THE STRENGTH TO YIELD THE PSYCHOLOGY OF A C TEMPTATION BY VIRGI' t WELCH CO jolo Cenari's unfinished portrait of Dorris Bedford I' an Lennep THE STRENGTH TO YIELD THE PSYCHOLOGY OF A GREAT TEMPTATION BY VIRGILIA BOGUE CUNNINGHAM, CURTISS & WELCH SAN FRANCISCO MCMIX Copyright, IQOQ, by Virgilia Bogue. All rights reserved. Date of Publication, September 4, 1909. THE MURDOCH PRESS! SAN FRANCISCO . TO VENICE THE CITY OF DREAMS THE STRENGTH TO YIELD THE STRENGTH TO YIELD CHAPTER I. Ah ! Surely once some urn of Attic clay Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again Back to this common world so dull and vain, For thou wert weary of the sunless day, The heavy fields of scentless asphodel, The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell. Phedre. The old temple loomed up before them, opalescent in the sunset in its wealth of Pentelicon marble. From far, far away, perhaps beyond Mount Hymettus, or some field of asphodel or poppy, came the bleating of sheep. "Oh," said Dorris, as she climbed the high steps, "oh, to be free, free ! To be a dryad in the Arcadian age, with all of forest liberty and never a rite or law. Can't you hear the piping of some goat-foot Pan as he sings to the wood-nymphs? Listen the sheep!" She dropped parasol and gloves and stretched a slender white arm toward the red-purple glow of the sunset and the delicate pinks and blues of the Cyclops, and cried, " Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis." "Mrs. Van Lennep, you always have an apt quotation. I confess this time I know its author, and will gamble I even know the canto it appears in," and the Honourable Roland Barker sat down on the lower step of the Par- thenon in servile attitude, his eyes on the vision in pink with its Rossetti head thrown back in a flute of the stately Doric column. 17 The Strength to Yield She looked down upon him in mock condescension. "Now, Mr. Barker, I know what you are going to tell me. Mr. Rossetti would have loved to paint me as I stand here at the very end column of Athena's tower, with my head a veritable shower of gold, and my eyes as blue as the ^Egean, my slenderness accentuated by the severe flowing lines of my dress as delicately pink as the faint light on the Areopagus. And, pray, what would Mr. Rossetti have named the picture?" Dorris laughed. He reflected a moment, gazing into the searching blue depths of her eyes. "He would have called it 'First of Studies in Shadows.' " "And what would the second have been?" "Ah I would have left the choice to Mr. Rossetti." "Mr. Barker, you are not clever. I gave you a chance to be epigrammatic. You have made a most common- place remark." "What a fortunate thing I have a sense of humour," he laughed. "But the Acropolis at sunset is no place for the com- monplace. Don't quibble, and I won't; for to me this temple is more sacred than St. Peter's and far more awe- inspiring. I wonder if it's its sheer beauty, but I think not altogether, for at this hour I seem to remember. I can almost fancy I lived here once long ago; it may be the mere recollection of a Tadema, a novel or poem here or there but think, just think! Women must have watched the battle of Salamis from this very porch See! see! there are the ships, and there the long walls to the Piraeus. All is still as now ! and around us are the 18 The Strength to Yield shades of Ionian women watching intently in their soft robes. The temple is whole again. Within," her voice softening, "many are kneeling before the chryselephan- tine statue of Athena, praying for fathers and lovers. The voluptuous scent of incense reaches us here, and we are seeing one of the greatest battles of time to the set- ting of the sun and the bright Levantine skies. Did Sala- mis take place at sunset?" "What a very banal remark! Go on dreaming," was his response. The air and earth seemed hushed forever then a great boom announced the departure of the sun this glori- ous April day. Henry Van Lennep and the Norths were climbing the high steps of the Parthenon. "Oh, there you are, Dorris! Good girl! and Barker! I'm so glad you're not alone. We must hurry. The Propylaea will close at once. Look ! They're all descending the steps. You know, Mr. Barker, I thought my wife might not even hear the warning bang that nearly popped my ears off, and I thought she'd be perverse enough to leave you, to muse by herself about Byron's eyes or Keats's curls or some such rot, and I didn't want her to be caged here for the night. Hey! Dorris, how would that have been?" "My good Mr. Van Lennep," interposed Barker, "you mistake Mrs. Van Lennep's attitude toward me. Had I been young, she might have fled; but being old, she has had a true youthful pity for me, and we have had a most sensible argument. Mrs. Van Lennep told me the opinion of one of my favorite writers, that the appreciation of a sunset no matter in what country denoted the pro- 19 The Strength to Yield vincial temperament. I said, according to that, I was a resident of Hammersmith." "I say the same," remarked the saucy Grace North. "I am urban distinctly urban, then," resumed Van Lennep, "and have a suburban wife. The trouble here is, one really doesn't breathe fresh air. The eternal per- fume in it is too funereal. It is a funeral of the entire place dead, rotten, decaying." Dorris smiled. They had left the Acropolis. Barker looked straight ahead as he picked his way down the short cut to the main road. "That is what makes it so wonderful," sighed the for- mer, "the roses are so perfumed. There has always been this same fragrance in the Eastern twilights; even Italian ones would seem trite after them. It adds to the divine beauty of it all. It is like going into the cathedral of Granada and breathing its faint incense after a teeming rain in the town, to come to this tragic land from the bustle of others. For my part, I think I love it better now than I would have in its Golden Age, when it was a boast and show." "I never thought you affected quite such an artistic pose, Dorris. Really, it seems almost natural. I hope it goes out of date soon, however, for I am either not clever enough to do justice to it or else too clever to attempt," laughed her husband. Grace North, following her arm linked in her mother's as they walked slowly down the broad avenue was wondering why she had married him. She watched the tall, slender creature before her and her grace- ful movements. Yes, why had she married him was it money? But perhaps it had been a love-match. "Well, 20 The Strength to Yield each to her own taste." She felt there was a mystery about Dorris Van Lennep; at least, that impression had been conveyed to her by the girl's every word and look. It was a strange thing that so old a man as the Honour- able Mr. Roland Barker evinced so deep an interest in her. Was her personality so marked that it gave the sug- gestion of the vampire? At all events her own phleg- matic temperament felt drawn towards that of the other woman on entering a room. But the trend of her thought suddenly changed. The little party had arrived at the Place de la Con- stitution. The band in the park was playing a merry tune and hundreds of loiterers had met before the Royal Palace to discuss over the tables their liqueurs and the day's rehearsal for the sports at the Stadium. It was a gala time for Greece. Carriages passed to and fro, and daintily gowned women alighted at the various hotels in the Place. Grace overheard Mr. Barker say to Mrs. Van Lennep when they had paused to make their adieux, "Then good- night. If you wish to prove your allegiance to Byron, be ready to go to 'Sunium's marbled steep' to-morrow at nine. I have an excellent guide and the trip is com- paratively easy, I am told. Well, Mr. Van Lennep, what do you think of my scheme?" "Thank you," he replied. "My interest in the coming Olympic games is greater than that I have for cut-and- dried temples of archaic origin. Good swimming prac- ticed to-morrow, you know, followed by running in the Stadium in the afternoon. If you have a good guide, however, I shall let Dorris have the privilege of being escorted by you, provided she is here by six sharp." 21 The Strength to Yield "Thank you. I am sorry you will not join us. We shall be back by that time. What a night, Mrs. Van Lennep and Venus is the evening star! It is for all the world like the Vale of Cashmere." Dorris said good-night, and left Mr. Barker and the Norths to go to their hotel, while she walked with her husband across the Place to the Hotel de la Grande Bre- tagne. As they passed through the corridor her husband fancied too many heads turned and that he heard a voice repeat: "Mon Dieu! Quelle belle femme." He eyed his wife's beauty jealously a few minutes later as she arranged some crimson flowers in a bowl, which bore the card, "Comte Henri de Gismond," saying hotly, "Dirty cads, foreigners whole crowd ! Damned dirty cads." Dorris bent her head over the Greek roses, inhaling their sweetness, and smiled. 22 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER II. I from the City of the Violet Crown Have watched the sun by Corinth's hill go down, And marked the "myriad laughter" of the sea From starlit hills of flower-starred Arcady. Ravenna. To MRS. THEODORE GUNTER, White Villa, Back Bay Station, Brookline, Mass. From MRS. HENRY VAN LENNEP. HOTEL DE LA GRANDE BRETAGNE, ATHENS, Easter Sunday, 1906. Dearest Cordelia, By now, no doubt, you have either become conjectural about my recent matrimonial bond, or else have decided that I am having such a good time that I have already forgotten your dear advice and dearer talks. If you have been conjectural at all, your surmises have doubtless been correct; but as years ago, at school I remember when asking for money that I always waited till the end of my letter, and Daddy would forgive now I am going to postpone all disagreeables until the end of this letter. Don't turn to the last page! All in good time and I am writing you a long, long letter. It is so refreshing to know I have one real friend in the world who will understand and sympathize. To-day has been the red-letter day of my life. With the Honourable Mr. Roland Barker and a charming drago- man, Alexander, I went to that most awe-inspiring and won- 23 The Strength to Yield derful spot, Sunium, a real Arcady in this Arcadian land ! He is an Englishman of some sixty years, perhaps, of the best class a litterateur, a man of the world, an artist and a scholar, not omitting his keen sense of hum6ur and sublime understanding. We had a day, Cordelia, that I shall never forget. And the tragic part of it all seems to me to be in the fact that the Honourable Roland Barker is an old man and a married one, and that I am a young woman and a married one. Had I been able to find such a man of younger years, ours would have been the grande passion of history. As it is, Mr. Barker is far younger than Harry. Harry never was young or never will be whether he be seven-and-twenty or seven-and-seventy, and I shall pique your patriotism by saying that he is the personifica- tion of the commercialism of our commercial country. But we'll leave that for later on, for I know you are a good American, and, besides that, wish to feel that I am happy. So for my Easter Sunday of dreams! We took the train to Laurium, the old silver mine of that beauty-loving cult commonly called the Ancient Greeks, and all our trip seemed to be a mass of green meadows, olive groves, and poppy-covered fields, with a stately cypress now and then standing erect and solitary in its tall slenderness. To me the cypress is the emblem and symbol of Greece, for it is so beautiful, sad, and wholly appropriate. At Laurium a carriage and pair awaited us, and after Alexander had climbed up by the driver, and Mr. Barker and I were seated, the horses began at a good trot the drive to the Temple of Neptune. I confess I was a little disappointed at this stage, owing to the barren green of the surrounding country, but Mr. Barker kept me inter- ested until we came in sight of our temple. 24 The Strength to Yield The approach cannot possibly give one an idea of its real beauty, for all one can see before one is really stand- ing in the temple is a hill, mounted by thirteen Doric columns of Parian marble that to this day are as white as the note-paper on which I am writing. It is very won- derful how the marble from Paros retains its pure shade, for Cape Colonna is the most exposed portion of Greece, and subject to disastrous storms (you may casually re- member Falconer's shipwreck), while the Pentelicon mar- ble, used in all the Athenian temples, has, as you know, darkened and shown the effects of the ages. To gain access to the temple one must leave horses behind and ascend a rather rocky hill, the height of which is inconceivable, until one is upon the temple. And, then, oh, Cordelia! in your forty years of life as a citizeness of the world you have never, I know, beheld such a sight as that which was before us. I will not attempt to describe in detail that spot at sight of which so many honeyed lyres have broken into music and so many golden pens have written immortal song. At the cape of a peninsula and on a high precipice pro- jecting into the sea stands the lofty white temple, made whiter by the green grass and blue skies and waters which veritably outshine sapphires! On the horizon-line are a string of Greek isles over- lapping one another, each fainter and fainter until Melos, the last, is hardly visible; and immediately over the cape is the Island of St. George. One looks down into the crystalline waters made clearer by the white sand. To-day there was not a cloud in the sky, which was an inverted bowl of blue. After mute astonishment, speechless joy, then spellbound enthusiasm, I suddenly 25 The Strength to Yield heard Mr. Barker's voice repeating the old, familiar lines, "Fair clime, where every season smiles Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Which, seen from far Colonna's height Makes glad the heart that hails the sight, And lends to loneliness delight, There, mildly dimpling ocean's cheek, Reflects the tint of many a peak Caught by the laughing tides that lave These Edens of the Eastern wave; Far from the winters of the West By every breeze and season blest." And so, Cordelia, how can I attempt to say more after the opening lines of the "Giaour?" Alexander spread a cloth over the lower step on the shaded side of the temple, and there we talked and laughed and ate; also, we really did have a bottle of Samian wine. Mr. Barker, always tactful, drew me out imperceptibly. He inquired a bit about my life, and I found myself con- fidentially talking about Daddy's death, my friends, etc., and particularly you. I told him how you had prevented my marrying months before I finally did, and had given me good advice about Harry Van Lennep ; of the hateful- ness of Aunt Minnie, and of the trials of living with her. And when I had told him much, he said: "And your wonderful sense of beauty, by what was it inspired? What is your talent? You surely express it in some way." "I only wish I could, Mr. Barker," I replied. "I draw a little, write a little, sing a little and read and dream a great deal!" "Ah, an artist, a savante, and a chanteuse and so young!" 26 The Strength to Yield (You see, Cordelia, I thought I might as well tell him my real age.) He expressed no surprise, but made me promise to stop my dreaming, not to encourage the various aesthetic tendencies in my nature, for they could only lead to failure never to happiness. At this I told him the things I cared for most were the beautiful ones; that beauty was my only religion; that I loathed the commonplace. And Mr. Barker then told me that it was only the commonplace that made great beauty in any line possible. We had a heated argument, after which he suggested my referring the topic to you, which I am doing. He said the beauty of life was brought about only by simple things, and, oh, Cordelia ! I know it is only his tactful way of veiling the fact that by simple things he meant love and he knows I don't love Harry. "But, Mr. Barker," I broke out without second thought, "I had to marry sooner or later. My life with my aunt was intolerable. Harry I liked more than any of the rest. Besides, with my ideas, the one does not exist. I should never love anybody, I know." "The interest I have in you you may one day under- stand perhaps, never, but it is well founded. Don't you see, Mrs. Van Lennep, your husband is incapable of living in your world, but you are capable of living in his ? You have something of the Italian, of the Renaissance in you, with a mad thirst for freedom and beauty, and no thought or care for the real, practical needs of life. But you have brains and an amount of adaptability. He is typical of modernity a man of good family, with little cultivation, but much love for you. Every day and every hour that you keep on developing and expanding according to your 27 The Strength to Yield nature you will find life harder to endure, and you and your husband will drift further apart. There will be nothing left but calamity! "It is to tell you this that I have brought you here to-day. For I have seen women's lives ruined, and I want to spare yours. I have not known you long, but I think, perhaps, I know you better than Mrs. Gunter. You are young, beautiful, and may I not say, a little selfish, with a kind heart and a brilliant mind. Don't you see if you were to bring yourself down to your husband's level, as it were, interest yourself more in his life and line of thought, it would be better for you both ? Then you will, yourself, develop in another line that of self-knowledge. "It is hard for a girl like you to listen to an old man, harder still to understand my reason to dare to speak to you so. I know you don't understand, but I do. Had you waited long enough, doubtless your life would have been led to suit your own tastes. But you have not chosen it so. Now that you are Mrs. Van Lennep, lead your life as Mrs. Van Lennep should. Do you understand?" At first I could have killed the Honourable Roland Barker there on the steps, but I realized the truth in everything he told me, and that word "calamity" hurt. It shall never be that, Cordelia never, never 1 Driving back, he told me gently that many men in the world might take advantage of me by clever parrying or absolute lies, and he asked me to try to take his advice. And so to-night I have been puzzled and worried. Being human, I have been foolish enough to let the con- versation annoy me, and feel terribly the truth of Mr. Barker's words. I know he considers me a child, yet I cannot understand his interest. What is it? 28 The Strength to Yield He spoke of a portrait-painter who has been in Boston. He wants to have him paint my portrait. He is quite celebrated, I believe. This is apropos of nothing, only it happens to be the artist you told me of. I have forgotten his name, but remember you said he was charming. I feel to-night, cherie, the need of some one I love near me. I wish you were here. Poor Harry! If I could only grow fond of him. Always much love, DORRIS. P. S. I forgot completely that the Olympic games open a week from to-morrow, or, rather from to-day, it being 2 A. M. The king and queen of England are com- ing on for them. They will be very interesting and they are to take place in the beautiful new Stadium. D. V. L. 29 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER III. Men with their heads reflect on this and that But women with their hearts on Heaven knows what. Don Juan. Grace North and Dorris Van Lennep were walking their horses down the Mount Lycabettus road. The midday glare was becoming intolerable, and both wished themselves in their respective rooms. "Mrs. Van Lennep, what are you going to do on leav- ing Athens?" repeated Grace for the third time. "Ah, excuse me. That is a point on which we are un- settled. I forgot to tell you Harry got a cable to-day from his mother. His father is ill, and incapable of managing his business affairs. Of course he looks to his son for help." "Then it means America?" "Not for me, I hope, though Harry will be obliged to go. He is securing passage to-day, I believe," and Dor- ris lapsed into silence again. Grace found it quite impossible to see her features under her heavy green veil, and divining that the other woman was in a mood, she did not chatter. They con- tinued down the winding road, and the only sound was an occasional stumble of Mrs. Van Lennep's horse. Each time she used a tighter rein, and Grace thought she looked worried. At last Dorris smiled, and said, "Fancy a country like this having such a noon! My eyes are burning. I can- not stand the glare, can you?" 30 The Strength to Yield "Oh, I am used to it, you see. I know the tropics so well." Dorris having heard this remark some twenty times, answered rather sharply, "This is not the tropics. Are you going to the Legation to-night?" "What Legation? Nothing at the American, I know." "Oh, English, of course, of course." Silence, in which Dorris wondered if she could spend the remainder of spring and all the summer with the Norths. She realized the stupidity of her manner to- ward Grace, but there was something in the girl's make- up that antagonized her. "Grace if I may take the liberty to call you that I don't mean to be irritable. Blame it on the glare. Do you think you and your mother could endure my society until Harry returns?" Grace laughed. "We might try. We're off for Venice by the Austrian- Lloyd to Trieste the day before the Marathon race. We will be unable to get in all the games. But every day for eight days or so will be enough. By the way, let's trot a little. Stadium exercises are at two, and we must not be late. We are almost on a level now. Really, Mrs. Van Lennep, as a matter of fact, I should love to have you with us. From a purely selfish point of view, you would be a jolly comrade for me, and I could do so much more with a young married woman along. You would chaperon, you know, when mother was tired." "The role of chaperon is unknown to me. As a matter of fact, Miss North, I am younger than you." "Really! How strange!" "Very!" 31 The Strength to Yield If the Honourable Roland Barker had heard the rest of the conversation his very flattering opinion of Mrs. Van Lennep might have been revised. When the young ladies arrived at the Grande Bre- tagne, they found Count Gismond and Harry Van Len- nep dancing attendance. Harry dismounted his wife and remarked quite gaily: "Well, little girl, had a good ride in this hot hole? Passage on the Romanic from Naples on Monday week from to-day. I'll be really glad to get away." "Oh, Mr. Van Lennep, Mrs. Van Lennep has prom- ised she'd come to Venice with us. Can't you arrange it, and come over yourself later in the season?" put in Grace North. "Child, alive ! I should miss her far too much. What do you say, Dorris?" His wife made no reply, but looked bored. Miss North and her escort bade them good morning, and walked over to the Hotel d'Angleterre. Dorris, her head high, her crop under her arm, led the way to their sitting-room. She closed the door after them and locked it, looking steadily at Harry. Lifting her veil she said quite calmly: "Harry, I am not going to America with you." "Come, little girl, you can't threaten or bully me," and Harry seized his wife by the wrists and laughed. "Kiss me, girlie." He raised her head and kissed her. "I'd let you stay, but I'd miss you so." Dorris struggled, picked up her crop, and shouted, "I said I was not returning with you. I meant it!" and she lashed her whip through the air. 32 The Strength to Yield "Well, what does the romantic Dorris plan doing? Something interesting, eh? Doesn't she look handsome in a temper? She thinks she can bully me into letting her stay. She can stay but no bank account on me no letter of credit or that sort of thing." Harry laughed. "Don't be so dull, Harry," she started to explain, "the ten thousand Daddy left on my birthday so long ago, it would be very easy to get hold of. As for the rest of my money that I do not come into until next year, with legal aid I might easily get the interest of it which Aunt Minnie has been so kind as to usurp. I could go to Africa, Budapest, London, or wheresoever my fancy dic- tated. You are the under-dog, Harry, and you must bark." "It's a great pity," he retorted, "that your father was a millionaire. If you had had nothing left you, you would have been the under-dog, and you wouldn't even have barked." He walked slowly over to the window opening on the terrace and stepped out. Dorris followed him. "You had better dress, Dorry," he said, "the Place is already full of people. Do look at the carriages! I must say there are some rather smart women in town. But possibly you do not wish to go to the Stadium on this fine opening day of the Olympic games. Perhaps you do not wish to see King Edward march across the horse- shoe, for you would have to rise when the band struck up, 'God Save the King !' It might humiliate you to rise for royalty. Your dignity is such that it would be offended. So you are going to stay alone in Europe? The gos- sips in Boston will have much food for talk. I think the Norths would be rather edifying companions for you. 33 The Strength to Yield You know if it's such a simple matter to procure a letter on the various stocks and bonds you hold, you can do so. I will concede coming over again as soon as father picks up. You have won the game. Victory is yours." Through Dorris's mind flashed the memory of her own father's illness and death and the greatest and only grief she had known. She walked over to her husband and touched his sleeve. "Dear, I hope I hope he gets well. I do. I do!" Her own aching memory had evolved sympathy for the sorrow that threatened him. Likewise the memory brought on a paroxysm of sobs as Harry held her close. "Don't leave me, Harry, please," she breathed. Her husband, moved beyond words, kissed her wet eyes. After a bit she became calm, and he carried her to a chair. "Don't worry, girl. It is not so serious," he assured her. "Stay with the Norths. It's all right. I was a selfish brute, but you do things queerly, dear. You never coax. Come, I'll send up for Susan. Primp, and be pretty to-day." Many, many times through long days and sleepless nights she was fated to curse her husband for his sub- mission. At such times, we do not see, we cannot; and the thing inconsequential which occasionally makes his- tory, that ruins the lives of men and women in itself trivial had come to Dorris Van Lennep. It was a lively throng that met on the terrace of the Grande Bretagne, and Mrs. Harry Van Lennep seemed the happiest one in it. She was at least the prettiest in 34 The Strength to Yield her inevitable shade of pink. At any rate, Count Gis- mond, the Honourable Roland Barker, and Porter Free- man did not find time to look from her to Miss North who was charming in her smart white serge. Dorris had a chance before they stepped into their carriages, however, to take Grace by the arm and whis- per, "I'm going to stay," and when the young girl looked up at her, she absently turned away. 35 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER IV. And Circumstance, that unspiritnal god And miscreator, makes and helps along Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, Whose touch turns Hope to dust the dust we all have trod ! Byron. "A gala night, indeed 1 And in the City of the Violet Crown. Count Gismond, do look at that huge electric bulb over the gate, and this mob. Such a thing should not be permitted. Just fancy I a reception on the Acrop- olis!" The little party had left carriages and were climbing toward the Propylaea. It was a warm, starlit night, and on the way to the ball at the British Legation, most of the world was taking in the display on the Acropolis which had been arranged by the Minister of Affairs. The Parthenon was illumi- nated by pink, blue, and white lights which outlined its Phidian grandeur in the black night. There was a dense throng within the Propylaea, and as the little party in which Dorris found herself had diffi- culty in keeping together, Mr. Barker suggested the ter- race as a meeting place. Mrs. North and her daughter were in a group with Mr. Porter Freeman and another English acquaintance, and were followed closely by Mr. Barker and Harry Van Lennep. Dorris with Count Gismond, apparently had some trouble in keeping up with the others, catching only an occasional glimpse of Mr. Barker's white hair or the pink rose in Grace's brown tresses in the crowd on the 36 The Strength to Yield steps above. At the top of the staircase, Dorris turned to Gismond. "Breathing space at last," she said. "M. de Gismond, let us go to the Parthenon. This crowd is insufferable." The words had scarcely escaped her when they both started at the music of a brass band in a popular air. Dorris looked annoyed, and Gismond nodded under- standingly. "Yes, they are desecrating the Parthenon. It is there, and we might as well take it in." They picked their way among the loose marble stones, and Gismond almost lifted Dorris off her feet, helping her up the high steps of Athena's temple. It was too true ; there was a brass band in the sacred edifice, and not alone that, either. Long tables in rows were arranged as if for supper, and they heard the popping of corks and many a light jest. Dorris felt the sacrilege, and turned upon Gismond as if to accuse him. "I simply cannot bear this," she said irritably, "can't we find the others?" "Yes, on the terrace," was his answer, "but the crowd is too great at present to get there with any degree of comfort. Shall we try the Erechtheum?" "Anything at all, so we get out of the sound of that noise. They'll be playing 'Yankee Doodle' next." So they threaded their way across the Acropolis. This other temple was, indeed, deserted, her caryatides stand- ing out like threatening sentinels in the gloom. In a mo- ment Dorris had descended the steps and taken a seat upon the ledge overlooking Athens. Below, they could see the coming and going of the crowds, while occasional lights flashed on the north end of the Parthenon. 37 The Strength to Yield "Strange that this temple shouldn't be visited by some one besides ourselves," mused Dorris. "But Beauty doesn't always mind the indifference of the multitude." "We-11," he responded, "Beauty doesn't have to mind, and the temple ah! it is made more beautiful by that which is within it the golden hair and red lips of Mrs. Van Lennep." Count Gismond crept a little nearer in the darkness. "M. de Gismond, that remark was superfluous. Take me to the terrace immediately." "Ah, the American has as much of the coquette in her as the woman of France," he said, smiling. This time Gismond's attitude was unmistakable, and Dorris rose to be confronted by him. "Find my husband at once, I say !" "This is no time to look for husbands. What wonder- ful lips yours are, Mrs. Van Lennep, even in this light" A figure was silhouetted on the marble above, and Dor- ris caught the flicker of a cigarette. Confident, now, of safety, she cried: "You are not to speak to me so, do you hear?" The shadow on the marble shifted. In another mo- ment, Mr. Barker was offering her his arm. "M. de Gismond," he said, "you will go directly to the terrace and tell Mr. Van Lennep that Mrs. Van Len- nep and I are on our way to the British Legation." ******* When Mr. Barker came for his dance he found Dor- ris talking to Prince Constantine. She was seated by the fountain in the rose-garden a vision of white and gold. He awaited his opportunity, and when she was alone came forward and bowed. 38 The Strength to Yield "Has my wild rose been cultivated yet?" he asked. "No. Perhaps, after all, she doesn't stand transplanta- tion as well as she promised to. The wild rose fades so fast." "Her day is short," he agreed, "she is soon like her mother." "But what a tragedy that a man never becomes like his mother. Am I not quoting one of your favorite epi- grams?" she smiled. "Not exactly, Mrs. Van Lennep, you have spoiled it. In the first place, you are speaking of men and women; I am talking of roses." "How ineffably charming you are, Mr. Barker. I am going to cut two dances just to hear you talk." "An idle pastime for so young a girl." "Really, Mr. Barker, you are the first human being who has ever made me hate myself. Even Cordelia couldn't do it. I had the same feeling reversed when I read 'Dorian Grey.' It made me hate people; now I hate myself. I wish I had a mother to tell it to. I have no one but Cordelia. I thought at first I'd hate you as much as I hated 'Dorian Grey' when I realized its power over me." "Hm! 'The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.' Is that what troubled you?" "Well, you see, the only real temptation I ever did have was to marry Harry Van Lennep. I yielded." Both laughed. "It's a bad philosophy for children." "How I wish you were young, Mr. Barker." "Why? Were I young, I should love you. As it is, you make an old man young." 39 The Strength to Yield "Then, if I make an old man young I presume you will be really telling me in a minute that you do love me." "Come, let's be serious. What are your plans?" "Harry leaves to-morrow for Naples to catch the White Star boat. His father is confined to his bed. His health has been abominable for some time." "Why aren't you going with him?" demanded Barker. "I didn't want to." "Ah, you told me the real reason without any parrying. But haven't you had your first lesson?" Barker studied Dorris for a time. She lifted her rose to her lips, and her gaze wandered off toward the house. She had no wish to be reminded of Gismond, and re- torted : "Why don't people stroll here? They all seem to be in the court, or dancing. How very stupid of them I" "Where are you going, and with whom are you to stay?" "With the Norths. Going to Venice. I am so glad! I do love it so. Oh, I do. Don't you?" "I am going, too," said Barker, who previously had had no such intention. "I am going to try to save the golden Mrs. Van Lennep from such experiences as that of to-night." "Sometimes I wonder why I don't get angry with you at your touch of familiarity." "Because it comes in such a grand-daddy way, and I am such an ancient and harmless individual myself. You will stop" "In Venice? Oh, Danieli's always, never anywhere else, of course." "Strange," he mused, "you used the same gestures and the very same words that my friend, the painter of whom 40 The Strength to Yield I told you once, did. The repetition of a mannerism or peculiar phrase suggesting another personality than the one who uses it is among psychological oddities. But we must not discuss telepathy and kindred subjects. Why are you not spending your last night entirely with your husband? I really shouldn't think he'd stand it. He's probably jolly well worried by now." "Mr. Barker," she said, evading his question, "I have told you so much about my life. You have divulged nothing of your own. Will you promise to?" "Oh, age is forever dreaming over imaginary episodes of long ago." "Is youth worth its price?" "If you call the price getting old? Well, youth is the oldest thing in the world. Sit where you are and I will send your husband to you." Dorris welcomed her husband's hands as they went out to her. She thought of weeks, of months, without his protection. He was kind, so kind ! She nestled against his shoulder, and there they sat together in the pale star- light, while the marble fountain played, Dorris in her white and gold, her radiant head against his black coat, and her slender arms about his neck. In the garden was the scent of a hundred roses whose language in every clime is Love. As Mr. Barker wandered there for a smoke an hour later, he was gratified at what he saw. "But then," he reflected, "I have seen the real pre- sentiment. This is only a tableau." 41 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER V. For thy life has been the history of a flower in the air, Liable but to breezes and to time; As rich and purposeless as is the rose, Thy simple doom is to be beautiful. Marpessa. The sun was drinking the lingering drops of dew from blade and poppy, and the soft cool air gave promise of another perfect day. The Zappieon Gardens were green and fragrant, enjoying the rosy dawn and its silent won- der. The Olympieum looked younger and more intact, its ornate Corinthian beauty challenging the more stately and less decadent edifices on the Sacred Hill. At least so Dorris thought as she sat by Harry's side awed by the beauty of the sunrise. "Harry, tell me," she said sweetly, "can't you feel the wonder of this April morning? the youth, the beauty of it? For centuries, Harry, there have been these same spring sunrises with their hope of beautiful days. Think of the tragedies and farces, and battles and work, and secrets many a rosy morning like this has been sole wit- ness of; and think, too, of the cruelty of spring, ever young and ardent ! It still wooes the country, but Greece is dead. Still the sun ripens the roses in these gardens and brings the trees to a deeper green, just as it did twenty- five centuries ago, but it changes the color of that marble." She looked toward the Olympieum, "And it watches us grow old. Yet, spring, it has eternal beauty, it is always young. I can't explain my meaning, Harry, but why do things inanimate live while we must die?" 42 The Strength to Yield "Ah, Dorris, what a cheerful topic! And on the very day I am leaving. As for me, the universe with its mar- vels and atrocities well, it has never given me sufficient worry, to think about intensely. It makes one morbid, really, don't you think so?" Dorris did not reply. There was a long silence, broken at last by a lark. Goat-bells, too, could be heard in the distance, and now and then wagon-wheels. The world was beginning to wake up, and the sun to be warm. Dor- ris finally turned and looked at Harry for a long time. On a sudden impulse, she broke out: "Harry, why did you marry me?" "Good heavens, child, what has happened? You have rather a blue outlook on life in general to-day. What has struck you? Aren't you happy?" "I am serious, Harry. Why did you marry me?" "By Jove, you're a puzzle, a fascinating devil. I didn't suppose you'd interest me so much after three months. You're still the same sweet, misunderstandable being you were before." "Is that why you married me?" "Oh, I suppose so." "But, Harry, I like you less than before. You know that. We have made a mistake. You" "Dorris, stop at once. Can't you be half-way decently agreeable on this romantic parting thatyou have designed?" "I felt I could tell you better now in the early morning before you leave me, than at any other time. Listen to me, Harry. We have made a serious mistake." "If you mean I am not a long-haired poet, and can't write sentimental letters, or speak to you foolishly, perhaps." 43 The Strength to Yield "Precisely; you do not even grasp my meaning. That isn't what I mean, Harry. We can't go on like this for- ever. I tell you I can't stand it. I am unhappy. You will not understand." "Dorris, girl, the trouble is your youth and enthusiasm have blinded you to common sense. This infernal dreamy strain in your blood is enough to set a man crazy." "Yes, I know," she answered, "I have always loved to day-dream. Way back in my happy and unusual child- hood when I was but eight years old and Daddy was appointed American Minister to Italy, where we went together, I liked to be alone to imagine things. He left me in Bologna and Florence while he fulfilled his social and official duties in his much-loved Rome. Yes, his little girl Dorris was a dreamer then, in her walks in vine-clad Tuscany or in that beautiful Italian garden where she read so much. I have always loved to romance, Harry. After all, I must have inherited it from Daddy. Dear, dear old Daddy! Harry, he told me the most fascinating tales from his fund of interesting stories, so that during his absences he left me with many a dream to cherish, many a study to pursue. Under his tutelage I acquired more general information than during my years at school or the period when I read most. What dream- days we did have together, Harry." "Do you know that Daddy brought me up merely to spoil me? He encouraged my every caprice, and incul- cated the belief that I was a sun in the universe with the rest of humanity my obedient planets. Lying awake at night I could not fancy a desire that I knew would not be granted with the dawn. I see his mistake now that he has been taken from me, for he has spoiled me entirely 44 The Strength to Yield for strangers. It would have been different if we could have lived together forever, but you see all the trouble was that I fancied he was the prototype of the world I was to meet. He was so sweet in all the little things and how patient ! We read much together and he laboured with my French for a long time. One day I remember in Bologna when I was unusually dull, he said sweetly : 'You are the possessor of retentive memory and keen wit.' I learned this phrase by heart, and consulted an English dictionary in private. When I was certain I had mas- tered the sentence, I confronted Daddy with it, and I shall never forget the pleasure it gave him. "He was a pedant, Harry, but there never lived such a delightful one ! How he would have loved to see Greece with me. It was one of his most cherished dreams. You see, Harry, I always bore you by bringing up his mem- ory. You were asking me about dreams. Why, it seems it is innate in me to dream. I even romanced on our return to America, when I was beginning to develop into girl- hood. I was such an ugly child. I met Cordelia at that time, and I rather fancy her memory of my mother's beauty made her dread the time when I should be pre- sented socially, for my temporary angularity was very unbecoming. Cordy could not understand my poetic turn. To her, ' A thing of beauty is a joy forever.' "She and I read and talked together much about the beauty of this world. As I was always encouraged in these talks, Harry, I presume I cannot understand your practical mind. When I was sent to Spafford to school, I lived entirely in the novels and poems I read. When I 45 The Strength to Yield first arrived there, the principal reproved me once; she never got another chance to do so, however, for I told her I would write to Daddy to take me away. Thereafter as the monitor of the study hour passed my desk and found me reading of the Lily Maid of Astelot, her hope- less love for Launcelot, and her death journey in the gilded barge, or trying to comprehend the tragic beauty of Endymion, instead of translating 'Nepos,' she pretended to be blind and I smiled." "Yes, Dorris, and I suppose 'AH Baba and the Forty Thieves' gave you restless nights. I fancy, then, you dreamed you were scalding them all, in pumice-stone or porphyry vessels of enormous size. What would have in- terested you most, however, would have been your yellow satin trousers and black hair. Still, I understand your weakness in preferring to dream of the love-sick Elaine, because you must admit you do not look like a Turkish harem. You would never please a Sultan. You could travel alone on horseback all through Turkey without being molested. Your yellow hair would scare them. A pity you must ever wake up from your dreams. Life is not a Turkish bath composed of incense and yellow satin trousers. Dorris, you cannot utter a sentence without in- dulging in stilted, flowery language," he laughed. "It sounds rather pretty, though, because it sort of encir- cles your affection for your father. It is really beautiful, honey. I do wish I had known him, dear. But it's all because I didn't see your pretty, pale face till after he died. Did you ever know, Dorris, speaking of romance, that the year you came out I was crazy to meet you? I read loads about you in the society columns. You had a lively winter, I should imagine rather a jolly success." 46 The Strength to Yield Dorris did not speak for a moment, then she shook her head thoughtfully. "It was a sad winter, Harry, and the memory of my partial success is dimmed by that terrible tragedy that came so early in my first season. Harry, I was heart-broken. You see all I ever knew was love the love of Cordelia and Daddy. Harry, it was unutterable; he was such a gentle father and beloved comrade, faithful alike in shadow and in sunshine, at once playmate and instructor." "Hush, Dorris," said her husband, "do not think too much about that. Do you know what an artist told me when he heard I was crazy about you? It was this. I am glad I remember the exact words. 'She is, for her type, without fault, the type of the fausse maigre, with the pale cheek, the red mouth, the vivid glory of the hair, and the slender, pointed finger.' " "How sweet of you, Harry, to tell me. Now, who was it?" "Don't you believe it. I won't tell you," laughed her husband. "Dorry, tell me something about your mother's death. It will not give you so much pain as the more recent one. Really, this was a jolly idea of yours. It is quite pretty and rustic here. Tell me about her." "Harry, Harry! Rustic!" said Dorris. "You might as well stand before the Knickerbocker Trust Company, and say, 'How rural!' Don't you know I know nothing of my mother? Her memory has always brought heart- aches to Daddy and Cordelia. Whenever I have spoken of her, even Cordy has seemed apprehensive, and she was my mother's best friend. I shall never forget Commencement Day at Spafford. As my eyes scanned the audience and met Daddy's frank gaze, I thought of 47 The Strength to Yield that mother I have never known. I felt I had a right to the confidence of those who loved me best. Somehow, that day a sense of tragedy awakened in me. When I answered his faint smile, it seemed to me there was some- thing inscrutable in his face. "Immediately after, when Daddy surprised me by tell- ing me of his rental of the Palazzo Specchio-Torni in Venice, I had a mad desire to ask him about the mystery concerning my mother's life, but did not dare. During the entire summer her name was never mentioned. Harry, what do you suppose lies at the bottom of this strange mystery?" "Looks like a lady with a past," answered her husband. "Oh, Harry," said Dorris reproachfully. "How vul- gar, how inexcusably vulgar, you are. No wonder I am unhappy. I was speaking of something near to my heart. I have fancied sometimes she is still living." "Nonsense! What are you driving at?" he asked. "There ! You are coming to the point. I am 'driving at,* as you say, the fact that I do not care for you, that I am your wife and " "Of course, you're my wife. Let's start back to get some breakfast. Are you sorry I'm going?" "Not the least bit in the world," Dorris answered frankly. "I am sorry, though, about your father." "Did it ever occur to you, Dorris, that since we were married you haven't taken life quite seriously enough?" "Exactly; it has, many times, now my honeymoon is over. It has been hateful to me. You will not take my talk to heart, so I suppose I can't hurt you. What an absurd time we have had," she said, looking down the Avenue de la Stade. 48 The Strength to Yield "Perhaps a few months' absence then will do you no harm. Dorris, I should like to make you love me, dear, but I can't. All I ask from you is that you give me the right respect, that you be faithful to the name you bear, and to me. Dorris, keep pretty much with Mrs. North. You don't know very much about men, and you've had no chance to, being under my protection. You're young, you know, and devilishly handsome. Come on, sweet- heart, I say. The sun's hot, and I'm hungry. I'll never get off by nine, at this rate. That's the girl!" They left their secluded seat under the trees, and began walking down the broad avenue leading to the Place de la Con- stitution. "Now, Dorris, I know it's been hard for you, a little," went on Harry, "without him, or Cordelia and it's all strange and new. We haven't got levelled down yet. There are sharp edges to both our natures that need pol- ishing. Separation will be good to think in. In fact, it's a good scheme, this. I'll not be gone so very long anyway. And, Dorris, don't you think it isn't because you don't care. When I come back to you, it will all be different. Just think of me now and then, and be nice to Mrs. North. Take her advice and ask her about things. How glad I am you are not a flirt. I'm so glad I can trust you." "Here we are at the Place, Harry, and we're late. It's half-past seven; they'll all be waiting." And sure enough in the waiting room of the Grande Bretagne, the Norths with Porter Freeman and the Hon- ourable Roland Barker were waiting for what Porter termed "the lovers," with fruit baskets for Harry. "To the dining-room!" shouted young Porter. "No- body up. We have the whole hotel to ourselves." 49 The Strength to Yield They breakfasted at a prettily appointed table in the center of the dining-room. Mr. Barker continually made fun of the English breakfast, and assured Harry he would find himself in better condition for a Greek steamer when he got to Patras, if he had had coffee and rolls in his room. It was really a children's party that climbed into the carriage and drove off to the station. Harry vowed he was sorry to leave as he stood on the platform breathing the April morning air and looking over the red, poppy- covered fields. He had a chance to give Mrs. North a little talking to, and to say good-bye to Dorris. It was merely, "Be good. Remember I'll be back soon. Write often." He was on the train and the whistle blew. In her room an hour later, Dorris stared at her face in the mirror. Through her ears was ringing: "How glad I am I can trust you. ... Be good. . . . Remember I'll be back soon. Write often." How extremely considerate of him to say good-bye at all I Dorris at any rate was glad it was all over, that he was gone. What a good-bye for a bride ! "Yes, he shall trust me, and I shall be true to the trust," she ruminated. "But how tiresome not to be in the least bit alarmed; to treat me as if he knew no man could by any chance get me away from him. Oh, dear me I I could laugh. And when he comes back, I have half a mind to frighten him, just upon the edge of trouble. Fancy my dear, commercial Harry sharpening his sword with some Italian count or Greek prince. Now if I might manage to feign something, or if I could have SO The Strength to Yield arranged it before, he needn't have left me with such a degree of assurance. There isn't a woman in the world who wouldn't resent it." She took up her father's photograph, and examined it rather more critically than she had ever done before. The firm jaw, the tender eyes firmness and tenderness personified. As a husband, had he ever said such a good- bye to her mother as she had heard to-day? She did not believe it. Her mother must have known what love was. Why had Dorris cast it out by her rash marriage? She would know since it was at the mainspring of life I But how? Through the calamity which Mr. Barker had hinted at? Sometimes it seemed to her that a great tragedy would be a welcome substitute to the dull common- place wifehood she knew. Then she realized she was lis- tening to her own voice. "Dorris Bedford, you are mad, mad, mad! Don't rant. You are altogether absurd." She stood looking at herself until the music in the Place it was a Turkish melody she heard roused her from reverie. 51 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER VI. 'Tis fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants, kings. Dryden. From MRS. THEODORE GUNTER, To MRS. HENRY VAN LENNEP. THE WHITE VILLA, BROOKLINE. My sweet girl D orris: Your second letter telling me of your intention to remain on the other side, has but just arrived. It would have been very difficult, child, to have answered that first sincerely. But you have driven me to it, and so e cosi here goes! I am not going to reproach you for your marriage the least little bit, but, Dorris, you have got to learn, you have got to listen to me. What you can mean, you, a bride of three months, by letting your husband come back here to his sick father and disconsolate mother alone, is beyond my power of comprehension. You must take your marriage as a serious proposition, and the sooner you realize this, the easier your life will be. Get around it in as many different ways as you please, you have obligations as the wife of Henry Van Lennep. You have inherited nothing of your father's art of living, and as the development of this art is my one and only talent, as you have heard a hundred times, I may be somewhat narrow in passing strictures on my little golden-haired 52 The Strength to Yield beauty. Your place is at present here in Brookline, whether you like it or not. Van Lennep, Sr., is improving. Nevertheless I am glad Harry will be here soon, as it is my intention to have a talk with him. Who the Norths may be that you are traveling with is another thing beyond me. Child, you cannot pick up with people you have met casually, and trot around Europe with them. I have decided to join you. I know the uselessness of suggesting your return, so will, instead, have you under my eye for a time, at least until your husband returns to you. Stay in Venice and I shall sur- prise you there some day. Also, Dorris, you're a baby I Why did you allow an English acquaintance to discuss your husband's propen- sities ? Such a thing is without honour or precedent. You who are always ready to confide in the few friends you make, who trust implicitly the sincerity of the preferred friendship, cannot realize this. In our training of you, your father and I neglected much, and only by persever- ance can I ever make you grasp my meaning. You seem to take Harry and matrimony itself as a joke. But there, pettie, I do not mean to hurt you. I am only trying to help you as only Cordelia can. Paolo Cenari, that diabolo, is in Venice now. No won- der your friend, Mr. Barker, was anxious for him to por- tray you on his vivacious canvas. But look out for him, Dorris. He is a wrecker of hearts and homes. Last win- ter, when you had begun your social tear in New York, he came to Boston for a stay of a month or two. He is most delightful socially but! He adores beautiful women in the strictly plural sense. A few years after I married Theodore, he told me of the youthful Paolo 53 The Strength to Yield Cenari whom he had encountered in a weird episode in the far East. His capacity for experience is unlimited. Lady Blanchard is at the Palazzo Colbrizzi in the Via Sante and will remain until June first, at which time she always hears the call of the London season and cannot resist its temptation. I am sending you a letter to her which I will ask you to present at once, as I may be de- layed in getting passage, and also may be obliged to go to Budapest. It might give you pleasure to meet her. Viola, Lady Blanchard, is a widow, and rather a strange woman, by the way, with what you would call a wonder- ful history. I think we will be able to establish a wholly charming circle in Venice, and, after all, am not so discon- solate at your not coming back. In fact, on thinking it over, I am rather keen about presenting my handsome protegee to some clever people, and ike versa. And I have missed her so much, from her bewitching smile to her oddest mood. She is a ball of fascination. Well, Dorris, it's a fortunate thing that I am not a man. I fear I would have been quite servile in my devotion for you. Brookline and Boston for that matter are dead at pres- ent. A few dinners and a ball now and then have been the only amusements afforded to old ladies like me. I never could understand why the Van Lenneps kept their house here. Ah ! but you might never have met Harry had it not been for your visit here to me ! The deuce ! You are both New Yorkers. Why couldn't you have met in your own city ? Well, good-bye, sweet ! A'vec tin baiser tout afectueux, until I can give you one. Devotedly, * .1 r / CORDELIA. May the first, 1906. 54 The Strength to Yield Dorris leaned back on the red cushions in her luxurious gondola, and tore her letter to bits which she scattered to right and left. Mr. Barker looked toward a glass factory on their left, and talked about Tuscan vases. Dorris was silent. They had almost reached the Schiavoni. The radiant spring had wooed the gardens on the Giudecca till they burst into fragrant bloom, and cast their soft reflections in the clear surface of the water. The pink pomegranate blossom vied with the delicate rose, while the marble of the cinque-cento palaces cried out in their gray decay to the young blooms. They laughed back that Spring was their lover and that he was the personification of youth. San' Salute rose majestically out of the waters, and reflected the stately grandeur of its dome far into the canal. It was a dream-day in the show-city of Europe. Mr. Barker and Dorris purposed going to the Lido to bathe in the shallow Adriatic. They had been left to get the morning mail and had taken advantage of a little time to inspect the famous Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi, where walks the ghost of Wagner. Dorris opened her parasol as they started to cross the lagoon. She looked at Mr. Barker. "Tell me about Mrs. Barker and the two youngsters, won't you?" she asked sweetly. "They are all so charming," he answered, "that I pre- fer to let you learn their faults and weaknesses after you have made their acquaintance. Really I am going to persuade you to make us a long visit after your husband has rejoined you." "All in good time, Mr. Barker," she laughed. "I am curious about the daughter. Do tell me her name at least." 55 The Strength to Yield "Geraldine; are you satisfied?" "Clearly, Mr. Barker, you wish to tell me nothing of your friends and family." "You will be telling me shortly I possess that much hackneyed 'mysterious presence.' " Mr. Barker laughed. "Before we discuss this subject, let me give you a delightful bit of news," said Dorris. "Mrs. Gunter is coming over to take care of me. Your mission is ended." "Oh, you were informed of that on the scraps of paper you threw somewhat tragically into the canal?" demanded Barker. "Don't be humorous. Yes, the letter was from Cor- delia. I had a slight disappointment in an opinion she expressed. I shouldn't speak so of her, however. We have loved each other so much. She practically brought me up. I am only beginning to take her advice now." "Any news about your husband?" asked Barker. "No. That is to say, he hadn't arrived when Cordelia wrote. By the way, Mr. Barker, Signor Cenari, You told me in Athens you wished to have him paint my portrait. I know he is in Venice. Am I never to meet him?" Mr. Barker frowned. "Mrs. Gunter sent me a letter to Lady Blanchard. It is really quite a marvel that I didn't tear it up," was Dor- ris' s remark. "Suppose you wait till Mrs. Gunter's arrival to meet Lady Blanchard?" he responded. "She has requested me to present it at once. I must obey," laughed Dorris. "I'm going to tease you. I knew you didn't want me to meet Lady Viola owing to the fact that this Cenari is one of her friends. What on earth is the mystery about him? Really, if you 56 The Strength to Yield try to prevent our meeting, I'll promise you when we do, we shall pick up the gauntlet for a summer flirtation." For the first time since she had known him, Mr. Bar- ker appeared to be unable to grasp her humour. Both remained silent. The gondoliers were rowing fast, and they had left the city far behind. In the distance San Lazzaro rose from the crystal lagoon, a study in red and green, the red brick of its monastery and green olive and cypresses of its garden. The silver Lido stretched along the horizon in a straight angle. The hotel was becoming more distinct at each stroke. Another gondola approach- ing them, and the occasional puffing of the Lido steam- boat were all that disturbed the sleeping waters. Mr. Barker added another cushion to Dorris's supply, and she resumed a comfortable posture. The other gondola was so near that the occupants became distinguishable. A lady in soft brown silk was holding a Pomeranian spaniel. Be- side her was a man whose nationality it would be difficult to guess. As the boats neared one another, the two ladies ex- changed lightning glances, but before Dorris knew Mr. Barker had bowed, the gondolas had sped past each other. In her mind was the impression of a woman slightly faded, English perhaps, and a man in the late thirties. "Lady Blanchard," remarked Mr. Barker. "Have you ever seen her before?" "Indeed, was it? And the other occupant? His face is strange." Dorris lowered her head and raised her eyes question- ingly to Mr. Barker. She was smiling and alluring, her dainty parasol an effective background for the white face and gold hair. "Ah, yes, the other. That was Paolo Cenari." 57 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER VII. But whether I came in love or hate, That I came to you was written by Fate. India's Love Lyrics. There was a hush in the gold room. Lady Blanchard turned to Signer Pavolo: "Yes," she began, "she is really lovely, looks like a painting by some one I cannot place. Her beauty is quite irresistible. I have seen her only once. She had a letter to me and came here to tea. You see, I was sure, being the hostess of so many illustrious people, that I needed a new face, a new beauty." Lady Blanchard bowed and laughed. "To be sure, she's an American, but speaks her language with an English accent, and is really a mere baby." "Her husband?" quizzed Pavolo. "Is she like many of her countrywomen with a mania for leaving their lords and masters in stuffy offices across the seas?" "From what I am able to gather, her husband re- turned to see some business deal through, owing to his father's temporary incapacity brought on by illness. No, she is not of the class you refer to." "Lady Viola, your young woman seems to have the manners of a jeune fille in her first season," was the com- ment of Signor Cenari. "Really, no one else in the social stratum would dare to appear late for her first dinner at the Palazzo Colbrizzi, particularly when Lady Blan- chard is its mistress. Isn't this the first American you have favoured since the rich and dull Mrs. Broadland in- vaded London?" 58 The Strength to Yield "Paolo, you are incorrigible. Sometimes I wonder that we endure you. What do you say, Contessa?" And Lady Blanchard turned to the sombre Countess Almanda who looked at Signor Cenari and smiling, said, "Well, Viola, the Venice of the twentieth century would be rather dull when we come to it occasionally, if Signor Cenari were not here to paint our faces and grace our dinner-tables. Now he knows as well as Conte Al- manda that I do not flatter, also" There was another hush in the gold room. The can- dles flared near the gold tapestries as the butler opened the large doors at the head of the marble staircase. "Mrs. Van Lennep !" he announced. All eyes were centered on the figure that paused for an instant under the lintel. Paolo Cenari held his breath. It was a tall, lithe girl he saw, formed like a goddess, carrying her beautiful head high on her long, slender throat; a girl, with a white face mounted by hair of sun- kissed gold and with eyes the colour of bluebells dimmed by water; with soft, sensuous lips like Rossetti's "Pan- dora." "She must be the Goddess of Love," he thought, "and how daring in her winding Greek garment of deli- cate pink, shimmering with masses of gold roses. How daring to come gloveless to this palace with not even a ring to enhance the beauty of her long, delicate fingers." Of what was she dreaming with the pink rose held gracefully to the clinging folds of her gown? She came forward with an easy grace. Cenari thought just then that a man might well give his soul to the devil to see her smile! L'amordiDlo! To see her smile ! The red lips, the gold hair, in the Colbrizzi gold room! The knowledge of her extraordinary beauty seemed to have 59 The Strength to Yield given her that poise which made her careless of effecfs, and that ease which the great lady who had dwelt in this palace five centuries before might have possessed. Lady Blanchard's concession after years of entertaining, to the prevalent fashion of presenting guests, for the first time suggested to him something beyond boredom. At last, he was actually hearing her say, somewhat stiffly, indeed, "Mrs. Van Lennep, may I present Signer Cenari?" "Signor Cenari of artistic fame?" Dorris queried. "Very good of you not to have said notoriety," laughed Cenari?" . "Perhaps I used the wrong word, Signore." When soon after, he heard Lady Blanchard say, "Signor Pavolo, will you take Mrs. Van Lennep in to dinner?" it seemed to him almost that she had screamed it. Through the open windows across the canals came the stroke of eight from the Giants' clock in the Piazza di San Marco. The gold room was redolent of delicate rose when the little party passed into the marble rotunda, and then into the dining-room, ornate in its old tapestries and older oak, the effect accentuated by the pink shades on superbly wrought candelabra, said to have been the work of Ben- venuto Cellini. "Pink is an artistic shade," mused Dorris, as she took a seat between Signor Pavolo and Conte Almanda. Covers were laid for twelve this May night in Palazzo Colbrizzi. At Lady Blanchard's right, Signor Paolo Cenari had the seat of honour. Next to him sat the di- vorced Lady Cheltenham, gossiping with Principe Anda to divert attention from the vivacious Signora Malvoni. 60 The Strength to Yield Malcolm Forrest, an English pupil of Cenari, was con- trasting the differences between two delicately bred Ital- ians, Signora Malvoni and the Contessa Almanda. Mr. and Mrs. Page Wellington, Mrs. Henry Van Lennep, Conte Almanda, and Signer Pavolo completed the group. Cenari inclined his head toward Lady Viola. "I suppose we must speak Eng I beg pardon, Amer- ican, in deference to that golden child?" "Really, Paolo, these Americans sometimes learn to speak, in Europe. Listen!" The soft vowels of the language of music were being pronounced by the dulcet voice of Dorris Van Lennep. She was saying, "e troppa bella" and he strained his ears to catch her accent. How he envied Conte Almanda! Now and then he caught a word, a phrase, but he could not neglect the ladies near him, and soon gave up the effort to listen across the table. With his clever tongue he con- vinced Lady Blanchard that she was the loveliest of her sex; and, having divined the weakness of Lady Chelten- ham, paid her those reverent little courtesies due to women of unsullied repute. Then he heard the voice of Dorris once more, now in conversation with Pavolo. "No absolutely none. This is my social debut in Venice. From what I had read, I believed the day of its brilliance and beauty in that way had gone. I verily can imagine I am at a conversazione of the famous Contessa Colbrizzi with this Renaissance background and the deli- cate scent of the garden shrubs which one inhales in that fragrant breeze from the windows. It is a wonderful night. The moon is young. The garden must be lovely. How often I have read of the Colbrizzi Garden. What 61 The Strength to Yield is its charm? Associations? Do not such names as Leo- pardi, Faliero, not to mention Byron and the Contessa Guiccioli, linger in the trees and flowers?" Signer Pavolo, amazed at this young woman's complete mastery of his language, instead of answering her ques- tions, insisted upon knowing how she had acquired it. "You insist upon knowing, Signor Pavolo?" laughed Dorris. Supposing I decline to state?" "Then I would urge the matter to a point where you could not evade me," he said playfully. "As insistent as that?" "Yes, really." "Well, then, to please you, when a little girl, I spent some time in Bologna and Florence. When it was neces- sary for my father to leave me, I was placed in an Italian family he had known for years. And as I was obliged to study my French through Italian, I learned very rap- idly, and I have kept it up ever since more or less in the way of opera-going, reading, and so forth. It is not in the least remarkable, really. I am going to turn to Conte Almanda for relief from this incessant twaddle about my- self," and Dorris laughed once more. "Mrs. Van Lennep," Lady Blanchard called across the table, "do tell me about our friend, Mr. Barker. I have known of his arrival in Venice for some time. Is he in seclusion? He hasn't left his card, and he knows I am always at Colbrizzi in the spring." "Lady Blanchard, if you know Mr. Barker well, you must surely have learned by this time not to expect him to do the usual thing. Who knows? He may call to- morrow. He is stopping at Danieli's. Shall I tell him he is forgiven?" 62 The Strength to Yield "Lady Viola is only one who protests," chimed in Cenari. "He seems to have gone out of his way to avoid me, and I thought him a staunch friend. It is shocking! But even so, he is one of the most delightful men I know." "It would be unkind, then, to say he spoke well of you," said Dorris, and turned to Signor Pavolo. "Why?" demanded Cenari, but received no response. He caught only a glimpse of a lovely profile and golden head, above the soft pink shades and mass of roses on the table. Dorris raised her chambertln as if to emphasize the colour of her lips, which Cenari noted smilingly. Some- thing supercilious in his glance embarrassed her. She felt she disliked that name that man. There was something in his face, almost handsome though it was, which held her without the power to admire. But she was thinking of him, and of no one else at this table. Why should she think of him in any way? She let her glance wander to Principe Anda. Conte Almanda asked her if Signor Cenari was to be allowed the honour of painting her portrait. She nodded, and Cenari volunteered that it was to be executed in the gold room, for, as she had entered it to-night, a beautiful and appropriate poem had come to him; and added, "The picture will have to be entitled 'In the Gold Room, a Harmony.' ' Dorris was apparently preoccupied, and Signor Pavolo ingenuously inquired as to the poem. Thereupon Paolo's voice became audible only to the few about him. He raised his glass and paid a pretty tribute to his hostess. She reminded him of Pavolo's request. 63 The Strength to Yield "Ah, yes, the poem." He looked at Dorris, who low- ered her eyes to lift them to Lady Cheltenham. Wounded by the memories which Cenari's reference had awakened for the verses "In the Gold Room," had been repeated often by her father, morbid in the fear that Cenari might repeat it all, she felt that the woman whose eyes she had been meeting knew her embarrassment. In her imagination, the colour was mounting to her cheeks, re- ceding, then mounting again. "Her ivory hands on the ivory keys Strayed in a fitful fantasy, Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees Rustle their pale leaves listlessly, Or the drifting foam of a restless sea When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze. "Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold, Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun On the burnished disk of the marigold, Or the sunflower turning to meet the sun, When the gloom of the jealous night is done, And the spear of the lily is aureoled." At last Dorris breathed freely. After all, she had been absurd to imagine that he would repeat the rest. It was merely a piece of flattery, hinted by Conte Almanda. Later, when the company had assembled in the ball- room, Lady Blanchard crossed to where Dorris and Paolo were talking. "Why didn't you repeat the third stanza?" she asked, pointedly. "But why pointedly?" wondered Dorris. "I presume she was innocent of the contents of what Cenari had refrained from repeating. Of course, she didn't know I knew it by heart." "Did Mr. Barker ever speak to you of Rossetti?" asked Cenari, abruptly. "They were friends, you know. 64 The Strength to Yield I am sure he would have thought of a more appropriate title for a picture of you than 'A Harmony.' ' Dorris knew she showed a deplorable want of tact to express relief by a look, and tried to meet the neutral gaze of Cenari with a degree of frankness. "How clever she is," he was thinking, divining that she knew the stanza : "And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire, set In a swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine." After the guests had heard Lady Viola sing, they dis- persed about the house and garden. A few remained in the ballroom to listen or dance to the music of the red- coated musicians. Dorris Van Lennep waltzed "Quand I' amour meurt" with Paolo Cenari. The music ceased suddenly as they found themselves at the entrance to the rotunda. Fol- lowing little groups, they walked slowly down the marble staircase into the court, and through the open gateway into the garden. The night air came laden with the scent of peach-blossoms. Roses were clambering wildly over the tottering walls of this garden, where the foot- prints of centuries, departed doge and lover, had left their subtle imprints in the yielding earth. The silver- blue of the young May moon outlined the clear perfec- tion of Dorris's face, as she stared into the Renaissance fountain. "Strange, when time adds tragedy to beauty it heightens the effect," she murmured. 65 The Strength to Yield The passing of a gondola in the bordering canal was suggested by a soft paddle in the water and the gradual lessening of it. "The whole scene" it was Cenari's voice "the sky, the air, the shadowy hands that seem to linger still over the carving on that fountain, that drifting gondola tell me one thing" She waited. "That some day, some time," he went on very slowly, "somewhere, I may give you that third stanza." Dorris laughingly tripped her way back into the court. "'Some day, some time, somewhere!'" she repeated. "That's not worthy of you. It's too like a college boy trying to make love." 66 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER VIII. Tis the sunset of life gives us mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. Thomas Campbell. For a time after the dinner at the Palazzo Colbrizzi, Dorris saw nothing of her hostess or any of the guests. She felt the experience as a dream in which her fancy quarreled with the baffling smile of Lady Cheltenham, and connected it in some way with the tragic suggestions of the garden. She had thought to hear in some way of Cenari. And yet why should any word of or from him mean anything to her? She missed the genial moods and friendly talks, per- haps, too, the good advice, of Mr. Barker, who had just left for England. It was good of him to care about exact- ing a promise that they should meet again, and she really looked forward to it. His receptive enthusiasm for Ital- ian lore reminded her of her father. She wondered whether if he had lived she would think so insistently about renewing or improving acquaintance with Lady Blahchard's friends. It was strange that she did not meet any of them anywhere. They could not be living in dire seclusion, yet in drifting up and down, in and among the canals, all the faces she saw were those of stranger tour- ists. What could have become of the well-dressed people at the Colbrizzi? Danieli's sheltered none of them. It was a bore to go about dining so frequently with the Norths, meeting occasional new arrivals, usually friends of theirs, and now and then stumbling upon a schoolmate of her own, to whom she bowed stiffly in passing. 67 The Strength to Yield Why should she writhe under the fact that Cenari had held her in slight respect by reciting verses whose application he had made so personal, while at the same time she resented his not making an effort to continue her acquaintance? And why should she feel an inconsistent throb of pride that he had selected her out of all the others to compliment so unequivocally at a formal dinner, when all the time he carried that supercilious look straight over the roses into her eyes ? Men did not take such liber- ties with Roman princesses, and that he should have dared, that he should have dared! After all, she would end this mental conflict by forget- ting Cenari, by putting the whole thing out of her mind. She spent one warm Wednesday morning roaming with Grace North over the shops on the Piazza, and on their way back to Danieli's suddenly decided that day to pay her call at the Colbrizzi. "I can't delay much longer," she yawned sleepily to her companion, and Grace turned in astonishment. "Gracious! Haven't you gone there yet? If I had been entertained at a Venetian palace, I'd have made my call next day." Dorris felt uncomfortable. The Norths had really been good to her, but was that any reason why she should continually smart under their impertinence? This was not the first intimation she had had that Grace, and her mother, too, for that matter, coveted a card to the Col- brizzi. "Well, Grace, why don't you ask me to take you with me, and be done with it?" she said petulantly. They walked on in silence until they reached their sit- ting-room overlooking the Schiavoni and Giudecca, where 68 The Strength to Yield Grace seemed to put everything out of her mind save the question of luncheon. While she summoned a waiter, Dorris ran into her room to replace street gown with kimono. On her way back she knocked at Mrs. North's door and found her and Grace dressing. "While we were out, Dorris," cried Grace, "mother says a stunning page brought you a note, and she saw from the window a handsome gondola in which he was rowed away toward the Grand Canal. Such gondoliers, too! Sh, sh, sh! It must be from Lady Blanchard." "You'll find the note on the sitting-room table under 'The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne,' " interrupted Mrs. North. I was very particular to put it where you could find it at once." Dorris closed the door softly. After all, Lady Blan- chard had not utterly forgotten her, though this could hardly be a second invitation. She lifted the novel and found the large blue ragged-edged envelope. "Lady Viola writes a strange hand," she reflected, tear- ing open the flap and reading: WEDNESDAY MORNING, PALAZZO GIANELLI, VIA CAMBERING. My dear Mrs. Fan Lennep, If you are not engaged for the afternoon and have nothing pleasanter in prospect, would you be good enough to come to my garden with Lady Blanchard for tea ? She will call for you at four, and should she be so fortunate as to find you in, will try to persuade you to come. Yours. PAOLO CENARI. 69 The Strength to Yield Dorris read and re-read the note, then tore it into bits which she threw into the waste-paper basket. She walked over to the long mirror, once the property of Doge Dan- dolo, and regretted that she looked so tired. She dropped down upon the couch and lighted a cigarette. Her expres- sion did not change until she heard Grace at the door; then she looked up and smiled. "I'm off this afternoon," she said blithely, "with Lady Blanchard, for tea in a friend's garden. Wouldn't mind taking you if I could, you know, but you really have to Oh, never mind! You are really looking lovely. Affect white more, Grace; you are quite charming in it." "Goodness! The ceiling will fall with Dorris Van Lennep giving compliments. Give me a cigarette." "Little unmarried American girls shouldn't smoke," laughed Dorris, lighting one for her, "but it's almost as becoming as the white linen. I must send to Doucet for one exactly like it." "Well, anyway, Lady Blanchard's letter must have done you lots of good. By the way, Dorris, wouldn't you like to go to London for the tail-end of the season ?" "No, dear, no, no! I'm going to stay right here. Don't let it worry you, though, for Cordelia will be here soon. Don't let me interfere with your plans. What's the matter with Venice, anyway? Not enough suitors here, eh? Ah, I know. Jack Railing! He is going to be in London?" And Dorris playfully took Grace's face in her hands. "Come now, Grace, hand over your cigar- ette, and tell me why you don't think of marrying." "Well, I like that! We all stand anything from you. Marry? How ridiculous. I Oh, bother. I'll begin to think of that in two years from now." 70 The Strength to Yield "But have you never been crazy about any one, Grace?" "Don't be absurd? What shall we eat? That waiter should be here. What do you say?" "Ring the bell, and we'll think about it later." As Grace walked across the room, a soft knock at the door made Dorris start. It was twice repeated, and then the door slowly opened. Grace saw a handsome woman in a traveling suit, bubbling over with joy, and then Dorris and the new-comer were in each other's arms. "Cordelia, Cordelia, dear, dear Cordelia!" she almost sobbed her joy. "How good of you! How glad I am to see you. And you are looking so well, Cordelia." Mrs. Gunter for her part clung to the girl quite speech- less with relief and pleasure. She gazed into her eyes, and murmured: "You beautiful creature! You grow prettier every day!" (Grace, meantime, had been considerate enough to leave them alone.) "Let me take your things off, Cordy, sweet. Sit down and rest, there, so and get that beastly hat off as soon as ever you can. When did you come? How long have you been here? Oh, I'm just crazy to know everything at once. Cordy, oh, it's too good to have you again, dear, dear Cordy!" "Child, we are acting like simpletons. I got in two hours late, so dusty and tired; stopped in Verona yester- day, and missed my afternoon train, so I had to spend the night there. I got the first train this morning and came down with a charming boy I had not seen for years. It is good to be in d'Anmmzio's City Beautiful again, What a day! Come to the window, Dorris. What a 71 The Strength to Yield delightful balcony I Almost like the one off my room in the Spechio-Torni." Dorris turned quickly away. "For- give me, child. I forgot. I did not mean to bring up old memories. I am glad to see you. Ah, Dorris, you are such a naughty girl." "You have talked with Harry?" "Yes, I saw him for half an hour or so, only, though. He said he was writing two or three times a week, but gave me a letter to deliver in person. It's in my gold bag." "What about your room, Cordelia?" "Godfrey de Bouillon ! Did you think I'd get a room before I got here?" Cordelia kissed the girl's forehead. "Oh, then you'll share mine. It's big enough in all conscience with two old-fashioned bedsteads elaborately curtained. Don't refuse, Cordy, please. Come right along now, and get your dress changed and have a rest. I think I'd better lock you in, so you will just have to keep quiet and get freshened up after the trip. Not a word out of your head. I'll send for luncheon and feed you with my own hands. Then you are to sleep until three, and I will wake you up in time to go out with Lady Viola and me. You see I am full of mysteries. Come this way. Rather large sitting-room, this, isn't it?" "What about Lady Blanchard?" "Didn't I tell you not to say another word? I will tap you like a Yale man. Go to your room; do you hear? Now, please, Cordelia, mind, please. We will dine up here, and have the whole evening to gossip in. Keep right on disrobing. I'm sending down for luncheon." "But the people you are staying with the Norths?" "In there." Dorris pointed to their rooms. 72 The Strength to Yield Cordelia laughed, and obeyed her guidance. Later in the day, after a delay in dressing, owing to a difficulty about Mrs. Gunter's trunks, the two friends found themselves fittingly attired and in readiness for Lady Blanchard's appearance at four. That lady came punctually, two of her spaniels enjoying the red plush cushions on either side of the seat in the gondola. She did not seem at all surprised to see Mrs. Gunter in the doorway, and smilingly motioned her into the boat. The three ladies were comfortably seated and under the bridge, when Lady Blanchard remarked: "Paolo will be delighted to see you again, Cordelia. He has told me so much about you. He insists you are different to other Americans." Mrs. Gunter lifted one of the spaniels into her lap and looked at Dorris. Why should the girl not have told her that they were going to Paolo's garden ? It hurt her that she should have made a mystery of it. It looked as if Dorris attached an importance to the circumstance which she did not attach to ordinary goings and comings of which she was so frank to speak. Cenari and Malcolm Forrest occupied a palace built round a beautiful garden which bordered on the Giudecca, and it was to the garden entrance that Lady Blanchard had ordered her gondoliers. They found the two artists in the garden with Signer Pavolo. "Mrs. Gunter, quelle bonne chance! How good of you to come," was Cenari's greeting, "and I see you have not forgotten your piece de resistance, your amethysts. Come to a secluded spot under the olives, and tell me all about it." And Signor Cenari and Mrs. Gunter left Mr. 73 The Strength to Yield Forrest and Signer Pavolo to entertain Lady Blanchard and Mrs. Van Lennep. For the first time in all her life, the demon of jealousy shot up its head and nodded at Dorris. Of course, it was because she disliked Cenari that she felt anything at all. But if he and Cordelia had been old friends, if they had had a fast and furious flirtation, that was no reason why she should be left out in the cold, why they should uncere- moniously turn their backs upon her and walk off alone. They would find they had to reckon with Dorris Bedford. "Fight, Dorris," some fierce instinct cried, "fight and prove your claim. Why, you're twenty years younger than Cordelia twenty whole years! And this woman was your mother's friend. How perfectly ridiculous!" Meantime Cordelia was saying to Cenari, banteringly: "Genius, philanderer, heartbreaker, confess. Have you been trying your arts on my little girl?" "Now, now, Mrs. Gunter, you know that my laws of the game render my play such that I do not include a sweet and innocent child. But you had a premonition?" "Well, psychic phenomena aren't exactly in my line, Signor Cenari. Nevertheless, I was so disturbed over 'that sweet and innocent child' that I left Boston at a very inconvenient time. And I am speaking quite seriously." "Indeed, well I am going to paint her. She's worth it. Quite extraordinary on canvas, and not less so because the canvas may happen to be mine. But yet, I would have your permission, chaperon. She's going with me for a tour of inspection to-morrow." "Horrors!" "Am I more than one horror, then?" he laughed, but with constraint, and suggested that they rejoin the others. 74 The Strength to Yield Suddenly Mrs. Gunter stood still and held out her hand. "Signer Cenari," she said softly, "don't take my hand unless you can assure me that your game is fair. A girl of nineteen holds no trumps." He laughed over their hearty handshake. "Not take your hand, Lady Christian, indeed? And not assure you? Why, of course, I assure you." It was Dorris who poured tea, after which Cenari pointed out the chief places of interest in the garden. He asked if he might show her his studio, and they stepped into the court and ascended an oak staircase at the rear. Then Dorris found herself in the most picturesque room she had ever seen. Spacious and oriental, it looked out on the garden of the Giudecca. Old tapestries cov- ered the walls, and the ceiling represented Mount Parnas- sus in fresco painted by Tiepolo. Skins of jungle mon- archs, scimitars, carved blades, the antlers of the mountain antelope, and the tusks of the Indian elephant suggested to her the pilgrimage of Lalla Rookh. The mystery of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan was emphasized by mas- sive temple censers and the sumptuous velvet of the hangings. On an easel near the windows was the half finished portrait of the ever-youthful Principessa Anda, while a Turkish screen hid another canvas. "Signer Cenari, what do the Venetians or rather those of your set who come here occasionally, do with them- selves all day?" asked Dorris. "One rarely sees your faces." "Come this way," was Cenari's reply. He walked to the other end of the studio and opened a small door. 75 The Strength to Yield Dorris peeped in. It was a very small room, draped in cloth of gold. "What? You have copied the gold room!" she ex- claimed, a rush of contending forces momentarily stupefy- ing her as she studied his face. "I am going to paint you here," he breathed. The childishness of this studied compliment suddenly ap- pealed to the girl's sense of the ludicrous, and she cried, "What a lot of time and thought you have wasted on a poem ! Dear me, you must have done a lot of walking to get that gold tint." Without speaking, the painter stepped backward to allow her to precede him into the studio, and they crossed the room together in silence. When abruptly before the hidden easel, Cenari with a theatrical gesture, flung down the exquisitely embroidered Turkish screen showing an incomplete sketch. Dorris was surprised into silence a moment, then she said, "But suppose I left Venice so you couldn't finish it?" "But you won't do that," he said. "All the same," airily, "I don't know why you have given me that absurd pose, with my elbow on my knee like that and my chin in my right hand. I look as if I wore 'the smile that won't come off,' don't you know?" He smiled. As they were on their way out, Cenari paused before the door of the impromptu gold room, which was really an in- genious copy of that in the Palazzo Colbrizzi, and closed it. "Some day, we will have a tableau on that poem in there," he said. 76 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER IX One fatal remembrance one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes To which life nothing darker nor brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting. Tom Moore. "Thank God, Dorris," said Cordelia that evening after having dined with the Norths, "we have at last got rid of those deadly people. Dorris, how could you have stood them?" "Nonentities don't worry me as much as they do you, Cordy," smiled Dorris. "Pray unfasten my dress; it's too tight anyway." "Miss North is like a thousand other girls. If you are continually in the society of such people, you are gradually pulled down to their level. It is inevitable." "Then I have deteriorated? Is that what you mean, Cordy?" Dorris loosened her hair till its tangled gold fell over her delicate shoulders. Cordelia watched her undress, ad- miring the curves of the arm and throat. At last the golden girl was in her lacey night-dress sitting at Cor- delia's feet, her head in her dear friend's lap. The woman in the chair passed her fingers through the gold hair. " 'Lazy, laughing, languid Jenny,' " she murmured. "You are a Rossetti girl, Dorris. "'Oh, Jenny, as I watch you there For all your wealth of loosened hair ' " 77 The Strength to Yield "How dear you are, Cordelia. It is almost as if you were my mother. I love the hours with you, to feel my head against your knee and the perfect peace, Cordy. Sometimes, I have missed that mother I never knew. I have longed for her, now and then, until it was unbear- able. During my honeymoon, I wanted her most, to go back to. I had never thought so much about her until then. It came to me that everything would have been dif- ferent if she could have pressed my hand or kissed my hair. Was she lovely, Cordy? Tell me." The warm perfume of the night came in through the window. The singing in the boats reached them from San' Salute, from the Grand Canal, from the Lagoon making a soft harmony. Dorris closed her eyes as her hand sought Cordelia's. "Child, I have told you little or nothing of that sweet mother whom I loved," answered Cordelia. "I will let you know her whole history, and the history of her mother as well. You have been too young to understand. It might have hurt you; but now that you are a married woman, you must know. Dorry, you thought me hard when I tried to prevent your marriage ; you couldn't know why, of course. But you should have trusted Cordelia." "Cordy, don't speak of that. I have been a girl again for a little while. Don't make me think of that nightmare. It spoiled Naples for me, it spoiled Greece." "Sh! girlie, listen intently. Your mother, Dorris Good- wood, I met at school in France, as you know. She was an odd child, but we took a violent fancy to each other. We were disliked by the others, but always true to each other. It all began when Dorris was reprimanded for some trivial wrong-doing. I took her part, and from that 78 The Strength to Yield day, we were bosom friends. She was a little older than I, and much more than a little more brilliant. Not quite as pretty as you, I think, but very lovely in my eyes. "During vacations, we would travel with her family, or Dorry would come to my father's place in England. We had a wonderful childhood. The celebrities we met en- livened our natural interest in the artistic world, and we became bookworms. When Dorris was fifteen we were sent to Signora Baltini's finishing school in Florence, and there we stayed for two years. Those days in that beau- tiful city make up the recollections I cherish most. We were obliged to remain through the summer of our first school year, owing to some family troubles of which we were ignorant. Later came the news of Dorry's mother's death, which clouded our second year, for her grief was mine also. Oh ! I shall never forget my efforts to comfort her. Sometimes I fancied she had almost forgotten it, on our rambles to Fiesole, or prayers in the Annunziata." "Poor children," whispered Dorris. "At last we read together Hegel's 'Philosophy of His- tory,' and decided to adopt a philosophy of our own. We intended fathoming the art of living. As I have said many times, this has been the only talent I possess. Well, dear, I started to acquire it with Dorris Goodwood, in the flow- ered gardens and cypress walks of la bella Firenze. "It was with heartbreaks, almost, that we left thagna. Dorris stared out into the night, her hands clasping each side of the parted curtain. The fragrance and warmth of the summer but intensified her burning unrest. The Grand Canal caught the crescent of the vanishing moon in its unruffled surface. The vine-clad wall of the Spechio-Torni garden smiled at its perfect reflection, and the few lights in the surrounding palaces rendered the peace and beauty of the scene more solemn to the watch- ing girl. A passing gondola bearing laughing occupants, followed by two or three more silent ones, told her that it was Venice, her much cherished city; and for a moment it seemed enough. Oh, Giorgione, could you have caught the expression on those parted lips, the tints in the hair and eyes, the slender throat stretched forward, with the faint colour of her beauty heightened by the dark room and the old grey of the balcony, who knows but you might never have found time to paint your "Concerto"? And Titian! Your canvas would have been cold and lifeless, however, for Dorris is far too exotic ever to have hypnotized your brush. No; she is not a Venetian beauty, Titian sleep on. Her cheeks are not like ripened apples or 206 The Strength to Yield pomegranate fruit; her hair is not burnished auburn or her shoulders a superb abundance of soft flesh, but her mouth is redder than the holly-berry or July Jacks spring- ing into bloom. Rossetti ! I know at least your eyelids would quiver if this lily girl stood before your "Sancta Lilias." Could even you have caught her frightened Daphne look, that inexplicable something arching the eyebrows so delicately and yet not a frown. You would never have called it love, Rossetti. In those moments when we are permitted to feel the rhythm with the mystery of infinity, how lesser things re- cede. We cannot mourn over trite personal miseries when the end and aim is foreshadowed in the glory of an Ital- ian morning! If the night come with its shroud, the morning must surely follow with its bridal veil. And what man, not being permitted to choose that he live, would plead for any choice that is withheld so mercifully as the full rounding out of destiny? As the distant music Dorris was sure it was from the Giudecca died away into the night whose fragrance was heavy like a burden upon her, she thought of the "damned and dead" who live without the gift of love. Would this night never be over, this night of hesitation and almost of hate? For it was useless to go on like this, brimful of torment. She had enjoyed books, she had found re- source in art, and music had delighted her. Now, all this was past. She saw all things from a new angle, and she could no longer enjoy. How had the world lived and faced such agony through long years? Her ancestors had borne their burdens, somehow, and been helped out, perhaps, by prayer. Dorris dropped upon her knees at the window. 207 The Strength to Yield "Venus, or Mary!" she prayed. "Why should I pour out my heart to a woman-god? Because I have never known a mother? But even as a child, they told me that the lilies changed their names from the Queen of Beauty to the Mother of God. Ah, me!" She waited a moment with bowed head. "I have everything that most women want," she cried out. "I can buy all the dainties that make women beau- tiful. I am beautiful. I am young. I love the beautiful. But happiness eludes me as if I were the plague. Why, because I seem so free, queens would envy me, and here I am tied down by temperament." She rose and walked about the room. "Can I overcome? But what is the use of the misery? If the desire to fight against it were not passing away, I would not care so much. But it may take my soul and all goodness with it, it may, it may! Why was my father's love given me? Why was I born of a mother who loved life so little that she should welcome death? "Is it the price I pay for everything else, that I shall value nothing but the happiness denied me? Ah, me, what irony! I would forego it all and creep down with the peasant nearer and nearer to the soil from which we all have sprung. Given all things of the earth earthy, if discontent is the price, I would have nothing, nothing save the power to enjoy. "Bring to my heart the answer; at least let me know why. Send me the faith that all is well with me, even if I suffer, and then I might endure. But not like this, not like this. It will make me a lost woman if it stains me so if it stains me so." She walked back to the window again. 208 The Strength to Yield "Oh, if I could see a cross maybe that would help me, as Maria says the sight of it once helped her. But there are no crosses in this city which rises, like Aphro- dite from the sea; yet it is the symbol of a great faith, and faith in the usefulness of renunciation might help me. But I don't see the use of it when I am young, when I was made for pleasure, when life is passing me by with hours 'swifter than the weaver's shuttle.' If I were led with a loving hand as Jesus blest the children, I might follow, but I can't see my way alone. Give me peace at least one hour. Do not let my nerves rack me. Send me dreamless sleep. If I forego the ether, that renuncia- tion is entirely on the physical side. But it may serve, it may serve." She lifted her head, for a song-boat had stopped before the opposite palace, and the tender, wistful music of Gounod's "Ave Maria" floated in to her. Never before had this song seemed to her an appeal, but the singer sent it forth as from her soul ! "No one could sing like that who has not suffered almost as much as I," thought Dorris, as she rose and went upon the balcony. Then when she recognized the boat and knew the singer, disillusion came. The soprano was a coarse girl of the people whose heart could not have mastered melody, and yet, and yet, that song ! Who was she to judge the depths of another's suffering or of her incapacity to feel? The last chord vibrated across the canal, and the song- boat started on its way, its many lanterns lighting up the waters. Then it disappeared. Dorris re-entered her room and began a search for her long neglected guitar, which finally she found in the 209 The Strength to Yield dining-room, and crept from thence through the dark adjoining rooms to the staircase which she descended with a halting step. When at last she opened the garden-gate where the fountain was playing to her mood, she stopped short under the influence of music and the night; then walked slowly across the garden to a wicker seat amidst the foli- age near the wall. The guitar she found badly out of tune, and it was many minutes before its chords were rhythmic. She opened the gate in the wall, and looked up and down the deserted canal. Then, confident of being undisturbed, she regained her seat among the jessamine. Her fingers wandered over the strings, and the strains of "Ave Maria" grew upon her as if played by other hands than her own. A window in the Vega Palace opened that some one might listen, but she was lifted above all things from without, even the consideration that her untrained voice to Venetian ears might be thin and vibrant. At the high C it did break, and irritated, she thrust the instrument upon the ground. Her vain endeavour to master a melody she loved transformed her mood into one which demanded the lively Italian "Ciribiribin." But its laughing music seemed to draw sobs from her throat. It was not until she picked out Massenet's "Elcgie" that harmony finally met her mood, and its hopeless heart-break came to one in a gondola, in the words : "0 doux printemps d'autrefois Vers tes saisons Vons avez fuit pour toujours! Je ne vois plus le ciel bleu, Je n'entends plus, les chants joyeux Des oiseaux. 210 The Strength to Yield En emportant mon bonheur, O, bien aimee, tu t'en es allee, Et c' est en vain, que revient le printemps ! Oui, sans retour avec toi, le gai soleil Les jours riants sont partis ! Tout est fletri, Pour toujours!" The words had scarcely left her lips when she heard steps at the open gate in the wall, and Cenari was bowing low before her. "Signore! Signore! Had I wanted to see you, or any one, to-night, I should have gone with Cordelia to the Colbrizzi." "Instead of which you called me from there, with your singing served a la Pyramis and Thisbe through the wall. Mrs. Gunter knew your voice, even before I told her, you see. You have forgotten the nearness of the Colbrizzi garden. A voice carries far on such a night. It is the spontaneity that I love." She got up and bowed. "You? Indeed, indeed!" "Do you doubt it? It was that which brought me here. I made a pretext to leave e cosi, e finita la musica." "Yes," mocked Dorris, "e finita la musica. I told you so this afternoon." "But remember ( La Donna e Mobile/ " he laughed, "which you only began. I see you are modest in singing about yourself." "Suppose, signore," suggested Dorris, "that we select some one language to converse in. Personally, this method of mixing phrases from ever so many tongues is tiresome to me." 'What is that you say?" 211 The Strength to Yield She repeated what she had said with emphatic vari- ations. "Exactly, signora. You are in my mood. Mirabile dictu, I agree." "But no dead languages may be admitted either. As we are in Venice, let us dwindle into Italian." "I should say," remarked Cenari, cynically, "that any dwindling would be into English." "I thought you were too much of a gentleman to in- sult my native tongue." Dorris stared at the fountain. "As that is American, I am doing no harm. But where does the discussion of race or tongue lead? You and I possess the same sentiments. Any language will convey our thoughts even the wireless one which tele- graphed your message to me to-night." "How nice it must be," said Dorris, "how very, very sat- isfactory, to be conceited enough to be sure it was sent." "Well, at least you sent a prayer to Santa Maria. I was saying, 'Where does the discussion of race or tongue lead?' 5 "Where does anything lead?" Dorris asked quizzically, at last. "Where do my worry and unrest lead? What difference will it make fifty years hence? Who will care?" "Care for what?" "Whether I loved or hated you; whether I yielded or renounced; whether I tasted the bitter-sweet of love and felt the awakening, or put you out of my life," was Dor- ris's reply. "No one will care, Mrs. Van Lennep," replied Paolo, "no one except Eros. He will feel it intensely fifty years hence." 212 The Strength to Yield "Do you think so?" she asked. "No, Eros has been spurned too often. If I spurn him now, he will merely grin and pass on to his next victim. That is his way." "You are a singular girl," he remarked, "I cannot quite make you out." "Well, that is the first essential in the ethics of flirta- tion: Convey the thought to the desired victim, that he, she or it is an enigma. The flattery of it sometimes works wonders. Don't talk like that to me !" "Pray don't give me philosophy, not on a summer night in Venice. Wait for a rainy day, in London or New. York!" "Hm-m," laughed Dorris, "as if you and I would ever meet in London or New York. How absurd!" "Did you really take my remark seriously? Why you said good-bye forever to me this afternoon!" "For how long do you propose keeping up this cheerful banter? For my part, it is beginning to get dull. Signore" Cenari drew a whistle from his pocket and blew it three times. "Are you mad?" asked Dorris. "To be sure to be sure! You see I merely whistled for my gondolier. He may be out of calling distance. I couldn't shout, particularly when you were beginning to get bored," he said, and walked to the steps at the gate. "I suppose you in turn have taken me seriously, and are going?" asked Dorris, a little annoyed. "You have guessed. I'm sure the guitar would amuse you far more than I. My studio is in a shocking condi- tion, and my work has been neglected ever since I saw your aureoled face." 213 The Strength to Yield The disappointed Dorris was playing with a branch among the bushes. "Is it as bad as that?" she asked. "Am I such a fiend?" The gondola was at the steps. "You are really going?" she asked, giving him her most bewitching smile. He stooped and kissed her hand respectfully. "Good-night, Marchesa" he said. She tried to speak, to call him back, to give him some word of encouragement, but her lips were mute. The gondola was on its way, leaving little ripples in its course. Dorris, stupefied, stood on the steps and watched it dis- appear. An unaccountable impulse seized her. She ran back to her seat in the bushes and found herself singing Shelley's "Indian Serenade," very softly and quite low. She put a bit of coquetry in her singing, and raised her voice a trifle at the lines, "I arise from dreams of thee And a spirit in my feet Hath led me, who knows how, To thy chamber-window, Sweet !" She was singing to Paolo, and she knew he had heard. On her way back to the sleeping palace, she remem- bered Cordelia. Why was she not at home? It must be late, owing to the darkness of the rooms. She thought she might at least light up the ballroom for her, and with that intention she stole into her own room, where she groped for matches and a candle. Passing through Cor- delia's again, she stumbled upon a shoe, and holding the candle high, found her dear friend soundly sleeping. She 214 The Strength to Yield made her exit noiselessly, wondering how Cordelia had entered without her knowledge. When she had regained her room, she drew a big chair before a window and stared down the canal into the beau- tiful stillness that reigned supreme. "I sang him the '.Indian Serenade.' Will he come? Will he come in his gondola to my 'chamber-window'? Oh, God! will he come?" And so she sat, thinking the thoughts of youth. ******* It was with the "Indian Serenade" ringing in his ears that Cenari ordered his gondolier to turn into a small canal. "Now as fast as ever you can, Tita," he said, "to the Caffe de la Bella Venezia." Then as the music grew fainter and more faint, he leaned back and smiled. The gondolier briskly turning the boat first into this canal, then into that, finally came to the Murano Lagoon, and from thence rowed into an almost unfrequented rio. Already Cenari was in sight of the old palace in which was the cafe famous for rendezvous. Another gondola was drawn up at the steps, and at sight of Cenari, a cloaked figure leaped with the grace of a young lioness from her seat into the court. "You said midnight," she remarked, as he greeted her with a nod, and they paused together a moment at the en- trance of the palace before ascending the stairs to the cafe. "How long have you been waiting?" he asked in French. "I came before midnight, but it wasn't because I didn't know I'd have time to spare, you being so virtuous I mean punctual in the matter of minutes." 215 The Strength to Yield They were going up the stairs by this time. "Well, Ventriss," he said, "it's good to have 'one vir- tue linked with a thousand crimes.' And you were sure I wouldn't be late?" "The compliment of having you come before would have overwhelmed me," said the woman smiling, as they entered the cafe and took seats near a window. "How have you been? I haven't seen you for some time," he remarked as they looked each other over super- ciliously. "I suppose you didn't get me here to say that?" "But you are looking well." "As barbaric as ever, signore?" "Tell me all about everything," he added, pausing a moment to give the waiter an order. Then when they were again alone: "You find it very amusing to go up and down the canal, do you not? Spend lots of lire on handsome gondoliers, dodging in and out of this place and that. Strange that one doesn't tire of that sort of thing. I have been young myself." "You are still young enough to be facetious, signore I might almost say impertinent." "Don't halt at the 'almost,' Ventriss. I am not sen- sitive. But when handsome women follow me in cov- ered gondolas at night, and even take seats near me at dinners, it makes me nervous. Come, now, Ventriss before we drink on it, what's the game?" "Cenari, nervous?" She laughed uproariously. "Why, if I could keep up with your conquests, it would make me dizzy." "Well, don't by any means get dizzy. It would annoy me very much, and might prevent my being shadowed, 216 The Strength to Yield which is exciting. Come, now, Ventriss, I am not tossing dice. Who put you on?" "Bah, Cenari, don't be a fool. The lady is too thin." "For your taste, maybe. But to what lady do you refer just now?" "I don't wonder you are curious. The little American, so pale, so charming, but no temperament, and too hope- lessly au naturel." "One would think you wanted her served up a la carte, but I am completely in the dark, Ventriss. Can't you be more explicit?" "Why should I?" laughed the woman as the waiter drew near once more. Then disregarding the intrusion of the third party, went on, obviously to Cenari's annoy- ance, "To think the well-proportioned, bright-eyed Vene- tian should have her for a rival. Oh, she is too English." "I am afraid, Ventriss," sipping champagne, which she swallowed in a gulp, "that you are not artistic. But why espouse the cause of Venetian ladies? Your Levan- tine ideals may incline you to less perfect loveliness, and as for the English, the too English, even Ventriss shouldn't smite the hand that pays the lire. Have you seen her ladyship lately?" "I wasn't referring to Lady Blanchard." "I know it, but I am. Come, Ventriss, how much did she give you for shadowing me ? You see she would have a delicacy about stating the sum to me." "I haven't noticed anything like that about her; I should think she'd be rather careful of it. Delicacy is scarce." "When are you going to Paris, Ventriss?" he asked. "Do you remember that night at Abbaye? For a long 217 The Strength to Yield time the laughing eyes and loving arms of the women of Levantine and French extraction delighted me." "Yes, I believe you." "You dined alone that night, just as you dined at the Grand Hotel, by the way." "I thought you were coming to that." "And I thought," said Cenari, lowering his voice, as he heard the voices of new-comers on the stairs, "that we might possibly talk alone. Why, it's George Peabody, of Boston. And I've seen the lady, too. Can't place her. But they are Americans, Ventriss." "Evidently. I wonder why their men can't seem ever to have any fun without getting drunk." Somewhat to Cenari's surprise, Mr. Peabody had recognized him and was on his way to greet him. The Italian rose. "On my life Cenari, the painter!" he almost shouted. "Mrs. Lane, let me introduce him to you. Mrs. Lane, this is Cenari, the man who painted Lady Somebody-or- other in London. I forget these confounded titles, but it had something to do with an exhibition." Ventriss stared as Mrs. Lane sat down beside her, and Cenari looked at Mr. Peabody. "Have you been in Venice long?" he inquired. "Got here yesterday. Do you stay here all the year round?" "I manage to get out now and then," said the Italian, smiling. "My place of abode is Rome. I judge from your tone you're not to remain." "Why, there's nothing here but American girls and pigeons, but ah, there's the waiter! What'll you have, Mrs. Lane?" 218 The Strength to Yield The order was given, and Mrs. Lane looked startled. Mr. Peabody leaned over confidentially to her, and Cen- ari and Ventriss exchanged glances. "There's one thing," said Mr. Peabody, lifting his glass, "they say Mrs. Teddy Gunter's in Venice, living alone in some old house." "And here's the boy with our supper," laughed Cenari. "Now, we'll all be happy." He rose as if to readjust his chair, and tactfully made a place for Mr. Peabody near Ventriss, smiling at his duplicity; for Ventriss was not in the mood to be bored. He found Mrs. Lane adaptable. She liked Venice "very much." But Peabody would insist in breaking in upon their talk. "I have heard," he said, "a lot about that Bedford girl that caught Harry Van Lennep. Strange how news travels. Boston hears everything." "Enterprising place, like all American communities. But what has Boston to say? Venice finds Mrs. Van Lennep delightful." "Does, eh? Well, she'd better go home to her hus- band. They say there's queer work here, and Van Len- nep's talking a good deal to lawyers. Shouldn't be sur- prised if there's a divorce in the wind. Teddy Gunter's wife came over to patch it up." "So serious as that," said Cenari's suave voice. "Well, well, the ladies are taking it very coolly, even thinking of returning home, I hear." Both Ventriss and Cenari were relieved to be alone in her gondola at last. 219 The Strength to Yield "Americans!" the woman grumbled. "I told you they were impossible." Cenari laughed softly. "To make up for a misspent evening, tell me now what I want so much to know about Lady Blanchard." As he spoke he glanced involuntarily toward the Spe- chio-Torni palace in the distance, and ordered the gon- dolier to change his course. "The gate in the wall is open," said Ventriss, following his glance. "An invitation. Won't you flit over and hear about Lady Blanchard's jealousy to-morrow?" "So she's jealous, is she? I am flattered! But if she knew this, she would shift her objective point. Come, Ventriss, before I know particulars" He leaned over and kissed her. 220 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER XXIV. Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away ! How a sound shall quicken content to bliss, Or a breath suspend the blood's best play, And life be a proof of this ! By the Fireside. Dorris waited through the midnight hours, but Paolo did not come. She had pictured him beneath her window she had heard him say "Buona notta!" for the twen- tieth time, but her thoughts had been as elusive as her dream of the Indian desert. Yet still she waited, till she grew cold and numb in the late dampness. Her eyes scanned the palaces up and down the canal, as she fancied the city born anew. All the tales she had known of Ven- ice and its love-stories, from her early childhood, flooded her mind. She saw all the heroines of her boarding-school days. Yet now no gondola disappeared into a small canal, on an errand of intrigue or diplomacy; no music came to her ears in the early morning. The decaying marble houses, dim, and for the most part unoccupied, were the only proof that here there had been a city of mirth and song. After all, she felt it was her extreme youth that had urged her to expect Paolo, a twentieth century portrait painter, to come to her palazzo for the purpose of sere- nading her. Those days were dead, she knew, yet her thoughts took their channels in streams of laughing maid- ens, courtly gallants and singing gondoliers. 221 The Strength to Yield She told herself to wake up to reality, and above all to modernity, that she was quite impossible and childish for deliberately losing her night's rest, for thinking of a man! Once between her sheets, she tried to divert her thoughts by studying the shadows in the corners, but accusing sinister voices seemed calling to her from every- where. They were the voices of centuries departed women of this city, laughing and scoffing at her for her weakness. One seemed to be pointing to the white hairs of Dorris's old age, and to her grinning, wrinkled face; another was speaking of the goodly feast of youth. They were telling her of her cowardice, and their strength! They were calling her a Puritan woman, who would be as miserable in the yielding as in the renunciation. One called out that twenty summers had not enfolded them- selves about her yet! That life at best was a little day! She knew they despised her, one and all. "Voices of temptation," she moaned, as she buried her head in her silk pillow, "cease tormenting me!" A faint sleep stole upon her at last, from which she awoke as the first rosy tints of dawn chased away the black of night. A hope that it was a morning of her seventeenth summer that was breaking, took possession of her, before she realized she must live another day of hope- less conflict with heart and mind. As her eyes found the smiling ones of her father, while she was lighting the candles, she felt keenly the potency of the new love, that had for a short time almost erased the memory of that dear, dead friend. She kissed the handsome face in the frame, and passed into Cordelia's room, where she crept into bed beside her. The coolness of the contact woke the sleeping woman, who thrust one 222 The Strength to Yield arm about the girl, making a pillow of her other one for the golden head. The restlessness of her past night, the yearning for sympathy moved Dorris to tenderness, when she held Cordelia's face in her hands. "Poor, sweet Cordelia," she murmured, "I have neglected you much of late; I have not been considerate of you no, and I have thought little of Daddy. But I am going to change. Oh, Cordelia ! a new and un- dreamed-of sorrow has come to me. It is calamity! Mr. Barker was right. How sweet and loving he was; how kind and tender ! I can almost forgive him for being the means of Daddy's sorrow. Oh, why did I ever come to Venice? Why didn't I go back with Harry? Oh, Cor- delia, I am so unhappy!" Had Mrs. Gunter been less familiar with Dorris's tem- perament, she might have pursued a conversation on the subject even have chided her; but her tact tended toward the comforting of the child she had practically brought up. She merely whispered words of encouragement and tightened her arm about her. "We all have trials, dear. Let me help you. It is all right, sweet. All will be for the best. Get some sleep if you can." "Cordelia," breathed Dorris, "the bromides. I must sleep. I must. I have only rested for an hour or so, no more, and I struggled against my sleeplessness. Won't you give me a dose, dear?" "No, Dorris. The times when one is most tempted, when one is miserable and unhappy, are those when it is best to deny oneself. If you stem your longing for an unnatural sleep when it is the most difficult, it will be eas- ier, far easier in the ordinary course of events. No, 223 The Strength to Yield you must obey me. I will not give you the bromide now. It is dangerous to encourage that habit. You may not have it till the nerves trouble you. It is only for that I let you get this sleep medicine at all. You are not ner- vous now? Tell me the truth." "No, Cordelia," she said, turning over; "no, I will not lie to you. It is not nerves; but oh, my poor head how it throbs; and my heart, how it aches! Oh, Cor- delia, please relieve me ! Not a full dose. Please !" It would have pleased Cordelia to see the troubled child sleep, and momentary weakness and feminine sym- pathy made her refusal difficult. To see her beautiful Dorris suffer caused a deep emotion in her own heart. She knew she could alleviate the pain and heart-ache, but saw the temptation in its true light. She began singing an old lullaby to her, that her own infancy had known. She labored over Dorris to conquer her insomnia as she might have over a lost lamb or her own baby. Something of the divinity of motherhood the girl felt in Cordelia's coo- ing; and for the first time in her life she marvelled at maternity. She could see her dead mother clasping her close in her arms, as she was being soothed by this lovely lullaby. At length her nerves became rested, the pains in the head were being driven far away, and she sank into a deep slumber, dreaming of a golden babe. Deftly, Cordelia loosened her grasp, rose and drew the window curtains together. She passed out of the room softly, and into Dorris's room, where she sank upon the bed. Tears that she hated, that had never been her weak- ness, filled her eyes. Her throat felt dry and heavy. She fought against the demon in vain, and cried as pas- sionately as Dorris had done that night after the dinner 224 The Strength to Yield at Casa Malvoni. What she was most striving for was that Dorris would be awakened without her aid, to the cynicism and insincerity of what she now saw through rose- coloured windows. Cordelia had learned that lesson, the lesson that breaks the hearts of most people, and when learned drives all their youth away. Many people go through life almost without mastering it. They are the people who are gifted with so much health and good spirits, that the mere joy of living makes it great to exist. If they do, it shatters their idols and steals Hope itself from their hearts. It has been truly said by a great man, that "he who loves raves, 'tis youth's frenzy," and it is only in very early youth that we love for love's sake; before the gross hypocrisy and superficiality of men and women are made manifest, and have sharpened a dagger against the pos- sible malice with which we may have to fight. Those persons, who, in the unawakened period, offer great friend- ship, are so certain of receiving it, that the possibility of being cheated never enters their thoughts. When the knowledge does come they deem it a mistake, and when the truth at last asserts itself, life has lost most of its joy for them. Cordelia had been of this class. The infidelity of her husband had cast a cloud over her first youth, and pois- oned her against humanity. Then the dusty road of com- mon sense, which is the salvation of many women, helped her to bear this and the loss of Dorris Goodwood, for her greatest grief had passed by that time. From that day forth, she expected nothing from anybody, and if she did receive anything, was merely pleased. Her yard-measure of suspicion was so well proportioned that it did not even 225 The Strength to Yield pass Dorris by after years of comradeship and under- standing. Yet she was disappointed, bitterly disap- pointed, as she lay between the girl's sheets, and for the first time in twenty years! She had always had a pre- science that Dorry was more to her than a good friend, but she had not encouraged it, dreading the day of dis- appointment that might come. Yet now she knew that Dorris was the only real factor in her life, for she was childless. Something of her old alarms and dread of the truth filled her, and she felt she had not quite hardened herself against the genus homo. She realized it had not been a deep interest she felt for Dorris, but a great human love, that sacrifices and suffers for its object. Perhaps the knowledge that she had failed in her reso- lutions and loved Dorris too well, had been the cause of her tears. Who knows? And who can fathom the why of a woman's tears? The strongest among them suc- cumb to them. Cordelia was a splendid one one who had tasted of all that life offers, except motherhood. The friendship of such women is worth striving for. She sat up in bed and watched Aurora gild the City the City that had borne so much ! Something of its his- tory of splendour filled her whole being, as she gazed at the reflection of her own faded beauty in the mirror. Ven- ice had its secrets, but she had hers also. The great force had not passed her by. As she studied her face, she fan- cied she saw upon it the expression she wore the night she had danced in Vienna with a celebrated prince. How long, long ago it seemed ! She remembered his words of flattery, saw again his glance of admiration. Then flashed up her school days and Dorry Goodwood. She was walking again with her through Florentine gar- 226 The Strength to Yield dens, their arms entwined, their hair in long, graceful braids. They were talking once more their cherished talks, speculating about life. Then the tragedy came up before her, her own love affair strangely entangled in it; the grief brought about by both. Theodore was talking to her once more in the garden at Boston; yes, he was even asking her to be his wife. The long desired proposal had come, and a little startled cry escaped her, as she felt his kiss ! Then Roland Barker seemed to be smiling across the mirror. All the friends of her vanished youth were encircling around her, and always the 'nearest were those composing the curious tri- angle, Dorry, Fitzgerald, and the fascinating Mr. Barker. The days of her girlhood had not thrust themselves before her since she had told Dorris of the melancholy taint in her blood. She was not a woman of dreams. It might have been a semblance of her old self she had seen in her reflection that turned them to light. The weakness was passed, but Cordelia was certain she would give up her very soul to be twenty again. " 'Si jeunesse savait, si viellesse pouvait,' " she mused stepping out on one of the balconies, and that was con- futed by " 'On ne peut-etre jeune, qu'une fois.' ' The puffing of a steamboat told her the world was be- ginning to awake, and she returned cautiously to her own room, chiding herself for having forgotten her kimono and slippers. She turned to face Maria. "We will not breakfast till ten, to-day, Maria," she said, "be sure the rolls are nice and hot, and do not neg- lect the mail as you did yesterday." It was Dorris who woke Cordelia up, two or three hours after, for she had nestled into bed beside her. Her 227 The Strength to Yield white face showed nothing of the strain of the past night, as she greeted Cordelia smilingly. Her eyes were bright, and her lips their highest crimson. "Lazy Cordelia," she said, "get up." "No, Dorris," she answered, "come and rest till Maria brings up the tray. I sent her to the Piazza for mail. Qu'il sa! there may be some interesting letters." "You mean for you. You see I haven't a sufficient num- ber of interesting friends to be excited about my corre- spondence, and you have!" They chatted on gaily till Maria came with their cof- fee and rolls. Dorris received only one letter to the other's five. "Cordelia," she remarked, "this is from Harry. It looks thicker than usual. It has for all the world the appearance of a billet doux." "And why shouldn't it be, Dorris? One's husband is privileged to write love-letters. Perhaps it is. I really think you are educating Harry." Cordelia scrutinized Dorris's face as the girl read, n ^ . BOSTON, FRIDAY. Dear Dorris: I suppose I should have cabled, but you have written so seldom, and apparently had no interest whatever in my affairs, that I thought it might be better to wait and write, for it is going to be disappointment. You see I have given you two weeks extra time for dreaming, by not cabling. Now it must cease. My father died last week, and is now buried. The dates and particulars will not interest you in the least, so I will not bore you with them. It was sudden and unexpected, for father was apparently in splendid condi- 228 The Strength to Yield tion for him and getting along famously, a stroke, and his death has left mother in a terrible condition. The doctors fear nervous prostration. The various business interests and deals father was engaged in, and the fact that his will has left me executor, render my crossing to join you as we had planned, an impossibility. I do not ask you to return I command you! You have had your fun, and I'm not the least bit sorry about it, but I want you with me for many reasons. In the first place I am rather a laughing-stock. You know the manner people have of winking, when a chap's got a stunning wife gallivanting around Europe, while he's in a dull city attending to his father's affairs, etc. I hate to hear you spoken of in such a way, for I know you are no more of a flirt than Edna Waters. Still I want you here. It is not selfishness for I have gone without you for some time. I rather miss your smile and your kissing lips. We'll try to be very happy together when we meet again. We must both forgive lots, but you must come! Every day for over a month, mother has said to me, "I told you so. You ran off and married her, now you must suffer. I ask you, 'How do you know who she's running around with? If she'd elope with a man, she'd do any- thing !' " I have tried to explain to her the sheer absurdity of this, but she seems to think every girl who's as damned good-looking as you, is out for a good time. She at least can't say you married me for money, when I tell her you hate to be kissed (a hatred, by the way, you are going to get over) ! I hope Mrs. Gunter has succeeded in piling some sense in your noodle. Dorris frowned, 229 The Strength to Yield Don't be quite so poetic, and you'll find yourself a lot better off. It's all superficial rot, anyway this dream- ing about antiquities, poets, etc. It's not real! Please forget about it, and above all things, do not start to scrib- ble yourself! That would be the last straw. It's a fortunate thing for you that you hate the news- papers. You would have read of father's death. One's fund of information is never correct, or, I would say good, without their aid. Cable me when you're coming, and no nonsense about it! I won't have the boys jolly me any more it's ridicu- lous! We'll go over again next summer maybe, and in the meantime you can visit in New York and Washing- ton, or go to California if you like. I am willing and ready to do all for you in my power, but you must live with me, not away from me. We have been married such a short time that you really can't tell whether you're happy or not. Come back, honey, and you'll find we'll be great friends. I also want you to know mother better, dear. iYou ought to know each other well. Remember, cable right away. I shall wait patiently for word from you, and will run to New York to meet you. Then we will stop at the house there and get it renovated for our winter visits, though, of course you cannot go out, owing to the fact that we are in mourning. It might be advisable to get some black clothes in Paris, on your way through. Get the first boat you can, and good luck to you ! I'll meet you with one of the cars at the dock. Give my best regards to Mrs. Gunter! Your loving husband, HARRY. 230 The Strength to Yield Not sure of the date. Too lazy to find out ! H. Dorris handed the letter to Cordelia. "No, Dorris," she said, "that is not loyal. It is un- kind. If there is anything that displeases you, tell me. You didn't mean that, Dorris, did you? You wouldn't pass your husband's letter for me to read?" "Cordelia," she remarked, sharply, "I didn't expect you were ever going to give me Sunday-school sermons. You once refused to read his letter but read this ! Why do you try to make me feel small? I know what I am about." "What is it, Dorris?" she asked. "Well," she answered, "it's a good thing I've had my breakfast already. I certainly couldn't have eaten a thing after that!" "What is it?" "Harry's father is dead!" "When do we have to start back, Dorris?" For answer she laughed. "What do you mean?" asked Cordelia. "Why, Cordelia," she said, "do you suppose I am going back? back to go through a year of mourning and bore- dom? back to Harry? back to everything I hate? No, Cordelia, I'd sooner die! I'd sooner take prussic acid like my mother I tell you, I would, I would ! He says I can stay in New York or Washington, or even go to California ! He's mad, mad! He says we must renovate the New York residence, though of course we can't go out! that I must get my mourning clothes in Paris, on my way backl He hopes you have piled some sense in 231 The Strength to Yield my noodle yes, noodle, that was the word of his selec- tion! He spoke sarcastically about my not wanting to know about his father. Why couldn't he have cabled me, as any other man would have done? Above all, why did I marry him?" 232 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER XXV. Spirit of Beauty! tarry yet awhile, They are not dead, thine ancient votaries, Some few there are to whom thy radiant smile Is better than a thousand victories, Though all the nobly slain of Waterloo Rise up in wrath against them ! Tarry still, there are a few ! The Garden of Eros. Felno rowed with alacrity to Signor Bond's office. Dorris left the gondola and entered. Signor Bonti was out, but was expected any minute, and if the signora would wait, Zorzi was certain it would not be for long. It was a hot morning, so she asked for a chair and seated herself beside the steps on the dingy canal, to await the agent. Old clothes were hanging on a line, suspended from the tumbling down house opposite to the rooms above. "What a strange thing," she mused, "this is dirt, but it is the most picturesque dirt I have ever seen, and even that tumbled down place over there, with the water drench- ing the court, the roof leaning over at an absurd angle, is marble 1 Even in this deserted canal, Venice was beau- tiful long ago. Poor houses! they are all levelling to the waters. They are tottering. Some day they will fall, and some day the entire city will have fallen, with Adria's waters and the clumsy piles the only proof of this once dazzling city. Yet in dying, it wears a smile. "Still, I suppose this is the history of nations, as well as races. Strange that when a country or city is at its zenith of glory, flourishing in the fine arts, and in every cult of beauty, when it has attained the highest culture 233 The Strength to Yield and produced great monuments to commerce, that it is beginning to decline. Take Egypt, Tyre, Greece and Rome the same with them all. It is true that 'there is no hope for nations,' and is there for people? When a man has acquired great knowledge, and the art of living, he is too old to put either to use. When a woman, in the prime of her beauty, begins to learn the truths and lessons of life, when she knows the rules of the game, how to finesse, how to play a hand well, weak in suit, the honours are taken away. Instead of the ace or queen, the ten spot offers itself only occasionally; then a nine may turn up often, and so on down the numbers till at length she holds but one trump, and though credited with great ability and brains, it is nevertheless generally admit- ted that a still greater power is gone the soft curves, light step, gay heart and irresponsible spirit have van- ished, leaving only the smile that plays about the eyes. I have not thought very much about the cruelty of life. It has always seemed so beautiful to me. Dear Cordelia, if my youth went hand in hand with her sense ! It must be the law of compensation, as Paolo told me. We always pay a price for what we get. I hope every one does "How caressing the water over there is as it splashes around the sunken steps. It has wooed them till the green sea-weed is like a mantle thrown over them. What a weird yet attractive colour it is, seen through the water, and what dirty water, but a nice dirty!" Signor Bonti turned into the canal, rowing his sandolo. He spoke courteously to Dorris. "Signor Bonti," she said, "I have troubled you very much about the other story of our palace, and as there are no tenants still, may I have the key again ? I fancied 234 The Strength to Yield I should like to roam through the rooms to-day, as I know of no other way of passing my time." The little man hastened to do her a civility. "And, Signer Bonti," she continued, "Oh, Signer Bonti, I forgot to ask you before. What is that strange deco- rated thing on the second floor? It is set in intaglio. Is there something secret about it?" "Yes, signora," he replied, "that was the poison closet of the Torn! family. There are still the same bottles, the same daggers they used to employ. If the signora would like I will send for Signor Bencio. He and I, alone know the workings of the mysterious chest. Even Conte Fania, who owns the whole palace does not know of its existence. If the signora will permit, I will send for him. I would consider it a favour if I could show you this clever bit of work." "Oh, I should love to examine it," said Dorris, her eyes brightening; "to think I never knew of it before, though I think my father had some speculations about it. Some- how I never took an interest in it. I fancied it was a vault of some sort, but neglected asking you about it." "If the signora will permit, I will get Bencio immedi- ately. He lives near here, and I'm sure to find him in. There are also some beautiful gowns which may interest the signora. One belonged to the wife of a doge; then there are several of the Torni family. They were for state occasions, and as the embroideries and brocades were priceless, they were concealed. They are most beautiful, signora. On some of them are embroidered precious stones. There are a good many accessories for ladies' attire, that the signora would appreciate better than I, such as hair ornaments, and so forth." 235 The Strength to Yield "Why, Signer Bonti," exclaimed Dorris, stupefied with delight, "how wonderfully interesting. What is this secret place a chest? With the poisons separate from the attire?" "Si, signora. That is it exactly. The signora is very clever. The poison closet is composed of five or six shelves, and each one of them is filled with deadly poisons. The Torni closet was supposed to have contained every known poison in the late Renaissance. They are grue- some, signora. The vials and bottles are so old and dusty. They are fantastically moulded. One of the very dead- liest poisons is concealed in the rarest of perfumes and encased in a bottle most exquisitely carved. Artificial flowers whose petals once exhaled deadly vapours, and gloves (such as were once used by Marie de Medici to poison the Queen of Navarre, and carefully preserved under glass) interested us particularly. It was most inter- esting the way we came upon these things. Four or five years ago when Conte Fania put the palazzo up for rent, he came to me. I was, of course, given possession of the keys, and privileged to make a thorough tour of the build- ing so as to enable myself to differentiate between it and the houses on my list. Bencio and I went together one morning. I shall never, never forget that day. He was exploring the upper story, while I remained awe-struck, gazing at the frescoed ball-room. He rushed onto the staircase, and gave a delighted cry. Then he led me to the Intaglio which was raised on hinges, and showed me his proud find. We examined it carefully; it seems he had been meddling with it out of curiosity, and by mere chance had pressed the spring; a thing which would hardly have happened once in a thousand years. We 236 The Strength to Yield experimented with it for some time, and afterward ran- sacked Italy in the effort to secure information as to the Torni secrets. Books we found in plenty, but most of them told little; at last, in the memoirs of Principe Gio- vanni Torni, we found a detailed account. Then we ex- amined the closet again, and found our indices for the most part correct. Bencio has those memoirs now. Con- fident of Conte Fania's ignorance of this mystery, we agreed to keep silence concerning it, and that is how it all came about, signora." Bonti grinned in quest of approbation. "So Conte Fania does not know?" asked Dorris. "How splendid! And how good of you to have told me. I may consider myself highly flattered, may I not? Thank you so much, Signor Bonti. You must keep your promise, and show me the case. To-day I am feminine enough to be more interested in the old laces and brocades you spoke of. Why, Signor Bonti, this is like living in a fairy tale; I have only read of such marvels; I never dreamt of ex- periencing them ! Don't tantalize me by delays, signore ; send for this Signor Bencio. And Americans say that the modern Italian lives upon the money squeezed from our tourists ! Why, you did not even tamper with the jewelled robes! It is incredible but, oh, excuse me! I didn't mean that. Yet there may be a fortune in them." "Ah, signora," he said, a note of pathos in his voice, "the Italian aristocracy is degenerating. Look at Conte Fania ! His estates are impoverished, he is poor. I was very, very wrong to keep my secret from him, but, fond of art as he is, I knew the finds in the closet would tempt him. I did not wish to put temptation inliis way, signora. As you say, there may be a fortune in gems and brocades 237 The Strength to Yield there. He might have sold them. The concealed dag- gers would have brought a great price. Even now he might sell them. Venice is denuded of much save her marble walls and frescoes. It is better to have the treas- ures hidden away amidst the dust of ages than to see them leave Venice worse still, leave Italy ! I could not bear to think of foreign hands going over them. They are sacred, and, as I said, valuable. Forgive me for saying foreign. But I could not bear to think of anything Venetian being defiled by a race of new people, out of spirit with my city that I love. Now, those poisons, though they awaken cruel imaginings of the past, those dresses, belonged to a family great in history, a family of princes, fighters and lovers. They may have been bad, bad, bad, but they were Venetians! No, no, signora, so far as in me lies, the modern spirit shall not ruin the little we have left. Better, far better, the treasures lie undiscovered to the world, oh, far better! The signora loves my city, I know, and so she must see what will give her as much delight as it gave me. Pray forgive me, signora, for having forgotten myself." "Oh, Signor Bonti," she murmured, "you have made me cry. Yours is the ancient loyalty that I love in song. Forgive you ? Why, your patriotic devotion to your coun- try's past makes me proud to know you. Such sentiments to cynics sound like cant, but in your voice rings the true note. It trembled when you said, 'But they were Vene- tians' Ah, signore, there is something the modern world lacks particularly the modern nations, abounding as they do in politics and commerce something of a real cul- ture, which even a cocker might possess here. Perhaps some day, we of the West will acquire it, but it can never 238 The Strength to Yield be the same as that which is innate in you. Such senti- ments as yours might be regarded as effeminate by some. Ah, Signer Bonti, how much I love your city, you can never, never know. Don't despair, Signor Bonti. The sense of beauty is not dead. There are those who can weep because they feel what is exquisite so deeply. Sig- nor Bonti, let me shake your hand." He responded with an air of pleased embarrassment, looking with frank admiration into the brimming blue of her eyes. "Thank you, signora. Do you prefer to wait here until I summon Bencio, or will you come back a little later? I am entirely at your service in the matter, signora." "I will take the opportunity to visit the Palazzo Papa- dopoli where I have not been since I was in Venice last." On her way thither a few moments later, Dorris was idly considering her power over Bonti, which had evi- dently led to his revealing the wonders of a private his- tory so interesting and at the same time so sacred to him. Pretty women are accredited with having the world at their feet and the experience of the past few weeks was causing her to debate with herself how far she may have undervalued her power. For there really could be no doubt that Cenari, being a man, felt the influence which Bonti took no pains to conceal; and his indifference was a cloak to what? Dorris felt her heart suddenly beat- ing fast as she hurried to fill in the time before she should again see Bonti. To her doubt and discomfiture, it was of Cenari she was still thinking when, within the hour, she mounted with Bonti and Bencio to the second floor of the Palazzo Spechio-Torni. Bonti carried matches in his pocket, and 239 The Strength to Yield an old candelabrum in his hands; and as they drew near the strange intaglio, he provided a light. Then before Dorris realized what was taking place, the cover of the intaglio rose on rusty hinges, and a dark, dusty curtain stood revealed. She shuddered as her fin- gers went out to touch it, and drew back, while Bonti pulled it to one side. Many shelves extended back indefin- itely to the obscure wall, and from her position, Dorris could not ascertain their depth. But their contents were a conglomeration of cut-glass vials, grotesque figures which might contain deadly fluids or the rarest incense or be their own excuse by virtue of the intricacy of their de- sign ; girdles, daggers, sword-blades, and last but not least, artificial flowers 1 The bottom shelf was empty and Bonti tried vainly to remove it; at last it gave way with a crash and showed a chest below. Dorris leaned over eagerly and peered in, to see a vision of rose brocade. "Gowns!" she exclaimed, falling back in surprise. Cinque-cento gowns! Oh, Signer Bonti, do let me see them." The old man smiled, and she waited there while he laid gown upon gown on the marble in front of her, with richly ornamented fans, medallions, and the rarest of laces. Dorris fairly crowed in glee, taking up in turn each thing he handed out, marvelling at its beauty, won- dering at its age and history, until something which rivalled it was added to the growing pile under her elbow. For she was kneeling before these glories of some dead- and-gone princess, as at a shrine. "Do look at this purple velvet mantle bordered with gold and pearls and lined with lavender brocade." Suiting 240 The Strength to Yield the action to the word, she sprang to her feet and threw it over her shoulder, adjusting the folds on the left side. Bonti and Bencio gave a simultaneous whistle, and one of them threw open with a quick motion the door of a room near at hand. "Stand before that mirror, signora," she heard Bonti saying, "and see history repeat itself!" Already she was gazing into the dusty glass, wherein the faint suggestion of imperial purple asserted itself. Disdaining the dust, she drew her hand across the smooth surface, and then posed and pirouetted, while Bonti and Bencio like faithful slaves brought in to her the pile upon the floor in the corridor, and awaited developments with admiring indulgence. The gown which caused her the most speculation and delight was a heavy pale pink silk studded with pink sap- phires and girdled with gems. This she held up against her dress again and again. The lady who had worn it was not so tall as Dorris, but the girl mixed up dreams of Cenari's admiration as an artist with visions of this prin- cess in life. Anyway, this lady had Dorris's own eye for colour and it was her favourite ! She caressed every fold of its silken softness until a mark on the train arrested her attention. "Some gallant stepped on that hundreds and hundreds of years ago," said Bonti. "You don't suppose," asked Dorris slowly, "that these have been hidden away ever since the last Torni died?" And in Bonti's reply and the distraction of her attention by a feathered ornament and another robe of splendour, she lost all thought of the poisons which had originated her interest in the intaglio. 241 The Strength to Yield "Speaking of fortunes," she laughed, "why, Signor Bonti, you haven't the slightest conception of what these beautiful silks and gems are worth. They would make you as rich as Golconda !" He laughed at her exaggeration as he carried the robes back and left them in the chest. The purple mantle and the pink brocade had been left on the chair with the orna- ment for the hair which she had so admired, and were still overlooked as Bonti helped Bencio to readjust the shelf over the chest containing the others. "And, now," cried the girl, "the poisons!" From the second shelf she drew a long gold ornament, once used no doubt as a pendant for a girdle. Bonti looked at it in wonder. "I know what it was for," said Dorris, delightedly. "It hung from a girdle like the one on the pink brocade." "Just so," agreed the Italian, and twisted a band at the top. Then he pulled, and a fine steel dagger leaped up as out of its sheath. "Mrs. Van Lennep," he went on, "on this dagger was a poison so deadly that the mere contact of its steel in the slightest of incisions in the human flesh caused death in a few hours. Think of the mystery surrounding such a taking off. I fancy even to-day the poison lingers on the blade." "What a wonderful piece of workmanship," she said, admiring its construction. "The old Venetians were in- deed skillful in the trade of murder." Other poison daggers were examined but of less inge- nious pattern; and Dorris turned impatiently from them to the cut-glass bottles, showing a little hesitancy at being the first to touch them but so engrossed in the search that the two men exchanged questioning glances. 242 The Strength to Yield Bonti took from her hands a vial corked in such a man- ner that she could not find the opening, and replaced it with a showing of haste. "Has not the signora seen enough of poisons?" He commented with a bow and smile. "That little bottle might give forth fumes to kill. Does the signora court sudden death?" "What was it?" she asked. "Prussic add'' he responded, with a look at Bencio as she turned her head. A shudder was convulsing her, and she would not have these men know, but her nerves were tingling to lay her hand upon that vial and in defiance of Bonti run down the stairs with it. Try as she would, she knew that she was staring at it and that Bonti was watching her in curiosity. Soon her secret would be known, and strangers would come to Cordelia worse still, to Cenari and bid them beware of giving her liberty. Suddenly she wheeled about, and went back into the room where the brocade dress and mantle still lay across the chair. "Signor Bonti, see," she called in a moment, quite for- getting her distress, "you have forgotten these. Come and see." He came in alone. "Forgotten yes," he said. "I did forget them at first. But now I do not forget. That is the duchess's gown I told you of. The mantle belonged to her hus- band. No, signora, they go back into the chest no more." Dorris stared at him. "Who knows," he continued, "but that you have a bet- ter right to them than I, to hold them from Conte Fania ? 243 The Strength to Yield Who knows but you may be a re-incarnation of that duchess?" "Signore! Think of the mantle of a doge, the ball- gown of a Venetian duchess! What sacrilege! But what a compliment! What a compliment to me!" "There is no one but we three who knows of the exist- ence of these things. And the centuries that have passed ! Signora, I am sure a fifteenth century Venetian would have rewarded your admiration by bequeathing to you the gown." "But, Signer Bonti," she protested, "I do not want to seem ungrateful, but" "I understand; you think I have no right to dispose of them. And yet, consider; what right have the living with the things of the dead? or what right has Conte Fania with glories he does not know of, or would scarcely love as you do, if he knew? Suppose we put it another way: Venice herself is the donor. She has been keeping these things hidden for you for you, alone. I am a Venetian, not alone by birth, but in spirit, and I know whereof I speak. That robe and mantle go back into the chest no more." The girl sat down and buried her face on her arm, hid- ing her tears. When she lifted her head, the dust which she had wiped from the mirror was streaked across her. face. "Signor Bonti, you make a baby of me; you touch me so very deeply. You would not dispose of these things your- self, but you would give them to me to a woman who merely has rented the palace through your intercession. Why not give them to some friend who loves beauty as I do, yet would shudder to take them from Venice?" 244 The Strength to Yield Signer Bonti lifted the garments upon his arm, and carried them out of the room and down the staircase, for all the world as he might have carried his own child. As Dorris followed at his heels, she noted in a passing glance the streak of dust on her face, and this with the thought of Bonti's determined air momentarily diverted her. At the door of the ball-room, the Italian paused and divested himself of the treasures he carried. "We cannot leave them here," she laughed. "I sup- pose it means that they are really mine. Signer Bonti, may I keep the key to that room up there? I love to wander where my father spent so many happy hours." For answer he put the bulky iron in her hand. 245 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER XXVI. Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me. Stanzas to Augusta. "Dorry, dear," said Cordelia, in the afternoon of the day when the girl had visited the poison closet, "let's drift off somewhere until evening. Felno hasn't had much to do lately, and he ought to feel in condition to take us cheerfully through every canal, and across and back both lagoons. What do you say to that? We have had no sight-seeing at all this summer. Why not visit some of our old haunts?" "Just as you like, Cordelia. I would do anything to get into the sun. Besides, I am restless; there is nothing happy in me." They changed their gowns for dainty white batiste ones. Dorris wore her flowered hat and carried her favourite pink parasol, and complained bitterly of boredom and the sultriness of the day as they left the Spechio-Torni steps. Everything one had to do seemed to bear some outlandish relation to dressing and moving about, when one would rather rest if rest in solitude were possible. "Anywhere and everywhere," was Cordelia's order to Felno. "We want to drift all afternoon, and you know how to make that as agreeable as we can tell you. So we leave it to you." Dorris laughingly chided her friend for the mistakes she made in Italian. "Sometimes you are quite impos- sible, Cordy, dear," she said. 246 The Strength to Yield They crossed the canal and entered one of shaded cool- ness. The gondolier seemed to be in full sympathy with their mood. The motion of the gondola was in harmony with it. The oar skimmed the water, and they sped on as lightly and irresponsibly as a bird whose wing just grazed the surface. There is nothing quite so soothing, so luxurious as this motion, this drifting of the old-time gondola. The exquisite rhythm, the ease, and the silence influenced Dorris for the time like passages in a symphony; and she was quite irritable when Cordelia broke in upon her reverie by inquiring apropos of nothing just what she proposed to do. Dorris frowned and was silent. The boat drifted on, Felno making first one turn, then another, and at last choosing a long, narrow canal bounded by garden walls with overhanging vines. "What am I going to do?" Dorris asked at last. "Do you see those vines? Well, I am going to stay here to see them turn a golden brown. I shall see the city in the grip of winter, too. But first, I think of the autumn, more glorious than the spring." Cordelia forced a smile, as she said, "Well, of course, I did not ask whether you would see autumn before win- ter. But you will see it in America, will you not?" "I sometimes think it may be destiny, and that so far as I am concerned America is erased from the map." "Oh, Dorris, dear ! I cannot bear to leave you behind. And Harry expects a cable from you any day now. We could catch a steamer at Naples or go to Cherbourg or Havre" "Or Liverpool or Southampton, or" "Dorris, won't you consider your position carefully?" 247 The Strength to Yield "How?" "The relation of your present conduct to your future happiness." "Why not the relation of my present happiness to my future conduct. There is more point to that, you see. Cordelia," her voice sinking and becoming more serious, "I am as happy as I ever can be, considering the change that has come over me. And I do not mean to stir." "Well, if you are trying to make your life a poem, if you are convinced that you are not made for the hum- drum existence that most of us women have to endure, I know how you can succeed. Not a lyric poem, but an epic." "Epic, is it? Dear me, what next? In such a beauti- ful place, too!" "What is your aim in life, Dorris? Have you no am- bition? Is your life to go on like this" "I sincerely hope not, Cordelia; but whatever I am thinking of will amount to nothing. I am too weak." "Are you sure you don't mean 'too strong'?" "No, thank goodness ! I know better. I mean w-e-a-k, weak." Cordelia sighed: "It is too bad." "You seem to know all about it, Cordelia." "Yes, Dorris, I do. Do you suppose I could have watched your transformation from the shapeless cater- pillar to the chrysalis and thence into a gorgeous butterfly with golden wings, without knowing the stages, without knowing almost to a certainty where you are now?" Dorris looked at her eagerly. "Then if you know it all so well, if you understand so thoroughly, tell me this: What would you do if we were to change places this instant?" 248 The Strength to Yield "That is what I have been trying to figure out for ever so long, girlie; and I think I know." "Well, for goodness' sake, go on." "You are a bride of one man, in love with another; at least with an imitation of a man." "That is pretty hard, from you." "Never mind. He knows it himself what I think of him. I have made no secret of it. It amuses him. Now, leaving out the question of difference in age, heredity, nationality, leaving out even the question of social de- cency, of religion as even this man understands it, of hon- our, of law, I say, leaving these things out, and consider in the abstract, a woman married to one man and in love with another, what would you think of her? That she ought to fly in the face of Providence and ruin her life, or as the poet sayeth, 'flee from the wrath to come?' Come, now; answer me." "You are getting merry, Cordy." Dorris stared at a passing boat for a moment. Then she looked at her friend who was studying her. "What is the problem you are asking me to solve?" "The position of a married woman, leaving out details just considering her duty on its merits, as a practical matter, shunting romance?" "Duty again? Horrors! Why, even the circumstances are taken into consideration even they are considered to extenuate the taking of a life, and you ask me to consider a thing which, as you put it, is not my problem at all. To ask me what I would think a woman's duty to be who was in love with another man than her husband, and not remember that one man was Harry Van Lennep and the other Paolo Cenari. Why, it is like trumping your part- 249 The Strength to Yield ner's ace to go to work on a point like that. And you are much too clever to play in that way, seriously, Cordelia." "I am playing no game, honey. I am putting the ques- tion to you as the world puts it to women. And I wish you would answer it here and now." "If you put it in that way, of course; a woman who finds herself legally bound should be faithful to the tie. I never thought of it in any other way. To answer your question as the world would ask it, I would have the hus- band go about with a blunderbuss in his hand and fire in his eye. I would have the woman shown no mercy, as, of course, I could not see any possible excuse for her. And as to the man the dishonourable scamp who would even look at a married woman! I would have him skinned alive and hung up to dry." Cordelia did not smile. "Seriously, Cordy, it's not like you to try to corner me," the girl went on. "Dorris, do you suppose that in every single case of this kind, excuses are not made to the laughter of soci- ety by the woman and by the man? And the husband. He is in this case young, handsome, with a sufficiently good lineage, and the kindest of intentions toward all the world, and especially so toward his wife. He met his fate in a young and beautiful girl whom he had a right to expect would bear his name without reproach. I say the right to expect it, by virtue of her home-training, by the blood in her veins, by the culture which was her birth- right. But the girl had something in heredity" "Yes," interrupted Dorris, "that is my problem." "Yes. Well, you know it now, if you did not before. Your life with your aunt, however unpleasant, did not 250 The Strength to Yield excuse the wrong you did your husband in marrying him no, not even if he understood." "Oh, Cordelia, that is not it. It is that my husband is Harry Van Lennep who does not even know how to love." "Indeed. That is to say, he has not the romantic devo- tion of a man whose ancestors fought duels in the Renais- sance over other men's wives, while they betrayed their own ! No wonder the memory in the blood helps the descendant to play so successfully at love which his ances- tors may have felt." "But Harry is the essence of the glaringly modern. It sickens me with love itself to consider what he can give me; it is so bloodless. It turns red corpuscles white." "Still, the fact remains that many girls would have jumped at the chance he offered to you; that he might have found a wife who would have done her duty, smoothed over the rough parts of life, stood shoulder to shoulder with him. In a word, he might easily have found a wife of whom he might have been proud, who would not have elected to stay behind when he went back to his father's death-bed." "Well, for my part, I sincerely wish he had." "We are facing facts, Dorris, not theories, and if you will let me say it, the threats of heredity." "Then what's the use of trying? Everything that happens was mapped out ages before I was born." "You have a chance to change the map. It lies within your will. But Cenari will not help you, remember that." "I did not scheme to love him. I did not love him at first." 251 The Strength to Yield "You needn't tell me that. I know his wiles with women; he would not make any mistakes. He would harp on the string which vibrated loudest your hatred of the commonplace. Then there were other chords to sound: love of the beauty of life as he knew you would see it with your childish, inexperienced eyes. And all the while he was very much taken up with his own emotions. And the dear, sweet child who thought him so superior to her husband, who analyzed his cleverness at flirtation as almost anything else but the result of long practice, stumbled on and on into a love that became genuine enough for all his intents and purposes." Dorris looked at her inquiringly. "Did you ever stop to consider, Dorris, how many women he has kissed; that every letter he pens, every word he utters, every look he gives, is planned with an eye to hm, artistic detail? I doubt if you were to know, you would care just now ; it is so romantic to be deceived, don't you see?" "You think he has organized a campaign against me," said the girl smiling, with white lips. "I think that is more romantic than for me to think he has not." "Let us not call it dishonour in him, then; let us sup- pose he acts on the spur of impulse, the code of his coun- try, on the suggestions which he persuades himself are but the refinement of culture. In what way does that alter your position in the matter?" "I do not understand," stammered the girl. "Of course not, but you understand that you have laughed at your husband's appeals to return to him; at me for trying to make you see things in their true light. In your nineteen years young, you fancy the wisdom of 252 The Strength to Yield the ages has descended upon you; intelligence is yours therefore, experience need not cast the balance, not at all. What you cannot reason out by the light of your gigantic intellect is so much nonsense. Gossips get a clutch upon you; and no matter how good a woman may be, gossips will throw lassos; if they do not catch their victim, so much the better for her. Now, I am practical are you going to do the wise thing? (I avoid saying 'right'.) Are you going to prove your intellectual development, your good blood? Are you going to stay here and ruin your life, or are you coming with me, back to your hus- band?" The boat turned into the Grand Canal. The expres- sion on Dorris's face puzzled her friend. She was staring straight before her. It must have been at least a minute before she said: "Cordelia, tell me: Am I that despicable woman you have painted? Am I without heart, cold, and without honour? Tell me that." "I have made your eyes to see have tried to." "You have hurt me terribly, you mean." "As the surgeon hurts to effect a cure. You are not merely a pretty woman, Dorris, but a woman whom ar- tists rave over. Such a woman is in danger when she meets the artist. I do not necessarily mean an artist who dabbles with paint on canvas. Understand me. Now, Cenari is essentially an artist in his treatment of women. He has an inexhaustible capacity for falling in love and out again at precisely the psychological moment. If he is sufficiently interested, he lays his snares; and if he catches his little game, he is very tender in his devotion for the length of time his devotion lasts. It really doesn't take 253 The Strength to Yield any of the spice out of life, this sort of thing. But why take such men seriously?" "Cordelia, I think you have a very bad mind to think such awful things of men." "Well, never mind my mind; just think of what I am saying, and whether it is true or false. Inevitably the man neglects and the woman atones. The more clever and elaborate the trap that has been laid, the heartier will be his laughter afterward. Why, Dorris, for mercy's sake, open your eyes. Mr. Barker anticipated this very thing when he knew you and Cenari would most likely meet. He knew the man, you see." "How wise all my friends have been for me," said the girl bitterly. "Even Mr. Barker thought me a silly, it seems." "Mr. Barker tried to prevent a meeting between you and this Italian, not so much because he thought this or thought that, but because he knows life and men. And he would undo the wrong he so unwillingly did your father, through your mother's perfectly blameless love. The idea of your falling seriously in love probably never occurred to him; but he would save you from anything unpleasant so very unpleasant as even the mention of your name with Cenari's might come to be." Dorris's eyes were brimful of tears. "Here we are at the Palazzo Spechio-Torni," went on Cordelia, her voice dropping into old tenderness. "But we are still drifting, and I want my little Dorris to think more seriously than she has ever done, what the outcome of this game must be." "You want me to go back where I can never even see this man again?" pleaded the girl. 254 The Strength to Yield "Dorris, there are only two ways only one, really, but we will consider another. Would you enter into a liaison with this man make a secret pact with him while your husband is reposing absolute trust in you? Are you raving to that extent, Dorry? I don't for one minute credit it?" "Sometimes I think," said the girl with a note of hard- ness in her tones, "that you want so much credit for my turning out well, seeing you brought me up, that you can't see further than your nose! Have you no idea of what this love is that I am fighting hard to overcome? Did you never love any one at all ? I can see how the mat- ter stands, perfectly. But I love, and I am not ashamed of it. I love with all my heart and soul. I love so much that I am willing to sacrifice my very soul, my honour, my life, you, Harry, Heaven, Hell!" "And all for a man who wouldn't sign his name to a letter." Dorris faced her with flashing eyes. "So! You have been mean enough to read my correspondence, eh? I suspected something of that kind. It has been coming to me slowly but surely, that you are a hypocrite, and if there is one vice more than another" "Be quiet, Dorris! What are you saying? 7 tamper with your mail. You must be mad. But I see I have guessed right. He is not quite so clever as I imagined, for I supposed he would avoid writing at all. That is generally the game. The accomplished Latin lover will travel usually around the world to see a woman, but never write her a line. A man like Cenari does not seek the society of young girls; he is not a marrying man. He 255 The Strength to Yield would pass by a pretty girl out of mere selfishness. It would cost him too much to fall in love, but that would not prevent his kissing her on the stairs or compromising her in a way which would not react upon himself. For, once the question of marriage were eliminated, he is no more on his guard than with another man's wife." "How perfectly horrible, Cordelia. You take all the romance out of life." "Well, what right has a woman who does not love her husband to wear her heart upon her sleeve ? A man who looks upon every woman as fair game sees his justification then; it is really too bad to make things so easy for men. Nature herself has beaten us at that; our supplements are food for laughter." "Do you mean that if I had not been married, he would not have noticed me?" asked Dorris. "Oh, he might have had you in his mind more or less as a pretty picture. But do you think he would have made love to you? The utmost he would have done would have been to bide his time." "Do you mean that he would not have asked me to marry him, if I had been free?" "Not as long as there are canals on Mars and in Venice." "Cordelia !" "The cruelty of men is more subtle than most women get to know, thank God! But, Dorris mine, you can't go through life hugging illusions. You can't stumble along in the twilight. Harry Van Lennep may not be a hero of romance, but he has paid you the compliment of an hon- ourable, high-minded man, in making you his wife, in risk- ing the whims and idiosyncrasies with which a woman of 256 The Strength to Yield your temperament may scatter the best intentions in the world." "And this is what love really is, to women like you, to men like Cenari to the world?" cried the girl despairingly. "It is only a beautiful dream to the very young." "Dorris, you will laugh at this summer ten years hence. You will fancy you must have been mad. You have mis- taken desire for love, that is all. Love is different." "How?" "You must live it to know. I cannot tell you. But what I know is that men like Cenari cannot love. Life avenges itself upon them, after all, and the sweetest things are withheld, because of the waste places of license. Now, Dorris, understand me; you are a married woman, and I will treat you as such. Have you considered for one mo- ment whether, for instance, Cenari would elope with you?" The girl looked thoughtful. "Do you think, Dorris, that he is brave enough unsel- fish enough to form one of those lasting attachments which the world forgives ? Not Paolo ! Why, he would run the other way if your passion for him were not so evident that it guarantees his mastery of the situation. A man who has such a generous capacity for affection that he can love a hundred before your time, can love a hun- dred after you have been shifted from the scene." Dorris sighed deeply, but still did not speak. "The very idea of Fitzgerald Bedford's daughter making a spectacle of herself with such a man as Cenari fills me with fervent disgust. You who have given your lips only to your husband, to defile them by contact with 257 The Strength to Yield those of a man capable of valuing them as he values his eternal cigarette? It is really laughable, after all." "Cordelia, you will break my heart." "De Musset has said, " 'Le moitie vous aime Pour passer le temps.' And because a good-looking artist who has won his place, is tired of old faces and wants a flirtation, up you bob like a Jack-in-the-box to furnish the material. Oh, you are not the first woman who has been a goose! Dorris, dear, come back with me to America and end this melo- drama." "Cordelia, how can I? How can I after Italy and all I have experienced here?" "Our country, Dorris, has yet to make its history; but you know the happiest nations, like the happiest persons, are said to have no history. But it is the great republic of the world; it has new blood, it is experimenting with new policies. It was America, Dorris, who gave the in- centive to science by first giving religious liberty to her citizens. We are building up our country. We have not the salon, we have not the culture to initiate it. But let some one like you, young, and beautiful, and rich, do her utmost. After all, you are not a Greek or a Hindu or even an Italian; you are an American. We may as well look at things as they are. The world is changing, ideals are shifting, and even kings are not now what they were. Be yourself; cease trying your husband's patience. Show him that you appreciate his trust. How many men would have borne what he has borne from you?" "Let's think of this some other time, Cordelia." 258 The Strength to Yield "No, now is the accepted time. Renounce this folly, and go back sustained by the knowledge that you gave up something for duty and honour. Duty may be harsh and Anglo-Saxon, but it is the salt of development." "I dare say you would be happy to see me go back, open up the mildewed Virginia house, and organize yearly hunts after poor little rabbits or something like that." "You have the means, the looks, the chance to become a social power. Why deliberately throw it away? Estab- lish a delightful circle in New York, and be its most inter- esting figure. Be the right sort of wife to the husband you have chosen; make him so proud of you that he can deny you nothing. And, Dorris, be a mother; you cannot feel the joy of that until you know it. I love to think of the golden heads of the future which will hide in your lap for evening prayers, whose little lives will be bound up in you. And as they grow up into companions, the eldest boy with your father's name, perhaps, riding in the dear Virginia woods when the sunset is on your hair, Dorris, dear! And you would plan his whole life and be all in all to him. A man of culture, an athlete, your dear son; all his work at Yale or Princeton whether as the best student or as captain of team, or stroke of crew all planned with reference to his magnificent mother. It is the sons of such mothers as you might be who make na- tions such as Venice once was, nations of poetry and ro- mance as well as of material power." "And my daughter, Cordelia," said Dorris naively, "what of her?" The older woman smiled indulgently. "She would be sought by the great ones of the earth, by dukes and princes, for there shall be nothing lowly in 259 The Strength to Yield my proud Dorrls's outlook, and you have this to take or leave in contrast with short-lived happiness whose end shall be desolation and hate. And renunciation would make you tender, Dorris; your unconscious hardness would be melted in the glow of sympathy, for you have known the temptation and could look pityingly upon others' sorrows which you yourself perhaps narrowly missed by going right ! And, remember, it is the giving up that counts." "How colossal your arguments might be if if" "If what, girlie?" "I do not know that I can express it just as I should like. I hear a voice inside me crying, 'Eat, drink; you live but once. Take what life offers. Do not spurn the gift. It is half divine. When you are an old woman, you will see what a waste your prudery has left.' It may be the voice of the devil, but it's loud. 'You are young. The dryads had their liberty. So have you. Love, love, lovel" 260 The Strength to Yield CHAPTER XXVII. Into the Night. "Am I writing to you, Paolo dear, or am I jotting down the wild thoughts that have come to me this night? I cannot say whether you are ever to read it or not. The spell of the awful night is over, its nerves and misery sped; and I think perhaps my youth is to end with the words on this paper perhaps it has vanished already. Oh, where am I? Has it been a terrible dream? My watch I will see what the hour is. Four o'clock in the morning after a night of struggle and hopeless yearning. I write as I feel now. What care I if this letter is so foolish that I can never send it to you? I will then keep it, and read it years later, when my hairs are white and my beauty gone. Has it gone now the charm that lured you to win my love in such an unfair way? Well, you have won it, dearest. I love you, love you, love you What happened to-day? Oh! Paolo, to-day Bonti took me to the poison closet upstairs What am I saying? Oh, yes! There was prussic acid there. Yes, and I saw Bencio open it. To-night what did I do ? Oh, Paolo Cordelia showed me the path. Dear, wonderful Cor- delia ! Did she show me the true light, or was it merely what happened to-night? Yes, that was it what hap- pened to-night that is it Bonti left the key with me this morning. I went up- in the dark how long ago was that? went up alone to open that dreadful closet of the 261 The Strength to Yield Torn!. You know, Paolo, my mother took prussic acid. It must have been her spirit calling me, for it was upon me the madness. I cannot express myself as I would, for the excitement has been too great. Do not mind this rambling, impossible letter, for of course you are never to receive it. After I had sat and fought with my problem, the terror of it all seized me gripped me, and for how long was it I was mad! The only things I saw were devils creeping near me, telling me what an easy release was in that prussic acid. Fancy, Paolo ! the madness, the folly of it ! Then my mother's voice was singing to me, telling me of the sweetness she now enjoyed. Death him- self seemed hovering over me, wooing me with cruel caresses caresses that promised much joy if I would but yield. If I would give myself to Death, he told me he would give me eternal love the love I have unconsciously yearned for all my life. I understand my mother's temp- tation if his voice was so alluring and his kisses so sublime. You see I raved. Fancy, Paolo, being wooed by Death! Death! Death! That was it with my mother! He had her in his wonderful embrace. His embraces are even sweeter than yours forgive me, if I say so but he has left me now. And do you know why, Paolo, dear? After I had removed that dusty, spooky damask from the shelves up there and had touched the bottle I seemed to see a light. What was it? A subconscious something in me I presume that was strong enough to win yes, the light. What did it do? Why, it made me drop that ex- quisite bottle upon the floor that bottle filled with deadly poison. It must have taken years to design it it is a piece of work that is purely Italian, and that ought to please you, though I suppose you would laugh if you ever 262 The Strength to Yield read this! You will not have the chance to laugh though One thing is true and I wish you knew it, Paolo. There is a God ! Not the God of Wrath that dogma tells us of, but a God of Mercy and Love ! Yes, a God of that great human frailty Love ! else what was it that caused that light to shine? It was not the Devil, for he had been luring me to kill myself. Insanity, that was it for a moment it had urged me to be a coward to commit suicide ! But I am whole again now I am sane. The light came and told me my mission. So I am sitting here at my writing table in an old Vene- tian gown that Bonti made me keep it was in the chest upstairs. It is exquisite perhaps you might really love me if you saw me in it and a purple cloak how you would love it, Paolo ! But you will never see it. And so, amor mio, my love story is over, and I have a long life to live, but it shall be a life that will make dear, dead Daddy happy, and I'm going to try with the help of the Light that shone to-night, to make Harry a good wife and I love you that is the wonder, the glory of it. God has sent me the weakness ! I have not the strength to yield. God has shown me what real beauty means. All my life, dearest, I shall think of you. I do not even hate you for what you have done! Nothing could make me hate you, Paolo. How I wish I could but that would make renunciation too easy. That is not His way ! It takes courage to be weak and courage to be strong I have been such a selfish girl all my life, that I must pay the price by suffering now. You told me once we all paid a price for what was worth while ! and it is worth while to be a good woman ! 263 The Strength to Yield I wish you would think of me only occasionally but don't forget that night in the Colbrizzi garden, or at San Lazzaro, where I first began to feel my love for you. Strangely enough I am not ashamed of myself. I am glad I went to your studio ! and glad you have kissed me ! There is nothing in the world like your kiss, Paolo, ex- cept the kiss of Death, and that was madness ! There is one thing I fear; it is age! What will my old age think of my weakness? After all I have a right to live! Can I renounce? Have I the power? Oh! it was only a soft breeze from the window that made me doubt my weakness. Who knows? Some day I may call it strength. Oh! That last ride of ours together the twilight air kissing my face as I rushed through space! The strength of your tender arms as they checked my horse, and the warmth of your lips as they clung to mine ! I shall never forget never, never 1 And the day you were Leander in the Adriatic ! I wonder if it was propinquity that was the cause of my love for you, for Mr. Barker spoke to me of you in Greece, and seemed to foresee the coming event. As Cordelia also warned me, you were thrown in my path, and I thought more about you than I would have other- wise. Well what difference does it make to 'thee and me' ? Doubtless I would have loved you, under any circum- stances. Yet, Paolo, I am not sorry; it has opened my heart, and I shall always be thankful that I have known the great force of life. How hopelessly, unendurably long the days will be, sweetheart, without your sympathy even if it was a ruse while you were with me. I shall always dream of the 264 The Strength to Yield understanding you seemed to feel, and try to persuade myself it was genuine! Finish that portrait of me, Paolo, please. Let it be the face of the woman who gave you her kisses, which she has only allowed her husband and you to enjoy not the haughty girl you met at Lady Blanchard's dinner, and not like the sensuous Lady Cheltenham, but just Dorris Bedford as you saw her in the garden here, or at your own palace. Perhaps you think me a fool for my course of action. Men like you might say it was inane, still you must respect me, when you realize the sacrifice I am making. I am going to America to the land where I was born, and I doubt if I shall ever see Italy again. Ah! how I have loved it! Strange that around it should cling the sweetest of memories, for my thoughts of it will ever be of my father and you ! Perhaps if I am patient, I can make Harry over make him a man like Daddy even school him for the diplomatic service, and, Paolo, who knows but I will one day have the strength to sit beside you at a dinner table ? Oh ! all this talk about the future when the present is so hard to bear! I must leave this City Beautiful ! How happy Cordelia will be when I step into her room in the morning and tell her I will take the steamer from Naples! Think of the love she bears for me ! it makes up for your insincerity. Oh ! why are the things enjoyable, so hopeless so cruel so over- powering ! How the Duchess whose gown I am wearing would laugh at me ! but I would tell her my temptation was merely the fire of Spring yes gioventuf And mine is over. Oh! it is not years that count it's the heart. 265 The Strength to Yield Mine grew old when I woke up to reality, and that was when my fingers pressed the bottle of poison. The non- sense of it all for love. But Venice must needs add to her many tragedies, my own humble one and how hum- ble it is when I lay it at the ruins of this once great Re- public. What difference can only one unhappy life make? The life of a foolish little American girl buried till to- night in the tinsel of romance ! And you knew it, so you played upon me. It seems I will not allow myself a farewell no! the last meeting shall remain as it does now your 'good- night,' and your kiss on my fingers. Addio, addio, Paolo! there's death in that sting. Oh! how my heart aches how I want you, Paolo! How I shall always want you, for I love you not as you loved me yet I haven't the strength to yield! I must leave for Naples to-morrow, or the deadly nerves might work havoc again. How they tore me and rent me and hurt me! They must have been part of my mother's mania and I hope I am released from it. I made a great effort with my will, and I won! Oh, the struggle of those midnight hours ! it was as if I were a soul in Hell in bitter torment. Was it only a few hours ago? That mirror, Paolo ! it frightens me ! Look at my face ! It is as changed as that of Dorian Grey, when he met his death. Why that sweet expression I never saw it there before. How strange it looks like soul! I know it was the Light! It was the Light! Oh, that I shall ever see it! I am going to try to write a farewell to Italy; the verses are coming to my lips. How wonder- ful yes, it's a good-bye I am saying from the steamer at Naples, with Vesuvius over there. Will I be able to 266 The Strength to Yield compose ? Why, I have never tried I must write as this poem enters my mind. What did I see in my face? Could it have been Genius? as a reward for not having the Strength to Yield? It is the Light ! It brings the lines to my lips. How wonderful ! Here they are, Paolo, dear, as they come to me! For long I basked in thy dear smiles And felt with rapture, all thy guiles. I breathed the scent of fabled pines; My heart sought out thy crimson shrines. On waterways beneath thy moon I caught the pulsing singer's tune, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world! Here Vergil sleeps, his quiet grave A'haunt with spectres of the brave. Here Horace lost his soul in verse; The City flamed 'neath Nero's curse ! The land of Ovid's loveless home, The seven-storied hills of Rome. Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! Verona saw me at her grove, Where, lonely, sleeps the Slave of Love; O where the roses ever bloom The land of Dante's exiled tomb! Where shrills the cicala's clear song, And lingers still Fra Lippi's wrong, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world! I saw the cell where Tasso spent His great-souled grief, his last lament. The seat of dark Othello's rule The mystic, deep Cyrenian pool; The land where Adonais pondered, Singing soft lyrics as he wandered, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world! 267 The Strength to Yield Here Faliero lingered long A'listening to Angela's song; Raphael died in beauty's arms ; Here paled the gentle Cenci's charms; Cellini boasted 'neath those trees, Whose shades were cooled in Florence breeze. Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! Thou shrine of hearts and home of art, Grant me thy wisdom ere we part, The smile of sweet Corregio, The yearning of great Angelo! Endymion's perfect harmony, The tragic Prince of Poetry ! Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! Now some harsh judgment of the North Drove Byron's glorious genius forth, To seek of thee his meed of praise, And sing thy most impassioned lays ! He took thee to his soul sublime And made thee his beloved in rhyme, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! I've loved thy fairy, petalled flowers, Each bird that wings thy fragrant bowers, Through leaf-lined ways Alfieri Has wandered with his Albany; And many a sign and symbol tell Of how the Brownings loved so well, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! 'Neath Santa Croce's dome I stood And revelled in Ravenna's wood ! Yes, on thy happy shores I've dwelt, And on my lips thy kisses felt A min thou, for eyes to-day, But faultless in thy dear decay! Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! 268 The Strength to Yield But even tho' I lose thy smiles, And be a stranger to thine isles. My knee will bow to worship yet, My pen will rhyme its vain regret; Thy fame, to me a poem-book, Shall ever own my fervent look, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! Again to tread thy world- worn ways? To breathe thine air, to live thy days? Apollo's love were not more sweet ! I touch thy sands, they kiss my feet ! Thy very weeds are fairest flowers, Thy wooded groves Elysian bowers. Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! Now comes the dreaded day, when I, With tender prayer, must say good-bye. Wilt promise, promise me once more To see thy lonely cypress shore? That in the din of daily strife, Thou'lt be an idyl in my life, Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world ! Oh, Paolo, dearest, let thy voice Make this, my aching heart, rejoice! Addio, now, each cypress sings! Ah, me ! the dismal parting stings, And down yon peak the lava-flood Writes out the last farewell in blood ! Land of beauty, land of love, Italia, the flower of the world! 'finitol 269 nr~ __ mi 000 040 525