cox 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 

 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 
 
 Author of "Three Women" "Poems of Passion" "Poems 
 
 of Pleasure" "Maurine" "How Salvator Won" 
 
 " Custer and Other Poems" "Beautiful Land of 
 
 Nod" "Men, Women, and Emotions" 
 
 "An Erring Woman's Love" Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright 1896, 
 r,v ELLA WHEELER WILCOX 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 PS 
 33/1 
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PRESTON CHENEY turned as he ran down the steps 
 of a handsome house on "The Boulevard," wav- 
 ing a second adieu to a young woman framed be- 
 tween the lace curtains of the window. Then he 
 hurried down the street and out of view. The 
 young woman watched him with a gleam of sat- 
 isfaction in her pale blue eyes. A fine looking 
 young fellow, whose Roman nose and strong jaw 
 belied the softly curved mouth with its sensitive 
 darts at the corners; it was strange that something 
 warmer than satisfaction did not shine upon the 
 face of the woman whom he had just asked to be 
 his wife. 
 
 But Mabel Lawrence was one of those women 
 who are never swayed by any passion stronger 
 than worldly ambition, never burned by any fires 
 other than those of jealousy or anger. Her mea- 
 ger nature was truly depicted in her meager face. 
 Nature is ofttimes a great liar and a cruel jester, 
 giving to the cold and vapid woman the face and 
 5 
 
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 6 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 form of a sensuous siren, and concealing a heart 
 of volcanic fires, or the soul of a Phryne, under 
 the exterior of a spinster. But the old dame had 
 been wholly frank in forming Miss Lawrence. 
 The thin, flat chest and narrow shoulders, the an- 
 gular elbows and prominent shoulder blades, the 
 sallow skin and sharp features, the deeply set, 
 pale blue eyes, and the lusterless ashen hair, were 
 all truthful exponents of the unfurnished rooms 
 in her vacant heart and soul places. 
 
 Miss Lawrence turned from the window, and 
 trailed her long silken train across the rich carpet, 
 seating herself before the open fireplace. It was 
 an appropriate time and situation for a maiden's 
 tender dreams; only a few hours had passed since 
 the handsomest and most brilliant young man in 
 that thriving eastern town had asked her to be 
 his wife, and placed the kiss of betrothal upon her 
 virgin lips. Yet it was with a sense of triumph 
 and relief, rather than with tenderness and rap- 
 ture, that the young woman meditated upon the 
 situation. Triumph over other women who had 
 shown a decided interest in Mr. Cheney, since his 
 arrival in the place more than eighteen months 
 ago, and relief that the dreaded role of spinster 
 was not to be her part in life's drama. 
 
 Miss Lawrence was twenty-six one year older 
 than her fiance"; and she had never received a
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 7 
 
 proposal of marriage or listened to a word of love 
 in her life before. Let me transpose that phrase 
 she had never before received a proposal of mar- 
 riage, and had never in her life listened to a word 
 of love; for Preston had not spoken of love. She 
 knew that he did not love her. She knew that he 
 had sought her hand wholly from ambitious mo- 
 tives. She was the daughter of the Hon. Sylvester 
 Lawrence, lawyer, judge, state senator, and pro- 
 posed candidate for lieutenant-governor in the 
 coming campaign. She was the only heir to his 
 large fortune. 
 
 Preston Cheney was a penniless young man from 
 the West. A self-made youth, with an unusual 
 brain and an overwhelming ambition, he had ris- 
 en from chore boy on a western farm to printer's 
 apprentice in a small town, thence to reporter, 
 city editor, foreign correspondent, and after two 
 or three years of travel gained in this 
 manner he had come to Beryngford and bought 
 out a struggling morning paper, which was mak- 
 ing a mad effort to keep alive, changed its polit- 
 ical tendencies, infused it with western activity 
 and filled it with cosmopolitan news, and now, 
 after eighteen months, the young man found him- 
 self coming abreast of his two long established 
 rivals in the editorial field. This success was 
 but an incentive to his overwhelming ambition for
 
 8 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 place, power and riches. He had seen just enough 
 of life and of the world to estimate these things 
 at double their value; and he was, beside, looking 
 at life through the magnifying glass of youth. The 
 Creator intended as to gaze on worldly possessions 
 and selfish ambitions through the small end of the 
 lorgnette, but youth invariably inverts the glass. 
 
 To the young editor, the brief years behind him 
 seemed like a long hard pull up a steep and rocky 
 cliff. From the point to which he had attained, 
 the summit of his desires looked very far away, 
 much farther than the level from which he had 
 arisen. To rise to that summit single-handed 
 and alone would require unremitting effort 
 through the very best years of his manhood. His 
 brain, his strength, his ability, his ambitions, 
 what were they all in the strife after place and 
 power, compared to the money of some common- 
 place adversary? Preston Cheney, the native-born 
 American directly descended from a Kevolution- 
 ary soldier, would be handicapped in the race with 
 eome Michael Murphy whose father had made a 
 fortune in the saloon business, or who had him- 
 self acquired a competency as a police officer. 
 
 America was not the same country which gave 
 men like Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln 
 and Horace Greely a chance to rise from the lower 
 ranks to the highest places before they reached
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 9 
 
 middle life. It was no longer a land where merit 
 strove with merit, and the prize fell to the most 
 earnest and the most gifted. The tremendous in- 
 flux of foreign population since the war of the Re- 
 bellion and the right of franchise given unreserv- 
 edly to the illiterate and the vicious, rendered the 
 ambitious American youth now a toy in the hands 
 of aliens, and position a thing to be bought at the 
 price set by un-American masses. 
 
 Thoughts like these had more and more with 
 each year filled the mind of Preston Cheney, until 
 like the falling of stones and earth into a river 
 bed, they changed the naturally direct current of 
 his impulses into another channel. Why not 
 further his life purpose by an ambitious marriage? 
 The first time the thought entered his mind he had 
 cast it out as something unclean and unworthy of 
 his manhood. Marriage was a holy estate, he 
 said to himself, a sacrament to be entered 
 into with reverence, and sanctified by love. He 
 must love the woman who was to be the com- 
 panion of his life, the mother of his children. 
 
 Then he looked about among his early friends 
 who had married, as nearly all the young men of 
 the middle classes in America do marry, for love, 
 or what they believe to be love. There was Tom 
 Somers a splendid lad, full of life, hope and 
 ambition when he married Carrie Towne, the pret-
 
 
 10 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 tiest girl in Vandalia. Well, what was he now, 
 after seven years? A broken-spirited man, with 
 a sickly, complaining wife and a brood of ill-clad 
 children. Harry Walters, the most infatuated 
 lover he had ever seen, was divorced after five 
 years of discordant marriage. 
 
 Charlie St. Glair was flagrantly unfaithful to 
 the girl he had pursued three years with his ardent 
 wooings before she yielded to suit. Certainly 
 none of these love marriages were examples for 
 him to follow. And in the midst of these reveries 
 and reflections, Preston Cheney came to Beryng- 
 ford, and met Sylvester Lawrence and his daugh- 
 ter Mabel. He met also Berene Dumont. Had 
 he not met the latter woman he would not have 
 succumbed so soon at least to the temptation held 
 out by the former, to advance his ambitious aims. 
 
 He would have hesitated, considered, and re-con- 
 sidered, and without doubt his better nature and 
 his good taste would have prevailed. But when 
 fate threw Berene Dumont in his way, and circum- 
 stances brought about his close associations with 
 her for many months, there seemed but one way 
 of escape from the Scylla of his desires, and that 
 was to the Charybdis of a marriage with Miss 
 Lawrence. 
 
 Miss Lawrence was not aware of the part Be- 
 rene Dumout had played in her engagement, but
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 11 
 
 she knew perfectly the part her father's influence 
 and wealth had played; but she was quite content 
 with affairs as they were, and it mattered little to 
 her what had brought them about. To be married, 
 rather than to be loved, had been her ambition 
 since she left school; being incapable of loving, she 
 was incapable of appreciating the passion in any 
 of its phases. It had always seemed to her that a 
 great deal of nonsense was written and talked 
 about love. She thought demonstrative people 
 very vulgar, and believed kissing a means of con- 
 veying germs of disease. 
 
 But to be a married woman, with an establish- 
 ment of her own, and a husband to exhibit to her 
 friends, was necessary to the maintenance of her 
 pride. 
 
 When Miss Lawrence's mother, a nervous inva- 
 lid, was informed of her daughter's engagement, 
 she burst into tears, as over a lamb offered on 
 the altar of sacrifice; and Judge Lawrence pressed 
 a kiss on the lobe of Mabel's left ear which she 
 offered him, and told her she had won a prize in 
 the market. But as he sat alone over his cigar 
 that night, he sighed heavily, and said to himself, 
 "Poor fellow, I wish Mabel were not so much like 
 her mother."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "BARONESS BROWN" was a distinctive figure in 
 Beryngford. She came to the place from foreign 
 parts some three years before the arrival of Pres- 
 ton Cheney, and brought servants, carriages and 
 horses, and established herself in a very handsome 
 house which she rented for a term of years. Her 
 arrival in this quiet village town was of course 
 the sensation of the hour, or rather of the year. 
 She was known as Baroness Le Fevre an Ameri- 
 can widow of a French baron. Large, voluptuous, 
 blonde, and handsome according to the popular 
 idea of beauty, distinctly amiable, affable and 
 very charitable, she became at once the fashion. 
 
 Invitations to her house were eagerly sought 
 after, and her entertainments were described in 
 column articles by the press. 
 
 This state of things continued only six months, 
 however. Then it began to be whispered about 
 that the "Baroness" was in arrears for her rent. 
 Several of her servants had gone away in a high 
 state of temper at the titled mistress who had 
 12
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 13 
 
 failed to pay them a cent of wages since they came 
 to the country with her; and one day the neigh- 
 bors saw her fine carriage horses led away by the 
 sheriff. 
 
 A week later society was electrified by the an- 
 nouncement of the marriage of Baroness Le Fevre 
 to Mr. Brown, a wealthy widower who owned the 
 best shoe store in Beryngford. 
 
 Mr. Brown owned ten children also, but the 
 youngest was a boy of sixteen, absent in college. 
 The other nine were married and settled in corn> 
 fortable homes. 
 
 Mr. Brown died at the expiration of a year. 
 This one year had taught him more of womankind 
 than he had learned in all his sixty and nine 
 years before; and feeling that it is never too late 
 to profit by learning, Mr. Brown discreetly made 
 his will, leaving all his property save the widow's 
 "thirds" equally divided among his ten children. 
 
 The Baroness made a futile effort to break the 
 will, on the grounds that he was not of sound 
 mind when it was drawn up; but the effort cost 
 her several hundred of her few thousand dollars 
 and the increased enmity of the ten Brown chil% 
 dren, and availed her nothing. An important 
 part of the widow's third was the Brown man- 
 sion, a large, commodious house built many years 
 before, when the village was but a country town.
 
 14 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Everybody supposed the "Baroness," as she was 
 still called, half in derision and half from the 
 American love of mouthing a title, would offer 
 this house for sale, and depart for fresh fields 
 and pastures new. But the Baroness never did 
 what she was expected to do. 
 
 Instead of offering her house for sale, she offered 
 "Rooms to let," and turned the family mansion 
 into a fashionable lodging-house. 
 
 Its central location and its adjacence to severa 
 restaurants and boarding houses, rendered it a 
 convenient place for business people to lodge, and 
 the handsome widow found no trouble in filling 
 her rooms with desirable and well-paying patrons. 
 In a spirit of fun, people began to speak of the 
 old Brown Mansion as "The Palace," and in a 
 short time the lodging-house was known by that 
 name, just as its mistress was known as "Baroness 
 Brown." 
 
 "The Palace" yielded the "Baroness" something 
 like two hundred dollars a month, and cost her 
 only the wages and keeping of three servants; or 
 rather the wages of two and the keeping of three; 
 for to Berene Dumont, her maid and personal 
 attendant, she paid no wages. 
 
 The Baroness did not rise till noon, and she 
 always breakfasted in bed. Sometimes she re- 
 mained in her room till mid-afternoon. Berene
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 15 
 
 served her breakfast and lunch, and looked after 
 the servants to see that the lodgers' rooms were 
 all in order. These were the services for which 
 she was given a home. But in truth the young 
 woman did much more than this; she acted also 
 as seamstress and milliner for her mistress, and 
 attended to the marketing and ran errands for her. 
 If ever a girl paid full price for her keeping, it 
 was Berene, and yet the Baroness spoke frequently 
 of "giving the poor thing a home." 
 
 It had all come about in this way. Pierre 
 Dumont kept a second-hand book store in Beryng- 
 ford. He was French, and the national character- 
 istic of frugality had assumed the shape of avarice 
 in his nature. He was, too, a petty tyrant and a 
 cruel husband and father when under the influence 
 of absinthe, a state in which he was usually to be 
 found. 
 
 Berene was an only child, and her mother, 
 whom she worshiped, said, when dying, "Take 
 care of your poor father, Berene. Do everything 
 you can at make him happy. Never desert him." 
 
 Berene was fourteen at that time. She had 
 never been at school, but she had been taught to 
 read and write both French and English, for her 
 mother was an American girl who had been disin- 
 herited by her grandparents, with whom she lived, 
 for eloping with her French teacher Pierre
 
 16 AU AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Dumont. Rheumatism and absinthe turned the 
 French professor into a shop-keeper before Berene 
 was born. The grandparents had died without 
 forgiving their granddaughter, and much as the 
 unhappy woman regretted her foolish marriage, 
 she remained a patient and devoted wife to the 
 end of her life, and imposed the same patience 
 and devotion when dying on her daughter. 
 
 At sixteen, Berene was asked to sacrifice herself 
 on the altar of marriage to a man three times her 
 age; one Jacques Letellier who offered generously 
 to take the young girl as payment for a debt owed 
 by his convivial comrade, M. Dumont. Berene 
 wept and begged piteously to be spared this hor- 
 rible sacrifice of her young life, whereupon Pierre 
 Dumont seized his razor and threatened suicide as 
 the other alternative from the dishonor of debt, 
 and Berene in terror yielded her word and herself 
 the next day to the debasing mockery of marriage 
 with a depraved old gambler and roue. 
 
 Six months later Jacques Letellier died in a fit 
 of apoplexy and Berene was freed from her chains; 
 but freed only to keep on in a life of martyrdom 
 as servant and slave to the caprices of her father, 
 until his death. When he was finally well buried 
 under six feet of earth, Berene found herself twen- 
 ty years of age, alone in the world with just one 
 thousand dollars in money, the price brought by 
 her father's effects.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 17 
 
 Without education or accomplishments, she. was 
 the possessor of youth, health, charm, and a voice 
 of wonderful beauty and power; a voice which it 
 was her dream to cultivate, and use as a means of 
 support. But how could she ever cultivate it? 
 The thousand dollars in her possession was, she 
 knew, but a drop in the ocean of expense a mu- 
 sical education would entail. And she must keep 
 that money until she found some way by which 
 to support herself. 
 
 Baroness Brown had attended the sale of old 
 Mr. Dumont's effects. She had often noticed the 
 young girl in the shop, and in the street, and had 
 been struck with the peculiar elegance and refine- 
 ment of her appearance. Her simple lawn or print 
 gowns were made and worn in a manner befitting a 
 princess. Her nails were carefully kept, despite all 
 the household drudgery which devolved upon her. 
 
 The Baroness was a shrewd woman and a clever 
 reasoner. She needed a thrifty, prudent person 
 in her house to look after things, and to attend to 
 her personal needs. Since she had opened "The 
 Palace" as a lodging house, this need had stared 
 her in the face. Servants did very well in their 
 places, but the person she required was of another 
 and superior order, and only to be obtained by ac- 
 cident or by avertising and the paying of a large 
 salary. Now the Baroness had been in the habit of
 
 18 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 thinking that her beauty and amiability were quite 
 equivalent to any favors she received from hu- 
 manity at large. Ever since she was a plump girl 
 in short dresses, she had learned that smiles and 
 compliments from her lips would purchase her 
 friends of both sexes, who would do disagreeable 
 duties for her. She had never made it a custom 
 to pay out money for any service she could obtain 
 otherwise. So now as she looked on this young 
 woman who, though a widow, seemed still a mere 
 child, it occurred to her that Fate had Avith its 
 usual kindness thrown in her path the very person 
 she needed. 
 
 She offered Berene "a home" at the Palace in 
 return for a few small services. The lonely girl, 
 whose strangely solitary life with her old father 
 had excluded her from all social relations outside, 
 grasped at this offer from the handsome lady whom 
 she had long admired from a distance, and went to 
 make her home at The Palace.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BEEENE had been several months in her new home 
 when Preston Cheney came to lodge at "The Pal- 
 ace." 
 
 He met her on the stairway the first morning 
 after his arrival, as he was descending to the street 
 door. 
 
 Bringing up a tray covered with a snowy nap- 
 kin, she stepped to one side and paused, to make 
 room for him to pass. 
 
 Preston was not one of those young men who 
 find pastime in flirtations with nursery maids or 
 kitchen girls. The very thought of it offended 
 his good taste. Once in listening to the boastful 
 tales of a modern Don Juan, who was relating his 
 gallant adventures with a handsome waiter girl at 
 a hotel, Preston had remarked, "I would as soon 
 think of using my dinner napkin for a necktie, 
 as finding romance with a servant girl." 
 
 Yet he appreciated a snowy, well-laundried nap- 
 kin in its place, and he was most considerate and 
 thoughtful in his treatment of servants. 
 
 He supposed Berene to be an upper servant of 
 19
 
 20 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 the house, and yet as he glanced at her, a strange 
 and unaccountable feeling of interest seized upon 
 him. The creamy pallor of her skin, colorless 
 save for the full red lips, the dark eyes full of un- 
 utterable longing, the aristocratic poise of the 
 head, the softly rounded figure, elegant in its 
 simple gown and apron, all impressed him as he 
 had never before been impressed by any woman. 
 
 It was several days before he chanced to see her 
 again, and then only for a moment as she passed 
 through the hall; but he heard a trill of song from 
 her lips, which added to his interest and curiosity. 
 "That girl is no common servant," he said to him- 
 self, and he resolved to learn more about her. 
 
 It had been the custom of the "Baroness" to 
 keep herself quite hidden from her lodgers. They 
 seldom saw her, after the first business interview. 
 Therefore it was a matter of surprise to the young 
 editor, when he came home from his office one 
 night just after twelve o'clock, and found the mis- 
 tress of the mansion standing in the hall by the 
 register, in charming evening attire. 
 
 She smiled upon him radiantly. "I have just 
 come in from a benefit concert," she said, "and I 
 am as hungry as a bear. Now I cannot endure 
 eating alone at night. I knew it was near your 
 hour to return, so I waited for you. Will you go 
 down to the dining-room with me and have a
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 21 
 
 Welsh rabbit? I am going to make one in my 
 chafing dish." 
 
 The young man hid his surprise under a gallant 
 smile, and offering the Baroness his arm, descended 
 to the basement dining-room with her. He had 
 heard much about the complicated life of this 
 woman, and he felt a certain amount of natural 
 curiosity in regard to her. He had met her but 
 once, and that was the day when he had called to 
 engage his room, a little more than two weeks 
 past. 
 
 He had thought her an excellent type of the 
 successful American adventuress on that occasion, 
 and her quiet and dull life in this ordinary town 
 puzzled him. He could not imagine a woman of 
 that order existing a whole year without an adven- 
 ture; as a rule he knew that those blonde women 
 with large hips and busts, and small waists and 
 feet, are as unable to live without excitement as a 
 fish without water. 
 
 Yet since the death of Mr. Brown, more than a 
 year past, the Baroness had lived the life of a re- 
 cluse. It puzzled him,as a student of human nature. 
 
 But in fact, the Baroness was a skilled general 
 in planning her campaigns. She seldom plunged 
 into action unprepared. 
 
 She knew from experience that she could not 
 live in a large city and not use an enormous 
 amount of money.
 
 22 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 She was tired of taking great risks, and she 
 knew that without the aid of money and a fine 
 wardrobe, she was not able to attract men as she 
 had done ten years before. 
 
 As long as she remained in Beryngford she would 
 be adding to her income every month, and saving 
 the few thousands she possessed. She would be 
 saving her beauty, too, by keeping early hours 
 and living a temperate life; and if she carefully 
 avoided any new scandal, her past adventures 
 would be dim in the minds of people, when, after 
 a year or two more of retirement and retrench- 
 ment, she sallied forth to new fields, under a new 
 name, if need be, and with a comfortably filled 
 purse. 
 
 It was in this manner that the Baroness had 
 reasoned; but from the hour she first saw Preston 
 Cheney, her resolutions wavered. He impressed 
 her most agreeably; and after learning about him 
 from the daily papers, and hearing him spoken of 
 as a valuable acquisition to Beryngford's intellec- 
 tual society, the Baroness decided to come out of 
 her retirement and enter the lists in advance of 
 other women who would seek to attract this new- 
 comer. 
 
 To the fading beauty in her late thirties, a man 
 in the early twenties possesses a peculiar fascina- 
 tion; and to the Baroness, clothed in weeds for a
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 23 
 
 husband who died on the eve of his seventieth 
 birthday, the possibility of winning a young 
 man like Preston Cheney overbalanced all other 
 considerations in her mind. She had never been 
 a vulgar coquette to whom all men were prey. 
 She had always been more or less discriminating. 
 A man must be either very attractive or very rich, 
 to win her regard. Mr. Brown had been very rich, 
 and Preston Cheney was very attractive. 
 
 "He is more than attractive, he is positively 
 fascinating," she said to herself in the solitude of 
 her room after the tete-a-tete over the Welsh 
 rarebit that evening. "I don't know when I have 
 felt such a pleasure in a man's presence. Not 
 since "but the Baroness did not allow herself to 
 go back so far. "If there is any fruit I detest, 
 it is dates," she often said laughingly. "Some 
 people delight in a good memory I delight in a 
 good forgettory of the past, with its tell-tale mile- 
 stones of birthdays and anniversaries of mar- 
 riages, deaths and divorces." 
 
 "Mr. Cheney said I looked very young to have 
 been twice married. Twice!" and she laughed 
 aloud before her mirror, revealing the pink arch 
 of her mouth, and two perfect sets of yellow-white 
 teeth, with only one blemishing spot of gold visi- 
 ble. "I wonder if he meant it, though?" she 
 mused. "And the fact that I do wonder is the
 
 24 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 sure proof that I am really interested in this man. 
 As a rule, I never believe a word men say, though 
 I delight in their flattery all the same. It makes 
 me feel comfortable even when I know they are 
 lying. But I should really feel hurt if I thought 
 Mr. Cheney had not meant what he said. I don't 
 believe he knows much about women, or about 
 himself lower than his brain. He has never 
 studied his heart. He is all ambition. If an am- 
 bitious and unsophisticated youth of twenty-five 
 or twenty-eight does get infatuated with a woman 
 of my age he is a perfect toy in her hands. Ah, 
 well, we shall see what we shall see." And the 
 Baroness finished her massage in cold cream, and 
 put her blonde head on the pillow and went 
 sound asleep. 
 
 After that first tete-a-tete supper the fair widow 
 managed to see Preston at least once or twice a 
 week. She sent for him to ask his advice on busi- 
 ness matters, she asked him to aid her in chang- 
 ing the position of the furniture in a room when 
 the servants were all busy, and she invited him 
 to her private parlor for lunch every Sunday after- 
 noon. It was during one of these chats over cake 
 and wine that the young man spoke of Berene. 
 The Baroness had dropped some remarks about 
 her servants, and Preston said in a casual tone of 
 voice, which hid the real interest he felt in the
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 25 
 
 subject. "By the way, one of your servants has 
 quite an unusual voice. I have heard her singing 
 about the halls a few times, and it seems to me 
 she has real talent." 
 
 "Oh, that is Miss Dumont Berene Dumont 
 she is not an absolute servant," the Baroness re- 
 plied; "she is a most unfortunate young woman 
 to whom my heart went out in pity, and I have 
 given her a home. She is really a widow, though 
 she refuses to use her dead husband's name." 
 
 "A widow?" repeated Preston with surprise 
 and a queer sensation of annoyance at his heart; 
 "why, from the glimpse I had of her I thought 
 her a young girl." 
 
 "So she is, not over twenty-one at most, and 
 woefully ignorant for that age," the Baroness 
 said, and then she proceeded to outline Berene's 
 history, laying a good deal of stress upon her own 
 charitable act in giving the girl a home. 
 
 "She is so ignorant of life despite the fact that 
 she has been married, and she is so uneducated 
 and helpless, I could not bear to see her cast into 
 the path of designing people," the Baroness said. 
 "She has a strong craving for an education, and 
 I give her good books to read, and good advice to 
 ponder over, and I hope in time to come she will 
 marry some honest fellow and settle down to a 
 quiet, happy home life. The man who brings us
 
 26 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 butter and eggs from the country is quite fasci- 
 nated with her, but she does not deign him a 
 glance." And then the Baroness talked of other 
 tilings. 
 
 But the history he had heard remained in Pres- 
 ton Cheney's mind and he could not drive the 
 thought of this girl away. No wonder her eyes 
 were sad! better blood ran in her veins than 
 coursed under the pink flesh of the Baroness, he 
 would wager; she was the unfortunate victim of 
 a combination of circumstances, which had de- 
 frauded her of the advantages of youth. 
 
 He spoke with her in the hall one morning not 
 long after that; and then it grew to be a daily 
 occurrence that he talked with her a few moments, 
 and before many weeks had passed the young man 
 approached the Baroness with a request. 
 
 "I have become interested in your protdgee Miss 
 Dumont," he said. "You have done so much for 
 her that you have stirred my better nature and 
 made me anxious to emulate your example. In 
 talking with her in the hall one day. I learned her 
 great desire for a better education, and her anx- 
 iety to earn money. Now it has occurred to me 
 that I might aid her in both ways. We need two 
 or three more girls in our office. We need one more 
 in the type-setting department. As the Cla- 
 rion is a morning paper, and you never need Miss
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 27 
 
 Dumont's services after five o'clock, she could 
 work a few hours in the office, earn a small sal- 
 ary, and g?in something in the way of an educa- 
 tion also, if she were ambitious enough to do so. 
 Nearly all my early education was gained as 
 a printer. She tells me she is faulty in the mat- 
 ter of spelling, and this would be excellent train- 
 ing for her. You have, dear madam, inspired the 
 girl with a desire for more knowledge, and I hope 
 you will let me carry on the good work you have 
 begun." 
 
 Preston had approached the matter in a way 
 that could not fail to bring success by flattering 
 the vanity and pride of the Baroness. So elated 
 was she with the agreeable references to herself, 
 that she never suspected the young man's deep 
 personal interest in the girl. She believed in the 
 beginning that he was showing Berene this kind 
 attention, solely to please the mistress. 
 
 Berene entered the office as typesetter, and 
 made such astonishing progress that she was pro- 
 moted to the position of proofreader ere six 
 months had passed. And hour by hour, day by 
 day, week by week, the strange influence which 
 she had exerted on her employer from the first 
 moment of their meeting, grew and strengthened, 
 until he realized with a sudden terror that his 
 whole being was becoming absorbed by an intense 
 passion for the girl.
 
 28 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Meantime tha Baroness was growing embarrass- 
 ing in her attentions. The young man was not 
 conceited, nor prone to regard himself as an ob- 
 ject of worship to the fair sex. He had during 
 the first few months believed the Baroness to be 
 amusing herself with his society. He had not 
 flattered himself that a woman of her age, who 
 had seen so much of the world, and whose ambi- 
 tions were so unmistakable, could regard him 
 otherwise than as a diversion. 
 
 But of late the truth had forced itself upon him 
 that the woman wished to entangle him in a seri- 
 ous affair. He could not afford to jeopardize his 
 reputation at the very outset of his career by any 
 such entanglement, or by the appearance of one. 
 He cast about for some excuse to leave the "Pal- 
 ace," yet this would separate him in a measure 
 from his association with Berene, beside incurring 
 the enmity of the Baroness, and possibly causing 
 Bereue to suffer from her anger as well. 
 
 He seemed to be caught like a fly in a net. And 
 again the thought of his future and his ambi- 
 tions confronted him, and he felt abashed in his 
 own eyes, as he realized how far away these ambi- 
 tions had seemed of late, since he had allowed his 
 emotions to overrule his brain. 
 
 What was this ignorant daughter of a Frencfi 
 professor, that she should stand between him and
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 29 
 
 glory, riches and power? Desperate diseases needed 
 desperate remedies. He had been an occasional 
 caller at the La wrenc e homestead ever since he 
 came to Beryngford. Without being conceited on 
 the subject, he realized that Mabel Lawrence would 
 not reject him as a suitor. 
 
 The masculine party is very dull, or the feminine 
 very deceptive, when a man makes a mistake in 
 his impressions on this subject. 
 
 That afternoon the young editor left his office 
 at five o'clock and asked Miss Lawrence to be his 
 wife.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PRESTON CHENEY walked briskly down the street 
 after he left his fiancee, his steps directed toward 
 "The Palace." It was seven o'clock, and he knew 
 the Baroness would be at home. 
 
 He had determined upon heroic treatment for 
 his own mental disease (as he regarded his pecu- 
 liar sentiments toward Berene Dumont), and he 
 had decided upon a similar course of treatment 
 for the Baroness. 
 
 He would confide his engagement to her at 
 once, and thus put an end to his embarrassing 
 position in the Palace, as well as to establish his 
 betrothal as a fact and to force himself to so 
 regard it. It was strange reasoning for a young 
 man in the very first hour of his new role of bride- 
 groom elect, but this particular groom elect had 
 deliberately placed himself in a peculiar position, 
 and his reasoning was not, of course, that of an 
 ardent and happy lover. 
 
 Already he was galled by his new fetters; al- 
 ready he was feeling a sense of repulsion toward
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 81 
 
 the woman he had asked to be his wife: and be- 
 cause of these feelings he was more eager to nail 
 himself hand and foot to the cross he had builded. 
 He was obliged to wait some time before the 
 Baroness came into the reception room ; and when 
 she came he observed that she had made an elab- 
 orate toilet in his honor. Her sumptuous shoul- 
 ders billowed over the low-cut blue corsage like 
 apple-dumplings over a china dish. Her waist was 
 drawn in to an hourglass taper, while her ample 
 hips spread out beneath like the heavy mason 
 work which supports a slender column. Tiny feet 
 encased in pretty slippers peeping from beneath 
 her silken skirts looked oddly out of proportion 
 with the rest of her generous personality, and re- 
 minded Preston of the grotesque cuts in the hu- 
 morous weeklies, where well-known politicians 
 were represented with large heads and small ex- 
 tremities. Artistic by nature, and with an eye 
 to form, he had never admired the Baroness' type 
 of beauty, which was the theme of admiration for 
 nearly every other man in Beryngford. Her face 
 with its infantine coloring, its large, innocent 
 azure eyes, and its short retrousse features he con- 
 ceded to be captivatingly pretty, however, and it 
 seemed unusually so this evening. Perhaps be- 
 cause he had so recently looked upon the sharp 
 sallow face of his fiancee.
 
 82 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Preston frequently came to his room about this 
 hour, after having dined and before going to the 
 office for his final duties; but he seldom saw the 
 Baroness on these occasions, unless through her 
 own design. 
 
 "You were surprised to receive my message, no 
 doubt, saying I wished to see you," he began. 
 "But I have something I feel I ought to tell you, 
 as it may make some changes in my habits, and 
 will of course eventually take me away from these 
 pleasant associations." He paused for a second, 
 and the Baroness, who had seated herself on the 
 divan at his side, leaned forward and looked in- 
 quiringly in his face. 
 
 "You are going away?" she asked, with a tremor 
 in her voice. "Is it not very sudden?" 
 
 "No, I am not going away," he replied, "not 
 from Beryngford but I shall doubtless leave your 
 house ere many months. I am engaged to be 
 married to Miss Mabel Lawrence. You are the 
 first person to whom I have imparted the news, 
 but you have been so kind, and I feel that you 
 ought to know it in time to secure a desirable ten- 
 ant for my room." 
 
 Again there was a pause. The rosy face of the 
 Baroness had grown quite pale, and an unpleasant 
 expression had settled about the corners of her 
 small mouth. She waved a feather fan to and
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 33 
 
 fro languidly. Then she gave a slight laugh and 
 said: 
 
 "Well, I must confess that I am surprised. 
 Miss Lawrence is the last woman in the world 
 whom I would have imagined you to select as a 
 wife. Yet I congratulate you on your good sense. 
 You are very ambitious, and you can rise to great 
 distinction if you have the right influence to aid 
 you. Judge Lawrence, with his wealth and position, 
 is of all men the one who can advance your inter- 
 ests, and what more natural than that he should 
 advance the interests of his son-in-law? You are 
 a very wise youth and I again congratulate you. 
 No romantic folly will ever ruin your life." 
 
 There was irony and ridicule in her voice and 
 face, and the young man felt his cheek tingle 
 with anger and humiliation. The Baroness had 
 read him like an open book as every one else 
 doubtless would do. It was bitterly galling to 
 his pride, but there was nothing to do, save to 
 keep a bold front, and carry out his role with as 
 much dignity as possible. 
 
 He rose, spoke a few formal words of thanks to 
 the Baroness for her kindness to him, and bowed 
 himself from her presence, carrying with him down 
 the street the memory of her mocking eyes. 
 
 As he entered his private office, he was amazed 
 to see Berene Dumont sitting in his chair fast
 
 84 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 asleep,her head framed by her folded arms, which 
 rested on his desk. Against the dark maroon of 
 her sleeve, her classic face was outlined like a 
 marble statuette. Her long lashes swept her cheek, 
 and in the attitude in which she sat, her graceful, 
 perfectly proportioned figure displayed each beau- 
 tiful curve to the best advantage. 
 
 To a noble nature, the sight of even an enemy 
 asleep, awakes softening emotions, while the sight 
 of a loved being in the unconsciousness of slum- 
 ber stirs the fountain of affection to its very 
 depths. 
 
 As the young editor looked upon the girl before 
 him, a passion of yearning love took possession of 
 him. A wild desire to seize her in his arms and 
 cover her pale face with kisses, made his heart 
 throb to suffocation and brought cold beads to his 
 brow; and just as these feelings gained an almost 
 uncontrollable dominion over his reason, will and 
 judgment, the girl awoke and started to her feet 
 in confusion. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Cheney, pray forgive me!" she cried, 
 looking more beautiful than ever with the flush 
 which overspread her face. "I came in to ask 
 about a word in your editorial which I could not 
 decipher. I waited for you, as I felt sure you 
 would be in shortly and I was so tired I sat down 
 for just a second to rest and that is all I knew
 
 AH AMBITIOUS MAN 86 
 
 about it. You must forgive me, sir! I did not 
 mean to intrude." 
 
 Her confusion, her appealing eyes, her magnet- 
 ic voice were all fuel to the fire raging in the 
 young man's heart. Now that she was forever 
 lost to him through his own deliberate action, 
 she seemed tenfold more dear and to be desired. 
 Brain, soul, and body all seemed to crave her; he 
 took a step forward, and drew in a quick breath 
 as if to speak; and then a sudden sense of his own 
 danger, and an overwhelming disgust for his weak- 
 ness swept over him ; and the intense passion the 
 girl had aroused in his heart changed to unrea- 
 sonable anger. 
 
 , "Miss Dumont," he said coldly, "I think we 
 will have to dispense with your services after to- 
 night. Your duties are evidently too hard for you. 
 You can leave the office at any time you wish. 
 Good-night." 
 
 The girl shrank as if he had struck her, looked 
 up at him with wide, wondering eyes, waited for 
 a moment as if expecting to be recalled, then, as 
 Mr. Cheney wheeled his chair about and turned 
 his back upon her, she suddenly sped away without 
 a word. 
 
 She left the office a few moments later; but it 
 was not until after eleven o'clock that she dragged 
 herself up two flights of stairs toward her room
 
 86 AN AMBITIOUS MAW 
 
 on the attic floor at the Palace. She had been 
 walking the streets like a mad creature all that 
 intervening time, trying to still the agonizing pain 
 in her heart. Preston Cheney had long been her 
 ideal of all that was noble, grand and good, she 
 worshiped him as devout pagans worshiped their 
 sacred idols; and without knowing it, she gave 
 him the absorbing passion which an intense wom- 
 an gives to her lover. 
 
 It was only now that he had treated her with 
 such rough brutality, and discharged her from his 
 employ for so slight a cause, that the knowledge 
 burst upon her tortured heart of all he was to her. 
 
 She paused at the foot of the third and last 
 flight of stairs with a strange dizziness in her 
 head and a sinking sensation at her heart. 
 
 A little less than half an hour afterward Pres- 
 ton Cheney unlocked the street door and came in 
 for the night. He had done double his usual 
 amount of work and had finished his duties earlier 
 than usual. To avoid thinking after he sent 
 Berene away, he had turned to his desk and 
 plunged into his labor with feverish intensity. 
 He wrote a particularly savage editorial on the 
 matter of over-immigration, and his leaders on 
 political questions of the day were all tinctured 
 with a bitterness and sarcasm quite new to his 
 pen. At midnight that pen dropped from his
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 37 
 
 nerveless hand, and he made his way toward the 
 Palace in a most unenviable state of mind and 
 body. 
 
 Yet he believed he had done the right thing 
 both in engaging himself to Miss Lawrence and in 
 discharging Berene. Her constant presence about 
 the office was of all things the most undesirable 
 in his new position. 
 
 "But I might have done it in a decent manner 
 if I had not lost all control of myself," he said 
 as he walked home. "It was brutal the way I 
 spoke to her; poor child, she looked as if I had 
 beat her with a bludgeon. Well, it is just as well 
 perhaps that I gave her good reason to despise 
 me." 
 
 Since Berene had gone into the young man's 
 office as an employe her good taste and another 
 reason had caused her to avoid him as much as 
 possible in the house. He seldom saw more than a 
 passing glimpse of her in the halls, and frequently 
 whole days elapsed that he met her only in the 
 office. The young man never suspected that this 
 fact was due in great part to the suggestion of 
 jealousy in the manner of the Baroness toward 
 the young girl ever after he had shown so much 
 interest in her welfare. Sensitive to the mental 
 atmosphere about her, as a wind harp to the light- 
 est breeze Berene felt this unexpressed sentiment
 
 88 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 in the breast of her "benefactress" and strove to 
 avoid anything which could aggravate it. 
 
 With a lagging step and a listless air, Preston 
 made his way up the first of two flights of stairs 
 which intervened between the street door and his 
 room. The first floor was in darkness; but in the 
 upper hall a dim light was always left burning 
 until his return. As he reached the landing, he 
 was startled to see a woman's form lying at the 
 foot of the attic stairs, but a few feet from the 
 door of his room. Stooping down, he uttered a 
 sudden exclamation of pained surprise, for it was 
 upon the pallid, unconscious face of Berene Du- 
 mont that his eyes fell. He lifted the lithe figure 
 in his sinewy arms, and with light, rapid steps 
 bore her up the stairs and in through the open 
 door of her room. 
 
 "If she is dead, I am her murderer, " he thought. 
 But at that moment she opened her eyes and looked 
 full into his, with a gaze which made his impetu- 
 ouSjUncontrolled heart forget that any one or any- 
 thing existed on earth but this girl and his love 
 for her.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ONE of the greatest factors in the preservation 
 of the Baroness' beauty had been her ability to 
 sleep under all conditions. The woman who can 
 and does sleep eight or nine hours out of each 
 twenty-four is well armed against the onslaught 
 of time and trouble. 
 
 To say that such women do not possess heart 
 enough or feeling enough to suffer is ofttimes 
 most untrue. 
 
 Insomnia is a disease of the nerves or of the 
 stomach, rather than the result of extreme 
 emotion. Sometimes the people who sleep 
 the most profoundly at night in times of sor- 
 row, suffer the more intensely during their 
 waking hours. Disguised as a friend, deceit- 
 ful Slumber comes to them only to strengthen 
 their powers of suffering, and to lend a new edge 
 to pain. 
 
 The Baroness was not without feeling. Her 
 temperament was far from phlegmatic. She had 
 experienced great cyclones of grief and loss in 
 her varied career, though many years had elapsed
 
 40 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 since she had known what the French call a 
 "white night." 
 
 But the night following her interview with Pres- 
 ton Cheney she never closed her eyes in sleep. It 
 was in vain that she tried all known recipes for 
 producing slumber. She said the alphabet back- 
 ward ten times, she counted one thousand, she 
 conjured up visions of sleep, jumping the time- 
 honored fence in battalions, yet the sleep god 
 never once drew near. 
 
 "I am certainly a brilliant illustration of the 
 saying that there is no fool like an old fool," she 
 said to herself as the night wore on, and the 
 strange sensation of pain and loss which Preston 
 Cheney's unexpected announcement had caused 
 her, gnawed at her breast like a rat in a wainscot. 
 
 That she had been unusually interested in the 
 young editor she knew from the first; that she had 
 been mortally wounded by Cupid's shaft she only 
 now discovered. She had passed through a di- 
 vorce, two "affairs" and a legitimate widowhood, 
 without feeling any of the keen emotions which 
 now drove sleep from her eyes. A long time ago, 
 longer than she cared to remember, she had expe- 
 rienced such emotions, but she had supposed such 
 folly only possible in the high tide of early youth. 
 It was absurd, nay more, it was ridiculous to lie 
 awake at her time of life thinking about a penni-
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 41 
 
 less country youth whose mother she might almost 
 have been. In this bitterly frank fashion, the 
 Baroness reasoned with herself as she lay quite 
 still in her luxurious bed, and tried to sleep. 
 
 Yet despite her frankness, her philosophy and 
 her reasoning, the rasping hurt at her heart re- 
 mained a hurt so cruel it seemed to her the 
 end of all peace or pleasure in life. 
 
 It is harder to bear the suffocating heat of a 
 late September day which the year sometimes 
 brings, than all the burning June suns. 
 
 The Baroness heard the click of Preston's key 
 in the street door, and she listened to his slow step 
 as he ascended the stairs. She heard him pause, 
 too, and waited for the sound of the opening of 
 his room door, which was situated exactly above 
 her own. But she listened in vain, her ears, 
 brain and heart on the alert with surprise, curi- 
 osity, and at last suspicion. The Baroness was as 
 full of curiosity as a cat. 
 
 It was not until just before dawn that she heard 
 his step in the hall, and his door open and close, 
 
 An hour later a sharp ring came at the street 
 door bell. A message for Mr. Preston, the servant 
 said, in answer to her mistress' question as she 
 descended from the room above. 
 
 "Was Mr. Preston awake when you rapped on 
 his door?" asked the Baroness.
 
 42 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 "Yes, madame, awake and dressed." 
 Mr. Preston ran hurriedly through the halls and 
 out to the street a moment later ; and the Baroness, 
 clothed in a dressing-gown and silken slippers, 
 tiptoed lightly to his room. The bed had not been 
 occupied the whole night. On the table lay a note 
 which the young man had begun when interrupted 
 by the message which he had thrown down beside 
 it. 
 
 The Baroness glanced at the note, on which the 
 ink was still moist, and read, "My dear Miss 
 Lawrence, I want you to release me from the ties 
 formed only yesterday I am basely unworthy " 
 here the note ended. She now turned her atten- 
 tion to the message which had prevented the com- 
 pletion of the letter. It was signed by Judge 
 Lawrence and ran as follows. 
 
 "MY DEAR BOY: My wife was taken mortally 
 ill this morning just before daybreak. She cannot 
 live many hours, our physician says. Mabel is in 
 a state of complete nervous prostration caused by 
 the shock of this calamity. I wish you would come 
 to us at once. I fear for my dear child's reason 
 unless you prove able to calm and quiet her through 
 this ordeal. Hasten then, my dear son; every 
 moment before you arrive will aeem an age of gor- 
 row and anxiety to me. S. LAWRENCE."
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 48 
 
 A strange smile curved the corners of the Bar- 
 oness' lips as she finished reading this note 
 and tiptoed down the stairs to her own room 
 again. 
 
 Meantime the hour for her hot water arrived, 
 and Berene did not appear. The Baroness drank 
 a quart of hot water every morning as a tonic for 
 her system, and another quart after breakfast to 
 reduce her flesh. Her excellent digestive powers 
 and the clear condition of her blood she attributed 
 largely to this habit. 
 
 After a few moments she rang the bell vigor- 
 ously. Maggie, the chambermaid, came in an- 
 swer to the call. 
 
 "Please ask Miss Dumont" (Berene was always 
 known to the other servants as Miss Dumont) "to 
 hurry with the hot water," the Baroness said. 
 
 "Miss Dumont has not yet come downstairs, 
 madame." 
 
 " Not come down ? Then will you please call her, 
 Maggie?" 
 
 The Baroness was always polite to her servants. 
 She had observed that a graciousness of speech 
 toward her servants often made up for a deficien- 
 cy in wages. Maggie ascended to Miss Dumont's 
 room, and returned with the information that 
 Miss Dumont had a severe headache, and begged 
 the indulgence of madame this morning.
 
 44 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Again that strange smile curved the corners of 
 the Baroness' lips. 
 
 Maggie was requested to bring up hot water and 
 coffee, and great was her surprise to find the Bar- 
 oness moving about the room when she appeared 
 with the tray. 
 
 Half an hour later Berene Dumont, standing 
 by an open window with her hands clasped behind 
 her head, heard a light tap on her door. In answer 
 to a mechanical "Come," the Baroness appeared. 
 
 The rustle of her silken morning gown caused 
 Berene to turn suddenly and face her; and as she 
 met the eyes of her visitor the young woman's 
 pallor gave place to a wave of deep crimson, which 
 dyed her face and neck like the shadow of a red 
 flag falling on a camelia blossom. 
 
 "Maggie tells me you are ill .this morning," the 
 Baroness remarked after a moment's silence. "I 
 am surprised to find you up and dressed. I came 
 to see if I could do anything for you." 
 
 "You are very kind," Berene answered, while 
 in her heart she thought how cruel was the ex- 
 pression in the face of the woman before her, and 
 how faded she appeared in the morning light 
 " But I think I shall be quite well in a little while. 
 I only need to keep quiet for a few hours. " 
 
 " I fear you passed a sleepless night, " the Bar- 
 oness remarked with a solicitous tone, but with
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 45 
 
 the same cruel smile upon her lips. "I see you 
 never opened your bed. Something must have 
 been in the air to keep us all awake. I did not 
 sleep an hour, and Mr. Cheney never entered his 
 room till near morning. Yet I can understand 
 his wakefulness he announced his engagement to 
 Miss Mabel Lawrence to me last evening, and a 
 young man is not expected to woo sleep easily 
 after taking such an important step as that. 
 Judge Lawrence sent for him a few hours ago to 
 come and support Miss Mabel during the trial that 
 the day is to bring them in the death of Mrs. 
 Lawrence. Tha physician has predicted the poor 
 invalid's near end. Sorrow follows close on joy 
 in this life." 
 
 There was a moment's silence; then Miss Du- 
 mont said: "I think I will try to get a little 
 sleep now, madame. I thank you for your kind 
 interest in me." 
 
 The Baroness descended to her room humming 
 an air from an old opera, and settled to the task 
 of removing as much as possible all evidences of 
 fatigue and sleeplessness from her countenance. 
 
 It has been said very prettily of the spruce tree, 
 that it keeps the secret of its greenness well; so 
 well that we hardly know when it sheds its leaves. 
 There are women who resemble the spruce in their 
 perennial youth, and the vigilance with which
 
 46 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 they guard the secret of it. The Baroness was one 
 of these. Only her mirror shared this secret. 
 
 She was an adept at the art of preservation, and 
 greatly as she disliked physical exertion, she toiled 
 laboriously over her own person an hour at least 
 every day, and never employed a maid to assist 
 her. One's rival might buy one's maid, she rea- 
 soned, and it was well to have no confidant in 
 these matters. 
 
 She slipped off her dressing-gown and corset, 
 and set herself to the task of pinching and maul- 
 ing her throat, arms and shoulders, to remove su- 
 perfluous flesh, and strengthen muscles and fibers 
 to resist the flabby tendencies which time produces. 
 Then she used the dumb-bells vigorously for fif- 
 teen minutes, and that was followed by five min- 
 utes of relaxation. Next she lay on the floor flat 
 upon her face, her arms across her back, and lifted 
 her head and chest twenty-five times. This exer- 
 cise was to replace flesh with muscle across the 
 abdomen. Then she rose to her feet, set her small 
 heels together, turned her toes out squarely, and 
 keeping her body upright, bent her knees out in a 
 line with her hips, sinking and rising rapidly fif- 
 teen times. This produced pliancy of the body, 
 and induced a healthy condition of the loins and 
 adjacent organs. 
 
 To further fight against the deadly enemy of
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 47 
 
 obesity, she lifted her arms above her head slowly 
 until she touched her finger tips, at the same 
 time rising upon her tiptoes, while she inhaled a 
 long breath, and as slowly dropped to her heels, 
 and lowered her arms while she exhaled her breath. 
 While these exercises had been taking place, a tin 
 cup of water had been coming to the boiling point 
 over an alcohol lamp. This was now poured into 
 a china bowl containing a small quantity of sweet 
 milk, which was always brought on her break, 
 fast tray. 
 
 The Baroness seated herself before her 
 mirror, in a glare of cruel light which revealed 
 every blemish in her complexion, every line about 
 the mouth and eyes. 
 
 " You are really hideously passee, mon amie," 
 she observed as she peered at herself searchingly; 
 "but we will remedy all that." 
 
 Dipping a soft linen handkerchief in the bowl 
 of steaming milk and water, she applied it to her 
 face, holding it closely over the brow and eyes. 
 and about the mouth, until every pore was sat- 
 urated and every weary drawn tissue fed and 
 strengthened by the tonic. After this she dashed 
 ice-cold water over her face. Still there were 
 little folds at the corners of the eyelids, and an 
 ugly line across the brow, and these were manip- 
 ulated with painstaking care, and treated with
 
 48 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 mysterious oils and fragrant astringents and final- 
 ly washed in cool toilet water and lightly brushed 
 with powder, until at the end of an hour's labor, 
 the face of the Baroness had resumed its rose-leaf 
 bloom and transparent smoothness for which she 
 was so famous. And when by the closest inspec- 
 tion at her mirror in the broadest light, she saw 
 no flaw in skin, hair, or teeth, the Baroness pro- 
 ceeded to dress for a drive. Even the most jeal- 
 ous rival would have been obliged to concede that 
 she looked like a woman of twenty-eight, that 
 most fascinating of all ages, as she took her seat 
 in the carriage. 
 
 In the early days of her life in Beryngford, when 
 as the Baroness Le Fevre she had led society in 
 the little town, Mrs. Lawrence had been one of 
 her most devoted friends, Judge Lawrence one 
 of her most earnest, if silent admirers. As "Bar- 
 oness Brown" and as the landlady of the "Pal- 
 ace" she had still maintained her position as 
 friend of the family, and the Lawrences, secure in 
 their wealth and power, had allowed her to do so, 
 where some of the lower social lights had dropped 
 her from their visiting lists. 
 
 The Baroness seemed to exercise a sort of hyp- 
 notic power over the fretful, nervous invalid who 
 shared Judge Lawrence's name, and this influence 
 was not wholly lost upon the Judge himself, who
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 49 
 
 never looked upon the Baroness' abundant charms, 
 glowing with health, without giving vent to a pro- 
 found sigh like some hungry child standing before 
 a confectioner's window. 
 
 The news of Mrs. Lawrence's dangerous illness 
 was voiced about the town by noon, and there- 
 fore the Baroness felt safe in calling at the door 
 to make inquiries, and to offer any assistance 
 which she might be able to render. Knowing her 
 intimate relations with the mistress of the house, 
 the servant admitted her to the parlor and an- 
 nounced her presence to Judge Lawrence, who left 
 the bedside of the invalid to tell the caller in per- 
 son that Mrs. Lawrence had fallen into a peaceful 
 slumber, and that slight hopes were entertained 
 of her possible recovery. Scarcely had the words 
 passed his lips, however, when the nurse in attend- 
 ance hurriedly called him. "Mrs. Lawrence is 
 deadl" she cried. "She breathed only twice after 
 you left the room." 
 
 The Baroness, shocked and startled, rose to go, 
 feeling that her presence longer would be an in- 
 trusion. 
 
 "Do not go," cried the Judge in tones of dis- 
 tress. "Mabel is nearly distracted, and this news 
 will excite her still further. We thought this 
 morning that she was on the verge of serious men- 
 tal disorder. I sent for her fiance, Mr. Cheney,
 
 50 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 and he has calmed her somewhat. You always ex- 
 erted a soothing and restful influence over my 
 wife, and you may have the same power with 
 Mabel. Stay with us, I beg of you, through the 
 afternoon at least." 
 
 The Baroness sent her carriage home and re- 
 mained in the Lawrence mansion until the follow- 
 ing morning. The condition of Miss Lawrence 
 was indeed serious. She passed from one attack 
 of hysteria to another, and it required the con- 
 stant attention of her fiance and her mother's 
 friend to keep her from acts of violence. 
 
 It was after midnight when she at last fell 
 asleep, and Preston Cheney in a state of complete 
 exhaustion was shown to a room, while the Bar- 
 oness remained at the bedside of Miss Lawrence. 
 
 When the Baroness and Mr. Cheney returned to 
 the Palace they were struck with consternation to 
 learn that Miss Dumont had packed her trunk and 
 departed from Beryngford on the three o'clock 
 train the previous day. 
 
 A brief note thanking the Baroness for her kind- 
 ness, and stating that she had imposed upon that 
 kindness quite too long, was her only farewell. 
 There was no allusion to her plans or her desti- 
 nation, and all inquiry and secret search failed to 
 find one trace of her. She seemed to vanish like 
 a phantom from the face of the earth.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 51 
 
 No one had seen her leave the Palace, save the 
 laundress, Mrs. Connor; and little this humble 
 personage dreamed that Fate was reserving for her 
 an important role in the drama of a life as yet 
 unborn.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHATEVER hope of escape from his self-imposed 
 bondage Preston Cheney had entertained when he 
 began the note to his fiance'e which the Baroness 
 had read, completely vanished during the weeks 
 which followed the death of Mrs. Lawrence. 
 
 Mabel's nervous condition was alarming, and 
 her father seemed to rely wholly upon his future 
 son-in-law for courage and moral support during 
 the trying ordeal. Like most large men of strong 
 physique, Judge Lawrence was as helpless as an 
 infant in the presence of an ailing woman; and 
 his experience as the husband of a wife whose 
 nerves were the only notable thing about her, had 
 given him an absolute terror of feminine invalids. 
 
 Mabel had never been very fond of her mother; 
 she had not been a loving or a dutiful daughter. 
 A petulant child and an irritable, fault-finding 
 young woman, who had often been devoid of sym- 
 pathy for her parents, she now exhibited such an 
 excess of grief over the death of her mother that 
 her reason seemed to be threatened. 
 52
 
 4N AMBITIOUS MAN 53 
 
 It was, iii fact, quite as much anger as grief 
 which caused her nervous paroxysms. Mabel 
 Lawrence had never since her infancy known what 
 it was to be thwarted in a wish. Both parents had 
 been slaves to her slightest caprice and she had 
 ruled the household with a look or a word. Death 
 had suddenly deprived her of a mother who was 
 necessary to her comfort and to whose presence 
 she was accustomed, and her heart was full of 
 angry resentment at the fate which had dared to 
 take away a member of her household. It had 
 never entered her thoughts that death could dev- 
 astate her home. 
 
 Other people lost fathers and mothers, of course; 
 but that Mabel Lawrence could be deprived of a 
 parent seemed incredible. Anger is a strong in- 
 gredient in the excessive grief of every selfish 
 nature. 
 
 Preston Cheney became more and more disheart- 
 ened with the prospect of his future, as he studied 
 the character and temperament of his fiancee dur- 
 ing her first weeks of loss. 
 
 But the net which he had woven was closing 
 closer and closer about him, and every day he 
 became more hopelessly entangled in its meshes. 
 
 At the end of one month, the family physician 
 decided that travel and change of air and scene 
 was an imperative necessity for Miss Lawrence.
 
 54 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Judge Lawrence was engaged in some important 
 legal matters which rendered an extended journey 
 impossible for him. To trust Mabel in the hands 
 of hired nurses alone, was not advisable. It was 
 her father who suggested an early marriage and 
 a European trip for bride and groom, as the wisest 
 expedient under the circumstances. 
 
 Like the prisoner in the iron room, who saw the 
 walls slowly but surely closing in to crush out his 
 life, Preston Cheney saw his wedding day ap- 
 proaching, and knew that his doom was sealed. 
 
 There were many desperate hours, when, had he 
 possessed the slightest clue to the hiding place of 
 Berene Dumont, he would have flown to her even 
 knowing that he left disgrace and death behind 
 him. He realized that he now owed a duty to the 
 girl he loved, higher and more imperative by far 
 than any he owed to his fiancee. But he had not 
 the means to employ a detective to find Berene; 
 and he was not sure that, if found, she might not 
 spurn him. He had heard and read of cases where 
 a woman's love had turned to bitter loathing and 
 hatred for the man who had not protected her in 
 a moment of weakness. He could think of no other 
 cause which would lead Berene to disappear in 
 such a mysterious manner at such a time, and 
 so the days passed, and he married Mabel Law- 
 rence two months after the death of her mother,
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 55 
 
 and the young couple set forth immediately on 
 extended foreign travels. Fifteen months later 
 they returned to Beryngford with their infant 
 daughter Alice. Mrs. Cheney was much improved 
 in health, though still a great sufferer from nerv- 
 ous disorders, a misfortune which the child seemed 
 to inherit. She would lie and scream for hours 
 at a time, clenching her small fists and growing 
 purple in the face, and all efforts of parents, nurses 
 or physicians to soothe her, served only to fur-t 
 ther increase her frenzy. She screamed and beat 
 the air with her thin arms and legs until nature 
 exhausted itself, then she fell into a heavy slum- 
 ber and awoke in good spirits. 
 
 These attacks came on frequently in the night, 
 and as they rendered Mrs. Cheney very "nervous," 
 and caused a panic among the nurses, it devolved 
 upon the unhappy father to endeavor to soothe 
 the violent child. And while he walked the floor 
 with her or leaned over her crib using all his 
 strong mental powers to control these unfortunate 
 paroxysms, no vision came to him of another child 
 lying cuddled in her mother's arms in a dist ant 
 town, a child of wonderful beauty and angelic na- 
 ture, born of love and inheriting love's divine 
 qualities. 
 
 A few months before theyonng couple returned 
 to their native soil, they received a letter which
 
 56 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 caused Preston the greatest astonishment and 
 Mabel some hours of hysterical weeping. This 
 letter was written by Judge Lawrence and an- 
 nounced his marriage to Baroness Brown. Judge 
 Lawrence had been a widower more than a year 
 when the Baroness took the book of his heart, in 
 which he supposed the hand of romance had long 
 ago written "finis," and turning it to his aston- 
 ished eyes, revealed a whole volume of love's love. 
 
 It is in the second reading of their hearts 
 that the majority of men find the most interest- 
 ing literature. 
 
 Before the Baroness had been three months his 
 wife, the long years of martyrdom he had endured 
 as the husband of Mabel's mother seemed like a 
 nightmare dream to Judge Lawrence; and all of 
 life, hope and happiness was embodied in the 
 woman who ruled his destiny with a hypnotic 
 sway no one could dispute, yet a woman whose 
 heart still throbbed with a stubborn and lawless 
 passion for the man who called her husband father.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MORE than two decades had passed since Preston 
 Cheney followed the dictates of his ambition and 
 married Mabel Lawrence. 
 
 Many of his early hopes and desires had been 
 realized during these years. He had attained to 
 high political positions; and honor and wealth 
 were his to enjoy. Yet Senator Cheney, as he was 
 now known, was far from a happy man. Disap- 
 pointment was written in every lineament of his 
 face, restlessness and discontent spoke in his every 
 movement, and at times the spirit of despair 
 seemed to look from the depths of his eyes. 
 
 To a man of any nobility of nature, there can 
 be small satisfaction in honors which he knows 
 are bought with money and bribes; and to the 
 proud young American there was the additional 
 sting of knowing that even the money by which 
 his honors were purchased was not his own. 
 
 It was the second Mrs. Lawrence (still desig- 
 nated as the "Baroness" by her step-daughter and 
 by old acquaintances) to whom Preston owed the 
 constant reminder of his dependence upon the 
 
 er
 
 58 AW AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 purse of his father-in-law. In those subtle, occult 
 ways known only to a jealous and designing na- 
 ture, the Baroness found it possible to make Pres- 
 ton's life a torture, without revealing her weapons 
 of warfare to her husband; indeed, without allow- 
 ing him to even smell the powder while she still 
 kept up a constant small fire upon the helpless 
 enemy. 
 
 Owing to the fact that Mabel had come as com- 
 pletely under the hypnotic influence of the Baron- 
 ess as the first Mrs. Lawrence had been during her 
 lifetime, Preston was subjected to a great deal 
 more of her persecutions than would otherwise 
 have been possible. Mabel was never happier than 
 when enjoying the companionship of her new 
 mother; a condition of things which pleased the 
 Judge as much as it made his son-in-law miserable. 
 
 With a malicious adroitness possible only to such 
 a woman as the second Mrs. Lawrence, she en- 
 deared herself to Mrs. Cheney by a thousand flat- 
 tering and caressing ways, and by a constant 
 exhibition of sympathy, which to a weak and selfish 
 nature is as pleasing as it is distasteful to the 
 proud and strong. And by this inexhaustible flow 
 of sympathetic feeling, she caused the wife to 
 drift farther and farther away from her husband's 
 influence, and to accuse him of all manner of 
 shortcomings and faults which had not suggested 
 themselves to her own mind.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 59 
 
 Mabel had not given or demanded a devoted 
 love when she married Preston Cheney. She was 
 quite satisfied to bear his name, and do the hon- 
 ors of his house, and to be let alone as much as 
 possible. It was the name, not the estate of wife- 
 hood she desired; and motherhood she had ac- 
 cepted with reluctance and distaste. 
 
 Never was a more undesired or unwelcome child 
 born than her daughter Alice, and the helpless 
 infant shared with its father the resentful anger 
 which dominated her unwilling mother the 
 wretched months before its advent into earth life. 
 
 To be let alone and allowed to follow her own 
 whims and desires, and never to be crossed in any 
 wish, was all Mrs. Cheney asked of her husband. 
 
 This role was one he had very willingly permit- 
 ted her to pursue, since with every passing week 
 and month he found less and less to win or bind 
 him to his wife. Wretched as this condition of 
 life was, it might at least have settled into a 
 monotonous calm, undisturbed by strife, but for 
 the molesting "sympathy" of the Baroness. 
 
 "Poor thing, here you are alone again," she 
 would say on entering the house where Mabel 
 lounged or lolled, quite content with her situation 
 until the tone and words of her step-mother 
 aroused a resentful consciousness of being neg- 
 lected. Again the Baroness would say:
 
 60 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 "I do think you are such a brave little darling 
 to carry so smiling a face about with all you have 
 to endure." Or, "Very few wives would bear what 
 you bear and hide every vestige of unhappiness 
 from the world. You are a wonderful and admira- 
 ble character in my eyes." Or, "It seems so 
 strange that your husband does not adore you 
 but men are blind to the best qualities in women 
 like you. I never hear Mr. Cheney praising other 
 women without a sad and almost resentful feeling 
 in my heart, realizing how superior you are to all 
 of his favorites. " It was the insidious effect of 
 poisoned flattery like this, which made the Baron- 
 ess a ruling power in the Cheney household, and 
 at the same time turned an already cold and unlov- 
 ing wife into a jealous and nagging tyrant who 
 rendered the young statesman's home the most 
 dreaded place on earth to him, and caused him 
 to live away from it as much as possible. 
 
 His only child, Alice, a frail, hysterical girl, 
 devoid of beauty or grace, gave him but little 
 comfort or satisfaction. Indeed she was but an 
 added disappointment and pain in his life. In- 
 dulged in every selfish thought by her mother and 
 the Baroness, peevish and petulant, always ailing, 
 complaining and discontented, and still a victim 
 to the nervous disorders inherited from her mother, 
 it was small wonder that Senator Cheney took
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 61 
 
 no more delight in the role of father than he had 
 found in the role of husband. 
 
 Alice was given every advantage which money 
 could purchase. But her delicate health had ren- 
 dered systematic study of any kind impossible and 
 her twentieth birthday found her with no educa- 
 tion, with no use of her reasoning or will powers, 
 but with a complete and beautiful wardrobe in 
 which to masquerade and air her poor little at- 
 tempts at music, art, or conversation. 
 
 Judge Lawrence died when Alice was fifteen 
 years of age, leaving both his widow and his 
 daughter handsomely provided for. 
 
 The "Baroness" not only possessed the Beryng- 
 ford homestead, but a house in Washington as 
 well; and both of these were occupied by tenants, 
 for Mabel insisted upon having her step-mother 
 dwell under her own roof. Senator Cheney had 
 purchased a house in New York to gratify his wife 
 and daughter, and it was here the family resided 
 when not in Washington or at the seaside resorts. 
 Both women wished to forget, and to make others 
 forget that they had ever lived in Beryngford. 
 They never visited the place and never referred 
 to it. They desired to be considered "New Yorkers" 
 and always spoke of themselves as such. 
 
 The Baroness was now hopelessly passee. Yet 
 it was the revealing of the inner woman, rather
 
 62 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 than the withering of the exterior, which betrayed 
 her years. The woman who understands the art 
 of bodily preservation can, with constant toil and 
 care, retain an appearance of youth and charm 
 into middle life; but she who would pass that 
 dreaded meridian and still remain a goodly sight 
 for the eyes of men, must possess, in addition to 
 all the secrets of the toilet, those divine elixirs, 
 unselfishness, and love for humanity. Faith in 
 divine powers, too, and resignation to earthly ills, 
 must do their part to lend the fading eye luster, 
 and to give a softening glow to the paling cheek. 
 Before middle life, it is the outer woman who is 
 seen ; after middle life, skilled as she may be by 
 art and however endowed by nature, yet the inner 
 woman becomes visible to the least discerning 
 eye, and the thoughts and feelings which have 
 dominated her during all the past, are shown upon 
 her face and form like printed words upon the 
 open leaves of a book. That is why so many young 
 beauties become ugly old ladies, and why plain 
 faces sometimes are beautiful in age. 
 
 The Baroness had been unremitting in the care 
 of her person, and she had by this toil saved her 
 figure from becoming gross, retaining the upright 
 carriage and the tapering waist of youth, though 
 she was upon the verge of her sixtieth birthday. 
 Her complexion, too, owing to her careful diet,
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 68 
 
 her hours of repose, and her knowledge of skin 
 foods and lotions, remained smooth, fair and un- 
 furrowed. But the long-guarded expression in her 
 blue eyes of childlike innocence had given place 
 to the hard look of a selfish and unhappy nature, 
 and the lines about the small mouth accented the 
 expression of the eyes. 
 
 It was, despite its preservation of Nature's gifts, 
 and despite its forced smiles, the face of a selfish, 
 cruel pessimist, disappointed in her past and with 
 no uplifting faith to brighten the future. 
 
 The Baroness had been the wife of Judge Law- 
 rence a number of years, before she relinquished 
 her hopes of one day making Preston Cheney re- 
 spond to the passion which burned unquenched in 
 her breast. It had been with the idea of augment- 
 ing the interests of the man whom she believed to 
 be her future lover, that she aided and urged on 
 her husband in his efforts to procure place and 
 honor for his son-in-law. 
 
 It was this idea which caused her to widen the 
 breach between wife and husband by every subtle 
 means in her power; and it was when this idea 
 began to lose color and substance and drop away 
 among the wreckage of past hopes, that the Bar- 
 oness ceased to compliment and began to taunt 
 Preston Cheney with his dependence upon his 
 father-in-law, and to otherwise goad and torment
 
 64 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 the unhappy man. And Preston Cheney grew into 
 the habit of staying anywhere longer than at 
 home. 
 
 During the last ten years the Baroness had 
 seemed to abandon all thoughts of gallant adven- 
 ture. When the woman who has found life and 
 pleasures only in coquetry and conquest, is forced 
 to relinquish these delights, she becomes either 
 very devout or very malicious. 
 
 The Baroness was devoid of religious feelings, 
 and she became, therefore, the most bitter and 
 caustic of cynical critics at heart, though she 
 guarded her expression of these sentiments from 
 policy. 
 
 Yet to Mabel she expressed herself freely, 
 knowing that her listener enjoyed no conversa- 
 tion so much as that of gossip and criticism. A 
 beautiful or attractive woman was the target 
 for her most cruel shafts of sarcasm, and indeed 
 no woman was safe from her secret malice save 
 Mabel and Alice, over whom she found it a great- 
 er pleasure to exercise her hypnotic control. For 
 Alice, indeed, the Baroness entertained a peculiar 
 affection. The fact that she was the child of the 
 man to whom she had given the strongest passion 
 of her life, and the girl's lack of personal beauty, 
 and her unfortunate physical condition, awoke a 
 medley of love, pity and protection in the heart 
 of this strange woman.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE Baroness had always been a church-going 
 woman, yet she had never united with any church, 
 or subscribed to any creed. 
 
 Religious observance was only an implement of 
 social warfare with her. Wherever her lot wag 
 cast, she made it her business to discover which 
 church the fashionable people of the town fre- 
 quented, and to become a familiar and liberal- 
 handed personage in that edifice. 
 
 Judge Lawrence and his family were High 
 Church Episcopalians, and the second Mrs. Law- 
 rence slipped gracefully into the pew vacated by 
 the first, and became a much more important 
 feature in the congregation, owing to her good 
 health and extreme desire for popularity. Mabel 
 and Alice were devout believers in the orthodox 
 dogmas which have taken the place of the simple 
 teachings of Christ in so many of our churches to- 
 day. They believed that people who did not go 
 to church would stand a very poor chance of heav- 
 en ; and that a strict observance of a Sunday re- 
 ligion would insure them a passport into God's 
 65
 
 66 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 favor. When they returned from divine service 
 and mangled the character and attire of their 
 neighbors over the Sunday dinner-table, no idea 
 entered their heads or hearts that they had 
 sinned against the Holy Ghost. The pastor of 
 their church knew them to be selfish, worldly- 
 minded women; yet he administered the holy 
 sacrament to them without compunction of con- 
 science, and never by question or remark implied 
 a doubt of their true sincerity in things religious. 
 They believed in the creed of his church, and 
 they paid liberally for the support of that church, 
 What more could he ask? 
 
 This had been true of the pastor in Beryngford, 
 and it proved equally true of their spiritual ad- 
 viser in Washington and in New York. 
 
 Just across the aisle from the Lawrences sat a 
 rich financier, in his sumptuously cushioned pew. 
 During six days of each week he was engaged in 
 crushing life and hope out of the hearts of the poor, 
 under his juggernaut wheels of monopoly. His 
 name was known far and near, as that of a pow- 
 erful and cruel speculator, who did not hesitate 
 to pauperize his nearest friends if they placed 
 themselves in his reach. That he was a thief and 
 a robber, no one ever denied; yet so colossal were 
 his thefts, so bold and successful his robberies, 
 the public gazed upon him with a sort of stupefied
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 67 
 
 awe, and allowed him to proceed, while miserable 
 tramps, who stole overcoats or robbed money 
 drawers, were incarcerated for a term of years, 
 and then sternly refused assistance afterward by 
 good people, who place no confidence in jail 
 birds. 
 
 But each Sunday this successful robber occu- 
 pied his high-priced church pew, devoutly listen- 
 ing to the divine word. 
 
 He never failed to partake of the holy commu- 
 nion, nor was his right to do so ever questioned. 
 
 The rector of the church knew his record per- 
 fectly; knew that his gains were ill-gotten blood 
 money, ground from the suffering poor by the 
 power of monopoly, and from confiding fools by 
 smart lures and scheming tricks. But this young 
 clergyman, having recently been called to preside 
 over the fashionable church, had no idea of being 
 so impolite as to refuse to administer the bread 
 and wine to one of its most liberal supporters! 
 
 There were constant demands upon the treasury 
 of the church ; it required a vast outlay of money 
 to maintain the splendor and elegance of the tem- 
 ple which held its head so high above many oth- 
 ers; and there were large charities to be sustained, 
 not to mention its rector's princely salary. The 
 millionaire pew-holder was a liberal giver. It 
 rarely occurs to the fashionable dispensers of spir-
 
 06 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 itual knowledge to ask whether the devil's money 
 should be used to gild the Lord's temple; nor to 
 question if it be a wise religion which allows a 
 man to rob his neighbors on week days, to give 
 to the cause of charity on Sundays. 
 
 And yet if every clergyman and priest in the 
 land were to make and maintain these standards 
 for their followers, there might be an astonishing 
 decrease in the needs of the poor and unfortunate. 
 
 Were every church member obliged to open 
 his month's ledgers to a competent jury of inspec- 
 tors, before he was allowed to take the holy sac- 
 rament and avow himself a humble follower of 
 Christ, what a revolution might ensue ! How church 
 spires would crumble for lack of support, and poor- 
 houses lessen in number for lack of inmates I 
 
 But the leniency of clergyman toward the short- 
 comings of their wealthy parishioners is often a 
 touching lesson in charity to the thoughtful ob- 
 server who stands outside the fold. 
 
 For how could they obtain money to convert 
 the heathen, unless this sweet cloak of charity 
 were cast over the sins of the liberal rich? Christ 
 is crucified by the fashionable clergymen to-day 
 more cruelly than He was by the Jews of old. 
 
 Senator Cheney was not a church member, and 
 he seldom attended service. This was a matter of 
 great solicitude to his wife and daughter. The
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 69 
 
 Baroness felt it to be a mistake on the part of 
 
 Senator Cheney, and even Judge Lawrence, who 
 adored his eon-in-law, regretted the young man's 
 indifference to things spiritual. But with all Pres- 
 ton Cheney's worldly ambitions and weaknesses, 
 there was a vein of sincerity in his nature which 
 forbade his feigning a faith he did not feel; and 
 the daily lives of the three feminine members of 
 his family were so in disaccord with his views of 
 religion that he felt no incentive to follow in 
 their footsteps. Judge Lawrence he knew to be an 
 honest, loyal-hearted, God and humanity loving 
 man. "A true Christian by nature and educa- 
 tion," he said of his father-in-law, "but lam not 
 born with his tendency to religious observance, 
 and I see less and less in the churches to lead me 
 into the fold. It seems to me that these religious 
 institutions are getting to be vast monopolistic 
 corporations like the railroads and oil trusts, and 
 the like. I see very little of the spirit of Christ 
 in orthodox people to-day." 
 
 Meanwhile Senator Cheney's purse was always 
 open to any demand the church made; he believed 
 in churches as benevolent if not soul-saving in- 
 stitutions, and cheerfully aided their charitable 
 work. 
 
 The rector of St. Blanks, the fashionable edifice 
 where the ladies of the Cheney household obtained
 
 70 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 spiritual manna in New York, died when Alice 
 was sixteen years old. He was a good old man, 
 and a sincere Episcopalian, and whatever origin- 
 ality of thought or expression he may have 
 lacked, his strict observance of the High Church 
 C'/des of ethics maintained the tone of his church 
 and rendered him an object of reverence to his 
 congregation. His successor was Reverend Arthur 
 Emerson Stuart, a young man barely thirty years 
 of age, heir to a comfortable fortune, gifted with 
 strong intellectual powers and dowered with phys- 
 ical attractions. 
 
 It was not a case of natural selection which 
 caused Arthur Stuart to adopt the church as a 
 profession. It was the result of his middle name. 
 Mrs. Stuart had been an Emerson in some re- 
 mote way her family claimed relationship with 
 Ralph Waldo. Her father and grandfather and 
 several uncles had been clergymen. She married 
 a broker, who left her a rich widow with one child, 
 a son. From the hour this son was born his moth- 
 er designed him for the clergy, and brought him 
 up with that idea firmly while gently fixed in his 
 mind. 
 
 Whatever seed a mother plants in a young 
 child's mind, carefully watches over, prunes and 
 waters, and exposes to sun and shade, is quite cer- 
 tain to grow, if the soil is not wholly stony ground.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 71 
 
 Arthur Stuart adored his mother, and stifling 
 some commercial instincts inherited from the pa- 
 rental side, he turned his attention to the minis- 
 try and entered upon his chosen work when only 
 twenty-five years of age. Eloquent, dramatic in 
 speech, handsome, and magnetic in person, inde- 
 pendent in fortune, and of excellent lineage on 
 the mother's side, it was not surprising that he 
 was called to take charge of the spiritual welfare 
 of fashionable St. Blank's Church on the death of 
 the old pastor; or that having taken the charge, 
 he became immensely popular, especially with 
 the ladies of his congregation. And from the first 
 Sabbath day when they looked up from their ex- 
 pensive pew into the handsome face of their new 
 rector, there was but one man in the world for 
 Mabel Cheney and her daughter Alice, and that 
 was the Reverend Arthur Emerson Stuart. 
 
 It has been said by a great and wise teacher, 
 that we may worship the god in the human being, 
 but never the human being as God. This distinc- 
 tion is rarely drawn by women, I fear, when their 
 spiritual teacher is a young and handsome man. 
 The ladies of the Rev. Arthur Stuart's congrega- 
 tion went home to dream, not of the Creator and 
 Maker of all things, nor of the divine Man, but 
 of the handsome face, stalwart form and mag- 
 netic voice of the.young rector. They feasted their
 
 72 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 eyes upon his agreeable person, rather than their 
 souls upon his words of salvation. Disappointed 
 wives, lonely spinsters and romantic girls be- 
 lieved they were coming nearer to spiritual truths 
 in their increased desire to attend service, while 
 in fact they were merely drawn nearer to a very 
 attractive male personality. 
 
 There was not the holy flame in the young cler- 
 gyman's own heart to ignite other souls; but his 
 strong magnetism was perceptible to all, and they 
 did not realize the difference. And meantime the 
 church grew and prospered amazingly. 
 
 It was observed by the congregation of St. 
 Blanks Church, shortly after the advent of the 
 new rector, that a new organist also occupied the 
 organ loft; and inquiry elicited the fact that the 
 old man who had officiated in that capacity dur- 
 ing many years, had been retired on a pension, 
 while a young lady who needed the position and 
 the salary had been chosen to fill the vacancy. 
 
 That the change was for the better could not 
 be questioned. Never before had such music 
 pealed forth under the tall spires of St. Blank's. 
 The new organist seemed inspired; and many peo- 
 ple in the fashionable congregation, hearing that 
 this wonderful musician was a young woman, lin- 
 gered near the church door after service to catch 
 a glimpse of her as she descended from the loft.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 73 
 
 A goodly sight she was, indeed, for human eyes 
 to gaze upon. Young, of medium height and per- 
 fect symmetry of shape, her blonde hair and satin 
 skin and eyes of velvet darkness were but her 
 lesser charms. That which riveted the gaze of 
 every beholder, and drew all eyes to her wherever 
 she passed, was her air of radiant health and hap- 
 piness, which emanated from her like the perfume 
 from a flower. 
 
 A sad countenance may render a heroine of ro- 
 mance attractive in a book, but in real life there 
 is no charm at once so rare and so fascinating as 
 happiness. Did you ever think how few faces of 
 the grown up, however young, are really happy in 
 expression? Discontent, restlessness, longing, 
 unsatisfied ambition, or ill health mar ninety and 
 nine of every hundred faces we meet in the daily 
 walks of life. When we look upon a countenance 
 which sparkles with health and absolute joy in 
 life, we turn and look again and yet again, 
 charmed and fascinated, though we do not know 
 why. 
 
 It was such a face that Joy Irving, the new or- 
 ganist of St. Blank's Church, flashed upon the peo- 
 ple who had lingered near the door to see her pass 
 out. Among those who lingered was the Baroness; 
 and all day she carried about with her the mem- 
 ory of that sparkling countenance; and strive as
 
 74 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 she would, she could not drive away a vague, 
 strange uneasiness which the sight of that face 
 had caused her. 
 
 Yet a vision of youth and beauty always made 
 the Baroness unhappy, now that both blessings 
 were irrevocably lost to her. 
 
 This particular young face, however, stirred 
 her with those half-painful, half-pleasurable 
 emotions which certain perfumes awake in us 
 vague reminders of joys lost or unattained, of 
 dreams broken or unrealized. Added to this, it re- 
 minded her of some one she had known, yet she 
 could not place the resemblance. 
 
 "Oh to be young and beautiful like that!" she 
 sighed as she buried her face in her pillow that 
 night. "And since I cannot be, if only Alice had 
 that girl's face." 
 
 And because Alice did not have it, the Baroness 
 went to sleep with a feeling of bitter resentment 
 against its possessor, the beautiful young organist 
 of St. Blank's.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 UP in the loft of St. Blank's Church the young 
 organist had been practicing the whole morning. 
 People paused on the street to listen to the glori- 
 ous sounds, and were thrilled by them, as one is 
 only thrilled when the strong personality of the 
 player enters into the execution. 
 
 Down into the committee room, where several 
 deacons and the young rector were seated discuss- 
 ing some question pertaining to the well-being of 
 the church, the music penetrated too, causing the 
 business which had brought them together, to be 
 suspended temporarily. 
 
 " It is a sin to talk while music like that can be 
 heard," remarked one man. "You have found a 
 genius in this new organist, Rector." 
 
 The young man nodded silently, his eyes half 
 closed with an expression of somewhat sensuous 
 enjoyment of the throbbing chords which vibrated 
 in perfect unison with the beating of his strong 
 
 "Where does she come from ?" asked the deacon, 
 as a pause in the music occurred. 
 75
 
 76 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 "Her father was an earnest and prominent 
 member of the little church down-town of which 
 I had charge during several years," replied the 
 young man. "Miss Irving was scarcely more than 
 a child when she volunteered her services as or- 
 ganist. The position brought her no remunera- 
 tion, and at that time she did not need it. Young 
 as she was, the girl was one of the most active 
 workers among the poor, and I often met her in 
 my visits to the sick and unfortunate. She had 
 been a musical prodigy from the cradle, and Mr. 
 Irving had given her every advantage to study 
 and perfect her artv 
 
 "I was naturally much interested in her. Mr. 
 Irving's long illness left his wife and daughter 
 without means of support, at his death, and when 
 I was called to take charge of St. Blanks, I at 
 once realized the benefit to the family as well as 
 to my church could I secure the young lady the 
 position here as organist. I am glad that my con- 
 gregation seem so well satisfied with my choice." 
 
 Again the organ pealed forth, this time in that 
 passionate music originally written for the Gar- 
 den Scene in "Faust," and which the church has 
 boldly taken and arranged as a quartette to the 
 words, "Come unto me." 
 
 It may be that to some who listen, it is the Di- 
 vine spirit which makes its appeal through those
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 77 
 
 stirring strains; but to the rector of St. Blank's, at 
 least on that morning, it was human heart, calling 
 unto human heart. Mr. Stuart and the deacons 
 sat silently drinking in the music. At length the 
 rector rose. "I think perhaps we had better drop 
 the matter under discussion for to-day," he said. 
 "We can meet here Monday evening at five o'clock 
 if agreeable to you all, and finish the details. 
 There are other and more important affairs waiting 
 for me now." 
 
 The deacons departed, and the young rector 
 sank back in his chair, and gave himself up to the 
 enjoyment of the sounds which flooded not. only 
 the room, but his brain, heart and soul 
 
 "Queer," he said to himself as the door closed 
 behind the human pillars of his church, "Queer, 
 but I felt as if the presence of those men was an 
 intrusion upon something belonging personally 
 to me. I wonder why I am so peculiarly affected 
 by this girl's music? It arouses my brain to ac- 
 tion, it awakens ambition and gives me courage 
 and hope, and yet " he paused before allowing 
 his feeling to shape itself into thoughts. Then 
 closing his eyes and clasping his hands behind his 
 head while the music surged about him, he lay 
 back in his easy chair as a bather might lie 
 back and float upon the water, and his unfinished 
 sentence took shape thus: "And yet stronger 
 than all other feelings which her music arouses
 
 78 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 in me, is the desire to possess the musician for 
 my very own forever; ah, well! the Roman Catho- 
 lics are wise in not allowing their priests and 
 their nuns to listen to all even so-called sacred 
 music." 
 
 It was perhaps ten minutes later that Joy Ir- 
 ving became conscious that she was not alone in 
 the organ loft. She had neither heard nor seen 
 his entrance, but she felt the presence of her rec- 
 tor, and turned to find him silently watching her. 
 She played her phrase to the end, before she 
 greeted him with other than a smile. Then 
 she apologized, saying: "Even one's rector 
 must wait for a musical phrase to reach its 
 period. Angels may interrupt the rendition 
 of a great work, but not man. That were 
 sacrilege. You see I was really praying, when you 
 3ntered, though my heart spoke through my fin- 
 gers instead of my lips " 
 
 "You need not apologize," the young man an- 
 swered. "One who receives your smile would be 
 ungrateful indeed if he asked for more. That 
 alone would render the darkest spot radiant with 
 light and welcome to me." 
 
 The girl's pink cheek flushed crimson, like a 
 rose bathed in the sunset colors of the sky. 
 
 "I did not think you were a man to coin pretty 
 speeches," she said.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 "Your estimate of me was a wise one. You vead 
 human nature correctly. But come and walk in the 
 park with me. You will overtax yourself if you 
 practice any longer. The sunlight and the air are 
 vying with each other to-day to see which can be 
 the most intoxicating. Come and enjoy their 
 sparring match with me; I want to talk to you 
 about one of my unfortunate parishioners. It is 
 a peculiarly pathetic case. I think you can help 
 and advise me in the matter." 
 
 It was a superb morning in early October. New 
 York was like a beautiful woman arrayed in her 
 fresh autumn costume, disporting herself before 
 admiring eyes. 
 
 Absorbed in each other's society, their pulses 
 beating high with youth, love and health, the 
 young couple walked through the crowded avenues 
 of the great city, as happily and as naturally as 
 Adam and Eve might have walked in the Garden 
 of Eden the morning after Creation. 
 
 Both were city born and city bred, yet both were 
 as unfashionable and untrammeled by customs 
 as two children of the plains. 
 
 In the very heart of the greatest metropolis in 
 America, there are people who live and retain all 
 the primitive simplicity of village life and thought. 
 Mr. Irving had been one of these. Coming to New 
 York from an interior village when a young man,
 
 80 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 he had, through simple and quiet tastes and relig- 
 ious convictions, kept himself wholly free from 
 the social life of the city in which he lived. After 
 his marriage his entire happiness lay in his home, 
 and Joy was reared by parents who made her world. 
 Mrs. Irving sympathized fully with her husband 
 in his distaste for society, and her delicate health 
 rendered her almost a recluse from the world. 
 
 A few pleasant acquaintances, no intimates, 
 music, books, and a large share of her time given 
 to charitable work, composed the life of Joy Ir- 
 ving. 
 
 She had never been in a fashionable assemblage; 
 she had never attended a theater, as Mr. Irving 
 did not approve of them. 
 
 Extremely fond of outdoor life, she walked, 
 unattended, wherever her mood led her. As she 
 had no acquaintances among society people, she 
 knew nothing and cared less for the rules which 
 govern the promenading habits of young women 
 in New York. Her sweet face and graceful figure 
 were well known among the poorer quarters of the 
 city, and it was through her work in such places 
 that Arthur Stuart's attention had first been called 
 to her. 
 
 As for him, he was filled with that high, but 
 not always wise disdain for society and its cus- 
 toms, which we so often find in town bred young
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 81 
 
 men of intellectual pursuits. He was clean-minded, 
 independent, sure of his own purposes, and wholly 
 indifferent to the opinions of inferiors regarding 
 his habits. 
 
 He loved the park, and he asked Joy to walk 
 with him there, as freely as he would have asked 
 her to sit with him in a conservatory. It was a 
 great delight to the young girl to go. 
 
 "It seems such a pity that the women of New 
 York get so little benefit from this beautiful park, " 
 she said as they strolled along through the wind- 
 ing paths together. "The wealthy people enjoy 
 it in a way from their carriages, and the poor 
 people no doubt derive new life from their Sunday 
 promenades here. But there are thousands like 
 myself who are almost wholly debarred from its ' 
 pleasures. I have always wanted to walk here, 
 but once I came and a rude man in a carriage 
 spoke to me. Mother told me never to come alone 
 again. It seems strange to me that men who are 
 so proud of their strength, and who should be the 
 natural protectors of woman, can belittle them- 
 selves by annoying or frightening her when alone. 
 I am sure that same man would never think of 
 speaking to me now that I am with you. How 
 cowardly he seems when you think of it 1 Yet I 
 am told there are many like him, though that was 
 my only experience of the kind."
 
 82 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 "Yes, there are many like him," the rector an- 
 swered. "But you must remember how short a 
 time man has been evolving from a lower animal 
 condition to his present state, and how much high- 
 er he is to-day than he was a hundred years ago 
 even, when occasional drunkenness was considered 
 an attribute of a gentleman. Now it is a vice of 
 which he is ashamed." 
 
 "Then you believe in evolution?" Joy asked 
 with a note of surprise in her voice. 
 
 "Yes, I surely do; nor does the belief conflict 
 with my religious faith. I believe in many things 
 I could not preach from my pulpit. My congre- 
 gation is not ready for broad truths. I am like 
 an eclectic physician I suit my treatment to my 
 patient I administer the old school or the new 
 school medicaments as the case demands." 
 
 "It seems to me there can be but one school in 
 spiritual matters," Joy said gravely "the right 
 one. And I think one should preach and teach 
 what he believes to be true and right, no matter 
 what his congregation demands. Oh, forgive me I 
 I am very rude to speak like that to you!" And 
 she blushed and paled with fright at her boldness. 
 
 They were seated on a rustic bench now, under 
 the shadow of a great tree. 
 
 The rector smiled, his eyes fixed with pleased 
 satisfaction on the girl's beautiful face, with its'
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 83 
 
 changing color and expression. He felt he could 
 well afford to be criticised or rebuked by her, if 
 the result was so gratifying to his sight. The 
 young rector of St. Blank's lived very much more 
 in his senses than in his ideals. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," he said. "I some- 
 times wish I had greater courage of my convic- 
 tions. I think I could have, were you to stimulate 
 me with such words often. But my mother is so 
 afraid that I will wander from the old dogmas, 
 that I am constantly checking myself. However, in 
 regard to the case I mentioned to you it is a del- 
 icate subject, but you are not like ordinary young 
 women, and you and I have stood beside so many 
 sick-beds and death-beds together that we can 
 speak as man to man, or woman to woman, with 
 no false modesty to bar our speech. 
 
 "A very sad case has come to my knowledge of 
 late; Miss Adams, a woman who for some years 
 has b en a devout member of St. Blank's Church, 
 has several times mentioned her niece to me, a 
 young girl who was away at boarding school. A 
 few months ago the young girl graduated and came 
 to live with this aunt. I remember her as a bright, 
 buoyant, and very intelligent girl. I have not 
 seen her now during two months; and last week 
 I asked Miss Adams what had become of her niece. 
 Then the poor woman broke into sobs and told me
 
 $4 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 the sad state of affairs. It seems that the girl 
 Marah is her daughter. The poor mother had 
 believed she could guard the truth from her child, 
 and had educated her as her niece, and was now 
 prepared to enjoy her companionship, when some 
 mischief-making gossip dug up the old scandal 
 and imparted the facts to Marah. 
 
 "The girl came to Miss Adams and demanded 
 the truth, and the mother confessed. Then the 
 daughter settled into a profound melancholy, from 
 which nothing seemed to rouse'her. She will not 
 go out, remains in the house, and broods constant- 
 ly over her disgrace. 
 
 "It occurred to me that if Marah Adams could 
 be brought out of herself and interested in some 
 work, or study, it would be the salvation of her 
 reason. Her mother told me she is an accom- 
 plished musician, but that she refuses to touchher 
 piano now. I thought you might take her as an 
 understudy on the organ, and by your influence 
 and association lead her out of herself. You 
 could make her acquaintance through approach- 
 ing the mother, who is a milliner, on business, and 
 your tact would do the rest. In all my large and 
 wealthy congregation I know of no other woman 
 to whom I could appeal for aid in this delicate 
 matter, so I am sure you will pardon me. In 
 fact, I fear were the matter to be known in the
 
 *N AMBITIOUS MAN 85 
 
 4 
 
 congregation at all, i^ would lead to renewed paiq 
 and added hurts for both Miss Adams and her 
 daughter. You know women can be so cruel to 
 each other in subtle ways, and I have seen almost 
 death-blows dealt in church aisles by one church 
 member to another." 
 
 "Oh, that is a terrible reflection on Christians," 
 cried Joy, who, a born Christ-woman, believed 
 that all professed church members must feel the 
 same divine spirit of sympathy and charity which 
 burned in her own sweet soul. 
 
 "No, it is a simple truth an unfortunate fact," 
 the young man replied. "I preach sermons at 
 such members of my church, but they seldom take 
 them home. They think I mean somebody else. 
 These are the people who follow the letter and not 
 the spirit of the church. But one such member 
 as you, recompenses me for a score of the others. 
 I felt I must come to you with the Marah Adams 
 affair." 
 
 Joy was still thinking of the reflection the rec- 
 tor had cast upon his congregation. It hurt her, 
 and she protested. 
 
 "Oh, surely," she said, "you can not mean that 
 I am the only one of the professed Christians in 
 your church who would show mercy and sympathy 
 to poor Miss Adams. Surely few, very few would 
 forget Christ's words to Mary Magdalene, 'Go and
 
 86 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 sin no more, ' or fail to forgive as He forgave. 
 She has led such a good life all these years." 
 
 The rector smiled sadly. 
 
 "You judge others by your own true heart," he 
 said. "But I know the world as it is. Yes, the 
 members of my church would forgive Miss Adams 
 for her sin and cut her dead. They would daily 
 crucify her and her innocent child by their cold 
 scorn or utter ignoring of them. They would not 
 allow their daughters to associate with this blame- 
 less girl, because of her mother's misstep. 
 
 "It is the same in and out of the churches. 
 Twenty people will repeat Christ's words to a 
 repentant sinner, but nineteen of that twenty in- 
 terpolate a few words of their own, through tone, 
 gesture, or manner, until 'Go and sin no more' 
 sounds to the poor unfortunate more like 'Go just 
 as far away from me and mine as you can get 
 and sin no more!' Only one in that score puts 
 Christ's merciful and tender meaning into the 
 phrase, and tries by sympathetic association to 
 make it possible for the sinner to sin no more. I 
 felt you were that one, and so I appealed to you 
 in this matter about Marah Adams." 
 
 Joy's eyes were full of tears. "You must know 
 more of human nature than I do," she said, "but 
 I hate terribly to think you are right in this esti- 
 mate of the people of your congregation. I will
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 87 
 
 go and see what I can do for this girl to-morrow. 
 Poor child, poor mother, to pass through a second 
 Gethsemane for her sin. I think any girl or boy 
 whose home life is shadowed, is to be pitied. I have 
 always had such a happy home, ajad suoh dear 
 parents, the world would seem insupportable, I 
 am sure, were I to face it without that background. 
 Dear papa's death was a great blow, and mother's 
 ill health has been a sorrow, but we have always 
 been so happy and harmonious, and that, I think, 
 is worth more than a fortune to a child. Poor, 
 poor Marah unable to respect her mother, what 
 a terrible thing it all is!" 
 
 "Yes, it is a sad affair. I cannot help thinking 
 it would have been a pardonable lie if Miss Adams 
 had denied the truth when the girl confronted 
 her with the story. It is the one situation in life 
 where a lie is excusable, I think. It would have 
 saved this poor girl no end of sorrow, and it could 
 not have added much to the mother's burden. I 
 think lying must have originated with an erring 
 woman." 
 
 Joy looked at her rector with startled eyes. "A 
 lie is never excusable," she said, "and I do not 
 believe it ever saves sorrow. But I see you do not 
 mean what you say, you only feel very sorry for 
 the girl ; and you surely do not forget that the 
 lie originated with Satan, who told a falsehood to 
 Eve."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 EVER since early girlhood Joy Irving had 
 formed a habit of jotting down in black and white 
 her own ideas regarding any book, painting, con- 
 cert, conversation or sermon, which interested 
 her, and epitomizing the train of thought to 
 which they led. 
 
 The evening after her walk and talk with the 
 rector of St. Blank's, she took out her note book, 
 which bore a date four years old under its title 
 "My Impression," and read over the last page of 
 entries. They had evidently been written at the 
 close of some Sabbath day, and ran as follows: 
 
 Many a kneeling woman is more occupied with 
 how her skirts hang than how her prayers ascend. 
 I am inclined to think we all ought to wear a uni- 
 form to church if we would really worship there. 
 God must grow weary looking down on so many 
 new bonnets. 
 
 I wore a smart hat to church to-day, and I found 
 myself criticising every other woman's bonnet 
 during service, so that I failed in some of my re- 
 sponses. 
 
 If we oould all be compelled by some mysteri-
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 89 
 
 ou& power to think aloud on Sunday, what a veri- 
 table holy day we would make of it I Though we 
 are taught from childhood that God hears our 
 thoughts, the best of us would be afraid to have 
 our nearest friends know them. 
 
 I sometimes think it is a presumption on the 
 part of any man to rise in the pulpit and under- 
 take to tell me about a Creator with whom I feel 
 every whit as well acquainted as he. I suppose such 
 thoughts are wicked, however, and should be sup- 
 pressed. 
 
 It is a curious fact, that the most aggressively 
 sensitive persons are at heart the most conceited. 
 
 I wish people smiled more in church aisles. In 
 fact, I think we all laugh at one another -too much 
 and smile at one another too seldom. 
 
 After the devil had made all the trouble for 
 woman he could with the fig leaf, he introduced 
 the French heel. 
 
 It is well to see the ridiculous side of things, 
 but not of people. 
 
 Most of us would rather be popular than right. 
 
 To these impressions Joy added the following: 
 
 It is not the interior of one's house, but the in- 
 terior of one's mind which makes home. 
 
 It seems to me that to be, is to love. I can 
 conceive of no state of existence which is not per- 
 meated with this feeling toward something, some- 
 body or the illimitable "nothing" which is mother 
 to everything.
 
 90 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 I wish we had more religion in the world and 
 fewer churches. 
 
 People who believe in no God, invariably exalt 
 themselves into His position, and worship with 
 the very idolatry they decry in others. 
 
 Music is the echo of the rhythm of God's respira- 
 tions. 
 
 Poetry is the effort of the divine part of man to 
 formulate a worthy language in which to converse 
 with angels. 
 
 Painting and sculpture seem to me the most 
 presumptuous of the arts. They are an effort of 
 man to outdo God in creation. He never made 
 a perfect form or face the artist alone makes 
 them. 
 
 I am sure I do not play the organ as well at St. 
 Blank's as I played it in the little church where I 
 gave my services and was unknown. People are 
 praising me too much here, and this mars all spon- 
 taneity. 
 
 The very first hour of positive success is often 
 the last hour of great achievement. So soon as 
 we are conscious of the admiring and expectant 
 gaze of men, we cease to commune with God. It 
 is when we are unknown to or neglected by mor- 
 tals, that we reach up to the Infinite and are in- 
 spired. 
 
 I have seen Marah Adams to-day, and I felt 
 strangely drawn to her. Her face would express 
 all goodness if it were not so unhappy. Unhap- 
 piness is a species of evil, since it is a discourtesy 
 to God to be unhappy.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 91 
 
 I am going to do all I can for the girl to bring 
 her into a better frame of mind. No blame can 
 be attached to her, and yet now that I am face to 
 face with the situation, and realize how the world 
 regards such a person, I myself find it a little hard 
 to think of braving public opinion and identifying 
 myself with her. But I am going to overcome 
 such feelings, as they are cowardly and unworthy 
 of me, and purely the result of education. I am 
 amazed, too, to discover this weakness in myself. 
 
 How sympathetic dear mamma is! I told her 
 about Marah, and she wept bitterly, and has car- 
 ried her eyes full of tears ever since. I must be 
 careful and tell her nothing sad while she is in 
 such a weak state physically. 
 
 I told mamma what the rector said about lying. 
 She coincided with him that Mrs. Adams would 
 have been justified in denying the truth if she had 
 realized how her daughter was to be affected by this 
 knowledge. A woman's past belongs only to her- 
 self and her God, she says, unless she wishes to 
 make a confidant. But I cannot agree with her or 
 the rector. I would want the truth from my par- 
 ents, however much it hurt. Many sins which 
 men regard as serious only obstruct the bridge 
 between our souls and truth. A lie burns the 
 bridge. 
 
 I hope I am not uncharitable, yet I cannot con- 
 ceive of committing an act through love of any 
 man, which would lower me^ in his esteem, once 
 committed. Yet of course I have had little ex- 
 perience in life, with men, or with temptation. 
 But it seems to me I could not continue to love a 
 man who did not seek to lead me higher. The 
 moment he stood before me and asked me to de-
 
 92 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 scend, I should realize he was to be pitied not 
 adored. 
 
 I told mother this, and she said I was too young 
 and inexperienced to form decided opinions on 
 such subjects, and she warned me that I must not 
 become uncharitable. She wept bitterly as she 
 thought of my becoming narrow or bigoted in my 
 ideas, dear, tender-hearted mamma. 
 
 Death should be called the Great Revealer in- 
 stead of the Great Destroyer. 
 
 Some people think the way into heaven is 
 through embroidered altar cloths. 
 
 The soul that has any conception of its own 
 possibilities does not fear solitude. 
 
 A girl told me to-day that a rude man annoyed 
 her by staring at her in a public conveyance. It 
 never occurred to her that it takes four eyes to 
 make a stare annoying. 
 
 Astronomers know more about the character of 
 the stars than the average American mother about 
 the temperament of her daughters. 
 
 To some women the most terrible thought con- 
 nected with death is the dates in the obituary 
 notice. 
 
 As a rule, when a woman opens the door of an 
 artistic career with one hand, she shuts the door 
 on domestic happiness with the other.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE rector of St. Blank's Church dined at the 
 Cheney table or drove in the Cheney establish- 
 ment every week, beside which there were always 
 one or two confidential chats with the feminine 
 Cheneys in the parsonage on matters pertaining 
 to the welfare of the church, and occasionally to 
 the welfare of humanity. 
 
 That Alice Cheney had conceived a sudden and 
 consuming passion for the handsome and brilliant 
 rector of St. Blank's, both her mother and the 
 Baroness knew, and both were doing all in their 
 power to further the girl's hopes. 
 
 While Alice resembled her mother in appear- 
 ance and disposition, propensities and impulses 
 occasionally exhibited themselves which spoke of 
 paternal inheritance. She had her father's strongly 
 emotional nature, with her mother's stubbornness; 
 and Preston Cheney 's romantic tendencies were 
 repeated in his daughter, without his reasoning 
 powers. Added to her father's lack of self- 
 control in any strife with his passions, Alice 
 possessed her mother's hysterical nerves. In fact,
 
 94 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 the unfortunate child inherited the weaknesses 
 and faults of both parents, without any of their 
 redeeming virtues. 
 
 The passion which had sprung to life in her 
 breast for the young rector, was as strong and un- 
 reasoning as the infatuation which her father had 
 once experienced for Berene Dumont; but in- 
 stead of struggling against the feeling as her 
 father had at least attempted to do, she dwelt 
 upon it with all the mulish persistency which her 
 mother exhibited in small matters, and luxuriated 
 in romantic dreams of the future. 
 
 Mabel was wholly unable to comprehend the 
 depth or violence of her daughter's feelings, but 
 she realized the fact that Alice had set her mind 
 on winning Arthur Stuart for a husband, and she 
 quite approved of the idea, and saw no reason why 
 it should not succeed. She herself had won Pres- 
 ton Cheney away from all rivals for his favor, and 
 Alice ought to be able to do the same with Arthur, 
 after all the money which had been expended upon 
 her wardrobe. Senator Cheney's daughter and 
 Judge Lawrence's granddaughter, surely was a 
 prize for any man to win as a wife. 
 
 The Baroness, however, reviewed the situation 
 with more concern of mind. She realized that 
 Alice was destitute of beauty and charm, and that 
 Arthur Emerson Stuart (it would have been con-
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 95 
 
 sidered a case of high treason to speak of the rec- 
 tor of St. Blank's without using his three names) 
 was independent in the matter of fortune, and 
 so dowered with nature's best gifts that he could 
 have almost any woman for the asking whom he 
 should desire. But the Baroness believed much 
 in propinquity; and she brought the rector and 
 Alice together as often as possible, and coached 
 the girl in coquettish arts when alone with her, 
 and credited her with witticisms and bonmots 
 which she had never uttered, when talking of her 
 to the young rector. 
 
 "If only I could give Alice the benefit of my 
 past career, " the Baroness would say to herself 
 at times. "I know so well how to manage men; 
 but what use is my knowledge to me now that I 
 am old? Alice is young, and even without beauty 
 she could do so much, if she only understood the 
 art of masculine seduction. But then it is a gift, 
 not an acquired art, and Alice was not born 
 with the gift." 
 
 While Mabel and Alice had been centering their 
 thoughts and attentions on the rector, the Baro- 
 ness had not forgotten the rector's mother. She 
 knew the very strong affection which existed be- 
 tween the two, and she had discovered that the 
 leading desire of the young man's heart was to 
 make his mother happy. With her wide knowl-
 
 96 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 edge of human nature, she had not been long in 
 discerning the fact that it was not because of his 
 own religious convictions that the rector had 
 chosen his calling, but to carry out the life-long 
 wishes of his beloved mother. 
 
 Therefore she reasoned wisely that Arthur would 
 be greatly influenced by his mother in his choice 
 of a wife ; and the Baroness brought all her vast 
 battery of fascination to bear on Mrs. Stuart, and 
 succeeded in making that lady her devoted friend. 
 
 The widow of Judge Lawrence was still an im- 
 posing and impressive figure wherever she went. 
 Though no longer a woman who appealed to the 
 desires of men, she exhaled that peculiar mental 
 aroma which hangs ever about a woman who has 
 dealt deeply and widely in affairs of the heart. 
 It is to the spiritual senses what musk is to the 
 physical; and while it may often repulse, it 
 sometimes attracts, and never fails to be noticed. 
 About the Baroness' mouth were hard lines, and 
 the expression of her eyes was not kind or tender; 
 yet she was everywhere conceded to be a univer- 
 sally handsome and attractive woman. Quiet and 
 tasteful in her dressing, she did not accentuate 
 the ravages of time by any mistaken frivolities of 
 toilet, as so many faded coquettes have done, but 
 wisely suited her vestments to her appearance, as 
 the withering branch clothes itself in russet
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 97 
 
 leaves, when the fresh sap ceases to course through 
 its veins. New York City is a vast sepulcher of 
 "past careers, "and the adventurous life of the 
 Baroness was quietly buried there with that of 
 many another woman. In the mad whirl of life, 
 there is small danger that any of these skeletons 
 will rise to view, unless the woman permits her- 
 self to strive for eminence either socially or in the 
 world of art. 
 
 While the Cheneys were known to be wealthy, 
 and the Senator had achieved political position, 
 there was nothing in their situation to challenge 
 the jealousy of their associates. They moved in 
 one of the many circles of cultured and agreeable 
 people, which, despite the mandate of a McAllister, 
 form a varied and delightful society in the metrop- 
 olis ; they entertained in an unostentatious manner, 
 and there was nothing in their personality to incite 
 envy or jealousy. Therefore the career of the Bar- 
 oness had not been unearthed. 
 
 That the widow of Judge Lawrence, the step- 
 mother of Mrs. Cheney, was known as "The Bar- 
 oness" caused some questions, to be sure, but the 
 simple answer that she had been the widow of a 
 French baron in early life served to allay curios- 
 ity, while it rendered the lady herself an object of 
 greater interest to the majority of people. 
 
 Mrs. Stuart, the rector's mother, was one of
 
 98 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 those who were most impressed by this incident 
 in the life of Mrs. Lawrence. "Family pride" 
 was her greatest weakness, and she dearly loved a 
 title. She thought Mrs. Lawrence a typical "Bar- 
 oness," and though she knew the title had only 
 been obtained through marriage, it still rendered 
 its possessor peculiarly interesting in her eyes. 
 
 In her prime, the Baroness had been equally 
 successful in cajoling women and men. Though 
 her day for ruling men was now over, she still 
 possessed the power to fascinate women when she 
 chose to exert herself. She did exert herself with 
 Mrs. Stuart, and succeeded admirably in her de- 
 sign. 
 
 And one day Mrs. Stuart confided her secret anx- 
 iety to the ear of the Baroness; and that secret 
 caused the cheek of the listener to grow pale, and 
 the look of an animal at bay to come into her 
 eyes. 
 
 "There is just one thing that gives me a con- 
 stant pain at my heart," Mrs. Stuart had said. 
 "You have never been a mother, yet I think your 
 sympathetic nature causes you to understand much 
 which you have not experienced, and knowing as 
 you do the great pride I feel in my son's career, 
 and the ambition I have for him to rise to the 
 very highest pinnacle of success and usefulness, I 
 am sure you will comprehend my anxiety when I
 
 Ajf AMBITIOUS MAN 99 
 
 gee him exhibiting an undue interest in a girl who 
 is in every way his inferior, and wholly unsuited 
 to fill the position his wife should occupy." 
 
 The Baroness listened with a cold, sinking sen- 
 sation at her heart. 
 
 "I am sure j r our son would never make a choice 
 which was not agreeable to you," she ventured. 
 
 "He might not marry any one I objected to," 
 Mrs. Stuart replied, "but I dread to think his 
 heart may be already gone from his keeping. Young 
 men are so susceptible to a pretty face and figure, 
 and I confess that Joy Irving has both. She is a 
 good girl, too, and a fine musician; but she has no 
 family, and her alliance with my son would be a 
 great drawback to his career. Her father was a 
 grocer, I believe, or something of that sort; quite 
 a common man, who married a third-class actress, 
 Joy's mother. Mr. Irving was in very comfortable 
 circumstances at one time, but a stroke of par- 
 alysis rendered him helpless some four years ago. 
 He died last year and left his widow and child in 
 straitened circumstances. Mrs. Irving is an 
 invalid now, and Joy supports her with her music. 
 Mr. Irving and Joy were members of Arthur 
 Emerson's former church (Mrs. Stuart always 
 spoke of her son in that manner), and that is how 
 my son became interested in the daughter. An 
 interest I supposed to be purely that of a rector
 
 100 AN AMBITIOUS MAW 
 
 in his parishioner until of late, when I began to 
 fear it took root in deeper soil. But I am sure, 
 dear Baroness, you oan understand my anxiety." 
 
 And then the Baroness, with drawn lips and an- 
 guished eyes, took both of Mrs. Stuart's hands in 
 hers, and cried out: 
 
 "Your pain, dear madam, is second to mine. 
 I have no child, to be sure, but as few mothers 
 love, I love Alice Cheney, my dear husband's 
 granddaughter. My very life is bound up in her, 
 and she God help us, she loves your son with her 
 whole soul. If he marries another it will kill her 
 or drive her insane." 
 
 The two women fell weeping into each other's 
 arms.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PRESTON CHENEY conceived such a strong, ear- 
 nest liking for the young clergyman whom he met 
 under his own roof during one of his visits home, 
 that he fell into the habit of attending church for 
 the first time in his life. 
 
 Mabel and Alice were deeply gratified with this 
 intimacy between the two men, which brought the 
 rector to the house far oftener than they could 
 have tastefully done without the cooperation of 
 the husband and father. Besides, it looked well to 
 have the head of the household represented in the 
 church. To the Baroness, also, there was added 
 satisfaction in attending divine service, now that 
 Preston Cheney sat in the pew. All hope of win- 
 ning the love she had so longed to possess, died 
 many years before; and she had been cruel and 
 unkind in numerous ways to the object of her 
 hopeless passion, yet like the smell of dead rose- 
 leaves long shut in a drawer, there clung about 
 this man the faint, suggestive fragrance of a per- 
 ished dream. 
 
 She knew that he did not love his wife, and that 
 101
 
 102 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 he was disappointed in his daughter; and she did 
 not at least have to suffer the pain of seeing him 
 lavish the affection she had missed, on others. 
 
 Mr. Cheney had been called away from home on 
 business the day before the new organist took her 
 place in St. Blank's Church. Nearly a month had 
 passed when he again occupied his pew. 
 
 Before the organist had finished her introduc- 
 tion, he turned to Alice, saying: 
 
 "There has been a change here in the choir, 
 since I went away, and for the better. That is a 
 very unusual musician. Do you know who it is?" 
 
 "Some lady, I believe; I do not remember her 
 name, "Alice answered indifferently. Like her 
 mother, Alice never enjoyed hearing any one 
 praised. It mattered little who it was, or how 
 entirely out of her own line the achievements or 
 accomplishments on which the praise was be- 
 stowed, she still felt that petty resentment of 
 small natures who believe that praise to others 
 detracts from their own value. 
 
 A fortune had been expended on Alice's musical 
 education, yet she could do no more than rattle 
 through some mediocre composition, with neither 
 taste nor skill. 
 
 The money which has been wasted in trying to 
 teach music to unmusical people would pay our 
 national debt twice over, and leave a competency 
 for every orphan in the land.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 108 
 
 When the organist had finished her second se- 
 lection, Mr. Cheney addressed the same question 
 to his wife which he had addressed to Alice. 
 "Who is the new organist?" he queried. Mabel 
 only shook her head and placed her finger on her 
 lip as a signal for silence during service. 
 
 The third time it was the Baroness, sitting 
 just beyond Mabel, to whom Mr. Cheney spoke. 
 "That's a very remarkable musician, very remark- 
 able," he said. '"Do you know anything about 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes, wait until we get home, and I will tell 
 you all about her," the Baroness replied. 
 
 When the service was over, Mr. Cheney did not 
 pass out at once, as was his custom. Instead he 
 walked toward the pulpit, after requesting his 
 family to wait a moment. 
 
 The rector saw him and came down in the aisle 
 to speak to him. 
 
 "I want to congratulate you on the new organ- 
 ist," Mr. Cheney said, "and I want to meet her. 
 Alice tells me it is a lady. She must have de- 
 voted a lifetime to hard study to become such 
 a marvelous mistress of that difficult instrument." 
 
 Arthur Stuart smiled. "Wait a moment," he 
 said, "and I will send for her. I would like you 
 to meet her, and like her to meet your wife and 
 family. She has few, if any, acquaintances in 
 my congregation."
 
 104 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Mr. Cheney went down the aisle, and joined the 
 three ladies who were waiting for him in the pew. 
 All were smiling, for all three believed that he 
 had been asking the rector to accompany them 
 home to dinner His first word dispelled the illu- 
 sion. 
 
 "Wait here a moment," he said. "Mr. Stuart 
 is going to bring the organist to meet us. I want 
 to know the woman who can move me so deeply 
 by her music." 
 
 Over the faces of his three listeners there fell a 
 cloud. Mabel looked annoyed, Alice sulky, and a 
 flush of the old jealous fury darkened the brow of 
 the Baroness. But all were smiling deceitfully 
 when Joy Irving approached. 
 
 Her radiant young beauty, and the expressions 
 of admiration with which Preston Cheney greeted 
 her as a woman and an artist, filled life with gall 
 and wormwood for the three feminine listeners. 
 
 "What! this beautiful young miss, scarcely out 
 of short frocks, is not the musician who gave us 
 that wonderful harmony of sounds I My child, 
 how did you learn to play like that in the brief 
 life you have passed on earth? Surely you must 
 have been taught by the angels before you came. " 
 
 A deep blush of pleasure at the words which, 
 though so extravagant, Joy felt to be sincere, 
 increased her beauty as she looked up into Pres- 
 ton Cheney's admiring eyes.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 105 
 
 And as he held her hands in both of his and 
 gazed down upon her it seemed to the Baroness 
 she could strike them dead at her feet and rejoice 
 in the act. 
 
 Beside this radiant vision of loveliness and 
 genius, Alice looked plainer and more meager than 
 ever before. She was like a wayside weed beside 
 an American Beauty rose. 
 
 "I hope you and Alice will become good friends, " 
 Mr. Cheney said warmly. "We should like to see 
 you at the house any time you can make it conven- 
 ient to come, would we not, Mabel?" 
 
 Mrs. Cheney gave a formal assent to her hus- 
 band's words as they turned away, leaving Joy 
 with the rector. And a scene in one of life's 
 strangest dramas had been enacted, unknown to 
 them all. 
 
 "I would like you to be very friendly with that 
 girl, Alice," Mr. Cheney repeated as they seated 
 themselves in the carriage. "She has a rare face, 
 a rare face, and she is highly gifted. She reminds 
 me of some one I have known, yet I can't think 
 who it is? What do you know about her, Baron- 
 ess?" 
 
 The Baroness gave an expressive shrug. "Since 
 you admire her so much," she said, "I rather 
 hesitate telling you. But the girl is of common 
 origin a grocer's daughter, and her mother quite
 
 106 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 an inferior person. I hardly think it a suitable 
 companionship for Alice." 
 
 "I am sure I don't care to know her," chimed 
 in Alice. "I thought her quite bold and forward 
 in her manner." 
 
 "Decidedly so! She seemed to hang on to your 
 father's hand as if she would never let go, " added 
 Mabel, in her most acid tone. "I must say, I 
 should have been horrified to see you act in such 
 a familiar manner toward any stranger. " A quick 
 color shot into Preston Cheney's cheek and a 
 spark into his eye. 
 
 "The girl was perfectly modest in her deport- 
 ment to me," he said. "She is a lady through 
 and through, however humble her birth may be. 
 But I ought to have known better than to ask my 
 wife and daughter to like any one whom I chanced 
 to admire. I learned long ago how futile such an 
 idea was." 
 
 "Oh, well, I don't see why you need get BO an- 
 gry over a perfect stranger whom you never laid 
 eyes on until to-day," pouted Alice. "I am sure 
 she's nothing to any of us that we need quarrel 
 over her." 
 
 "A man never gets so old that he is not likely 
 to make a fool of himself over a pretty face," 
 supplemented Mabel, "and there is no fool like an 
 old fool."
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 107 
 
 The uncomfortable drive home came to an end 
 at this juncture, and Preston Cheney retired to 
 his own room, with the disagreeable words of his 
 wife and daughter ringing in his ears, and the 
 beautiful face of the young organist floating be- 
 fore his eyes. 
 
 "I wish she were my daughter," he said to him- 
 self; "what a comfort and delight a girl like that 
 would be to me!" 
 
 And while these thoughts filled the man's heart, 
 the Baroness paced her room with all the jealous 
 passions of her still ungoverned nature roused 
 into new life and violence at the remembrance of 
 Joy Irving's fresh young beauty and Preston 
 Cheney's admiring looks and words. 
 
 "I could throttle her, "she cried,"! could throttle 
 her. Oh, why is she sent across my life at every 
 turn? Why should the only two men in the world 
 who interest me to-day, be so infatuated over 
 that girl? But if I cannot remove so humble an 
 obstacle as she from my pathway, I shall feel that 
 my day of power is indeed over, and that I do not 
 believe to be true."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Two weeks later the organ loft of St. Blank's 
 Church was occupied by a stranger. For a few 
 hours the Baroness felt a wild hope in her heart 
 that Miss Irving had been sent away. 
 
 But inquiry elicited the information that the 
 young musician had merely employed a substitute 
 because her mother was lying seriously ill at 
 home. 
 
 It was then that the Baroness put into execution 
 a desire she had to make the personal acquaintance 
 of Joy Irving. 
 
 The desire had sprung into life with the knowl- 
 edge of the rector's interest in the girl. No one 
 knew better than the Baroness how to sow the 
 seeds of doubt, distrust and discord between two 
 people whom she wished to alienate. Many a 
 sweetheart, many a wife, had she separated from 
 lover and husband, scarcely leaving a sign by 
 which the trouble could be traced to her, so 
 adroit and subtle were her methods. 
 
 She felt that she could insert an invisible wedge 
 between these two hearts, which would eventually 
 108
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 109 
 
 separate them, if only she might make the ac- 
 quaintance of Miss Irving. And now chance had 
 opened the way for her. 
 
 She made her resolve known to the rector. 
 
 U I am deeply interested in the young organist 
 whom I had the pleasure of meeting some weeks 
 ago," she said, and she noted with a sinking heart 
 the light which flashed into the man's face at the 
 mere mention of the girl. "I understand her 
 mother is seriously ill, and I think I will go 
 around and call. Perhaps I can be of use. * I 
 understand Mrs. Irving is not a church woman, 
 and she may be in real need, as the family is in 
 straitened circumstances. May I mention your 
 name when I call, in order that Miss Irving may 
 not think I intrude?" 
 
 "Why, certainly," the rector replied with 
 warmth. "Indeed, I will give you a card of intro- 
 duction. That will open the way for you, and at 
 the same time I know you will use your delicate 
 tact to avoid wounding Miss Irving's pride in any 
 way. She is very sensitive about their strait- 
 ened circumstances ; you may have heard that they 
 were quite well-to-do until the stroke of paralysis 
 rendered her father helpless. All their means were 
 exhausted in efforts to restore his health, and in 
 the employment of nurses and physicians* I think 
 they have found life a difficult problem since his
 
 110 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 death, as Mrs. Irving has been under medical care 
 constantly, and the whole burden falls on Miss 
 Joy's young shoulders, and she is but twenty-one. " 
 
 "Just the age of Alice," mused the Baroness. 
 "How differently people's lives are ordered in 
 this world! But then we must have the hewers of 
 wood and the drawers of water, and we must have 
 the delicate human flowers. Our Alice is one of the 
 latter, a frail blossom to look upon, but she is one 
 of the kind which will bloom out in great splendor 
 under the sunshine of love and happiness. Very few 
 people realize what wonderful reserve force that 
 delicate child possesses. And such a tender heart 1 
 she was determined to come with me when she 
 heard of Miss Irving's trouble, but I thought it 
 unwise to take her until I had seen the place. She 
 is so sensitive to her surroundings and it might 
 be too painful for her. I am forever holding her 
 back from overtaxing herself for others. No one 
 dreams of the amount of good that girl does in a 
 secret, quiet way ; and at the same time she assumes 
 an indifferent air and talks as if she were quite 
 heartless, just to hinder people from suspecting 
 her charitable work. She is such a strange, com- 
 plicated character." 
 
 Armed with her card of introduction, the Baron- 
 ess set forth on her "errand of mercy." She had 
 not mentioned Miss Irving's name to Mabel or
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 111 
 
 Alice. The secret of the rector's interest in the 
 girl was locked in her own breast. She knew that 
 Mabel was wholly incapable of coping with such 
 a situation and she dreaded the effect of the news 
 on Alice, who was absorbed in her love dream. 
 The girl had never been denied a wish in her life, 
 and no thought came to her that she could be 
 thwarted in this, her most cherished hope of all. 
 
 The Baroness was determined to use every gun 
 in her battery of defense before she allowed Ma- 
 bel or Alice to know that defense was needed. 
 
 The rector's card admitted her to the parlor of 
 a small flat. The portieres of an adjoining room 
 were thrown open presently, and a vision of ra- 
 diant beauty entered the room. 
 
 The Baroness could not explain it, but as the 
 girl emerged from the curtains, a strange, con fused 
 memory of something and somebody she had 
 known in the past came over her. But when the 
 girl spoke, a more inexplicable sensation took 
 possession of the listener, for her voice was the 
 feminine of Preston Cheney's masculine tones, 
 and then as she looked at the girl again the haunt- 
 ing memories of the first glance were explained, 
 for she was very like Preston Cheney as the Bar- 
 oness remembered him when he came to the 
 "Palace" to engage rooms more than a score of 
 years ago. "What a strange thing these resem-
 
 112 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 blanoes are I" she thought. "This girl is more like 
 Senator Cheney, far more like him than Alice is. 
 Ah, if Alice only had her face and form!" 
 
 Miss Irving gave a slight start, and took a step 
 back as her eyes fell upon the Baroness. The 
 rector's card had read, "Introducing Mrs. Sylves- 
 ter Lawrence." She had known this lady by sight 
 ever since her first Sunday as organist at St. 
 Blank's, and for some unaccountable reason she 
 had conceived a most intense dislike for her. Joy 
 was drawn toward humanity in general, as natur- 
 ally as the sunlight falls on the earth's foliage. 
 Her heart radiated love and sympathy toward the 
 whole world. But when she did feel a sentiment 
 of distrust or repulsion she had learned to respect 
 it. 
 
 Our guardian angels sometimes send these feel- 
 ings as danger signals to our souls. 
 
 It therefore required a strong effort of her will 
 to go forward and extend a hand in greeting to 
 the lady whom her rector and friend had intro- 
 duced. 
 
 "I must beg pardon for this intrusion," the 
 Baroness said with her sweetest smile; "but our 
 rector urged me to come and so I felt emboldened 
 to carry out the wish I have long entertained to 
 make your acquaintance. Your wonderful music 
 inspires all who hear you to know you personally;
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 118 
 
 the service lacked half its charm on Sunday be- 
 cause you were absent. When I learned that your 
 absence was occasioned by your mother's illness, 
 I asked the rector if he thought a call from me 
 would be an intrusion, and he assured me to the 
 contrary. I used to be considered an excellent 
 nurse; I am very strong, and full of vitality, and 
 if you would permit me to sit by your mother 
 some Sunday when you are needed at church, I 
 should be most happy to do so. I should like to 
 make the acquaintance of your mother, and com- 
 pliment her on the happiness of possessing such a 
 gifted and dutiful daughter." 
 
 Like all who sat for any time under the spell 
 of the second Mrs. Lawrence, Joy felt the charm 
 of her voice, words and manner, and it began to 
 seem as if she had been very unreasonable in en- 
 tertaining unfounded prejudices. 
 
 That the rector had introduced her was alone 
 proof of her worthiness; and the gracious offer 
 of the distinguished looking lady to watch by the 
 bedside of a stranger, was certainly evidence of 
 her good heart. The frost disappeared from her 
 smile, and she warmed toward tin Baroness. The 
 call lengthened into a visit, and as the Baroness 
 finally rose to go, Joy said: 
 
 "I will take you in and introduce you to mamma 
 now. I think it will do her good to meet you, "
 
 114 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 and the Baroness followed the graceful girl 
 through a narrow hall,and into a room which had 
 evidently been intended for a dining-room, but 
 which, owing to its size and its windows opening 
 to the south, had been utilized as a sick chamber. 
 
 The invalid lay with her face turned away from 
 the door. But by the movement of the delicate 
 hand on the counterpane, Joy knew that her 
 mother was awake. 
 
 "Mamma, I have brought alady,a friend of Dr. 
 Stuart's, to see you," Joy said gently. The inva- 
 lid turned her head upon the pillow, and the 
 Baroness looked upon the face of Berene Dumont. 
 
 "Berenel" 
 
 "Madam!" 
 
 The two spoke simultaneously, and the invalid 
 had started upright in bed. 
 
 "Mamma, what is the matter? Oh, please lie 
 down, or you will bring on another hemorrhage," 
 cried the startled girl; but her mother lifted her 
 hand. 
 
 "Joy," she said in a firm, clear voice, "this lady 
 is an old acquaintance of mine. Please go out, 
 dear, and shut the door. I wish to see her alone." 
 
 Joy passed out with drooping head and a sink- 
 ing heart. As the door closed behind her the Bar- 
 oness spoke. 
 
 "So that is Preston Cheney's daughter," she
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 115 
 
 said. U I always had my suspicions of the cause 
 which led you to leave my house so suddenly. 
 Does the girl know who her father is? and does 
 Senator Cheney know of her existence, may I ask?" 
 
 A crimson blush suffused the invalid's face. 
 Then a flame of fire shot into the dark eyes, and 
 a small red spot only glowed on either pale cheek. 
 
 "I do not know by what right you ask these 
 questions, Baroness Brown, "she answered slowly; 
 and her listener cringed under the old appellation 
 which recalled the miserable days when she had 
 kept a lodging-house days she had almost for- 
 gotten during the last decade of life. 
 
 "But I can assure you, madam" continued 
 the speaker, "that my daughter knows no father 
 save the good man, my husband, who is dead. I 
 have never by word or line made my existence 
 known to any one I ever knew since I left Beryng- 
 ford. I do not know why you should come hereto 
 insult me, madam; I have never harmed you or 
 yours, and you have no proof of the accusation 
 you just made, save your own evil suspicions." 
 
 The Baroness gave an unpleasant laugh. 
 
 "It is an easy matter for me to find proof of 
 my suspicions if I choose to take the trouble," 
 she said. "There are detectives enough to hunt 
 up your trail, and I have money enough to pay 
 them for their trouble. But Joy is the living evi-
 
 116 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 denoe of the assertion. She is the image of Pres- 
 ton Cheney, as he was twenty-three years ago. I 
 am ready, however, to let the matter drop on one 
 condition; and that condition is, that you extract 
 a promise from your daughter that she will not 
 encourage the attentions of Arthur Emerson Stu- 
 art, the rector of St. Blank's. That she will never 
 under any circumstances be his wife." 
 
 The red spots faded to a sickly yellow in the 
 invalid's cheeks. "Why should you ask this of 
 me?" she cried. "Why should you wish to de- 
 stroy the happiness of my child's life? She loves 
 Arthur Stuart, and I know that he loves her. It 
 is the one thought which resigns me to death ; the 
 thought that I may leave her the beloved wife of 
 this good man." 
 
 The Baroness leaned lower over the pillow of 
 the invalid as she answered: "I will tell you why 
 I ask this sacrifice of you. 
 
 "Perhaps you do not know that I married Judge 
 Lawrence after the death of his first wife. Per- 
 haps you do not know that Preston Cheney's legit- 
 imate daughter is as precious tome as his illegiti- 
 mate child is to you. Alice is only six months 
 younger than Joy, she is frail, delicate, sensitive. 
 A severe disappointment would kill her. She, too, 
 loves Arthur Stuart. If your daughter will let 
 him alone, he will marry Alice. Surely the ille-
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 117 
 
 gitimate child should give way to the legitimate' 
 
 "If you are selfish in this matter, I shall b 
 obliged to tell your daughter the true story of hei 
 life, and let her be the judge of what is right and 
 what is wrong. I fancy she might have a finer 
 perception of duty than you have she is so much 
 like her father." 
 
 The tortured invalid fell back panting on her 
 pillow. She put out her hands with a distracted, 
 imploring gesture. 
 
 "Leave me to think," she gasped. "I never 
 knew that Preston Cheney had a daughter; I did 
 not know he lived here. My life has been so quiet, 
 so secluded these many years. Leave me to think. 
 I will give you my answer in a few days; I will 
 write you after I reflect and pray." 
 
 The Baroness passed out, and Joy, hastening 
 into the room, found her mother in a wild parox- 
 ysm of tears. Late that night Mrs. Irving called 
 for writing materials; and for many hours she 
 sat propped up in bed writing rapidly. 
 
 When she had completed her taik she called 
 Joy to her side. 
 
 "Darling," she said, placing a sealed manuscript 
 in her hands, "I want you to keep this seal un- 
 broken so long as you are happy. I know in spite 
 of your deep sorrow at my death, which must come 
 ere long, you will find much happiness in life.
 
 118 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 You came smiling into existence, and no common 
 sorrow can deprive you of the joy which is your 
 birthright. But there are numerous people in the 
 world who may strive to wound you after I am 
 gone. If slanderous tales or cruel reports reach 
 your ears, and render you unhappy, break this 
 seal and read the story I have written here. There 
 are some things which will deeply pain you, I 
 know. Do not force yourself to read them until 
 a necessity arises. I leave you this manuscript 
 as I might leave you a weapon for self-defense. 
 Use it only when you are in need of that defense. " 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Irving was weakened by 
 another and most serious hemorrhage of the lungs. 
 Her physician was grave, and urged the daughter 
 to be prepared for the worst. 
 
 "I fear your mother's life is a matter of days 
 only," he said.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE Baroness went directly from the home 
 which she had entered only to blight, and sent 
 her card marked "urgent" to Mrs. Stuart. 
 
 "I have come to tell you an unpleasant story," 
 she said. "A painful and revolting story, the 
 early chapters of which were written years ago, 
 but the sequel has only just been made known to 
 me. It concerns you and yours vitally; it also 
 concerns me and mine. I am sure when you have 
 heard the story to the end, you will say that truth 
 is stranger than fiction, indeed : and you will more 
 than ever realize the necessity of preventing your 
 son from marrying Joy Irving a child who was 
 born before her mother ever met Mr. Irving; and 
 whose mother, I dare say, was no more the actual 
 wife of Mr. Irving in the name of law and decency 
 than she had been the wife of his many predeces- 
 sors." 
 
 Startled and horrified at this beginning of the 
 story, Mrs. Stuart was in a state of excited indig- 
 nation at the end. The Baroness had magnified 
 facts and distorted truths until she represented 
 119
 
 120 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Berene Dumont as a. monster of depravity; a vi- 
 cious being who had been for a short time the re- 
 cipient of the Baroness' mistaken charity, and who 
 had repaid kindness by base ingratitude, and im- 
 morality. The man implicated in the scandal 
 which she claimed was the cause of Berene's flight, 
 was not named in this recital. 
 
 Indeed the Baroness claimed that he was more 
 sinned against than sinning, and that it was a 
 case of mesmeric influence, or evil eye, on the part 
 of the depraved woman. 
 
 Mrs, Lawrence took pains to avoid any reference 
 to Beryngford also; speaking of these occurrences 
 having taken place while she spent a summer in 
 a distant interior town, where, "after the death of 
 the baron, she had rented a villa, feeling that she' 
 wanted to retire from the world." 
 
 "My heart is always running away with my 
 head, " she remarked, "and I thought this poor 
 creature, who was shunned and neglected by all, 
 worth saving. I tried to befriend her, and hoped 
 to waken the better nature which every woman 
 possesses, I think, but she was too far gone in in- 
 iquity. 
 
 "You cannot imagine, my dear Mrs. Stuart, 
 what a shock it was to me on entering that sick 
 room to-day, my heart full of kindly sympathy, 
 to encounter in the invalid the ungrateful recip
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 121 
 
 ient of my past favors; and to realize that her 
 daughter was no other than the shameful offspring 
 of her immoral past. In spite of the girl 's beauty, 
 there is an expression about her face which I never 
 liked; and I fully understand now why I did not 
 like it. Of course, Mrs. Stuart, this story is told 
 to you in strict confidence. I would not for the 
 world have dear Mrs. Cheney know of it, nor 
 would I pollute sweet Alice with such a tale. In- 
 deed, Alice would not understand it if she were 
 told, for she is as ignorant and innocent as a 
 child in arms of such matters. We have kept her 
 absolutely unspotted from the world. But I knew 
 it was my duty to tell you the whole shameful 
 story. If worst comes to worst, you will be obliged 
 to tell your son perhaps, and if he doubts the 
 story send him to me for its verification." 
 
 Worst came to worst before twenty-four hours 
 had passed. The rector received word that Mrs. 
 Irving was rapidly failing, and went to act the 
 part of spiritual counselor to the invalid, and 
 sympathetic friend to the suffering girl. 
 
 When he returned his mother watched his face 
 with eager, anxious eyes. He looked haggard and 
 ill, as if he had passed through a severe ordeal. 
 He could talk of nothing but the beautiful and 
 brave girl, who was about to lose her one wor- 
 shiped companion, and who ere many hours passed 
 would stand utterly alone in the world.
 
 122 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 "I never saw you so affected before by the 
 troubles and sorrows of your parishioners," Mrs. 
 Stuart said. "I wonder, Arthur, why you take the 
 sorrows of this family so keenly to heart." 
 
 The young rector looked his mother full in the 
 face with calm, sad eyes. Then he said slowly: 
 "I suppose, mother, it is because I love Joy Ir- 
 ving with all my heart. You must have suspected 
 this for some time. I know that you have, and 
 that the thought has pained you. You have had 
 other and more ambitious aims for me. Earnest 
 Christian and good woman that you are, you have 
 a worldly and conventional vein in your nature, 
 which makes you reverence position, wealth and 
 family to a marked degree. You would, I know, 
 like to see me unite myself with some royal family, 
 were that possible; failing in that, you would 
 choose the daughter of some great and aristocratic 
 house to be my bride. Ah, well, dear mother, you 
 will, I know, concede that marriage without love 
 is unholy. I am not able to force myself to love 
 some great lady, even supposing I could win her 
 if I did love her." 
 
 "But you might keep yourself from forming a 
 foolish and unworthy attachment," Mrs. Stuart 
 interrupted. "With your will-power, your brain, 
 your reasoning faculties, I see no necessity for 
 your allowing a pretty face to run away with your
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 123 
 
 heart. Nothing could be more unsuitable, more 
 shocking, more dreadful, than to have you make 
 that girl your wife, Arthur." 
 
 Mrs. Stuart's voice rose as she spoke, from a 
 quiet reasoning tone to a high, excited wail. She 
 had not meant to say so much. She had intended 
 merely to appeal to her son's affection for her, 
 without making any unpleasant disclosures regard- 
 ing Joy's mother; she thought merely to win a 
 promise from him that he would not compromise 
 himself at present with the girl, through an ex- 
 cess of sympathy. But already she had said 
 enough to arouse the young man into a defender 
 of the girl he loved. 
 
 "I think your language quite too strong, moth- 
 er, "he said, with a reproving tone in his voice. 
 "Miss Irving is good, gifted, amiable, beautiful, 
 beside being young and full of health. I am sure 
 there could be nothing shocking or dreadful in 
 any man's uniting his destiny with such a being, 
 in case he was fortunate enough to win her. The 
 fact that she is poor, and not of illustrious lineage, 
 is but a very worldly consideration. Mr. Irving 
 was a most intelligent and excellent man, even if 
 he was a grocer. The American idea of aristoc- 
 racy is grotesquely absurd at the best. A man 
 may spend hia time and strength in buying and 
 selling things wherewith to clothe the body, and
 
 124 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 if he succeeds,his children are admitted to the in- 
 timacy of princes; but no success can open that 
 door to the children of a man who trades in food, 
 wherewith to sustain the body. We can none of 
 us afford to put on airs here in America, with 
 butchers and Dutch peasant traders only three or 
 four generations back of our 'best families.' 
 As for me, mother, remember my loved father was 
 a broker. That would damn him in the eyes of 
 some people, you know, cultured gentleman that 
 he was." 
 
 Mrs. Stuart sat very still, breathing hard and 
 trying to gain control of herself for some moments 
 after her sou ceased speaking. He, too, had said 
 more than he intended, and he was sorry that he 
 had hurt his mother's feelings as he saw her evi- 
 dent agitation. But as he rose to go forward and 
 beg her pardon, she spoke. 
 
 "The person of whom we were speaking has 
 nothing whatever to do with Mr. Irving," she 
 said. "Joy Irving was born before her mother 
 was married. Mrs. Irving has a most infamous 
 past, and I would rather see you dead than the 
 husband of her child. You certainly would not 
 want your children to inherit the propensities of 
 such a grandmother? And remember the curse 
 descends to the third and fourth generations. If 
 you doubt my words, go to the Baroness. She
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 125 
 
 knows the whole story, but has revealed it to no 
 one but me." 
 
 Mrs. Stuart left the room, closing the door be- 
 hind her as she went. She did not want to be 
 obliged to go over the details of the story which 
 she had heard; she had made her statement, one 
 which she knew must startle and horrify her son, 
 with his high ideals of womanly purity, and she 
 left him to review the situation in silence. It was 
 several hours before the rector left his room. 
 
 When he did, he went, not to the Baroness, but 
 directly to Mrs. Irving. They were alone for more 
 than an hour. When he emerged from the room, 
 his face was as white as death, and he did not look 
 at Joy as she accompanied him to the door. 
 
 Two days later Mrs. Irving died.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE congregation of St. Blank's Church was 
 rendered sad and solicitous by learning that its 
 rector was on the eve of nervous prostration, and 
 that his physician had ordered a change of air. 
 He went away in company with his mother for a 
 vacation of three months. The day after his de- 
 parture Joy Irving received a letter from him 
 which read as follows: 
 
 DEAR Miss IRVING: You may not in your 
 deep grief have given rne a thought. If such a 
 thought has been granted one so unworthy, it 
 must have taken the form of surprise that your 
 rector and friend has made no call of condolence 
 since death entered your household. I want to 
 write one little word to you, asking you to be leni- 
 ent in your judgment of me. I am ill in body and 
 mind. I feel that I am on the eve of some distress- 
 ing malady. I am not able to reason clearly, or 
 to judge what is right and what is wrong. I am as 
 one tossed between the laws of God and the laws 
 made by men, and bruised in heart and in soul. I 
 dare not see you or speak to you while I am in 
 this state of mind. I fear for what I may say or 
 do. I have not slept since I last saw you. I must 
 go away and gain strength and equilibrium. 
 126
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 127 
 
 When I return I shall hope to be master of my- 
 self. Until then, adieu. 
 
 "ARTHUR EMERSON STUART." 
 
 These wild and almost incoherent phrases 
 stirred the young girl's heart with intense pain 
 and anxiety. She had known for almost a year 
 that she loved the young rector; she had believed 
 that he cared for her, and without allowing her- 
 self to form any definite thoughts of the future, 
 she had lived in a blissful consciousness of loving 
 and being loved, which is to the fulfillment of a 
 love dream, like inhaling the perfume of a rose, 
 compared to the gathered flower and its attend- 
 ant thorns. 
 
 The young clergyman's absence at the time of 
 her greatest need had caused her both wonder and 
 pain. His letter but increased both sentiments 
 without explaining the cause. 
 
 It increased, too, her love for him, for whenever 
 over-anxiety is aroused for one dear to us, our 
 love is augmented. 
 
 She felt that the young man was in some great 
 trouble, unknown to her, and she longed to be able 
 to comfort him. Into the maiden's tender and 
 ardent affection stole the wifely wish to console 
 and the motherly impulse to protect her dear one 
 from pain, which are strong elements in every 
 real woman's love.
 
 128 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Mrs. Irving had died without writing one word 
 to the Baroness ; and that personage was in a state 
 of constant excitement until she heard of the rec- 
 tor's plans for rest and travel. Mrs. Stuart in- 
 formed her of the conversation which had taken 
 place between herself and her son; and of his evi- 
 dent distress of mind, which had reacted on his 
 body and made it necessary for him to give up 
 mental work for a season. 
 
 "I feel that I owe you a debt of gratitude, dear 
 Baroness, "Mrs. Stuart had said. "Sad as this con- 
 dition of things is, imagine how much worse it 
 would be, had my SOD, through an excess of sym- 
 pathy for that girl at this time, compromised 
 himself with her before we learned the terrible 
 truth regarding her birth. I feel sure my son will 
 regain his health after a few months' absence, and 
 that he will not jeopardize my happiness and his 
 future by any further thoughts of this unfortu- 
 nate girl, who in the meantime may not be here 
 when we return." 
 
 The Baroness made a mental resolve that the 
 girl should not be there. 
 
 While the rector's illness and proposed absence 
 was sufficient evidence that he had resolved upon 
 sacrificing his love for Joy on the altar of duty to 
 his mother and his calling, yet the Baroness felt 
 that danger lurked in the air while Miss Irving
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 129 
 
 occupied her present position. No sooner had Mrs. 
 Stuart and her son left the city, than the Baroness 
 sent an anonymous letter to the young organist. 
 It read: 
 
 U I do not know whether your mother im- 
 parted the secret of her past life to you before 
 she died, but as that secret is known to several 
 people, it seems cruelly unjust that you are kept 
 in ignorance of it. You are not Mr. Irving's 
 child. You were born before your mother married. 
 While it is not your fault, only your misfortune, 
 it would be wise for you to go where the facts are 
 not so well known as in the congregation of St. 
 Blank's. There are people in that congregation 
 who consider you guilty of a willful deception in 
 wearing the name you do, and of an affront to 
 good taste in accepting the position you occupy. 
 Many people talk of leaving the church on your 
 account. Your gifts as a musician would win you 
 a position elsewhere, and as I learn that your 
 mother's life was insured for a considerable sum, 
 I am sure you are able to seek new fields where 
 you can hide your disgrace. 
 
 "A WELL-WISHER." 
 
 Quivering with pain and terror, the young girl 
 cast the letter into the fire, thinking that it was 
 the work of one of those half-crazed beings whose 
 mania takes the form of anonymous letters to un- 
 offending people. Only recently such a person 
 had been brought into the courts for this offense. 
 It occurred to her also that it might be the work 
 of some one who wished to obtain her position as
 
 130 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 organist of St. Blank's. Musicians, she knew, 
 were said to be the most jealous of all people, and 
 while she had never suffered from them before, it 
 might be that her time had now come to experi- 
 ence the misfortunes of her profession. 
 
 Tender-hearted and kindly in feeling to all 
 humanity, she felt a sickening sense of sorrow and 
 fear at the thought that there existed such a 
 secret enemy for her anywhere in the world. 
 
 She went out upon the street, and for the first 
 time in her life she experienced a sense of suspi- 
 cion and distrust toward the people she met; for 
 the first time in her life, she realized that the 
 world was not all kind and ready to give her back 
 the honest friendship and the sweet good-will 
 which filled her heart for all her kind. Strive as 
 she would, she could not cast off the depression 
 caused by this vile letter. It was her first experi- 
 ence of this cowardly and despicable phase of hu- 
 man malice, and she felt wounded in soul as by a 
 poisoned arrow shot in the dark. And then, sud- 
 enly there came to her the memory of her moth- 
 er's words "If unhappiness ever comes to you, 
 read this letter." 
 
 Surely this was the time she needed to read that 
 letter. That it contained some secret of her moth- 
 er's life she felt sure, and she was equally sure 
 that it contained nothing that would cause her to 
 blush for that beloved mother.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 181 
 
 "Whatever the manuscript may have to reveal 
 to me," she said, u itis time that I should know." 
 She took the package from the hiding place, and 
 broke the seal. Slowly she read it to the end, as 
 if anxious to make no error in understanding 
 every phase of the long story it related. Begin- 
 ning with the marriage of her mother to the French 
 professor, Berene gave a detailed account of her 
 own sad and troubled life, and the shadow which 
 the father's appetite for drugs cast over her whole 
 youth. "They say," she wrote, "that there is no 
 personal devil in existence. I think this is true; 
 he has taken the form of drugs and spirituous 
 liquors, and so his work of devastation goes on." 
 Then followed the story of the sacrilegious mar- 
 riage to save her father from suicide, of her early 
 widowhood; and the proffer of the "Baroness" to 
 give her a home. Of her life of servitude there, 
 her yearning for an education, and her meeting 
 with "Apollo," as she designated Preston Cheney. 
 "For truly he was like the glory of the rising day 
 to me, the first to give me hope, courage and un- 
 selfish aid. I loved him, I worshiped him. He 
 loved me, but he strove to crush and kill this love 
 because he had worked out an ambitious career for 
 himself. To extricate himself from many difficul- 
 ties and embarrassments, and to further his am- 
 bitious dreams, he betrothed himself to the
 
 182 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 daughter of a rich and powerful man. He made 
 no profession of love, and she asked none. She 
 was incapable of giving or inspiring that holy 
 passion. She only asked to be married. 
 
 "I only asked to be loved. Knowing nothing of 
 the terrible conflict in his breast, knowing nothing 
 of his new-made ties, I was wounded to the soul 
 by his speaking unkindly to me words he forced 
 himself to speak to hide his real feelings. And 
 then it was that a strange fate caused him to find 
 me fainting, suffering, and praying for death. 
 The love in both hearts could no longer be re- 
 strained. Augmented by its long control, sharp- 
 ened by the agony we had both suffered, 
 overwhelmed by the surprise of the meeting, we 
 lost reason and prudence. Everything was for- 
 gotten save our love. When it was too late I fore- 
 saw the anguish and sorrow I must bring into this 
 man's life. I fear it was this thought rather than 
 repentance for sin which troubled me. Well may 
 you ask why I did not think of all this before in- 
 stead of after the error was committed. Why did 
 not Eve realize the consequences of the fall until 
 she had eaten of the apple? Only afterward did 
 I learn of the unholy ties which my lover had 
 formed that very day ties which he swore to me 
 should be broken ere another day passed, to ren- 
 der him free to make me his wife in the eyes of 
 men, as I already was in the sight of God.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 133 
 
 "Yet a strange and sudden resolve came to me 
 as I listened to him. Far beyond the thought of 
 my own ruin, rose the consciousness of the ruin I 
 should bring upon his life by allowing him to car- 
 ry out his design. To be his wife, his helpmate, 
 chosen from the whole world as one he deemed 
 most worthy and most able to cheer and aid him 
 in life's battle that seemed heaven to me; but to 
 know that by one rash, impetuous act of folly, I 
 had placed him in a position where he felt that 
 honor compelled him to marry me why, this 
 thought was more bitter than death. I knew that 
 he loved me; yet I knew, too, that by a union with 
 me under the circumstances he would antagonize 
 those who were now his best and most influential 
 friends, and that his entire career would be ruined 
 I resolved to go away; to disappear from his life 
 and leave no trace. If his love was as sincere as 
 mine, he would find me; and time would show 
 him some wiser way of breaking his new-made 
 fetters than the rash and sudden method he now 
 contemplated. He had forgotten to protect me 
 with his love, but I could not forget to protect 
 him. In every true woman's love there is the ma- 
 ternal element which renders sacrifice natural. 
 
 "Fate hastened and furthered my plans for de- 
 parture. Made aware that the Baroness was sus- 
 picious of my fault, and learning that my lover
 
 134 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 was suddenly called to the bedside of a is fiancee, 
 I made my escape from the town and left no trace 
 behind. I went* to that vast haystack of lost 
 needles New York, and effaced Berene Dumont 
 in Mrs. Lament. The money left from my fa- 
 ther's belongings I resolved to use in cultivating my 
 voice. I advertised for embroidery and fine sew- 
 ing also, and as I was an expert with the needle, 
 I was able to support myself and lay aside a little 
 sum each week. I trimmed hats at a small price, 
 and added to my income in various manners, ow- 
 ing to my French taste and my deft fingers. 
 
 "I was desolate, sad, lonely, but not despair- 
 ing. What woman can despair when she knows 
 herself loved? To me that consciousness was a 
 far greater source of happiness than would have 
 been the knowledge that I was an empress, or the 
 wife of a millionaire, envied by the whole world. 
 I believed my lover would find me in time, that 
 we should be reunited. I believed this until I saw 
 the announcement of his marriage in the press, 
 and read that he and his bride had sailed for an 
 extended foreign tour; but with this stunning 
 news, there came to me the strange, sweet, start- 
 ling consciousness that you, my darling child, 
 were coming to console me. 
 
 "I know that under the circumstances I ought to 
 have been borne down to the earth with a guilty
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 135 
 
 shame; I ought to have considered you as a pun- 
 ishment for my sin and walked in the valley of 
 humiliation and despair. 
 
 "But I did not. I lived in a state of mental 
 exaltation; every thought was a prayer, every 
 emotion was linked with religious fervor. I was 
 no longer alone or friendless, for I had you. I 
 sang as I had never sung, and one theatrical man- 
 ager who happened to call upon my teacher dur- 
 ing my lesson hour, offered me a position at a 
 good salary at once if I would accept. 
 
 "I could not accept, of course, knowing what 
 the coming months were to bring to me, but I took 
 his card and promised to write him when I was 
 ready to take a position. You came into life in 
 the depressing atmosphere of a city hospital, my 
 dear child, yet even there I was not depressed, and 
 your face wore a smile of joy the first time I gazed 
 upon it. So I named you Joy and well have you 
 worn the name. My first sorrow was in being 
 obliged to leave you; for I had to leave you with 
 those human angels, the sweet sisters of charity, 
 while I went forth to make a home for you. My 
 voice, as is sometimes the case, was richer, strong- 
 er and of greater compass after I had passed 
 through maternity. I accepted a position with a 
 traveling theatrical company, where I was to sing 
 a solo in one act. My success was not phenome-
 
 136 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 nal, but it was success nevertheless. I followed 
 this life for three years, seeing you only at inter- 
 vals. Then the consciousness came to me that 
 without long and profound study I could never 
 achieve more than a third-rate success in my pro- 
 fession. 
 
 "I had dreamed of becoming a great singer; but 
 I learned that a voice alone does not make a great 
 singer. I needed years of study, and this would 
 necessitate the expenditure of large sums of money. 
 I had grown heart-sick and disgusted with the an- 
 noyances and vulgarity I was subjected to in my 
 position. When you were four years old a good 
 man offered me a good home as his wife. It was 
 the first honest love I had encountered, while 
 scores of men had made a pretense of loving me 
 during these years. 
 
 "I was hungering for a home where I could 
 claim you and have the joy of your daily compan- 
 ionship instead of brief glimpses of you at the in- 
 tervals of months. My voice, never properly 
 trained, was beginning to break. I resolved to 
 put Mr. Irving to a test; I would tell him the true 
 story of your birth, and if he still wished me to 
 be his wife, I would marry him. 
 
 "I carried out my resolve, and we were married 
 the day after he had heard my story. I lived a 
 peaceful and even happy life with Mr. Irving. He
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 137 
 
 was devoted to you, and never by look, word or 
 act, seemed to remember my past. I, too, at times 
 almost forgot it, so strange a thing is the human 
 heart under the influence of time. Imagine, then, 
 the shock of remembrance and the tidal wave of 
 memories which swept over me when in the lady 
 you brought to call upon me I recognized the 
 Baroness. 
 
 "It is because she threatened to tell you that 
 you were not born in wedlock that I leave this 
 manuscript for you. It is but a few weeks since 
 you told me the story of Marah Adams, and as- 
 sured me that you thought her mother did right 
 in confessing the truth to her daughter. Little 
 did you dream with what painful interest I lis- 
 tened to your views on that subject. Little did 
 I dream that I should so soon be called upon to 
 act upon them. 
 
 "But the time is now come, and I want no 
 strange hand to deal you a blow in the dark; if 
 any part of the story comes to you, I want you 
 to know the whole truth. You will wonder why I 
 have not told you the name of your father. It is 
 strange, but from the hour I knew of his marriage, 
 and of your dawning life, I have felt a jealous fear 
 lest he should ever take you from me; even after 
 I am gone, I would not have him know of your ex- 
 istence and be unable to claim you openly. Any
 
 188 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 acquaintance between you could only result in 
 sorrow. 
 
 "I have never blamed him for my past weak- 
 ness, however I have blamed him for his unholy 
 marriage. Our fault was mutual. I was no ig- 
 norant child; while young in years, I had suffi- 
 cient knowledge of human nature to protect myself 
 had I used my will-power and my reason. Like 
 many another woman, I used neither; unlike the 
 majority, I did not repent my sin or its conse- 
 quences. I have ever believed you to be a more 
 divinely born being than any children who may 
 have resulted from my lover's unholy marriage. 
 I die strong in the belief. God bless you, my dear 
 child, and farewell." 
 
 Joy sat silent and pale like one in a trance for 
 a long time after she had finished reading. Then 
 she said aloud, "So I am another like Marah 
 Adams; it was this knowledge which caused the 
 rector to write me that strange letter. It was this 
 knowledge which sent him away without coming 
 to say one word of adieu. The woman who sent 
 me the message, sent it to him also. Well, I can 
 be as brave as my mother was. I, too, can disap- 
 pear." 
 
 She arose and began silently and rapidly to 
 make preparations for a journey. She felt a nerv- 
 ous haste to get away from something from all
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 189 
 
 things. Everything stable in the world seemed 
 to have slipped from her hold in the last few days. 
 Home, mother, love, and now hope and pride 
 were gone too. She worked for more than two 
 hours without giving vent to even a sigh. Then 
 suddenly she buried her face in her hands and 
 sobbed aloud: "Oh, mother, mother, you were 
 not ashamed, but I am ashamed for you I Why 
 was I ever born? God forgive me for the sinful 
 thought, but I wish you had lied to me in place 
 of telling me the truth."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 JUST as Mrs. Irving had written her story for 
 her daughter to read, she told it, in the main, to 
 the rector a few days before her death. 
 
 Only once before had the tale passed her lips; 
 then her listener was Horace Irving; and his only 
 comment was to take her in his arms and place 
 the kiss of betrothal on her lips. Never again was 
 the painful subject referred to between them. 
 So imbued had Berene Dumont become with her 
 belief in the legitimacy of her child, and in her 
 own purity, that she felt but little surprise at the 
 calm manner in which Mr. Irving received her 
 story, and now when the rector of St. Blank's 
 Church was her listener, she expected the same 
 broad judgment to be given her. But it was the 
 calmness of a great and all-forgiving love which 
 actuated Mr. Irving } and overcame all other feel- 
 ings. 
 
 Wholly unconventional in nature, caring notn- 
 ing and knowing little of the extreme ideas of or- 
 thodox society on these subjects, the girl Berene 
 and the woman Mrs. Irving had lived a life so 
 wholly secluded from the world at large, so abso- 
 140
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 141 
 
 lutely devoid of intimate friendships, so absorbed 
 in her own ideals, that she was incapable of un- 
 derstanding the conventional opinion regarding a 
 woman with a history like hers. 
 
 In all those years she had never once felt a sen- 
 sation of shame. Mr. Irving had requested her to 
 rear Joy in the belief that she was his child. As 
 the matter could in no way concern any one else, 
 Mrs. Irving's lips had remained sealed on the sub- 
 ject; but not with any idea of concealing a dis- 
 grace. She could not associate disgrace with her 
 love ^or Preston Cheney. She believed herself to 
 be his spiritual widow, as it were. His mortal clay 
 and legal name only belonged to his wife. 
 
 Mr. Irving had met Berene on a railroad train, 
 and had conceived one of those sudden and intense 
 passions with which a woman with a past often 
 inspires an innocent and unworldly young man. 
 He was sincerely and truly religious by nature, 
 and as spotless as a maiden in mind and body. 
 
 When he had dreamed of a wife, it was always 
 of some shy, innocent girl whom he should woo 
 almost from her mother's arms; some gen tie, pious 
 maid, carefully reared, who would help him to 
 establish the Christian household of his imagina- 
 tion. He had thought that love would first come 
 to him as admiring respect, then tender friend- 
 ship, then love for some such maiden; instead it
 
 142 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 had swooped down upon him in the form of an 
 intense passion for an absolute stranger a woman 
 traveling with a theatrical company. He was like 
 a sleeper who awakens suddenly and finds a scorch- 
 ing midday sun beating upon his eyes. A wrecked 
 freight train upon the track detained for several 
 hours the car in which they traveled. The passenger 
 waived ceremony and conversed to pass the time, 
 and Mr. Irving learned Berene's name, occupation 
 and destination. He followed her for a week, and 
 at the end of that time asked her hand in mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Even after he had heard the story of her life, 
 he was not deterred from his resolve to make 
 her his wife. All the Christian charity of his na- 
 ture, all its chivalry was aroused, and he believed 
 he was plucking a brand from the burning. He 
 never repented his act.- He lived wholly for his 
 wife and child, and for the good he could do with 
 them as his faithful allies. He drew more and 
 more away from all the allurements of the world, 
 and strove to rear Joy in what he believed to be a 
 purely Christian life, and to make his wife forget, 
 if possible, that she had ever known a sorrow. 
 All of sincere gratitude, tenderness and gentle 
 affection possible for her to feel, Berene bestowed 
 upon her husband during his life, and gave to his 
 memory after he was gone.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 148 
 
 Joy had been excessively fond of Mr. Irving, 
 and it was the dread of causing her a deep sorrow 
 in the knowledge that she was not his child, and 
 the fear that Preston Cheney would in any way in- 
 terfere with her possession of Joy, which had dis- 
 tressed the mother during the visit of the Baroness, 
 rather than an unwillingness to have her sin re- 
 vealed to her daughter. Added to this, the intru- 
 sion of the Baroness into this long hidden and 
 sacred experience seemed a sacrilege from which 
 she shrank with horror. But she now told the tale 
 to Arthur Stuart frankly and fearlessly. 
 
 He had asked her to confide to him whatever 
 secret existed regarding Joy's birth. 
 
 "There is a rumor afloat," he said, "that Joy 
 is not Mr. Irving's child. I love your daughter, 
 Mrs. Irving, and I feel it is my right to know all 
 the circumstances of her life. I believe the story 
 which was told my mother to be the invention of 
 some enemy who is jealous of Joy's beauty and 
 talents, and I would like to be in a position to 
 silence these slanders." 
 
 So Mrs. Irving told the story to the end; and 
 having told it, she felt relieved and happy in the 
 thought that it was imparted to the only two peo- 
 ple whom it could concern in the future. 
 
 No disturbing fear came to her, that the rector 
 would hesitate to make Joy his wife. To Berene
 
 144 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Durnont, love was the law. If love existed between 
 two souls she could not understand why any con- 
 vention of society should stand in the way of its 
 fulfillment. 
 
 Arthur Stuart in his role of spiritual confessor 
 and consoler had never before encountered such a 
 phase of human nature. He had listened to many 
 a tale of sin and folly from women's lips, but al- 
 ways had the sinner bemoaned her sin, and bit- 
 terly repented her weakness. Here instead was 
 what the world would consider a fallen woman, 
 who on her deathbed regarded her weakness as her 
 strength, her shame as her glory, and who seemed 
 to expect him to take the same view of the matter. 
 When he attempted to urge her to repent, the words 
 stuck in his throat. He left the deathbed of the 
 unfortunate sinner without having expressed one 
 of the conflicting emotions which filled his heart. 
 But he left it with such a weight on his soul, such 
 distress in his mind that death seemed to him the 
 only way of escape from a life of torment. 
 
 His love for Joy Irving was not killed by the 
 story he had heard. But it had received a terrible 
 shock, and the thought of making her his wife 
 with the probability that the Baroness would 
 spread the scandal broadcast, and that his mar- 
 riage would break his mother's heart, tortured 
 him. Added to this were his theories on heredity,
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 145 
 
 and the fear that there might, nay, must be, 
 some dangerous tendency hidden in the daughter 
 of a mother who had so erred, and who in dying 
 showed no comprehension of the enormity of her 
 sin. Had Mrs. Irving bewailed her fall, and rep- 
 resented herself as the victim of a wily villain, 
 the rector would not have felt so great a fear of the 
 daughter's inheritance. A frail, repentant woman 
 he could pity and forgive, but it seemed to him 
 that Mrs. Irving was utterly lacking in moral na- 
 ture. She was spiritually blind. The thought 
 tortured him. To leave Joy at this time without 
 calling to see her seemed base and cowardly; yet 
 he dared not trust himself in her presence. So 
 he sent her the strangely worded letter, and went 
 away hoping to be shown the path of duty before 
 he returned. 
 
 At the end of three mouths he came home 
 stronger in body and mind. He had resolved to 
 compromise with fate; to continue his calls upon 
 Joy Irving; to be her friend and rector only, un- 
 til by the passage of time, and the changes which 
 occur so rapidly in every society, the scandal in 
 regard to her birth had been forgotten. And until 
 by patience and tenderness, he won his mother's 
 consent to the union. He felt that all this must 
 come about as he desired, if he did not aggravate 
 his mother's feeling or defy public opinion by too 
 precipitate methods.
 
 146 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 He could not wholly give up all thoughts of Joy 
 Irving. She had grown to be a part of his hopes 
 and dreams of the future, as she was a part of the 
 reality of his present. But she was very young; 
 he could afford to wait, and while he waited to 
 study the girl's character, and if he saw any bud- 
 ding shoot which bespoke the maternal tree, to 
 prune and train it to his own liking. For the sake 
 of his unborn children he felt it his duty to care- 
 fully study any woman he thought to make his 
 wife. 
 
 But when he reached home, the surprising intel- 
 ligence awaited him that Miss Irving had left the 
 metropolis. A brief note to the church authori- 
 ties, resigning her position, and saying that she 
 was about to leave the city, was all that any one 
 knew of her. 
 
 The rector instituted a quiet search, but only 
 succeeded in learning that she had conducted her 
 preparations for departure with the greatest se- 
 crecy, and that to no one had she imparted her 
 plans. 
 
 Whenever a young woman shrouds her actions 
 in the garments of secrecy, she invites suspicion. 
 The people who love to suspect their fellow-beings 
 of wrong-doing were not absent on this occasion. 
 
 The rector was hurt and wounded by all this, 
 and while he resented the intimation from another
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 147 
 
 that Miss living's conduct had been peculiar and 
 mysterious, he felt it to be so in his own heart. 
 
 "Is it her mother's tendency to adventure devel- 
 oping in her?" he asked himself. 
 
 Yet he wrote her a letter, directing it to her at 
 the old number, thinking she would at least leave 
 her address with the postoffice for the forwarding 
 of mail. The letter was returned to him from that 
 cemetery of many a dear hope, the dead-letter 
 office A personal in a leading paper failed to 
 elicit a reply. And then one day six months after 
 the disappearance of Joy Irving, the young rector 
 was called to the Cheney household to offer spir- 
 itual consolation to Miss Alice, who believed her- 
 self to be dying. She had been in a decline ever 
 since the rector went away for his health. Since 
 his return she had seen him but seldom, rarely 
 save in the pulpit, and for the last six weeks she 
 had been too ill to attend divine service. 
 
 It was Preston Cheney himself, at home upon 
 one of his periodical visits, who sent for the rector, 
 and gravely met him at the door when he arrived, 
 and escorted him into his study. 
 
 "I am very anxious about my daughter," he 
 said. "She has been a nervous child always, and 
 over-sensitive. I returned yesterday after an ab- 
 sence of some three months in California, to find 
 Alice in bed, wasted to a shadow, and constantly
 
 148 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 weeping. I cannot win her confidence she has 
 never confided to me. Perhaps it is my fault; per- 
 haps I have not been at home enough to make her 
 realize that the relationship of father and daughter 
 is a sacred one. This morning when I was urging 
 her to tell me what grieved her, she remarked that 
 there was but one person to whom she could com- 
 municate this sorrow her rector. So, my dear 
 Dr. Stuart, I have sent for you. I will conduct 
 you to my child, and I leave her in your hands. 
 Whatever comfort and consolation you can offer, 
 I know will be given. I hope she will not bind 
 you to secrecy; I hope you may be able to tell me 
 what troubles her, and advise me how to help 
 her." 
 
 It was more than an hour before the rector re- 
 turned to the library where Preston Cheney 
 awaited him. When the senator heard his approach- 
 ing step, he looked up, and was startled to see the 
 pallor on the young man's face. "You have some- 
 thing sad, something terrible to tellmeP'he cried. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 The rector walked across the room several times, 
 breathing deeply, and with anguish written on 
 his countenance. Then he took Senator Cheney's 
 hand and wrung it. U I have an embarrassing an- 
 nouncement to make to you," he said. "It is 
 something so surprising, so unexpected, that I am 
 completely unnerved."
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 149 
 
 "You alarm me more and more," the senator 
 answered. "What can be the secret which my 
 frail child has imparted to you that should so 
 distress you? Speak; it is my right to know." 
 
 The rector took another turn about the room, 
 and then came and stood facing Senator Cheney. 
 
 "Your daughter has conceived a strange passion 
 for me," he said in a low voice. "It is this which 
 has caused her illness, and which she says will 
 cause her death, if I cannot return it." 
 
 "And you?" asked his listener after a moment's 
 silence. 
 
 "I? Why, I have never thought of your daugh- 
 ter in any such manner," the young man replied. 
 "I have never dreamed of loving her, or winning 
 her love." 
 
 "Then do not marry her," Preston Cheney said 
 quietly. "Marriage without love is unholy. Even 
 to save life it is unpardonable." 
 
 The rector was silent, and walked the room 
 with nervous steps. "I must go home and think 
 it all out," he said after a time. "Perhaps Miss 
 Cheney will find her grief less, now that she has 
 imparted it to me. I am alarmed at her condi- 
 tion, and I shall hope for an early report from you 
 regarding her." 
 
 The report was made twelve hours later. Miss 
 Cheney was delirious, and calling constantly for 
 the rector. Her physician feared the worst.
 
 150 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 The rector came, and his presence at once 
 soothed the girl's delirium. 
 
 "History repeats itself," said Preston Cheney 
 meditatively to himself. "Alice is drawing this 
 man into the net by her alarming physical condi- 
 tion, as Mabel riveted the chains about me when 
 her mother died. 
 
 "But Alice really loves the rector, I think, and 
 she is capable of a much stronger passion than 
 her mother ever felt; and the rector loves no other 
 woman at least, and so this marriage, if it takes 
 place, will not be so wholly wicked and unholy 
 as mine was." 
 
 The marriage did take place three months later. 
 
 Alice Cheney was not the wife whom Mrs. Stu- 
 art would have chosen for her son, yet she urged 
 him to this step, glad to place a barrier for all 
 time between him and Joy Irving, whose possible 
 return at any day she constantly feared, and 
 whose power over her son's heart she knew was 
 undiminished. 
 
 Alice Cheney's family was of the best on both 
 sides; there was wealth, station, and honor; and 
 a step-grandmamma who could be referred to on 
 occasions as "The Baroness." And there was no 
 skeleton to be hidden or excused. 
 
 And Arthur Stuart, believing that Alice Che- 
 ney's life and reason depended upon his making
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 151 
 
 her his wife, resolved to end the bitter struggle 
 with his own heart and with fate, and do what 
 seemed to be his duty, toward the girl and toward 
 his mother. When the wedding took place, the 
 saddest face at the ceremony, save that of the 
 groom, was the face of the bride's father. But 
 the bride was radiant, and Mabel and the Baroness 
 walked in clouds.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ALICE did not rally in health or spirits after her 
 marriage, as her family, friends and physician 
 had anticipated. She remained nervous, ailing 
 and despondent. 
 
 "Should maternity come to her, she would 
 doubtless be very much improved in health after- 
 ward," the doctor said, and Mabel, remembering 
 how true a similar prediction proved in her case, 
 despite her rebellion against it, was not sorry 
 when she knew that Alice was to become a mother, 
 scarcely a year after her marriage. 
 
 But Alice grew more and more despondent as 
 the months passed by; and after the birth of her 
 eon, the young mother developed dementia of the 
 most hopeless kind. The best specialists in two 
 worlds were employed to bring her out of the state 
 of settled melancholy into which she had fallen, 
 but all to no avail. At the end of two years, her 
 case was pronounced hopeless. Fortunately the 
 child died at the age of six weeks, so the seed of 
 insanity which in the first Mrs. Lawrence was 
 simply a case of "nerves, "growing into the plant
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 153 
 
 hysteria in Mabel, and yielding the deadly fruit 
 of insanity in Alice, was allowed by a kind provi- 
 dence to become extinct in the fourth generation. 
 
 This disaster to his only child caused a com- 
 plete breaking down of spirit and health in Pres- 
 ton Cheney. 
 
 Like some great, strongly coupled car, which 
 loses its grip and goes plunging down an incline 
 to destruction, Preston Cheney's will-power lost 
 it hold on life, and he went down to the valley of 
 death with frightful speed. 
 
 During the months which preceded his death, 
 Senator Cheney's only pleasure seemed to be in 
 the companionship of his son-in-law. The strong 
 attachment between the two men ripened with 
 every day's association. One day the rector was 
 sitting by the invalid's couch, reading aloud, 
 when Preston Cheney laid his hand on the young 
 man's arm and said: "Close your book and let 
 me tell you a true story which is stranger than 
 fiction. It is the story of an ambitious man and 
 all the disasters which his realized ambition 
 brought into the lives of others. It is a story 
 whose details are known to but two beings on 
 earth, if indeed the other being still exists on 
 earth. I have long wanted to tell you this story 
 indeed, I wanted to tell it to you before you 
 made Alice your wife, yet the fear that I would be
 
 154 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 wrecking the life and reason of my child kept me 
 silent. No doubt if I had told you, and you had 
 been influenced by my experience against a love- 
 less marriage, I should to-day be blaming myself 
 for her condition, which I see plainly now is but 
 the culmination of three generations of hysterical 
 women. But I want to tell you the story and urge 
 you to use it as a warning in your position of 
 counselor and friend of ambitious young men. 
 
 "No matter what else a man may do for posi- 
 tion, don't let him marry a woman he does not 
 love, especially if he crucifies a vital passion for 
 another, in order to do this." Then Preston Che- 
 ney told the story of his life to his son-in-law; 
 and as the tale proceeded, a strange interest which 
 increased until it became violent excitement, took 
 possession of the rector's brain and heart. The 
 story was so familiar so very familiar; and at 
 length when the name of Berene Dumont escaped 
 the speaker's lips, Arthur Stuart clutched his 
 hands and clenched his teeth to keep silent until 
 the end of the story came. 
 
 "From the hour Berene disappeared, to this 
 very day, no word or message ever came from 
 her," the invalid said. "I have never known 
 whether she was dead or alive, married, or, terri- 
 ble*thought, perhaps driven into a reckless life by 
 her one false step with me. This last fear has been 
 a constant torture to me all these years.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 155 
 
 "The world is cruel in its judgment of woman. 
 And yet I know that it is woman herself who has 
 shaped the opinions of the world regarding these 
 matters. If men had had their way since the 
 world began, there would be no virtuous women. 
 Woman has realized this fact, and she has in con- 
 sequence walled herself about with rules and con- 
 ventions which have in a measure protected her 
 from man. When any woman breaks through 
 these conventions and errs, she suffers the scorn 
 of others who have kept these self-protecting and 
 society-protecting laws; and conscious of their 
 scorn, she believes all hope is lost forever. 
 
 "The fear that Berene took this view of her 
 one mistake, and plunged into a desperate life 
 has embittered my whole existence. Never 
 before did a man suffer such a mental hell 
 as I have endured for this one act of sin and 
 weakness. Yet the world, looking at my life of 
 success, would say if it knew this story, 'Behold 
 how the man goes free.' Free! Great Godl there 
 is no bondage so terrible as that of the mind. I 
 have loved Berene Dumont with a changeless pas- 
 sion for twenty-three years, and there has not 
 been a day in all that time that I have not during 
 some hours endured the agonies of the damned, 
 thinking of all the disasters and misery that might 
 have come into her life through me. Heaven 
 knows I would have married her if she had re-
 
 156 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 mainecl. Strange and intricate as the net was 
 which the devil wove about me when I had 
 furnished the cords, I could and would have 
 broken through it after that strange night at 
 once the heaven and the hell of my memory if 
 Berene had remained. As it was I married Mabel, 
 and you know what a farce, ending in a tragedy, 
 our married life has been. God grant that no 
 worse woes befell Berene; God grant that I may 
 meet her in the spirit world and tell her how I 
 loved her and longed for her companionship." 
 
 The young rector's eyes were streaming with 
 tears, as he reached over and clasped the sick 
 man's hands in his. "You will meet her," he 
 said with a choked voice. "I heard this same 
 story, but without names, from Berene Dumont's 
 dying lips more than two years ago. And just as 
 Berene disappeared from you so her daughter 
 disappeared from me; and God help me, dear 
 father doubly now my father, I crushed out my 
 great passion for the glorious natural child of 
 your love, to marry the loveless, wretched and un- 
 natural child of your marriage." 
 
 The sick man started up on his couch, his eyes 
 flaming, his cheeks glowing with sudden luster. 
 
 "My child the natural child of Berene's love 
 and mine, you say; oh, my God, speak and tell me 
 what you mean; speak before I die of joy so ter- 
 rible it is like anguish."
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 157 
 
 So then it became the rector's turn to take the 
 part of narrator. When the story was ended, 
 Preston Cheney lay weeping like a woman on his 
 couch ; the first tears he had shed since his mother 
 died and left him an orphan of ten. 
 
 "Berene living and dying almost within reach 
 of my arms almost within sound of my voice I" 
 he cried. "Oh, why did I not find her before the 
 grave closed between us? and why did no voice 
 speak from that grave to tell me when I held my 
 daughter's hand in mine? my beautiful child, 
 no wonder my heart went out to her with such a 
 gush of tenderness; no wonder I was fired with 
 unaccountable anger and indignation when Mabel 
 and Alice spoke unkindly of her. Do you remem- 
 ber how her music stirred me? It was her moth- 
 er's heart speaking to mine through the genius of 
 our child. 
 
 "Arthur, you must find her you must find her 
 for me! If it takes my whole fortune I must see 
 my daughter, and clasp her in my arms before I 
 die." 
 
 But this happiness was not to be granted to the 
 dying man. Overcome by the excitement of this 
 new emotion, he grew weaker and weaker as the 
 next few days passed, and at the end of the fifth 
 day his spirit took its flight, let us hope to join 
 its true mate.
 
 158 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 It had been one of his dying requests to have 
 his body taken to Beryngford and placed beside 
 that of Judge Lawrence. 
 
 The funerel services took place in the new and 
 imposing church edifice which had been con- 
 structed recently in Beryngford. The quiet in- 
 terior village had taken a leap forward during the 
 last few years, and was now a thriving city, owing 
 to the discovery of valuable stone quarries in 
 its borders. 
 
 The Baroness and Mabel had never been in 
 Beryngford since the death of Judge Lawrence 
 many years before; and it was with sad and bit- 
 ter hearts that both women recalled the past and 
 realized anew the disasters which had wrecked 
 their dearest hopes and ambitions. 
 
 The Baroness, broken in spirit and crushed by 
 the insanity of her beloved Alice, now saw the 
 form of the man whom she had hopelessly loved 
 for so many years, laid away to crumble back to 
 dust; and yet, the sorrows which should have 
 softened her soul, and made her heart tender to- 
 ward all suffering humanity, rendered her pitileps 
 as the grave toward one lonely and desolate being 
 before the shadows of night had fallen upon the 
 grave of Preston Cheney. 
 
 When the funeral march pealed out from the 
 grand new organ during the ceremonies in the
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 159 
 
 church, both the Baroness and the rector, absorbed 
 as they were in mournful sorrow, started with 
 surprise. Both gazed at the organ loft; and there, 
 before the great instrument, sat the graceful fig- 
 ure of Joy Irving. The rector's face grew pale as 
 the corpse in the casket; the withered cheek of 
 the Baroness turned a sickly yellow, and a spark 
 of anger dried the moisture in her eyes. 
 
 Before the night had settled over the thriving 
 city of Beryngford, the Baroness dropped a point 
 of virus from the lancet o f her tongue to poison 
 the social atmosphere where Joy Irving had by the 
 merest accident of fate made her new home, and 
 where in the office of organist she had, without 
 dreaming of her dramatic situation, played the 
 requiem at the funeral of her own father.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 JOY IRVING had come to Beryngford at the time 
 when the discoveries of the quarries caused that 
 village to spring into sudden prominence as a 
 growing city. Newspaper accounts of the build- 
 ing of the new church, and the purchase of a large 
 pipe organ, chanced to fall under her eye just as 
 she was planning to leave the scene of her unhap- 
 pinesa 
 
 "I can at least only fail if I try for the position 
 of organist there," she said, "and if I succeed in 
 this interior town, I can hide myself from all the 
 world without incurring heavy expense." 
 
 So all unconsciously Joy fled from the metrop- 
 olis to the very place from which her mother had 
 vanished twenty-two years before. 
 
 She had been the organist in the grand new 
 Episcopalian Church now for three years; and she 
 had made many cordial acquaintances who would 
 have become near friends, if she had encouraged 
 them. But Joy's sweet and trustful nature had 
 received a great shock in the knowledge of the 
 shadow which hung about her birth. Where for- 
 160
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 161 
 
 merly she had expected love and appreciation from 
 every one she met, she now shrank from forming 
 new ties, lest new hurts should await her. 
 
 She was like a flower in whose perfect heart a 
 worm has coiled. Her entire feeling about life had 
 undergone a change. For many weeks after her 
 self-imposed exile, she had been unable to think of 
 her mother without a mingled sense of shame and 
 resentment; the adoring love she had borne this 
 being seemed to die with her respect. After a 
 time the bitterness of this sentiment wore away, 
 and a pitying tenderness and sorrow took its 
 place; but from her heart the twin angels, Love 
 and Forgiveness, were absent. She read her moth- 
 er's manuscript over, and tried to argue herself 
 into the philosophy which had sustained the author 
 of her being through all these years. 
 
 But her mind was shaped far more after the 
 conventional pattern of her paternal ancestors, 
 who had been New England Puritans, and she 
 could not view the subject as Berene had viewed 
 it. 
 
 In spite of the ideality which her mother had 
 woven about him, Joy entertained the most bitter 
 contempt for the unknown man who was her 
 father, and the whole tide of her affections turned 
 lavishly upon the memory of Mr. Irving, whom 
 she felt now more than ever so worthy of her re- 
 gard.
 
 162 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Reason as she would on the supremacy of love 
 over law, yet the bold, unpleasant fact remained 
 that she was the child of an unwedded mother. 
 She shrank in sensitive pain from having this story 
 follow her, and the very consciousness that her 
 mother's experience had been an exceptional one, 
 caused her the greater dread of having it known 
 and talked of as a common vulgar laison. 
 
 There are two things regarding which the world 
 at large never asks any questions, namely: How a 
 rich man made his money, and how an erring 
 woman came to fall. It is enough for the world to 
 know that he is rich that fact alone opens all 
 doors to him, as the fact that the woman has 
 erred, closes them to her. 
 
 There was a common vulgar creature in Beryng- 
 ford, whose many amours and bold defiance of law 
 and order rendered her name a synonym for in- 
 decency. This woman had begun her career in 
 early girlhood as a mercenary intriguer; and yet 
 Joy Irving knew that the majority of people would 
 make small distinctions between the conduct of 
 this creature and that of her mother, were the 
 facts of Berene's life and her own birth to be made 
 public. 
 
 The fear that the story would follow here 
 wherever she went became an absolute dread with 
 her, and caused her to live alone and without
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 168 
 
 companions, in the midst of people who would 
 gladly have become her warm friends, had she 
 permitted. 
 
 Her book of "Impressions" reflected the changes 
 which had taken place in the complexion of her 
 mind during these years. Among its entries 
 were the following: 
 
 People talk about following a divine law of love, 
 when they wish to excuse their brute impulses 
 and break social and civil codes. 
 
 No love is sanctioned by God, which shatters 
 human hearts. 
 
 Fathers are only distantly related to their chil- 
 dren ; love for the male parent is a matter of edu- 
 cation. 
 
 The devil macadamizes all his pavements. 
 
 A natural child has no place in an unnatural 
 world. 
 
 When we cannot respect our parents, it is diffi- 
 cult to keep our ideal of God. 
 
 Love is a mushroom, and lust is its poisonous 
 counterpart. 
 
 It is a pity that people who despise civilization 
 should be so uncivil as to stay in it. There is 
 always darkest Africa. 
 
 The extent of a man's gallantry depends on the 
 goal. He follows the good woman to the borders 
 of Paradise and leaves her with a polite bow; but 
 he follows the bad woman to the depths of hell.
 
 164 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 It is easy to trust in God until he permits us to 
 suffer. The dentist seems a skilled benefactor to 
 mankind when we look at his sign from the street. 
 When we sit in his chair he seems a brute, armed 
 with devil's implements. 
 
 An anonymous letter is the bastard of a diseased 
 mind. 
 
 An envious woman is a spark from Purgatory. 
 
 The consciousness that we have anything to hide 
 from the world stretches a veil between our souls 
 and heaven. We can not reach up to meet the 
 gaze of God, when we are afraid to meet the eyes 
 of men. 
 
 It may be all very well for two people to make 
 their own laws, but they have no right to force a 
 third to live by them. 
 
 Virtue is very secretive about her payments, 
 but the whole world hears of it when vice settles 
 up. 
 
 We have a sublime contempt for public opinion 
 theoretically so long as it favors us. When it 
 turns against us we suffer intensely from the loss 
 of what we claimed to despise. 
 
 When the fruit must apologize for the tree, we 
 do not care to save the seed. 
 
 It is only when God and man have formed a 
 syndicate and agreed upon their laws, that mar- 
 riage is a safe investment. 
 
 The love that does not protect its object would 
 better change its name. 
 
 When we say of people what we would not say 
 to them, we are either liars or oowards.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 166 
 
 The enmity of some people is the greatest com- 
 pliment they can pay us. 
 
 It was in thoughts like these that Joy relieved 
 her heart of some of the bitterness and sorrow 
 which weighed upon it. And day after day she bore 
 about with her the dread of having the story of 
 her mother's sin known in her new home. 
 
 As our fears, like our wishes, when strong and 
 unremitting, prove to be magnets, the result of 
 Joy's despondent fears came in the scandal which 
 the Baroness had planted and left to flourish and 
 grow in Beryngford after her departure. An hour 
 before the services began, on the day of Preston 
 Cheney's burial, Joy learned at whose rites she 
 was to officiate as organist. A pang of mingled 
 emotions shot through her heart at the sound of his 
 name. She had seen this man but a few times, and 
 spoken with him but once; yet he had left a strong 
 impression upon her memory. She had felt drawn 
 to him by his sympathetic face and atmos- 
 phere, the sorrow of his kind eyes, and the keen 
 appreciation he had shown in her art; and just 
 in the measure that she had been attracted by 
 him, she had been repelled by the three women 
 to whom she was presented at the same time. 
 She saw them all again mentally, as she had seen 
 them on that and many other days. Mrs. Cheney 
 and Alice, with their fretful, plain, dissatisfied
 
 166 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 faces, and their over-burdened costumes, and the 
 Baroness, with her cruel heart gazing through her 
 worn mask of defaced beauty. 
 
 She had been conscious of a feeling of overwhelm- 
 ing pity for the kind, attractive man who made 
 the fourth,*x)f that quartette. She knew that he 
 had obtained honors and riches from life, but she 
 pitied him for his home environment. She had 
 felt so thankful for her own happy home life at 
 the time ; and she remembered, to o, the sweet 
 hope that lay like a closed-up bud in the bottom 
 of her heart that day, as the quartette moved away 
 und left her standing alone with Arthur Stuart. 
 It was only a few weeks later that the -end came 
 to all her dreams, through that terrible aoony- 
 mous letter. 
 
 It was the Baroness who had sent it, sh knew 
 the Baroness whose early hatred for her mother 
 had descended to the child. "And now I must 
 sit in the same house with her again," she said, 
 "and perhaps meet her face to face; and she may 
 tell the story here of my mother's shame, even as 
 I have felt and feared it must yet be told. How 
 strange that a 'love child' should inspire so much 
 hatred I" 
 
 Joy had carefully refrained from reading New 
 York papers ever since she left the city; and she 
 had no correspondents. It was her wish and de.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 167 
 
 sire to utterly sink and forget the past life there. 
 Therefore she knew nothing of Arthur Stuart's 
 marriage to the daughter of Preston Cheney. She 
 thought of the rector as dead to her. She believed 
 he had given her up because of the stain upon her 
 birth, and, bitter as the pain had been, she never 
 blamed him. She had fought with her love for 
 him and believed that it was buried in the grave 
 of all other happy memories. 
 
 But as the earth is wrenched open by volcanic 
 eruptions and Jong buried corpses are revealed 
 again to the light of day, so the unexpected sight 
 of Arthur Stuart, as betook his place beside Mabel 
 and the Baroness during the funeral services, re- 
 vealed all the pent up passion of her heart to her 
 own frightened soul. 
 
 To strong natures, the greater the inward ex- 
 citement the more quiet the exterior; and Joy 
 passed through the services, and performed her 
 duties, without betraying to those about her the 
 violent emotions under which she labored. 
 
 The rector of Beryngford Church requested her 
 to remain for a few moments, and consult with 
 him on a matter concerning the next week's 
 musical services. It was from him Joy learned the 
 relation which Arthur Stuart bore to the dead 
 man, and that Beryngford was the former home 
 of the Baroness.
 
 168 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Her mother's manuscript had carefully avoided 
 all mention of names of people or places. Yet 
 Joy realized now that she must be living in the 
 very scene of her mother's early life; she longed to 
 make inquiries, but was prevented by the fear that 
 she might hear her mother's name mentioned dis- 
 respectfully. 
 
 The days that followed were full of sharp agony 
 for her. It was not until long afterward that 
 she was able to write her "impressions" of that 
 experience. In the extreme hour of joy or agony 
 we formulate no impressions; we only feel. We 
 neither analyze nor describe our friends or enemies 
 when face to face with them, but after we leave 
 their presence. When the day came that she could 
 write, some of her reflections were thus epito- 
 mized: 
 
 Love which rises from the grave to comfort us, 
 possesses more of the demons' than the angel's 
 power. It terrifies us with its supernatural qual- 
 ities and deprives us temporarily of our reason. 
 
 Suppressed steam and suppressed emotion are 
 dangerous things to deal with. 
 
 The infant who wants its mother's breast, and 
 the woman who wants her lover's arms, are poor 
 subjects to reason with. Though you tell the 
 former that fever has poisoned the mother's milk, 
 or the latter that destruction lies in the lover's 
 embrace, one heeds you no more than the other.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 169 
 
 The accumulated knowledge of ages is sometimes 
 revealed by a kiss. Where wisdom is bliss, it is 
 folly to be ignorant. 
 
 Some of us have to crucify our hearts before we 
 find our souls. 
 
 A woman can not fully know charity until she 
 has met passion; but too intimate an acquaintance 
 with the latter destroys her appreciation of all 
 the virtues. 
 
 To feel temptation and resist it, renders us lib- 
 eral in our judgment of all our kind. To yield to 
 it, fills us with suspicion of all. 
 
 There is an ecstatic note in pain which is never 
 reached in happiness. 
 
 The death of a great passion is a terrible thing, 
 unless the dawn of a greater truth shines on the 
 grave. 
 
 Love ought to have no past tense. 
 
 Love partakes of the feline nature. It has nine 
 lives. 
 
 It seems to be difficult for some of us to distin- 
 guish between looseness of views, and charitable 
 judgments. To be sorry for people's sins and fol- 
 lies and to refuse harsh criticism is right ; to ac- 
 cept them as a matter of course is wrong. 
 
 Love and sorrow are twins, and knowledge is 
 their nurse. 
 
 The pathway of the soul is not a steady ascent, 
 but hilly and broken. We must sometimes go 
 lower, in order to get higher. 
 
 That which is to-day, and will be to-morrow,
 
 170 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 must have been yesterday. I know that I live, I 
 believe that I shall live again, and have lived be- 
 fore. 
 
 Earth life is the middle rung of a long ladder 
 which we climb in the dark. Though we can not 
 see the steps below or above, they exist all the 
 same. 
 
 The materialist denying spirit is like the burr 
 of the chestnut denying the meat within. 
 
 The inevitable is always right. 
 
 Prayer is a skeleton key that opens unexpected 
 doors. We may not find the things we came to 
 seek, but we find other treasures. 
 
 The pessimist belongs to God's misfit counter. 
 
 Art, when divorced from Religion, always be- 
 comes a wanton. 
 
 To forget benefits we have received is a crime. 
 To remember benefits we have bestowed is a great- 
 er one. 
 
 To some men a woman is a valuable book, care- 
 fully studied and choicely guarded behind glass 
 doors. To others, she is a daily paper, idly scanned 
 and tossed aside.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WHILE Joy battled with her sorrow during the 
 days following Preston Cheney's burial, she woke 
 to the consciousness that her history was known 
 in Beryngford. The indescribable change in the 
 manner of her acquaintances, the curiosity in the 
 eyes of some, the insolence or familiarity of others, 
 all told her that her fears were realized; and then 
 there came a letter from the church authorities 
 requesting her to resign her position as organist. 
 
 This letter came to the young girl on one of 
 those dreary autumn nights when all the desola- 
 tion of the dying summer, and none of the ex- 
 hilaration of the approaching winter, is in the air. 
 She had been laboring all day under a cloud of 
 depression which hovered over her heart and brain 
 and threatened to wholly envelop her; and the 
 letter from the church committee cut her heart 
 like a poniard stroke. Sometimes we are able to 
 bear a series of great disasters with courage and 
 equanimity, while we utterly collapse under some 
 slight misfortune. Joy had been a heroine in her 
 great sorrows, but now in the undeserved loss of 
 
 m
 
 172 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 her position as church organist, she felt herself 
 unable longer to cope with Fate. 
 
 "There is no place for me anywhere," she said 
 to herself. Had she known the truth, that the 
 Baroness had represented her to the committee as 
 a fallen woman of the metropolis, who had left 
 the city for the city's good, the letter would not 
 have seemed to her so cruelly unjust and unjusti- 
 fiable. 
 
 Bitter as had been her suffering at the loss of 
 Arthur Stuart from her life, she had found it pos- 
 sible to understand his nesitation to make her his 
 wife. With his fine sense of family pride, and his 
 reverence for the estate of matrimony, his belief in 
 heredity, it seemed quite natural to her that he 
 should be shocked at the knowledge of the condi- 
 tions under which she was born; and the thought 
 that her disappearance from his life was helping 
 him to solve a painful problem, had at times, before 
 this unexpected sight of him, rendered her almost 
 happy in her lonely exile. She had grown strangely 
 fond of Beryngford of the old streets and homes 
 which she knew must have been familiar to her 
 mother's eyes, of the new church whose glorious 
 voiced organ gave her so many hours of comfort 
 and relief of soul, of the tiny apartment where 
 she and her heart communed together. She was 
 cat-like in her love of places, and now she must
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 178 
 
 tear herself away from all these surroundings and 
 seek some new spot wherein to hide herself and 
 her sorrows. 
 
 It was like tearing up a half-rooted flower, al- 
 ready drooping from one transplanting. She said 
 to herself that she could never survive another 
 change. She read the letter over which lay in her 
 hand, and tears began to slowly well from her eyes. 
 Joy seldom wept; but now it seemed to her she 
 was some other person, who stood apart and wept 
 tears of sympathy for this poor girl, Joy Irving, 
 whose life was so hemmed about with troubles, 
 none of which were of her own making; and then, 
 like a dam which suddenly gives way and allows 
 a river to overflow, a great storm of sobs shook 
 her frame, and she wept as she had never wept be- 
 fore; and with her tears there came rushing back 
 to her heart all the old love and sorrow for the 
 dead mother which had so long been hidden un- 
 der her burden of shame; and all the old passion 
 and longing for the man whose insane wife she 
 knew to be a more hopeless obstacle between them 
 than this mother's history had proven. 
 
 "Mother, Arthur, pity me, pity me!" she cried. 
 "I am all alone, and the strife is so terrible. I 
 have never meant to harm any living thing! 
 Mother, Arthur, God, how can you all desert me 
 so?"
 
 174 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 At last, exhausted, she fell into a deep and 
 dreamless sleep. 
 
 She awoke the following morning with an ach- 
 ing head, and a heart wherein all emotions seemed 
 dead save a dull despair. She was conscious of 
 only one wish, one desire a longing to sit again 
 in the organ loft, and pour forth her soul in one 
 last farewell to that instrument which had grown 
 to seem her friend, confidant and lover. 
 
 She battled with her impulse as unreasonable 
 and unwise, till the day was well advanced. But 
 it grew stronger with each hour; and at last she 
 set forth under a leaden sky and through a dreary 
 November rain to the church. 
 
 Her head throbbed with pain, and her hands 
 were hot and feverish, as she seated herself before 
 the organ and began to play. But with the first 
 sounds responding to her touch, she ceased to 
 think of bodily discomfort. 
 
 The music was the voice of her own soul, utter- ' 
 ing to God all its desolation, its anguish and its 
 despair. Then suddenly, with no seeming volition 
 of her own, it changed to a passion of human love, 
 human desire; the sorrow of separation, the strife 
 with the emotions, the agony of renunciation were 
 all there; and the November rain, beating in wild 
 gusts against the window-panes behind the musi- 
 cian, lent a fitting accompaniment to the strains.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 175 
 
 She had been playing for perhaps an hour, when 
 a sudden exhaustion seized upon her, and her 
 hands fell nerveless and inert upon her lap; she 
 dropped her chin upon her breast and closed her 
 eyes. She was drunken with her own music. 
 
 When she opened them again a few moments 
 later, they fell upon the face of Arthur Stuart, 
 who stood a few feet distant regarding her with 
 haggard eyes. Unexpected and strange as his 
 presence was, Joy felt neither surprise nor wonder. 
 She had been thinking of him so intensely, he had 
 been so interwoven with the music she had been 
 playing, that his bodily presence appeared to her 
 as a natural result. He was the first to speak; and 
 when he spoke she noticed that his voice sounded 
 hoarse and broken, and that his face was drawn 
 and pale. 
 
 "I came to Beryngford this morning expressly 
 to see you, Joy," he said. "I have many things 
 to say to you. I went to your residence and was 
 told by the maid that I would find you here. I 
 followed, as you see. We have had many meetings 
 in church edifices, in organ lofts. It seems nat- 
 ural to find you in such a place, but I fear it will 
 be unnatural and unfitting to say to you here, 
 what I came to say. Shall we return to your home?" 
 
 His eyes shone strangely from dusky caverns, 
 and there were deep lines about his mouth.
 
 176 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 u He,too,has suffered," thought Joy; "I have not 
 borne it all alone." Then she said aloud: "We 
 are quite undisturbed here; I know of nothing I 
 could listen to in my room which I could not hear 
 you say in this place. Go on." 
 
 He looked at her silently for a moment, his 
 cheek pale, his breast heaving. Before he came 
 to Beryngford, he had fought his battle between 
 religion and human passion, and passion had won. 
 He had cast under his feet every principle and 
 tradition in which he had been reared, and re- 
 solved to live alone henceforth for the love and 
 companionship of one human being, could he ob- 
 tain her consent to go with him. 
 
 Yet for the moment, he hesitated to speak the 
 words he had resolved to utter, under the roof of 
 a house of God, so strong were the influences of 
 his early training and his habits of thought. But 
 as his eyes feasted upon the face before him, his 
 hesitation vanished, and he leaned toward her and 
 spoke. "Joy," he said, "three years ago I went 
 away and left you in sorrow, alone, because I was 
 afraid to brave public opinion, afraid to displease 
 my mother and ask you to be my wife. The story 
 your mother told me of your birth, a story she 
 left in manuscript for you to read, made a social 
 coward of me. I was afraid to take a girl born 
 out of wedlock to be my life companion, the mother
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 177 
 
 of my children. Well, I married a girl born in 
 wedlock; and where is my companion?" He 
 paused and laughed recklessly. Then he went on 
 hurriedly: "She is in an insane asylum. I am 
 chained to a corpse for life. I had not enough 
 moral courage three years ago to make you my 
 wife. But I have moral courage enough now to 
 come here and ask you to go with me to Australia, 
 and begin a new life together. My mother died 
 a year ago. I donned the surplice at her bidding. 
 I will abandon it at the bidding of Love. I sinned 
 against heaven in marrying a woman I did not 
 love. I am willing to sin against the laws of man 
 by living with the woman I do love; will you go 
 with me, Joy?" There was silence save for the 
 beating of the rain against the stained window, 
 and tbd wailing of the wind. 
 
 Joy was in a peculiarly overwrought condition 
 of mind and body. Her hours of extravagant 
 weeping the previous night, followed by a day of 
 fasting, left her nervous system in a state to be 
 easily excited by the music she had been playing. 
 She was virtually intoxicated with sorrow and 
 harmony. She was incapable of reasoning, and 
 conscious only of two things that she must leave 
 Beryngford, and that the man whom she had 
 loved with her whole heart for five years, was ask- 
 ing her to go with him; to be no more homeless,
 
 178 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 unloved, and alone, but his companion while life 
 should last. 
 
 "Answer me, Joy," he was pleading. "Answer 
 me." 
 
 She moved toward the stairway that led down 
 to the street door; and as she flitted by him, she 
 said, looking him full in the eyes with a slow, 
 grave smile, "Yes, Arthur, I will go with you." 
 He sprang toward her with a wild cry of joy, but 
 she was already flying down the stairs and out 
 upon the street. 
 
 When he joined her, they walked in silence 
 through the rain to her door, neither speaking a 
 word, until he would have followed her within. 
 Then she laid her hand upon his shoulder and 
 said gently but firmly: "Not now, Arthur; we must 
 not see each other again until we go away. Write 
 me where to meet you, and I will join you within 
 twenty-four hours. Do not urge me you must 
 obey me this once afterward I will obey you. 
 Good-night." 
 
 As she closed the door upon him, he said, "Oh, 
 Joy, I have so much to tell you. I promised your 
 father when he was dying that I would find you; 
 I swore to myself that when I found you I would 
 never leave you, save at your own command. I 
 go now, only because you bid me go. When we 
 meet again, there must be no more parting; and
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 179 
 
 you shall hear a story stranger than the wildest 
 fiction the story of your father's life. Despite 
 your mother's secretiveuess regarding this portion 
 of her history, the knowledge has come to me in 
 the most unexpected manner, from the lips of the 
 man himself." 
 
 Joy listened dreamily to the words he was say- 
 ing. Her father she was to know who her father 
 was? Well, it did not matter much to her now 
 father, mother, what were they, what was any- 
 thing save the fact that he had come back to her 
 and that he loved her? 
 
 She smiled silently into his eyes. Glance be- 
 came entangled with glance, and would not be 
 separated. 
 
 He pushed open the almost closed door and she 
 felt herself enveloped with arms and lips. 
 
 A second later she stood alone, leaning dizzily 
 against the door; heart, brain and blood in a mad 
 riot of emotion. 
 
 Then she fell into a chair and covered her burn- 
 ing face with her hands as she whispered, "Mother, 
 mother, forgive me I understand I understand. "
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE first shock of the awakened emotions brings 
 recklessness to some women, and to others fear. 
 
 The more frivolous plunge forward like the 
 drunken man who leaps from the open window 
 believing space is water. 
 
 The more intense draw back, startled at the un- 
 known world before them. 
 
 The woman who thinks love is all ideality is 
 more liable to follow into undreamed-of chasms 
 than she who, through the complexity of her own 
 emotions, realizes its grosser elements. 
 
 It was long after midnight when Joy fell into a 
 heavy sleep, the night of Arthur Stuart's visit. 
 She heard the drip of the dreary November rain 
 upon the roof, and all the light and warmth 
 seemed stricken from the universe save the fierce 
 fire in her own heart. 
 
 When she woke in the late morning, great 
 splashes of sunlight were leaping and quivering 
 like living things across the foot of her bed; she 
 sprang up, dazed for a moment by the flood of 
 light in the room, and went to the window and 
 180
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 181 
 
 looked out upon a sun-kissed world smiling in the 
 arms of a perfect Indian summer day. 
 
 A happy little sparrow chirped upon the window 
 sill, and some children ran across the street bare- 
 headed, exulting in the soft air. All was innocence 
 and sweetness. Mind and morals are greatly in- 
 fluenced by weather. Many things seem right in 
 the fog and gloom, which we know to be wrong 
 in the clear light of a sunny morning. The events 
 of the previous day came back to Joy's mind as 
 she stood by the window, and stirred her with a 
 sense of strangeness and terror. The thought of 
 the step she had resolved to take brought a sudden 
 trembling to her limbs. It seemed to her the eyes 
 of God were piercing into her heart, and she was 
 afraid. 
 
 Joy had from her early girlhood been an earnest 
 and sincere follower of the Christian religion. 
 The embodiment of love and sympathy herself, it 
 was natural for her to believe in the God of Love 
 and to worship Him in outward forms, as well as 
 in her secret soul. It was the deep and earnest 
 fervor of religion in her heart, which rendered her 
 music so unusual and so inspiring. There never 
 was, is not, and never can be greatness in any 
 art where religious feeling is lacking. 
 
 There must be the consciousness of the Infinite, 
 in the mind which produces infinite results.
 
 182 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Though the artist be gifted beyond all other men, 
 though he toil unremittingly, so long as he says, 
 "Behold what I, the gifted and tireless toiler, can 
 achieve," he shall produce but mediocre and 
 ephemeral results. It is when he says reverently, 
 "Behold what powers greater than I, shall achieve 
 through me, the instrument," that he becomes 
 great, and men marvel at his power. 
 
 Joy's religious nature found expression in her 
 music, and so something more than a harmony of 
 beautiful sounds impressed her hearers. 
 
 The first severe blow to her faith in the church 
 as a divine institution, was when her rector and 
 her lover left her alone in the hour of her darkest 
 trials, because he knew the story of her mother's 
 life. His hesitancy to make her his wife she un- 
 derstood, but his absolute desertion of her at such 
 a time, seemed inconsistent with his calling as a 
 disciple of the Christ. 
 
 The second blow came in her dismissal from 
 the position of organist attheBeryngford Church, 
 after the presence of the Baroness in the town. 
 
 A disgust for human laws, arid a bitter resent- 
 ment towards society took possession of her. 
 When a gentle and loving nature is roused to an- 
 ger and indignation, it is often capable of extremes 
 of action; and Arthur Stuart had made his propo- 
 sition of flight to Joy Irving in an hour when her
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 183 
 
 high-wrought emotioDs and intensely strung nerves 
 made any desperate act possible to her. The sight 
 of his face, with its evidences of severe suffering, 
 awoke all her smoldering passion for the man; 
 and the thought that he was ready to tread his 
 creed under his feet and to defy society for her 
 sake, stirred her with a wild joy. God had seemed 
 very far away, and human love was very precious; 
 too precious to be thrown away in obedience to 
 any man-made law. 
 
 But somehow this morning God seemed nearer, 
 and the consciousness of what she had promised 
 to do terrified her. Disturbed by her thoughts, she 
 turned towards her toilet-table and caught sight 
 of the letter of dismissal from the church commit- 
 tee. It acted upon her like an electric shock. Re- 
 sentment and indignation re-enthroned themselves 
 in her bosom. 
 
 "Is it to cater to the opinions and prejudices of 
 people like these that I hesitate to take the hap- 
 piness offered me?" she cried, as she tore the let- 
 ter in bits and cast it beneath her feet. Arthur 
 Stuart appeared to her once more, in the light of 
 a delivering angel. Yes, she would go with him to 
 the ends of the earth. It was her inheritance to 
 lead a lawless life. Nothing else was possible for 
 her. God must see how she had been hemmed in 
 by circumstances, how she had been goaded and
 
 184 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 driven from the paths of peace and purity where 
 she had wished to dwell. God was not a man, and 
 He would be merciful in judging her. 
 
 She sent her landlady two months' rent in ad- 
 vance, and notice of her departure, and set hur- 
 riedly about her preparations. 
 
 Twenty-five years before, when Berene Dumont 
 disappeared from Beryngford, she had, quite un- 
 known to herself, left one devoted though humble 
 friend behind, who sincerely mourned her absence. 
 
 Mrs. Connor liked to be spoken of as "the wash- 
 lady at the Palace." Yet proud as she was of this 
 appellation, she was not satisfied with being an 
 excellent laundress. She was a person of ambi- 
 tions. To be the owner of a lodging-house, like 
 the Baroness, was her leading ambition, and to 
 possess a "peany" for her young daughter Kath- 
 leen was another. 
 
 She kept her mind fixed on these two achieve- 
 ments, and she worked always for those two re- 
 sults. And as mind rules matter, so the laundress 
 became in time the landlady of a comfortable and 
 respectable lodging-house, and in its parlor a 
 piano was the chief object of furniture. 
 
 Kathleen Connor learned to play ; and at last, to 
 the joy of the lodgers, she married and bore her 
 "peany" away with her. Duing the time when
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 185 
 
 Mrs. Connor was the ambitious "wash-lady" at 
 the Palace, Berene Dumont came to live there; 
 and every morning when the young woman car- 
 ried the tray down to the kitchen after having 
 served the Baroness with her breakfast, she offered 
 Mrs. Connor a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. 
 
 This simple act of thoughtfulness from the 
 young dependent touched the Irish woman's ten- 
 der heart, and awoke her lasting gratitude. She 
 had heard Berene's story, and she had been pre- 
 pared to mete out to her that disdainful dislike 
 which Erin almost invariably feels towards France. 
 Realizing that the young widow was by birth and 
 breeding above the station of housemaid, Mrs. 
 Connor and the servants had expected her to treat 
 them with the same lofty airs which the Baroness 
 made familiar to her servants. When, instead, 
 Berene toasted the bread for Mrs. Connor and 
 poured the coffee and placed it on the kitchen 
 table with her own hands, the heart of the wash- 
 lady melted in her ample breast. When the heart 
 of the daughter of Erin melts, it permeates her 
 whole being; and Mrs. Connor became a secret 
 devotee at the shrine of Miss Dumont. 
 
 She had never entertained cordial feelings to- 
 ward the Baroness. When a society lady espe- 
 cially a titled one enters into competition with 
 working people and yet refuses to associate with
 
 186 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 them, it always incites their enmity. The work- 
 ing population of Beryngford, from the highest to 
 the lowest grades, felt a sense of resentment to- 
 ward the Baroness, who in her capacity of land- 
 lady still maintained the airs of a grand dame, 
 and succeeded in keeping her footing with some 
 of the most fashionable people in the town. 
 
 Added to these causes of dislike, the Baroness 
 was, like many wealthier people, excessively close 
 in her dealings with working folk, haggling over a 
 few cents or a few moments of wasted time, while 
 she was generosity itself in association with her 
 equals. 
 
 Mrs. Connor, therefore, felt both pity and sym- 
 pathy for Miss Dumont, whose position in the 
 "Palace" she knew to be a difficult one; and when 
 Preston Cheney came upon the scene the romantic 
 mind of the motherly Irish woman fashioned a 
 future for the young couple which would have done 
 credit to the per of a Mrs. South worth. 
 
 Mr. Cheney always had a kind word for the 
 laundress, and a tip as well ; and when Mrs. Con- 
 nor's dream of seeing him act the part of the 
 Prince and Berene the Cinderella of a modern 
 fairy story, ended in the disappearance of Miss 
 Dumont and the marriage of Mr. Cheney to Mabel 
 Lawrence, the unhappy wash-lady mourned un- 
 ceasingly.
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 187 
 
 Ten years of hard, UD remitting toil and rigid 
 economy passed away before Mrs. Connor could 
 realize her ambition of becoming a landlady in 
 the purchase of a small house which contained but 
 four rooms, three of which were rented to lodg- 
 ers. The increase in the value of her property 
 during the next five years, left the fortunate specu- 
 lator with a fine profit when she sold her house 
 at the end of that time, and rented a larger one; 
 and as she was an excellent financier, it was not 
 strange that at the time Joy Irving appeared on 
 the scene, "Mrs. Connor's apartments" were as 
 well and favorably known in Beryngford, if not 
 as distinctly fashionable, as the "Palace" had 
 been more than twenty years ago. 
 
 So it was under the roof of her mother's devoted 
 and faithful mourner that the unhappy young or- 
 phan had found a home when she came to hide her- 
 self away from all who had ever known her. 
 
 The landlady experienced the same haunting 
 sensation of something past and gone when she 
 looked on the girl's beautiful face, which had so 
 puzzled the Baroness; a something which drew 
 and attracted the warm heart of the Irish woman, 
 as the magnet draws the steel. Time and expe- 
 rience had taught Mrs. Connor to be discreet in 
 her treatment of her tenants; to curb her curios- 
 ity and control her inclination to sociability. But
 
 188 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 in the case of Miss Irving she had found it impos- 
 sible to refrain from sundry kindly acts which 
 were not included in the terms of the contract. 
 Certain savory dishes found their way mysteri- 
 ously to Miss Irving's menage, and flowers ap- 
 peared in her room as if by magic, and in various 
 other ways the good heart and intentions of Mrs. 
 Connor were unobtrusively expressed toward her 
 favorite tenant. Joy had taken a suite of four 
 rooms, where, with her maid, she lived in modest 
 comfort, and complete retirement from the social 
 world of Beryngford, save as the close connection 
 of the church with Beryngford society rendered 
 her, in the position of organist, a participant in 
 many of the social features of the town. 
 
 While Joy was in the midst of her preparations 
 for departure, Mrs. Connor made her appearance 
 with swollen eyes and red, blistered face. 
 
 "And it's the talk of that ould witch of a Bar- 
 oness, may the divil run away with her, that is 
 drivin' ye away, is it?" she cried excitedly; "and 
 it's not Mrs. Connor as will consint to the daugh- 
 ter of your mother, God rest her soul, lavin' my 
 house like this. To think that I should have had 
 ye here all these years, and never known ye to be 
 her child till now, and now to see ye driven away 
 by the divil's ownl But if it's the fear of not 
 being able to pay the rint because ye've lost your
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 189 
 
 position, ye needn't lave for many a long day to 
 come. It's Mrs. Connor would only be as happy 
 as the queen herself to work her hands to the bone 
 for ye, remembering your darlint of a mother, 
 and not belavin' one word against her, nor ye." 
 
 So soon as Joy could gain possession of her 
 surprised senses, she calmed the weeping woman 
 and began to question her. 
 
 " My good woman," she said, "what are you 
 talking about? Did you ever know my mother, 
 and where did you know her?" 
 
 "In the Palace, to be sure, as they called the 
 house of that imp of Satan, the Baroness. I was 
 the wash-lady there, for it's not Mrs. Connor the 
 landlady as is above spakin' of the days when she 
 wasn't as high in the world as she is now; and 
 many is the cheerin' cup of coffee or tay from 
 your own mother's hand, that I've had in the 
 forenoon, to chirk me up and put me through my 
 washing, bless her sweet face; and niver have I 
 forgotten her; and niver have I ceased to miss her 
 and the fine young man that took such an interest 
 in her and that I'm as sure loved her, in spite of 
 his marrying the Judge's spook of a daughter, as 
 I am that the Holy Virgin loves us all; and it's 
 a foine man that your father must have been, but 
 young Mr. Cheney was foiner. " 
 
 So little by little Joy drew the story from Mrs.
 
 190 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 Connor and learned the name of the mysterious 
 father, so carefully guarded from her in Mrs. 
 Irving's manuscript, the father at whose funeral 
 services she had so recently officiated as organist. 
 
 And strangest and most startling of all, she 
 learned that Arthur Stuart's insane wife was her 
 half-sister. 
 
 Added to all this, Joy was made aware of the 
 nature of the reports which the Baroness had been 
 circulating about her; and her feeling of bitter 
 resentment and anger toward the church commit- 
 tee was modified by the knowledge that it was not 
 owing to the shadow on her birth, but to the false 
 report of her own evil life, that she had been asked 
 to resign. 
 
 After Mrs. Connor had gone, Joy was for a long 
 time in meditation, and then turned in a me- 
 chanical manner to her delayed task. Her book 
 of "Impressions" lay on a table close at hand, 
 and as she took it up the leaves opened to the 
 sentence she had written three years before, after 
 her talk with the rector about Marah Adams. 
 
 "It seems to me I could not, love a man who 
 did not seek to lead me higher; the moment he 
 stood below me and asked me to descend, I should 
 realize he was to be pitied, not adored. " 
 
 She shut the book and fell on her knees in 
 prayer; and as she prayed a strange thing hap- 
 pened. The room filled with a peculiar mist,like the
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 191 
 
 smoke which is illuminated by the brilliant rays 
 of the morning sun; and in the midst of it a 
 small square of intense rose-colored light was vis- 
 ible. This square grew larger and larger, until 
 it assumed the size and form of a man, whose 
 face shone with immortal glory. He smiled and 
 laid his hand on Joy's head. "Child, awake," he 
 said, and with these words vast worlds dawned 
 upon the girl's sight. She stood above and apart 
 from her grosser body, untrammeled and free; 
 she saw long vistas of lives in the past through 
 which she had come to the present; she saw long 
 vistas of lives in the future through which she 
 must pass to gain the experience which would 
 lead her back to God. An ineffable peace and 
 serenity enveloped her. The divine Presence 
 seemed to irradiate the place in which she stood 
 she felt herself illuminated, transfigured, sancti- 
 fied by the holy flame within her. 
 
 When she came back to the kneeling form by 
 the couch, and rose to her feet, all the aspect of 
 life had changed for her.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 JOY IRVING had unpacked her trunks and set 
 her small apartment to rights, when the post- 
 man's ring sounded, and a moment later a letter 
 was slipped under her door. 
 
 She picked it up, and recognized Arthur Stuart's 
 penmanship. She sat down, holding the unopened 
 letter in her hands. 
 
 "It is Arthur's message, appointing a time and 
 place for our meeting," she said to herself. 
 "How long ago that strange interview with him 
 seems! yet it was only yesterday. How utterly 
 the whole of life has changed for me since then 1 
 The universe seems larger, God nearer, and life 
 grander. I am as one who slept and dreamed of 
 darkness and sorrow, and awakes to light and 
 joy." 
 
 But when she opened the envelope and read the 
 few hastily written lines within, an exclamation 
 of surprise escaped her lips. It was a brief note 
 from Arthur Stuart and began abruptly without 
 an address (a manner more suggestive of strong 
 passion than any endearing words). 
 192
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 198 
 
 "The first item which my eye fell upon in the 
 telegraphic column of the morning paper, was the 
 death of my wife in the Insane Retreat. I leave 
 by the first express to bring her body here for 
 burial. 
 
 "A merciful providence has saved us the neces- 
 sity of defying the laws of God or man, and 
 opened the way for me to claim you before all the 
 world as my worshiped wife so soon as propriety 
 will permit. 
 
 "I shall see you at any hour you may indicate 
 after to-morrow, for a brief interview. 
 
 "ARTHUR EMERSON STUART." 
 
 Joy held the letter in her hand a long time, lost 
 in profound reflection. Then she sat down to her 
 desk and wrote three letters; one was to Mrs. 
 Lawrence; one to the chairman of the church 
 committee, who had requested her resignation; 
 the third was to Mr. Stuart, and read thus: 
 
 "My DEAR MR. STUART: Many strange things 
 have occurred to me since I saw you. I have learned 
 the name of my father, and this knowledge reveals 
 the fact to me that your unfortunate wife was my 
 half-sister. I have learned, too, that the loss of 
 my position here as organist is not due to the nar- 
 row prejudice of the committee regarding the 
 shadow on my birth, but to malicious stories put 
 in circulation by Mrs. Lawrence, relating to me. 
 
 "Infamous and libelous tales regarding my life 
 have been told, and must be refuted. 1 have writ- 
 ten to Mrs. Lawrence demanding a letter from 
 her, clearing my personal character, or giving her 
 the alternative of appearing in court to answer the 
 charge of defamation of character. I have also 
 written to the church committee requesting them
 
 194. AN AMBITIODB MAM 
 
 to meet me here in my apartments to-morrow, 
 and explain their demand for my resignation. 
 
 "I now write to you my last letter and my 
 farewell. 
 
 "In the overwrought and desperate mood in 
 which you found me, it did not seem a sin for me 
 to go away with the man who loved me and whom 
 I loved, before false ideas of life and false ideas 
 of duty made him the husband of another. Con- 
 scious that your wife was a hopeless lunatic whose 
 present or future could in no way be influenced by 
 our actions, I reasoned that we wronged no one 
 in taking the happiness so long denied us. 
 
 "The last three years of my life have been full of 
 desolation and sorrow. From the day my mother 
 died, the stars of light which had gemmed the 
 firmament for me, seemed one by one to be obliter- 
 ated, until I stood in utter darkness. You found 
 me in the very blackest hour of all and you 
 seemed a shining sun to me. 
 
 "Yet soon as my tired brain and sorrow- worn 
 heart were able to think and reason, I realized 
 that it was not the man I had worshiped as an 
 ideal, who had come to me and asked me to lower 
 my standard of womanhood. It was another and 
 less worthy man and this other was to be my 
 companion through time, and perhaps eternity. 
 When I learned that your insane wife was my 
 sister, and that knowing this fact you yet planned 
 our flight, an indescribable feeling of repulsion 
 awoke in my heart. 
 
 "I confess that this arose more from a sentiment 
 than a principle. The relationship of your wife to 
 me made the contemplated sin no greater, but 
 rendered it more tasteless. 
 
 "Had I gone away with you as I consented to do, 
 the world would have said, ' She but follows her
 
 AM AMBITIOUS MAN 195 
 
 fatal inheritance like mother like daughter.' 
 There were some bitter rebellious hours, when 
 that thought came to me. But to-day light has 
 shone upon me, and I know there is a law of Di- 
 vine Heredity which is greater and more powerful 
 than any tendency we derive from parents or 
 grandparents. I have believed much in creeds all 
 my life; and in the hour of great trials I found I 
 was leaning on broken reeds. I have now ceased 
 to look to men or books for truth I have found 
 it in my own soul. I acknowledge no unfortunate 
 tendencies from any earthly inheritance; centu- 
 ries of sinful or weak ancestors are as nothing be- 
 side the God within. The divine and immortal 
 me is older than my ancestral tree; it is as old as 
 the universe. It is as old as the first great Cause 
 of which it is a part. Strong with this conscious- 
 ness, I am prepared to meet the world alone, and 
 unafraid from this day onward. When I think 
 of the optimistic temperament, the good brain, 
 and the vigorous body which were naturally mine, 
 and then of the wretched being who was my legit- 
 imate sister, I know that I was rightly generated, 
 however unfortunately born, just as she was 
 wrongly generated though legally born. 
 
 "My father, I am told, married. into a family 
 whose crest is traced back to the tenth century. 
 I carry a coat-of-arms older yet the Cross; it 
 dates back eighteen hundred years yes, many 
 thousand years, and so I feel myself the nobler of 
 the two. Had you been more of a disciple of 
 Christ, and less of a disciple of man, you would 
 have realized this truth long ago, as I realize it 
 to-day. No man should dare stand before his fel- 
 lows as a revealer of divine knowledge until he 
 has penetrated the inmost recesses of his own
 
 196 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 
 
 soul, and found God's holy image there; and 
 until he can show others the way to the same won- 
 derful discovery. The God you worshiped was far 
 away in the heavens, so far that he could not 
 come to you and save you from your baser self in 
 the hour of temptation. But the true God has 
 been miraculously revealed to me. He dwells 
 within ; one who has found Him, will never debase 
 His temple. 
 
 "Though there is no legal obstacle now in the 
 path to our union, there is a spiritual one which 
 is insurmountable. / no longer love you. I am 
 sorry for you, but that is all. You belonged to 
 my yesterday you can have no part in my to-day. 
 The man who tempted me in my weak hour to 
 go lower, could not help me to go higher. And 
 my face is set toward the heights. 
 
 "I must prove to that world that a child born 
 under the shadow of shame, and of two weak, un- 
 controlled parents, can be virtuous, strong, 
 brave and sensible. That she can conquer pas- 
 sion and impulse, by the use of her divine inher- 
 itance of will; and that she can compel the 
 respect of the public by her discreet life and lofty 
 ideals. 
 
 "I shall stay in this place until I have vindi' 
 cated my name and character from every asper- 
 sion cast upon them. I shall regain my position 
 of organist, and retain it until I have accumulated 
 sufficient means to go abroad and prepare myself 
 for the musical career in which I know I can ex- 
 cel. I am young, strong and ambitious. My un- 
 usual sorrows will give me greater power of 
 character if I accept them as spiritual tonics' 
 bitter but strengthening. 
 
 "Farewell, and may God be with you. 
 
 " JOY IRVING."
 
 AN AMBITIOUS MAN 197 
 
 When' the rector of St. Blank's returned from 
 the Beryngford Cemetery, where he had placed 
 the body of his wife beside her father, he found 
 this letter lying on his table in the hotel. 
 
 THE END.
 
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