. They have the 
 law in their own hands just now, and there is a 
 measure of justice in it, on the whole. They wished 
 to retake that nigger that has been murdering and 
 thieving about the country. They can't allow him 
 to run at large, and some of them had been conceal- 
 ing him." 
 
 Portia suddenly bowed her head, and covered her 
 face. *' Mr. Marshall," she said, in an awe-struck 
 voice, " I am to blame for this evening's awful work. 
 I am to blame." 
 
 " What an unheard of idea ! Your brave interces- 
 sion saved matters from being worse; you can have 
 that for your satisfaction." 
 
 " I can't. Wait till you understand. I must tell 
 you. You will blame me, but you will help me — 
 tell me what to do?" She told him rapidly of her 
 fright and of her yielding to the entreaties of Jose- 
 phus next morning to say nothing. ** Now you see 
 
1 90 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 how I am to blame. If I had not yielded — if he 
 had been taken — this would not have happened. 
 We are weak and foolish, we women. In trying 
 to be charitable, we overstep the mark. In my 
 misplaced pity, I have done this terrible thing," 
 she moaned. 
 
 John was silent, and Portia's heart thumped ir- 
 regularly during the pause. She grew cold with 
 anxiety and drew her shawl closer about her. Her 
 mouth became dry. She opened her lips to speak, 
 but said nothing. He leaned over and tucked the 
 robes gently about her. 
 
 " You are cold," he said. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Marshall, help me. Blame me if you 
 will, you can't help it — but — " 
 
 " No, Miss Van Ostade, I do not blame you. You 
 acted nobly, doing the best you knew. It is a com- 
 fort sometimes to think we are not such important 
 factors in the affairs of this world as we think we 
 are. If you had stayed in the North, do you think 
 this thing would not have happened? It was bound 
 to happen." 
 
 "Would I not better have spoken, though?" she 
 asked, slightly comforted. 
 
 " We can't tell ; Josephus may have been right. 
 He 's a good sensible fellow for a nigger. There 
 is something behind all this," he added hurriedly as 
 they were nearing the house. *' I shall question 
 Patterson and learn what I can ; in the mean time, 
 say nothing about your adventure, I beg of you. 
 It won't do to have that get about. If I ma}^ I will 
 drop in to-morrow with any news I have been able 
 to pick up." 
 
The Drive Home 191 
 
 " Oh, will you ? I won't worry grandfather, or 
 mamma, but I had to tell some one my anxiety, — 
 it was too dreadful to keep." 
 
 " Won't you dismiss it now, at least until you hear 
 from me again? " 
 
 " I will try, — • and — and thank you." She gave 
 him her hand gratefully and then hurried up the 
 stairs with her guests. The small darky drove the 
 gray home, and John stood talking affairs over with 
 Hanford Clark a few moments, and then walked 
 slowly back to Miss Katherine's. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 "WHY N'T YO' SHOOT TURRER MULE?'^ 
 
 THE morning dawned dull and drizzly. The 
 sun looked out on the world with one bril- 
 liant smile and then crept behind the heavy clouds 
 that hung over the mountains, as if the sight of the 
 grewsome thing dangling, hacked and bruised, from 
 the great gum-tree beside the cabin in the gorge, 
 had caused him to hide his head in very shame. 
 The linnets and finches fluttered restlessly from 
 tree to tree, round and round the old gum as if 
 they constituted an investigating committee ; while 
 the rain fell softly on the earth, pattering over green 
 leaves, and dripping alike from the soiled rags of 
 Pete Gunn and the laurel blossoms in the thicket; 
 washing the blood stains from the threshold of the 
 log church, and bathing the face of the old preacher 
 who had fallen there when he went where he might 
 watch the '' gates lift up their heads to let the King 
 of glory through." 
 
 It was election day. All was peaceful in the little 
 village. The white voters congregated at the polls 
 in Budd's saloon, and about the post-office and 
 depot. There was much quiet discussion and con- 
 siderable drinking. Hanford Clark was pumped 
 cunningly about the views taken at the new board- 
 ing-house concerning the raid on the cabin, but he 
 evaded the talk, and questioned in turn as to the 
 
 192 
 
"Why n't yo' Shoot Turrer Mule?" 193 
 
 probable cause of Monk's prolonged absence at 
 this time. 
 
 ** What does he mean by staying away?" he 
 asked. He sat with his back to the group of 
 loungers, and his hand on the button of the tele- 
 graph machine on his desk, while it ticked monoto- 
 nously on. 
 
 " Skeered, I reckon," said Patterson, with a half- 
 smile. His eyes gleamed with a peculiar light as 
 they rested on Hanford's face. 
 
 " Yas, he's skeered fas' enough," said another; 
 ** them smooth, cheeky kind is mighty big cowards." 
 
 "Afraid? I guess not. What's he afraid of?" 
 
 The last speaker thrust his tongue in his cheek, 
 and Patterson turned away. 
 
 " Hello ! Wait a minute. Here 's a message for 
 him. Don't any of you know where he is?" A 
 languid interest awoke in the crowd, and the machine 
 ticked on. " He 's wanted down in Broadgate." 
 
 " I reckon they du, 'long 'bout this time," said 
 one. 
 
 " Let *em want 'im,""3trw:^*em ; I ain't hunt'n' can- 
 didates fer 'em." 
 
 " Ef they can't hang on tu their durned, slippery 
 candidates, let 'em hunt 'em up themselves." 
 
 They dispersed, and Hanford was left to his own 
 meditations. He decided, unless pressed to do so 
 by some hostility, not to bring up the subject again. 
 Judson Chaplain was elected to the office Monk 
 had hoped to win, quite to the satisfaction of the 
 Patterson element. 
 
 No negroes attempted to go to the polls. Jose- 
 phus lay groaning in his cabin loft, while a few of 
 13 
 
1 94 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 their bravest gathered quietly at the scene of the 
 last night's trial by lynch law, and cared for their 
 dead unmolested. The body of the old preacher 
 was committed to the keeping of the hillside where 
 they had laid their beloved teacher, Miss Mann, and 
 Pete Gunn was buried in the gorge. The coroner's 
 jury " sat on them," and found the cause of the 
 death of one to be hanging, and of the other acci- 
 dental shooting, and there was an end of the mat- 
 ter, so said the voters ; possibly the old preacher 
 knew better, —who can tell? 
 
 During the morning John visited his old nurse. 
 She came hobbling to the door to meet him. " I 
 knowed yo' 'd come, honey, — we 's in a heap o' 
 trouble." 
 
 He heard Josephus groaning overhead, and his 
 heart filled with pity for the old woman who had 
 carried him in her arms and nursed him. She sat 
 down by the hearth and gazed into the embers (as 
 if she saw into another time and place), with an 
 expression of hopeless sorrow on her face. 
 
 " Don't take on, mammy. Joe shall be taken 
 care of. Is he badly hurt?" 
 
 *' I do' know, honey. He nuvva say nufifin', — jes' 
 clum up yandah in de night 'daout wakin' me, an' 
 dar he a-lyin'. Oh, Lawd ! I kyan' git up dar fo' 
 tu he'p 'im. I done holla up is he hu'ted, an' he 
 tol' me. Oh, honey, de Lawd done po'in' aout de 
 vials o' he's wrath on yo' ol' mammy." 
 
 *' No, mammy, no," said John, comfortingly ; " the 
 Lord is n't angry with you. That is n't the trouble." 
 
 He climbed the ladder to Joe's loft and found 
 the poor fellow delirious from thirst and exhausted 
 
" Why n't yo' Shoot Turrer Mule ? " 195 
 
 from loss of blood. He brought him water and 
 food, and as he moved over the creaking boards 
 he could hear Clarissa's voice in a low monotone 
 praying the Lord to ** punish he's ol' mudder 
 an' leab de boy 'lone." " She 's crazy with her 
 trouble," he thought. " What earthly thing does 
 she think she is being punished for?" She stood 
 at the foot of the ladder as he came down and laid 
 a trembling hand on his arm. 
 
 " I 'clar' yo' dat like yo' paw, I kyan' look on 
 yo* face 'daout my hea't go jump like hit baoun' 
 tu cry aout. Oh, honey, honey, don't come heah 
 no mo'. Ef yo' come heah, dey '11 hu't yo' some 
 way mo' 'n likely. Dar 's de curse o' de Lawd on 
 yo' ol' mammy, honey ; yo' kyan' he'p none. Dar 's 
 Joe been talkin' he's fool talk wid de niggahs 'baouts 
 de votin'. Dat ar hu-come dey kill de mule, an' 
 now dey like tu kill Joe tu. Go yo' way, honey. 
 Leab yo' ol' mammy b'ar de trouble like she done 
 b'ar heap o' trouble yo' do' know nuffin' 'baout. 
 I kyan' hab no ha'm fall on yo' haid." 
 
 '* You stop fretting, mammy. I 'm all right. I '11 
 send a boy to look after Joe, and a doctor to fix 
 him up again, and he'll be as good as new." 
 
 "No doctah won' come heah, mine yo' dat. Yo' 
 sen' de boy, an' I '11 sen' up de maount'n fo' Jake 
 Hat'away. He knows a heap 'baouts yarbs 'nd 
 doctorin'. Dey '11 trick yo' some way ef dey larns 
 yo' been heah." 
 
 *' No, they won't, mammy. Joe's too badly hurt 
 to be fooled with. Don't you let any herb doctor 
 come near him. I '11 send a good man from Ashe- 
 ville, a Northern man, to doctor Joe, and you must 
 
I 96 When the Gates Lilt Up their Heads 
 
 do everything he tells you to. Don't let any one 
 meddle with him. Hear?" 
 
 Later in the day Portia came to see her. Not 
 daring to take her usual walk, she had Alexander 
 drive, and Mrs. Percy and the children accom- 
 panied her. Arrived at the stream with the tree 
 for a foot bridge, Alexander suggested that the 
 children go hunt for " posies." " Dis heah 's mighty 
 fine place fo' posies," he said. " Ef anybody come 
 erlong dis-a-way, I gwine tell 'em de bo'din'-haouse 
 folkses hunt'n' posies." 
 
 It had not occurred to Portia that there was any 
 reason why she should not look after Josephus in 
 common humanity. Now she realized that the old 
 coachman was wishing to save her from criticism 
 by not allowing the boarding-house equipage to 
 be seen standing near the cabin, so she took the 
 delicacies she had brought and walked on alone. 
 It was too wet for posy hunting, and they all sat 
 in the carriage until her return. 
 
 Portia found the old woman crouching over the 
 coals and talking to herself, while Josephus moaned 
 overhead. 
 
 '' Why, Clarissa ! You must have some one here 
 who can go up and look after him," said Portia. 
 
 " Yas, Miss Po'tia; young Mars'r John say he 
 gwine sen' a boy tek keer on 'im." 
 
 '' And a doctor, — is n't there any doctor you can 
 get?" 
 
 " I do' know, Miss Po'tia, Mars'r John say he 
 gwine sen' doctor fom Asheville." 
 
 " How good of him ! " said Portia, gratefully. It 
 was as if he had done her an especial favor by 
 
*' Why n't yo' Shoot Turrer Mule ? " 197 
 
 coming up to her ideal of him instead of falHng 
 below it. " Of course he would look after her, 
 poor old creature," she said to herself as she hur- 
 ried back to the carriage in the dampness. 
 
 During the afternoon two white men came to the 
 cabin and inquired for Josephus. One of them 
 pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket as 
 Clarissa pointed up the ladder without speaking, 
 in answer to their questions. They climbed up 
 and found the wounded man lying in a half-stupor, 
 moaning and talking incoherently. 
 
 '* Why n't yo' tek 'im 'long? " said the old woman, 
 bitterly, as they mounted their horses to ride away 
 without him. ** Likely yo' has use fo' 'im. He 's 
 good tu hang yit, ef he is half daid." 
 
 " He '11 die fo' mo'nin'. We hev no use fo' a 
 dead niggah," said one. 
 
 " Yas, we hev mo' use fo' a dead niggah 'n we 
 hev fo' a live one," said the other. 
 
 " Yo' has heap o' use fo' a daid niggah dese 
 days. I done seed de time yo' willin' tu gib a 
 heap fo* a right smaht live niggah like Joe war," 
 she continued to call after them. " I done seed 
 de time yo 'd hunt fo' 'em like dey been made o' 
 cl'ar gol', ef dey git fo' tu run away. Live niggah 
 wuth a heap dem days. Why n't yo' shoot turrer 
 mule? Hit a right smaht mule fo' shootin'." 
 
 She went muttering back into the cabin, and 
 replenishing the fire sat down before it as was her 
 wont, gazing into the burning fragments as if she 
 read there the history of her race. 
 
 " Hit sarved Joe like he 'd ought tu be sarved 
 fo' hid'n* a murderin', thievin' niggah," said one 
 of the men. 
 
198 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ** They '11 know whar they b'long after this, I 
 reckon. A little skeer won't du 'em any harm/* 
 was the reply. 
 
 *'Goin' round by th' mill?" 
 
 ** Wal, yes. I reckon I will." 
 
 '' I 'm thinkin' I '11 go thet road tu." They turned 
 their horses' heads in the direction of Throop's mill 
 and rode out of sight. 
 
 During that day the cowed negroes scarcely 
 stirred out of their cabins, but after the darkness 
 had fairly covered the hills Gabriella Gunn left her 
 home, and taking a crosscut over a steep rise and 
 through a cotton patch, and a bit of pine woods, 
 reached the small clearing belonging to Josephus 
 and his mother. 
 
 *' I 'lowed yo' 'd drap in," said Clarissa, as her 
 visitor took a roll of butter and four new-laid eggs 
 out of a cloth in which she had tied them. The 
 doctor had come and gone, leaving Josephus more 
 comfortable, and bringing the boy with him John 
 had promised to send. 
 
 Long into the night the two women sat by the 
 fire and talked. " I tol' Joe quit talkin' 'bouts de 
 votin' ; I tol' 'im leab dat ar tu de white folkses. 
 Niggahs ain' no use fo' a votin' papah, nohow." 
 They talked in low tones while Gabriella told of 
 the raid in all its details, over and over, while her 
 companion questioned and smoked. 
 
 " I 's seed a heap o' ha'd times," said the old 
 woman at last; ''but ef Joe dies, hit '11 be de wust 
 knock yit." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 "OL' MISSUS' RETURN" 
 
 AFFAIRS in Patterson soon settled to their 
 even tenor. Considerable stir was made in 
 Broadgate over Monk's mysterious disappearance, 
 until it was accepted that he had taken himself off 
 for reasons of his own, when his room was broken 
 open and his effects sent to relatives in the North, 
 none of whom seemed to care enough for him to 
 inquire into the matter. His apartments were re- 
 rented to John and Judson Chaplain for offices, and 
 no suspicion of foul play occurred to any but Han- 
 ford Clark. John was too much taken up with his 
 building and his love for Portia to care what such 
 a man as Monk did with himself. He laughed at 
 his friend's suggestion, and took him over the 
 hotel's foundations with pride, showing the rapid 
 progress, and talked of his plans with a light heart. 
 " I must have Aunt Mary and Uncle Darius here 
 to the house-warming," he said. "The place is 
 booming. Some New York party is going to put 
 up a residence over yonder, — I saw the man yes- 
 terday." He confided everything except the one 
 matter too deep and too sacred to be touched upon, 
 and, withal, too uncertain. " Come over to the 
 office and look at the plans," he said. "I am 
 going to stay until the mail comes in;" and they 
 crossed the railroad tracks and the main street of 
 
 199 
 
200 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Patterson to Monk's old rooms, all unconscious of 
 the fate of its late occupant, intent only on their 
 own purposes and cares. 
 
 " We must have a new station. This little hole 
 will not be in keeping with the place when the 
 hotel is done," said John. 
 
 '' A stone one like your foundation there. It 
 would change the whole aspect of the place." 
 
 Judson Chaplain entered with easy saunter, and 
 seated himself with them. " What 's up } Looking 
 ovah the plans, Mr. Clark ? Mighty imposing front, 
 that. Those galleries running all around three 
 sides are a fine thing. John knows what is wanted 
 heah, — plenty of shade, and plenty of this moun- 
 tain air. That 's what people come here foh, and 
 that 's what we 're going tu give them. The whole 
 thing is in true, hospitable Southern style. Look 
 at this hall and stairway, — theah 's sweep foh yu. " 
 
 " You are to have a building any town might be 
 proud of. I see it," replied Clark. 
 
 " We ought to have a better station," said John. 
 
 " I reckon we ought. Let 's see, is n't youah uncle 
 interested in the road ? " 
 
 "To some extent, yes. I '11 draw up some plans 
 and send on and learn what he thinks of it, and 
 then we can submit them to the company." They 
 all walked out again to look over the ground. 
 
 "This space will have tu be widened consider- 
 able," said Jud. 
 
 "What will you do with that hole.?" asked 
 Clark, pointing to a place where stone had been 
 quarried for the foundation, leaving an unsightly 
 spot. 
 
-or Missus' Return" 201 
 
 ** Ask Jud. He looks after the grounds; I only 
 manage the building." 
 
 "Theah? Oh, I '11 turn that into a grotto, and 
 have it lined with ferns, and a grass plat in front. 
 Capital place, — sightly, tu. I sha'n't du much 
 grading; the natural slope of the land 's best theah." 
 Judson spoke with the gentle Southern drawl, but 
 he had any amount of energy, merely requiring op- 
 portunity for its exercise. His fine artistic sense 
 was only hampered by his purse. He had conceived 
 a sincere liking for John, and enthusiastically 
 seconded all his schemes. 
 
 The evening mail thundered over the trestle 
 below Patterson, and they sauntered down to the 
 station. Just at that moment a bright face was 
 looking out of a window of one of the coaches, 
 down into the gorge from the dizzy height, and off 
 over the hills, which towered range above range, 
 and lost themselves in the glory of the sunlight of 
 the west. 
 
 "Aunt Isabel, look. Do look! This is as 
 lovely as Switzerland," she said to her companion. 
 " Look down. Isn't it awful .-^ What if the train 
 should go over here ! " 
 
 " I have no wish to look down, nor to think of 
 the train's going over," said the aunt. "Clare, 
 bring me a wrap. I am chilly. I wonder if I am 
 to suffer with the cold all the time, now we are 
 here." ^ 
 
 A slight young woman seated across from them 
 rose and wrapped a soft downy something about the 
 old lady, who shivered, although she was already 
 well "happed," as the Scotch would say, in fur and 
 
202 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 lace. Her white, wizened, finely cut face, with 
 its preternaturally bright eyes, looked, in the cloud 
 of costly, filmy stuff surrounding it, strangely spirit- 
 like, — alert and keen, but scarcely flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 "Oh, no, you won't. John wrote that the days 
 are so warm now, even you would not complain." 
 
 " Whatever possessed you to insist on starting 
 this week.? We shall be here without a word of 
 warning, and nowhere to go." 
 
 " He knew we were coming weeks ago. He 
 never would put off making arrangements for us 
 until now; besides, I did write." 
 
 "There will be nothing for you to do, now you 
 are here." 
 
 "I don't care. I hope he hasn't received the 
 letter; it will be such fun to see all he is up to 
 before he knows we are here. There goes the 
 whistle! and not a sign of a place. Isn't this 
 awful, going around this curve .f* Look down, 
 Clare; it will make you shiver. Oh, there goes 
 my hat ! " 
 
 " Marguerite, you act like a boy just out of 
 school." 
 
 " But my hat is gone. The wind took it right 
 off my head. My nice long hat -pin, too. Clare, 
 can't you get out that little French cap.'* Quick, 
 — there goes th-e whistle again. Oh, Clare, hurry. 
 I can't arrive bareheaded, — -that little red velvet 
 one, with the wing, — oh, thank you." 
 
 "Your hair is coming down," said the maid. 
 
 "I know. Pin it up, quick. Oh, dear! how I 
 must look ! " She turned her head this way and 
 
** or Missus' Return '' 203 
 
 that to see in the little mirror over the seat. Ah, 
 she was far more bewitching in the French cap, 
 the rogue ! 
 
 "What difference will it make how you look? 
 There will be no one you care for in this out-of- 
 the-way place." 
 
 "You have taught me, Aunt Isabel, always to 
 be ready for emergencies. Don't you remember 
 the time we got into a diligence in Italy, where 
 there was a princess in disguise ? Now I call that 
 a lesson to one to be careful. There may be a 
 prince here, for all we know." 
 
 The train puffed slowly up the grade, gave a 
 little spurt of impatient haste at the top, and came 
 to a standstill. 
 
 "Clare, you may take my wrap. I sha'n't need 
 it while we are moving about. Where is my little 
 black bag.?" 
 
 "Here, madam; it is quite safe. I have all safe." 
 
 "I don't wish my jacket, Clare," said Mar- 
 guerite, rushing out on the platform, while her 
 aunt followed more slowly; the maid, and the 
 porter, well laden with bundles and luggage, bring- 
 ing up the rear. 
 
 " How sweet the air is ! Aunt Isabel, take a 
 good long breath." 
 
 "Where shall we find John, I wonder.? " 
 
 "Right here, mother," said he, taking the little 
 woman in his arms. " Why, you drop down on 
 one like a — " 
 
 "Oh, didn't you get my letter.?" Marguerite 
 put up her mouth for a kiss. "There! It is good 
 to see you again. " She glanced through the little 
 
204 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 window of the station as she spoke, and caught a 
 glimpse of Hanford's profile. He did not look 
 toward the platform, and she did not glance that 
 way again. 
 
 " Now, John, where are we to go .'* " asked his 
 mother. 
 
 " What an odd little place ! " said Marguerite. 
 " Everything else is lovely. What did they have 
 a place here for at all, if they must have it so ugly.? 
 I should think you would die here, John; why 
 don't you.-* " 
 
 "Why don't 1} It is so easy to live here with 
 no one to tease me ! " 
 
 "'I have improved, John, since you have been 
 away." They were walking toward the boarding- 
 house equipage as they talked. 
 
 "I am going to send you out to Mr. Ridgeway's, 
 mother. He lives at the old place; I think I wrote 
 you." 
 
 " Send us ? Why, where are you stopping.? " 
 
 " Mrs. Wells had pity on me, and took me in 
 when I first came; but you will be far more com- 
 fortable at the boarding-house." 
 
 "What a desperately squalid little place! Why 
 have they dumped all these buildings here.? It 
 was far prettier as it used to be." 
 
 "Ah, but you don't see the possibilities of it. 
 This is the nucleus of one of the most thriving 
 little towns anywhere to be found. Wait till you 
 see the hotel I am putting up. Look over there, 
 — that, rough stone is the beginning." 
 
 "Are we to ride in this.? Why, there is Alex- 
 ander. I wonder he is alive yet." 
 
" or Missus' Return '' 205 
 
 Marguerite laughed merrily. " Why, Aunt Isa- 
 bel? You are alive yet, — didn't he belong to 
 you ? " 
 
 The old lady scrutinized him through her glasses. 
 "He looks withered and old," she said, not realiz- 
 ing that she also had undergone somewhat the 
 same transforming change. He turned with a 
 start at the sound of her voice. 
 
 "Howdy, Alexander," she said; and he sprang 
 from his seat and was obsequiously bowing ere 
 he could overcome his surprise and agitation. 
 
 "Howdy, ma'm, howdy.!* j am right glad tu see 
 yo' ah return' again once mo' tu yo' fo'mer home 
 an' habitation." 
 
 " That is very well, Alexander, very well, in- 
 deed ; and now you may take us to it right smart, 
 too. Come, Marguerite, what are you waiting 
 for.-*" The sun cast a warm glow over the girl's 
 face. She was looking at the box-like little sta- 
 tion. Hanford Clark had not left his post. 
 
 " What an ugly hole of a station ! " she said. 
 
 John stowed them away in the ample carriage. 
 "Now, Alexander, drive slowly. You don't want 
 to pitch your old mistress over one of these steep 
 places, you know." 
 
 " Naw, sah, naw, sah, I do' wan' du dat, sart'n 
 suah, sah." 
 
 "Oh, John! Aren't you going with us.^" said 
 Marguerite. 
 
 "I will ride on ahead. I did n't get your letter, 
 you know. It will be better to notify them; " and 
 with a wave of his hand he was off. 
 
 "What a beautiful saddle-horse! Aunty, look." 
 
2o6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Over the hill and down, up another rise and 
 down, through the clear stream up to his horse's 
 knees in water, up the next rise, round the curve, 
 up still higher, down and up again, and on, John 
 galloped like a courier riding with haste. He 
 drew in the spicy air with a sense of exhilaration 
 and delight, though trepidation was knocking at 
 his heart. The small pebbles flew, spattering in 
 the fountain as he passed it, and a little darky boy 
 stepped out from somewhere and took the horse's 
 bridle, just as might have happened in the old 
 days. Portia had a clever way of bringing things 
 to pass. She had trained several of the rising 
 generation into typical house servants, and held 
 sway over them with a power that only natures at 
 once strong and kindly can wield. 
 
 "That's right. Hold him till I come, Andy. 
 Where's your mistress.-*" 
 
 " Miz Po'tia yandah in de drawin'-room, sah. " 
 Andy rolled his eyes in the direction of the house. 
 
 John flew up the steps. What if she should not 
 be alone! But she was alone, arranging her music. 
 The room was cool and dark, and sweet with the 
 odor of flowers. She looked up brightly at the 
 sound of his voice, as if she were expecting him, 
 but she was not. She had seen much of him since 
 the catastrophe at the cabin had opened the way 
 for subsequent interviews. 
 
 " I beg pardon for rushing in on you this way, 
 Miss Van Ostade. Were you singing.-* Please go 
 on. Let me find something. Here, you were 
 singing this the first time I ever heard your voice. 
 Will you sing this.-* Don't begin at the begin- 
 
V 
 
 *' or Missus' Return *' 207 
 
 ning. This is where you were singing when I 
 came up that evening and sat on the edge of the 
 fountain listening to you." 
 
 *' When was that? You never told me of it." 
 
 " No. It was the first evening I came, but — " 
 
 " And you were out there in the dark, and we 
 here in your old home, — oh, why — " 
 
 "I was not alone, — your voice was with me, and 
 has been ever since, — day and night. Sing it; 
 quick, sing it. I will turn the leaves. Here, at 
 this measure, begin. I was under the arch when 
 you made this trill, and here I came in and sat on 
 the edge of the fountain, and there I remained 
 until the lights disappeared, and the house was 
 still. Now I have confessed, — sing." 
 
 And Portia sang. The notes fell like pearls, 
 and then burst forth in a flood of melody, spark- 
 ling like a shower of summer raindrops lighted by 
 the sun, and the pulsations of her heart throbbed 
 through them, like the moving of a breeze from 
 heaven. 
 
 John, listening, knew she was singing for him as 
 he had never heard her before. 
 
 When the song was done, he gathered the music 
 up. "May I have this.? May I keep it, and will 
 you never sing it for any one else, never.? " 
 
 She reached out her hand for it, laughing. 
 "Give it to me," she said. "Why do you want 
 this? I have other things that are better." 
 
 "So you will not need this, and I may keep it. 
 You see, I do not want to think of your singing it 
 for any one else in the world as you sang it for me 
 just now. I am — " 
 
2o8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Looking after my reputation? Thank you. I will 
 practise so that I shall not disgrace myself again." 
 
 " You know better than that, — don't laugh," he 
 said gravely. "Promise me you will never sing 
 for any one as you sang for me just now, — promise. 
 But, heavens! how can you help it! I have this, 
 at any rate, and shall keep it. Mother and Mar- 
 guerite are coming. They will be here in a mo- 
 ment, and I don't wish Marguerite to get this and 
 sing it. I wish to hear no one but you." 
 
 "Oh, why have you let me sit here singing.? I 
 have things to attend to. " She began hastily piling 
 the music. Her face paled, and her heart beat faster. 
 " What shall I do .-^ I am afraid of your mother. " 
 
 "You are afraid of no one; but if you were, 
 mother is not the one to fear, — she is just a weary, 
 little, old lady. Marguerite loves her, and you 
 will love Marguerite. Every one seems to, and I 
 know you will pronounce her a darling. If mother 
 shows any of her old-time prejudice, pay no heed to 
 her notions, and — " he hesitated, — "I have some- 
 thing to ask of you. Will you let me put the horse 
 you rode yesterday in your keeping.-* I am under 
 the greatest obligations to you as it is, but I ask 
 this because I have certain reasons. I never ride 
 her myself, and the arrangement will save me a 
 world of trouble. I — I have given Alexander 
 directions, — I — I shall call her yours for the sake 
 of convenience, for the present, you know — " 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Marshall, I see through your ' cer- 
 tain reasons. ' How — this is only one of your 
 ways of giving me pleasure. I can't — " 
 
 "And myself also. Our evening rides will end 
 
'' or Missus' Return ** 209 
 
 if I may not have my way. The horse must be 
 yours until December, and you will ride with Mar- 
 guerite sometimes, will you not? I have a saddle- 
 horse for her, and a team for mother, and this is in 
 my way there in my stable. They must be able to 
 ride and drive, or they will be miserable. There 
 they are, driving in. Tell me, — may I please 
 myself.-* " 
 
 ** Must I accept so much from you } " Her heart 
 beat loudly. She turned away her head, and her 
 lip quivered with momentary pride. For an in- 
 stant she rebelled against her fate. "This woman 
 will despise me, and he knows it," she thought. 
 He stepped toward her, and, stooping, looked in 
 her face. Something glistened on her eyelashes, 
 but she lifted her head and held out her hand with 
 a smile, noting the look of pain in his eyes. 
 
 "Forgive me. I can do nothing else, and I need 
 your help more than ever now. I do appreciate 
 your kindness, I do; but that only makes it harder. 
 Otherwise I could lift my head above it, even if 
 she did despise me; but now — - Oh, wait, I must 
 call mamma. Stay and take dinner with them. 
 Please ! " 
 
 She was gone. He went to assist his mother 
 from the carriage, and when he turned toward the 
 house again she stood in the doorway, radiant as a 
 queen. 
 
 "Will you go directly to your rooms. ^ " she said. 
 "A journey like this is so fatiguing." 
 
 "We are not in the least weary," said Mrs. Mar- 
 shall. " Clare, where is my — " but Clare was 
 already at the top of the stairs, following the maid. 
 14 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A GIRL'S WAY 
 
 " £^HE is as frail as if a breath would blow 
 
 ^[j her away," said Portia, dropping into her 
 mother's room a moment before dinner. "What 
 a dear little place your room is to rest in ! " She 
 threw herself on her mother's lounge, and locked 
 her hands together over her head. 
 
 " How little we see of each other now ! " said her 
 mother, with a half-sigh. 
 
 " Yes, but I am having my reward. I can see 
 you growing stronger, and for the rest I am not 
 going to care. Of course it will be harder than at 
 first, now Mr. and Mrs. Percy are gone, and there 
 are more strangers, and Mrs. Marshall has come; 
 I felt her presence the moment she stepped over 
 the threshold. I see I shall feel just this way 
 every minute she is here, whether she is with me 
 or not." 
 
 "Feel what way, daughter.? " 
 
 "I can't forget for an instant that she is in the 
 house. She looks like a wraith, — as if she had 
 come here to haunt it." 
 
 "Don't let your brilliant imagination get the 
 better of you, dear. In my opinion she is in- 
 tensely human." 
 
 "I have asked Mr. Marshall to dinner with his 
 mother. It will help to get over the first evening, 
 
 2IO 
 
A Girl's Way 21 1 
 
 and I '11 rearrange the tables. Mr. Betts is always 
 so cheery; I '11 ask him to sit at grandfather's 
 table, and put Mrs. Marshall there too. She must 
 like grandfather, if she likes any one. How will 
 that do ? " 
 
 "Very well, I should think." 
 
 A merry peal of laughter rang out on the quiet 
 air from the yard below. Portia rose and looked 
 out. Marguerite was talking with John and romp- 
 ing with Juliet. 
 
 " They are on good terms already, — she and 
 Juliet; look, mamma. What a pretty little gypsy! 
 There comes Mr. Russell up the path. I do hope 
 he will fall in love with her; it would save me a 
 world of trouble. Don't look as if you thought me 
 bad, mamma; I am going down." She went to the 
 mirror, and looked in absent-mindedly, poking at 
 her fluffy hair. " Mamma, what shall I do about 
 Mr. Russell.'' They say he is worth millions, 
 and he stays and stays. Would you like a son-in- 
 law worth millions.-* Would you like one about 
 your age, mamma, — a nice companionable one.? " 
 Portia's eyes danced. "Now you think me bad 
 again, but you don't tell me what to do." She 
 added a touch of lilac to her white dress, and sat 
 down at her mother's feet. 
 
 I thought you were going down, dear." 
 You are evading. You were asked a question. 
 Mr. Russell will go to his room in a moment, and 
 I will go down. I have ten more precious minutes 
 at least with you, so now tell me." 
 
 The mother kissed her smooth forehead. "Fol- 
 low your heart, deary." 
 
 
2 1 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "I can't until I know I have one," she said, 
 albeit with a guilty conscience. "What there is 
 of my heart you have. I could do just everything 
 for you, — could go to Europe, besides, and finish 
 my studies, — fulfil some of my old ambitions — 
 and — well, I wouldn't keep boarders, at any rate. " 
 " Has he said anything — has he asked — " 
 "I have managed to escape thus far." Her 
 cheeks flamed. "It is very convenient to have 
 duties now and then. Three times he has tried 
 to say what I could not let him say. He told me 
 the finest thing in the world for you would be to 
 take the Marienbad baths, and he keeps making 
 plans, — says I should be in Germany, or Italy, to 
 become what I might, and that I am wasting my 
 talents here. It 's all very true, but I must marry a 
 fortune and step into a heart vacated by some one 
 else to do it, and he knows I must. If you were 
 a man, would you bribe a girl to marry you.? I 
 would not." 
 
 You said he is my age. He can't be so old." 
 He is twenty years older than I, at least." . ,- 
 " But that is not so very old. " / / -t? ^ 
 
 " No, not for a man, — and with ever so much 
 money," she said mischievously. "How merce- 
 nary that sounds ! Let 's not talk of it any more." 
 " But you know you must — " 
 "I know only too well; but what must I do.-* " 
 "Whatever you do, consult only your heart, 
 child; no other course is safe." 
 
 " Shall we go down } I must look over the 
 tables. Oh, dear! There is the bell. I told 
 Andy not to ring it in the halls again." 
 
 
A GirFs Way 213 
 
 Dinner over, the guests gathered, as usual, in 
 the drawing-room, but soon divided, some seeking 
 the piazza, tempted out by the soft air. John took 
 his cousin to one corner, under the honeysuckles, 
 where they could see Portia as she poured the 
 coffee, the fragrance of which came out through 
 the open windows. Juliet lingered by Portia's 
 chair, and arranged the pretty cups, handing each 
 one to the maid as Portia filled it. 
 
 "I won't pass them to-night, because Johnny 
 isn't here any more," she said. 
 
 *'You can stay here and help me, can't you, 
 deary .^ Now the little blue cup; that is right. 
 You see I need you." So they poured the coffee 
 together; and John, talking with Marguerite out- 
 side, watched the lamp-light play over Portia's face 
 and hair as she bent her head over the little tea- 
 table within. Looking out into the gloom from 
 the brightness, she could not see his face, but she 
 vaguely felt his eyes on her, nevertheless. Mar- 
 guerite was watching her also. 
 
 "What a lovely complexion! but I suppose all 
 Northern ladies have that." 
 
 "Complexion? Yes, it is good. Why didn't 
 mother come down ? " 
 
 Marguerite laughed merrily. "I told her there 
 were only old men and women down here, so she 
 let me come without her." She leaned forward and 
 whispered in his ear, "Aunty said she had no 
 doubt they were a vulgar crowd, and, for her part, 
 she was in no hurry to make their acquaintance. 
 , What do you think.?" 
 
 "We will discuss that another time," he said 
 irritatedly. 
 
214 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "I told her I thought Miss Van Ostade just 
 lovely. What do you think?" 
 
 "Possibly you may be right." 
 
 " You ought to know, being right here so long. 
 Now, if you are going to be cross the first time we 
 have seen each other for a year, I won't sit with 
 you. I '11 go and talk to that youngish woman. 
 What is her name, — Miss Keeler.? " 
 
 "Miss Keller. She is from Chicago." 
 
 "Well, let 's talk to her. Is she nice.? Not so 
 nice as Miss Van Ostade, do you think.-* even if 
 she does keep boarders." 
 
 " No, no, sit still. Here comes the coffee. Will 
 you have sugar ? Yes. Cream ? No. I remem- 
 ber. I fail to see what keeping boarders has to 
 do with niceness." 
 
 "I know, you always fail to see something; but 
 there, never mind. We are not going to quarrel 
 this whole summer long, are we.? I mean, of 
 course, if I do everything you wish me to, and 
 think just as you do about everything. We never 
 do quarrel when I do that." 
 
 "Marguerite, do you really mean what you say.? 
 Come, take that last back. Let me hold your 
 cup." 
 
 "No, thanks. I don't mean quite all of it, no; 
 but now I am going to say what I really do mean. 
 In spite of all I can do, John, we are going to have 
 a time of it. Aunty has n't gotten over her absurd 
 notion yet." John leaned toward her as she spoke 
 in low tones, and Portia passed them to talk with 
 some guests who had only arrived the evening ^ 
 before; but John was too much absorbed in Mar- 
 
A Girl's Way 215 
 
 guerite's words to know that Portia's skirts had 
 brushed his chair. 
 
 "There is only one thing left to do, John. You 
 must fall in love with some one else. That would 
 settle the matter for good and all." 
 
 He laughed. "Why don't you do that.?" he 
 said. 
 
 "Why don't I.'* I have tried it over and over 
 again, till she watches me as a cat watches a 
 mouse." She patted her foot on the ground im- 
 patiently. John straightened himself and looked 
 about. Portia was leading the guests in to her 
 mother and Mrs. Keller. Mr. Russell followed 
 and led her to the piano, and John looked away. 
 
 "John, put your head down so I can talk to you. 
 How provoking you are! I have more to say." 
 
 " Let me take your cup back first," he said, long- 
 ing to be near Portia, if only for a moment. 
 
 " I am not through with it yet. Listen. You 
 must fall in love with some one; there is no other 
 way, — I have thought it all out. Now Miss Van 
 Ostade is lovely; you can see that for yourself, if 
 you have any sense. Men are so stupid about such 
 things." The notes of the piano came out to 
 them. Portia had persuaded Mrs. Clare to play a 
 nocturne, and sat near with her hands dropped in 
 her lap, and her head leaning against the wall, 
 listening and thinking. 
 
 John glanced that way, and rose. "What non- 
 sense ! Marguerite, are you ever going to be wise ? " 
 but she was wiser than he thought. " Come, give 
 me the cup. The others are sending theirs back." 
 
 **John, listen. Either you must give up and 
 
2 1 6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 marry me (stop scowling), or fall in love with her. 
 Aunty is on the war path again." 
 
 "Goodness! Don't talk so loud. Very well, 
 then, 1*11 marry you." 
 
 " No, you won't." 
 
 The maid took the cups from him as he entered 
 the hall, and he turned to speak to Hanford, who 
 was just coming down the stairs. 
 
 "Why were you not here at dinner? " he asked. 
 
 "I was detained," said Hanford, hastily, and 
 passed on out. He lingered near the chair John 
 had just vacated, while the piano rippled on, and 
 Marguerite leaning over the piazza rail, watched 
 the fountain playing in the long path of light 
 which streamed from the open door. 
 
 "Miss McLourie," he said at length, bending 
 toward her. She started violently. " I beg par- 
 don; I was too abrupt. May I take this chair? " 
 
 She held out her hand and half rose. " Cer- 
 tainly. It is John's place. I was going in, — but 
 I am glad to see you." 
 
 "Then prove it by staying a moment, will you 
 not ? " 
 
 "I am afraid aunt will want me." 
 
 "Only an instant. It is so long since I have 
 seen you. It is years." 
 
 " Barely one year, " she said, seating herself again. 
 
 " Surely, you are right. But it is years to me, 
 and this is the last place I ever dreamed of another 
 meeting." 
 
 "I wondered why you ever came to this uncivi- 
 lized — what shall I call it? I understand now." 
 
 "Call it wonderland. Do you understand? " 
 
A Girl's Way 217 
 
 "Of course. Haven't you just told me you 
 thought this the last place 011 earth where there 
 would be any chance of seeing me ? " She looked 
 at the fountain again. 
 
 He took up the end of one of the long cherry 
 ribbons that hung down over her white costume, 
 and mechanically wound it round his fingers. " Did 
 you receive the letter I sent you a few weeks ago ? " 
 he said. She looked down at the toe of her boot, 
 and then away at the garden. The guests had col- 
 lected in the drawing-room, all but Mr. Button 
 and Mr. Ridgeway, who remained talking on the 
 steps. "You did not get it? " he repeated slowly. 
 
 "I did not say so." She turned and looked full 
 in his face. "I said nothing." 
 
 "And you wrote nothing." 
 
 "We were coming so soon, and, anyway, I don't 
 see what your thinking John and I were engaged 
 had to do with your actions. I rather liked being 
 engaged to him; it pleased aunty, and I had ever 
 so much more freedom. Aunty let me do just 
 whatever I pleased." 
 
 Mrs. Clare came to the door and looked out. 
 "Oh, Mr. Ridgeway," she said, "I was looking for 
 you. We want you to play an obligato for Miss 
 Van Ostade, if you will, — the one you played last 
 evening." 
 
 "Certainly," he replied, and began to tune his 
 violin. 
 
 "Are they to have more music.'* Then we would 
 better go in." 
 
 "It will sound far better out here," said Han- 
 ford ; but she walked restlessly toward the door. 
 
2 1 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Come out in the garden, then. Let us walk 
 once around the fountain, and through those paths 
 and back. They are listening to the music; you 
 will not be missed, nor shall I; besides, I must 
 talk to you, if only for a moment." 
 
 "No, don't talk to me," she said, laughing, and 
 taking his arm. "I will go if you won't talk to 
 me." 
 
 " But I must. We never finished our last talk. 
 Why not .? " 
 
 "You are as serious as Aunt Isabel when she 
 has a lecture in store for me. Besides, I want to 
 listen. I love a violin, — ^ and — Oh, what a 
 voice! Who sings like that.?" 
 
 "Miss Van Ostade. Please look at me, Miss 
 McLourie." 
 
 "I can't, in the dark." 
 
 " Marguerite, it is not dark. You can see me. 
 Marguerite, why did you come here if you did not 
 want me to tell you this.? You knew I must; you 
 knew I could not see you without telling you. You 
 knew why I went away so suddenly, — ^ because I 
 could not trust myself to be near you. Now you 
 are here, I can do nothing else. Marguerite." He 
 took her hand, which was slipping from his arm, 
 and held it. "When you knew how I must love 
 you, all this long time, have you never thought 
 of me, never once.? Is it nothing to you that you 
 have a man's heart in your keeping.? Is it noth- 
 ing to you but a plaything?" 
 
 She gave a light laugh, but her hand trembled 
 in his. He felt the tremor, and his fingers closed 
 over it. 
 
A Girl's Way 219 
 
 "No, I don't like men's hearts to play with; I 
 like something better. Aunt Isabel always told 
 me men's hearts are bad; that is why I won't have 
 any of them. " 
 
 "You have everything; I have nothing, only my 
 love for you. That masters me. I can fight against 
 it no longer. " 
 
 "Do you think it very complimentary to fight 
 against it.'' I don't." He drew her hand to his 
 lips, but she took it from him. " If you do so, I 
 sha'n't talk to you," 
 
 "It is because I have only — Oh, can't you un- 
 derstand.^ " 
 
 " Do you think, if you had all the wealth in the 
 world, if you were king of all the earth, that by 
 adding that to your love you could make me love 
 you if I did not love you without.''" 
 
 She stood before him with clinched hands and 
 flashing eyes, this little giant of tyranny; but as 
 suddenly her mood changed. She shrugged her 
 shoulders and spread out her hands with a laugh. 
 He took them both, but she drew them away. 
 
 " No, no. I will not talk, I will be free, I tell 
 you, and have a good time all summer long, and 
 you must not trouble me so." 
 
 "Does it trouble you so that I love you.'* " His 
 voice was very low. 
 
 "Yes, it does. I tell you it does. I never tried 
 to make you love me. I will be free. I have 
 never had freedom like other American girls. I am 
 an American girl, — I was born here, if my mother 
 was Spanish, — yet Aunt Isabel would always 
 keep me tied to her every moment, or would tie me 
 
1 
 
 2 20 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 to some one else, whether I will or not. No, I will 
 not hear you. 1 will be free, and go about alone 
 everywhere, and do what I please. I will be tied 
 to no one. I have been led about all my life like 
 a little pet dog, and now, for this one summer, I 
 will go my own way, I will." 
 
 He spoke very tenderly. *' Marguerite, you little 
 wild bird — " 
 
 "There it is again." She sprang from his touch. 
 " I am a woman with a soul of her own. If I were 
 a wild bird, what would you do.-* Put me in a 
 cage. Oh, I am afraid of you all. Let us go back 
 to the house. If you love me, take me back." 
 
 Once more he drew her hand gently through his 
 arm. " We will go back. Marguerite. You are 
 right. See, now, how I love you. All through 
 this long year I have thought of you; hour after 
 hour I have longed for one look into your eyes; 
 your name has been on my lips; and here, this 
 little glove I have kissed a thousand times, have 
 slept with it under my pillow because you had 
 worn it — and yet I banished myself here in this 
 lonely place, never to see you again, because of 
 my friend, to be true to him. Now you are near 
 me at last ; you came of yourself. Oh, Marguerite, 
 Marguerite ! " His voice shook. She would have 
 spoken, but he continued : " Now, because I love 
 you more than my own soul, hear me; I will never 
 speak to you of my love again until you give me 
 permission. You beautiful woman, with your 
 woman's soul, it is your right to be as free as the 
 winds of heaven. I would not hold you now if I 
 could, until you come to me of yourself, and find 
 
A Girl's Way 221 
 
 my arms no longer a fetter but a resting-place; but 
 I shall love you, I shall love you, and trust that 
 'some day — Only this once — here, in the shadow 
 — no? Marguerite, this once on your lips. See, 
 I promise you, — there, it is sealed with that kiss, 
 and that and that, — forever, until I may, I will not 
 seek to bind you, nor hold you even by my love. 
 If you think this is nothing that I promise, remem- 
 ber how I must see you day after day, and say only 
 the little commonplaces that others say, and even 
 see others trying to win what I have promised to 
 wait for even to the grave." They were silent. 
 "Marguerite, have you nothing to say?" 
 
 She looked up. " Only this, if you care for it. 
 I will let no one take your — no one shall win me, 
 but I will be free, and — • " 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 " Never mind." She put out her hands in a half- 
 repentant way, and he took them both. " But — I 
 am sorry, only I can't help it all." 
 
 "You go in alone, little one. I am going to 
 walk. To-morrow I will try to meet you just as a 
 common friend. You will be so free that you will 
 forget even that I love you. " He kissed her fingers 
 and turned quickly away. 
 
 Marguerite lingered without, and finally sat on 
 the edge of the fountain. The sound of the violin 
 came to her in fitful quavers, like a wail. She 
 cried a little, then wiped her eyes, and threw 
 pebbles in the water. Poor little one! her heart 
 ached, but she said, "I don't care. It is his own 
 fault. Why should he persist in loving me, when 
 he sees how it troubles me? I will go in and not 
 
22 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 care." But she did not go in, and she did care. 
 She waited there in the deepening darkness until 
 Mrs. Marshall sent Clare to call her. John stood 
 in the door. He had forgotten his little cousin for 
 the time, 
 
 "I will find Miss McLourie," he said to the 
 maid. "She was here a moment since." 
 
 He stepped out, but the chairs were empty. He 
 sauntered toward the fountain to wait their re- 
 turn, and a white little figure moved among the 
 shadows. " Why, Marguerite, what are you doing 
 here.?" 
 
 "Throwing pebbles in the water, and listening to 
 the music." 
 
 "Alone.'* Where is Hanford .-* I thought he was 
 with you.' 
 
 "Mr. Clark.? How should I know where he is? 
 Why did n't you come back ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I thought you would both be in, 
 in a moment. I am sorry." 
 
 "Oh, never mind. And so this is where you 
 used to live ! What a perfectly lovely place ! Let 's 
 go off and have all kinds of good times riding and 
 driving. Are there any nice people here, just to 
 make things lively, you know.?" 
 
 " Yes, a few. I really thought you would find 
 the house such a ramshackly old affair you would 
 be glad to hurry away. What is there about it 
 you find so perfectly lovely.?" 
 
 "Oh, — I don't know. It isn't the house ex- 
 actly; it 's her way, and the whole air of the place, 
 and the trees, and that delicious old gentleman we 
 were talking with before dinner, and the hills, and 
 
A Girl's Way 223 
 
 oh, everything. The freedom most of all, and the 
 violin, and the rest of the music, and — " 
 
 "Aren't you rather mixing things? Her way, 
 and the trees, and the delicious old gentleman, — 
 one would think he was something we had served 
 up for dinner." 
 
 "We had. I served him up for myself, and sea- 
 soned him with — what do you think ? " 
 
 "I am sure I can't tell." 
 
 "With Miss Van Ostade. Do you know he is in 
 love with her.^ She knows it, if you don't." 
 
 John gave an inward start. " Let a woman alone 
 for making such a discovery," he replied in an 
 indifferent tone. 
 
 "Of course you don't care," she said, watchfully. 
 "But it was fun to see it going on under one's very 
 nose. Is he rich .? He has the air of a rich man. 
 Now, if he is, and she should marry him, what a 
 good time she could have!" 
 
 " Marguerite, did you ever have one serious 
 thought in your life.?" 
 
 "Isn't that a serious thought? I am sure it 
 must be for him. I mean what I say." 
 
 "Don't mean it, then." 
 
 "There! I thought you weren't so indifferent 
 as you would have me think. Now you see." 
 
 " I never saw any one who would presume to form 
 opinions on such slight occasion." 
 
 They were going up the steps. Marguerite would 
 not trust herself in the lighted room. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Van Ostade, you cannot imagine how 
 charming your voice sounded out here. Why did 
 you stop singing? I was enjoying it so! Good- 
 
224 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 night, John. Good-night, Miss Van Ostade. No, 
 I can't stay. Aunty wants me. Good-night." 
 She left them standing there, and hurried up the 
 dingy old stairway. 
 
 " Have you seen Josephus lately } " said Portia. 
 
 " No, I have been so busy I have not been near 
 for a day or two. He is doing very well, though. 
 It is better that he should not go about for a 
 while." 
 
 "Only think. All my life I must feel myself 
 partly the cause of that awful deed, — shooting 
 men down like that, — innocent men." 
 
 " Come farther from the door, and sit here a 
 moment," said John. "I want to speak of it only 
 where there is no possibility of being overheard. 
 Surely, you are not blaming yourself still. I beg 
 you will not. Have you told any one.'* " 
 
 " Not even my mother; only you. I think keep- 
 ing silence in this way only makes me feel more 
 guilty. What must one suffer who has really 
 committed such a crime intentionally?" She 
 leaned her head on her hand, sitting there where 
 Marguerite had sat only so short a time before. 
 
 " Must it be that you continue to brood over 
 this.?" 
 
 " Mr. Marshall, tell me truly. Would you — but 
 I will not ask. I know you would not, and yet 
 would not like to tell me so." 
 
 "Please ask me." He stood leaning against the 
 pillar and looking down at her. 
 
 " I was going to ask you if you would have done 
 what I did, but I know well enough you would 
 not." 
 

 A Girl's Way 225 
 
 "Why should you give me less credit for bein 
 merciful ? " he laughed. 
 
 " You would have been far more merciful, be- 
 cause wiser. You would have taken immediate 
 steps toward the capture of that wretch, who was 
 the cause of all the trouble." 
 
 " Ah, there is where you mistake. Believe me, he 
 was the occasion only, — the cause lies far deeper 
 than either of us can fathom. Won't you trust me 
 that you are in no way responsible for it ? " 
 
 In the midst of his desire to comfort her came 
 the thought of Marguerite's suggestion, that possi- 
 bly Mr. Russell might be more to her than he. 
 
 "I wish I might believe you, but seeing that 
 sight gives me a sense of iniquity I cannot shake off. 
 I keep saying, ' If I had only done differently ! ' " 
 
 In spite of Marguerite's suggestion, he congratu- 
 lated himself that at last he had her all to himself, 
 away from her cares, in the coolness and shadow. 
 He took the chair near hers. 
 
 "If you had done differently, as you say, you 
 might have had something else to regret all your 
 life. You might have given information, it is true, 
 but, in my opinion, Josephus would have been 
 hung along with Pete, and you would have felt 
 even more to blame, for you would have been the 
 direct cause of a murder." 
 
 Portia shivered, and covered her face with her 
 hands, as she had done that night. 
 
 "Oh, don't let us talk of it any more. I am 
 afraid you are right. I wish I could get away from 
 this terrible place. That night has taken all my 
 delight in it away." 
 15 
 
226 When the Gates Lift Up then- Heads 
 
 Mrs. Barry's laugh came out to them in high 
 crescendo. Mrs. Clare and Mr. Ridgeway were 
 trying snatches of new music together, and, among 
 the new boarders, a light-haired young man from 
 New Jersey seemed to be striking up a lively ac- 
 quaintance with Miss Keller. John was leaning 
 toward Portia in the same attitude she had seen 
 him in when he sat there with Marguerite. She 
 rose instantly. 
 
 "It will not do to stay out here; I forget my 
 duty as hostess," she said, and added hastily, 
 "Thank you. You have helped me see this 
 trouble of mine in another way." 
 
 John looked at her helplessly for an instant. 
 Going ? And what had he gained ? He took a hasty 
 step, and, catching her hand, drew her after him. 
 
 "Come away," he said. "They are not even 
 missing you. Come where you cannot hear the 
 sound of their voices. You are far too conscien- 
 tious. No wonder your pleasure here is gone, tied 
 to these people as you are." He led her with long 
 strides down one of the foot-paths. Portia laughed. 
 
 "This is the way I used to run away from my 
 nurse," she said. Other laughter reached them 
 from the house. 
 
 "There, you see what a good time they are hav- 
 ing without you," he said. They looked back and 
 saw Mr. Russell standing in the doorway, gazing 
 out into the darkness. Portia started. 
 
 "Oh, oh! I knew I was neglecting something." 
 She would have returned, but he continued to lead 
 her on, and she yielded with a delicious sense of 
 resting, if only for a moment, in the will of another. 
 
A Girl's Way 227 
 
 "What are you neglecting? " 
 
 " I promised to play backgammon with Mr. 
 Russell." 
 
 "Why should he monopolize you away from all 
 the rest? Let him play with Mrs. Keller." 
 
 "I wish he would." She spoke with an uncon- 
 scious sigh. 
 
 "Why shouldn't he?" said John, between his 
 teeth. 
 
 " I must treat all my guests with equal courtesy, 
 you know. I played with Mr. Betts last evening, 
 and promised this to him. I must go." 
 
 "So they vie with each other for your time? I 
 would do the same were I as fortunate as they. I 
 will, as it is. Come, let me steal five minutes 
 only of Mr. Russell's time. I used to play hide- 
 and-go-seek among these trees, but I never 
 dreamed, then, of playing it quite in this way, 
 with an old man." Portia laughed merrily. "If 
 you laugh like that, he will hear you and find you. 
 Confess. Don't you like walking out here in the 
 cool air better than being cooped up in the house 
 with him, playing backgammon?" 
 
 "Ah, but my life is not one of doing as I would 
 exactly, although," she added quickly, "it is one 
 of my own choosing, for the present, at least." 
 
 "And if you could do just as you choose, what 
 would you do ? " 
 
 She laughed again. The quick walk sent the 
 blood bounding from her heart, and woke in her 
 the merry mood. " Oh, it would take far more 
 than your five minutes to tell a small part of all I 
 would do." 
 
2 28 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "Take it, then. I have no conscience. Give it 
 to me." 
 
 "No, no, no. I must go back." 
 
 "Tell me, first, will you ride Brown Betty .<* I 
 have sent her to the stables with instructions to 
 Alexander." She was silent, and he urged again, 
 " You only half consented this afternoon. Ride 
 her every day, and forget your numerous oughts." 
 
 "You do this only to give me pleasure. What 
 can I do .-* I dare not say ' no, ' and I dare not say 
 ' yes. ' Don't you know — " 
 
 "I only know what my wishes are. You like to 
 give pleasure to others; won't you give this to me.-* 
 Let me have my way. I shall be having my pleas- 
 ure out of the horse, if you will let me go with you 
 sometimes, as I could get it in no other way." 
 
 "I can't call her mine, as you said." 
 
 " But you must. I will relieve you of all care 
 in the matter. She must be yours for six months. 
 You must have the independence that possession 
 alone will give you. Truly," he added gravely, 
 " I am asking a great privilege. It is my only way 
 of claiming, sometimes, your companionship, away 
 from all these others. I promise you I will only 
 do so by your leave, now and then, Miss Van 
 Ostade." 
 
 " Please do not think me ungracious. Perhaps 
 my pride is too great ; but, really, it is too much 
 to accept." She felt the hurt she was giving him, 
 and relented. " To-morrow morning I will ride 
 her as you wish, Mr. Marshall. I will go before 
 any one is up. That is my time for running away 
 from people. I will be gloriously happy among 
 
» 
 
 A Girl's Way 229 
 
 these hills before any one else knows day has 
 begun. I won't try to thank you any more because 
 I cannot." 
 
 " Now I must be satisfied, and leave you to your 
 partner for backgammon. But tell me first, you 
 did not find my little mother so very formidable, 
 did you ? " 
 
 " How could I ? She is so frail. I only hope 
 she may be happy here. You have helped me to 
 forget some of the discomfort I was feeling. Your 
 cousin has charmed me and you have talked and 
 walked me out of half my horrible misgivings, — 
 I have been unhappy since that night, — and to- 
 morrow morning I will ride off the other half if I 
 
 :an. 
 
 "If you can .'' You must. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 They parted, and John walked off into the dark- 
 ness, as Hanford Clark had done a few minutes 
 earlier, but with tingling nerves and bounding 
 heart. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 SPECIAL PLEADING 
 
 HI dar, yo' Andy, wha' yo' duin' wiv dat boss? 
 Dat ar bery partic'lar. Mist' Jobn done 
 tor me don' 'low none o' yo' tecb 'im." 
 
 "Ob, yo' g'long. I jes' slickin' ber daoun." 
 
 " I knows yo' boy. Yo' gwine teacb ber trickses. 
 Boy ain' no good. Dey 's all bad." 
 
 *' Miz Po'tia say sbe wan' de boss dis-yer mawnin' 
 rigbt smabt. " 
 
 "Yo' kyan' tell me nuffin', boy. Yo' t'ink Miz 
 Po'tia gwine give o'dahs tu fool boy like yo' is.? 
 G'long yandab 'n' tote beab nudder bucket o' co'n 
 feed 'n' clean de boss sbed." Tbus Alexander 
 sputtered in tbe importance of bis newly-acquired 
 old dignity. 
 
 "I sball expect you to do everytbing as well and 
 carefully as you used to for your old master, Alex- 
 ander," Portia bad said. "And you will teacb 
 Andrew to take care of tbe stables and keep tbings 
 in order, will you not.-* " 
 
 "I will dat, ma'm, yas 'm. I reckon I kin teach 
 
 Andy, yas'm." He puckered bis wrinkled face 
 
 and looked at Andy, who was setting onions in a 
 
 corner of tbe patcb Mr. Ridgeway bad devoted to 
 
 tbe purposes of kitcben garden, in a doubtful way. 
 
 "Yas'm, Andy a dre'fle or'nary nigger, but I 'low 
 
 I kin Tarn 'imV' 
 
 230 
 
special Pleading 231 
 
 Thus was Alexander installed as commander-in- 
 chief of the stables, quite to Portia's satisfaction, 
 and more so to his own. * Indeed, had she been 
 unable to find a coachman trained under the old 
 regime, she would have been put to endless trouble 
 and expense; since the younger generation, com- 
 ing up without the restrictions of the old days, 
 were the most irresponsible of all human creatures. 
 The old man was always to be seen at break 
 of day, pottering around the stables, muttering to 
 himself, or scolding Andrew, or — if his young 
 mistress appeared on the scene — ready with a 
 plentiful supply of blarney, and much genuine cour- 
 tesy, to anticipate her wishes, if they coincided 
 with his own, or to skilfully evade them if they 
 did not. 
 
 Portia stood upon the horse-block, slowly draw- 
 ing on her gloves, and watching the light creep 
 down the mountain side, touching the tops of dark, 
 clustering pines, and revealing hidden ravines and 
 far-off precipices. The old man spied her, and 
 snatching off his tattered hat, started toward her 
 with a shuffling trot of ostentatious haste, leading 
 the beautiful little brown mare. 
 
 Portia took a lump of sugar from her pocket, and 
 coaxed and petted her, putting her arms around the 
 gentle creature's neck, and would have kissed her 
 sleek coat, had not Alexander been watching. 
 
 "Dey ain' no boss nebber been in dis-yer No'th 
 C'liny shine like she shine sence ol' Mars daid," 
 he said, with pride. "Mist' John say, 'Alexandah, 
 min' yo' don' 'low no fool boy tech her. Dat ah 
 Miss Po'tia's boss,' he say, 'an' min' yo' keep 'er 
 
232 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 like she b'long tu de mos' fines' lady ebber lib in 
 dis yearth. ' He say — " 
 
 "That 's right, Alexander, you have done well, 
 indeed you have," cried Portia, springing to her 
 seat in the saddle. She gathered up the reins, and 
 was off like a shot, past the clump of dogwood- 
 trees where she had sat that morning and thought 
 herself alone. 
 
 " I wonder if he did see me racing down the 
 road, and where he was ! " Then she began wonder- 
 ing other things about him, and what she ought to 
 do about the horse. Should she accept so great a 
 favor.? Could she.-* *'I can't exactly refuse to ride 
 this little darling." She sighed. "What is the 
 use of fretting! I will be happy for this one morn- 
 ing, no matter what comes ; " and she was. 
 
 A low bank of cloud, presaging a warm day, 
 hung in the east, and the sun was slow in climbing 
 above it. She turned in the direction of Mammy 
 Clarissa's cabin, ascending, slowly, the steep hill 
 at the foot of which was the brawling stream with 
 the hewn log for a foot bridge. Scarcely a breath 
 of air stirred the leaves overhead. A bird-note 
 now and again broke the stillness with a sleepy, 
 half awake twitter. Her horse's feet made a 
 rhythmic clatter on the hard road-bed, and the 
 rushing stream far down the long sweep of shaded 
 hillside seemed an accompaniment, — a sweet, in- 
 sistent, harmonizing note like a gentle undercur- 
 rent to her happy thoughts. 
 
 Her anxieties slipped away from her one by one, 
 and she fell into a revery of sweet thoughts, fit- 
 ting well with the charm of the morning and the 
 
special Pleading 233 
 
 subtle beauty of earth and sky, and the trees and 
 hills, and all the happy, contented things around 
 her. 
 
 Clusters of shrubs that had not yet lost their 
 bloom filled the air with fragrance. She spied a 
 squirrel in a mighty chestnut-tree perhaps reckon- 
 ing on its future crop. Sometimes the stillness 
 seemed intense, then would begin many little 
 noises, — soft bird-calls, dropping twigs, or a light 
 breeze making rustlings and whisperings over her 
 head. 
 
 Once it seemed to her that a bit of one of her 
 own songs floated up to her in a merry whistle from 
 the stream below. Could it be — but no. It must 
 be some negro boy gathering "light-'ud" on the 
 hillside. While the little horse took her own 
 time, stopping now and then to crop a bit of leaf- 
 age, Portia let her mind dwell on the events of the 
 evening before. She saw her sheet of music being 
 rolled up and carried away, and felt his face near 
 hers as it had been that one moment ; then she saw 
 him seated, looking into Marguerite's eyes, and 
 then she felt herself being drawn down the garden 
 paths, and the touch of his hand as he bade her 
 good-night, and wondered if it was Marguerite, 
 after all, who filled his thoughts; and as she won- 
 dered, the creeping sensation of pleasure came 
 stealing through her whole being; but she put it 
 from her as soon as she felt its growing power, or 
 tried to do so. " Of course he loves that beautiful 
 girl ; how could he help it } — And yet, — " and 
 again that sweetest of all sensations came creeping 
 from her heart to her finger-tips. 
 
2 34 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Clatter, clatter, clatter, sounded the fall of her 
 horse's hoofs, and louder grew the noise of the 
 rushing water as she neared the stream. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! A brown study, or a rosy study ? So 
 this is the way she comes lagging down the hill, 
 the lazy little horse. I was beginning to think 
 you had lost your way." 
 
 Portia's face flamed crimson. Ah, the betrayal 
 of her thoughts! She stooped and patted Brown 
 Betty's neck to hide her face for very shame, and, 
 turning her head, looked down the stream. 
 
 " You did not know we were coming this way, — 
 Brown Betty and I," she said, with a laugh. 
 
 John sprang from the log where he had been sit- 
 ting, and walked toward her. His horse whinnied 
 from the clump of alder bushes where he had tied 
 him, and stepped restlessly about. "Still, Clyde," 
 he said sternly. "Didn't I know you would be 
 bent on an errand of mercy .'*" 
 
 Portia's happy thoughts had left their impress 
 on her face, and part of its charm lay in the fact 
 that she was unconscious of its transparency. Her 
 eyes glowed with a light that was not from without 
 her heart. 
 
 "This for your thoughts," he said, holding a 
 penny on his palm. She leaned over, and giving 
 the back of his hand a light tap, sent the penny fly- 
 ing over his head. 
 
 "There it goes, thoughts and all," she cried. 
 "You may have them if you can catch them." 
 
 He stood a moment, petting Brown Betty's neck, 
 and watching her face. 
 
 " What a noisy stream ! " she said. 
 
special Pleading 235 
 
 "What was the rosy-brown study about? I have 
 a reason for asking " 
 
 
 b 
 
 " I did not know you were here. 
 
 *' Of course not ! so you were happy ? " 
 
 " I told you I would be gloriously happy, riding 
 over these hills, and forgetting everything. You 
 see my thoughts were only forgettings, not worth a 
 penny." 
 
 ** Everything, — had you forgotten ? " 
 
 "Every unpleasant thing." He still looked in 
 her face, and she turned away again, and gazed into 
 the stream, as before. 
 
 *' I came here on purpose to see you, — alone." 
 He spoke in a tense way, and she paled a little, 
 but said nothing. " I even prayed, — if wishing 
 with my heart in heaven that you might come this ^ 
 way may be called praying, because — I had a 
 fright last evening." 
 
 She raised her hand to her throat and grew still 
 paler. " Oh, this awful country ! What has hap- 
 pened now.? Everything seemed so beautiful a 
 moment ago." She glanced behind her nervously. 
 " Have those men turned against you ? " 
 
 "You beautiful, brave girl, are you afraid.''" 
 He came a step nearer, and took hold of her wrist. 
 He could feel the tremor even through her riding 
 glove. " Not for yourself, I know, for I have seen 
 you brave. No, this is worse than any mere physi- 
 cal danger to me. This might ruin my whole life. 
 My little cousin last night told me what I, with 
 my man's blindness, never thought of fearing. I 
 never thousrht to look for it, because love is blind." 
 He still felt her wrist quiver in his grasp, and took 
 
236 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 her hand in both his own. "Yes, let me tell you, 
 — let me tell it all. I have the most right, for I 
 am young and he is old. I, too, love you. Do 
 not take your hand from me until you hear me 
 through. I was not going to tell you this until I 
 had earned the right. I was going to wait and win 
 you; but now, I dare not wait lest some one snatch 
 you from me. What if he loves you ? I do not 
 care, I love you more. I am rash and headstrong, 
 but I will do my wooing afterwards. All my life I 
 will be your lover." He spoke rapidly, impetu- 
 ously. His own hands trembled now, and he 
 reached for both of hers. 
 
 Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears. 
 "No, no. Wait." She took her hands from his 
 grasp. "I can't think." 
 
 "Will he wait,? It is life to me. Must I lose 
 all, who love you best.? Has he all the right to 
 speak and I none, because he has had time for 
 
 wooing 
 
 ? " 
 
 " How could Miss McLourie — " 
 
 " How could she know so soon ? A woman 
 divines. I am a man, — a blind lover who sits 
 and waits." 
 
 Portia's heart seemed choking her. She tried to 
 speak, but her lips only moved. 
 
 "What right has he above me.?" he went on, 
 savagely. 
 
 "Oh, do not," she said, at last. "He is only a 
 kindly, sweet-tempered old man, and not so old but 
 that he has the right to feel young. " 
 
 "Yes, and to love you." 
 
 The crimson flamed again to the roots of her 
 
Special Pleading 237 
 
 hair, and her breast heaved. ** I have given him 
 no encouragement to do so, nor — " she stopped 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Nor to me.?" 
 
 "I was not going to say that." 
 
 " Forgive me. I am daring all for fear of losing 
 all. What can I say to you.'' How can I make 
 you know how I love you? Do you care.-* Out 
 there in the darkness, alone, listening to you sing, 
 I loved you before ever I saw you. I knew the face 
 that went with the voice would be like yours, and 
 when I saw it I loved it. Let me try to win you." 
 Still she could not speak ; her mouth and throat 
 were dry. "That is all I ask now, only to try to 
 win you." He held out his hands to her once 
 more, then let them drop by his side. He trembled 
 to lift her down and hold her in his arms, but stood 
 still and waited. She unbuttoned and buttoned 
 her gloves nervously, then drew them off and put 
 them on again. 
 
 "There is much I wish to say," she said at last, 
 "before I even tell you that." 
 
 The reins dropped down on Betty's neck, and 
 she improved the opportunity to crop some long 
 tufts of grass. Portia pulled off her gloves again, 
 straightening out the fingers, one by one. At last, 
 with glistening eyes she looked in his. He could 
 not stand that pathetic look, and sprang to lift her 
 down ; but she placed her two hands on his shoul- 
 ders, and gently pushed him back. 
 
 "Wait until I can speak of this rightly. Oh, 
 can't you see.-^ It is my heart against my con- 
 science." He threw her gloves on the bank, and, 
 
238 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 taking her bare hands in his, kissed them. "Don't 
 make it hard for me," she pleaded. 
 
 "I will," he said, in a low voice. "I will make 
 it impossible for you to say what you are trying to 
 say if I can. First of all, tell me, have you given 
 some one else — • " 
 
 "No, no, that isn't it. Give me time to tell 
 you." She struggled to gain possession of her 
 hands. He let them go, and, suddenly reaching 
 up, took her down from the saddle in his arms. 
 
 "If you will not let me have your hands I will 
 have you. If there is no one before me I will win 
 you. I will be your lover, forever, do you hear.!* 
 No one shall take you from me. Portia, look up. 
 Once ? Let me. There ! Once more. Now, see ? 
 You are mine." 
 
 " Oh, not yet, not yet. Let me talk a little and 
 you will see why." 
 
 "Once more, on your lips. See.-* I am waiting." 
 
 "But not so. Take your arms away first. I 
 must talk now, it is my right." Her eyes flashed 
 into his, yet she trembled. He led her to the 
 great stump where she and her grandfather had 
 passed Josephus and Gabriella that winter day, 
 — ages ago it seemed to her now. She felt 
 weak, and leaned against the log that spanned the 
 stream. 
 
 John tied Brown Betty to a sapling, and, return- 
 ing, sat down beside her. Neither of them spoke. 
 She looked away from him, gazing into the tum- 
 bling water, as before. At last he reached out to 
 her, but she put his hand back, holding it from her 
 with gentle touch. 
 
Special Pleading 239 
 
 "Now you must listen to me. Think a moment 
 how short a time you have known me." 
 
 " Every week has been a year, because I dared 
 not tell you I was loving you." 
 
 " But is it right for you to expect me — " 
 
 "No. I ask only that I may love you, — that I 
 may be your lover." 
 
 "Ah, but that is everything." 
 
 "I tell you I will do all that other lovers do 
 afterward. All the happiness of my life is staked 
 on this one hour." 
 
 " You must not say, nor think that. There are 
 reasons. Mother and grandfather are dependent 
 on me. " She spread out her hands — those help- 
 ful hands — in a hopeless way. " Is not that 
 enough ? I told you the battle was with my own 
 heart, — you must not make it hard for me." She 
 bit her lip, as if she would put back her feelings 
 as she had put back his hands. "What have 
 I done, what have I said that you should love 
 me.?" 
 
 " It is all that you do or say to every one every- 
 where. We cannot help it, you nor I. It is my 
 heart that will not be satisfied without its love for 
 you. What you say is nothing. If they are de- 
 pendent on you, they must be on me. If they are 
 yours, they must be mine. Your heart must speak 
 to me, nothing else." 
 
 "Oh, can't you understand.?" She turned on 
 him and spoke impetuously, as if her words would 
 not be restrained. " It will sweep everything 
 before it. How can I keep strong, doing my duty 
 every day, as if it were my first pleasure, if I give 
 
240 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 way to my — to this? I never dreamed of this 
 coming upon me away off here. I have work to 
 do, and must do it. Oh, why have you come ? I 
 have no business to listen to you — I had no busi- 
 ness to listen to you last night, nor to ride your 
 horse, nor to let go my hold on myself even for a 
 moment. My burdens are precious to me, — to 
 you they might become burdens indeed. I must 
 carry them myself." 
 
 "No, you must let me help you. It is my right, 
 by reason of my love." 
 
 She rose and held out her hands to him. " For- 
 give me, and let me go. This is only a sudden 
 thing with you, — it will pass as quickly as it has 
 come. Give up your love now, before it goes any 
 farther. For you there may be another, some- 
 where, some time; for me only it is hard. For me 
 so precious a thing as your love can never come 
 again. — Don't speak yet. — I must put it from me, 
 and they neither of them must know what I have 
 done. Promise me — " she faltered, then went 
 bravely on — "promise me that you will put me out 
 of your heart, and be happy some day without me. 
 It is the only thing you can do, and this love will 
 pass sooner than you think possible." 
 
 " Portia, this is madness. Put you out of my 
 heart .-^ My own .-^ I will not. Come here, little 
 Puritan, you love me. Out of your lips I take the 
 words. When I have kissed you like this, even 
 though they are stolen kisses, are you not mine, 
 forever.? I have your love, and that is enough, — 
 I take everything else. If you have a care, it is 
 mine. Why, darling, I have enough; all we need 
 
Special Pleading 241 
 
 for us all. Shall I let you go on as you are doing? 
 It is cruel." 
 
 Portia felt the earth swaying under her feet. It 
 seemed as if the stream had risen and was sweep- 
 ing her along in its rushing waters. It was only 
 for a moment. When she opened her eyes they 
 looked into the eyes of her lover, and she knew she 
 must give him all he asked. 
 
 "This is unreal, it is not right. Why am I 
 standing here, forgetting everything? My whole 
 hour is gone." 
 
 " It is most real and right. This one moment, 
 in which you give yourself to me, is worth living 
 my whole life for." 
 
 " I feel as if I were dreaming, and must be 
 wakened. Let us ride. You should have listened 
 to me. I told you my love was stronger than my 
 conscience, that it would sweep all before it; and 
 now see what I have done. I have yielded when I 
 ought not." Awed by his impetuous onslaught, she 
 lifted her face to his in conscience-smitten entreaty. 
 
 "My beautiful, did you think yourself hidden in 
 this wilderness, where even love could not find you ? 
 Why should you wish that ? I sought for my girl of 
 the German bridge and found her here. You could 
 no more keep me from loving you than you could 
 keep the water from dashing over those rocks." 
 
 " Because of them. It was hard enough for 
 grandfather to become dependent in his old age, 
 — a thing he never supposed could happen to him ; 
 it crushed him to earth. If the duty should be 
 placed on any one else it would kill him." 
 
 "We will ride, and talk it over calmly." 
 16 
 
242 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "What have I done with my gloves? " she said. 
 
 John picked them up from v^here he had thrown 
 them, and led Brown Betty to her side. 
 
 "Now, put your hand in mine, so " — he stooped 
 and looked once more into her eyes — "and call 
 me by my homely old name. Say, * John, I love 
 you.'" Her hand trembled in his, and her voice 
 faltered as she repeated the words after him. Then 
 she drew back and looked at him. Suddenly her 
 pride gave way. She threw her arms round his 
 neck and hid her face in his bosom. 
 
 " Oh, I do, I do. Only it is hard, so hard. I 
 wish I had everything and you had nothing. If 
 only I could give you everything, I would be 
 happy; but now — " 
 
 "But now — shall I finish for you? It is I who 
 am to be happy. Is it a little thing you have 
 given me? " He lifted her and swung her lightly 
 into the saddle, and stood a moment by her side. 
 "Do you think I value a woman's love so little? 
 Why, Portia, I am the greatest beggar on earth, 
 and have asked for the sweetest thing, that is all. 
 I am humbled in the dust when I think what I 
 have had the temerity to ask for." 
 
 There is no face so beautiful but that it grows 
 more so with the light that shines through its 
 windows, when the heart has opened its doors and 
 taken in the little blind and winged beggar, Love. 
 Portia's face glowed with this light as she bent 
 down toward her lover at that moment, and touched 
 his brow with the tips of her fingers, and felt the 
 clustering rings of his hair close round them as she 
 lifted it from his forehead. 
 
Special Pleading 243 
 
 "Are you?" she said, with a smile. "You 
 don't look so." 
 
 "No. The touch of your hands makes me a 
 king." 
 
 . Then she stooped and kissed the smooth, broad 
 forehead she had laid bare. " You must get your 
 horse, John ; we will go. I have work to do." 
 
 He raised her hand to his lips. "Your lover 
 forever," he said, and did as she bade him. 
 
 Slowly their horses splashed through the ford, 
 stepping cautiously over slippery boulders, and 
 scrambling up the other side. Portia felt her hap- 
 piness quivering through her whole frame, to her 
 finger-tips, yet her heart was full of misgivings. 
 John, on the contrary, glancing from time to time 
 into her beautiful face, with its heightened color, 
 was satisfied. He had won the day. 
 
 "Another rosy-brown study? What is it this 
 time?" 
 
 She took a deep breath. "The world seems 
 different from what it did this morning. It was 
 beautiful then, too, but now — I feel as if I had 
 been living an age since an hour ago, or were not 
 myself. I am so happy, and yet I feel afraid. How 
 can it last ! Let us try to talk rationally, and — " 
 
 "We never talked more so. I have done the 
 most rational thing of my life." 
 
 " Now you make me laugh at you. No, let us 
 talk good common sense. I see a great many diffi- 
 culties in the way." 
 
 "Ah, but I don't call that common sense." 
 
 " In the first place, everything must go on just as 
 if — as if — " 
 
244 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " How can everything go on just as if? " 
 
 ** Oh, John, you know as well as I that your 
 mother would be horrified if she thought you loved 
 me, and that beautiful little lady, your cousin — " 
 
 "She is only a distant relative of my mother's," 
 he said, evading the first part of her remark. 
 
 " Oh, why have you done this ? Why could you 
 not have fallen in love with her? Your mother 
 could never have been able to object to that, and 
 here you have done what will surely make her 
 miserable." 
 
 "You said you wished to talk common sense. 
 If you cannot do better than that let me try." 
 
 "Be patient with me. I want a little time to 
 win your mother's love, if I can, lest this should 
 break her heart. John, promise me that. A 
 boarding-house is such a terribly public kind of 
 place, where every one is held up for inspection, as 
 in a tribunal. " 
 
 "Trust me. If I can't look at you without 
 showing my love for you, I will keep my eyes shut 
 in your presence, and if they ask the reason I will 
 say the light is too — " 
 
 "Please, please don't laugh." 
 
 "Whatever you wish I will consent to; but, 
 Portia, I will take you away from all of them once 
 in a while. You shall not be more theirs than 
 mine. Moreover, this slavery of yours shall not 
 go on forever." 
 
 "Oh, where are we going? See how high the 
 sun is." She started to turn her horse's head, but 
 he detained her. 
 
 "It is not so late, only seven; go on to old 
 
special Pleading 245 
 
 mammy's first. You were going there. Your lazy 
 boarders are just turning over for another nap. 
 Was that a sigh? Give me a reason for it." 
 
 "It makes me a little sad to see you so happy. 
 I can't tell why, but I fear so much. What good 
 is my love to you ? Everything must go on the 
 same, and it will make you miserable. I would 
 have saved you from this if I could. If I could 
 only have known — but then — that would have 
 been impossible. A woman dare never allow her- 
 self to think that a man is possibly going to love 
 her. She can never forestall, because she must 
 never know until it is too late." 
 
 "Thank Heaven. I shall make you say the little 
 lesson over and over every day until I have my 
 way. It is a good way. Tell me, is it not.?" 
 They were approaching the little clearing. "Tell 
 me, is it a good way.? " 
 
 " I know to me your way will be a very sweet 
 way. I will love to make it mine forever; but for 
 the present I must do my own way, even if it may 
 be hard for us both." 
 
 He lifted her from the saddle as she spoke. 
 "Oh, John, you must not kiss me any more in this 
 way, not until I can be your very own, and that 
 may not be for a very long — Oh, John ! " 
 
 " I will see your grandfather, and tell him I love 
 you. You are mine now, Portia; say you are." 
 
 "I can't say that yet, and you must say nothing 
 to grandfather. I am not free to say anything yet 
 but that I love you. I am not free to say I am 
 yours. I have my work to do ; and John, is it so 
 hard? You must wait." 
 
246 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Not so hard now as it was, sweetheart, now 
 that I know you are not to be snatched from me. 
 I can wait, but I will be your lover. Now that is 
 the way I want your eyes to shine, for me and no 
 one else. Look at me again like that. I am afraid 
 no longer. You may play backgammon with your 
 elderly boarder or ride with your handsomest one 
 and sing to them all ; but for me, I will remember 
 how you sang for me last evening, before my 
 mother came, and how you looked at me just now, 
 and "no one of them all will carry so light a heart 
 as I. Now_one more k is§..and I will let you go to 
 have your own way, sweet. " 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 MAMMY CL'ISSY'S BURYII^' CLO'ES 
 
 EVERYTHING was quiet about the little cabin. 
 Ill one corner of the small enclosed space 
 stood two mules with their necks crossed and their 
 ears lopped forward. On the rail fence near them, 
 basking in the sun, sat tlie boy whose business it 
 was to take care of Josephus, with much the same 
 expression of sleepy contentment on his face, and 
 not far from him, perched on the same rail, and 
 watching him with half-closed eyes, sat Mammy 
 Clarissa's cat. The sun shone aslant on the peace- 
 ful scene, and cast elongated shadows on the bare 
 earth of the cabin, the mules, the boy, the cat, and 
 the rail fence ; and across the yard stretched the 
 immense shadow of a naked pine that towered 
 high above the roof, waving at its top a tuft of 
 green needles, like a worn old brush for sweeping 
 the sky. 
 
 ** Poor Joe's corn looks spindling, all choked with 
 weeds," said John. " Hello, Jenks, how 's Joe this 
 morning? " 
 
 " He ain* no mo* 'n mid'lin'," said the boy, sleepily. 
 
 Old Clarissa stood in the cabin with her back to 
 the open door, gazing at a curious motley of clothes 
 laid out on the patchwork cover of her best bed. 
 She leaned on her stick, and her lips moved as if 
 she were talking to them. As the shadows of John 
 
 247 
 
248 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 and Portia darkened the doorway, she spread out 
 her hands as if she would guard them from in- 
 truders' eyes, but when she saw who her visitors 
 were she brightened, and hobbled toward them with 
 elaborate cordiality. 
 
 "Laws, honey, am dat yo'? Howdy, honey, 
 howdy, Miss Po'tia. Hu-come yo' heah dis time o' 
 day?" 
 
 " How's Joe this morning ?" said John. 
 
 "Joe's po'ly. I 'low he ain' gwine be like he 
 uset tu no mo'. Joe he strivin' in he's min' how he 
 gwine git fo' tu pay fo' turrer mule. He don' git 
 no peace fo' dat frettin' an' strivin'." 
 
 " Oh, he mustn't fret. He '11 come out all right, 
 and pay for the other mule too." John's voice was 
 cheery with his own hope and gladness. ** I '11 go 
 up and see him." He tossed his hat on a chair 
 and began climbing the ladder leading to the loft 
 above. 
 
 Portia glanced curiously at the strange assortment 
 of clothes on the bed. ** What are you doing, 
 mammy, making over some dresses?" 
 
 " Naw, Miss Po'tia, dem ar 's my buryin' clo'es." 
 
 ''Your what?" 
 
 *' Dem ar 's my buryin' clo'es, but I 'low de Lawd 
 ain' nuvvah gwine leab me wah dem." 
 
 " I don't understand what you mean. What are 
 they for?" 
 
 '' De clo'es I gwine wah tu de grabe, chile, ef de 
 Lawd take de curse off an' 'low me tu die." 
 
 ** Why you don't want to die yet, — you are not 
 so old. What do you mean by taking the curse 
 off? " 
 
Mammy CFissy's Buryin' Clo'es 249 
 
 '* Laws, Miss Po'tia, I kyan' splain 'bouts dat. 
 Dar's de curse ob libbiii', an' dar 's de curse ob dyin', 
 an' I reckon de Lawd done sot on me de curse ob 
 libbin'. I 'low I ain' nuvvah be 'lowd tu vvah dese 
 heah clo'es, nohow." She held up one of the 
 dresses made in some strange and obsolete fashion, 
 a thin pink lawn, from which the pattern had long 
 since been washed away. '* I been layin' dese heah 
 by many long yeah. Dis 'n Miss Mann done gib 
 me. Dat time de fevah tuk me I 'lowed I 'd git free 
 tu wah hit, but I did n' dat time. Den de style 
 done change, an' I don* wan' be laid in de grabe in 
 ol' aout o' style clo'es nohow. Den dis 'n, Joe he 
 went up tu Asheville, an' I gib 'im doUah fo' git de 
 cloff, an' dar come 'long lady f'om de No'f wha' 
 done tole me haow de style ah, all two-skyrted, wid 
 dis heah skyrt hangin' ovah turrer." 
 
 "This looks quite new; haven't you ever worn 
 it?" 
 
 ** Laws, no, Miss Po'tia, I ain' none o' yo' po' white 
 trash tu be buried in ol' aout o' style clo'es, I ain'." 
 
 She began laying the clothes carefully in a pine 
 box, with a cover fastened by a padlock, and hung 
 with leather hinges, and then shoved it in the farth- 
 est corner under the bed. As she raised herself 
 from the floor, Portia thought she seemed more 
 aged and bent than when she last saw her. She 
 apparently forgot Portia's presence and continued 
 talking to herself, rocking back and forth In her 
 large chair, and staring into the embers. ** Wah 
 dem clo'es? Naw, I 'low de Lawd ain' nuvvah leab 
 me wah 'em. I reckon he ain' gwine 'low me pass 
 nohow. ^ O Lawd, O Lawd ! " 
 
250 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 *' What is it, Clarissa? " said the girl at last, com- 
 passionately. ** Why do you talk so? " 
 
 ** Why, honey, chile, I cl'ar done fo'got yo' heah. 
 Is yo' had breakfus'? I reckon yo' nigh dyin' fo' 
 a taste o' Cl'issy's cookin'." She seemed to 
 waken to her old life and vivacity as the idea of 
 . hospitality seized her, and, uncovering the coals, 
 she threw on some pine knots and hung the kettle. 
 
 " No, no," said Portia, " we are going right away 
 as soon as Mr. Marshall comes down. I have more 
 linen for you to mend when you are ready for it." 
 
 *' Fotch hit 'long, honey ; I 's right smaht glad tu 
 git de wo'k. Now yo' sit an' I '11 hab cup o' coffee 
 right smaht. Mist' John, he know ol' Cl'issy's 
 coffee good." 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble, please don't." 
 
 ** Yas, Miss Po'tia; I 'members right well Mar's 
 Gen'l he uset tu say, dar ain' no use libbin' 'daout 
 hospitableness." 
 
 She had grown so animated and happy in her 
 bustle of preparation that Portia had not the heart 
 to stop her, and in an incredibly short space of time 
 her little pine table held as tempting a breakfast as 
 two hungry mortals could wish, — corn bread, eggs 
 and bacon, crisp, sweet, and sputtering hot, and cold 
 chicken and coffee. 
 
 ** Had your breakfast, Joe?" said John, perceiv- 
 ing the odor with the pleasure of a healthy 
 appetite. 
 
 " Yas, sah ; mammy she ol' an' crupple, but I 'low 
 she wo'th mo' 'n I is now," said Joe, weakly. 
 
 ** You 're all right, Joe. You pull yourself together 
 and get out of here, and things will look brighter. 
 
Mammy CFissy's Buryin' Clo'es 251 
 
 Don't fret about your mule ; I '11 see that you get 
 work as soon as you are able ; and if those young 
 fellows are in a hurry for their money, I '11 loan you 
 a bit until you are ready to earn it. All you have 
 to do is to haul yourself together, and we '11 have 
 work enough to keep you and those precious mules 
 busy all the fall and winter too." 
 
 " Mist' John, oh, Mist' John, come right 'long an' 
 eat yo' co'n bread while hit hot fo' melt de but- 
 tah. Co'n bread col' ain' no good nohow," called 
 Mammy Clarissa from the foot of the ladder. 
 
 " Yes, mammy, yes, I come with the greatest 
 alacrity. Good-bye, Joe, mind what I tell you, and 
 don't get down-hearted. — Why, mammy, this is 
 like the times I remember when you used to cook 
 me a meal all my own, when I used to pay for some 
 fun by being sent off without my dinner." 
 
 " Sholy, honey, sholy. Yo' ain' tasted yo' ol* 
 mammy's cookin' fo' nigh on tu fifteen yeah. Ga- 
 br'ella done fotch dis buttah, an' I done rose de 
 chicken an' aigs my own se'f, an' buy dis bacon 
 wid de dollah yo' gib me turrer day. Draw up yo' 
 cheer. Miss Po'tia, an' eat. Dis mighty po' far' fo' 
 yo', I reckon, but rid'n' 'fo' breakfus' makes young 
 folks like yo' is hungry 'nuff tu tu'n co'n bread 'n' 
 bacon intu bes' kin' o' high-tone victuals." 
 
 " I wonder what that old woman has on her 
 mind," said Portia, as they strolled back to their 
 horses through the wildwood tangle. '' She says 
 the Lord has laid on her the curse of living." 
 
 *' Oh, her head is stuffed full of superstitions, 
 They all are, the negroes." 
 
252 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " She has some strange ideas about death. Did 
 you see those things laid out on the bed? She 
 says they are her burying clothes, but that the Lord 
 is not going to allow her to wear them. Poor old 
 thing ! she did n't seem to wish to talk to me about it. 
 I tried to find out what she meant, but she changed 
 the subject and began to cook our breakfast." 
 
 " Perhaps she thinks some one has ' tricked ' her, 
 as they say. They always lay their misfortunes to 
 some such thing." He led Brown Betty out from 
 the shade where he had tied her and lifted Portia 
 deliberately into the saddle. 
 
 "You need not do that; I can spring up as I 
 always do." 
 
 "But it is my privilege now, is it not?" 
 
 "It is sometimes; but John-;-" she stopped 
 abruptly. 
 
 "What is the 'but'?" 
 
 " I told you. Your happiness frightens me. It 
 is beautiful, but how can it last? Even now I must 
 begin asking hard things of you. I must ask you 
 not to ride home with me, or not any further than 
 the turn in the road, there by the dogwood-trees." 
 
 "Where you sang to nie the very next morning 
 after our first meeting? I will turn back at that 
 place, and why? " 
 
 " My face will tell tales." She flushed crimson 
 at the thought of riding up the walk with him, 
 under the scrutiny of her assembled household. 
 "They will all be out there on the piazza, wonder- 
 ing where on earth I have been." 
 
 " How can I help being happy when your face 
 tells tales of your heart, and I know that the story 
 
Mammy Cl'issy's Buryin' Clo'es 253 
 
 is mine? I am not proof against it even if all the 
 world guesses." 
 
 " Our love is sacred. I cannot have them prying 
 into it. After a while I may get used to it. The 
 feeling is so new now, I cannot let any one look into 
 my heart." 
 
 John rode close to her, and touching the hand 
 hanging down by her side said, " Is it a sweet feel- 
 ing, Portia? " 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his and gave him a look he 
 never forgot. "Ask your own heart, John; you 
 will find the answer there." 
 
 '* One would think that answer should satisfy me, 
 but I will ask it over, only to hear you say it again." 
 
 Portia was right. All had breakfasted, and most 
 of the guests were lounging about the piazza, dis- 
 cussing the weather and indulging in badinage. 
 Marguerite sat on the edge of the fountain dabbling 
 in the water with Juliet, and talking with Mr. Held, 
 who had returned in the early morning from a trip 
 over the mountains. All eyes were fixed on Portia 
 as she rode up the drive. Mr. Russell came for- 
 ward, alert, with beaming face, to assist her from the 
 saddle. 
 
 " We have missed you this morning," he said. 
 
 " What a dear horse ! " said Marguerite, petting 
 Betty's neck, and feeding her a rose from the bunch 
 at her belt. 
 
 " Indeed she is ! You must try her some time," 
 said Portia. "Thank you, Mr. Russell. Where is 
 Andy? Here, Andy, take the horse, and tell Alex- 
 ander I wish to see him in about half an hour. We 
 are glad to see you back again, Mr. Held. Have 
 
2 54 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 you just come? Have you breakfasted? You see, 
 I ran away this morning." 
 
 ''I see." 
 
 **Was your trip successful?" 
 
 "Come and look over my sketches. You shall 
 judge for yourself." 
 
 " How delightful ! I must say a word to the 
 cook first, however ; one cannot ignore meals even 
 for art. Artists themselves are hungry sometimes, I 
 am told." 
 
 " Never, Miss Van Ostade, never." 
 
 "Never?" cried Mrs. Barry. "You were not 
 here at breakfast, Miss Van Ostade, or he would not 
 dare say that. He said he had been starved for a 
 week, and ate as if he had been, too." 
 
 ** I can't imagine what is keeping John," said Mar- 
 guerite; "he was to be here early this morning." 
 
 " Then he surely will," said Portia, guiltily. " Let 
 us all go in and look at Mr. Held's sketches. They 
 are charming. You will not miss him when you see 
 them." 
 
 " He promised to send me a horse, and to ride 
 with me. Never mind ; I would much rather look 
 at your sketches, Mr. Held, and I shall tell him so, 
 too." 
 
 " Thanks, I will try to believe what you say." 
 
 " We have been dying to have those boxes 
 opened," said Miss Keller, coming down the steps 
 with the young man from New Jersey. " Mr. Held, 
 Mr. Vedder." 
 
 " Happy to make your acquaintance, sir. Then 
 we will open them immediately. I am always ready 
 to save life." 
 
Mammy Cl'issy's Buryin' Clo'es 255 
 
 " Especially when you can charm at the same 
 time, Mr. Held?" said Marguerite. 
 
 '* I must inquire after Mrs. Marshall," said Portia 
 
 to her. 
 
 " Oh, she is well. She almost always is. She 
 did not come down this morning, but she means to 
 drive after a while, I think." 
 
 " I hope she will not find it dull here." 
 
 "No, aunty never is dull. Sometimes she pre- 
 tends to be. She should rest now at any rate, for 
 she was going all the time in New York." 
 
 ** I am sure she never could be dull with you 
 always with her ; I need not have asked," said Portia, 
 with a smile. '' I shall be back in a moment, Mr. 
 Held," and she left them, hurrying to the kitchen. 
 
 ** Surre, Miss Porrtia, an' it's an awful leddy yees 
 have up shtairs now. The Frinch gurril is comin' 
 into me kitchen ivrry blessed minute wid a new 
 notion in her head, an' now it 's ' 'Ave yees any ice in 
 this howl iv a place?' an' now it's ' Th' eggs is too 
 harrd, an' th' eggs is too saft,' an' it's mesilf '11 in- 
 vite 'er to cook 'em hersilf next." 
 
 "You mustn't mind, Maggie; no doubt she is 
 tired." 
 
 ** An' it 's tired she must be wid thinkin' up new 
 things fer wantin'." 
 
 "Well, you know it won't do to talk about our 
 guests, so we will say nothing, and you must do the 
 best you can." 
 
 " There 's a load o' things come down from Ashe- 
 ville. Miss Porrtia, an' herr 's the bill o' thim." 
 
 " Oh, I am glad. Hav^e they sent the fruit? Yes, 
 here it is. That is one thing off my mind. Bring 
 
256 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 that Dresden bowl, Maggie, the bkie one." Portia 
 began hastily unloading good things from the 
 hamper which made weekly trips between Patter- 
 son and Asheville to keep the house supplied with 
 necessary articles. Semi-occasionally a similar ham- 
 per was sent on from New York. 
 
 " You may put away these as I take them out, 
 Maggie ; wait until I can check them off. That is 
 right." 
 
 Portia's rapid movements soon restored order to 
 the old kitchen. The hamper was carried out, 
 and she began arranging some of the fresh fruit in 
 the dainty Dresden bowl. 
 
 " Call Lucy ; I wish her to take these to Mrs. 
 Marshall's room. Bring me some roses, — no, — 
 just the buds, Maggie, those are too full-blown. 
 Now, isn't it pretty?" 
 
 " It 's yersilf makes ivry thing purrty wid the 
 touch av yer ban's," said Maggie, warmly. 
 
 "Ah, Maggie, that's blarney. Don't you re- 
 member how I spoiled the cake for you yesterday, 
 putting on the frosting? Here, Lucy, take this 
 bowl of fruit to Mrs. Marshall's room. Say Miss 
 Van Ostade sent it, and don't stay; just hand it in 
 and go away." 
 
 The dish did not look quite so pretty when it 
 reached Mrs. Marshall, for one or two of the 
 great ripe cherries had found their way into Lucy's 
 capacious mouth, but it was enough to win gracious 
 thanks from the recipient later, when she entered 
 the room while all were occupied in looking over 
 the sketches. 
 
 " This waterfall is charming," said Portia. '' Where 
 
1 
 Mammy Cl'issy's Buryin' Clo'es 257 
 
 did you find such a wonderful spot? Is it near 
 here?" 
 
 ''It Is only about four miles from Patterson, six 
 from here, I should think." 
 
 " So near? We must visit it." 
 
 " Let us all go and make a day of it," sug- 
 gested Mrs. Barry. 
 
 "How do you get there," said Mr. Ridgeway; 
 " by carriage? " 
 
 " It can be reached in that way — I had my trap, 
 you know — but on horseback is much the better 
 way. It might be a little rough for ladles, but they 
 have done it." 
 
 " Of course we can," cried Marguerite. " I 
 mean to go there if I have to go all by myself. 
 Were you ever there, Aunt Isabel?" 
 
 " Long ago. But my jaunting days are over. 
 You must find some one else to chaperone you on 
 such trips." 
 
 " Not at all necessary, Aunt Isabel. I will go 
 without one. I am an American girl." 
 
 " I will undertake that duty with pleasure, and I 
 warrant Mrs. Marshall it will be well done," said 
 Mr. Held. 
 
 "We shall all be glad to chaperone Miss 
 McLourie," said Mr. Russell. 
 
 " Oh, that would never do. Some one must stay 
 here to chaperone Aunt Isabel." 
 
 " Marguerite ! " 
 
 " You know it is my duty to look after you, 
 aunt." 
 
 "When shall we go?" said Mr. Held. 
 
 "The sooner the better," said Mr. Vedder. 
 17 
 
258 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Rightaway — if possible, to-morrow," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Barry. 
 
 " Would n't the day after be better? " said Portia. 
 ** We must have a lunch, you know." 
 
 ''That is right, day after to-morrow," cried 
 Marguerite ; then, in an aside to her guardian, 
 " Where can John be? He was going to send the 
 horses this morning." 
 
 John was at that moment prowling over the new 
 building, taking note of the work, and dreaming of 
 his future. Crossing the road to the station later 
 he saw Lord Chesterfield leave his parlors in fault- 
 less attire, with a neat black case in his hand. He 
 had regular customers at the new boarding-house. 
 The world was looking up for him in these days. 
 
 *' Why, Chas, you look quite aristocratic. Where 
 are you bound for?" 
 
 " De new bo'din'-haouse, sah. I has a right smaht 
 heap o' customers daoun yandah. Da 's de ol' 
 genTman wi' de fine long mustaches, — he keep 
 he's face shave mighty clean an' young lookin', an' 
 da 's de light young gen'l'man come turrer day, an* 
 Mist' Held, he done come back 'gin, — I 'low he 
 wan' see me 'long baouts dis time." 
 
 " Shave them up well and don't waste your 
 money." 
 
 ** Naw sah, naw ! I don' waste no money." 
 1 No, Chas never wasted money, except on his own 
 ' precious person. His ruling passion, and the great 
 stimulus of life was the accumulation of dollars and 
 cents, as much as if he were a full-blooded white 
 man and the son of a Wall Street broker. Just 
 now he was bent on marrying Gabriella Gunn, 
 
 '^iu. 
 
Mammy Cl'issy's Buryin' Clo'es 259 
 
 because she was industrious and saving, as well as 
 good-looking; but still his affections were divided 
 between her and a chambermaid in Asheville, 
 whose complexion was seven times darker than mid- 
 night, w^ho had laid by the magnificent sum of three 
 hundred dollars with which she was trying to tempt 
 this dashing young cavalier. Now as he walked, 
 he weighed in his mind the advantages of each. If 
 he took the one of midnight skin, he might buy him 
 a fine cart, like the one Mist' John rode about in. 
 He would not walk in the dust and heat; but 
 would drive to and from his little jobs, an enviable 
 spectacle in the eyes of his brethren. Louisa Ann 
 and he might have a fine little place near the new 
 hotel, where she could add to their pile by doing 
 chamber work. Surel}' the plan was good, — but 
 as he took his solitary way, swinging his case, and 
 mopping his brow with a strongly perfumed silk- 
 handkerchief, he saw walking easily along before 
 him, with her basket poised on her head, her arms 
 akimbo, and her lithe body erect under the load, 
 " Miss Gunn," and all the persistence of his most 
 persistent nature was roused to conquer her with / 
 his oft repeated assurances of undivided love. 
 
 '* Mawnin', Miss Gunn, mawnin' ! " he said, with 
 his most flattering smile. Gabriella was inclined to 
 be affable this morning, and beamed on him with 
 eyes and teeth bewitchingly. They paused in the 
 road to pass the time of day, and make elaborate 
 inquiries into each other's state of health. This 
 seemed a most propitious time, so, as they walked 
 on together, Chas drew insinuatingly near, and 
 passed his arm about her waist. 
 
26o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ** Laws naow, quit yo' foolin'," she said, with a 
 laugh. '* Haow yo' s'pose I gwine tote yo' an' dis- 
 yer co'n meal up de hill? Kyan' yo' tote yo' own 
 ahm 'daout hitchin' hit on tu me? Quit! Yo' 
 baoun' tu upset dis-yer basket." 
 
 '' Yo' haish ! Did n' I tol' yo' I ain gwine put 
 up wid yo' foolin' no longer? Yo' like tu craze me 
 wid yo' goin's on. I reckon I '11 be tuk sick 'fo' 
 long, I been so trouble' in my min*." 
 
 *' Likely yo' is trouble' in yo' min'." She shrieked 
 with laughter, setting down her basket, that she 
 might shake herself in her merriment. " I see yo' 
 mighty trouble' in yo' min' studyin' haow yo' gwine 
 git 'long wid Gabr'ella Gunn one day, an' dat fine 
 young lady in Asheville nex'." 
 
 *' Dey ain' no gal in Asheville kin stan' 'long- 
 side Gabr'ella Gunn." 
 
 " Naw, likely not. I hyeared yo' co'tin', yandah 
 in Asheville. I done hyeared yo' co'tin' Louisa Ann 
 Williams, ol' Bija's gal. She tu pu'ty tu stan' 'long- 
 side whar I stan'. I 's seed her heap o' times." 
 
 '* Look a-heah, Gabr'ella, I been so hu'ted in my 
 min' wid yo' foolin' I jes* tryin' tu like nudder gal, 
 but I sw'ar I kyan' du hit nohaow, I 's dat fool gone 
 on yo', Gabr'ella, an' heah yo' smile one day, an' 
 chide de nex'." 
 
 " Yandah comes Mist' Ridgeway's cahiage. Is 
 yo' seed ol' missus? Nance say as haow she 
 come back 'gin. Nance say as haow Alexandah 
 wife, she say Alek, he mos' knock aout de las' toof 
 in he's haid, he so s'prised, an' he's teef knock to- 
 gedder like he see a ghos', dat time she come 'long- 
 side de cahiage like she step aout'n de grabe." 
 
Mammy Cl'issy's Buryin' Clo'es 261 
 
 ** I seed her git off'n de kyar las' ebenin', but I 
 'low she nuvah knowed who I war. I nuvah let on 
 like I seed 'er. I spec' she hate de berry sight o' 
 we-all, sence she kyan' call we her cattle, an' set de 
 ovahseah on us like she uset tu no mo'. I kin 
 'membah right well dat time I peek t'roo de shed 
 doah, an' I seed her stannin' dar an' de ovahseah, 
 an' ol' Kate cryin' in de kitchin. OF Kate she 
 say, * Run 'nd peek, chile, quick; I 'low dey '11 kill 
 Cl'issy,' an' I peek, an' dar lie Cl'issy, an' ol' missus 
 lookin' on, an' de ovahseah lay on de lash like he 
 nuvah gwine leab a speck o' skin on her back." 
 Chas paused to look after the carriage as it rolled 
 past, then continued, " I seed mo' 'n dat tu, oncet. 
 Dat time Mars'r war in Wash'nton, an* missus she 
 run de place. She run hit right ha'd tu w'en she 
 run hit, a smilin' one day, an' a lickin' de nex'." 
 
 They had come to the turn where their roads lay 
 in different directions, and now they proceeded to 
 take as elaborate a leave of one another as if they 
 were not to meet again for months. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 THE BLIND WOMAN'S VISIT 
 
 MA," said Miss Katherine, a few days after 
 Mrs. Marshall's arrival, '' ought we not to 
 call on John's mothah? Shall we go to-day?" 
 The old lady turned her sightless eyes on her 
 daughter a moment, but said nothing. *' I know, 
 ma, we can't do like we used tue, but ouh family is 
 as good as hers, if we ah poor, and the ride will do 
 you good. We have n't made a call together foh 
 an age." 
 
 "It is n't that there is any question of family be- 
 tween us ; there never was ; but you know I can't see 
 her now, and I don't care to have her pitying me, 
 — but there, Katherine, you are right, we would 
 better go." She was silent a moment, lost in thought, 
 then spoke again. *' Mrs. Marshall never was one 
 to look up to any one else, but- as far as family 
 goes, she might have looked up to your father." 
 
 Katherine sat in a low chair with her lap full of 
 roses, arranging them in a row of vases before her, 
 and snipping off the thorns and imperfect ones as 
 she talked. They were seated in the shade of vines, 
 in one corner of the broad piazza that ran jft-ound 
 three sides of the house. Mrs. Wells swayed slowly 
 back and forth in a rocker and fanned herself with 
 a palm-leaf fan. 
 
 262 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 263 
 
 " Of coa'se I know pa's family was of the very 
 best in this country, where there is no real aristoc- 
 racy, and so was youas, mothah, foh that mattah, 
 but there it is, she is as rich as evah they were, 
 while we, — where ah we? How comes it that the 
 wall used us-all up, and left her as rich as evah, o' 
 richer? " 
 
 ** It's no North Carolina property she 's living on 
 now, daughter. I reckon there in Cuba, while we 
 were losing, they were making hand over fist. 
 Her father was never one to lose a good chance, 
 and she has the thrift of the whole family condensed 
 in one for saving. I well remember when the Gen- 
 eral was all taken up with his political duties, she 
 managed that place better than ever he did, — she 
 got more out of the niggers than ever he did, for 
 one thing." 
 
 " I always thought the Yankees were the ones for 
 making money, — she 's no Yankee." 
 
 " No, but she 's from one of those rich old Spanish 
 families, and I 'm thinking there never was a na- 
 tion that cared more for gold. The old General was 
 free-handed and open-hearted, but she was close both 
 ways, and yet she was lavish too, in a way." Mrs. 
 Wells swayed thoughtfully a moment in her rocker, 
 and Miss Katherine snipped at her roses ; then her 
 mother resumed the thread of her talk. " She 
 would do some big, generous thing when she felt 
 like it, but she knew how to hold her own as well 
 as any one I ever saw ; but then, we were always 
 good friends. Yes, of course we must call, and 
 that right soon." 
 
 " I think there's someone coming. I see dust ris- 
 
264 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ing ovah the rise in the road, — suah enough, it's 
 John and Miss McLourie ! " 
 
 The young people were upon them before Miss 
 Katherine could shake the rose-leaves from her lap. 
 Some one else was with them. It was the artist. 
 As they drew rein before the long piazza, he it was 
 who assisted Marguerite from the saddle. Happy 
 little Marguerite ! she needed only the glow which 
 the exercise brought into her cheeks to make her 
 startlingly beautiful. 
 
 " Do go on with your flowers," said Marguerite 
 after the introductions were over. *' You don't know 
 how pretty you looked seated among these vines 
 with your lap full of roses. Did n't she, John? Let 
 me help you." 
 
 *' Help me look pretty? Indeed you can do that 
 very easily, — sit right beside me." The two gentle- 
 men laughed. Marguerite laughed too, but did as 
 she was bid. 
 
 " Come here, child," said Mrs. Wells. " You 
 know I cannot see you, and I wish to know if you 
 are like your mother. I used to know your beauti- 
 ful mother." 
 
 " Miss McLourie is a young lady, ma, she is not a 
 child." 
 
 Marguerite obediently went over, and knelt down 
 by her chair, while the old lady lightly touched her 
 hair, her cheeks and forehead, and chin, and throat 
 and hands. 
 
 " Yes," she said at last, " you are like your mother, 
 and I have looked into your eyes when you were a 
 little dimpled baby, and held you in my arms in your 
 long white dresses. You were such a peaceful baby." 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 265 
 
 '* What a change you have undergone, Mar- 
 guerite," said John, teasingly. 
 
 '* No wonder ! if you had held me I would have 
 screamed and kicked." As she turned to pout at 
 John, she caught the look of open-eyed admiration 
 on the face of the artist, which he was unconscious 
 of showing, it being merely the scientific admiration 
 to which he thought his art entitled him. 
 
 Marguerite comprehended, and a gleam of resent- 
 ment flashed into her eyes, as she thought, " I '11 
 teach him to look at me as if I were some old ruin, 
 or something to put in one of his old pictures," but 
 she only turned toward Miss Katherine with a smile. 
 
 ** We are all going on an excursion to the love- 
 liest place ; Mr. Held found it. And we want you 
 to join us. Miss Van Ostade sent us, or rather was 
 coming herself, and we said we would bring it — the 
 invitation — for her." 
 
 " As well as for ourselves," said John. 
 
 " Of course, and you will go, will you not?" 
 
 Katherine looked at her mother, and the blind 
 woman, divining as if she could see, responded to 
 the look. " Yes, Katherine, Gertrude can do all I 
 wish. Of course she will go, it will do her good." 
 
 "But motheh — " 
 
 *' Don't stop to think of any * buts.' " 
 
 "No, don't," said John. 
 
 " How long must I be away ? " 
 
 " Only two days ; one to go, one night there and 
 one day to return." 
 
 *' Oh, neveh ! " Katherine was appalled. " Why, I 
 have n't been away from ma foh ten yeahs." She 
 rose in a flutter and brushed the lose-leaves frorp 
 
266 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 her dress. ** I cannot. Theah 's only Gertrude 
 heah, and Gabe, — but he's no good." 
 
 Mr. Held eyed her critically. *' She would make a 
 fine study," he thought, " and the old lady too, just 
 as they are." 
 
 " Where do you go? " asked the mother. 
 
 ** It 's up at a place they call Hibbard's Lodge. 
 I know the man who built it. He lives in Washing- 
 ton, and goes up there once a year. The rest of the 
 time an old man and his wife keep the place and 
 make what they can from the few travellers who 
 come that way. The only trouble is, you have to 
 take what provision you need along with you, for 
 the old couple never keep much on hand, — but 
 it 's all very neat, and well kept." 
 
 " Is that the way you did?" asked Marguerite, 
 roguishly. 
 
 '* No, I lived on scenery and paint." 
 
 " Well, what word shall we take to Miss Van 
 Ostade? " said John. 
 
 " Come," said Marguerite, drawing Katherine 
 after her, ** don't say no, until wc talk it all over. 
 Let us go in here while they visit." 
 
 Katherine yielded to the gentle pull, and so once 
 more the little witch had her way, and in five min- 
 utes had made a resting-place for herself in Miss 
 Katherine's heart. They returned the best of old 
 friends, because, as Marguerite explained to Kath- 
 erine, ** You see, your mother knew my mother, 
 even before she was married, and held me in her 
 arms when I was a tiny little baby, so it seems we 
 have always been friends, does it not?" A fact 
 which the child had learned for the first time a few 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 267 
 
 moments before as she knelt by the bHnd woman's 
 chair; but how should Katherine know it, had it not 
 been told over and over again by Aunt Isabel, and so 
 she loved them both the better for the thought, and 
 no harm was done by the innocent deception, which, 
 to do Marguerite justice, was not intended as such. 
 
 ^' Yes, John, she will go," said Marguerite, trium- 
 phantly, '* and now we must settle about time and 
 everything." 
 
 '* And I must think about ma tue, she can't stay 
 all alone with that Gertrude." 
 
 " Now, daughter," — said the mother, and there 
 was more debating, until the matter was settled to 
 Miss Katherine's mind. John would ride over and 
 ask Mrs. Chaplain to spend the time of Katherine's 
 absence with her mother. " Yes, that would do," 
 and: "She would surely go?" "Yes, surely." 
 Then the three visitors rode away satisfied, and 
 Katherine watched them out of sight with beating 
 heart. She was really to have an outing of the old- 
 fashioned kind ! The old times were coming back, 
 and people were beginning to live once more. 
 
 " John and I will ride over again as soon as all 
 the arrangements are made," Marguerite called 
 back, with a glance that made Mr. Held envious of 
 John for a moment. Ah, she was already begin- 
 ning to play her little tunes on the sensitive harp of 
 his artistic nature ! They rode on ahead in the nar- 
 row road, laughing and chatting, while John, ab- 
 sorbed in his own hopes and plans, took his way in 
 the rear, dreaming and thinking. 
 
 That afternoon Katherine drove her mother over 
 to the boarding-house, in the obsolete vehicle which 
 
268 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 still remained of their former grandeur, and with the 
 old brown pony. The call was made in as great state 
 as was in their power. Mrs. Marshall was peculiarly 
 gracious that afternoon. She shed tears as they 
 talked over the past, and condoled with her old 
 friend on her blindness. 
 
 " But you are not much worse off than the rest of 
 us," she said at last. *' You are spared the pain we 
 have to endure of seeing such dismal changes. You 
 can think of it all as it used to be, without the dread- 
 ful truth being forced on you continually that the 
 South has been defrauded, ruined, by the vilest in- 
 justice." Her laces trembled around her face and 
 throat, as she raised herself, and sat erect among the 
 cushions that had been heaped around her. ''Think 
 what I must feel, here in the house that used to be 
 mine, surrounded by these Northern women, who 
 have come here to make money from our mis- 
 fortunes. I wish I could n't see them, I 'm sure." 
 
 " Why, aunt, you had money enough. Why did 
 you sell the place if you cared so much for it? You 
 could have kept it." 
 
 "Kept it? What should I have kept it for? 
 Robbed of my rights, robbed of my servants, 
 robbed of my husband, — kept it indeed ! I only 
 wish we had the war to fight over again, and that 
 all the soldiers might be women." 
 
 Miss Katherine sat silent, with her hands folded 
 in her lap. " Well," said her mother at length, *' the 
 past is past, and war is terrible at best. I would not 
 wish to go through it again." 
 
 " No, not with your calm disposition, but mine 
 was different. If we had had an army of women 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 269 
 
 with my spirit, we would never have given up until 
 the ground all over the South was saturated with 
 our blood." 
 
 "I believe you, aunt: you would have made a 
 splendid general ; but I would not have been one to 
 saturate the ground with my blood, I can tell you 
 that. Ugh ! What a thought it is ! What if Miss 
 Van Ostade should hear you ! " 
 
 " She will hear it soon enough, if I stay here, — 
 palavering hussy. She will bear watching. I have 
 my eye on her." 
 
 *' Why, aunty, what do you mean? " 
 
 ** Marguerite, you are a child. Why did I come 
 to this horrid place at all?" 
 
 "To please me, aunt, of course, and it's lucky I 
 am a child, for if I had been born when you were, 
 you would never have had the pleasure of taking 
 care of me, and I could never have called you 
 aunt." 
 
 ** The past is past, as you say," said Mrs. Marshall, 
 ignoring this sally, and settling herself back among 
 the cushions. *' But we can't forget, though we may 
 suffer." 
 
 Marguerite laughed merrily. " How you must 
 suffer, aunt, lying in that chair among Miss Van 
 Ostade's cushions." 
 
 ** And what a tease you must be," said Miss 
 Katherine, gayly. 
 
 " I never mind her. She is thoroughly spoiled," 
 said Mrs. Marshall, languidly. 
 
 *' That 's so, aunty dear, and who could have done 
 it? Come, Miss Katherine, — I call you that be- 
 cause John does, you know, — come out and swing 
 
270 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 in the hammock while aunt lugubriates. She enjoys 
 it. Clare will call us when Mrs. Wells wishes you." 
 
 So they went out and swung under the trees for 
 an hour while the older ladies reviewed their past, 
 and as they chatted and swung, Miss Katherine felt 
 herself growing younger, and the younger maid, 
 playing so successfully on the heartstrings of the 
 elder, felt her own being stirred with a loving im- 
 pulse, and, leaning over, took the fine sweet face 
 of Miss Katherine in her two hands and kissed it. 
 
 " There, I have been wanting to do that, and now 
 I have done it," she said. 
 
 Miss Katherine flushed with pleasure, and drew 
 the siren close to her side. " Here comes Clare," 
 said Marguerite; "we must go in." 
 
 Two men, her lover and the artist, had emerged 
 from the thicket of wild shrubbery that skirted the 
 edge of the woods encircling the homestead on 
 three sides. They both saw this little episode, and 
 each took note of it in his own way. 
 
 ** Mrs. Marshall and her ward are most charming," 
 said Mr. Held. ** A great acquisition to our small 
 coterie here " 
 
 " They are indeed, especiall}^ the ward, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 " Certainly, that goes without saying. Shall we 
 join these ladies? " 
 
 '' As you like, I must leave you here." 
 
 So Hanford passed on, merely lifting his hat, 
 leaving the artist to follow at the leisure of the 
 ladies. Marguerite was a trifle piqued, but she 
 kept up her merry chatter, and the glance of her 
 dark eyes toward his retreating figure was unnoticed 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 271 
 
 by her companions. As they neared the house, 
 Portia came out to meet them. She began cordially 
 urging Miss Katherine to stay through the evening. 
 
 " You should not make a formal call on such old 
 friends," she said. ^' I am sure — " 
 
 " Indeed they must not," interrupted Marguerite. 
 "Just wait, I will ask Mrs. Wells," and she followed 
 Clare up the stair. 
 
 But Katherine was thinking of the long drive 
 home in the dark, and of John, with only the small 
 Gertrude to attend to his evening meal. " Oh, I 
 can't stay," she said. 
 
 " Andy can take your horse back now, and Alex- 
 ander will drive you home in the evening," said Por- 
 tia, divining her thoughts, " and we will send for Mr. 
 Marshall to dine here; he will enjoy being with his 
 mother, I am sure." 
 
 Still Katherine hesitated. She must return these 
 courtesies if she accepted them, and how could she? 
 No, she must not stay. Then Marguerite returned, 
 saying Mrs. Wells would stay if Katherine thought 
 best, and then, just in time to turn the scale in favor 
 of the delay, John came galloping up the drive, and 
 throwing the reins to Andy, hurried up the steps 
 with the freedom of which he gladly availed himself 
 since his mother's arrival. His buoyant, happy, al- 
 most triumphant bearing seemed to change the 
 aspect of everything. Portia appealed to him. 
 Would n't he persuade his friend and her mother to 
 remain? Ah, wouldn't he though! And remain 
 they did, and dined at the new boarding-house, al- 
 though they would have been terrified that morning 
 at the thought of doing so. 
 
272 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Mrs. Marshall seldom appeared with the other 
 guests, until they gathered in the dining-room in 
 the evening, and then she was always closely at- 
 tended by the French maid, bearing her cushions, 
 her fan, and lace shawls, and mysterious black bag. 
 She never spoke to one of the servants, but made all 
 her wants known to Clare, who in turn repeated 
 them to the waitress. John never had known her 
 to be quite so formal. Influenced by her presence, 
 the other guests unconsciously assumed an air of 
 dignity and distance, at once elegant and oppressive. 
 
 Portia felt that the easy geniality hitherto pervad- 
 ing her household, was gone. She would not allow 
 herself to be daunted, however, but went about among 
 them, with their many whims and smallnesses, regu- 
 lating affairs in the gentle way that won every one, 
 yet holding her head like the queen she was, com- 
 plete mistress of herself and of her household. John 
 watched her moving about, speaking to each with 
 gracious care, and again as she served coffee at the 
 little table, with the light from the tall lamp playing 
 over her hair, and the dear small Juliet at her elbow, 
 and to him her presence was the all-pervading one 
 — the only presence in that great old room, where 
 in childhood he had hidden himself away, and 
 watched lovely ladies in glistening foreign silks, 
 rustling and fanning and chattering about him. 
 Portia, in simple white, with a touch of lilac tulle at 
 her throat and wrists, her graceful head a-tilt over 
 the cups and saucers, seemed to him the epitome 
 of all the grace and beauty, the graciousness and 
 queenliness, the gentleness and femininity that the 
 great old drawing-room had ever held in its heart in 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 273 
 
 all the hundred years of its existence. Ah, it was a 
 proud little head, but had it not rested on his 
 bosom? and the soft tint in her cheeks, had he not 
 seen it deepen for him? So it was he of all the 
 guests who was at that moment consciously and 
 supremely happy. 
 
 Marguerite drew a hassock to Mrs. Wells' feet. 
 " I will sit here," she said, *' where you can touch me 
 if you wish for anything. I am glad you stayed, 
 for now you can hear Miss Van Ostade sing. Oh, she 
 sings charmingly, and they have other music also." 
 
 ** And you, too, sing charmingly, T have no doubt." 
 
 ''Ah, not as she does, do I, Aunt Isabel? " 
 
 *' She certainly sings well for one who has had no 
 advantages, — has never been abroad, you know." 
 
 *' She has been abroad, mother," said John, bend- 
 ing over her chair, and speaking in a low tone. " It 
 was in Germany that I first saw her, and she got her 
 pronunciation of Italian in Italy." 
 
 " You first saw her in Germany ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Marshal], sharply. 
 
 Portia could not help hearing the words and 
 guessing their import. She was trying to extin- 
 guish the flame of the lamp under the shining urn 
 at her side, and an awkward movement of her hand 
 caused her to drop the cover and burn her fingers. 
 
 Hanford Clark stepped quickly forward and pick- 
 ing up the little brass disk placed it over the blaze. 
 " Let me take these cups for you," he said. ** Mrs. 
 Wells has none; shall I take them? Ah ! you have 
 burned yourself." 
 
 " It is nothing," she bit her lip in her vexation, 
 " only my awkwardness." 
 18 
 
274 When the Gates Lift Up then- Heads 
 
 Armed with his errand, he took himself to Mar- 
 guerite's side. " Won't you introduce me to your 
 friend? " he said. 
 
 " Gladly. Have n't you met her in all the time 
 you have been here? Mrs. Wells, this is Mr. Clark, 
 — John's friend, you know. He has brought your 
 coffee." 
 
 ** John's friend? Then I should know him," she 
 held out her hand, and he placed the cup in it. 
 *"' No, it is your hand I want. I am blind, and it 
 is only by the touch of your hand and the sound 
 of your voice that I may know you," she said 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Then you are spared all unpleasant sights," he 
 said. He drew a chair near, and began conversing 
 quietly. Presently he turned to Marguerite, *' That 
 was kind of you to introduce me as John's friend." 
 He spoke in an undertone, during the confused buzz 
 of general conversation about them. 
 
 ** Have you met her daughter? She is talking to 
 Mr. Russell. Is n't she like an old picture, the way 
 she dresses her hair?" 
 
 " Charming." 
 
 " Then, why did you go right by us there in the 
 garden, if you think so? Mr. Held did not, and he 
 had less reason for stopping than you, — not being 
 so old an acquaintance, I mean." 
 
 ** Sometimes the newest acquaintances are the 
 most agreeable." 
 
 " Of course, sometimes. Was that why you passed ^ 
 me by? " 
 
 *' Marguerite, are you going to tantalize me into 
 doing what I promised you I would not?" 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 275 
 
 ** Oh," whispered Marguerite, " the pretty blond 
 plays the cornet," she looked toward the piano 
 where Mr. Vedder stood with a French horn in his 
 hand, and Mrs. Clare was turning her music. 
 
 Portia escaped from the room, and leaned against 
 one of the pillars of the verandah. Her hand 
 smarted with the burn, and her heart with the sting 
 of that sentence which she had heard, and the tone 
 of displeased surprise, and almost of contempt which 
 it seemed to contain for her. " Oh, if she would 
 only go away ! " she thought. " She hates me, and 
 she always will. She is cruel, wicked, to hate me 
 for what I could not help." Then she bethought 
 that Mrs. Marshall could not know of her precious 
 secret yet, and she was unjust. Yes, she would keep 
 on trying to win her, but she was sick of all the dis- 
 tasteful life she was leading. She felt that she 
 ought to go back and talk to Miss Katherine, and 
 say pleasant things to a little lady who had but just 
 arrived, but how could she go about saying aft'able 
 things in this mood, and with the consciousness of 
 those critical eyes on her, — that languid, watchful 
 look, that seemed to be indifferent, yet was so cat- 
 like and intent after all. She heard the wheeze of 
 the cornet, struggling with one of her songs, and 
 she pulled impatiently at the jasmine \-ine, crushing 
 the flowers in her hands. She heard a step near, 
 but did not move. She hoped it might be John, 
 but it was not. 
 
 "Ah, you are in hiding, I see. I missed you from 
 the circle in there. When you go, the soul of the 
 place is gone, and I always escape myself." 
 
 Portia started at the sound of the voice, and, turn- 
 
276 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 ing sharply, looked, with an almost pitiful expression 
 of entreaty, into the face of her silver-haired lover. 
 The look was a silent entreaty from her heart to be 
 let alone, but his interpretation of it was different. 
 " You are weary. No wonder you hide." 
 
 *' Indeed, no. I am only enjoying the fresh air." 
 
 "Let me fetch you a chair, and enjoy it also." 
 He placed two chairs just beyond the light which 
 streamed from the window. " Now, this is charm- 
 ing, to sit here and listen to the music," he rubbed 
 his hands together with hearty satisfaction. 
 
 " He plays oft" the key," she said with a little ner- 
 vous laugh. 
 
 " Yes, yes. A sensitive ear must suffer. There is 
 where we coarser organizations have a certain ad- 
 vantage. Now to me that music is agreeable, but I 
 see its defects, of course. When I judge of music, 
 I can judge truly." He added hastily, "I would not 
 have you to think I judge of your music as I do of 
 this, for instance. No, no. That is different entirely." 
 The lamp inside was moved at this moment, and the 
 rays fell on his beautiful hair, and illumined his face. 
 " Now yours is music. Oh, the pity of it, th^t you 
 should be shut up here with your talent, your 
 genius, and only selfish people get the benefit of it ! 
 You should sing for the whole world. You should 
 go abroad, and then come home and bring the world 
 to your feet. You should — " 
 
 '' Oh, Mr. Russell, it is like hearing a romance, 
 but I must not dream of such things, nor even listen 
 to you. At this very minute I ought to be looking 
 after the comfort of my guests. To sit here chatting 
 does not fit my position." She rose to go. 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 277 
 
 " Your position go hang," he said with vehemence. 
 *' This is not your position, — I beg pardon, but you 
 should be in a position I have in mind for you, — 
 one that is fitted for you. This is all — " 
 
 Portia sank back trembling into the chair, without 
 strength to move. What could she do? How could 
 she stop him? She must, — but he went on. 
 
 " That is right. This is not your position, it is 
 all wrong. Miss Van Ostade, I have sought this op- 
 portunity for weeks. Sometimes I almost thought 
 you avoided me, but that it stood to reason you 
 could not give all your time to an old man, when 
 there are so many younger claimants." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Russell, it was never your age, never," 
 she paused. Was it possible that in her endeavor to 
 be kind, she had not made the true reason of her 
 avoidance clear to him? 
 
 "I understand; no, no. Certainly not; and I 
 am not so old, neither. My heart is young as any 
 man's. Miss Van Ostade, my heart is at your feet. 
 I can make possible all the dreams I have laid 
 before you and more. Let me make you mistress 
 of my home, and place my fortune in your hands. 
 There is no one to dispute your right. Miss Van 
 Ostade, I can command my millions, yet without 
 you they are worthless to me. Just let me enumerate 
 to you — " 
 
 " I can't listen to you ; I must not. I was out 
 of my senses to sit here and let you talk to me 
 hke this." 
 
 " Just a word, a word ; I am not so old as my 
 white hair would indicate, — as you may think, — and 
 I bring you a cleaner record and a purer heart than 
 
278 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 many a younger man. Let me urge you. Think 
 of all I might be able to do for your happiness, for 
 your most charming mother. While now you have 
 cares without number, all would be lifted from you, 
 and your path be strewn with roses. We would 
 travel, and revel in the wonders of the old world, 
 and your mother would grow young again, — so also 
 would your grandfather. I realize his worth. I feel 
 what you in your pride would say to this ; but is it 
 right, is it reasonable that you should throw away 
 their happiness as well as mine, by a refusal?" 
 
 " Mr. Russell, I am not to be bought and sold," 
 she said, rising to her feet, and looking at him as 
 she had not dared before. Noting the pain in his 
 face, instantly her pride and resentment changed to 
 a feeling of gratitude and genuine sorrow. " For- 
 give me for those words ; they were too harsh." 
 She seated herself, and leaning on the arm of her 
 chair brought her face nearer his. *' You deserve 
 a different answer. Will you be satisfied if I give 
 you a glimpse into my heart? It is but fair, since 
 I have allowed you to say this to me. I cannot give 
 you what only a true woman should give to the man 
 she would marry. You are too good a man to be 
 so treated, or to wish me anything but happiness. 
 I cannot give you my heart; it is not mine. I love 
 some one else very deeply. This is a confidence 
 which now you alone of all the world have. Even 
 my mother, I have kept it from her. You will 
 understand now why I should avoid you ; it is not 
 your age, it is not yourself, believe me. It is, it — 
 Oh, why should this be? Why should you care so 
 much? There are lovely women who are famishing 
 
The Blind Woman's Visit 279 
 
 for just such true love as you have laid at my feet. 
 Why should such treasure be offered me (I am not 
 worthy of it), and they be denied? " 
 
 The old man made no answer. He sat with his 
 head bowed in his hands, stunned. He had not 
 thought a refusal possible. He had passed the last 
 few weeks in one long dream of happiness, and 
 now the shock seemed rude indeed. At last Portia 
 could not bear the silence and spoke again, trying 
 to make her refusal seem more gracious. 
 
 '* I could have given you all you ask, if it were 
 not for this greater love, believe me, I could. There 
 are many more worthy than I ; won't you give to 
 some one else the treasure I mast not have, and 
 so bring blessedness to yourself as well as to 
 another? " 
 
 ** Miss Van Ostade, there is but one woman in 
 the world for me." He rose, took her hand in his ^ .a.*^/^«< 
 f for a moment, and then bending low over it kissed it. <}• ^^^ '^ 
 
 ** Pardon me," he said, and turning abruptly left L 
 her. , -^ ^ 
 
 f 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 MARGUERITE SETS THE FASHION 
 
 AS the season wore along, guests flocked to the 
 old home from the far South, while a few of the 
 Northern boarders remained the summer through; 
 and it was not long before Portia could count 
 among the inmates of the house individuals who 
 had gathered from the four quarters of the globe. 
 The air of reserve and criticism which had entered 
 the place with the advent of Mrs. Marshall soon 
 passed. It had swept through the little gathering 
 like a contagious disease, worn itself out, and was 
 gone, before the more oblivious of the guests knew 
 it had been among them. Although protesting 
 she had never been so wretchedly situated in her 
 life, Mrs. Marshall settled herself for the summer 
 in the pleasant rooms which had been prepared 
 especially for her comfort. 
 
 *'It is more the service than it is the rooms," she 
 complained to John one day as he waited at her 
 door, lingering until he should hear Portia's step in 
 the hall below, for the sake of a touch of her hand 
 as he passed out. He seldom could get a word 
 with her these busy days. 
 
 '* The service ! Why, I have seen Miss Van 
 Ostade bringing you things with her own hands." 
 
 His mother laughed. " You seem to think that the 
 greatest honor that could happen to any one. It 
 
 280 
 
Marguerite Sets the Fashion 281 
 
 only shows she is no lady. She should send a maid. 
 It would be far pleasanter for me, I am sure." 
 
 ''Well, there's no accounting for tastes," he said 
 with a shrug. 
 
 " So I think, at least for yours." 
 
 " I must go," he said hurriedly. He thought he 
 heard Portia's step in the lower hall. " I have a man 
 on to decorate the grand salon at the hotel to-day, 
 so I may not be in again. He is a wonder at the 
 work ; you must try to drive over and see it. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 He found Portia at the far end of the piazza 
 trying to put up a hammock that had been broken 
 down the night before. 
 
 " Good-morning, good-morning. What are you 
 frying to do?" he said cheerily, taking the hammer 
 from her hand. '* Now, where do you wish this 
 put? Here where it was before? Why you can't 
 do it with this; you need an auger and bit." 
 
 '' Yes, I see I do. Never mind ; I will wait until 
 grandfather comes." The wail of his violin floated 
 down to them from an upper window. She pushed 
 the hammock from her with a little sigh. She was 
 tired that morning in brain and body. She did not 
 glance up, for she felt his eyes on her and knew the 
 wistful look in them. " I did not know you were 
 here," she said, standing a little apart and slowly 
 winding her handkerchief about her hand. He 
 pulled it gently off and disclosed a great red bruise 
 across her fingers, and his heart was touched. His 
 mother's bitter words still rung in his ears. *' She 
 shows she is no lady by doing such things; " and 
 their injustice and cruelty stung him. He flung the 
 
282 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 hammer over the piazza raihng and seized her hands 
 almost savagely. 
 
 " Portia, these are mine ; you are mine. You 
 shall not be doing these things when I am here to 
 prevent. I say these hands are mine, and all this 
 work must stop. It is cruel." She grew white to 
 the lips, and tried weakly to pull her hands away. 
 He raised the bruised fingers and kissed them. 
 " Say it shall stop," he said tenderly. 
 
 *' Oh, John, I can't. I see no way to stop. 
 I must keep on, perhaps for years. There is no one 
 else for them to depend on, and they must not know 
 of this ; I must keep on if it kills me, and you — " 
 She bit her lip to keep back the tears and regain 
 self-control. 
 
 ** And I ? " He bent over her, looking into her 
 eyes, but she kept them fixed on the distant hills, 
 and tried again to release her hands. 
 
 " I cannot ask you to wait for me ; it is too much. 
 Oh, John, let everything be as it was, — as if — it 
 never had happened." 
 
 ''As if what never had happened?" 
 
 ** Oh, you know. Don't look at me. Let me 
 have my hands to cover my face." 
 
 " Portia, tell me what has happened." She was 
 silent. All the world was silent. No flutter of a 
 leaf, nor twitter of a bird, — only the distant plaint 
 of her grandfather's violin, as if to keep her in 
 mind of her obligations. The earth slept in the 
 warm morning sun. His mother, reclining on her 
 couch with the shades drawn, was slowly fanning 
 herself and listening to Clare reading aloud, a 
 French novel, in her native tongue. 
 
Marguerite Sets the Fashion 283 
 
 " Tell me, Portia," he said again exultantly, " what 
 has happened? I want to hear it from your lips, 
 over and over, or sing it to me. It is fit for music, 
 — our hearts are full of it. Come, or I will kiss you 
 again as I did that morning." 
 
 Portia gave a half-frightened look around. '* No, 
 no, John; give me back my hands. Some one — 
 your mother's maid might be — might see you. I 
 seem to feel her eyes on me all the time lately, 
 wherever I am." 
 
 " They are making you miserable with their 
 . whims. They shall not stay here, if I have to leave 
 the place myself. This is downright deviltry. 
 I'll—" 
 
 '* No, no ; if I cannot win her, I am not worthy 
 of you. She cannot help her prejudices, and — 
 well — if you were to tell her now what you have 
 done, without giving me time to overcome them, 
 she will never forgive you, and there will be an end." 
 
 " Portia ! Let my mother come between you and 
 me? Never. She has not controlled my life in the 
 past; why should she now?" 
 
 The cat lay on the railing, with her forepaws 
 curled in, sleepily blinking at them. Portia turned 
 away from her lover and gently stroked pussy's fur, 
 and laid her flushed cheek against it before she 
 replied. She could not understand how one so warm- 
 hearted and impulsive could stand in such relations 
 to his mother, and it troubled her. 
 
 ** But she is your mother, and you love her, and 
 she is so frail. If this would make her miserable, 
 we never could build up our happiness on such a. 
 foundation." 
 
284 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "You are an angel, and ordinary mortals cannot 
 keep up with you. But, Portia, I can't look at this 
 as you would have me. I tell you no one is going 
 to be made miserable unless it be you and I, if I 
 should listen to you. When the summer is over, 
 if mother is — if you have not succeeded, my beau- 
 tiful, promise me that no earthly thing or being 
 shall stand between us. Promise me ! " 
 
 *' John, I do love you, oh, I do. Is n't that 
 enough — till then?" 
 
 ** Give me the promise too, quick ! " he said, 
 seizing the hands she impulsively held out to him. 
 " Some one is coming over the hill yonder, — some 
 of your precious boarders riding back. Listen. 
 There is no one on earth who can come between 
 you and me. You must not think I do not love my 
 mother, — I do ; but she shall not come between us ; 
 and as for your own, if you are happy, they will be. 
 You think they have no one to turn to who w^ould 
 care for them so lovingly? That is because you 
 do not half believe in me, Portia. Don't look at 
 that cloud of dyst; look in my eyes and see how I 
 lovG you." H^f/t^^^-'^ 'UjU ..y C^O ij 
 
 " I believe in you as I believe in my own soul, 
 John. It is not that. I can give myself to you, but 
 not them. I must keep right on doing my work — 
 for a time at least." 
 
 " I will not torment your conscience any more, 
 sweetheart. Go on doing your work in your own 
 brave way, but, hark, when the summer is over, 
 before another year is begun, I am going to marry 
 you, love, in this house where I was born. If 
 rnother becomes reconciled, well and good; if not, 
 
Marguerite Sets the Fashion 285 
 
 she may go to — Cuba, as she usually does, and 
 leave me to my own way. My will is as strong 
 as hers, and you are the sweetest woman in the 
 world, and you are mine. There ! kiss me. You 
 can't help yourself. They are coming now. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 As he rode rapidly away, he saw Clare throw 
 open the blind of his mother's wide French window, 
 opening onto the upper gallery of the piazza. She 
 stepped quietly out, and leaning over the railing 
 looked down on Portia, standing among the honey- 
 suckle vines in her simple white dress, and saw her 
 blow a kiss at him, lifting the bruised hand to her 
 lips, — the hai;iL-li£-iiad -kissed. He returned the 
 gentle salute, and then. with a backward glance at 
 the m^^above rode on. A moment later, the 
 guests whom they had watched a few minutes before 
 turning a distant curve, came galloping up the drive, 
 and Clare re-entered her mistress's room. 
 
 *'Who rode away just now?" said Mrs. Marshall. 
 
 " Ce votre his, madam.' 
 
 "Was he alone?" 
 
 The maid lifted her shoulders. "Je suppose, 
 madam ; he rode le seul." >,^ 
 
 "Yes, yes. But — he must have waited for some 
 reason; was there no one below? " 
 
 " Oh, oui. Je pense, de mees, que, keeps dis 
 place, la." * - -.- *" 
 
 " The hussy ! Where was she? " 
 
 " EUe caress'Te chat, — le pussee." Through the 
 feminine instinct of helping on a love affair, and 
 partly through natural kindness of heart, Clare pur- 
 posed to give only as much information as would 
 
 
286 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 satisfy her mistress, and kept her lips discreetly 
 closed on the rest. Moreover, she felt that John 
 Marshall fully comprehended the situation and 
 knew she had been sent to look just when she did, 
 and she would not be compromised in his eyes. 
 She would be able to defend herself, should he 
 speak of it. 
 
 ** I will go down, Clare ; bring me the loose gown 
 with the lace. No, not that one ; the white with 
 black lace. It is too warm for anything else." 
 
 Marguerite came bounding into the little sitting- 
 room bc3'ond and threw herself upon the couch in 
 her habit. "Oh, it is so warm! " she said, fanning 
 her flushed face. 
 
 ** Then why do you ride in such heat? " 
 " Oh, but we had a glorious time. Mr. Held is 
 just handsome on horseback. He looks better than 
 he does off, like Napoleon. If he were only a little 
 taller, he would be handsome, anyway." 
 
 **John was in asking for you. He seemed sur- 
 prised that I should allow you to go off in this way 
 with any one you happen to pick up at a boarding- 
 house. Why don't you go with him ever, these 
 days?" 
 
 ** Why don't I? How can I? He is so taken up 
 with his old hotel. He would better look after him- 
 self a little, I think." She bit her lip and glanced 
 quickly at her aunt and then at the maid, who was 
 standing behind her gently brushing the long gray 
 hair, still plentifully sprinkled with black. Clare, 
 answering the glance, lightly touched her closed lips 
 with her finger. Ah, quick-tempered little Mar- 
 guerite ! she had sent a shaft she had not intended. 
 
Marguerite Sets the Fashion 287 
 
 ** Look after himself? What do you mean?" 
 said Mrs. Marshall, sharply. 
 
 ** I mean what I say. He need n't be looking 
 after me and criticising me. He acts just as he did 
 in Europe, tormenting me almost to death with his 
 superior ways. If that hotel and two or three hun- 
 dred workmen aren't enough for him to attend to 
 here, I would like to know. Oh, that makes me 
 think — we are going to have a lot of fun. The 
 dining-room there is all finished and cleared, and John 
 has sent for music, — good music, you know, — and 
 we are to have a dance to-morrow night. Just our- 
 selves, and a few of the nice, real old families around 
 here.. Mr. Chaplain knows them all, so he invites 
 them, you know. He and John are giving it them- 
 selves, only Miss Van Ostade is to send over the 
 refreshments. She gets her supplies from some big 
 place somewhere. She is a perfect angel." 
 
 " Very charming, certainly, but that is her business, 
 you know." 
 
 *' You are so cold, aunt. I say she is lovely." 
 
 "Very true; it is her business to be so. Think 
 what she must make out of us." 
 
 '* Oh, hum ! I can't, for the life of me, see why 
 she should be so different from everybody else 
 just because she keeps boarders. Anyway, her 
 business will be gone as soon as the new hotel is 
 opened." 
 
 " Oh, no. There are plenty of stupid people who 
 would rather come to a place of this kind." 
 
 ** But you don't take any interest in the dance, 
 aunt. I tell you, it will be swell. Let's see: there 
 are forty boarders here, and there will be at least as 
 
vJi 
 
 288 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 many more from outside; John says there will be 
 about a hundred people there, the swellest kind of 
 people." 
 
 " And some who are not so swell." 
 " Oh, of course. Mr. Held has asked me for the 
 first dance and the last, so you see — " 
 
 ** I see. All graver interests must stand aside 
 Jnow, for a while, for Mr. Held." 
 "Certainly, for a while, you know." 
 ^. J " Marguerite, are you never going to be in 
 earnest?" 
 
 *' Yes, aunt. I am very serious now. I am going 
 to teach him a valuable lesson." 
 
 ** One of these days you will find you have made 
 f a grave mistake. Marguerite. I — " 
 
 " Oh, aunt, don't preach. I like scolding better. 
 You look so handsome when you scold, — as if you 
 could thrust a stiletto into your lover's heart, and so 
 ^ forth. I think I will write a novel, aunt, just to put 
 
 "^ you in it. You would make a splendid — " 
 
 '* Marguerite, don't chatter. You look so warm 
 in that habit ; take it off and put on a thin dress." 
 
 She sprang up and kissed her aunt. " Much 
 better advice than you were going to give, aunt dear, 
 and I will take it. I won't wear this habit any more 
 V when I ride ; I will wear a gingham dress and a 
 
 ^S black sunbonnet, as the natives do around here." 
 
 - " Oh, mademoiselle, je proteste," exclaimed Clare, 
 
 J holding up both hands. 
 
 I ^f " That is right, Clare ; you look well when you are 
 
 protesting." •vA^,.t> 
 
 I '^ v^.. *' Mais, j'implore ! Votre beautiful light blue 
 :s~ ^ ginkham, vis ze lace, ze ribonne, I can never put her 
 
Marguerite Sets the Fashion 289 
 
 on you more, ven you haf gone on le cheval wis ze 
 dress." 
 
 ** Not that one ; don't be troubled. I am going to 
 get a plaid gingham at Mr. Hackett's general store, 
 and you may make it up for me. That and a great 
 white apron and a black sunbonnet, — that is the 
 fashion here in America, Clare. You know you like 
 to be in the fashion." 
 
 " Oui, mademoiselle, mais je n'aime pas this 
 fashion ci." 
 
 Marguerite was as good as her word, and Clare, 
 amid mock tears and protestations, fashioned the 
 dress with her deft fingers, which her young mistress 
 wore with bewitching grace on all her mountain 
 excursions for the rest of the season. Indeed, her 
 example was followed by all the women boarders 
 who dared risk their charms in such a costume ; and 
 Mr. Hackett was obliged to lay in a new stock of 
 gingham to supply the native trade. 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 CONFIDENCES 
 
 N^OTHING was talked of but the prospective 
 dance at the lunch tables that day. 
 
 " Your daughter will be overtired if she has the 
 refreshments to look after, in addition to all she has 
 to care for here," said a pleasant old lady to Mrs. 
 Van Ostade. 
 
 *' The ladies have very kindly offered to assist, and 
 Miss Wells will be over this afternoon. They will 
 divide the duties among them." 
 
 At Portia's table the matter of refreshments was 
 being discussed sotto voce, until Mrs. Barry's clear 
 tones struck an anxious chord with the words, " No 
 celery ! but what are we to do for salad? " 
 
 "Why can't we get some? You get it, Miss Van 
 Ostade ; we had it yesterday," chimed in Miss 
 Keller. 
 
 " Mine is gone, and we have no time to order 
 more," replied Portia, in a low voice ; and the con- 
 versation dropped to its former undertone. 
 
 " Oh, I see." 
 
 ** Well, then, what's to be done?" 
 
 " Substitute something else." 
 
 " Oh, no. We must have salad, and we must have 
 celery," said Mrs. Barry. 
 
 "We will think about it and contrive," said Portia. 
 " Certainly we should have it." 
 
 290 
 
Confidences 291 
 
 As they passed out, to gather on the piazza, 
 Hanford Clark stepped to Portia's side. 
 
 ''Can I help you?" he asked. ** I knew a man 
 who used to raise it, only he lives over at the 
 Gap." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Ridgeway ; " a man by the name 
 of Homer raises it, but it would mean a ride of fully 
 twenty-four miles, there and back. We might send 
 a boy, unless the horse is needed here, Portia." 
 
 Marguerite came and slipped her arm about 
 Portia's waist. "What is it?" she said. 
 
 " It is what is n't," said Portia, giving a caressing 
 touch to Marguerite's hair. " We are speaking 
 of what we shall regale ourselves withal, at the 
 dance to-morrow night. There is no celery for the 
 salad." 
 
 " Scour the mountains. Send couriers in all 
 directions to hunt for celery," said Mr. Held. 
 
 " That is grandfather's suggestion." 
 
 '' There is an English gardener stranded over at 
 the Gap," said Hanford. 
 
 " That is the place to go, then," said Mr. Betts. 
 " We might make up a party, and ride over. How 
 far is it?" 
 
 " Twelve miles or near it," said Hanford. " I will 
 go if you wish. Miss Van Ostade ; I shall not be at the 
 station for the rest of the day." 
 
 " You must not spend all your leisure doing 
 errands for me, you have so little." 
 
 '* Oh, but this is for all, and if I had company on 
 the trip — " 
 
 Marguerite was as well aware of the quick glance 
 he sent in her direction as if she had seen it. Mr. 
 
292 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Held was talking to her, and she was looking in his 
 face. Hanford did not hear what he was saying, 
 but his own face darkened, and he turned away as 
 he heard her reply. 
 
 " Yes, we had an awfully good time, but I had a 
 lecture from aunt when we got home for going with 
 you this morning, so I dare not try it so soon again ; 
 anyway, I am tired, and it is hot." 
 
 " Then may I ask what you are intending to do 
 the rest of the day?" Mr. Held still spoke in an 
 undertone. 
 
 '• Oh, I don't know. I usually do what I don't 
 expect to do, so if I could tell you, you would be 
 none the wiser." 
 
 Hanford moved away to avoid overhearing further, 
 and accosted Mrs. Barry, who sat under a network 
 of vines, embroidering and chatting with Mrs. Van 
 Ostade. " I don't know that I blame them," she was 
 saying. " Mrs. Wells tells me the rising generation 
 are an utterly irresponsible class, — absolutely good 
 for nothing." 
 
 ** Portia has managed to find a use for some of 
 them. Of course they needed training," said the 
 elder woman. 
 
 ** Ah, but that is Portia, not the rising generation. 
 She could make sticks and stones rise up and do 
 her bidding. But you know they all will steal." 
 
 " I suppose they came up with the notion that 
 everything they could la)^ hands on was theirs, and 
 that their masters' goods were their own, by right of 
 their working without pay." 
 
 " May I join you? " said Hanford, seating himself 
 on the piazza railing. 
 
« 
 
 Confidences 293 
 
 We shall be delighted," said Mrs. Van Ostade. 
 " Draw up that large chair. You are not comfort- 
 able so." 
 
 " I am very happy here," he said, in polite fiction, 
 for he was at that moment most miserable, as Mar- 
 guerite chattered and laughed with the young artist, 
 who was preparing to work on a sketch of her head, 
 begun the day before, while the other guests looked 
 on. 
 
 " Of course he is," said Mrs, Barry. ** Men are 
 always most happy when they are uncomfortable. 
 Why do you ask him to take an easy-chair when he 
 is so pleasantly uncomfortable where he is? " 
 
 Hanford laughed. '* I am very well off here, and 
 in no mood for an easy-chair. You are right." 
 
 *' We were talking of the negro nuisance, so to 
 speak. I think they are the curse of the South." 
 
 " As they have always been," he responded. 
 " A unique opinion for a Northern woman to hold." 
 
 '* I know, but I hold it all the same. There are 
 two sides to the question, and I am sure Mr. Barry 
 will agree with me when he comes down. I don't 
 blame people of the South for their feeling towards 
 them." 
 
 '' You don't think it possible for them to be 
 educated into responsible members of society, 
 then?" 
 
 " They would have to be educated a thousand 
 years before I would be willing to admit them to my 
 society." 
 
 '' And then you would be rather old for society," 
 said Portia, who had joined them and stood by her 
 mother's chair. " Mamma deary, here is your 
 
294 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 tonic. I found it by your plate. You forgot it 
 this noon." 
 
 Mrs. Van Ostade took the tiny glass, and the look 
 she gave her daughter was pathetic in its tenderness. 
 Portia stooped and kissed her lightly on the cheek, 
 and touched the fine gray hair, and arranged the 
 lace at her neck. " I must pet mamma now and 
 then," she said with a slight flush, as she caught 
 Hanford's eyes fixed on her with smiling regard. 
 
 " I think we are all inclined to envy you the 
 privilege," he said gallantly. " And now," he 
 glanced at his watch, ** would you like me to drive 
 over to the Gap for you, or are they going to make 
 up a party, as Mr. Betts proposed ? " 
 
 ** No, no one else is going; but it is a shame to 
 let you drive away over there, just at a venture, this 
 hot afternoon." 
 
 ** It will give me the greatest pleasure. I will 
 start immediately." 
 
 " If you go now, you will be back for dinner, will 
 you not ? " 
 
 *' I may possibly wait until the cool of the even- 
 ing before I drive home." 
 
 " It will be far pleasanter," said Mrs. Van Ostade. 
 
 '* Good-bye, then, until to-night. By the way, 
 what have you on for this evening?" 
 
 " Nothing much," said Portia. 
 
 " Indeed, we are to picnic over there on the lawn 
 where the trees with the seats are, and the negroes 
 are to give us a concert," said Mrs. Barry. 
 
 '* I didn't think Mr. Clark would care for that." 
 
 " I always enjoy your httle impromptu events, and 
 I most certainly will return in time." 
 
Confidences 295 
 
 As he approached the group near the artist, 
 Marguerite looked up, and his eyes met hers with a 
 grave look. He said nothing, and scarcely glanced 
 at the sketch as he passed. 
 
 ** He need n't be so cross," she thought. ** I don't 
 care. He may snub me all he likes, but he sha'n't 
 rule me, I will do what I please." She pouted, 
 and for an instant forgot artist, sketch, the guests 
 who clustered around, and even her own important 
 part. She was with Hanford again in the coolness 
 and shadows as she was on that first evening. " I 
 don't care," she said to herself, but she did care. 
 
 " Ah, I am losing likeness, I fear," said the artist, 
 impatiently. *' Or her expression has all changed. 
 Miss McLourie, will you have the kindness to — 
 there, that is better. The expression you wore a 
 moment ago, please. The shade of a smile, and 
 the lips slightly parted — " 
 
 " Mr. Held thinks, evidently, that my expressions 
 are Paris made, to put off and on like my hats. 
 Thank you, sir. Very complimentary, surely." 
 
 ** Now — no. Miss McLourie. That really is too 
 bad. Just tip your head a little, please. Ah ! I 
 had such a beautiful pose here." 
 
 "Such a beautiful pose, Miss McLourie; pray 
 don't spoil it," chimed in Miss Keller. 
 
 "Are you nearly through? I am so warm and 
 thirsty." 
 
 All were too intent to heed her little complaint, 
 so, flushed and a trifle impatient, she tipped her 
 pretty head and sat still. Presently she rose. 
 
 "You surely will spare me for a moment; I am 
 going for a fan. This heat is intolerable; " and 
 
296 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 before the gentlemen had time to beg her pardon 
 for their thoughtlessness, she was gone. 
 
 Mr. Held hurriedly dashed in a little background 
 and drapery during her absence. In the long hall 
 she met Hanford with a glass of water. " I heard 
 you say you were thirsty after I passed, a moment 
 ago," he said. 
 
 " I was dying for a glass of water, and they did n't 
 one of them care. Thank you." 
 
 " Naturally they forget everything when they 
 have you before them with the privilege of dissect- 
 ing your loveliness." 
 
 " It is n't nice of you to put it so." 
 
 "No, it isn't nice, I know; but — Marguerite, 
 don't run away from me — I only want a word ; 
 come back again." 
 
 " I am going for my fan," she said, tapping im- 
 patiently on the step with her foot and leaning over 
 the railing; ''speak to me here." 
 
 " I am going over to Pine Gap in the light rig. 
 Will you go? It will be cooler in an hour, and 
 delightful. Must I go alone?" He mounted the 
 stair with his long legs three steps at a time, and 
 stood beside her. 
 
 '* Why, no, not necessarily; you can ask some one 
 else; I have promised this sitting now." 
 
 " Marguerite." She looked at him with a defiant 
 flash in her eyes. " Give me a privilege now and 
 then. I am keeping my promise, am I not?" 
 
 ** You have immense privileges. No one dare 
 say what you said to me a moment since; and as 
 for keeping your promise, you either ignore me 
 entirely or look at me as if — as if — " she paused. 
 
Confidences 297 
 
 *' Go on, please ; how do I look? " 
 
 ** You contrive in some way to make me feel 
 guilty, as if I had been stealing, or — " 
 
 He smiled. " I never meant to arraign you for 
 a little thief, though you have stolen from me. I 
 don't want it back, only something more pre- 
 cious instead. There, don't run; I am keeping 
 my promise, and I ask for nothing but this drive 
 and a dance to-morrow night. Give me two, the 
 first and the last. You grant that much to 
 
 strangers." 
 
 " But those two are both promised." 
 
 His face darkened. " And you won't drive with 
 me?" 
 
 *' I can't. I am keeping Mr. Held waiting as it 
 is. My loveliness is to be still further dissected by 
 a crowd of boarders ; there will be nothing left of 
 it by the time you return. There, that is too bad ! 
 Don't frown." She darted on up the dingy old 
 stairway, a dream in a cloud of sheer white and 
 rose-colored ribbons, pausing only at the top to 
 look down out of the obscurity and shoot one more 
 little arrow into his poor foolish heart. ** I am 
 glad to be free, and do just as I please. Farewell," 
 and she was gone like a bird escaped from the 
 snare. An impulse of tenderness seized her the 
 next moment, and she tiptoed back to the stairway 
 and looked down; but he was gone. "Well, I 
 don't care," she said once more to herself, but she 
 did care. Ah, if he had known how much ! 
 
 She hurried to her room, snatched up an antique 
 fan, and flew back to her seat on the piazza, where 
 she was welcomed by a chorus of voices. A few 
 
298 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 minutes later she saw Hanford Clark drive away, 
 but he did not look up. 
 
 Sketching was not mere pastime with Mr. Anton 
 Helvetius Held. He had travelled much, and 
 studied hard, was an indefatigable worker, and 
 mightily ambitious. It was his dream to make his 
 mark in the world both at home and abroad. The 
 interest of the moment was of small consequence 
 to him, and the remarks of extravagant praise 
 bestowed on him now, as he worked, touched him 
 not at all, except as they revealed to him some 
 defect or weakness, when he grasped at the hint 
 (given him mostly in ignorance), eagerly profiting 
 thereby. For this reason he gladly displayed his 
 sketches, gaining thus a reputation for extreme 
 affability, and would sit smilingly by, listening to 
 the comments of even the least artistic, if perchance 
 some hint might be dropped which he could seize 
 and work out later. Alert, humorous, and quietly 
 receptive, he yet lacked the one element to secure 
 success, — the power to perceive through spiritual 
 insight. Too self-centred to allow his soul to 
 reach toward and come in touch with other souls, 
 he lost the divine impetus which might have made 
 him great. 
 
 He would have left Patterson a month ago, but 
 that the place was suddenly imbued with new 
 interest for him by the arrival of Mrs. Marshall and 
 her ward. He would paint the beautiful brunette, 
 and in three days' time had so far ingratiated him- 
 self with Aunt Isabel that he might have had the 
 privilege of painting her portrait also. Marguerite's 
 piquancy peculiarly attracted him, and ere two 
 
Confidences 299 
 
 weeks had passed, seeing her daily, chatting, riding, 
 driving, or walking with her, never alone with her, 
 yet always in her company, and flirting with her in 
 the evening and all the time, he had come to believe 
 himself seriously in love. To-day, as he worked 
 on, touching the delicate lines of chin and throat 
 and cheek, he felt for the first time in his thirty 
 years of existence the subtile, baffling power of the 
 
 spirit. 
 
 " Something eludes me here," he ejaculated, "yet 
 these lines are certainly correct." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Held, they are perfect," exclaimed 
 Miss Keller, who had begun to pay decided court 
 to that gentleman. 
 
 Marguerite laughed. " Don't you wish I were a 
 mountain, or a heap of green stones with the moss 
 on them? Mr. Held paints stones to perfection. 
 You see, they never think nor care for anything, so 
 he does not have to paint what he cannot see." 
 
 " Miss Van Ostade," he said, seeing her in the 
 doorway, '' you have not seen this for some time, 
 and can tell the better for that. Are we losing 
 likeness here? " 
 
 Portia felt hurried, but came smilingly across to 
 the interested group. *' I am no artist, Mr. Held." 
 She stopped and hesitated before the drawing. *' It 
 seems — " 
 
 *' Don't speak until you have taken time to look 
 at it, pray. Now, why is it unlike?" 
 
 ** I would not call it unlike. It seems very 
 correct." 
 
 " That is what I tell him, very correct," echoed 
 Miss Keller. 
 
300 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Portia brought her head down to a level with 
 the artist's, to see his model from his point of 
 view. " Yes, it is certainly like, but — " 
 
 ** Ah, there it is, but something eludes me." 
 
 ** What is it, do you think, that eludes you?" 
 she asked, looking gravely in Mr. Held's face. 
 With the sure instinct of her own seeing soul, she 
 knew why he failed, yet felt powerless to help him, 
 unless she could awaken in him the insight by 
 which spirit recognizes spirit. *' I presume the 
 mere intellectual perception of outward things goes 
 but a little way in art," she went on gently; " that 
 may be a good reason why we who are not artists 
 should not pass judgment." 
 
 " I think it is perfectly wonderful, and a likeness 
 too. Now is n't it, Mr. Betts? " said Miss Keller. 
 
 " Certainly the likeness is good, and the technique 
 is more than good. I like your handling, Mr. Held." 
 
 The artist remained silent, his arms dropped at 
 his side, alternately eying first his model and then 
 the picture. 
 
 ''What is it eludes you?" asked Portia again. 
 
 " I don't know. You tell me. You can do it." 
 
 " He is trying to grasp at airy nothing, and finds 
 it hard to catch," said Marguerite. " I will wager 
 you he has put in the picture everything he sees 
 in my face, and is only provoked that there is 
 nothing more." 
 
 " Miss McLourie, a thousand things are omitted," 
 he exclaimed, snatching up his brushes and going 
 eagerly to work. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Held, you will surely spoil it," said 
 Portia. "Don't try to paint until you are sure of 
 
Confidences 301 
 
 what you wish to do. Besides, Miss McLourie is 
 weary; I see it in her eyes." 
 
 " I beg pardon if you are tired. I did not notice 
 it." 
 
 **No? Maybe that was what eluded you," said 
 Marguerite, teasingly; "but now if you have seen 
 it in my eyes, as Miss Van Ostade has, I will sit a 
 little longer while you put it in." 
 
 *'Ah, but I do not want a look of weariness. 
 Anything but that," he said, painting on slowly. 
 
 '' I don't wonder it is impossible," said Mrs. Mar- 
 shall, shaking out her laces, and viewing the work 
 through her hand to shut off surrounding objects. 
 ** I particularly wished this to be a likeness, not 
 a fancy picture. Marguerite, can't you keep the 
 same expression for two minutes ; can't you be 
 more reposeful? But it is not so bad. Haven't 
 you flattered her a little, made her too classic in 
 the drawing? " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Held ! How cruel, to make a guy of 
 me ! I hate classic features." She pouted, and 
 glanced at him askance. Portia, seeing she was 
 really tired and annoyed at being publicly ana- 
 lyzed, made a little gesture, which Marguerite 
 gladly accepted. She sprang up, all her languor 
 gone in a moment. '* I am going with Miss Van 
 Ostade, to help her. Miss Katherine and Mrs. 
 Barry are helping, why cannot I?" 
 
 " Marguerite ! " exclaimed her aunt. 
 
 " I know, aunt, but Mr. Held can't do anything 
 more until he finds out what eludes him. You 
 finish the sitting and tell him what it is." And 
 they went away together. 
 
302 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " You naughty one, but how I love you ! I don't 
 wonder your aunt wishes the picture to be Hke you ; 
 I do, too," said Portia, laughing. 
 
 " He never will make it like me. If he had any 
 sense, he would paint you. There is five times 
 more in your face than in mine, just as there is 
 in what you say and in your voice, only he is too 
 stupid to see it, and you are really more beau — " 
 
 ** Hush, hush ! " Portia put her arm around the 
 little body and drew her close. '' You are tired 
 and annoyed. Come and hide from them all in 
 our own little sitting-room, mamma's and grand- 
 father's and mine." She led the way out of the 
 hall to the rear piazza, and thence, up an outside 
 stairway, to a small room in the far end of the 
 ell addition, having an outlook on three sides. 
 Here white curtains floated out into the room with 
 the breeze that swept through it, and everything 
 seemed white and cool. 
 
 ** Oh, what a sweet room ! I did n't know there 
 was such a pretty spot in the whole house." 
 
 "No? It is a dingy old house, so I fitted this 
 up with pretty things for mamma. Poor mamma ! 
 she always used to have pretty things around her. 
 I never took any one up here before, for it is my 
 place of escape when I need to be alone with her. 
 I could not be patient and strong but for this little 
 resting-place." 
 
 '' Then you are awfully good to let me in. Why 
 do you do it? I shall be sure to want to come 
 again." 
 
 " That is why. Do you know you are very beau- 
 tiful, and I love you? You have had that said to 
 
Confidences 303 
 
 you hundreds of times, and it has not spoiled you, 
 so I may say it again, and do no harm." 
 
 " It would have spoiled me but for one thing," 
 she sighed, and turning away leaned on the wide 
 window-ledge, and looked out over the forest at 
 the blue mountain-top rising dimly in the distance. 
 
 "What is the one thing?" said Portia, going to 
 her side. ** I see many reasons why you are not 
 spoiled." 
 
 ''Can you? It is good of you to care to find 
 them. No one else does. If you will call me Mar- 
 guerite, as John does, I will tell you something." 
 
 ** Marguerite, you beautiful girl, look at me." 
 Portia bent her head and looked into the great 
 velvety eyes, and they were full of tears. " Why, 
 you darling ! " she said, taking her in her arms, 
 and putting her cheek against hers with a caress- 
 ing touch, " why, you darling, sit beside me here 
 and tell me what it is." 
 
 " It is nothing. Sometimes I am lonely, that 
 is all. You think I have everything. I am rich 
 and beautiful, that is. to look at, but you don't see 
 how that shuts me out from every one. If my 
 mother had lived, I am sure she would have loved 
 me for something else, for myself." 
 
 " You beautiful little woman, we all love you for 
 something else. You are lovely and lovable, with- 
 out and within." 
 
 " No, I am not. If I were ugly to look at, you 
 would not say these things to me. If I were even 
 commonplace-looking like Miss — well, never mind, 
 do you think they would be painting my picture, 
 or teasing me to drive with them or to dance with 
 
304 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 them to-morrow evening? No, it is as Aunt Isabel 
 says ; there is only John who cares for me without 
 caring whether I am rich or pretty, and she is 
 determined to have me marry him. Don't tremble 
 so. I am not going to do it.» 
 
 " Miss McLourie ! " 
 
 She lifted her head from Portia's breast and 
 looked in her eyes, laughing through her own tears. 
 " Call me Marguerite again, or I won't go on," she 
 touched Portia's cheeks with her finger. " The red 
 is all gone from here. I did n't mean to make you 
 turn pale." 
 
 "Marguerite, don't!" The blood rushed back 
 into Portia's face in a painful blush. 
 
 ** Don't care. You need n't. It was n't your fault. 
 I saw it in his eyes the first thing, and he should n't 
 have been so stupid as to try to hide it from me, 
 either." She nestled her head down again, and be- 
 gan playing with the ribbons at Portia's belt. 
 
 " You don't know Aunt Isabel yet, but when she 
 makes up her mind, she would overturn that moun- 
 tain yonder before she would give up. Of course 
 I like John, but if I should marry him — why^ — I 
 would hate him before the honeymoon was over, 
 and he would me." She paused and drew the long 
 lilac ribbons through her fingers, while Portia waited 
 with beating heart for her to go on. 
 
 " Marguerite," she said at last, " tell me all that 
 is in your heart. Has it been making you sad, — 
 that, that you saw in his eyes? Tell me truly." 
 The arm that clasped Marguerite's waist trembled 
 in spite of herself. She feared she knew not 
 what. 
 
Confidences 305 
 
 " Made me sad? It is the very thing I have been 
 hoping for. He might have had the sense to fall 
 in love with some one long ago, and that would 
 have left me free. Aunt Isabel could n't have helped 
 herself then." She took Portia's hand, and drew 
 the trembling arm closer about her waist. " Love 
 me," she said. 
 
 " I do. Marguerite; you creep into my heart as if 
 you belonged there." 
 
 **You were in a hurry a minute ago, and I know 
 I am keeping you." 
 
 '* I was, but it has passed over." 
 
 " I annoyed you by what I said, but was n't it best 
 to be frank?" 
 
 " Yes, darling." 
 
 " Then why don't you be frank too? " 
 
 "About what shall I be frank? You have said 
 you know, so what can I say?" 
 
 " Say whether you love him." 
 
 ** I can't, Marguerite ; that is more than I have said 
 even to my mother." 
 
 *' Never mind. I can feel whether you do or not 
 in the very tips of your fingers." 
 
 '* You have n't told me yet what troubled you, 
 dear." Portia kissed the warm, flushed cheek. 
 "Why were you crying just now?" 
 
 Marguerite sighed. '* Do you know I am utterly 
 alone in the world? Even Aunt Isabel isn't my 
 aunt; she was my mother's cousin. She loves me, 
 I know, and I love her, but it is not like having 
 an own mother like yours, and she and John are all 
 I have on earth. I had a dear little blue-eyed aunty 
 in Scotland once ; I never saw her, but I have her 
 20 
 
3o6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 picture. She wore lace caps, and was very religious, 
 Aunt Isabel says. She died and left me all her 
 money, and a cat, but not a soul to love me, and 
 even the cat is dead. I cried when it died. But 
 that is n't the worst, I had gotten used to being all 
 alone in the world, and did n't feel it so much in the 
 convent, with those sweet sisters ; but when I came 
 out Aunt Isabel took me, and she has been awfully 
 good to me, and there it is." 
 
 " But I can't see why her being good to you and 
 loving you should be a trouble, nor why you could n't 
 have loved your cousin, nor why he should n't have 
 loved you. How could he help it, indeed?" 
 
 *' Oh, he could help it fast enough. How would 
 you like it, to be always thrown at a man's head, 
 and have him dodging for fear you might hit 
 him? She took me and followed him all around 
 Europe, and then in New York, and here she is still 
 following him. She loves money as she loves her 
 own soul. Here is the way aunt loves : first her 
 own self, then money (or vice versa), then me, and 
 then John ; so, if she could marry me to John, and 
 my money to his, and then keep us always with her, 
 she would have all she loves under her control." 
 
 " Oh, she can't be — " 
 
 "I suppose I am talking very badly — only — 
 John, of course, is as good as gold, but I won't marry 
 him, come what will. He is n't the only man in the 
 world, — you may think he is, but he is n't." She 
 lifted her head and shot a quick, mischievous glance 
 into Portia's eyes. " He has plenty of money, so 
 have I. Why can't we each marry some one who 
 hasn't any, and so even things up a little?" 
 
Confidences 307 
 
 '* Marguerite, do you love some one else?" said 
 Portia, earnestly. 
 
 '' I don't know whether I do or not." 
 
 "Is it the artist?" Portia spoke with anxiety in 
 her voice. " For if it is, he is not worthy of you, 
 dear." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he is. Most any one is. John thinks I 
 am a wicked flirt. Aunt Isabel says some one will 
 be sure to marry me for my looks or my money, 
 unless I take John, and that I am trifling away the 
 best years of my life, and will be sure to marry a 
 crooked stick at last, and no one can call Mr. Held 
 crooked. Anyway, he may not care a straw for 
 me, and if he does, he needs a good lesson. Now, 
 in earnest, I will tell you just how I feel. I feel all 
 the time as if I were dragging a ball and chain after 
 me, like those poor men in striped clothes who 
 passed here to-day. Aunt Isabel loves me, but she 
 holds me, I can't tell you how. I love her, but I 
 feel half afraid of her, — afraid she will make me do 
 something sometime, whether I want to do it or not. 
 If I should stop flirting and really love some one, 
 and she should oppose me, I would have no soul 
 in the world to whom I could turn. What would a 
 girl like me do without one woman friend? " Portia 
 tried to speak, but the impetuous words flowed on. 
 " I say, if John only would love you and marry you, 
 I would be free at last, and then I would have you. 
 Oh, I would have you ! You are beautiful, and 
 you are good." She looked up in Portia's face, 
 then threw her arms about her neck, and Portia felt 
 the warm tears flowing. An impulse of tenderness 
 swept over her like a flood. 
 
308 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " You have me now, darling, now and forever, no 
 matter what your cousin does. You can be free, 
 for all that, and have a woman friend who will love 
 you for the beautiful soul that is in you. I know 
 how it is. You laugh and tease and do all you can 
 to make people think you are heartless, because you 
 are too proud to lift the veil, and let them see into 
 your heart. You want to be loved for what you are, 
 and not for the outside show of things ; but, Mar- 
 guerite, you have not been told the truth. Would 
 all your beauty have stolen into my heart in this 
 way, without a beautiful soul to fill it? It isn't 
 beauty without that. You are loved for what you 
 are, not for either your money or your face." 
 
 " He does n't, and he makes love to me every time 
 he gets the chance. He thinks he is in love." 
 
 " Who does ? " 
 
 " Mr. Held, and all he thinks of me is that I am a 
 good subject for art. An old ruin would please him 
 as well, but he makes love to me because he thinks 
 I am pretty. He does n't see anything else. Half 
 the men do not. That 's why he can't paint me," 
 she spoke in short, sobbing sentences. 
 
 " Then why do you let him? " 
 
 *' Just for fun. It pleases him, and keeps aunt's 
 mind diverted from John, and that gives him a 
 chance, and then it scares John, and that is worth 
 doing, — he thinks he must watch over me like a 
 brother, you know, — and then it will be good for 
 the artist. He never will paint until he learns to 
 look more than skin deep, so it is a good thing all 
 around, — and then it makes Miss Keller just wild." 
 
 ** But will no one be pained by it? " 
 
Confidences 309 
 
 Marguerite's conscience pricked her a little, but 
 she only said, ''Oh, Mr. Held may think he is for a 
 little while, but he will soon get over it. A man 
 who cares only for a pretty face can soon solace 
 himself. There are more in the world." 
 
 ** You puzzle me, Marguerite. Is n't there any 
 one who is loving you, who might be hurt by it? " 
 
 '* I puzzle myself. Let 's not talk about me any 
 more. I am not a good subject. I love you and I 
 mean to help John, and I will be free, and I guess 
 P that is all there is to say." 
 
 '' Then dry your eyes, and lie down here where 
 it is cool and quiet for a while. Here is your fan, 
 and remember, darling, I am going to call you my 
 own little sister, always. I have none, only you. 
 Kiss me again, dear. Grandfather has gone to take 
 Juliet and the other children to drive, and mamma 
 is in the kitchen looking after some little things for 
 me, so you will be alone for an hour yet." 
 
 " And Clare will never think of looking for me 
 here, will she ? " 
 
 " I think not," said Portia, with a smile, " and re- 
 member, dear, I want my little sister to come and 
 share my retreat with me whenever she likes." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 RESCUE AND SURRENDER 
 
 MARGUERITE'S restless spirit prompted her 
 soon to be up and moving. She strung 
 Portia's guitar, put it in tune, and strummed on it 
 a Httle, then she tripped along the upper outside 
 gallery to her own room, and quickly returned with 
 a long brocaded ribbon of exquisite changeable 
 tints, with which she decorated the instrument ; then 
 she leaned on the window-ledge with her chin in her 
 hand, and looked out over the forest-covered hillside, 
 where two great ledges of rock, jutting high in fan- 
 tastic shapes, seemed making elaborate courtesies 
 to each other. 
 
 " They look like an old man and an old woman 
 hobnobbing together," she thought. She felt the 
 breeze at the open window cooler now, and the 
 desire seized her to climb the hillside and visit 
 the old couple. Everything was very quiet in the 
 house, her aunt taking her siesta, and Clare nowhere 
 to be seen, and the other inmates gone about their 
 own affairs. She stole out, taking only her parasol, 
 down the outside stairway, around the rear of the 
 house, through the garden, and off into the forest. 
 The path led irregularly up the hill, but the old man 
 and woman she had seen from Portia's window were 
 farther away than she thought. The forest, dense 
 with wild undergrowth, hid the rock ledges, and 
 soon she lost sight of the house also, but the path 
 
 310 
 
Rescue and Surrender 
 
 311 
 
 did not lead her to them, although it wound upward. 
 It led her away toward the edge of the hill, where 
 a deep cut had been made for the Gap road. She 
 felt a thrill of romantic delight in being all alone in 
 this wilderness, almost hoped that some strange ad- 
 venture might befall, with a little quiver of fear lest 
 it really should occur. In reality she was as safe 
 here as a kitten in its nest, for any danger that 
 might come to her from the mountain people. A 
 lady would never be treated by them with anything 
 other than their gentle, soft-voiced courtesy. Where 
 the path joined the cut, high above it, the view 
 opened out, a vista of billowy blue hills and mellow 
 distances, and down below it was a rough slope of 
 flat rock and a small stream of water. Here was a 
 canvas-covered wagon, apparently filled with corn 
 fodder. The little ox-team lay beside it, resting and 
 sleepily chewing their cuds, while their driver sat 
 among the fodder eating a coarse lunch of corn 
 bread and raw salt pork. The edge of the cut, sharp 
 and jagged, overhung the road and the stream, and 
 the path wound close to it, completely screened by 
 rank shrubbery. 
 
 As Marguerite tiptoed along in her white dress 
 and rose-colored ribbons, like a butterfly that should 
 have been hovering in the air instead of walking on 
 the earth, she heard voices near her, and clinging to 
 a scrubby little oak, leaned far enough over to see 
 the group below. A man on a lean horse had just 
 ridden up. She heard him say he was thirsty, and 
 saw the man in the wagon fumble a moment in the 
 fodder and bring forth a bottle, which he handed 
 out, first glancing up and down the road. 
 
3 1 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 *' Hev ye mo' kaigs in thar?" asked the horse- 
 man, as he slowly drew out the cob cork. His horse 
 improved the opportunity, amply justified by his 
 leanness, to eat of the fodder in the wagon. 
 
 ** I reckon," was the reply. 
 
 '* Then I 'low ye 'd better move on right smart. 
 They 's been a raid here lately. Be ye makin' fo' 
 th' mill ? " 
 
 " I reckon," was again the reply. 
 
 ** Ye 'd better tu'n out o' ye'r way a leetle, 'nd go 
 round by Sproat's. The mill business is broke up 
 fer now, — th' ol' man's been took; 'nd his woman, 
 she keeps keer o' th' trade. Ye '11 hev tu stow thet 
 thar in th' cave ovah th' mill bredge. Th' ol' 
 woman, she axed me tu watch out fer ye, 'nd I 'lowed 
 I 'd come up weth ye yere." 
 
 The man on the load hurriedly thrust his lunch 
 into a sack, and began getting up his tired little 
 oxen with loud shouts. Marguerite was on the 
 point of turning homeward when she heard a 
 name mentioned that caused her to pause and 
 listen. 
 
 ** Hit war th' agent yandah at th' station 'at put 
 'em on tu hit, I reckon," said the horseman. *' My 
 gal wuz rid'n' by th' station, 'nd she see Clark, thoo 
 th' winder, talkin' weth thet young feller 't hes th' 
 peach orchid, up Pine Knob way. She reckoned 
 'at he done hit, fer she hyearn him say 't he 'lowed 
 't th' co'n meal 't wuz tu'ned out o' th' mill wuz 
 ruther juicy 'nd strong tastin', 'nd I reckon 't he 
 done hit tu. Anyhow, we 'r' layin' out tu watch 
 'im, 'nd I 'low they'll be a bullet thoo 'im 'fo' 
 mawnin' or somethin' wuss." 
 
Rescue and Surrender 3 1 3 
 
 Marguerite felt her heart suddenly stop beating. 
 She grew faint with fear. They were going to put a 
 bullet into Hanford Clark. It was Hanford ! She 
 crept cautiously as near the precipice's edge as she 
 dared, and dropped on her knees to listen. Yes, 
 surely it was Hanford. She heard the man say 
 that Dick Button had brought the officials down on 
 them and raided the mill, and broken up two stills, 
 and then sold out his interest in the peach orchard 
 and gone, — knowing it would be dangerous for him 
 to stay, — and that they were going to be revenged 
 on the agent. 
 
 ** Hit war th' agent sot Button on, 'nd he '11 be 
 met up weth 'fo' sun-up to-morrow fo' hit. We 
 'lowed fust 't we 'd drap 'im ovah th' trestle like we 
 done th' lawyer las' spring ; but Patterson, he 'lowed 
 they wuz tu many stranger folks 'round thoo th* 
 maount'ns fo' hit. He reckoned thar'd be mo* 
 s'arch fo' th' agent likely, 'nd they mount git track 
 o' th' lawyer that-a-way, 'nd so git th' law on us, 'nd 
 some o' we-uns mount be called tu swing fo' hit tu. 
 These gov'nment ones is mighty dead sot oncet 
 they gits on." 
 
 "Gee whoah thar, Bill, what ye duin' thar?" 
 shouted the driver, getting his ox-team laboriously 
 under way. He stopped in the middle of the stream 
 while the beasts dipped their noses in the refreshing 
 water, and sniffed over its rippling surface and 
 called to the rider who was turning away. 
 
 *' Look a-here, whar yu likely tu come up weth 
 'im? Yandah tu th' station? " 
 
 "They's no chance th'ar. Naw, he's off to-day. 
 I be'n layin' fo' him evah sence th' raid, but he 
 
3 1 4 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 sticks thai' mighty clost." Tlien he went on to ex- 
 plain that he saw Clark was not at his post, and that 
 he went to the boarding-house ostensibly to ask Mr. 
 Ridgeway for the job of furnishing him post lumber, 
 but in reality to find out Clark's movements; that 
 he had seen him drive off and had learned from 
 Andy that he was expected back about the time the 
 chickens go to roost ; that he had taken a turn 
 about, which had brought him face to face with the 
 agent, and that Clark had asked him where he 
 might find the English gardener at the Gap, and 
 that then he had posted three stout mountaineers at 
 the turn just above the railway tunnel, and that he 
 was now on his way to join them. 
 
 ** Th' las' train comes thoo aftah dark, an' we 'low 
 tu make th' capture, 'nd bind 'im, 'nd lay 'im on th' 
 track inside th' tunn'l, an' then turn his hoss loose, 
 'nd lash 'im, 'nd let 'im jest natch'ly make fo' home 
 like he 'd come up weth a skeer. Hit 's a natch'l 
 death like fo' th' agent tu be met up weth by his 
 own train." 
 
 '* Why n't ye jest shoot 'im 'nd be done weth 
 hit?" said the driver, bitterly. " Th' law hes no 
 rights tu be interferin' weth we-uns 'nd ouh livin', 
 'nd we-all hes a right tu come up weth th' law." 
 
 *'Thet's so, but they is quite a few tu many fo' 
 us hyarabouts, these days. Ef we kyant kiver ouh 
 tracks, some o' we-uns mount be called on tu swing, 
 oh w'ar a striped suit 'nd haul a chain." 
 
 He said this last in a lower tone, but every word 
 fell heavily on Marguerite's heart. She remained 
 motionless on her knees, almost paralyzed with 
 horror and fear. She heard the driver shouting to 
 
Rescue and Surrender 315 
 
 his clumsy beasts as they cHmbed a steep, narrow 
 road, that led up into the mountain, and then down 
 into a deep gorge behind the old mill. " Haw, Bill ! 
 Whoah thar ! haw, Buck ! Whoah thar ! Gee ! 
 Gee up, Bill." His voice came back to her as if in 
 a dream. Her head swam, and fiery motes danced 
 before her eyes. Suddenly she sprang up. She 
 must do something quickly ! Should she run back, 
 and send a messenger in haste? She looked at her 
 pretty little watch. Oh, it was too late. By the 
 time she reached the house he would be there, and 
 she was halfway there already. She must go to 
 him herself. She must run and stop him before 
 he passed the turn above the tunnel. Without a 
 moment's further thought she started down the 
 steep bank. Her knees, weak with excitement, 
 gave way under her, but she saved herself by catch- 
 ing at the bushes from going headlong. She 
 stamped her foot. ** See here ! " she said, com- 
 manding herself; *' I must be brave, I must be 
 strong, or I can't reach him." Then gathering her 
 pretty muslin skirts out of the wet, she sprang from 
 one large stepping-stone to another across the 
 stream, and hurried on in the direction taken by 
 the horseman. 
 
 "I must go this way," she said. ''This is the 
 w^ay he went. What if they should shoot me ! But 
 they would n't do that. They won't care for me, 
 and I could go right by and they might never sus- 
 pect me. If I could only get there first ! " Sud- 
 denly the horrible thought came to her, what if this 
 should not be the Gap road, what if the man had 
 gone a roundabout way, and she should not reach 
 
3 1 6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 the tunnel at all ! She stood still and wrung her 
 hands. *' Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do? 
 If I were a man, I would have shot them both 
 dead," she said. 
 
 She heard the sound of horses* feet coming at a 
 walk, and presently a woman, young and pleasant- 
 faced, with a baby in her arms, and a sack of meal 
 behind her, rode around a curve in the road. 
 
 "Can you tell me, is this the Gap road?" said 
 Marguerite, quickly. 
 
 The woman reined in her horse, and sat staring a 
 moment as if she did not comprehend. 
 
 " Howdy ! " she said. 
 
 " Howdy ! " replied Marguerite. " Is this the 
 way to the Gap? " 
 
 '' Yu ain't 'lowin' tu walk cl'ar tu thar, be yu?" 
 was the gentle reply. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! But is this the right way?" 
 
 " Why, yas 'm, this 'n' 's th' road." 
 
 "Thank you. And how far is it to the tunnel? " 
 
 " I don' rightly know. Hit mount be a mild or 
 tharabouts. Hit 's nigh on tu a mild, I reckon," 
 said the woman, languidly yet wonderingly. 
 
 "Thank you." Marguerite tried to appear to be 
 sauntering, and swung her parasol carelessly, as the 
 woman turned to gaze back at her, but when she 
 was fairly around the curve out of sight, she began 
 to run. On she hurried, now walking, now running, 
 never stopping. Her heart beat high, her cheeks 
 grew flushed, and the sun sank lower and lower. 
 " Oh, if I could only run as fast as I could think ! " 
 she said. She wondered what Aunt Isabel might be 
 tliinking. She grew weak and tired, but still hurried 
 
Rescue and Surrender 3 1 7 
 
 on. Would the turn never be reached? Suddenly 
 she came to a full stop. She had reached a ford, 
 wide and deep, and her heart sank. She could see 
 no foot-bridge, not even a log on which to cross it. 
 There was one higher up, where the stream was 
 narrower, but she did not know of it. She thought 
 she heard a whistle, and held her breath to listen, — • 
 some one might be coming who could take her 
 across, — but no one came, and all was still. 
 
 Oh, it was so lonely ! and the sun was sinking, 
 sinking. The forest was all around her. A bird 
 high over her head uttered a strange note that 
 startled her. The tears filled her eyes, that ached 
 with the pressure of them unshed, but she crowded 
 them back. Suddenly a thought struck her. *' Why 
 haven't I prayed?" she said. " Portia Van Ostade 
 would have prayed, and then this would n't have 
 happened. Some one would have been here to help 
 her over." She dropped on her knees, and her 
 heart cried out within her. " Oh, please God, help 
 me. Don't let them do it. Let me get across. 
 Let me reach him first and send him back. O 
 God, I love him, I love him. Let me go on, for 
 Christ's sake, amen, amen." 
 
 Then she rose and walked to the edge of the 
 water. How clear it was ! She could see where 
 the wagon tracks ran into it, on the gravelly bed, 
 and the great boulders at one side. Some of them 
 almost reached the surface. They were so near 
 together she thought she could cross, stepping 
 from one to another. Again she tucked up her 
 skirts, and this time walked bravely into the water; 
 but she was wrong, it would have been better had 
 
3 1 8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 she taken the way of the wagons, as the river bed 
 was higher there, and among the boulders were deep 
 holes, and in the middle of the stream the current 
 was swift and strong ; but how could she know the 
 wisest way, poor little heart ! 
 
 She shrank back as the cold water touched her 
 skin, for she was heated, and the river was fed by 
 mountain streams that drew their supply from 
 cooler heights. " Oh, but I must, I must get 
 across," she said, and slowly, steadily, stepped from 
 stone to stone. The water came up higher and 
 higher — alas for the pretty muslins and rose-colored 
 ribbons ! — now to her knees, now to her waist ; 
 then, slipping from her slimy footing, the water 
 closed overhead, but only for an instant. She 
 raised her face above the surface, and clambering 
 upon another boulder, regained her footing. She 
 steadied herself, leaning against the current, her 
 heart beat wildly, and she still clung to her poor 
 bedraggled parasol, as to a straw of hope. Again 
 she essayed to step from stone to stone, carefully, 
 carefully; once and again she succeeded, and again 
 went down. Oh, would she never get across? 
 Would she drown? Then the thought of her 
 lover's peril gave her strength, and once more she 
 struggled up on the rocks. She was nearly across, 
 but, oh, how the time was passing ! The sun was 
 quite gone behind the hill. Even now they might 
 be killing him, and the river was so cold and swift. 
 Again she lifted up her heart in supplication and 
 terror, not for herself. ** O God, let me get across, 
 let me go to him, let me save him ! " and carefully 
 reached one step farther, and gained it, but at the 
 
Rescue and Surrender 319 
 
 next again went down. But here the river bed was 
 steeply shelving to the opposite shore, although 
 covered with jagged stones that hurt her. She 
 toiled up it, and at last, with her clothes hanging 
 heavily wet upon her, crawled on her hands and 
 knees up the bank, where she lay for a moment 
 exhausted with the struggle and the fright. Still 
 she dared not stop. She rose and wrung out her 
 draggled skirts, and plodded on, almost hopeless 
 now of reaching the turn in time, and not knowing 
 how much farther she must go. 
 
 " It can't be much farther, for the train goes 
 through that tunnel soon after leaving the station," 
 she thought. 
 
 Presently she heard the sound of crackling bushes 
 and the snort of a horse. There at the roadside 
 stood Prince, the lazy boarding-house hack, crop- 
 ping the tender ends of shrubs, and dragging the 
 light rig after him, very much cramped and tilted 
 on its side. Evidently, in their struggle with their 
 victim, the men had forgotten to lash the horse 
 toward home as they intended. Marguerite paused, 
 quivering like a deer set at bay by the hounds. 
 In that one instant she became a woman. The 
 nobility of her nature, which had lain dormant in 
 the heart of the girl, rose within her. The heroine's, 
 the woman's — nay, the Divine — spirit of willing self- 
 sacrifice, if such need be, glowed, a living fire, in her 
 great dark eyes. The reality of the horror she had 
 feared was upon her, and she must meet it alone. 
 
 '' They have taken him. Oh, they have done 
 it ! " she said with quivering lips. Springing to 
 the horse's head, she backed him about until she 
 
320 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 had righted the vehicle, then gathering the reins 
 from under his feet, she cHmbed to the seat her 
 lover had occupied so short a time since. If only 
 he were not dead, she might save him yet, she 
 thought. Cautiously, slowly, in the lessening light, 
 she drove out of the road and straight in among 
 the azalea and laurel shrubs, threading her way 
 among the young oaks and slender pines, until 
 the ground became too rough for her to go any 
 farther. There, tying him securely behind a great 
 thick-leaved rhododendron, that formed a complete 
 screen from the road, she went on toward the cut, 
 keeping well in among the bushes. Fearing that 
 her white dress might betray her presence, she 
 covered herself with the brown linen lap-cover from 
 the wagon. Hearing voices, she crouched behind a 
 rock, around which she could peer into the road 
 through the leaves. The voices grew more distinct, 
 and soon came the sound of running feet on the 
 hard road, and the four men went hurrying by. 
 She counted them as they passed, while her heart 
 stood still. 
 
 ** We best cl'ar out o' yer, 'nd show up at th' 
 station 'fo' train time," she heard one of them say. 
 Wet and shivering, she strained to catch the last 
 sounds of their running feet, then heedless of thorns 
 and brambles, she left her hiding-place, flying 
 through the thicket and up the slope toward the 
 cut of the tunnel. It was right before her now. 
 She could see the dark walls of rock looming up in 
 the twilight, with the patch of clear yellow sunset 
 sky showing between them, and just beyond, the 
 tunnel opening its black mouth, as if to swallow her 
 
Rescue and Surrender 321 
 
 up forever. Here she paused and called his name 
 with all her strength into the cavern, but only the 
 hollow reverberations of her own voice came back 
 to her. Then she entered, feeling her way cautiously 
 in the darkness. The rock wall seemed icy cold 
 to her touch, and great cold drops, trickling through 
 the roof from underground springs, fell on her 
 face and neck. 
 
 ** Oh, they have killed him, they have killed him ! " 
 she wailed, and her voice sounded in her ears like 
 a scream, of agony. She paused again and listened, 
 and this time she thought she heard a faint moan 
 far beyond her in the gloom, and her eyes grow- 
 ing accustomed to the darkness, she hurried faster. 
 Again the moan came to her. Yes, he was alive ; 
 he was there. She could see the dark form lying 
 across the track in front of her. 
 
 "I am coming, Hanford; I am here," she cried, 
 running and bending over him. "Speak to me." 
 She touched him, feeling for his face. It was 
 covered with cold drops, and — oh, horrible! — he 
 was gagged — he could not speak to her — and 
 bound with cruel ropes, round and round his body 
 and arms and legs. The villains had done their 
 work well. She began feeling for his pockets. 
 
 "I am looking for a knife, Hanford," she said, and 
 found one. It was only a penknife, but she cut 
 away tremblingly in her eagerness. What if the train 
 should come now ! But she would die with him 
 if it did. She freed his hands, feeling for the cords 
 that were cutting into the flesh at his wrists, and 
 binding them behind his back. Then she tried to 
 
 remove the torturing gag. He felt the touch of 
 - 21 
 
322 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 her fingers on his face and neck, and it seemed to 
 him that he was dreaming an angel had come to 
 set him free. 
 
 " Oh, Hanford, I can't cut it. I shall hurt you," 
 she cried, the tears streaming down her cheeks and 
 dropping warm on his face. Then he knew her, 
 and a thrill of joy, that in its intensity was pain, 
 roused him. He felt with his freed hands for hers, 
 and taking the knife from her rapidly cut the cords 
 one by one. The stupor and numbness that had 
 crept over him were gone in an instant, swept away 
 by that sudden thrill of joy. 
 
 " Marguerite," he said, reaching for her in the 
 darkness, ''speak again. Is it you? Angel from 
 heaven, is it you? " 
 
 "Hanford, don't wait; don't even speak. Come, 
 come out of here. The train may be coming even 
 now," she cried, pulling him toward the opening 
 of the tunnel. All his strength returned to him 
 then with the touch of her hands. 
 
 " Marguerite, how came you here? You are trem- 
 bling and wet and cold. Let me carry you, Mar- 
 guerite. There is no hurry. The train is not due 
 yet. It is still light outside." He took her up in 
 his arms and carried her, and she clung to him 
 sobbing, her strength gone ; and as he walked 
 stumblingly out of that terrible hole in the earth, he 
 continued to talk to her, out of the depths of his 
 tenderness, scarcely knowing what words he used. 
 
 " Marguerite, my life, my soul, where did you 
 come from? Marguerite, my hope, spirit of my 
 spirit, did you know that I was dying there ? How 
 did you come to set me free? You are drenched 
 
Rescue and Surrender 323 
 
 through, love, you are cold and shivering, but your 
 tears warmed me, dear, they warmed me to the 
 heart. If my love could only wrap you about and 
 warm you so ! Speak to me again. Marguerite 
 or I shall think I am only dreaming this. Whisper 
 it to me. Why did you come? " 
 
 She could not speak for sobbing, but he felt her 
 heart beating, and her hands tighten their hold, 
 and again the intensity of his love for her thrilled 
 his whole being with pain, and he walked on in 
 silence, scarcely feeling the earth beneath his feet. 
 It was warmer in the outer air. He wrapped his 
 coat about her, and picking up the linen lap-cover 
 from where it had fallen as she ran, he began still 
 further to wrap her in it, but she would not. 
 
 " Don't stop for this," she said, looking about her 
 in terror. "I am warm now, almost;" but she 
 shivered still. "We will run, that will warm me. 
 Let us get away from here. Come. I will show 
 you where I hid the horse." 
 
 **You hid him? You?" He stopped still in his 
 astonishment; but she slipped her hand in his and 
 pulled him on. 
 
 " Come, don't stand. Run. They may come 
 back again and kill you. Did they hurt you, Han- 
 ford? I know they did." 
 
 " No, they were too many for me. They werr 
 upon me before I could collect my senses. I was 
 driving along slowly, thinking — of — something 
 not very pleasant. I was moody, and did n't care 
 much what they did with me." They hurried on 
 a few minutes in silence, then Marguerite spoke 
 again, — 
 
324 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "Something not very pleasant? Then you must 
 have been thinking of me. Would you care now 
 what they might do with you, if they should come 
 back?" 
 
 ** Now, Marguerite, I would fight to the death," 
 he said, between his closed teeth. 
 
 They found the horse as she had left him, and 
 Hanford marvelled at her presence of mind and 
 dexterity. As they jogged home in the darkness, 
 he listened to her story, pathetic in the very sim- 
 plicity of her telling, and the unwittingness with 
 which she revealed her soul to him. Of her terror, 
 - — yet he knew it was for him ; her moments of 
 anguish, as she struggled in the swift, cold current 
 
 — for him; her exhaustion and almost despair — 
 for him ; her courage reviving and strengthening 
 
 — for him ; and at last her tenderness and weep- 
 ing — still for him; and he felt no more the sense 
 of danger, nor of cords being cruelly wound about 
 him, nor of the horror of being left in the darkness 
 to wait for a terrible and indescribable death, but 
 was filled with a sense of exhilaration, — as if he 
 were a god who had received a sacrifice, or a soul 
 who had passed through the '* valley of the shadow 
 of death " and entered into paradise. Very simply 
 was the story told. Only, as they passed through 
 the river at the ford, she drew back and shivered. 
 At the same time they heard a low rumbling in the 
 distance. It was the train that would have sent 
 him into eternity. He gathered her close to him, 
 and she covered her face with her hands and shrank 
 down like a frightened child, as it rumbled through 
 the tunnel with a hollow roar. 
 
^ 
 
 Rescue and Surrender 325 
 
 '' Hanford, If I had n't heard those men, now, in 
 this very minute you would have been being killed. 
 You would never know — " She stopped and was ^ 
 silent. ^ 
 
 "What would I never have known, Marguerite? t 
 Don't think of the rest." ^ 
 
 '' You would never have known that I cared, — 
 nor that I was loving you," she faltered. ** You 
 would have gone out — and — I — I would have g 
 died." ^ 
 
 *' Marguerite, listen," he said, and then for a 
 moment he could not speak. '' There are no words," ? V 
 he said at last, '* none deep enough, nor strong A ^ 
 enough, nor beautiful enough, to utter what I would. "' 4 
 Say again to me, *I love you;' you never said it^" 
 before, and to hear you now, takes me straight out ; ^v 
 of hell, where I was when I felt your tears on my v. 
 face, into heaven." .^ 
 
 " Yes, I said them once before, right here. I 
 said them to God before I went into the water. 
 I was afraid, and I prayed them here on the rives- 
 bank. Oh, I was so afraid I could n't get across, so 
 I said, I love him, and God understood." 
 
 Hanford bowed his head. He thought of the one 
 prayer of all prayers, made in the Garden of Geth- 
 semane, and knew hers to be, in its human weakness 
 and fear, a shadow of the same, — a giving up, if 
 need be, her life for his, and once more he was 
 dumb. At last he said, — 
 
 " You have sanctified my life, Marguerite. You 
 have prayed the one prayer that makes a human 
 soul divine. You would have given your life for 
 mine, — for only the chance of saving mine." 
 
326 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " I prayed the most human kind of prayer, Han- 
 ford. It was to live, and get across before it should 
 be too late." 
 
 "And all the time you knew you might die in the 
 attempt." 
 
 ** But I was not thinking about dying, only of 
 living ; and anyway, it is past now, and we are both 
 safe, so we will not think of it any more, will we?" 
 
 ** Forget it as soon as you can, darling. For me, 
 the remembrance is sweet, and I shall treasure it 
 forever." 
 
 Nearing home, they heard the sounds of banjoes, 
 and negro voices singing, and of laughter. The 
 guests were having their impromptu concert under 
 the trees, where lanterns had been swung. 
 
 *' Oh, what shall I do ? " said Marguerite. *' Don't 
 let them know. Let me go in by the garden, by 
 myself, — and — Hanford, what are you going to do ? 
 Will you have those men sent to prison? The man 
 I heard talking said that, first, they were going to 
 shoot you or throw you over the trestle, as they did 
 the lawyer. They will kill you yet, Hanford, if they 
 are free." 
 
 Hanford was tying the horse by the little garden 
 gate, that he might walk with her to the house 
 without being descried from the front. 
 
 "What's that?" he said sharply. "Over the 
 trestle ? So ! That was the way he was disposed 
 of! Tell me everything they said." 
 
 "Who was he?" 
 
 " The lawyer, Monk, who had charge of your 
 aunt's affairs here in Patterson. He was suddenly 
 missing last spring; that is the man. To-morrow, if 
 
Rescue and Surrender 327 
 
 you are not made ill by all you have done, will you 
 tell John every word of their talk? We may get a 
 clue that will trace his murder to those very villains, 
 and so bring them to justice, without — " he paused 
 and bit his lip. " Come," he said, ** we must go 
 in ; you are hardly able to stand. Let me carry you 
 again ; you are not heavy." 
 
 *' Yes, I am ; besides, I can walk. Bring them 
 to justice without what, were you going to say? " 
 
 " Let me tell you to-morrow, sweetheart. It is 
 only that you must not be dragged in, in any way." 
 
 The rear of the old house was entirely deserted. 
 Marguerite led the way to the stairway leading to 
 Portia's little parlor, then, standing on the step, she 
 turned and took his face between her two hands. 
 
 " Hanford, now that I have done this, I can never 
 say again what I said to you this afternoon when 
 you left," and with a shiver and half a sob, she 
 began to climb the stairs. 
 
 Poor heart ! she had yielded. She could never 
 again say " I am free " like the birds of the air. 
 Her wings from this time forth were to take her at 
 the will of another. Ah, when a woman gives her 
 heart to her lover, she in a sense dies to herself, 
 whether she realizes it or not. More often she 
 does not; and for him, were such a thought pre- 
 sented to him, he would say, " It is not so," and yet 
 so it is. In this instant Hanford realized the magni- 
 tude of his desires. He sprang after her, and 
 gathering the drooping little figure in his arms 
 carried her the remainder of the way, holding her 
 close in the strength of his desperation. 
 
 " Dearest, does it hurt you so, that I love you as 
 
328 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 I do? Yes, men are selfish, I see it; for if I could 
 have my way, I would hold you forever, close, — I 
 would have you mine; but see, it takes greater 
 strength of love to open my arms this way and set 
 you free, for if you were never to come back to 
 them. Marguerite, I would rather you had left me 
 as you found me, with the cords wound about me 
 in the darkness ; but go, you beautiful soul, be 
 free. If you wish it, — must it be? — everything 
 shall be as it was between us ; only, for this even- 
 ing, darling, I will keep the memory of it sacred, 
 and believe that an angel came and cut the cords." 
 He took both the cold little hands in his and kissed 
 them. '^ Good-bye, free, beautiful little hands. I 
 will send Miss Van Ostade to you. You will perish 
 from this exposure. Good-bye." 
 
 He found Portia among the guests, talking with 
 Miss Katherine. '* Miss Van Ostade, I have brought 
 you the celery," he said. 
 
 *' Oh, Mr. Clark, you are safe back. I am glad. 
 We who are responsible for the refreshments will 
 be everlastingly grateful to you for this. I will go 
 and take care of it." 
 
 ** Indeed, yes. Yu ah ouh benefactor, Mr. Clark," 
 said Katherine. 
 
 *' I believe I am nervously glad to see you back," 
 said Portia, as he walked on toward the house at 
 her side. " I have had a troubled feeling, I can't 
 imagine why, as of something dreadful impending." 
 Hanford said nothing until they should be out of 
 hearing of the others, and she talked on. " I hope 
 I am not a creature of fancies. Mrs. Marshall has 
 been fretting about her niece ; she was nowhere to 
 
Rescue and Surrender 329 
 
 be found at dinner. That may have added to the 
 feeling somewhat." 
 
 Just then Clare came up to them. 
 
 *' Has Miss McLourie returned?" said Portia. 
 
 " Non, mademoiselle," there was an anxious note 
 in her voice. ** Et madame, she look efery vair, in 
 ze jardin, efery vair." 
 
 " Is your mistress out there now with the other 
 guests?" asked Hanford. 
 
 '* Oui, monsieur, et ze is distracted, la madame." 
 
 " I saw her in the house a moment since, so she 
 cannot be lost, tell your mistress." He spoke 
 guardedly, knowing well that Marguerite would 
 prefer to tell her own story, and that she would tell 
 it first of all to Portia. 
 
 " You were right, Miss Van Ostade, there has 
 been trouble ; but do not be alarmed, it is past. 
 Miss McLourie will tell you, I am sure. She pre- 
 ferred to go to your room, and I told her I would 
 send you to her. She has saved my life at the risk 
 of her own." His lips quivered with emotion. " Go 
 to her; she is drenched through, and fatigued to 
 death. Say nothing to any one, — for — I think 
 she wishes it. Is John here? " 
 
 *' Yes, he is ; go to the dining-room ; I have dinner 
 saved for you." 
 
 '' Thank you, I will find John and then wait on 
 myself. Don't trouble about me." 
 
 Portia found Marguerite suffering from a nervous 
 chill, and without waiting for any explanations, 
 helped her to her own room, warmed and com- 
 forted, before Clare had time to find Aunt Isabel, 
 and bring her in from " ze jardin," 
 
330 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Don't try to tell me to-night, little sister," said 
 Portia, as Marguerite clung sobbing to her neck, 
 weak from the relaxation of her nerves after their 
 long tension, and more exhausted than she knew. 
 ** I will not tell any one a thing you do not wish, 
 only that you were not well and have retired. I 
 will bring you some hot milk, deary, and treat you 
 like a half-drowned, half-starved little kitten," she 
 said, kissing her and tucking her in. 
 
 Ah, yes ! Portia, with the true instinct of a lov- 
 ing heart, knew what the little sister needed most. 
 She took away the wet garments, lest Clare find 
 them and make an outcry over them. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AUNT ISABEL REMONSTRATES 
 
 THE two friends stood in Hanford Clark's old 
 quarters at Scrapp's, looking out of the win- 
 dow, as they had done the last time they were in it 
 together. " There," said Hanford, " you see those 
 two dead trees, — the tall ones standing together? 
 They must be upwards of a hundred feet high, and 
 see how far they are below the trestle. They have 
 grown out of a bed of almost solid rock, those pines. 
 If a man fell from a moving train at that point, you 
 can easily see he would fall into the next world. 
 That's what became of Monk." 
 
 ** We stood here and saw the vultures hovering 
 over that spot," said John. ** Could his remains be 
 found and identified now? Hardly, I fear." 
 
 ** Yes, I remember. It was to locate the spot that 
 I brought you up here. Possibly by his clothing, 
 or papers, whatever he had on at the time, he might 
 be identified. Chaplain is an honorable fellow. He 
 could not have known of this." 
 
 " I opine not." 
 
 *' Well, w^hat *s to be done? " 
 
 " That 's the question," said Hanford. " Party 
 spirit ran high last spring, but that feeling has sub- 
 sided now. This attack on me was evidently done 
 in revenge, — Button being out of the way. I did 
 
 33^ 
 
332 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 set them on the track, and I also advised Button to 
 sell out and take himself off." 
 
 " Why did they pitch on you? Why did n't they 
 take Craig? " 
 
 " Craig is a shrewd, cautious fellow. He kept 
 himself well out of it." 
 
 '* Have you seen the rascals who waylaid you 
 since? " 
 
 " Not I. They dare not show up yet." 
 
 '* Well, the question still remains, what 's to be 
 done?" 
 
 " I can go back to New York, and take up my 
 profession again." 
 
 " Stay here and fight it out. I will back you up." 
 
 *' I can't. Miss McLourie is the only witness I 
 would have in the case." 
 
 ** I see. You are a noble fellow, and she — she is 
 — a brick ; she is a — " 
 
 " An angel, "said Hanford. "She shall be spared 
 all annoyance." 
 
 *' Then the only thing to be done is to intimidate 
 those fellows." 
 
 '* We have no shadow of evidence against them." 
 
 " None as yet, but let some party come upon 
 Monk's remains, there may be evidence found to do 
 more than intimidate." They were silent a minute, 
 then John continued. '' We would better consult 
 Judson. He knows these men, and he is law and 
 gospel to them. You see he is the only male being 
 they have any respect for, — a true Southern gentle- 
 man." 
 
 As they crossed over to the lawyer's old rooms, 
 where Judson and John had their offices, they en- 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 333 
 
 countered Portia and Miss Katherine, with their 
 carriage heaped full of green branches and vines, 
 and flowers from Katherine's old garden. 
 
 "Ah, ha ! " said Hanford, "you are going to make 
 a bower of the ball-room." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Clark," cried Miss Katherine, "you 
 should heah the ladies back at the house praising 
 you foh taking that trip yesterday, and bringing the 
 celery. Youah ears would tingle." 
 
 After a word with Portia, John began speaking to 
 Miss Katherine, and Hanford stepped into his place 
 and addressed Portia quietly. " How is she?" 
 
 "She seems to have recovered entirely; is a 
 trifle pale, but you will see her soon. She is to 
 follow us in the carriage with her aunt," said Portia, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " We will be over to help you in an hour, or less," 
 said John as they passed on. 
 
 " Thanks," said Portia; "we shall need your ar- 
 tistic judgment there." 
 
 " You will need workmen and tools to carry out 
 your own ideas, more likely." 
 
 Judson Chaplain sat tilted back in his chair, smok- 
 ing, — handsome and indolent. John clapped his 
 hand on his shoulder, and gave him a shake. 
 " Rouse up," he said ; " Clark and I want you to 
 bring all the powers of your mind to bear on what 
 we have to say. Now, Hanford, begin." 
 
 " I think, suh," said Judson, after listening intently 
 until Hanford was through, " you should leave this 
 whole mattah to me. I know these fellows, have 
 lived among them, so to speak, and I know right 
 wheah tu put my hands on them, and they know it. 
 
334 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 It's not worth ouh while tu prosecute, unless we 
 get enough direct evidence tu convict, but I know 
 the men who ah at the bottom of this." 
 
 " I think I know four of them now," said Hanford, 
 grimly. " I do not care to prosecute, — not if pub- 
 lic safety can be secured without it." 
 
 " One thing I wish tu say befo' we go any fa'ther, 
 suh," said Chaplain, addressing Hanford, and regard- 
 ing the two young men before him with a flash of 
 fire in his eyes, "I wish tu say, as yu ah a gentleman, 
 suh, yu recognize a gentleman when yu see him, — 
 that my hands ah clean. I disclaim all knowledge 
 of the dirty trick done heah, in the disposal of that 
 rascally lawyer, suh, and — " 
 
 *' It is not necessary," interrupted Hanford. " We 
 have no suspicion of the sort, nor could we have. 
 You are a gentleman, sir, through and through; and 
 although you are of the South and I am of the 
 North, we yet have a kinship in this," he held out 
 his hand, and the other sliook it warmly. 
 
 '* Then we understand each other, suh. Now, will 
 you give me the names of the ones who attacked yu 
 last evening? I will ride up theih to-day, and let 
 them know that they ah watched, and that they ah 
 likely tue drag a ball and chain foh the rest of 
 theih lives. They shall understand that the one 
 who saved youh life saved theihs ; and as foh the 
 other matter, I will probe it tu the bitter end. 
 They gave me my office by it, but I am pledged tu 
 uphold the laws of the land, and moreovah my 
 honoh is at stake." 
 
 ''You are right, Judson," said John, gravely. 
 " There is no other way." 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 335 
 
 "I adaiire your spirit," said Hanford, rising. 
 " Now, sir, this is the first and last step I shall 
 take in the affair. I am satisfied that you will do 
 all that your judgment dictates as best; moreover, 
 I bear these fellows no grave ill-wilL They may, 
 indeed, have rendered me a service, — certainly, if 
 they secure to me your friendship, sir, if in no other 
 way." 
 
 '' You ah a generous man, suh. And let me 
 assure you, you need have no cause for personal 
 fear hereaftah. I can make this thing plain to 
 them." 
 
 *' I have none. Shall we go over to the hotel, 
 John? " he had seen Marguerite and her aunt drive 
 past. "Will you accompany us, sir? The ladies 
 are decorating the room for this evening." 
 
 So the three friends sauntered up the winding 
 paths to the building, which was fast nearing com- 
 pletion, and was quite imposing in appearance, as 
 well as wholly artistic. John felt a sense of satis- 
 faction and pride, as he called attention to its good 
 points. *' I feel like the wicked man in the Bible," 
 he said, '* as if I were saying, ' Is not this great 
 Babylon, that I have builded?'" 
 
 " I believe I shah in that feeling also," said 
 Judson. 
 
 '' And you have a right to," said John. 
 
 " Your uncle must wish to see it," said Hanford. 
 
 ** I have had it photographed at every stage, and 
 sent the pictures on to him. He may come on this 
 fall or winter. I have secured a manager to open it 
 the day the last workman is out." 
 
 *' Have you, indeed? " said Hanford. ''You are 
 
336 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 more of a business man than I gave you credit 
 for." 
 
 '' And why so low an opinion of my business 
 ability?" 
 
 " Oh, you are an artist, you know." 
 
 John laughed. " The more genius, the more fool, 
 eh?" 
 
 They found the ladies in the midst of the wildest 
 confusion of materials, chatting, laughing, and mak- 
 ing garlands. Portia stood in the centre, smiling 
 and rosy, with her arms full of honeysuckle vines 
 that trailed to the floor and filled the room with 
 their fragrance. 
 
 " Here are more," she was saying. *' Where shall 
 I put them?" 
 
 " Yu can't du betteh than tu hold them just like 
 that. We will put yu on a pedestal at the end of 
 that arch, and call you Flora," said Miss Katherine. 
 
 " And keep me standing still all the evening while 
 the rest of you dance ! Indeed, no ! " 
 v| John watched her with his heart in his eyes, as 
 
 she dropped the vines at Miss Katherine's feet. 
 *' What can we do to help you? " he said. " Com- 
 mand us." 
 
 His mother saw the light in his face, from where 
 she stood looking on, and her heart was filled with 
 resentment towards the beautiful girl for whom it 
 was kindled. 
 
 " Oh, we ah so glad yu ah come," said Miss 
 Katherine. *' Tell us, shall we put the musicians up 
 theah on the gallery, or leave that foh those who ah 
 not dancing, and screen off a place on the floor in 
 one cornah foh them?" 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 337 
 
 " I will have one of the carpenters put up a 
 framework under the end of that arch, where you 
 proposed placing a pedestal for Miss Van Ostade, 
 and the musicians can be screened off there." 
 
 *' Now that I approve of," said Portia. " Miss 
 Wells' suggestion was too cruel." 
 
 " Yu can't escape," said Miss Katherine, teasingly, 
 as Portia sat herself down beside her. *' You will be 
 an ohnament all the same, whethah you dance o' 
 pose in a cornah." 
 
 The words were spoken in her low sweet voice, 
 that none but Portia should hear. Unconsciously to 
 herself, she had opened the door of her warm 
 Southern heart, and taken in this sister from a 
 colder clime, and given her sweet welcome. 
 
 ** You lovely ladies of the South have the most 
 tempting way of giving a little flattery," said Portia, 
 with a laugh. '' One feels like believing all those 
 nice little sugar-coated things, and swallowing them 
 whole." 
 
 " I am not the only one who thinks so." Kather- 
 ine glanced at John significantly. He was giving 
 directions to a carpenter whom he had brought in. 
 Mrs. Marshall crossed the room, and stood near him 
 talking with Judson Chaplain. 
 
 " Oh, don't," said Portia, instinctively looking at 
 her. 
 
 " Miss Van Ostade, come here and see how this 
 will do," called John. 
 
 " You come too, Miss Wells, please," said Portia, 
 rising.' 
 
 Marguerite sat in a window near her aunt, un- 
 usually quiet for her, tying little pink and blue 
 22 
 
338 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 pencils to the dainty programme cards which Mrs. 
 Barry and Miss Katherine had gotten up the day 
 before. Hanford stood beside her. It was the first 
 opportunity he had had to speak with her, and his 
 hand trembled a little as he took up one of the 
 cards. 
 
 *' May I mark on this? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, but our supply is very limited. I warn 
 you, if you spoil this, you can't have another for 
 this evening." 
 
 Mr. Held entered as she spoke, and walked 
 directly to her. " Ah, so this is what you are do- 
 ing? Glad to see you recovered, Miss McLourie. 
 Was it my thoughtlessness in keeping you sitting so 
 long that caused the headache?" He knelt at her 
 feet and began to tie in the pencils. 
 
 " Oh, not so ! You don't do it right," she cried, 
 taking the card from him. 
 
 *^ Teach me, then. You can teach me anything. 
 What are you up to, Mr. Clark? Securing your 
 dances beforehand? That is not fair." 
 
 Hanford laughed. " Fair or not, I am aware that 
 you have been ahead of me," and seeing he could 
 not talk with Marguerite then, he walked away. 
 
 As Katherine and Portia crossed the long room in 
 answer to John's summons, Portia felt something 
 under her foot, and stooping, picked up a handker- 
 chief, — a dainty bit of linen, lace, and embroidery, 
 which she had seen in Mrs. Marshall's hand a 
 moment before. 
 
 " I believe this is yours," she said, handing it to 
 her; but Mrs. Marshall seemed to6 engrossed in 
 what she was saying to heed the gentle remark, so 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 339 
 
 Mr. Chaplain took it. As Portia turned toward 
 John, she heard his mother say, — 
 
 "Thanks, you may toss it out of the window; it 
 has been under her feet." 
 
 A shade of pallor passed over Portia's face. John 
 flushed, and Judson Chaplain hesitated. 
 
 " Give it to me," said Marguerite. " It is too 
 pretty to throw away," and she tucked it in her belt. 
 Her aunt lifted her eyebrows and her shoulders 
 simultaneously, and turning addressed John, — 
 
 ** What are you contriving now," she asked 
 carelessly, *' that requires so much consulting 
 over?" 
 
 John could not trust himself to speak, and turning 
 strode angrily away. 
 
 ** We must work at those garlands, oh, we never 
 will get through," said Miss Katherine, with con- 
 summate tact, really carrying the impression that 
 she had heard nothing. She circled her arm about 
 Portia's waist, and drew her back to her seat among 
 the vines. 
 
 ** Shall you weah lilac this evening? It is your 
 coloh in the daytime, but at night you should weah 
 pink oh pale green." 
 
 " I suppose I ought, but it does n't matter. I may 
 have to spend my time looking after the refresh- 
 ments, you know. I have been saving Lucy steps 
 all day, so I can bring her, and Maggie will come 
 also, and I think — " 
 
 *' Let's settle the question of the dress first. Yes- 
 tahday, when you sent me to your wahdrobe for the 
 apron, I saw just the thing I want to see you in. It 
 is a pale green." 
 
340 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Oh, that? I have had it two years. I call it my 
 relique. It is a Paris gown, and was saved from the 
 fire by being out of town at my aunt's. It is horri- 
 bly out of style." 
 
 Katherine laughed. *' Only two yeahs old, why, 
 it is brand new. Yu should heah how old the dress 
 is that I must weah." 
 
 ** Ah, but you can't help appearing well dressed. 
 You would be quaint and fascinating in anything. 
 To prove it, there is Mr. Held looking at you this 
 minute, — thinking of putting you in a picture." 
 
 Miss Katherine did not look at him. " He has a 
 way of doing so, I imagine. Yu will weah the green, 
 won't yu? " 
 
 " Yes, and it is very sweet of you to care what I 
 wear. Perhaps I can modernize it a little." 
 
 " If yu ah not dead aftah all this, won't yu come 
 ovah and sing tue ma, like you did last week? It 
 brightens her life. She loves tu heah yu sing." 
 
 Dear Miss Katherine ! Portia should not be al- 
 lowed to think on the affront she had just received, 
 and borne so bravely; and yet it was not wholly the 
 sweet courtesy of the Southern woman that prompted 
 her. Had Portia been able to look deep into the 
 heart of her sister of the South, she would have found 
 herself linked by a subtile chain of love to the gal- 
 lant young soldier who had fought and died in the 
 Confederate army, but who sat enthroned in his sis- 
 ter's heart. For Donald loved John and John loved 
 Portia ; so Miss Katherine covered the wound with 
 a gentle touch, that helped to bring healing, and as 
 Portia looked into her eyes, she thought, in spite of 
 the stab she had just received from one of them, 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 341 
 
 "These Southern women are the truest and sweetest 
 in the world," and perhaps she was right. 
 
 John had hardly left the room when Lord Chester- 
 field, the barber, appeared. He had come, he said, 
 to inquire for the lady who was looking for experi- 
 enced waiters for the evening, and to ask if his wife 
 might be employed for the occasion. Chas was 
 gotten up faultlessly, in the neatest of clothing and 
 the whitest of linen, and being as white, if not whiter 
 than old Clarissa herself, with his thick, silken black 
 hair, his small black mustache, his large eyes and 
 pallid face, he made a picture that was striking, al- 
 most handsome, as he stood with a deference that 
 amounted to pomposity, talking to Portia. 
 
 Certainly, Miss Van Ostade would see his wife, — 
 she was right here, would Miss Van Ostade '* be so 
 kind as please to excuse him?" He disappeared, 
 and reappeared, bringing Mrs. Lord Chesterfield 
 Marshall, nee Louisa Ann Williams of Asheville, 
 with skin as soft as satin and black as night, trim of 
 figure, supple of waist, large of mouth, and hair of 
 the tightest crimp. Surely Chas had done well. 
 Louisa Ann was strong, capable, and thrifty, — a 
 rare combination in one of the rising generation. 
 But how was this? Was he not courting Miss 
 Gabriella Gunn a short time since, with all the ar- 
 dor of his passionate soul? Yes, and with such 
 success that she had promised, by all the stars in 
 heaven, to be true. The day and hour were set, 
 the wedding feast prepared at his own cost, and the 
 guests invited to partake of the same, when, lo ! 
 early in the morning, ere the dew was dry upon 
 the leafy spray, looking from the window of his 
 
342 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 parlor, he saw the jewel of his heart, leaning on the 
 arm of his hated rival, enter the humble dwelling 
 of the colored minister and carpenter. Sending a 
 small boy to peep through the crack of the door, he 
 learned that they were at that same instant becom- 
 ing man and wife. Was his heart a crumbling heap 
 of ruins? Not at all. Wise in his own generation, 
 he had other strings to his bow. The question 
 he had found in his cupidity hard to decide, had 
 been decided for him. He would marry Louisa 
 Ann Williams and her three hundred dollars. 
 
 He quietly boarded the train, sped to Asheville, 
 was married, and returned to Patterson the same 
 evening with his lithe and dusky bride upon his 
 arm, — the " diamonds " sparkling in her ears and 
 on her bosom, that he had bought her to show Miss 
 Gunn what she had lost by her rash act, — in time 
 to assist in disposing of the wedding feast, and in 
 the enjoyment of the " possom " which Nancy Gunn 
 knew so well how to prepare. Thus was Miss Gunn 
 outwitted, and her practical joke outjoked, so to 
 speak, for ''the weasel was not caught asleep." But 
 Gabriella, conscious of her own superior charms, 
 sighed not for the " diamonds." She asserted that 
 she had promised to be Mrs. Marshall, and she had 
 kept her word, and Louisa Ann was quite satisfied 
 with the distinction of owning the "diamonds " and 
 the beau of the village. 
 
 Yes, Miss Van Ostade would accept of Louisa 
 Ann's services, and she might begin at once, as 
 there was much to do. Mrs. Marshall was moving 
 languidly from window to window with her lor- 
 gnette, looking at the views, and listening to Judson 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 343 
 
 descant in praise of the location, the architect, the 
 enterprise, the place, and all that filled his generous, 
 sanguine heart. Mrs. Barry and Miss Keller had 
 arrived with more programmes, Hanford was assist- 
 ing Portia and Katherine with the garlands, and 
 Mrs. Barry joined them. 
 
 ** Let me help here," she said ; " I have worked at 
 those programmes till I am sick of them." 
 
 Marguerite still sat demurely tying in pencils, 
 with Mr. Held at her feet, awkwardly assisting. 
 Miss Keller attached herself to them. 
 
 " You see," she addressed herself to Mr. Held, 
 " we had no cards, so Mrs. Barry made these out 
 of her stiff water-color paper. Was n't she clever? " 
 
 " Water-color paper ! Does she paint? " 
 
 ** Oh, she told me not to mention it on my 
 life. She was afraid you would ask to see her 
 sketches." 
 
 ** Does she sketch? better still. I will ask to see 
 them." 
 
 At this point the barber reappeared, bringing his 
 bride for Portia's inquisition. Marguerite looked 
 up. She had not noticed him before. Her eyes 
 danced with a mischievous light. Here was a 
 chance to punish her aunt for her unkind thrust 
 at Portia a moment since. 
 
 " Aunt Isabel, come here quick. Look ! there 
 is your nephew, old Pedro Manuelo's son. Why 
 don't you go and greet him? How did he get 
 away up here, I wonder ! " 
 
 Mrs. Marshall's face lighted as Marguerite began 
 her speech, and she put up her lorgnette and gazed 
 down the length of the room half expectantly. 
 
344 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "Why, it's — "she made a quick step forward, 
 then dropped her glasses in disgust. 
 
 ** Why, it 's — certainly, the distinguished Patter- 
 son barber," Marguerite mocked, in a low voice, 
 and then laughed out a clear ringing laugh that 
 echoed through the great vault of the room, in 
 which they all joined. Even her aunt found it not 
 to be resisted and laughed also. 
 
 *' Marguerite, you are irrepressible, and your 
 fun, my dear, is a little too broad." 
 
 " I know, aunt, but it was really dramatic. A start 
 forward, an eager look, in another moment you would 
 have clasped him in your arms. You can see," she 
 said, turning to the rest, " how strong the resem- 
 blance must be to deceive Aunt Isabel so." 
 
 " You can see how prone youth is to make fun 
 of the infirmities of age," said her aunt, tapping 
 Marguerite's cheek playfully. One of her strongest 
 passions was her love for this child, amounting 
 almost to idolatry, superseding even her love for 
 her son. With her indomitable will, she had de- 
 termined John should marry her, if she had to kill 
 all possible rivals, and drag them to the altar in 
 chains. 
 
 " She helps my old eyes to deceive me, and then 
 laughs at me. Likeness indeed ! Your cousin 
 is~" 
 
 ** But he is n't my cousin, you know, aunt." 
 
 *' My brother's son is tall, handsome, a verit- 
 able Apollo, — and to compare him with this nigger 
 fop ! " She put up her glasses and scrutinized him 
 sharply. " He was a dandy from the time he was 
 able to strut on two feet. It was your father, 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 345 
 
 Marguerite, who dubbed him Lord Chesterfield, and 
 poor old Clarissa did not know any more than to 
 have him baptized by the whole name." 
 
 '' Watch him. Even the way he moves his hands 
 is like. Why, aunt, the Patterson barber might / 
 pass for your brother's son's twin brother," and 
 Marguerite heaved a profound sigh. 
 
 " Marguerite, what freak possesses you this 
 morning? " 
 
 *' It is nothing, aunt, only I was so reminded of 
 poor Pedro. You see," she turned to the rest, 
 " there is young Pedro and old Pedro ; and young 
 Pedro always makes love to me when we are in 
 Cuba." 
 
 *' I don't doubt it," said the artist. 
 
 " Love-making is his business, and he is very 
 systematic about it. He has reduced it to a fine 
 art. In his system, there are three stages. First 
 he passes my window, spies me, starts back, lingers 
 a moment, throws a kiss toward the lattice, presses 
 his hand to his heart, and rides madly away. This 
 is the beginning and the end, with a few more 
 such scenes, and a rose or two thrown in, of the 
 first stage." 
 
 ''Who throws the roses?" asked Judson. 
 
 '' Oh, any one, possibly Clare. She makes aunt 
 any amount of trouble. Then at dusk he comes to 
 my window and sings of his love and his despair. 
 I drop him my handkerchief on which I have 
 written, ' We are watched. O Pedro, beware ! ' 
 That with one or two more evenings of music, 
 tender and despairing, finishes the second stage. 
 At last he calls on my aunt and asks for my hand, 
 
346 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 — which she refuses — he becomes eloquent — 
 she remains obdurate — I weep — he implores — 
 she is firm — he becomes enraged and dashes from 
 her presence swearing to end immediately his 
 miserable existence — and — then we usually take 
 our departure northward, and he begins business 
 with renewed ardor in some other direction, and 
 the next time we come down, he repeats the same 
 routine with few variations. Indeed, they are not 
 needed." 
 
 ** I think I should wish for a little more variety," 
 said Miss Keller. 
 
 ** Oh, yes ; you would, but then you are an 
 American, you know. Poor Pedro, it is time he 
 retired from business. Perhaps I would better 
 marry him next time, aunt." 
 
 " You are chattering far too much. You would 
 better go back. I am tired of waiting for you." 
 
 ** Oh, yes. Poor aunt, I know you must be tired. 
 There are only a few more to tie ; I will leave those 
 to you and Mr. Held, if you will be so kind. Miss 
 Keller." 
 
 Mr. Held looked at his watch. '* I think I 
 must — " 
 
 *' Oh, you surely are not going to desert me," 
 said Miss Keller; so he remained, to the amuse- 
 ment of one, the delight of another, and the chagrin 
 of himself. 
 
 Hanford accompanied them to the carriage, 
 scarcely speaking. He handed them in, bowed, and 
 turned toward the station. He had been unable 
 to say a word more to Marguerite, but his eyes were 
 eloquent, when for a single glance they met hers. 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 347 
 
 "What a silent fellow ! An odd stick, I am afraid," 
 said Mrs. Marshall. " I can't imagine what ever 
 John sees to so admire in him. He did very well 
 as a professional man in New York, but to come 
 down to being a station agent in a miserable little 
 hole like this — " 
 
 " He lost his health there, you know, Aunt Isabel." 
 
 *' I heard him say he was perfectly recovered the 
 other day. Why does n't he go back, and take up 
 his work again instead of being an employee down 
 here? These college wonders are sure to drop out 
 of sight sooner or later." 
 
 *' I would gladly tell you, aunt, but you see I am 
 not supposed to be his confidante." 
 
 " So you have n't renewed the flirtation you began 
 on the steamer, then? Wonders will never cease." 
 
 " Aunt ! With a station agent ! Do you think 
 all your education has quite gone for nothing? 
 Now you suggest it, I think I will; it will relieve 
 the tedium here." Marguerite leaned back in the 
 carriage and closed her eyes. Her aunt thought 
 she looked pale. 
 
 " Where were you yesterday when we could not 
 find you, Marguerite?" 
 
 " I went to walk." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "Yes, why not?" 
 
 " Oh, my child, whatever will become of you 
 when I am taken away from you?" 
 
 " You must n't be taken away from me, aunt. 
 You are far too good to me. I do not deserve it." 
 
 Her aunt sighed. " If you would only yield to my 
 wishes, I would have nothing more to trouble me.'^ 
 
34^ When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Marguerite was silent. " Where were you when you 
 were not walking? You couldn't have walked all 
 the time." 
 
 " I was in Miss Van Ostade's little parlor." 
 
 ** In her room? One would think you had chosen 
 this young boarding-house keeper for your most 
 intimate friend." 
 
 " I thought, aunt, that I would take up the working 
 classes for my fad, you know ; and as she is the most 
 agreeable of them I have ever met, I have chosen 
 her for my bosom friend." 
 
 " Tush ! You know very well she does not belong 
 to that class. It is a wretched excuse." 
 
 " Oh, doesn't she? I supposed she did from the 
 way you speak of her. Then she must belong to 
 the aristocracy." 
 
 " She is a Northern hussy, who has come down 
 here to make money out of the poor bleeding South, 
 — that's what she is." 
 
 ** Do we represent the poor bleeding South? You 
 said she was making money out of us, but we seem 
 to be quite comfortable." 
 
 " Marguerite, you are very young. You should 
 listen to the opinions of those who are really your 
 friends, who love you. Sometime I shall be gone, 
 and then what will become of you? What will be 
 the end of all this vacillation? You will be sur- 
 rounded by a horde of vampires, who will feed upon 
 you until there is nothing left. It is right that you 
 should listen to me. Why do you treat John so 
 cruelly? He would protect you, love you devotedly, 
 if you would only let him." 
 
 Marguerite laughed. *' Why, aunt, you would n't 
 
 L 
 
Aunt Isabel Remonstrates 349 
 
 have me go down on my knees and ask him to 
 marry me, would you ? If he does n't wish to be 
 my protector and all that, am I to blame?" 
 
 " But you avoid him. You never allow him an 
 opportunity to be even alone with you." 
 
 " Did n't I spend a whole hour alone with him 
 this very morning, in the most earnest kind of 
 conversation? " 
 
 "Yes, poor fellow, with his great warm heart! 
 He came right to me, and spent his breath in prais- 
 ing you. He seemed to have found new reasons for 
 
 admiring you." 
 
 Marguerite was touched. She leaned over and 
 patted her aunt's hand. " You have always been 
 good to me, aunty dear, and so has John, even if we 
 did fight, he and I." 
 
 " Cannot you get over that childish quarrel ? " 
 '' Oh, yes. We got over it long ago." 
 ''I was so happy, so encouraged, this morning, 
 and there that girl had to step in between you again ; 
 I could have struck her down." 
 
 "Now, Aunt Isabel," said Marguerite, flashing 
 quickly, " let 's speak the truth for once and talk 
 sense. Miss Van Ostade is beautiful. We know it, 
 and what is the use in denying it? Every one in 
 the house admires her, and she is good. Now! 
 Aunty, I will make you a promise. I will be as 
 good to John as I know how, for a week. I will 
 ride and walk with him, drive with him, talk with 
 him, go over his old hotel with him, and be nice to 
 him generally for a whole week, and if at the end of 
 that time he has n't seen fit to propose over again, 
 why, then, I will do as I please." 
 
3 50 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 '* And what will you please to do? " 
 
 " Oh," she covered a yawn with her fingers, ** I '11 
 do something. I '11 be an American girl out and 
 out. I '11 do what I please, without reference to any- 
 body on earth, as Miss Keller does. I '11 marry the 
 station agent, I beheve, — and live happily ever 
 after." 
 
 " Marguerite ! I thought you were going to be 
 
 serious." 
 
 •* I am, aunt, very serious." They were driving 
 into the yard now, and Marguerite leaned forward 
 and looked into Mrs. Marshall's eyes with a laughing 
 light in her own. ** I will tell every one here that 
 that nigger fop is the exact counterpart of some 
 of your Spanish relatives if you are nasty to Miss 
 Van Ostade again," she said. 
 
 Her aunt laughed. ** To think, my dear, that 
 you should be so guileless. Can't you see that 
 she is like all the rest of her class, ready to toady 
 to wealth? I have no patience with you." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 PORTIA SINGS THE OLD SONGS 
 
 AFTER Mrs. Marshall's departure, Portia, glad 
 to be relieved of the oppressive presence, 
 flew about, directing Louisa Ann, and rapidly bring- 
 ing order out of chaos. John returned, bringing the 
 framework on which draperies and garlands were to 
 be hung. 
 
 *' Here is the screen for the musicians," he said. 
 "What are we to do for lights?" asked Mrs. 
 
 Barry. 
 
 ** We have a gas-tank, — it should be tested, 
 though," said Judson. *' It might not be fully in 
 order. What do you say, John? " 
 
 "Test it by all means, if the fixtures are done." 
 
 " And if it should not work? " said Mrs. Barry. 
 
 " We might bring over lamps from the house," 
 said Portia. 
 
 " We shall task you for nothing more," said John. 
 " Hanford can loan us some head-lights." 
 
 " Miss McLourie promised to send the carriage 
 back," said Portia. " I wonder what time it is ! 
 Think of my running away, with forty boarders. I 
 must go home." 
 
 Katherine laughed. " Youh speaking of youh 
 forty boarders makes me think of the ' Forty 
 thieves.' Now tell me, did you run away with 
 
 351 
 
352 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 them, or have they run away with you ? " But 
 Portia was already at the farther end of the room. 
 
 " Oh, we run away with her," said Mrs. Barry. 
 **We are never satisfied unless she is with us. She 
 must plan for us, sing to us, get up costumes for our 
 charades, talk to us, — do you know how well she 
 converses ? She has no invalids now to look after, 
 luckily, except her mother, and she is the sweetest 
 woman on earth." 
 
 " Mamma is no invalid now," said Portia, return- 
 ing. " She is much stronger. She takes all the 
 responsibility of the lunches for me. That is how I 
 can run away like this." 
 
 " The carriage is here," said John, and they all 
 went out, leaving the great room in charge of the 
 capable Louisa Ann. 
 
 " Oh, I must say a word more to the bride," said 
 Portia, running back. " Don't wait; I will be right 
 out." 
 
 When she returned she found John waiting alone, 
 standing beside a beautiful little trap, and Brown 
 Betty in the harness. 
 
 " See what I have done," he cried gleefully. '' I 
 have sent them all on. Miss Katherine and all. I 
 brought her over in this, and now I am going to 
 take you back in it, and have you one whole delicious 
 hour all to myself. It is only half after eleven." 
 
 *' John, you have outwitted me," she said in dis- 
 may, looking after the carriage as it disappeared 
 around the corner of the notion store. 
 
 '* Yes, and now I have you in a trap," he said, 
 lifting her in. She laughed merrily at the foolish 
 pun, as he settled himself beside her. 
 
Portia Sings the Old Songs 353 
 
 " What a beautiful little rig ! and, John, what a 
 man you are ! " 
 
 " The first time we ever drove together, we had 
 the Gebbs* buggy and the little gray pony, and it 
 was Mr. Russell who was outwitted. Dick Button 
 told me they drove on for a joke, because he was 
 contriving to be left behind for the sake of being 
 left alone to drive with you." Portia gave a radiant 
 glance into his face, but said nothing. ** Poor 
 fellow ! He wanted the seat beside you. I wanted 
 it too, and it fell to me," he added gently, " and it is 
 mine forever." He looked into her eyes, and the 
 light in hers was his only answer. " Do you notice 
 what I am doing, having your little horse trained to 
 drive? Come, Brownie, pick up your feet. She is 
 lazy, it is so warm. I shall get the nobbiest little 
 turnout in New York for you, and — " 
 
 " You are far too good to me, John. You must n't 
 do these things." 
 
 " Must n't I ? And why not ? " 
 
 " Can't you see how it is hurting your mother, 
 that you — that we are loving each other? I felt 
 abashed, humiliated in the dust." 
 
 His eyes flashed with the fire of anger. " Even 
 my mother is not precious to me when she strikes 
 at you. She knew she had me in her power, that 
 before all those others I could say nothing." He 
 bit his lip to keep back the torrent of words too 
 bitter for him to utter. 
 
 " I did n't feel bitter, John, because you, with 
 
 your great loving heart, bore the blow for me. I 
 
 forgot it was me she struck as I saw you walk away. 
 
 I am going to talk a little plain common-sense, to 
 
 23 
 
354 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 make a speech, and you (to pay for running away 
 with me) must Hsten in patience. We may not 
 have the chance to have a good, quiet, serious talk 
 again for days, you know." 
 
 They had turned into a road leading through pine 
 forest, where the shadows were heavy and cool, 
 and the air full of resinous fragrance. John drew 
 the little horse down to a walk, and her hoofs fell 
 on the carpeted path as if she trod on velvet. 
 He placed his hand on Portia's with a touch that 
 thrilled through her nerves like wine. ** I will 
 listen to you," he said, with a happy laugh, *' as 
 long as you keep to the common-sense, but if you 
 utter a word of sophistry, I will not listen to you, 
 no, not even if you sing it." 
 
 She would have withdrawn her hand, but, with 
 an impulse that carried her beyond her reserve 
 she lifted his. to her lips and kissed it. *' It is 
 hard to say the plain reasonable things to you I 
 ought. Your loving intoxicates me. You have 
 entered into my heart, — into my very soul." She 
 paused, and he bent forward and looked into her 
 eyes. They swam in tears. 
 
 " So deep and true," he said, ** will they always 
 shine for me like this? " 
 
 She turned her face away. '' John, don't make 
 it so hard for me to say what I ought. I want 
 first to make you understand how I love you, — 
 but if I do that, I can never go any further." 
 
 *' That is far enough. Come, I will listen to that 
 forever, and there shall be no end." 
 
 " Love, that is born of the highest, should cast no 
 shadow on any human soul," she paused, and he 
 
Portia Sings the Old Songs 355 
 
 was silent. ** Ours," she continued, " brings unhap- 
 piness to the one of all others whom you should 
 not hurt. Because she is your mother, she shall 
 be dear to me. Ought we not to put aside our 
 own wishes? What shall we do?" Still he was 
 silent. ** Is it right that in our loving we should 
 hurt another? Think what it must be to her. She 
 is being crossed in everything. Oh, John, if I, 
 who have known you so short a time, love you 
 as I do, what must you be to her? I felt this 
 morning as if I must kneel to her and beg for 
 forgiveness, or else to be taken into her heart 
 with you. Why couldn't you have done as she 
 wished so long ago, before ever you knew me? 
 If you had loved that beautiful girl, — how could 
 you help doing so, — then your mother would have 
 been happy; but now she hates me because I 
 have come between her and her dearest wishes, 
 and all her lifelong prejudices weigh against me. 
 There is a wrong somewhere." 
 
 *^ Portia — " 
 
 " Ought we not to, at least, cover up this love, 
 set it aside, perhaps for years, if need be?" 
 
 *' No, no, no ! I say no ! Portia." 
 
 '' But can we, even for the greatest good that 
 could come to us, can we ride over your mother's 
 heart?" 
 
 " I tell you, Portia, this is sophistry. Love and 
 respect I owe my mother, and honor; but when 
 a man has reached my age, even his mother has 
 no right to rule over his spirit. Some things are 
 sacred even from her interference, and only to his 
 God is he answerable. No power on earth shall 
 
356 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 take you from me, Portia. — Dearest, dearest, take 
 your hands from your face, and say the words with 
 me. Say them. No power on earth shall take you 
 from me." 
 
 " Oh, John, if I could feel in my heart that it is 
 right." 
 
 *' Then feel it in my heart, Portia, for I know. As 
 I hold you now, so shall it be forever. My heart 
 shall be the nearest to your own. If I could, I 
 would hold you with an irresistible power, — but 
 I cannot. It is you who hold me so, although 
 you do not know it. Now will you say the words 
 with me? No power on earth — " 
 
 " When I have earned the right, John. I will 
 set myself with all my heart to win your mother 
 to love me, if only a little, and then, I promise you, 
 I will put away all personal pride, I will accept 
 from you all, all ! when I am able only to give 
 my poor self to you." 
 
 "Your bountiful, beautiful self. I would give up 
 all I have on earth rather than lose you." 
 
 " Wait, John," she placed her hand over his lips, 
 ''don't say those things — I have asked you so 
 many times — until I have earned them — until I 
 am really yours." 
 
 " We never earn anything in this world, Portia. 
 I have never earned your love, but I have it." 
 
 They were both silent for a time. At last John 
 broke the spell. " And when is all this to be fin- 
 ished? It cannot go on forever, — when will you 
 say of yourself, I am really his?" 
 
 She drew herself up, and looked in his face with 
 the clear, steady light in hers that seemed to him 
 
Portia Sings the Old Songs 357 
 
 always like inspiration. "You recall me to earth 
 again," she said, taking his hand with gentle firm- 
 ness. " There ! now drive with both hands." He 
 obeyed. *' I have a bright idea," she said after 
 another moment's silence. ** To be sure of the 
 right from some other source than your — Love 
 is bhnd, you know, and you may be blinded — I 
 know you are, from some things you have said in 
 the last few minutes. No. I say you must drive 
 with both hands." 
 
 ''And I say, I need but one. Go on with your 
 bright idea." 
 
 *' Please, John, I will not let you blind me also. 
 There, hold the lines, so, — and here is the whip, 
 hold it too. Now listen. I am going to sing for 
 your beautiful old friend to-morrow. I feel that 
 those whose eyes are closed to the world around 
 them have clearer spiritual insight than we have, 
 and that is what we need now, you and I. I could 
 talk with grandfather, or my own sweet mother, 
 but they are both too nearly interested through 
 their love for me, and the pride I told you of. 
 Mrs. Wells will be able to be just, and if anything 
 will be influenced the other way, through the old- 
 time prejudices, you know, — but I think she is so 
 near heaven that even these may have slipped from 
 her." 
 
 " What if she decides against me?" 
 
 " We will wait." 
 
 "But if she says forever? That would be an 
 earthly power coming between us. No, I cannot 
 consent to that." 
 
 " Are you sure it would be of this world?" 
 
358 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 •' You may do it, if you will sivg to her first." 
 
 " I may not be able to sing for her afterwards." 
 
 " Very well, then I am safe. Only then she may 
 say I am not good enough for an angel." 
 
 "John! don't be absurd." 
 
 "If she decides for me, then what will you do? 
 Will you consider it then as a voice from heaven? " 
 
 She did not reply immediately, and he felt her 
 agitation. "See," he said, " how nicely I can man- 
 age the little horse with one hand. Now what will 
 you do? " 
 
 " What if — I should not be able to put this mat- 
 ter to her in such a way as not to influence her?" 
 she said in an anxious voice. 
 
 " Portia," he said softly, " you are hardly of the 
 earth yourself, my beautiful. I only fear your ab • 
 normal conscience will not let you be fair to my 
 cause. Let me put it to her." 
 
 " You know you could not do it, John." She 
 freed herself from his touch as before. " You must 
 not hold me like this, no. But I promise you, if I 
 can lay our case before her in a plain enough way, 
 bare of all my heart might plead for you or for me, 
 that I will take her answer as a voice from heaven. 
 What are you doing, John?" 
 
 "Turning around." 
 
 " I know, but are n't you going to take me 
 home.?" 
 
 " Not now. I am going to take you to her." 
 
 " But they will be at lunch.", 
 
 " That is nothing. What is eating? I heard you 
 say at the hotel, you were not needed at home at 
 this hour, — go with me. I can make it all right 
 
Portia Sings the Old Songs 359 
 
 with Katherine, and her mother will think nothing 
 of it. How can I eat or sleep or rest, if you are 
 going to abide by this, until I know? No, I am 
 only arranging the cover; see, I am obedient. But 
 if I may not touch you, nor even speak what my 
 heart prompts to you, I will look at you and think 
 what thoughts I please." 
 
 So once more her lover had his way, and led her 
 up to the blind woman's door just as they were 
 about to sit down to the lunch table. "Will you 
 let two starving fellow-mortals eat with you ? " he 
 called cheerily. " I brought Miss Van Ostade here 
 against her will, or rather, at my own will, to — to 
 — sing for your mother." 
 
 Miss Katherine was delighted. '' It is really like 
 the old days ah here again, John," she said ; " when 
 people just happened in at any time, and we always 
 had company at meals. Ma, here is Miss Van 
 Ostade. John brought her to sing for you after 
 lunch." 
 
 " A case of little Tommy Tucker, — only I get 
 my supper first and sing afterwards," said Portia. 
 
 "And you are just in time, my dear," said the 
 blind woman, warmly. There was a little tremor in 
 Portia's hands when she clasped them in both her 
 own, and when she took John's arm as he led her out 
 to the table (she always looked for him to lead her 
 out to meals when he was with them), she noticed 
 the same tremor there. 
 
 "Why does your arm tremble?" she said, so 
 quietly that only he heard her. 
 
 "Does it? I am a little tired, perhaps. I have 
 been driving, you know." 
 
360 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Does driving make you tired, a great strong fel- 
 low like you?" She placed her other hand on his, 
 and knew in an instant that the tremor came from 
 his heart, and that she was treading on forbidden 
 ground. She turned her sightless eyes toward him 
 as though she could read the lines of his face, and 
 was silent ; but for him, he was even more tender 
 of her than usual, as he gently placed her in her 
 chair, and lifted her in it with his strong arms to the 
 table. 
 
 After lunch Portia sang, while the old lady, lean- 
 ing back in her chair, closed her eyes and listened. 
 She sang all the songs she could remember, both 
 grave and gay, and John, seated in the doorway, 
 with his hands clasped about his knees, listened also. 
 Miss Katherine was busied with her household 
 cares. '' Ma" was happy, and she was content. 
 
 " I have sung all the songs I know without my 
 music," said Portia at last. 
 
 "Ah, don't stop yet. Sing them over again," 
 said the blind woman. 
 
 *' I will sing some of these," said Portia, selecting 
 from the music lying on the piano some of the 
 songs that had stirred the hearts of the boys in gray 
 to deeds of heroic courage and even of desperation. 
 She began one. 
 
 '* Don't sing that," said John, entering and laying 
 hold of the music. 
 
 *'Yes, let her. It is good of you, Miss Van 
 Ostade. I long to hear the old songs once 
 
 more." 
 
 (( 
 
 And I am not singing for you, Mr. Marshall. 
 You brought me here to sing for her," 
 
Portia Sings the Old Songs 361 
 
 " Yes, sir, and if you do not like them, you can 
 go back North again," said his old friend, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 He gave one imploring look, but still Portia sang 
 the old songs, and he strolled out and sat on the 
 ofarden seat where he had sat with Miss Katherine, 
 on that day when the voice he heard now had begun 
 to sing a new song in his heart. ** Yes," he said to 
 himself, '' I loved her before I saw her, when I sat 
 in the dark, and she sang to me." 
 
 When Portia finished, she turned and saw the 
 blind woman leaning back in her chair with closed 
 eyelids, but two tears had escaped, and trembled, 
 one on either cheek. Then Portia went quickly 
 and knelt at her feet, and taking one of the dear old 
 hands, so soft and white, in hers, she kissed it. 
 " Forgive me," she said, '' for bringing the past 
 before you and making you sad." 
 
 " The sadness is only the remembrance of sorrow 
 that is gone, dear, and the dawn and the opening 
 of the eyes is before me," she placed her hand on 
 Portia's head. " Bless you, daughter of the North, 
 and thank you. I love sweet music; and a sweet 
 voice ; but in singing the old songs of the boys in 
 gray, you have sung your way deeper into my 
 heart. What have I to forgive?" 
 
 Then Portia bowed her head under the gentle 
 touch, and opened her heart to its very depths, to 
 the clear seeing of the blind woman's spirit, and 
 there was silence for a few moments, until Portia 
 spoke again imploringly, — 
 
 " Tell me what is right. You are wise and true. 
 You see into heaven, as you sit here with your eyes 
 
362 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 closed to all earthly sights. I have promised John 
 I will abide by what you say. Can love be right 
 when it hurts another? Can we call it God-given 
 when his mother is cut to the heart by it? An- 
 swer these questions for me, — I am afraid of 
 them." 
 
 *' This is a grave question to lay upon me, 
 daughter." She drew Portia closer to her side, and 
 placing one hand on her face, touched her lightly, 
 tracing the contour of her features. " Let me know 
 you this way. I think — " she went on slowly, as 
 Portia turned her face toward her, giving herself 
 into her hands, *' I think it is a beautiful face, and I 
 should judge to find here a beautiful soul, as the 
 voice that interprets it to me is beautiful. Why 
 should he not love you?" 
 
 *' Because his mother hates me. She has the old- 
 time prejudices, and — she had hoped for another 
 choice for him. She is frail, she loves him so, — and 
 she is his mother. I have a sense of guilt when I 
 think of the pain we are inflicting. And yet — this 
 
 — that has come to me — " she covered her face 
 with her hands, '' I have let you see into my heart, 
 
 — how can I put it from me ? But if it is right, I 
 must. What is right, should be to us as necessity. 
 If she never can be won to love me — you had — 
 you must have had the same prejudices, the hatred 
 of us of the North that she has, you too lost 
 your dearest, more even than she. I sang those 
 songs because I wished — you are so far above 
 most of us — I wished to awaken the old spirit in 
 you if it might be sleeping, and then ask you to 
 judge, with that in your heart, as if John were your 
 
Portia Sings the Old Songs 363 
 
 own. Could you love me then, and take me as 
 John's wife? Could you be content, and say, * it 
 is right '? " 
 
 ''That way of judging might satisfy your con- 
 science, but the emotional way would not be the 
 right way. You wish to put it to the severest test, 
 but let us be reasonable. You are of good family, 
 are you not? " 
 
 " Yes," said Portia, lifting her head quickly, '* and 
 without stain. My father was of Dutch ancestry, 
 from one of the best families in New York. My 
 mother is descended from a noble Puritan family, of 
 pure English strain; they were ladies and gentle- 
 men, statesmen and scholars, of noble birth. I am 
 proud of my heredity, if I do — " 
 
 " It is not what you do ; it is what you are. We 
 have learned that lesson here in the South. I see 
 no reason why she should be bitter toward you. 
 The wrong is on her side. John has the right to 
 choose. A man cannot be always subservient to 
 his parents, — he could not be and be a man. His 
 mother should respect his manhood." 
 
 Portia rose and stood at the window. She saw 
 John pacing the garden-paths, and turning impetu- 
 ously she knelt again at the blind woman's feet. 
 *' Put your hands on my head once more, and bless 
 me," she said. " I must go to him and tell him 
 quickly; you are right, if I love him, I must put 
 him first. First of all, he must stand in my heart," 
 and once again the old hands were laid on her head 
 in blessing. 
 
 Then Portia rose, and bending over the old lady's 
 chair kissed her, and hurried away. She sought 
 
364 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 for Katherine at the far end of the house, where 
 the stores were kept. 
 
 " I am going," she called, with a ring of joy in 
 her voice ; '' don't come, I will see you this evening. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," called Katherine ; " weah the pretty 
 green, remembah." 
 
 '* Surely I will," said Portia, and was gone. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE OLD DAYS REVIVED 
 
 YES, truly, past days were being revived with 
 a spirit which seemed to combine the rich, 
 rare flavor of the old with the sparkle and energy 
 of the new. Miss Katherine felt the thrill of 
 pleasure that had tingled through her nerves in 
 other days as she heard the first long-drawn chords 
 and high thread-like tones of the viols and violins. 
 The musicians behind the flowery screen were get- 
 ting their instruments in tune, and the sounds of 
 scraping and thrumming caused a delicious sense 
 of anticipation to pervade the place, and formed a 
 vague background of tones for the flutter and buzz 
 and hum of fans and soft voices and laughter and 
 ceaseless moving of many feet. 
 
 Portia stood near Katherine and Mrs. Judson 
 Chaplain, who were making the introductions be- 
 tween the old element and the new. John was busy 
 here, there, and everywhere. Elated with a trans- 
 forming happiness, he heard the congratulations of 
 his friends and their praises of his work, the good he 
 was accomplishing, and the new life he had brought 
 to the place, as if the words were uttered in his 
 dreams. Sometimes his eyes wandered toward the 
 group near the door and rested on Portia's face. 
 Was she ever so beautiful before.^ Possibly not. 
 Since her talk with the blind woman she had re- 
 
 365 
 
366 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 signed herself to the love which had set lights in 
 her eyes, and kindled the fire within her which was 
 to illumine her spirit as the sun illumines the day 
 that follows such a dawn. Sometimes his eyes 
 rested for a moment on his mother as she stood 
 with Marguerite at her side, frailer, more spirit- 
 like than ever. Her eyes glowed as she listened 
 to the praises of her son, like living coals from 
 among the ashen hues of her whitening hair, and 
 her filmy, wreathing laces of white and black. 
 Her draperies swept the floor with a silken swish, 
 and her fine slender hands held a heavy feather fan, 
 that seemed, as it moved, to shed an odor of sandal- 
 wood and musk about her. 
 
 Portia looked around her with amazement. Where 
 had they all come from, — • these guests with soft 
 voices and graceful ways, clad in quaint, old lus- 
 trous garments with odd garniture of laces, or in 
 simple, dainty muslins.? 
 
 Though all were in excellent taste, she noticed 
 that the newest costumes were of cheap materials, 
 while those of rich and elegant fabric were of 
 antique shape and odd device. It was like the 
 awakening of the sleeping beauty in the wood, — 
 where all the lords and ladies who had slept with 
 her awakened with her and went about in their rare 
 old costumes, unconscious of the changes wrought 
 by the years, and mingling with the courtiers and 
 retainers of the prince in their modern dress, blend- 
 ing thus the old and the new. Where had they 
 come from, all these spirits of the old life? Had 
 some magician waved his wand and called them 
 out of the past ? Yes, a wave of sympathetic feel- 
 
The Old Days Revived 367 
 
 ing from the North had swept in among them, 
 and Hope had come with beckoning finger, saying, 
 " Wake all ye that sleep, for the dawn of a new era 
 is at hand," and the new South had arisen to meet 
 it, — these spirits had obeyed the call. They had 
 gone to their chests and presses and taken out their 
 beautiful garments, so long unused, and many a 
 quaint article of jewelry, and arrayed in these, they 
 had gone forth to meet the " Spirit of the age." 
 
 Portia, gazing on the scene, felt this. Many of 
 the faces around her seemed beautiful with a chas- 
 tened kind of beauty, — the fineness of gold that has 
 been tried by fire, — and the lines of a past sorrow 
 still remained, illuminated by the pleasure of the 
 moment, into a subtle, pathetic kind of loveliness 
 like that in the face of Miss Katherine as she stood 
 before her. 
 
 Katherine was clad in a pale yellow satin bro- 
 caded with a faint pattern of hyacinths in pinks, 
 lavenders, and slender leaves of soft greens. It 
 was covered over the bodice with rare old lace, and 
 frills of the same fell over her hands. Originally 
 it had been made with wide skirt, to fall over 
 spreading hoops; but now the ample folds, falling 
 in straight lines to the floor, and only slightly 
 looped to give the prevailing panier effect of the 
 day, made the garment far more artistic than in 
 its original style. 
 
 "Isn't it charming.'*" said Marguerite to her 
 aunt. Mrs. Marshall was at that moment gazing 
 intently and scrutinizingly at Chas, who was 
 moving up and down the great hall without, in 
 all the grandeur of his faultless attire, performing 
 
368 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 duties as usher. "I don't mean the barber, aunt," 
 she said, with dancing eyes. " Look this way. I 
 mean Miss Katherine's dress." 
 
 " Ah, yes. We do not have such goods nowa- 
 days. " She lifted her lorgnette and carefully looked 
 at the gown in question. "And if I remember 
 rightly her mother wore that gown to your mother's 
 wedding." 
 
 ^' Oh, Aunt Isabel ! How can you remember the 
 particular stuff of which a particular gown was 
 made all these years on years.'*" said Marguerite, 
 in an awed voice. "That is like a fairy tale." 
 
 "Why, child, you are not so very old; and it 
 was only a year after that I held you in my arms, 
 and John stood at my knee, a little fellow in long 
 curls, and kissed your baby fingers. I made up 
 my mind then that you should one day be my 
 daughter. Now, for this evening, remember your 
 promise, Marguerite. There he is now, looking at 
 you." 
 
 Marguerite was touched. "Oh, aunty, aunty, 
 why did you .-* Yes, I will remember; " but in her 
 heart she said, "Oh, if my mother had only lived, 
 if she had only lived ! " 
 
 John was looking at her, and now he came to her 
 side. " My little cousin looks prettier than ever 
 to-night," he said, glancing her over admiringly. 
 There was a tender note in his voice which pleased 
 her, coming from him, giving her no alarm. " Give 
 me your programme. Are there any dances left 
 for me.? Ah, I am just in time. They are nearly 
 all taken." 
 
 " Yes, I have been reckless. I have given any- 
 
The Old Days Revived 369 
 
 body as many dances as were asked for. Put your 
 name down for all that are left. I am tired and 
 can more easily refuse you, you know." 
 
 "You look pale. I 'm thinking you ought not to 
 dance much, brave little sister." 
 
 "Did she tell you to call me that.? " 
 
 "Who.?" 
 
 "You know. She is always to call me sister. 
 She said so. Come over here and sit down a 
 minute. I want to tell you something. I have 
 promised your mother I will be just as nice to you 
 as possible for a — whole week, and I want you to 
 help me." 
 
 "With all my heart — little sister. Hello, here 
 comes some one who would like to be in my shoes 
 for this week, I guess." She looked up and saw 
 Hanford making his entering bows at the door. 
 
 "I don't think he would," she said, looking 
 away with a little laugh. 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 Oh, because." 
 
 An excellent reason, like most of your reasons." 
 Well, if you must know, I think he would 
 rather be in his own." 
 
 They both laughed, and Aunt Isabel was pleased 
 as she glanced across at them, while she conversed 
 with sundry courtly elderly gentlemen who had 
 gathered about her. 
 
 " Look at your mother. She is the belle of the 
 evening. I '11 wager Captain Milvey is asking her 
 to dance with him. Yes, sir, he has her card. 
 There is the music! Where is Mr. Held, I won- 
 der." 
 24 
 
 
370 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 **He is coming yonder. Marguerite, did — did 
 she say anything else when she told you she should 
 call you little sister? What did she say to you? 
 What have you told her? " 
 
 "Oh, John, John! Poor Aunt Isabel! There is 
 no use in my being nice to you even for a week. 
 How many dances am I to have with you ? Give 
 me back my card; you have nearly broken it. 
 What! not any? There, take it back and put your 
 name down in every vacant place. I want it to 
 show to aunt when I get home. Quick! here is 
 Mr. Held." 
 
 " You know very well I wanted those dances. I 
 had n't had time to look over my own card." 
 
 " Never mind ; put your name down to all that are 
 left, and I will let you off the ones you are to dance 
 with her. Underline hers and I will remember." 
 
 "Then what will you do? " 
 
 "Me? Oh, I will bestow them on some one who 
 would not like to be in your shoes." 
 
 "Be careful what you do, little sister; some 
 hearts can be broken." 
 
 "Not men's hearts, John. Yes, yes. I will be 
 careful if you will not look at me so. You are a 
 good brother. Here, wear this for me." She 
 slipped a beautiful Jacqueminot bud from the clus- 
 ter in her hand. "There," she said, placing it in 
 his coat, " in that is my promise to be good for a 
 week, perhaps longer." 
 
 "And I shall hold you to it, little lady." 
 
 "Haven't you one for me also? " said Mr. Held 
 as he walked away with her. They were to lead 
 the grand march together. 
 
The Old Days Revived 371 
 
 *'Why, yes, but — why didn't you keep one for 
 yourself? Why were you so generous as to give 
 them all to me? " 
 
 "Can't you guess why? One bud from your 
 hand — thanks. Now it has a value no other flower 
 could have." 
 
 " My cousin did not have to ask for his." 
 
 "Very true; but its real value is that put upon 
 it by the possessor. It is I who prize it the most." 
 But he was wrong, for, months after, John found 
 his bud fragrant still, clinging to his evening coat, 
 shrivelled and dried, and he placed it among his 
 treasures with a tender thought of the little hand 
 that had bestowed it, while Mr. Held's had long 
 since been thrown from his window and trampled 
 under foot. 
 
 "Let me see," he said, looking at his card. "I 
 am to have this first one, and then no more until 
 the last. What am I to do in the mean time? 
 That is an adorable one, — the last ; but have you 
 no more for me? " 
 
 "No, my card is full. I think we must start." 
 
 So the ball was fairly opened, and the merriment 
 begun. Mrs. Marshall remained long enough to 
 become weary. She danced the minuet in honor 
 of John's success, with the captain, who vowed she 
 had lost none of her youthful graces; she had 
 watched John and Marguerite circling together 
 over the polished floor; she had been served with 
 refreshments by two colonels, the courteous old 
 captain and a doctor, all gallant with the stateliness 
 of other days ; and she had been carefully placed in 
 her carriage by her son, with the compliment that 
 
372 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 she was really the queen of the evening if she was 
 his mother, — ere John had had his first dance with 
 Portia. 
 
 *'I thought my one delight of the evening was 
 never to come to me," he said, — "our first dance 
 together. Think what it means to me." 
 
 Portia smiled, and her lips opened as if to speak; 
 but she said nothing, and as the instruments awoke 
 with a fresh outburst, they moved off together. 
 " You seem to be part of the music, as if I should 
 lose you when it stops. If it would only go on 
 forever ! " 
 
 "It will for us," she said. "The music of our 
 lives is but just begun." 
 
 "Yes, yes. I have my promise now." 
 
 Portia did not speak again. She moved like a 
 spirit through the rest of the dance, as if she did 
 not touch the floor with her feet. "Come," said 
 John at last, — - "come out into the darkness;" and 
 they went out on the long veranda where other 
 couples were pacing up and down in the moonlit 
 spaces. He left her an instant, and, returning 
 wrapped her in her soft white shawl. 
 
 " I saw where you put this as you came in, " he said. 
 
 " Do you remember when you wrapped me in it 
 first, that evening we drove home together.? " 
 
 " Could I forget .? " 
 
 "You have achieved much since then, John. 
 This spot was so bare and ugly when you came, 
 and now — " 
 
 "And now how bare and ugly it would still seem 
 to me if I had not had my way this morning, — if 
 I had not won you ! " 
 
The Old Days Revived 373 
 
 They walked to the far end of the veranda, and 
 stood looking off over the wonderful moonlit 
 reaches of billowy hills into the mystery beyond. 
 The music of the ballroom on the farther side of 
 the building floated out to them, softened by the 
 distance, and the rhythmic sound of dancing feet 
 and hum of voices seemed to blend and become 
 part of it. Soon they were alone, for the prome- 
 naders had gone either to dance or to the supper- 
 room. Portia, standing in the strong moonlight 
 in her filmy draperies, her face pale in the white- 
 ness streaming upon her, and revealing its fine 
 strength and purity of outline, seemed to be not 
 of the earth, indeed. John felt as if he must 
 withdraw from her, nor touch her lest she dissolve 
 in the glorious light, and slip from him into the 
 mysterious distances on which her eyes were fixed. 
 She seemed so far above him, so pure and fine, 
 could it be that she was really won .^ Could she 
 ever be his.-* 
 
 "Portia," he said at last, "what are you think- 
 
 ing 
 
 ? " 
 
 She turned toward him with a touch that warmed 
 him through with absolute happiness. "I was 
 thinking, it seems as if we two were standing on 
 the verge of eternity and the world was all behind 
 us. Listen to them. Can there possibly be two 
 among them all as happy as we.?" 
 
 " No, nor in all the world." His voice was very 
 
 low. 
 
 "I feel," she went on, "as if I had been moving 
 in a dream ever since — in an unreal world — " she 
 paused. 
 
374 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 " Ever since when, my beautiful ? " 
 
 " Ever since I came to you out there in Miss 
 Katherine's garden, and gave up my pride and my 
 scruples, and put you before all else in the world. 
 I am so happy, John." 
 
 There was a little quiver in her voice. Ah, it 
 was irresistible; and her cheek was warm and 
 real, after all; and her draperies, they were 
 easily crushed; and she stayed by him, she did 
 not slip away into the far-off mysterious night ; 
 and for him, he led her back to the world again 
 like a prince. 
 
 As Mrs. Marshall alighted at the door of the old 
 home, she paused on the threshold and looked out 
 over the scene spread before her, — the beautiful 
 valley, with its undulating lines and pine-capped 
 hills, — the river serenely sleeping under soft veil- 
 ing mists, winding like a silver thread among 
 them, and all bathed in the wonderful, silent glory 
 of light. She drew in a long breath and thought 
 of her dearest hopes. The beauty of the scene 
 stealing in upon her senses stirred her heart to its 
 tenderest mood ; but to her, whose will was her 
 law, to love meant to absorb to herself and hold in 
 closer grasp; hence the subtle charm of the night 
 but served to deepen the intensity of her desires 
 and make her dearest hopes seem doubly dear. 
 
 "You may wait a moment, Alexander," she said. 
 "Clare will go back with you." 
 
 " Non, non. It is that I must not leave madam 
 alone," exclaimed Clare, struggling between her 
 secret desire to return and her duty to her mistress. 
 "Madam is very weary; I see it," 
 
The Old Days Revived 375 
 
 "Yes, and I will be asleep soon and will not 
 want to' be disturbed. You must return with the 
 carriage and see that Marguerite comes home early. 
 She was ill yesterday, you know." 
 
 " Oui, madam, mais — " 
 
 " Well, why don't you start ? " 
 
 " Mais, allow me that I assist first madam to her 
 bed; then is there yet time." 
 
 " I prefer to be alone. You must go back and 
 look after her; that is what I am sending you 
 now for. Tell Marguerite that it is my wish that 
 she leave early. Mr. Marshall will return with 
 her, of course; she is in his charge, but they will 
 neither of them think of leaving until it is long 
 past time she was here, and in bed." 
 
 "Certainement," said Clare, with a slight shrug. 
 " They are young, those children. ' ' Still she hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 "Well.?" said her mistress, impatiently. 
 
 " Mais — allow me that I see madam to her room 
 
 seulement." 
 
 "What ails you to-night, Clare? I am capable 
 
 of going to my room alone, am I not ? " 
 
 " Oui, madam, mais votre fils. What is it that 
 he will think that I leave madam here alone ? " 
 
 Mrs. Marshall laughed. "Oh, go^ along. You 
 know you want to go back yourself." 
 
 So Clare was driven away as her mistress entered 
 the house and laid her hand on the old stairway 
 railing. The little Juliet was soundly sleeping 
 in her mother's room, and Mrs. Van Ostade had 
 retired. Mr. Ridgeway had gone down out of the 
 kindness of his heart to look in on the festivities, 
 
376 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 congratulate John and Judson Chaplain, pay his 
 respects to the older element there, and see his 
 granddaughter home. One servant had been left to 
 stand guard, who was quietly dozing in the kitchen. 
 The house was all lighted up, but seemed empty 
 and silent. Mrs. Marshall paused and looked about 
 her at the empty rooms and shadowy spaces. Win- 
 dows had been left open, and the cool night air 
 filled the house with a sweet freshness, in spite of 
 the lighted lamps. The white curtains blew out 
 over the smooth drawing-room floor, and the moon 
 rays streamed in, making long panels of light. 
 She climbed the stairs slowly, and paused again. 
 
 "Why did I ever sell it.?" she said to herself. 
 "I used to think I hated the place; but now I 
 believe I would rather live here than anywhere 
 else, after all." Then she went softly on, as was 
 her wont. By the time she reached the top she 
 had determined to buy it back again. "I will do 
 it, if only to turn out this horde of plunderers," she 
 said. 
 
 In her sitting-room a lamp was burning, and 
 on the table lay a new novel with an antique 
 Roman paper-knife shut in between the leaves. 
 She sat down in the large chair beside the table, 
 threw back the black lace wrap from her head and 
 shoulders, and, taking the book, turned the leaves. 
 The light fell strongly on her gray hair and wan 
 face, with its subtle, clean-cut lines. Presently 
 she laid the book down, folded her hands over her 
 great black feather fan, and sat quietly thinking, 
 looking into the past, with her brilliant dark eyes 
 open to visions of other days. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 A MIDNIGHT VISIT 
 
 OVER the hill, in the moonlight, a figure 
 came hobbling toward the old homestead, 
 — a woman in a faded cotton gown that looked 
 white in the white light, and a white cloth wound 
 about her head for a turban. She leaned heavily 
 on her stick, and hurried on eagerly and painfully. 
 It was old Mammy Clarissa, mumbling to herself a 
 half-pleading sort of prayer as she walked. She 
 turned in at the arched gateway, and walked up 
 the winding drive, her shadow falling sharply out- 
 lined on the hard gravelled road. 
 
 "Gabr'ella say as haow dey all gone 'way. I 
 'low she '11 be heah. She tu ol' tu be gwine tu de 
 dancin' dese days, I reckon. Oh, Lawd, kyan' I 
 git tu tell 'er, an' git tu pass.? Lawd, he'p my 
 soul ! " 
 
 Laboriously she climbed the steps, and slipping 
 off her heavy shoes walked softly in her stocking 
 feet. She entered the old dwelling, and stood 
 where she had not before since her old mistress 
 had left it, after the general had been brought 
 home from the field of battle, dead. There, in the 
 great room, he had lain in state, his sword at his 
 side, his boy far away, and none to mourn but his 
 widowed wife and her who had nursed his child. 
 Which grief was deeper, — who shall say.-* 
 
 377 
 
378 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 She climbed the stairs more softly than her mis- 
 tress had done a few moments before, carrying her 
 stick under her arm and clinging to the railing for 
 support. 
 
 "I reckon she '11 be in her ol' room," she mut- 
 tered. The door of Mrs. Marshall's apartment stood 
 ajar. She pushed it open and entered. Peering 
 into the sitting-room beyond, she saw her old mis- 
 tress seated in the halo of light, absorbed in her 
 reverie. Frail and wan, yet not so greatly changed 
 she seemed, since Mammy Clarissa had seen her 
 last, only her hair was black then, a heavy silken 
 mass falling over her temples. She had always 
 been thin, and was always shrouded in laces, as 
 now; only now her eyes seemed larger and darker, 
 and her hair was gray. Suddenly she leaned for- 
 ward, peering into the dimness of her chamber. 
 Seeing the figure of the old woman standing there, 
 she raised both hands with a quick gesture as if she 
 would repel some phantom which she had conjured 
 in her waking dream. 
 
 " Who are you ? Go away ! " she said in a sharp, 
 frightened tone. 
 
 "Now don' yo' go fo' tu 'sturb yo'se'f. Hit's 
 on'y ol' Cl'issy come foh tu hab speech wid yo'." 
 
 " Clarissa, are you dead ? Why do you stand so 
 white and still.? Are you alive?" She tried to 
 rise, and would have screamed, but could not. The 
 old woman took a step nearer, and leaning on her 
 stick stood looking down on her. She grasped the 
 arms of her chair with both hands, and leaning 
 forward gazed into the face of her old slave with 
 glittering eyes, like a lioness brought to bay. 
 
A Midnight Visit 379 
 
 "How dare you come here in this way? You — " 
 Her fan slid to the floor, and Clarissa, stooping 
 painfully, picked it up and laid it again on her 
 knees; but she shook it from her without touching 
 it, and again it fell to the floor, sliding down 
 among the silken folds of her dress. Mammy 
 Clarissa raised one hand deprecatingly. 
 
 *' Now don' yo' go foh tu 'sturb yo'se'f, Miz 
 Ts'bel. I 's 'live right smaht. I done come foh 
 tu hab speech wid yo' 'lone by yo' own se'f. I 
 ain' no ghos'es, I ain', an' I 'low yo' ain' neider, 
 yo' looks dat like yo' uset tu." 
 
 Mrs. Marshall relaxed her hold of her chair. 
 "Well!" she said, "you should have had more 
 sense than to come creeping in so, scaring me out 
 of my wits. What do you want to say.? " 
 
 Clarissa looked deliberately about her. "I reck- 
 oned I 'd fin' yo' heah, in de ol' room. Dey wan' 
 no one roun', an' I jes' walked on up heah, like I 
 uset tu." Then she said no more, but stood gaz- 
 ing gravely and steadily in the face of her former 
 mistress. 
 
 "Don't stand staring so; sit down, and tell me 
 how you are, and what you have come to say." 
 
 " Naw 'm, I kin stan', I reckon. I 's right smaht, 
 thank ye, ma'm, 'cept'n' de rheum.atiz in de bones, 
 yas 'm. Wal, Miz Is'bel, I come heah fo' call tu 
 yo' 'membrance de days 'long back in de fore 
 time." She paused and wiped her dry lips with a 
 handkerchief which she took, neatly folded, from 
 her bosom. "Yas 'm, fu'st come de days when we 
 war gals. Yo' 'membah dat time yo' paw sol' me 
 tu mars'r gen'l's gran'paw, an' took he's fambly 
 
380 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 an' my maw off tu de saouf islan's wha' he come 
 f'om? — ^ Mexico or New Awleans, some'ers daoim 
 dat-a-way? I mind how I cried an' took on fo' my 
 maw. I mind how yo' push me off' n her, 'nd say, 
 *G' 'long yo' niggah, dis-yer's my mammy,' 'nd 
 climb on her knee, 'nd mars' stan'nin' by an' 
 laughin'. I mind how she sail off in de boat 'long 
 o' yo' 'n' yo' paw 'nd maw, a-leanin' ova' dat side 
 rail'n' an' callin' fo' me, an' yo' a-pullin' on her 
 dress; I mind dat. Dat ar' de las' time I eva' see 
 my maw. 
 
 "Dat fambly yo' paw done sol' me tu, dat war 
 de ol' Ma'shall fambly. Ol' Miz Ma'shall fotch 
 me up right smaht tu du de fine stitch'n', 'nd cl'ar 
 sta'tchin', 'nd i'nin', an' ova'seein' de linen, an' 
 lookin' aftah de young ones an' I'arnin' 'em tu 
 wo'k. I nuvva woah nuf^in' but silk turb'n dem 
 days, yas 'm, 'nd white dress I al'us woah tu. " 
 She paused again, leaning heavily on her stick, 
 and, wiping her dry lips as before, gazed straight 
 before her in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Marshall stooped and picked up the fan. 
 "Well, go on," she said, waving it slowly. "You 
 have something on your mind you wish to relieve 
 yourself of, I see, so I '11 humor you through; but 
 I am growing tired." She leaned back, and slowly 
 closed and opened her eyes. 
 
 "Yas 'm, I war thinkin' on dem days." Clarissa 
 lifted her head and looked intently at her old mis- 
 tress with a gleam in her eyes. "T mind de time 
 young Mars'r John come dar tu; I mind dat." 
 Mrs. Marshall shifted her position. "Dey wan' no 
 young man nowhar look like he look, so tall an' 
 
A Midnight Visit 381 
 
 straight an' han'some, in he's so'ger clo'es w'en 
 he come down tu visit he's gran'paw. W'en he git 
 mad hit war like de sto'm-claoud rise out'n de sea, 
 an' w'en he smile, yas 'm, hit war like de sun rise 
 up in de mawnin'. I mind he had twin bruddertu. 
 He did n' go fo' tu be no so'ger. He wen' up tu 
 de No'f schule some'ers, 'nd he fall in lub an' 
 mahy Yankee gal up yandah. I reckon dey war 
 mad. I heah'd 'em say he lub de Yanks dat bad he 
 mount stay right dar an' bed an' bo'd wid 'em, 
 an' I nuvva see him no mo'." She paused a mo- 
 ment and then continued : — 
 
 " I mind de time young Mars'r John's fadah he 
 took sick 'nd die, 'nd one y'ar mo' 'nd he's gran'- 
 fatha he die tu, 'nd jes' one week f'om dat time 
 ol' gran'-miz, she die tu, like she could n' lib 
 wid'out her ol' man, — 'nd dar we-all wuz sol'. 
 Young Mars'r John, he in de Wes' Point schule, 
 he did n' know nufifin' 'bouts we bein' sol'. One 
 o' dese yer trader men come 'long 'n' he tuck me. 
 I war mighty skeered o' him. He nuvva hu't me, 
 naw 'm^ but all de same I could n' bide tu see 'im 
 nigh me noh tu tech me. 
 
 "He tuk we-all tu mighty gran' big place, an' 
 dar he come 'long one day, an' he say, * Cl'issy, yo* 
 right peart gal. What-all fo' clo'es yo' got in dat 
 bun'l' ? ' An' dar he tuk up fine silk headkercher 
 ol' missus done gib me, an' de gol' beads young 
 Mars'r John done gib me an' a white dress, an' 
 gol' pin — young Mars'r John gib me dat tu, — 
 an' he say, ' War dese. I wan* yo' look fine an' 
 peart.' An' I say ' Yas 'r.' 'N' he say, ' Put 'em 
 on.' An' I say, ' Yas 'r.' An' he holla, ' Put 'em 
 
382 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 on.' An' I say, ' Yas 'r.' 'N' he holla g'in/ Put 
 'em on.' 'N' I say, * Yas 'r ' 'g'in, 'nd nuvva stir. 
 Den he holla 'g'in, 'nd I say, Yo' take yo'se'f 
 whar yo' b'long, 'n' I'll put 'em on.' Den he 
 lif he's han' like he gwine hit ha'd, den he laff, 
 'n' say, ' Yo' done got de debble in yo'.' 'Nd I 
 say, ' Yas 'r, 'n' yo' done put 'im dar tu.' 
 
 "Den I put on de clo'es, an' all de odah niggahs 
 stan'in' roun' in de drove, — men, women, an' 
 chillun. But I put 'em on, fo' I knowed I 'd be 
 killed ef I did n'. Den he tuk me out tu de 
 block, an' he say, 'Git up dar,' he say. An' I 
 git up an' look roun', an' dar I see all de man 
 faces lookin' up at me all ova de squ'ar, an' all 
 ova de sidewalkses, an' dar dey point wid de 
 cane. Den one say, * She got a heap o' temper, I 
 reckon.' An' trader man, he say, 'She mil' as 
 lamb. ' Den nurrer man say, ' She got de bery 
 debble in 'er eye.' An' he say, 'She hab de 
 spi't ob a angel, an' she kin sing yo's tu sleep 
 like she bohned a mocker.' Den dey all laff, an' 
 I feel like I gwine fall down off'n dat place. 
 Den, all 'er a suddent, I see young Mars'r John 
 yandah in de crowd, in he's so'ger clo'es, wid he's 
 shinin' face, like he jes' come down f'om heaben, 
 — an' I hoi' out my ahms an' try fo' tu call 'im; 
 but I could n' make no soun'. Naw 'm. But I 
 see 'im push he's way t' rough all dem rats dar, 
 nigh head taller 'n all on 'em, yas 'm, an' I see 'im 
 hoi' up he's han', an' I see all de faces swimmin' 
 roun', an' de block slip out f'om under my feet 
 like, an' I did n' see no mo' ontwell I heah'n 'im 
 sayin', 'Wake up, Cl'issy. Dey ain' gwine sell 
 
A Midnight Visit 383 
 
 yo' no mo'. I done pay de money fo' yo', an' I 
 gwine tek yo' home wid me. Jes' yo' folia me.' 
 I 'd a folla'd 'im ef he 'd 'a' axed me tu walk 
 intu de fiah. I'd folla'd 'im ontwell I could n' 
 walk no mo' an' jes' fall down dead at he's feet 
 'fo' 'im, yas 'm. Dat ar hu-cum de Mars'r Gen'l 
 buy me an' tuk me home. Ol' miz, she rose me 
 mighty kin' an' sof like. I nuvva did n' look tu 
 be sol' like common niggah trash off'n de block, 
 naw'm. " She paused again, and wiped her brow 
 and her lips. Mrs. Marshall leaned back in her 
 chair and closed her eyes. "Go on," she said. 
 "I hear you." 
 
 "Yas'm, wal 'm, hit war dat-a-way he tuk me 
 home, an' I tuk keer on he's maw. She war sof 
 an' gentle like she wait'n' fo' de angels tu come 
 an' fotch her tu heaben. Likely dat all she wait'n' 
 fo'. She lie dar one day an' jes' pass like a breff 
 come an' blow her soul 'way, an' dar dey wan' no 
 one lef but jes' young Mars'r Gen'l an' me, an' 
 a lot o' young trash niggahs wha' I look aftah an' 
 I'arn fo' tu keep de haouse fo' 'im. Young Mars'r 
 Gen'l, he grieve he's se'f, I mind dat. Long 
 while he grieve. He go heah, an' he go dar, an' 
 ev'y time he come home 'g'in he say, ' Cl'issy, 
 dis-yer 's de bes' place, aftah all.' Aftah while he 
 brung home de ol' haouse full o' he's frien's. He 
 jes' say, 'Cl'issy, git de rooms ready;' an' I du 
 hit, an' cook de chick'n pie, an' de hot biscuit, 
 an' dar de happy days begin. Nigh on tu five y'ar 
 he go on dat-a-way; I war right happy den, yas 'm, 
 right happy. One day come 'long big crowd f'om 
 Wash'n'ton. I mind yo' 'long dat time. I don' 
 
384 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 know whar he met up wid yo', but dar yo' come 
 wid yo' maids an' yoah gran' clo'es shinin' wid 
 de silk an' gol', an' yo' walk de haouse like yo' 
 done bohned dar, — yas 'm, — de same liT Miz 
 Is'bel wha' done push me off' n my own maw. I 
 knowed yo' 'd done come fo' tek young Mars' r 
 Genl f'om me tu. Now jes' yo' bide still dar. 
 I ain' come fo' no hu't. I come heah fo' tu bring: 
 yo' min' back tu de 'membrance o' de pas', an' yo' 
 gwine set still dar an' hark. 
 
 "Wen dat crowd go Mars'r John, he mighty 
 res' less. One day he walk de flo' up an' down, 
 up an' down, den he come out on de po'ch whar I 
 set sewin' an' harkin' tu 'im pace de room, an' he 
 say, ' Cl'issy, yo' alius been mighty good; yo' been 
 good tu my maw.' An' I say, ' Yas, Mars'r John.' 
 Den he say, 'Hit 's time I marr'd 'nd raise up my 
 fadah's haouse. I gwine bring home heah a mistus, 
 Cl'issy.' An' I say, * Yas, yas, Mars'r John.' Den 
 he say, * Yo' gwine be good tu her, Cl'issy.'' ' An' 
 I say, ' Yas, Mars'r John, I gwine du all yo' ax 
 me. Ef yo' ax me walk intu de fiah, I du hit. ' 
 
 "Den he come nigh me, an' put he's han' under 
 my chin, an' lif up my haid, an' say, ' Cl'issy, I 
 b'lieve yo'.' An' he kiss my fo'haid an' go off. 
 Den I go tu my own room, an' dar I lie on de flo', 
 an' ax de Lawd tek de h'a't out 'n me an' leab me 
 die an' go tu ol' mist'is; but he didn' du hit, 
 naw 'm, he done leab me heah yit. Wen Mars'r 
 John come back he fotch yo' wid 'im, an' dar come 
 'long lot o' yo' own folkses tu — gran' an' fine, an' 
 sof'-speakin' like yo' own se'f. I could n' un'er- 
 stan' how dey speak, neider. Hit mighty strange 
 
A Midnight Visit 385 
 
 talk dey done use. I reckon yo' 'membahs dat 
 time tu, Miz Is'bel, — yas, I reckon so. Yo' 
 mighty fine fo' a while, den yo' tek de bit in yo' 
 teef, 'an dar yo' go. Yo' mind de days Mars'r 
 Gen'l go tu Wash'n'ton ? Yo' mind how yo' run 
 de place, Miz Is'bel.'* Yas, I reckon so. Look 
 a-heah, — don' yo' go fo' tu git 'sited. I jes' 
 gwine tell yo' de troof, den I gwine quit." 
 
 Mammy Clarissa stopped leaning on her stick, 
 and raised herself to her full height. Her eyes 
 glowed like two coals of fire. She ceased speak- 
 ing in a dreamy tone of reflection and reminis- 
 cence. "Look a-heah," she said in louder tone, 
 "yo' mind de time yo' beat me an' sta've me? 
 Yo' mind de time yo' git ol' Pete tu lay on de 
 lash tu me.-* Yo' mind dat.'* An' why fo' yo' 
 done hit.-* Look a-heah." She crossed the room 
 and opened a door that led into a small brushing- 
 room or closet, and, stooping over, looked closely 
 at the bare boards, where a dark brown stain 
 showed. 
 
 "Yas 'm, hit dar as of ol' time. Dar de blood- 
 stain yit. Yo' 'membah dat time yo' tu'n on 
 me an' cut me wid Mars'r John's hunt'n' knife.? 
 Heah 's de skyah 'crost my ahm yit, an' at de jedg- 
 men' day dat skyah gwine shine in yo' eyes. I 
 mind de time yo' cut dat skyah an' push me in 
 dar, an' lock de do'. I min' lyin' dar wid de 
 blood flowin' an' hyar'n' yo' walkin' roun' in 
 de room, singin' sof an' low like nuffin' did n' 
 trouble yo' none; an' dar yo' lef me all night, 'n' 
 no watah tu drink, 'n' nuffin' tu eat, 'n' no one tu 
 he'p. Dar de blood-stain yit. Hit ain' nuvva 
 25 
 
386 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 come off, an' hit nuvva will come off, 'dout fiah 
 bu'n hit. 
 
 "Set yo'se'f still dar ontwell yo' heah de res'. 
 Nex' day yo' done de same, — yo' heah me groan 
 an' call fo' one drap o' watah. Yo' nuvva onlock 
 de do', an' de nex' day yo' go 'way wid de key in 
 yo' pocket, an' I try fo' call, but didn' hab no 
 strenk. I 'low yo' didn' reckon Mars'r John 
 com'n' home dat day, but he come; yas 'm, he 
 come an' call yo', an' Cah'line she tell 'im Miz 
 Is'bel done gone ovah tu Miz Col'n'l Wells fo' 
 de day. An' he come in heah an' sit down, an' 
 I mek out fo' tu speak he's name, an' he try de 
 do'. Den he call, ' Cah'line, hu-come dis do' 
 lock? Wha 's de key.^ ' An' she say, * I do' know, 
 Mars'r Gen'l. ' Den Mars'r John he know dar 
 somp'n' bad duin', an' he bre'k de doah, an' tek 
 me up in he's ahms, an' tote me tu my own baid, 
 an' lay me dar, an' brung watah, an' keer fo' me 
 de whole day, ontwell night come, an' he say ovah 
 an' ovah, ' Cl'issy, she shall pay fo' dis.' Yas 
 'm, dat what he say. I kin 'membah dat. 
 
 " Naw yo' doan move, noh speak neider. Yo' 
 set yo'se'f dar an' hark. Cah'line, ol' Alexan- 
 dah's wife, she kin 'membah dat tu, an' mo', I 
 reckon. I do' know what-all Mars'r done say tu 
 yo', but yo' nuvva tech me 'g'in. Naw 'm. I 
 mind dem days; how I done de fine stitch'n' fo' 
 yo', wha' ol' Miz Marshall I'arn me tu du. All 
 de long, sof fine clo'es fo' yo' baby, I done de 
 stitch'n' on dem. Yas 'm, an' I mind how," — 
 Mammy Clarissa dropped her voice to a lower tone, 
 — " w'en de day war done, an' yo' could n' task me 
 
A Midnight Visit 387 
 
 no mo', while yo' lay sleepin' 'long side Mars'r 
 John, I uset tu sit by de can'l' light an' sew de 
 co'se white cloff ontwell de daylight streak de sky 
 in de mawnin'. Yas 'm, de time pass slow, wid 
 de days a-servin' an' de nights a-cryin', ontwell 
 yo' 'low I gwine spile my eyes fo' de fine stitch'n', 
 an' yo' gwine sell me off Saouf C'liny way. 
 
 " I mind de night tu, yas 'm, I mind hit, w'en my 
 baby come. Ol' Aunt Betsy, f'om Cun'l Wellses, 
 she war by me, troo de bitterness, and de dark- 
 ness, and de heavy-heartness, an' fo' daylight she 
 done lef me dar wid my own li'l' chile in my 
 ahms, an' I lie in de dark time, an' pray de Lawd 
 tek 'im out'n de worl' an' tek me wid 'im; but 
 he did n' nuvva hearn me; naw'm, he lef me dar, 
 an' de chile tu. W'en de mawnin' come, I lif 
 up de kiver, an' look at my chile, lyin' dar in my 
 ahms, an' I see a angel f'om heaben. I see why 
 de Lawd would n' tek 'im long back 'g'in, 'case 
 he jes' been dar, wid he's sof skin, an' fa'r ha'r y^ ^ 
 like de sun done tech hit, an' w'en he open he's 
 gre't eyes, dar dey shine wid de blue in 'em, 
 yas'm, an' I cry out in my h'a't, an' kiver 'im up 
 an' hoi' 'im clost. O Lawd, O Lawd! I mind 
 dat time. I reckon yo' don' 'membah dat, naw 'm. 
 
 "I mind I lie dar, an' shet my eyes 'g'in, an' 
 'long 'bouts sun-up de do' open mighty ha'd an' 
 suddent like, an' dar come ol' Mars'r Doctor, wid 
 de bun'l' in he's ahms, an' he lay hit 'long side 
 me, an' he say, ' Cl'issy, heah 's yo' missus' baby. 
 Yo' tek right smaht keer on hit now.' An' he 
 stomp off 'g'in, an' shet de do' ha'd, an' I hyearn 
 'im stompin' down de hall. Den I lif myse'f up 
 
388 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 an' open de bun'l', an' dar, jes' wrop in a cloff 
 like, an' roll in de blanket, lie yo' baby. Yas 'm, 
 yo' baby, sho 'nuff, wid de dark skin an' de black, 
 sof ha'r like all yo' folkses wha' come up heah 
 f'om de Saouf Islands, an' like yo'se'f tu, wid de 
 big dark eyes, like de black coals out'n de fiah, 
 look'n' up at me, an' I kiver hit up 'g'in, an' hoi' 
 my chile clost, an' cry out in my h'a't 'g'in, ' O 
 Lawd, set my chile free. Tek 'im back, Lawd. 
 Don' leab 'im heah, 'case I knowed yo' chile done 
 come tu rob my chile like yo' rob me.' 
 
 " Naw 'm, set yo'se'f still. I has mo' tu tell. 
 By 'm by Cah'line come in, an' I lie dar wid my 
 eyes shet, an' she onkiver yo' baby, an' she say, 
 ' Cl'issy, dis yo' chile.? ' an' I lie still. Den she 
 step roun' mighty sof an' mek fiah, an' wahm de 
 watah, an' by 'm by she onkiver bof de chillen, 
 an' I lie dar wid my eyes shet, an' a mighty so' 
 hea't, an' she stan' dar lookin' at de chillen sleep- 
 in' so sof 'n' still. Den she reach ovah an' tek 
 my chile out'n my ahms, an' tek hit 'way by de 
 fiah, an' I did n' open my eyes noh say nuffin'. I 
 jes' lay dar wid de heavy-heartness ontwell I done 
 drap off tu sleep sho 'nuff. A'teraw'ile I done 
 heah a baby cryin', an' I open my eyes an' dar 
 Stan' Cah'line side de baid wid bun'l' wrop up in 
 de co'se cloff, an' she say, ' Cl'issy, heah, yo' tek 
 yo' own chile; he nigh stahvin', I reckon. Missus* 
 baby don' need nuf n'. He sleep'n' heah all right ; ' 
 an' she lay de bun'l' in my ahms, an' I tu'n back 
 de cloff offn de haid, an' dar I see yo' chile; 
 yas'm, yo' chile dress' in de co'se cloff wha' I done 
 sew fo' my own, in de night times w'en yo' war 
 
A Midnight Visit 389 
 
 sleep'n'. Wid de tears a-fallin' an' de hea't 
 a-grieve'n', I done sew dose clo'es, an' dar I see 
 'em on yo' chile. Yas 'm, set yo'se'f still dai an' 
 hark. I done tek yo' chile in my ahms an' heish 
 'im tu sleep, an' Cah'line, she step roun' sof an' 
 men' de fiah, an' bresh de hyarth, an' go off. Den 
 I rose up an' look at my own li'l' baby, an' dar he 
 lie in de sof, white clo'es, wid de lace, an' de fine 
 wo'k wid de needle wha' I done sew, an' I say, ' De 
 Lawd done do de choosin'. I done sew de clo'es, 
 bof de co'se an' de fine, an' de Lawd done guide 
 de han' wha' put 'em on de chillen. Ef hit ain' 
 nuffin' but de clo'es wha' gib de chile a place in 
 dis worl', ef dey don' know no dif'unce, 'cept'n' dat 
 ar, den de Lawd's name be praise. Ef one o' dese 
 chillen gwine be mars', an' one gwine be slave, / 
 
 an' one fadah de fadah ob bof, den de Lawd's name v 
 be praise, dey kin du dey own choos'n'. By 'm by 
 Cah'line come back an' brung me victuals, an' she 
 Stan' dar, lookin' at my boy, an' she says, * 'Pears ^ ^^ 
 like he don' look like her none, but he mighty \ 
 puty. ' An' I say, ' Sholy he are.' An' she say, 
 * Missus done ax fo' 'im, ' an' she cahy 'im out." 
 Old Clarissa paused, and once again wiped her face 
 and lips with the handkerchief. 
 
 The old woman before her, writhing with pas- 
 sion, had repeatedly struggled to rise from her 
 chair, but seemed unable to do so. Now she stood 
 up, and reaching toward her old slave with her 
 long thin fingers, made as if she would clutch 
 her by the throat. 
 
 " You devil ! " she said between her closed teeth, 
 and fell back into her seat, exhausted by her own rage. 
 
390 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 *'Da's right, Miz Is'bel. Set yo'se'f dar. I 
 ain' come heah fo' no hu't. I come heah tu git 
 shet o' dis-yer vvha' I done cahy on my hea't like 
 a stone o' lead all dese yeahs. I come heah fo' 
 tell yo' de troof an' git 'lowed tu pass. Dey ain' 
 nuvva been nobody on dis yearth wha' knowed dis 
 heah on'y me, an' now I done tole yo' I reckon de 
 Lawd gwine 'low me tu die some time, an' go tu 
 ol' missus. I mine de time yo' mek me mahy ol' 
 brudder Thomas Ma'hshall. Yo' done dat 'case 
 yo' hate me, make me mahy de brackes' niggah on 
 de place. Da 's all right. He war mighty good 
 man. He done tol' me lub dem dat hate me. Du 
 good tu dem dat 'spitefully uses me, an' I done hit. 
 I done I'arn dat ar. I fo'gib yo' long w'ile 'go, 
 but yo' wan' heah, an' I could n' tell yo' de troof 
 ontwell yo' come home 'g'in. Mars' Gen'l he lie 
 dar in de gr.abeya'd wha' dey done tuk 'im, an' 
 he's soul wait'n' de day ob jedgmen', an' 'fo' long 
 yo' gwine lie dar tu, I reckon, an' now I done tol' 
 yo' de troof, I 'low I kin be let tu pass f'om dis 
 low worl' an' go home one o' dese days, — Lawd 
 he'p my soul! An' w'en we-all stan' dar fo' de 
 gre't w'ite t'rone, may de good Lawd he'p yo' soul 
 tu. I 'low I done sin a gre't sin, but I done 'fess 
 hit 'fo' yo', an' 'fo' de God ob heaben, an' he wha' 
 sit on de t'rone, he kin look intu de hea't, an' he 
 kin jedge 'twixt us an' Mars' Gen'l tu. Oh, good 
 Lawd, Mars' Gen'l done sin tu! Ef yo' mus' 
 strike him, Lawd, le' me b'ar de blow." She 
 turned away with this prayer, without regarding 
 the old woman before her further. 
 
 Slowly she crept down the stairs, replaced her 
 
 / 
 
A Midnight Visit 391 
 
 shoes at the door, and left the house as she had 
 come. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Marshall raised herself. The 
 storm within her had not subsided. She breathed 
 heavily, and with difficulty. Her face turned a 
 dull purple hue. She threw up her arms and 
 tried to run after her old slave, and taking a step 
 or two forward, fell prone across the threshold of 
 her door. There, when they returned from the 
 ball-room, half an hour later, they found her lying. 
 In one hand she held the paper-knife, clutched 
 like a dagger. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 A BITTER CUP 
 
 MRS. MARSHALL lay in her room, silent 
 as death; never a word, never a movement 
 of her helpless body, even to so much as the lift- 
 ing of a finger. Her tortured spirit was held in a 
 silent prison. Her slight hands, folded among the 
 soft white laces of her sleeves, seemed only a part 
 of them, so still and nerveless they lay. 
 
 Her hair, which had showed traces of its youth- 
 ful blackness and lustre, became in a week as 
 white as frosted silver. Only her dark eyes, glow- 
 ing with an eager fire, searching the faces about 
 her, noting with intent alertness all that passed, 
 never closing, always watching, betrayed the suffer- 
 ing soul within. 
 
 A local physician was called without delay, and 
 another came from New York, at great expense. 
 What should they do ? Should they take her to a 
 sanatorium, — a hospital ? How could they help 
 her.? They would be guided by him, would do 
 anything he said, — but, alas ! he said : " Let her 
 be; she is better off where she is." 
 
 There was nothing to be done but what a well- 
 trained nurse could do. He would send them one. 
 
 Was there no hope.? None. She might be re- 
 lieved somewhat, but any sudden change for the 
 
 39? 
 
A Bitter Cup 393 
 
 better would be apt to be followed by as sudden a 
 decline, and possibly death. 
 
 However, there was no telling; she might live 
 months, nay, years. 
 
 "Oh, poor, poor aunty!" sobbed Marguerite, 
 kneeling beside her, with her arm thrown over the 
 thin, nerveless body. " Dear aunty, you are look- 
 ing at me; you know we love you even if we have 
 been perverse. Aunty dear, if you know I love 
 you and am sorry, shut your eyes. That will be a 
 sign to me that you hear me, and understand." 
 
 The great eyes slowly closed, and slowly opened 
 again, and Marguerite kissed her. 
 
 Then John returned from his consultation with 
 the physician, and Marguerite, resting her head 
 against his arm, wept again. 
 
 "John, if we could only have pleased her, — but 
 we could not." 
 
 "No, little sister, we could not," he said ten- 
 derly. "Come away," and they went into the next 
 room. 
 
 "John, you are all I have now. I am all, all 
 alone." 
 
 " Marguerite, look into my eyes and tell me the 
 truth. Is it I whom you love best in the world ? 
 Is there no one else who is dearer, just a little 
 dearer, it may be.'* " 
 
 " My heart aches so, — oh, it aches so, John. I 
 never dreamed such a terrible thing as this could 
 come upon us. It is n't a punishment, is it.^ " 
 
 "No, no, dear. Why should you be punished.'* 
 Now won't you Answer my question.?" 
 
 Marguerite dried her eyes and looked away. 
 
394 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Then turning, she put her hand in John's, and 
 looking straight in his face, said, " Yes, John. 
 You know there is one — one — dearer even than 
 you are. I will be true. I will never pretend 
 anything any more." 
 
 ''Then may he come in and speak to you.-* He 
 is waiting to see you. Poor fellow ! he has waited 
 ever since that terrible night just to say one word 
 of comfort. Dr. Holmes says this may result 
 fatally now, or may not. We must take what 
 comes as God's will, and for ourselves, we must 
 do what we know is right by those we love. Will 
 you see him. Marguerite?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then, little sister, I '11 ask him to come to 
 you ; " and he turned toward the door. 
 
 "Wait, John," she said; and he came back 
 again. " I am not sending you away from me, 
 John ; I want you to know that you are dear to me 
 too," she said tearfully. "I am not ungrateful. 
 Stoop down." He bent his head towards her, and 
 taking his face between her two hands she kissed 
 him. "There, now go," she said; and he went, 
 humbled in his heart. Had he always been just 
 to this impetuous little soul, struggling through 
 false teaching and almost every hampering cir- 
 cumstance to find its true light.? He feared not. 
 Thank God there had been one able, imperfectly, 
 perhaps, to sound its depths. 
 
 His friend was pacing restlessly up and down 
 the long hall. John laid his hand on his arm and 
 said gravely, "You may go to her. She will see 
 you," and passed on. 
 
A Bitter Cup 395 
 
 When Hanford entered he found her standing as 
 John had left her, in the middle of the room, with 
 flushed cheeks and tearful eyes. He held out his 
 arms, and she came to them, — the arms that had 
 opened once to set her free. 
 
 The fall days crept on, and the heat waxed 
 greater, and then gradually lessened, and the silent 
 splendor of the autumn stole over the hills and 
 valleys, and the summer boarders dropped off, a 
 few at a time, until the great house was left nearly 
 empty. Portia had leisure now for thinking and 
 dreaming, for driving with John over the dear old 
 mountain roads, and for her grandfather's pleasure 
 also. The sweet tones of his violin might be 
 heard at almost any hour, penetrating like rays 
 of sunlight through the gloom. 
 
 There was always a happy light in Portia's eyes 
 these days, and her voice seemed to grow fuller 
 and richer. 
 
 They were standing on the hillside one day, she 
 and John. Her hands were full of the late chrysan- 
 themums, — a glowing mass of color. 
 
 "What are you going to do with these?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Come with me, and I will show you," she 
 replied. She led him over the brambly hillside 
 until they came to a small cleared space, where 
 were two or three low mounds fenced in. One 
 seemed to have been made years before, and was 
 almost effaced, but was marked by a rude head- 
 board which had been painted white. The other 
 seemed to have been more recently made. The red 
 soil was not yet overrun with weeds and brambles. 
 
396 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 "Here it is, — the place where they laid that 
 white-headed old preather, " she said. Dividing 
 her flowers, she laid part of them at the foot of the 
 weather-beaten headboard, and the rest she placed 
 on the old man's grave. " I come here every week. 
 I have never been able, quite, to get that scene off 
 my mind : that night when he was shot, you know. 
 It hangs like a shadow in the midst of my happi- 
 ness. I have been so happy, John;" she slipped 
 her hand into his. "You know that tragedy, after 
 all, was the beginning of our knowing each 
 other." 
 
 " The beginning of our happiness was long before 
 that, when you came upon me there in Germany; 
 and next, when I sat alone out in the darkness, 
 and you sang to me ; and again, when you ran out 
 early in the morning and sang to me. You see 
 the happy beginning was made long before this 
 ever happened. There is no shadow hanging over 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it did, for you, John, Don't 
 think me morbid ; I am the happiest woman on 
 earth. These are all the flowers I shall have to 
 put here this year. By next week they may all be 
 
 gone." 
 
 "Miss Mann," he said, reading the name that 
 was painted on the headboard. " Why do you put 
 them on this grave .-* " 
 
 "Haven't you heard of her.^ She came down 
 here, and literally sacrificed herself for the colored 
 people. I have heard them tell about her. She 
 lived among them, taught them, and finally died 
 among them," 
 
A Bitter Cup 397 
 
 John looked at her in some surprise. "You 
 have changed in your feelings, then, toward them, 
 since we had our first talk together? " 
 
 "Why, no, I can't really say that I have. I 
 am fighting away at my prejudices, however." 
 
 "Why do you? They are only natural." 
 
 " Are they natural, or from wrong education ? I 
 have my theories, you know, and am trying to live 
 up to them." 
 
 "You beautiful little Puritan!" he said, laugh- 
 ing, and drawing her toward him. "Come away 
 from here. Tell me, what are your theories ? " 
 
 "For one thing, I think we have wrong esti- 
 mates in this world." 
 
 " More so than in other worlds of your expe- 
 rience? " 
 
 Portia laughed. " Yes. We are to graduate out 
 of this into another where prejudices have no part. 
 It will not be, ' What color are you ? ' or, ' What 
 occupation have you? ' or, ' How much money have 
 you ? ' but, ' What are you ? ' " 
 
 " So you are fighting your prejudices beforehand. 
 Are you really sure you have any ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah! I am glad." 
 
 "Glad to discover weaknesses in me that are 
 unworthy? Why? " She stood on a great boulder 
 looking down on him. 
 
 " Because — " he held out his hand to assist her 
 down, and springing, she landed in his arms in- 
 stead of on the ground. 
 
 " Put me down, John ; for shame." 
 
 "Because," he went on, "if you have not a few 
 
(( 
 
 398 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 frailties, how am I going to keep you in this world 
 with me? Cling to your prejudices, by all means." 
 
 She burst into merry laughter. " No, Mr. John. 
 It is my privilege to hide my weaknesses from you. 
 You will discover them soon enough." 
 
 "Now as we walk home talk about the future," 
 he said. 
 
 " How can we ? " 
 
 "Why, this way. You set the wedding day, and 
 I, as the architect, will begin building us a castle 
 in Spain." 
 
 "Very well; then I will say next June." 
 
 " What ? " 
 Next June." 
 
 Why not wait forever.? Say next Christmas, 
 and I can count the time by days instead of 
 months." 
 
 "But there will be so much to arrange." 
 
 "Not at all. Consider. My hotel has taken 
 your occupation from you; the proprietor is al- 
 ready in it, and has ruined your business. What 
 is there for you to arrange ? There is nothing left 
 you but to take up a new career. You are to go 
 to Europe, and finally are to astonish the world. 
 You are to be the finest artist living, and I am 
 to dance attendance as your humble and devoted 
 slave. Thousands, nay, millions, will flock to hear 
 you. The world will bow down at your feet." 
 
 "John, stop this nonsense," she said, laughing. 
 "Can't you think of a greater career for me.?" 
 jt/ttu^rmt^^'YQs^ my Puritan, yes." 
 
 '^■*fM»^mi^ "To be yo ur wi fe, j.nd the mistress of your 
 home, John .? " 
 
A Bitter Cup 399 
 
 "Yes, you read me right. Selfish creatures we 
 
 men are." 
 
 " Selfish to bestow on me the greatest honor a 
 man can.? Oh, John, you hardly read me aright." 
 
 " You never quite said those words with me I 
 once asked you to say." 
 
 "No.? Then I will say them now. 'No power 
 on earth shall take me from you, John. ' Are 
 those the words } " 
 
 " Yes, and for me I have said them over and 
 over : ' No power on earth shall take you from me, 
 Portia.' Then at Christmas, shall we say.? " 
 
 " Let us begin the new year together." 
 
 "As you say." He looked at her, walking at his 
 side, with quiet happiness shining in his eyes. 
 
 " And let us not build any more castles in Spain 
 now because of your mother." 
 
 " Yes, she must be prepared. I will do it very 
 gently. I think she will understand." 
 
 They walked on in silence, and when they reached 
 home a few raindrops were pattering down on the 
 fallen leaves. 
 
 Thus the days slipped away. Now it was John 
 and Portia, and now it was Hanford and Marguerite 
 who were building castles in Spain. The double 
 wedding day was set; it was coming on apace. 
 The old woman still lay in her chamber of silence, 
 like death in life. Her restless eyes searched 
 every face that entered, as if vainly seeking one 
 who could interpret her thoughts for her. Clare 
 and the medical nurse watched over her every com- 
 fort, and Marguerite sat by her side, faithfully 
 trying to anticipate her wishes. She worked at 
 
400 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 her embroidery there. Sometimes she read to her. 
 " If you understand and like it, aunty dear, close 
 your eyes once;" and slowly her eyes would close 
 and open again. "And if you are tired, aunty, 
 close and open them twice." This was her only 
 means of communication with those around her. 
 
 One day John stood by the side of her bed. He 
 had been walking, and was warm, for the Decem- 
 ber sun shone, and although it was late the frosts 
 had not yet come to nip things. His hair was 
 damp and clung to his forehead and temples. He 
 pushed back the clustering mass that had been 
 pressed down by his hat, and wiped his brow and 
 neck with his handkerchief. As he looked down 
 on her, he smiled. It was a smile full of tender- 
 ness and love. 
 
 " Mother dear, if I could I would give you part 
 of my health and vigor," he said. Ah, he was 
 beautiful to look at as he stood there in his 
 strength. " I would take you up in my arms and 
 carry you out in the sunlight. You are so light I 
 could do it easily, right here on the upper veranda. 
 Would you like it.-* " She closed her eyes. 
 
 "Nurse," he called, "can I take mother out in 
 the sun a moment, here on the gallery ? " 
 
 " You can't mean it ! " she said, entering quickly 
 from another room. 
 
 "Yes, see how warm it is." So they wrapped 
 her carefully in a soft, clinging blanket, and he car- 
 ried her out through the double French window. 
 
 "The air is sweet, mother, and you are not 
 heavy." He paced up and down, holding her as if 
 she were a child. " I must do this every day now. 
 
A Bitter Cup 401 
 
 Perhaps it may give you strength to speak to us 
 
 again." 
 
 Marguerite and Hanford were walking in the 
 paths, among the dropping autumn leaves, arm in 
 arm. She saw them, and her eyes wandered from 
 them to John's face. 
 
 " It is all right, mother dear. Try to feel that 
 it is." 
 
 Mr. Ridgeway and his daughter sat on the lower 
 veranda. The murmur of their voices came up to 
 them. Presently Mr. Ridgeway spoke out in a 
 little louder tone. 
 
 The day is drawing very near now," he said. 
 
 It makes me a little sad, but I would not have 
 her see it." 
 
 John walked to the farther end of the gallery, 
 and Mrs. Van Ostade's low reply was lost. As he 
 paced back the grandfather spoke again, — ■ 
 
 "It is n't that I regret it, Clara; John is a noble 
 fellow, and her happiness is dearer to me than my 
 
 
 own." 
 
 Once more the low reply was lost, and John car- 
 ried his mother back and laid her on the bed again. 
 Her eyes were fixed steadily on his, as if she would 
 pierce him through. He knew she had compre- 
 hended. The nurse had stepped away for a mo- 
 ment, and he arranged the pillows and clothing 
 and placed the poor helpless body in an easy pos- 
 ture, and folded her thin white hands over the 
 counterpane with the deft, gentle touch of a woman. 
 
 " Listen, mother. It is best for both of us. 
 Try to feel that it is. Let nothing trouble you, 
 mother dear. Try only to recover enough to speak 
 26 
 
402 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 to us again, and tell us that it is right. It is best 
 for Marguerite, believe me, it is." 
 
 Suddenly a dark purple flush suffused her face, 
 and he noticed that her lips were moving. His 
 heart gave a sudden bound, and slipping his hand 
 under the pillow he lifted her head and put his 
 ear close to try to catch her words; and he did, and 
 the curse they brought him as they were whispered, 
 half hissed at him. 
 
 " Better for — her — for Mar — Marguerite, — 
 yes — you - — you — are not my — son you — have 
 robbed — him of — his po — position, his — birth 
 
 — right — of his in — heritance you — you — are 
 part of the devil's — own brood — I — I — hate you 
 
 — as I hated — her — who bore you. — Go to your 
 old — old dam — and wring — the truth — from her 
 and — then — kill her and never — say the word — 
 mother — of me again — nor let — me see — your 
 face — again — go. " 
 
 Her face became pallid once more. She ceased 
 speaking, and closed her eyes. He laid her down 
 again, still gently, and tried to call the nurse, but 
 had no voice. Presently he regained self-control, 
 and finding her sent her to the bedside, and went 
 into the garden to Marguerite. 
 
 ''Mother has spoken a few words," he said. 
 "Go to her quickly. She may have something to 
 say to you." He was deathly pale. Oh, the force 
 of habit ! He had called her mother again. Mar- 
 guerite hurried in, and Hanford, noticing his agita- 
 tion, started to follow John, as he walked away, 
 but, prompted by his inner consciousness, as 
 quickly stopped and remained where he was. 
 
A Bitter Cup 403 
 
 John strode rapidly along, conning the words he 
 had just heard. "Perhaps she was just raving," 
 he thought, — but they had come to him so dis- 
 tinctly; they had fallen like drops of liquid fire 
 into his soul. Did she mean Mammy Clarissa? 
 He would go to her and learn the truth. But 
 there was no truth in it. His mother's reason was 
 gone. He came to the foot log over the stream, 
 and paused. Here was the place where he had 
 told his love to Portia on that sweet spring morn- 
 ing. The stream rushed on, tumbling and foaming 
 over the rocks, careless of human love or human 
 sorrow, and yet it seemed to voice the tumult of 
 his spirit now, even as it had seemed to voice, on 
 that fair, early morning, the impetuous rush of his 
 happy heart. 
 
 Mechanically he crossed the log and walked 
 on to the little clearing. There were two cabins 
 there now, and an addition to the log stable for 
 Gabriella's cow. Josephus was living comfortably 
 beside his mother in his own little cabin, with his 
 two mules all paid for. John had given him work 
 and good pay all summer. No one was about. 
 Gabriella was singing a hymn to a tune full of 
 quavers as she prepared Josephus' supper. 
 
 John crossed the yard and entered Clarissa's 
 cabin. " I will go in, at any rate, and see her now 
 that I am here," he said to himself. 
 
 "Is yo' come, honey.-*" She was seated bent 
 over the embers, and stirred them into a bright 
 blaze. "O Lawd ! Yo' is dat like yo' paw 
 w'en he come an' paid de money fo' me dat time! 
 Draw up yo' cheer, honey," and he did so. 
 
404 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Ah, how often when he was a child he had 
 turned away from his mother's reproofs and found 
 comfort in her arms ! How often, when he was 
 weary, he had climbed into her lap and rested his 
 head on her bosom, and fallen peacefully to sleep, 
 listening to her crooning. 
 
 He remained in the cabin, questioning her and 
 listening to her now, for over an hour; and when 
 he came out he closed the door softly after him, 
 and walked off down the road reeling like a 
 drunken man, staggering under a load that he felt 
 himself in his strength too weak to carry. When 
 he reached the stream he was too weary and heavy 
 to go farther. He stretched himself on the ground 
 face downward, and the darkness slowly and silently 
 closed over him like a mantle of sorrow. He heard 
 the ceaseless noise of the water like the rushing 
 and crowding and striving of human hearts, ever 
 pushing and hurrying to their doom, and ever cry- 
 ing out in the darkness. Were all the demons of 
 hell let loose upon him.'* What should he do.? 
 "Curse God and die?" 
 
 His temptation came upon him swift and ter- 
 rible. Why should he not cover all this up in his 
 heart and let everything go on as before. Was 
 it not God's will.'* "Bury it," said the tempter 
 within him. "Who will know.?" But the still 
 small voice of his heart said, " Shall I rob my 
 brother, and know it.?" And all night long the 
 fires burned in his spirit until it was purged and 
 laid bare before his Creator. 
 
 All night he lay there fighting with evil, for it 
 was heavy upon him and beset him sore. As the 
 
A Bitter Cup 405 
 
 dawn began to glow in the east a sleep of exhaus- 
 tion fell upon him, and in his sleep it seemed a 
 spirit came to him holding a whip of small cords, 
 with which it drove away the darkness and demons 
 that had surrounded him during the night; and 
 then it seemed a voice spoke words of comfort in 
 his ears, — words he had often heard, unthinking 
 of their meaning, from the pulpit, when the scrip- 
 tures were read; and then it seemed a voice like 
 Portia's took them up and sang them; and in his 
 restless sleep he seemed to see a woman stand 
 where the spirit had stood, pale and sad, and very 
 beautiful, and that as she bent above him her tears 
 fell upon him, and he could hear her weeping, and 
 that he tried to reach out to her, to touch her 
 hand, but could not; then he seemed to hear the 
 sound of the whirring of many wings, and he 
 awoke, and only the sound of the rushing water 
 was in his ears. 
 
 He rose, and went to the stream and bathed his, 
 face and cooled his throbbing temples. " My God," 
 he said, " if I had yielded, how could I ever have 
 gone to her with a lie in my heart.? Her eyes 
 would have searched it out. If I were to kiss her 
 with the lie on my lips, they would have blackened 
 her. " 
 
 He walked on, stronger now; his brow was 
 clear and his face very pale. He looked older, but 
 he had conquered. He did not go to Mrs, Wells, 
 but took his way to the old home. What to do in 
 the immediate future he knew not, but he seemed 
 irresistibly drawn back to the scene of his desola- 
 tion. Clare met him at the door. 
 
4o6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 *' How is she? " he asked mechanically. 
 
 ** La madam ? Ze is dead. " She spoke in a 
 whisper, as if she feared the dead might hear. 
 
 Mechanically, still, he walked up to her room. 
 The medical nurse was there, stepping softly about. 
 
 "I am glad you are come," she said. "Mr. 
 Ridgeway was just going for you. She has not 
 opened her eyes since you left yesterday. She 
 stopped breathing an hour ago." 
 
 He stood beside the bed looking down on her. 
 So his was the last face she had looked on ; how 
 changed, now, since he stood there yesterday, in 
 all the buoyancy of power and happiness ! He felt 
 himself old, and scarce thinking what he did, he 
 passed his hand over his face, half expecting to 
 find it wrinkled and drawn. Marguerite came and 
 stood beside him silently weeping. Presently Han- 
 ford entered and stood on the other side. John 
 felt his eyelids hot and dry. No tears came to his 
 eyes as he looked down on her whom from child- 
 hood he had called mother. Her face had not the 
 peaceful calm upon it usual in bodies from which 
 the spirit has fled ; it looked distorted and drawn, 
 as if worried with pain. He could stand it no 
 longer and walked away. In the upper hall he 
 met Mrs. Van Ostade. She came up to him, hold- 
 ing out both hands. He took them and held them 
 in his. 
 
 "We all love you, John. We would help you if 
 we could." 
 
 "I know it, I know it," he said; and for the 
 first time he kissed her. " Remember, always re- 
 member, that your generous, sweet loving was 
 
A Bitter Cup 407 
 
 returned tenfold," he said, and left her. In the 
 drawing-room he found Portia, as he had found her 
 on the day of Mrs. Marshall's arrival, arranging 
 and putting away her music, only now she was 
 pale, and her hands trembled. Death had entered 
 the house. He paused on the threshold, but she 
 came quickly and drew him to a seat beside her. 
 Ah, the healing in that firm, gentle touch ! 
 
 "I have been waiting for you here, John," she 
 said, and then sat silent, holding his hand in hers. 
 She was timid in the presence of his sorrow, so 
 different from what she thought, and yet so much 
 greater than she could know. "This grief should 
 be mine also, John," she said at last. "I would 
 help you bear it." 
 
 " No, dearest, you will have your own to bear, 
 and they will be heavy enough. Promise me that 
 whatever comes you will not try to carry mine." 
 He took her face in his hands and looked bravely 
 and tenderly into her eyes. "Promise me, my 
 beautiful. " 
 
 "I can't, John; the words we said together that 
 day make it impossible. Your sorrows are to be 
 mine forever. Where would be the sweetness of 
 loving if it were not so } " 
 
 " Forgive me, forgive me, darling. I made you 
 say them. Oh, forgive me ! " He bowed his head 
 and walked wearily away. 
 
 In the garden Hanford was waiting for him. 
 "Let me do anything for you that must be done," 
 he said kindly. "Are there telegrams to be 
 sent .? " 
 
 ^'None. She had no friends," he said bitterly, 
 
4o8 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 shaking off the friendly hand on his shoulder, and 
 walked on. Instantly he turned back. " Forgive 
 me ; I have a heavier load to bear than you dream 
 of. Yes. Take care of all these things for me, 
 and — well — you will know what to do. She is to 
 be laid beside my father, of course." He wrung 
 the hand held out to him. " You have always been 
 more than a friend to me, Hanford," and he walked 
 away. Again he turned back. " Let the funeral 
 be soon, — immediately the arrangements can be 
 made. We must relieve the family of the gloom 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 Faint and exhausted, he went to his room and 
 lay down. Presently came a gentle knock at his 
 door. He opened it, and there stood Miss Kath- 
 erine with his breakfast, the fragrant coffee steam- 
 ing in her daintiest china. 
 
 ** You were not down to breakfast with us," she 
 said, "and I thought you might not be well." 
 Then looking up she noted his face and started. 
 "John, what is it.^ Tell me." 
 
 He could not open his lips yet upon his terrible 
 secret. He took the tray from her and placed it 
 on the table. "She is dead," was all he said. 
 
 "Who is, John? Have you been out this morn- 
 ing, and without your breakfast ? " Strange to 
 say, she thought first of Portia; the death of his 
 mother it was reasonable to expect, but the expres- 
 sion of his face seemed to go beyond a reasonable 
 grief. How could he answer her.'* He could not 
 say of the woman who was gone, " my mother; " the 
 sweetness of that word, to utter, would never 
 be his again. 
 
A Bitter Cup 409 
 
 "My father's wife. She is dead; is to be laid by 
 his side at last." 
 
 "Your mother.'' But that was to be expected, 
 John," she said in tenderest reproof. "You should 
 not grieve so now that she suffers no more. Eat ; 
 you have been without food too long. Where were 
 you at supper ^ " 
 
 "I — I don't know. Oh, yes, I remember. 
 Yes, I will eat now. I need food. I don't seem 
 to be able to talk now." 
 
 She busied herself pouring his coffee and plac- 
 ing his plate. Her eyes swam in tears, but she 
 said nothing. He was touched by her sympathetic 
 silence. 
 
 " In my boyhood I brought my troubles to you, 
 Katherine; but now, sweet as your friendship is, I 
 have one I must bear alone." 
 
 " You may think you are bearing it alone, but 
 you won't be, John." 
 
 "That is the bitterness of it," he cried, and 
 bowed his head in his hand. "Good God! if I 
 could only bear it alone!" 
 
 Why, John, is n't that almost wicked.? " 
 No, it is righteous." 
 
 But, John, in this house you are in Donald's 
 place. Would you have it otherwise .-* " 
 
 He could not answer her. His tongue clove to 
 his mouth, and he moistened his lips with water. 
 "To-morrow, no, the day after, we — we will talk. 
 After she is laid away. Now I cannot, only of your 
 goodness to me, — yours and your mother's." 
 
 " No, not of that. Eat now, and when you can, 
 come down to ma; she will know what to say." 
 
 (I 
 it 
 
41 o When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 John was right. There are paths where man 
 must tread alone. No human soul can go with 
 him into the deeps, and only God can send light 
 to his feet. That day, and the next, and the 
 next, crept painfully, heavily by, like mourners 
 in a funeral train. Then John gathered himself 
 together to meet the future. 
 
 " Shall you take up your profession again, Han- 
 ford .-* " he asked, when the earth had fallen at 
 last, covering her whom all his life he had called 
 mother. 
 
 " I am thinking of it. And you ? " 
 
 " If you were, I was thinking I would ask you — 
 my friend — my more than friend — " He stopped. 
 His voice was hard and his lips were dry. How 
 could he tell his bitter secret, which had not yet 
 been told — but tell it he must. " I would ask you 
 to take charge of some business for me, if you were 
 — that I can trust to no one else. May we go to 
 my room.-* I have all my papers there." 
 
 And there, in Donald's old room, John learned, 
 as few in this world ever do learn, the value of a 
 friend. After it was all over, and the secret told, 
 and Hanford gone, John tried to write to Portia. 
 Once and again he took the pen, but his hand 
 trembled, and he laid it down. Finally, finding 
 his weakness greater than his strength, knowing 
 what he must do, but holding back, he fell on his 
 knees. He found no words in which to speak to 
 his Creator; only in his heart was one cry, — 
 "Christ, Thou hast suffered; Thou too!" and this 
 cry of his heart seemed to bring him the calmness 
 he needed. Once more he took up the pen and 
 
A Bitter Cup 41 1 
 
 simply and truly told her the story of his life, and 
 how at last the* truth had been revealed to him. 
 
 "And now, beautiful spirit whom I love, turn 
 from me. My life has been a dream, an unreality. 
 I have usurped from another who has been de- 
 graded in my place. Let me drop out of your life 
 as dreams drop out of the heart they have stirred 
 and troubled. Weep for me, beautiful Portia, but 
 be not sorrowful for me overmuch, — let me die in 
 thy tears. My love for thee is all that lives within 
 me. I am leaving forever. No one shall know 
 whither I go. Beautiful, pure soul, thy life may \y^ 
 not be linked with a stain. I stay for nothing, for 
 to be near thee is torture, even unto death. I may 
 not call thee my beautiful, mine, although it is 
 still in my heart to say it; but do for me one thing 
 that I ask of thee. Mr. Clark will tell thee what 
 it is. Do it, that I may know how great was thy 
 love. All the happiness I built for thee, I cannot 
 have it shattered. This that I ask of thee is all 
 the pleasure left me. Do what he asks of thee. 
 I fear for thee, dearest, when thou art lonely ; 
 when thy heart is sad for me, remember that I live 
 only in my love for thee, — but never seek to find 
 me. This burden I must bear alone, and thou, 
 dear heart, must be free. No power on earth — 
 Oh, Portia! my life, my beautiful, I sinned when 
 I wrung those words from thee. Forgive me, and 
 take them back. Oh, God ! that I should love thee 
 thus, and turn my face away from thee forever ! " 
 
 He folded and addressed the letter and sealed 
 it, and went out in the dusk and mailed it, fearing 
 his own weakness if he kept it in his possession, 
 
412 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Later he strolled out in the darkness. He would 
 go to her and say farewell, telling her nothing but 
 that he must go immediately to New York. 
 
 As he neared the house he heard her singing 
 snatches of the song he heard her singing first. 
 He still had her music, but she sang bits from 
 memory. She was alone, and hoping he might 
 come. He sat on the edge of the fountain, as 
 before, so long ago it seemed to him now. Pres- 
 ently the singing ceased, and she came to the 
 door, looking out into the darkness, as if he had 
 called her. 
 
 "I am here, Portia." She came out to him. "I 
 am listening to you as I listened to you so long 
 ago, love. I was too sad to come in, for I am 
 only here to say good-bye to you. I must go to 
 New York immediately." 
 
 "To New York, John .? " 
 
 "Yes, at midnight. It is important." 
 
 "What a pity! when we are to go together in so 
 short a time." What a sweet ring in her voice! 
 He could not trust himself to go with her into the 
 lighted room. 
 
 "Come, bring a wrap and walk with me here in 
 the starlight." 
 
 She brought the same little white shawl he had 
 folded her in so often, and once again he placed it 
 about her, and once again her pulses quickened at 
 his touch. She felt that he was sad ; it was but 
 natural. Ah, little she thought she was walking 
 beside a tortured soul, — that every bright and 
 hopeful thing she said cut him to the heart. She 
 tried to divert him from his grief by telling him 
 
A Bitter Cup 41 3 
 
 all the pretty little details of the preparations she 
 was making for his wedding, and what Marguerite 
 was doing and saying. 
 
 " Marguerite is so buoyant. She grieves ; but 
 now, since she has given herself up to her lover, 
 she is simply irresistible. It will be the marvel 
 of my life that you could have been such a foolish 
 John. I can see no reason for it except that I 
 might be made happy." 
 
 " You must always love her, for my sake. No 
 matter what comes to me, love her. Will you ? 
 The time may come when she will be a great com- 
 fort to you. " 
 
 " How could I help it, John.?" Then she told 
 him of her wedding dress. " It is done, but you 
 are not to see it until I wear it, Mr. John." 
 
 He could bear it no longer. He had meant to 
 say only a hurried good-bye, and he had lingered 
 too long. He felt he had no right to touch her. 
 She was never to be his. 
 
 " I must take you back to the house now, for I 
 must go." Presently they stood beside the foun- 
 tain. "When are you going to shut it off.-*" he 
 asked, trying to still the tumult within by saying 
 commonplaces. 
 
 " I must have it done to-morrow, before a freeze 
 
 comes." 
 
 He took a jewel from his breast which he had 
 purchased for his marriage gift to her. "Take this 
 from me now, Portia. Will you always wear it for 
 me? If — if — anything should happen to me, my 
 beautiful — let me pin it on you." 
 
 "Nothing must happen to you, John; nothing 
 
414 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 must — if anything should — and you should never 
 come back to me — John, I would die." 
 
 He caught his breath, and his hands trembled so 
 that he could not fasten the pin, and she did it for 
 him. Then he kissed her, and turned away with- 
 out another word. She stood with her hands still 
 on the pin. After a moment she heard his steps 
 returning, and went to meet him. 
 
 "What is it, John?" 
 
 "I — I forgot to leave a farewell message for 
 your mother and grandfather and for — Marguerite. 
 I have not told her I was going." 
 
 Then the strong hold he had set upon himself 
 gave way, and for an instant she felt as if a whirl- 
 wind had seized her. She felt the kisses rained 
 upon her face, hot and fast, upon her lips, her 
 eyes, her cheeks. She felt herself helpless in his 
 grasp, stunned by his vehemence; for in his heart 
 he was saying with every kiss, " It is the last, the . 
 last forever." He took the white shawl from her 
 shoulders. " Give this to me. I have wrapped 
 you in it so often, let me keep it." And when he 
 was gone she felt that he was weeping, and the 
 tears leaped to her own eyes. Something was 
 wrong with him, that he could not tell. What 
 was this sudden going away.? With heavy fore- 
 boding she turned into the house to weary herself 
 all night long with fruitless questionings. 
 
 Next morning a small package and two letters 
 came to Portia as her share of the mail. She took 
 them to her room. One of the letters was John's. 
 She recognized the hand, and kissed it, but laid it 
 one side to read more at leisure, and opened the 
 
A Bitter Cup 415 
 
 package and the other letter. They were from 
 Mr. Russell. The dear old man had heard of her 
 approaching marriage and had sent her the jewels 
 he had hoped she might one day wear for him. 
 As she was taking them from the box, her mother 
 entered. She held them up to the light, — a neck- 
 lace of diamonds, and a chain of rarest antique 
 workmanship, and a beautiful jewelled watch. Her 
 cheeks flushed. 
 
 " Oh, mother, how beautiful ! — but — but — 
 should I accept them ? What would John say } 
 Here is Mr. Russell's letter. What a pretty letter 
 it is! Read it, and look at these while I read 
 John's." 
 
 She tore off the envelope and threw herself in a 
 chair, and as she read the color left her cheeks, 
 then her lips; but she read it through to the very 
 end. When Mrs. Van Ostade looked up from the 
 letter she was reading, she was frightened at the 
 expression on her daughter's face. Portia sat rigid, 
 as if seized with a catalepsy, — the letter sheets in 
 her lap, her hands folded upon them. 
 
 "Portia, what is it.-* " Her mother came to her 
 side, but she did not move. " Portia, speak ! " 
 She did not answer. Her mother began chafing 
 her hands, for they were stiff and cold, and called 
 for help. Marguerite came with eyes red from 
 crying. Hanford had been telling her the truth. 
 She knew what had come upon Portia, — that a 
 sword had pierced her through. They laid her 
 upon a couch, and for hours labored to arouse her, 
 to bring the tears to her eyes. 
 
 " Portia, look at me, dear. Cry a little. Cry as 
 
41 6 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 I do, dear," said Marguerite, piteously, kneeling at 
 her side. " Oh ! if she only could ! " 
 
 Finally they sent for Miss Katherine. Another 
 face, another voice, might help. 
 
 " Ma, they are in trouble. Perhaps you would 
 better go too," said Miss Katherine. "You can 
 speak to her as we can't." So the blind woman 
 went and sat by Portia's side, and placed her hand 
 on her head, and after a while the blessed tears 
 came, and they all withdrew, and left them alone 
 together. 
 
 "Oh, Hanford, is there nothing we can do.'*" 
 said Marguerite. 
 
 " No, darling, we cannot change what is nor what 
 has been." 
 
 "What has John done? " 
 
 " He has divided all he has, and left half in my 
 hands for Portia's use." 
 
 " The noble fellow ! " 
 
 " And he has left her, to go — no one knows 
 where." 
 
 Marguerite broke forth in a fresh outburst of 
 grief. 
 
 "And he has left instructions that if your aunt 
 has left anything to him in her will, as she un- 
 doubtedly has, it is to be given to Chesterfield." 
 
 "Of course, that is right," she sobbed. "Where 
 has he gone, Hanford ? " 
 
 "No one knows, darling, but he will write to me. 
 I made him promise me that, and he did it on con- 
 dition that I would not reveal his whereabouts." 
 
 " Hanford, I wish they could have married before 
 he found it out." 
 
a 
 
 A Bitter Cup 417 
 
 Hanford groaned. "Would to God that poor 
 humanity were not so frail, — that they could look 
 at the spirit through the temple it inhabits, — 
 what is wealth or caste or color compared with the 
 worth of a soul? Good God! How long, how 
 long!" He bowed his head in his hands. 
 
 Marguerite knelt at her lover's side and looked 
 into his eyes. "Hanford, if she loves him as I 
 love you, I know what she will do." 
 
 Do you, darling.? " he said, drawing her to him. 
 Yes, and I am going to tell her so too." 
 No, no. Marguerite, such questions as these 
 the heart must wrestle with alone. We can only 
 wait." They sat in silence for a time, then Han- 
 ford spoke again, for she was sobbing on his 
 shoulder. " For us, we will be married, Mar- 
 guerite, and then we will watch over her and love 
 her for John's sake. Shall we.? " 
 
 "Yes, Hanford." 
 
 The next morning Portia stood in her mother's 
 room, "clothed and in her right mind." Her 
 grandfather sat in his chair, bowed down with 
 sorrow for her. 
 
 "Grandfather," she said, "don't be so sad. I 
 will be brave." Then kneeling at her mother's 
 feet she laid her head in her lap as of old. " Oh, 
 mother, dear mother, what shall I do?" 
 
 Her mother laid her hand on her head. " No 
 one can help you, Portia, only God." 
 
 27 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF PORTIA 
 
 AS the days passed slowly away, Portia went 
 about her accustomed duties, not complain- 
 ingly nor silently, yet a pallor had crept into her 
 face and her joyous buoyancy was gone. A note 
 had come into her voice strange to them all. 
 
 "If it were I, I should cry my eyes out; but 
 then just her voice makes me sad. It sounds like 
 tears held back. I only wish she would cry or do 
 some desperate thing. I should." 
 
 "Marguerite," said Portia, one day, "I wish you 
 and Hanford would be married without waiting any 
 longer. I want to see you happy before any ter- 
 rible thing comes between you." 
 
 "Don't think of it, Portia. Why should any- 
 thing come between us ? " 
 
 "Ah! but don't you see.? We felt safe too, a 
 short time ago, — so safe Perhaps I am only ner- 
 vous." When Marguerite told Hanford of Portia's 
 request, he said, " Let us be married now, as she 
 says. The sadness of her looking forward to it 
 will be passed then. We will go away for a few 
 weeks and not be always before her." 
 
 So they were quietly married, and the light of 
 Marguerite's joyous presence was gone from the 
 house for a time, and Portia sat alone in her room 
 with her head in her hands, thinking, thinking. 
 
 418 
 
The Judgment of Portia 419 
 
 It seemed to her she should die of the horror of 
 great darkness that she felt settling down upon her. 
 
 "There are millions and millions of other peo- 
 ples in the world more than there are of us," she 
 cried in her heart. "Are we the only ones God 
 loves.'' Then why did he make them.-' Why are 
 they allowed to live and multiply.-* Do they have 
 souls like us.-* Then why do we hate them and 
 loathe them.? Did Christ feel as we do .'* Why 
 didst thou .do this thing, Lord.? What have I 
 done, Father, that thou hast done this thing.? 
 What has he done.? Thou didst create him, thou 
 didst give him to me. Why must we suffer — 
 wherein have we sinned .? " 
 
 "Portia," said her mother one day, "you are in 
 the house too much, dear. You will be ill." 
 
 "Yes, mother, I am going out this morning, to 
 ride." And she did; she rode over in the direc- 
 tion of Mammy Clarissa's cabin, being, as it were, 
 drawn irresistibly thither. It was the first time 
 she had used the little brown horse since John 
 went away. She tied the creature to the small 
 sapling near the door, and petted its brown neck 
 and laid her cheek against its velvety nose. 
 
 "Oh, Brownie, I love you!" she said pitifully, 
 and went into the cabin. 
 
 Old Clarissa was lying upon the best bed at last, 
 alone, fading away. A smouldering fire still glowed 
 in the black fireplace, and the little window shutter 
 was open. The light from the window streamed 
 across her face, and over her wrinkled hands lying 
 folded on the patchwork counterpane. All was 
 swept and tidied, for Gabriella had been in and 
 
420 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 set things straight before she had left for a day's 
 washing in the village. 
 
 The old woman seemed to have been sleeping, 
 for she turned her head and looked at Portia in a 
 dazed way as she stood there. 
 
 "Why, honey," she said feebly, at last, "I nuvva 
 did n' know yo' stan'in' dar. " She tried to rise, 
 but lay back again. "I kyan' git up fo' wait on 
 yo' no mo'. Jes' yo' take a cheer, honey." 
 
 "Yes, mammy, yes. I can wait on myself." 
 
 "I ain' seed yo' fo' a mighty long time." 
 Clarissa closed her eyes and lay quite still, as if 
 she had wandered off again. 
 
 Portia sat down in the old woman's chair, for 
 her knees trembled and it seemed as if she should 
 fall. Then she rose and stood by the bedside, 
 looking down on the wasted figure and frail, 
 pinched face before her. A strange feeling of des- 
 perate misery possessed her for a moment, as if 
 she could crush out the poor frail life of the un- 
 witting cause of it. Then the pathetic truth crept 
 into her heart with its softening power, and she 
 was overwhelmed with the sadness of it all. Old 
 Clarissa lay so still Portia felt the awe stealing 
 over her that one feels in the presence of death, 
 until a gentle, sighing breath denoted that it was 
 not death, but only the quiet sleep of weakness. 
 
 Through the wrinkles and pallor she noted the 
 fine lines of the old face. What must this woman 
 once have been.? What was her inheritance.'* A 
 slave, but beautiful, strong, lithe, — there was 
 grace still in her hands as they lay clasping some- 
 thing between the thin fingers. An assortment of 
 
The Judgment of Portia 421 
 
 articles was laid out on the counterpane within 
 reach of them. Evidently her cherished keepsakes 
 had been placed there for her amusement during 
 Gabriella's absence, — a bright-colored pasteboard 
 box, and a silver thimble, a little mother-of-pearl 
 cross, and a ring of gold, with two hearts engraved 
 on it, a pair of ear-rings, with pendant hoops, and 
 a string of blue porcelain beads. Wrapped around 
 a little pebble, with a hole in it, were a bit of 
 lace and a faded brocade ribbon. 
 
 While Portia still stood wondering what might 
 be the mystery of her life, and what she held so 
 closely, — why she had been allowed to cross her 
 path and come between her and the sunlight of 
 her hopes, the old slave looked up as if she saw 
 her now for the first time. 
 
 "Why, honey, is yo' dar.-^ Take a cheer, chile." 
 Again she tried to rise, but sank back as before. 
 "I declar' I 's pow'ful weak, honey; I kyan' git up 
 fo' wait on yo'." 
 
 "There, mammy, never mind," said Portia, gently. 
 "Tell me what you are doing with these things. 
 How long have you been ill ? You ought to have 
 sent me word about it. " 
 
 "Laws, honey, I ain' sick; I jes' gwine home at 
 las', I reckon. I done be'n wait'n' heah fo' young 
 Mars'r John tu come in. 'Pears like he a mighty 
 long time comin'." The old eyes closed wearily, 
 and Portia, dreading to have her lose consciousness 
 again, spoke quickly. 
 
 "Mr. Marshall has gone away, mammy; I don't 
 know where he is." Portia felt as if she were 
 choking, and put her hand to her throat. " Oh, 
 
42 2 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 Clarissa," she cried at last, "I don't know where 
 he is, — you can tell me. You are going to the God 
 who made you, — who made him, — and all of us — 
 there you can see him wherever he is, — can't you 
 almost see him now? Where is he?" She knelt 
 by the bed and covered her face with her hands, — 
 shame, despair, grief, overwhelming her. 
 
 Thoroughly roused by Portia's vehemence, the 
 old woman raised herself on one elbow, and gazed 
 at the bright young head bowed in passionate grief, 
 in astonishment. 
 
 Then she laid her hand tenderly on Portia's hair, 
 and her old eyes shone with a strange gleam, and 
 her wan face grew radiant as a faint glimmering of 
 the truth crept into her soul. 
 
 "Why, honey, chile, 'pears like yo' grievin' fo' 
 young Mars' r John tu." She felt over the bed 
 covers for that which she held in her hands when 
 Portia came in. It was a small oval miniature 
 exquisitely painted on ivory and surrounded by a 
 gold frame of the finest workmanship. " Heah 
 't is, honey. I 'lowed I 'd done los' hit — my h'a't 
 took sech a jump — hit nerved me so, — I 's pow'ful 
 weak, honey." 
 
 Portia rose and took the picture with trembling 
 hands. "What is it, mammy?" 
 
 "Das' Mars'r Gen'l Ma'shall he's ownse'f, chile, 
 — young Mars'r John's fadah, honey; de ve'y 
 sp'it 'n' image o' he's fadah, de way he done look 
 dat time he come 'long an' pay de money fo' me, 
 an' tuk me off'nde block 'long home wid 'im dat 
 time. Yo' look at hit, chile; yo' eyes young an' 
 sha'p, I reckon. I ain' seed hit fo' mighty long 
 
The Judgment of Portia 423 
 
 while back, my eyes be'n so pore; but hit de ve'y 
 p'it 'n' image o' Gen'l Mars'r John, hit are." 
 Portia took it over to the open shutter, the one 
 small square of light in the dusky room, and 
 scanned the delicate lines of the painting eagerly. 
 There it was, undisguised by the old-fashioned 
 costume and cut of hair, — there was the likeness 
 to her lover. Different, yet strangely like. More 
 dreaminess about the eyes, less alert and sharply 
 cut than the face of the present; but still there 
 was a strength of character and dignity in all the 
 lineaments, showing a noble ancestry. 
 
 "Where did you get this, mammy.?" she said 
 huskily. 
 
 "I jes' tuk hit, honey. Ol' miz lef mighty 
 suddent aftah dat time Mars'r Gen'l done brung. 
 home f om de wah, she did. She ain' mo' 'n git 
 back f'om de grabe, w'en she begin pack up, an' 
 we-all war 'bleeged tu help. I done heahed her 
 tell Miz Wells she 'low'd we-all wuz gwine be sot 
 free nex' t'ing come, an' she gwine tek all but de 
 good-fo'-nuttin' ones 'long daown Cuba way tu her 
 faddah's plantation. She 'lowed we 'd be wuth mo' 
 there 'n we be wuth heah." Poor Clarissa paused 
 from weakness, but Portia could not let her rest. 
 
 "Go on, mammy, go on. Tell me more; tell 
 me about this," she said, still gazing at the pic- 
 ture, fascinated by the dreamy likeness to the one 
 she loved. 
 
 "'Bouts dat, honey.? 01' miz lef dat on her 
 table in her own room. Dat de onliest t'ing she 
 lef in de whole haouse, 'cept'n' me. I done lock 
 myse'f in de closet dat time de ova'seer chain up 
 
424 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 de niggahs fo' tek 'em 'long. She nuvva try de 
 do'. I lay dar two days 'daout nuffin' tu eat, an' 
 I nuvva breave ha'dly, lest she hyah me, an' tek me 
 long. Josephus, he wan' no 'count dem days 'daout 
 me, an' Chas he done run 'way, so she nuvva tuk dem 
 neider. She nuvva cotch we-uns, naw 'm. I heahed 
 'em holla an' call, an' I lay still. I heah'd her 
 say, ' Leah go callin'. She mount a fotch a 
 heap, but dar, she done sp'ile long 'go. Anyhow, 
 we kyan' sell niggers no mo', I reckon. Let her 
 stay an' starve.' Ol' miz she keer mo' fo' de 
 dollah dan she keer fo' Gen'l Mars'r John or her 
 own soul, I reckon so. Honey, I 's pow'ful dry." 
 
 The water in the cabin was warm and stale, and 
 Portia took a cup and hurried down the winding 
 path to the spring bubbling out of a rock and 
 brought some that was fresh and cool. Out in 
 the sunshine her courage came back to her. She 
 ceased to tremble, and as she bent over the old 
 woman and held the water to her lips her heart 
 grew tender toward her, and a peace came to her 
 which she had not felt before, which she had 
 thought was forever gone from her. 
 
 ''Drink, mammy. This is cool and nice. Now 
 try to think. Tell me all you want me to do. 
 Why did you give me this.-*" 
 
 "I wan' yo' tu give dat tu young Mars'r John, 
 honey. I done kep' hit fo' him, an' heah I lyin' 
 wait'n' fo' him come git hit, an' see he's ol' 
 mammy once mo'. I done tol' de troof, an' 'fess 
 'fo' de Lawd, an' now I gwine be 'lowed tu pass, I 
 reckon. I kyan' wait fo' him no longer. Honey, 
 tell 'im dat ar' de ve'y sp'it 'n' image o' he's 
 
The Judgment of Portia 425 
 
 fadah; like he done look w'en he young like 
 he are." 
 
 "But I don't know where he is, mammy." 
 
 "Yo' kin fin' 'im, chile, yo' young an' spry. I 
 ain' seed nobody pearter. Look a-heah, honey, 
 likely he done gone tu he's paw's twin brudder 
 in San F'ncisco, wha' done brung 'im up all dese 
 yeahs." 
 
 Portia's heart leaped within her. Why had she 
 not thought of that ? In the same instant she 
 perceived the truth, that no heart clings so close 
 to another as a mother's to her son, be she of what- 
 ever race or color. 
 
 "Honey, I lub dat boy lak I kyan' tell yo' how 
 I lub dat boy, — mo' 'n I lub my own soul, I reckon. 
 Yo' tell 'im dat, honey." 
 
 "Yes, mammy, yes. Now you rest." Portia 
 smoothed the pillow and straightened the bed 
 clothing, and then after a little search found some 
 milk, which she warmed over the embers and gave 
 the old woman to drink, 
 
 " Yo' 's pow'ful good tu ol' mammy, chile." 
 
 "I am doing this for your boy too, Cl'issy." 
 
 "Yo' 's pow'ful good, honey." 
 
 Portia left her quietly sleeping, but old Clarissa 
 never woke again in this world. 
 
 All the next day Portia spent in her room alone, 
 and the next morning she appeared at the break- 
 fast table composed and cheerful. Hanford and 
 Marguerite had returned and were to spend some 
 time longer there, when Hanford would go to New 
 York and resume his business. Portia seemed to 
 them to have regained, in large measure, her old 
 
426 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 manner and chceriness. After the meal was over 
 they all stayed chatting together pleasantly; and 
 Portia, slipping her arm about her mother, said 
 caressingly, — 
 
 " Mamma deary, can you and grandfather get 
 along without me for a while ? I want to go away 
 somewhere. I hardly know where nor for how 
 long, but I just want to go. I will write to you 
 and telegraph you every day if you wish, so don't 
 think I am going to run away entirely," she said, 
 noting a look of alarm in her mother's face and 
 laughing a little. Then she turned to Hanford : 
 "You will look after grandpapa and little mother 
 for me, will you not, Mr. Clark ? — you and 
 Marguerite." 
 
 Marguerite sprang up and threw her arms about 
 Portia's neck. "Oh, you darling, you darling! I 
 knew you would do it. Yes, we will. Of course 
 we will, won't we, Hanford.'*" 
 
 Portia kissed her. " How do you know what I am 
 going to do, dear.'* I hardly know myself yet. 
 But I will write and tell you all I do, surely." 
 
 "Whatever you do will be right, Portia," said 
 her grandfather. " I am always sure of you. " 
 
 "But, daughter," said her mother, anxiously, 
 "you won't, — you will let us know very soon 
 where you are, will you not } " 
 
 "Mother dear, don't worry about me, don't. I 
 have travelled alone before, and you never thought 
 of being troubled. I have put on your desk a plan 
 of the places I may go to, and if I change my 
 course, as I may, I will telegraph you immediately, 
 so you never need be in doubt about me. Really, 
 
The Judgment of Portia 427 
 
 I am quite sane, and happier than I have been for 
 weeks. This time trust me, as grandfather does." 
 
 "Yes, dear, you know I do." 
 
 " And mamma, I — have arranged — affairs; you 
 will find enough for everything while I am away. 
 It 's all right. I am sure this is best." 
 
 Mr. Ridgeway rose hurriedly and walked over to 
 the window. The time was when he could have 
 saved her all thought of that. He gazed over the 
 landscape for a moment and drummed on the sill 
 nervously, then he walked back to her chair, and 
 bending down kissed her on the cheek. "We can 
 spare you for a little while, but not long," he said. 
 
 She took his face between her two hands. " You 
 treasure of a grandfather," she said. "Mamma, 
 my trunk is packed; I did it yesterday. And, 
 grandfather, will you call Alexander to bring the 
 carriage.? I will run out and see Maggie a moment 
 and then be ready. The train leaves at ten, does 
 it not, Mr. Clark ? " 
 
 She seemed quite like herself again as she left 
 the room with the old spring, in her step; and as 
 she bade them a cheery good-bye, they all felt that 
 to have arrived at a plan of action was for her at 
 least salutary. 
 
 Hanford accompanied her to the station; but 
 she said little of her plans except : " I have de- 
 cided to use some of the money John wished me 
 to have." It was the first time she had spoken his 
 name aloud to any one except in old Clarissa's 
 cabin, and her face became crimson, and she turned 
 her head away that he might not see. 
 
 "Yes," he said at last, "that is right; it is as he 
 
428 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 would have wished." He spoke as he felt, as if 
 his friend had departed from this life, and Portia 
 laughed out a nervous, reckless little laugh ; but it 
 served to lighten the tension under which they felt 
 themselves. 
 
 "No, no. John is not dead," she said. "I shall 
 find him. I could not use it for anything else, you 
 know that, and I am going to ask you — • " 
 
 "He has not written me yet; I could not tell 
 you where he is, even if I were not — " 
 
 " I was not going to ask that. I would not even 
 if he had written. No. But I will find him if it 
 takes every cent ; if I have to work my way through 
 the world to do it. I was going to speak about 
 mother and grandfather. I — " 
 
 "I will be a son to them; do not fear," he said 
 tenderly. 
 
 "I believe you." She gave him her hand as he 
 helped her from the carriage. " You are a true 
 friend to John and a good brother to me. I accept 
 your kindness, but you can never know how much 
 it is to me. Good-bye. I trust them to you for a 
 time. Believe me, I have thought well over what 
 I am doing. Good-bye." 
 
 They were a little late, and she stepped on to the 
 train without going into the station. He turned 
 instinctively to look whether her trunk had been 
 left behind, but no. She had attended to that and 
 her ticket the evening before. He smiled as he 
 gazed at the retreating train. 
 
 "She 's all right," he said to himself. "What- 
 ever comes, her head is level. I wonder if she 
 knows, herseM, just where she is going." 
 
The Judgment of Portia 429 
 
 Hardly did she know. She was feeling her 
 way rather. It seemed to her as the train rushed 
 through the tunnels and deep cuts among the hills, 
 and over gorges and precipices, winding in and 
 out among the very mountain peaks, that she was 
 being borne by some mighty power, at its own 
 volition, whether she would or no; like a maiden 
 in a fairy tale, taken from her home in sleep by 
 some awful genie and carried swiftly on through 
 space, to reach at last an enchanted castle and be 
 awakened by a lover's kiss. 
 
 She leaned back on the cushions and closed her 
 eyes. "Let me think," she said. But she did not 
 think, she was only dreaming; looking into her 
 lover's eyes, beautiful now with the light of self- 
 renunciation, — touching his hand, — feeling him 
 near her, — think? why should she think? she had 
 done her thinking the day before; now she might 
 dream and drift, moving on to the fulfilment of 
 that which she had already calmly determined 
 upon. Natures like Portia's can afford to some- 
 times dream and live in an ecstasy of the imagina- 
 tion. They have earned the right to this highest 
 indulgence of the spirit by the practical energy of 
 their lives, the care and faithfulness with which 
 they have met and overcome difficulties, and battled 
 with the commonplace. 
 
 Although she had many acquaintances in the 
 city, she determined to go directly to the hotel 
 where John usually stopped when not with friends 
 and learn if he had been there. She knew he 
 would not be with friends of the past, — indeed, 
 might not have been in the city at all, — there 
 
430 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 were many other places where he might have been 
 staying, but he had said New York when he left, 
 so she went there first. " I have nothing but my 
 woman's intuition to guide me so I will be guided 
 by that," she said, — not a bad thing to trust to 
 upon occasion, as Portia found. 
 
 All the deadened numbness of spirit under which 
 she had labored for the last weeks had left her, 
 and she arrived braced for any emergency. Had 
 John Marshall been in New York.'* She would 
 know if she had to look over every hotel register 
 in the city. 
 
 She went where they were to have gone on their 
 wedding journey, and there she was spared this 
 disagreeable detective duty. He had been there 
 and had left only three days before. She secured 
 a room and locked herself up to think. Yes, he 
 had been here during the whole of the last week, 
 alone, where they were to have been together. 
 While she was kneeling at the bedside of old 
 Clarissa he had been here thinking of her. Now 
 what should she do.? Inaction was terrible. She 
 must go. She must follow, even to the ends of 
 the earth. She paced restlessly up and down the 
 room. 
 
 " Where has he been all this time.? But there, 
 it will do no good to know that. He has been 
 here and he has gone." She wrung her hands. 
 " Which way shall I turn now ? " 
 
 Suddenly she threw herself on her knees and 
 covered her face with her hands. The splendid 
 poise of her nature seemed to be leaving her. She 
 felt so alone, her human limitations so narrow. 
 
\ 
 
 
 The Judgment of Portia 431 
 
 the veil of the future seemed drawn so closely 
 about her and to be so impenetrable and dark, she 
 became, as it were, caught up out of herself and 
 lifted toward her Creator. 
 J^' Souls who have loved intensely, they alone can 
 feel this irresistible drawing power, and through 
 it the touch of the Divine. Love opens the flood- 
 gates of heaven and unlocks the heart for the 
 light to stream in. Love leads the soul to God by 
 I the straightest, swiftest way. That which we call i y 
 \ woman's intuition is usually^ o'dXy her quick re- 
 isponse to Love's leading. \J^}y^M^ i^ /L4 ' ^ 
 ^ When Portia rose from her knees, her face was 
 radiant with a new beauty. She began to do little 
 commonplace things, — shaking out her dresses 
 and arranging a few small articles on her dressing- 
 case and mantle, singing softly as she moved 
 about. "I shall be leaving to-morrow, but it will 
 be just as well to do this," she said. Lying just 
 under the edge of the wardrobe, she spied a small 
 red leather notebook. It had a familiar look, and 
 she picked it up quickly, brushing the dust from 
 the smooth, pocket-worn cover. It was what any 
 man might have dropped and lost sight of. She 
 turned the leaves and glanced at the few memo- 
 randa it contained. They were in John's hand, 
 and, yes, here was the page on which she had 
 jotted down for him once a few measures of a song 
 she wished him to get for her. She could not 
 remember the name, only a few bars, she had heard 
 sung; and here, under her careless little notes, he 
 had written two words, "Bless her." She sank 
 down in a low rocker, clasping the little book 
 
432 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 tightly in her hands. Here, in this very room ! 
 Only three days ago ! Surely she should find him. 
 Where should she go first ? 
 
 He would be sure, sooner or later, to go to those 
 who had stood in the place of his parents for so 
 many years. At least he would write to them. 
 Should she wait and write.? No, there was noth- 
 ing to do but to take the long journey. She must 
 see them and know them. Strangers though they 
 were to her, she must turn to them for help. 
 
 Portia spent the days and nights of her trip 
 across the continent in continual pondering over 
 the great problem of life and its complications. 
 Her heart ached for humanity, deeply stirred 
 through her love for her lover. All along the 
 miles upon miles of prairie land, lacking now the 
 beauty of the waving sea of green of the spring- 
 time, and on, across the barren alkali plains, where 
 the bones of dead cattle lay bleaching, or the 
 wreck of an emigrant wagon flapped in the never- 
 ceasing breeze its tattered covering, waving its 
 rags, like thin brown hands, with long attenuated 
 fingers, mutely wrung in woful lament over those 
 who had gone on in hunger and pain, leaving the 
 wreck behind them, still to follow the treacher- 
 ous ignis fatinis of gold to their doom, Portia, rapt 
 in her own thoughts, sat silent, unheeding those 
 around her. She gazed out of the window, at the 
 flying, shifting monotony of the scene, until her 
 heart as well as her eyes ached. At the eating 
 stations she looked into the faces of the rough 
 miners, or was importuned by a copper-colored 
 squaw to look at her pappoose and give her a silver 
 
The Judgment of Portia 433 
 
 piece for the privilege. She noted the half-breeds 
 lounging about the stations, and the deft Chinese, 
 laboring and chattering together in their musical 
 sing-song, and more heavily and more insistently 
 the great problem of life forced itself on her. 
 
 Why were all these created ? For what end all 
 this struggle, this searching for gold, this squalor 
 and degradation? These women, whose great 
 hungry eyes, like the eyes of animals, looked into 
 hers eagerly, for a smile for the babies at their 
 backs; these stolid men, whose only motive in life 
 seemed to be merely to exist, — for what end ? 
 
 A little girl timidly offered her a bit of pottery. 
 She bought it and carried it back with her into the 
 train, and here, in this piece of rudely shaped, and 
 decorated, and unevenly burnt clay she found the 
 answer to all her questionings. This little Indian 
 child was her teacher, for she saw in the little jar 
 she had bought, the shaping, creating hand, the 
 imagining mind. And in the embryotic chaos of 
 ideas displayed in the strange, symbolic design and 
 coloring of the decoration she saw the aspiration 
 of a soul, — a reaching, striving, yes, even an 
 attaining soul. 
 
 "And these are our brothers and sisters," she \ 
 
 thought. " The great Caucasian race must stoop to 
 
 these before it can rise higher. They have reached 
 
 the boundary line past which they cannot move 
 
 toward God-likeness until they have learned to 
 
 place God's estimate of value on a human soul, of 
 
 whatever race or condition. The value of a human 
 
 soul — God's estimate — then these must be lifted 
 
 up before we can rise out of the grovelling, man- 
 28 
 
434 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 made standards we have set up for ourselves. Can 
 a small part of humanity be culled out from the 
 whole to be raised up to God's image, and the rest 
 lie where they are and die ? " 
 
 She looked toward the setting sun, where a dis- 
 tant peak of the Rockies stood out like burnished 
 gold against a molten sky, and above it the rays 
 of light streamed upward like a flaming cross, 
 lifted and held over the earth by a mighty, unseen 
 hand. 
 
 "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto 
 me." The words repeated themselves in her heart. 
 " All men — all men — not we alone, because we 
 are white, — all men. These must be lifted up, — 
 all these." As the train rushed on, the monotonous 
 rhythm of its motion seemed to beat out these 
 words in continual chant. "All men — all men — 
 not we alone." 
 
 From her bosom she drew the ivory miniature, 
 and again she studied it. The face of her lover 
 masquerading in old-time costume looked out 
 at her as from a tiny window. The charm of 
 strong, beautiful young manhood was in that face, 
 — a pride and a fineness born of generations of 
 patrician ancestry ; and this one, this beautiful 
 one, had stooped from his high, God-given position 
 to the slave; and so, after all these years, the eyes 
 that looked out of the tiny window into hers were 
 those, not of the father, but of the son, the child 
 of the slave, — -her lover's eyes. The tears came, 
 one by one, and she furtively wiped them away, 
 and wrapping the picture in a little lace-trimmed 
 handkerchief she placed it back in the bosom of 
 
The Judgment of Portia 435 
 
 her dress, and the train rushed on over the long, 
 monotonous desert, rumbling the same chant. 
 Should she find him at last at the end of her jour- 
 ney, the one she loved ? 
 
 The last day was the longest day of all the five. 
 How slowly the train seemed to drag its weary 
 length along! Her heart beat high, and her cheeks 
 were flushed. She scarcely noticed the beauty of 
 the scenes through which she passed. As the land- 
 scape flashed by, she thought vaguely of the evanes- 
 cence of all things. 
 
 "Everything will pass, all will go by like this, 
 and there will be nothing left of us but our spirits. 
 We shall have only what we are. The standards of 
 the world are not just; they are hard and cruel. 
 I am glad they are to pass away. I am glad we 
 are to be judged by the merciful justice of God at 
 the last, and not by each other." As she leaned 
 wearily back and closed her eyes, it seemed to her 
 as if she were really passing out of one world into 
 another, and then suddenly there was the stir and 
 bustle about her of the arrival, and she was at the 
 end of her journey. 
 
 She rose and passed out with the crowd. No 
 one to meet her, none in the city, unless John 
 were there, whom she even knew; but somewhere 
 in the great busy place were two whom he loved. 
 She rested only an hour in the hotel, and then set 
 out on the search. In one of the finest of the older 
 residences, on one of the hills of that city of hills, 
 she found them. Roses and fuchsias climbed up 
 the side of the old house, and round the piazza and 
 windows, and geraniums covered the foundation 
 
436 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 stones. The windows were wide open, and the 
 lace curtains were blowing out in the breeze. 
 
 A Chinese servant admitted her, and ambled off 
 in his slippered feet to find his mistress. The 
 parlor in which she waited was large, and amply 
 furnished with plain, unostentatious elegance. The 
 mistress of this home sat in her little back sitting- 
 room, gently swaying to and fro in a low rocker, 
 darning one of her husband's socks, and chatting 
 with him, as he sat opposite her, trying to read 
 his paper, and looking at her over the top of his 
 glasses. She was a trim little body, and not so 
 little neither, only she had the dainty neatness of 
 figure and dress that usually distinguishes small 
 women. 
 
 In the mornings, when shopping, or about her 
 homely household tasks, she always wore brown 
 serge, but in the afternoons she invariably wore 
 black satin, with blond net smoothly folded about 
 her throat, and down the open bosom of the dress, 
 and pinned with an old-fashioned, large cameo 
 brooch. 
 
 So she appeared now, a very pleasant sight in 
 the eyes of her husband, when the meek Celestial 
 handed her Portia's card and slipped noiselessly 
 away. 
 
 She rose suddenly, scattering scissors and balls on 
 the floor. " Darius Wentworth Marshall ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 "Well, Mary.?" he reached from his chair, and 
 gathered up the articles she had dropped with the 
 unconscious patience born of years of such willing 
 service. 
 
The Judgment of Portia 437 
 
 " Look at that card ! I told you if she was worth 
 him she would follow him. I told him so too. I 
 would." 
 
 ''Certainly you would, Mary," he said, with a 
 quiet smile; "that goes without saying." 
 
 She began brushing the threads from her dress. 
 "Now, Darius, what shall I say.^ We will keep 
 her right here, of course; but what shall I say .-^ " 
 
 "Wait till you see her, Mary. You will say the 
 right thing then. You know you will." 
 
 She patted his cheek, kissed him, and left him. 
 This childless woman had petted her husband for 
 forty years. It had become a habit with her 
 now. 
 
 Some women, whether they be young or old, 
 whether they be conscious of it or not, more often 
 not, have the power of drawing other souls to 
 themselves, to love them and to need them. There 
 is no magnet so strong or so blessed as the sym- 
 pathizing, loving heart of a sweet, g6od woman. 
 
 Portia, wearied with her long journey, felt her 
 knees tremble under her as she rose to meet John's 
 Aunt Mary, but the moment she looked into those 
 kindly gray eyes she knew why it was he had 
 always so loved her. For an instant the lips of 
 each quivered with unspoken thoughts. They held 
 out their hands to each other, and in another 
 moment were locked in each other's arms. 
 
 Then Portia spoke between her sobs. " I had to 
 come to you, John loved you so. There was noth- 
 ing left for me to do." 
 
 "You have done just right. I have been expect- 
 ing you for the last three days. John said you 
 
438 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 would not come; I said I knew you would. Now 
 come right up to your room." 
 
 " How could you expect me? It was such a wild 
 thing for me to do. I did not know, myself, when 
 I left home, that I was coming. I did not even 
 know that he was here. I just came, that is all." 
 
 "How did I know you were coming .-* Why, 
 child, I have been a woman all my life. That is 
 how I knew. Here is your room, the one he used 
 to have. I wanted him to take it again, but he 
 would not. He said it brought back too many 
 memories. Poor fellow! he is just about out of his 
 head, that 's what he is." 
 
 *'What a dear room!" said Portia, entering it. 
 " How could he help having it again .'* " 
 
 "Why, the boy is crazy; he doesn't — but there, 
 dear, he will be all right now." 
 
 Portia, still quivering with excitement, bent over 
 a great vase of roses on the table. " How sweet 
 these are ! " she said, trying to calm herself. 
 
 "John set out the bush those grew on the last 
 year he was here. I always keep a vase of them in 
 this room. Where is your trunk.-*" Portia told 
 her. "Very well. It shall be sent for immedi- 
 ately." The dear old lady bustled about a moment, 
 then took a chair near Portia's. "Now, dear, tell 
 me everything you wish, and ask all the questions 
 you wish." 
 
 "You are so good. When did John come.? " 
 
 "Three days ago." 
 
 "And do you know what he is going to do.'* " 
 
 " That he will tell you now, dear. He was going 
 to Japan. He was to start to-morrow. " 
 
The Judgment of Portia 439 
 
 Portia turned pale. "Oh, what if I had waited 
 another day ! " 
 
 "Now, child, you are too tired to talk or think. 
 You didn't wait another day, so it is all right." 
 She left the room, returning immediately with a 
 long white wrapper of soft quilted silk over her 
 arm. "You just put this on and lie down for an 
 hour, and by that time your trunk will be here, and 
 then you can put on a fresh dress and see John for 
 yourself. He will be back by that time. This 
 is mine, but I guess we are about of a bigness, 
 are n't we.-^ " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Portia, smiling, " some day I will 
 tell you how good you are. I can't now, but I will 
 do whatever you tell me to." 
 
 Sweetly and dreamlessly she rested in the rose- 
 scented room, and awoke refreshed and strength- 
 ened. She came downstairs dressed in the colors 
 John loved best to see her wear, — a creamy white 
 gown, with violet bands of velvet, and knots of 
 ribbon, and at her belt a cluster of John's roses. 
 The pretty pink flush had come back to her cheeks, 
 and Aunt Mary's eyes were satisfied with the sight 
 of her. She took her in her arms once more, then 
 turned her about to see her on all sides. 
 
 "There! Now you are just what a woman ought 
 to be. I don't wonder John fell in love with you. 
 Now, dear, I am going to leave you here alone. 
 You take a book and read a while. John has come 
 back, and gone up to his room. He will be down 
 soon; he is so restless he never stays anywhere 
 more than a minute except at night, and then he 
 walks the floor most of the time. No, I haven't 
 
440 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 told him you are here, — not a thing; and when 
 he comes in, dear, don't you mind a thing he says. 
 He has got to the point where he doesn't know 
 what's good for him, nor care." 
 
 Portia was glad he had not been told of her pres- 
 ence. She did not wish him to have time to pre- 
 pare himself to meet her, nor in his self-renunciation 
 to try to dissuade her from her purpose by appear- 
 ing to feel other than he really felt. She wished 
 to surprise him into such betrayal of himself that 
 his whole heart would be revealed, that he might 
 not say her nay. 
 
 She walked the room restlessly a moment, then 
 went to the window and looked out. A Chinaman, 
 trudging under a pair of heavy baskets, passed by. 
 Everywhere they seemed to be in evidence. She 
 did not realize that she was effectually screened 
 from the room by the silken curtains, and at the 
 moment John entered. Her heart stood still. She 
 shrank back into the corner, dreading to move, and 
 drew the curtains closer about her. He walked 
 slowly about, looking absently at this and that, his 
 hands behind his back, his head drooped. All the 
 vigorous activity of mind and body seemed to have 
 left him. His eyes looked sad and larger than 
 usual. Only his hair clung a little to his temples, 
 pressed down by his hat, as it used when he came 
 hurriedly from a walk over the hills. Presently 
 he dropped down into his aunt's little rocker, and 
 sat with his elbows on his knees, and his head 
 in his hands. Slowly, involuntarily, Portia came 
 toward him, holding out her hands, and John lifted 
 his head. Then, in that instant, she saw all she 
 
The Judgment of Portia 441 
 
 wanted to see, all her heart craved. He rose, with 
 his old joyous smile, glowing, transfigured, and 
 then, without moving a step toward her, sank back 
 into his chair, shaken, quivering, and covered his 
 face. 
 
 She went near to him, and placed one hand on 
 his hair, lightly touching the soft rings. He put 
 out his hand to thrust her gently from him, but 
 instead his fingers closed over hers and held them 
 close. 
 
 " Go away from me, Portia, go away," he groaned, 
 yet clinging to her hand as a drowning man clings 
 to a straw. 
 
 She knelt beside him, and laid her cheek against 
 his; it was wet with tears. She took her own 
 handkerchief and wiped them away, while his arm 
 stole about her and drew her to him. 
 
 "Portia, Portia, I would have saved you, dear; I 
 would have saved you. Why did you come, my 
 beautiful.?" Then he looked at her. Hungrily, 
 tenderly, his eyes looked into hers, while the strong 
 arm that held her quivered. "I can't sacrifice 
 you, Portia; I can't do it. I love you too well. 
 You have come to me like an angel. You have 
 brought me happiness enough for a lifetime; you 
 have brought me happiness enough for heaven. 
 Now go, dear; let this be the last. Let me go 
 away from you now and bear the sins of my fathers 
 alone." 
 
 Up to this time Portia had not spoken, — she 
 could not. Now the words came like a flood. 
 "Why did I follow you, John.'* Because I must* 
 I would have followed you to the ends of the earth. 
 
442 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 If you had gone where you were going to-morrow, I 
 would have followed you there. I did not know 
 you were here, John, I only followed my heart; 
 that was how I found you. What kind of a woman 
 did you take me for.? Did you think I would stay 
 there, at home, and take the money you left me, 
 while you wandered off into the world alone with 
 this hurt in your soul ? " 
 
 She put her hand into her bosom and drew out 
 the little miniature of his father, which she had 
 carried so carefully. "Before I left, John, I went 
 to see your mother; she is dead now. I thought 
 she was dying when I went into the cabin, but she 
 said she was only waiting for you to com.e in. 
 She begged me to tell her where you were, and I 
 could n't. Then she gave me this for you; look at 
 it. It is your father. " 
 
 He took it from her and threw it on the floor, 
 and would have set his heel on it, but she snatched 
 it up. 
 / " I tell you, Portia, I am cursed. My father 
 
 cursed me," he said vehemently. " Give it to me." 
 He groaned and turned his face away, but still 
 held her to him. 
 
 " Other fathers have sinned; yours is not the only 
 one. Every human being must bear in some way 
 the sins of his fathers. All are not cursed. You 
 must not forget the last part of that command- 
 ment, ' Showing mercy unto thousands of them 
 that love me and keep my commandments. ' Why, 
 John, I love this little picture. It looks like you, 
 John, — as if you were wearing those old-fashioned 
 clothes, and looking out at me. Look at it. Think 
 
The Judgment of Portia 443 
 
 of that beautiful young man, your father. If I had 
 lived then and had known him as I do you now, I 
 should have loved him, John. No, you cannot 
 have it. I shall keep it here, as I have done, so 
 carefully, until you can love it as I do." 
 
 "Oh, Portia, if I could only die now! You have 
 brought me this moment of perfect happiness — but 
 it cannot last, dearest, it must not. Do you remem- 
 ber that last night when I bade you good-bye.-* " 
 
 "Yes, John." She spoke so low he scarce could 
 hear her. "How could I forget.'' " and her cheeks 
 flamed crimson at the remembrance of that good- 
 bye. 
 
 " I was crazed, then, darling, but I meant it for 
 all time. It was to save you; it was best, — and 
 now — " 
 
 Portia felt herself choking. She tried to speak, 
 and struggled for her voice. 
 
 "Wait, wait, John; don't say it, — let me speak." 
 Suddenly she threw her arms about his neck, and 
 drew his head down to her. " Listen, listen to me. 
 Once you conquered me, John. You made me love; 
 you know it, John. You made me say words to 
 you, — do you remember ? — you said them to me, — 
 * No power on earth shall take you from me, John.' 
 Now this, that is taking you from me, that you are 
 allowing to take me from you, is an earthly power. 
 Man, not God, made the distinctions that would 
 separate us. God made you, and gave you your 
 living soul, his forever. Must I give up the God- 
 made man for the man-made distinctions that would 
 discriminate between one of his living souls and 
 another.? John, to him all souls are white souls; 
 
444 When the Gates Lift Up their Heads 
 
 he made them all ; he so loved the world, John, 
 not only one race of it. We must do the same 
 before we can cross the boundary line we have 
 reached now toward God-likeness. One day we 
 must go to him ; we can take to him only what 
 we are; all the rest will pass away and be as noth- 
 ing. John, what I love in you is what God loves. 
 Take me, John, and love me." 
 
 He was conquered. He rose, strong in his man- 
 hood's strength, and again his face shone like the 
 face of one transfigured. He lifted Portia from 
 her knees and held her to his breast. *' Forever, 
 darling, forever," he said. 
 
 "And, John, the past is to be put behind us for 
 all time. You are to be as I, and I am to be as 
 you." 
 
 "Forever, my beautiful. Where is the dress I 
 never saw, — your wedding dress.''" 
 
 " I have it with me. It is upstairs." 
 
 "Will you wear it for me to-morrow, Portia.''" 
 His eyes danced with the old light, but his lips 
 quivered. 
 
 " Yes, John. Shall I go with you wherever you 
 go?" 
 
 "Always, dearest, always. I could not let you 
 leave me now; it would take my life." 
 Shall we go back, John ? " 
 
 Not yet. We will arrange for your dear little 
 mother; we will think about it, and then we will 
 go where I intended to go alone, and become ad- 
 justed to the world. You see, sweet one, I have 
 entered a new world now, and must learn to know 
 it. You are to teach me." 
 
 
The Judgment of Portia 445 
 
 When Aunt Mary entered the room, she was 
 satisfied. Mt is all right, dears; it is just as it 
 should be. I saw how it was, John, the moment 1 
 looked at her. You could not help loving her any 
 more than she could help loving you. I told you 
 she would come, and she did. That 's just what I 
 should have done. Now come out to tea." 
 
 THE END 
 
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