THE INNER LAW 
 
 WILL N. HARBEN 
 
The Last Work 
 of the Great Southerner 
 
 E' .ST month there went to final 
 sleep one of the sweetest, 
 rarest and most beautiful mind's 
 that the South has ever given us. 
 
 In every part of the country 
 men and women sighed to think 
 that from the pen of that simple 
 and lovely soul, Will N. Harben, 
 no more novels would come for 
 their delight and their inspira 
 tion. 
 
 To these it will be good news 
 to hear that in the last year he 
 wrote the richest, the ripest, the 
 most dramatic of all his noVels. 
 The South he knew and loved 
 so well glows in this story. 
 
 But in ~ this book he has 
 touched a subject that he has 
 never treated before. This is a 
 tale of a woman who could not 
 be mentioned in the Southern 
 town in which she lived and of. 
 the wreck and devastation she 
 brought into the lives of two 
 innocent people. 
 
 It is a fearless and daring 
 story. But so tactful is his 
 touch, so lofty is his idea, that 
 this book which in some other 
 man's hands would be danger 
 ous is a fine contribution to our 
 American literature. 
 
 TheCOTTAGEofDELIOHT 
 
 By Will N. Harben 
 

 
 GO, 
 
 / I 
 
 * &*?;/. 
 
COTTAGE OF DELIGHT 
 
 THE I 
 
 THE COTTAGE OF DEI.UM1T. lly Will X. 
 Harben. With frontispiece. Harper & 
 Brothers. 
 
 THAT particular and somewhat melan 
 choly interest which always attaches 
 itself to a posthumous novel gives this 
 new book by Will N. Harben an added 
 claim to one's attention. The scene is laid 
 principally in Mr. Harben' s own familiar 
 State of Georgia, but shifts temporarily, 
 first to Tennessee and later to New York, 
 returning- after each divergence to Ridge- 
 ville, the Georgia town which was the 
 birthplace and residence of the hero and 
 principal character, John Trott. There 
 he lived with his widowed mother, who 
 also shared her house with a friend, Miss 
 Jane Holder, and the latter's orphan niece, 
 Dora, a nine-year-old child, who acted as 
 maid-of-all-work and g-eneral drudge. I'.oth 
 John's mother and her friend, Miss Holder, 
 were notoriously disreputable women, but 
 John, though nearly 20. was not aware 
 of the fact, and paid little or no attention 
 to ihrir behavior even when they came 
 home drunk, being- completely absorbed in 
 his work he was an expert mason and 
 in the calculations and estimates he made 
 for his employer and good friend, Sam 
 t'avanuugh. It. never even occurred to 
 lilm to wonder why it was that " he had 
 no acquaintances among* the women of the 
 town, and few among the men," while the 
 women who came from other cities to see 
 liis mother and Jane Holder were not of a 
 type which appealed to his very idealistic 
 temperament. Though he did sometimes 
 find the squalor and general disorder of his 
 home vaguely uncomfortable, he was fairly 
 contented until it so chanced that Cav- 
 naugh took him to Tennessee, there to 
 work with him on a, new county court 
 Itouse. 
 
 They hoarded with a farmer, "Richard 
 ,iumi cue preLuiy written, as is tne descrip 
 tion of their coming to the little " Cottage 
 of Delight," they were destined to inhabit 
 for so short a time. 
 
 T TT>T) A i:> V 
 
BOOKS BY 
 WILL N. HARBEN 
 
 THE INNER LAW THE GEORGIANS 
 
 THE NEW CLARION POLE BAKER 
 
 THE DESIRED WOMAN ANN BOTD 
 
 PAUL RUNDEL MAM' LINDA 
 
 WESTERFELT GILBERT NEAL 
 
 ABNER DANIEL THE REDEMPTION OF 
 DIXIE HART KENNETH GALT 
 
 THE SUBSTITUTE J ANE DAWSON 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK 
 
"LET LOOSE, OR I'LL KISS YOU!" 
 
THE 
 
 INNER LAW 
 
 B Hovel 
 
 BY 
 
 WILL N. HARBEN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "ABNER DANIEL" "ANN BOYD" 
 
 "THBNBW CLARION" BTC. 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 LIBRARY 
 U&IVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Copyright, 191 S, by Harper & Brothers 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 Published September, 1915 
 
 L-P 
 
PART I 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE lawn of the old residence sloped down on its two 
 sides to boundary fences, and in front to the broad 
 avenue along which the electric cars sped with clanging 
 bells, and various other vehicles of pleasure or traffic 
 moved to and fro on tires of rubber or metal. The 
 homestead was almost in the business section of Atlanta, 
 the more modern houses having been built farther out 
 on new streets and boulevards. Indeed, the owner, old 
 Gilbert Crofton, was possessed of no finer sentiment than 
 the retention as a home of the house his father had built 
 many years before the Civil War and in which he had spent 
 his boyhood. A considerable sum had been offered for 
 the property by enterprising builders of fashionable 
 hotels, but although Gilbert's two sons and daughter had 
 often advised him to sell the place and build a house else 
 where, he had always stoutly refused. 
 
 Old Gilbert was in no need of the money that the 
 property would bring. He was rich, owning lands, im 
 proved and unimproved, and stocks and bonds in which 
 he dealt constantly. He was the president of several 
 banks in the smaller cities of the State. He was a money 
 lender and speculator; he advanced cash to planters, 
 taking their crops as security. He encouraged the build 
 ing of cotton-factories in various towns, that he might 
 
 3 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 get in on "the ground floor," and that his banks might 
 handle the funds. 
 
 For his eldest son, Henry, he had lost all respect and 
 affection. Henry, while only thirty years of age, was the 
 most conspicuous ne'er-do-well in Atlanta. He was a 
 gambler, a roue, and a notoriously bad lot in general who 
 was admitted to the best social circles only in deference 
 to his young sister Milicent, a quiet, unobtrusive girl, and 
 to the fact that the Croftons belonged to a very old 
 family of worth and distinction. 
 
 For his younger son, Carter, Gilbert had an incon 
 gruous sort of affection and was quite proud of him. 
 Carter had just been graduated with high honors at 
 Harvard. He had been a good student, had spent very 
 little money compared to Henry's constant demands, and 
 some of his poems and essays had been published in the 
 Atlanta papers, elicting high praise from certain scholars, 
 clergymen, and teachers whose judgment old Gilbert re 
 spected as understanding their line as well as he under 
 stood his. As to Milicent, the old man was seemingly 
 indifferent. Since her mother's death three years ago 
 she had managed the affairs of the house well enough, 
 but was that any more than should be expected of a young 
 woman who had been properly trained by a mother of 
 taste and refinement? 
 
 To-day, the fifteenth of May, Milicent, aided by Lar- 
 kin, a colored man-servant, was arranging tables and seats 
 in the garden behind the house. She was giving a party 
 to the children of certain friends of hers in the city, and 
 about three o'clock the little boys and girls began to ar 
 rive. Some came in carriages, under the care of servants, 
 and others, from the immediate neighborhood, came afoot. 
 All were beautifully dressed in spotless white, and showed 
 by their deportment that they were well brought up. 
 
 Milicent, a tall, slender blonde, who was neither pretty 
 nor plairj, wa,s radiantly cordial as she met them at the 
 
 4 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 top of the veranda steps, kissed them, and bade them 
 make free with the whole house and grounds. She led 
 them in their games on the grass. She played the piano, 
 conducted their singing of familiar plantation melodies, 
 and directed their dancing in the old-fashioned drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Meanwhile her brother Carter had descended from his 
 room, where he had been writing and reading all day, and 
 had thrown himself into a swinging seat at the end of 
 the veranda. He lighted a cigar it was generally a pipe 
 and as he smoked he pushed himself back and forth, 
 frowning good-naturedly as the boys and girls romped 
 noisily through the hall and down the steps. He was 
 twenty-one years of age, six feet in height, built well 
 enough to have been an athlete rather than a poet; he 
 had light-brown hair, which he wore slightly longer than 
 the conventional style, and fine blue eyes, behind the 
 thick lashes of which the dream shadows of youth seemed 
 to lie when his poetic moods were on him. 
 
 Once, while the children were in the garden behind the 
 house, Milicent approached him with a smile. 
 
 * ' Come play with them !" she urged. ' ' They would feel 
 so complimented to have you join them. Really, they 
 stand a little in awe of you." 
 
 "Not to-day, thank you," he laughed. "I'm about as 
 close to the ruffians now as I care to be. Listen to that 
 war-whoop! My! haven't they lungs? What time will 
 they go away?" 
 
 "I'll feed them very soon," she smiled. "Come back 
 and have some of the ice-cream. It is very good; so is 
 the punch. Come help us pass it around." 
 
 "No, I'll leave that to you and the servants," he said. 
 "This is good enough for me. It is hot back there in the 
 sun." 
 
 She was turning away, but paused to ask, "Was Uncle 
 Tom up-stairs when you came down?" 
 
 5 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Yes; I think the children waked him from his nap. 
 I heard him sighing. He has already had enough of the 
 city, I am sure. Atlanta is no place for a man of his 
 temperament who has always lived in the country. He 
 is like a fish out of water. Say, sis, I like to talk to him. 
 He has read a great deal, and is a philosopher of no small 
 attainments. He has already given me a helpful idea." 
 
 "What was it?" Milicent caught the chain of the 
 swing, steadied it, and leaned forward. 
 
 "Why, he says the constant social whirl here will kill 
 all my best impulses. He thinks I'd write twice as well 
 if I'd cut it all out and settle down in the bosom of nature. 
 The idea has set me thinking. After all, most of the best 
 Old World literature was produced in the country. He 
 wants me to visit him on his farm and try it, anyway. 
 I am going. I'd be company for him and I might like it. 
 Really, there are too many silly things one has to do here 
 and places to go to." 
 
 "I know it upsets you," Milicent admitted, "and at 
 this time of the year it is beautiful out there in the moun 
 tains. Besides, Uncle Tom really believes you are going 
 to succeed." 
 
 "What makes you think that?" Carter asked, eagerly, 
 a flush of pleasure 'rising in his face. 
 
 "Because he talks so much about what you've already 
 done. Yesterday he borrowed your scrap-book and read 
 it constantly all the afternoon. He had tears in his eyes 
 when he spoke of some of the poems which touched him 
 particularly. In fact, he actually startled me." 
 
 "Startled you?" 
 
 "Yes, by his extraordinary interest, and some of the 
 remarks he dropped. He seemed to be restraining his 
 emotions by the greatest effort. Once or twice he made 
 me feel as if he were going to confide something to me of a 
 very delicate nature. I wonder if living alone so long 
 may not have affected his mind. He has never been the 
 
 6 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 same since Cousin Tom and Aunt Hattie died. He never 
 speaks of them, and that is odd, for there never was a 
 more devoted husband and father. You know he fairly 
 worshiped Cousin Tom. While the poor boy was alive he 
 was his constant companion." 
 
 "Their deaths so close together must have shocked 
 him frightfully," Carter said. "To my mind, he was 
 quite a different man before it happened. He used to 
 smile and jest once in a while when Tom and I were 
 together, but he never does now. There is some mystery 
 about him, and it may come out before long." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A'sC hour later the games on the lawn had ceased. The sun 
 was down and the children had departed. Through 
 the dusty dusk old Crofton drove up to the side of the 
 house in an antiquated one-horse phaeton and alighted. 
 He was tall and lank, partly bald, smooth-shaven, and 
 careless as to his dress. He wore a loose shirt and collar, 
 a narrow black necktie, a short black alpaca coat, a faded 
 vest of flowered silk, baggy gray trousers, and a fuzzy top- 
 hat which needed reshaping and pressing. The pockets 
 of his coat bulged out with note-books, pencils, and legal 
 documents. On his shirt-front were spots of stain and 
 flakes of ashes, for he smoked as well as chewed tobacco. 
 
 As he ascended the veranda steps his brother, a man of 
 quite the same general build and features as himself, 
 came slowly down the stairs. 
 
 "Thought you were coming to my office," Gilbert 
 remarked, carelessly. "I sat waiting for you for fully an 
 hour. Some of your old college friends came in to see you 
 Jim Andes and Fred Meek but they were busy with a 
 land deal up the State and had to leave." 
 
 "I'm sorry I did not see them," Thomas Crofton re 
 turned. "I started down and got as far as the corner, but 
 the asphalt was as hot as an oven. I could see it bend 
 like dough under the wagon-wheels. It was being 
 sprinkled and a cloud of steam rose from it." 
 
 Gilbert grunted contemptuously. "There you go 
 again! If I were like you I'd live in a cave, go stark 
 naked, and be done with it. You are becoming more 
 
 8 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 and more unnatural, and will end by being a regular 
 hermit there in the mountains. Other men have lost 
 their kin and not made so much fuss about it as you do. 
 You ought to mix and mingle with people and business. 
 Activity, and plenty of it, is what you need." 
 
 "I can't help being as I am," Thomas sighed. "You 
 and I were never alike, you know. The terrible turmoil 
 you live in would kill me. It's killing you, but you don't 
 know it." 
 
 Gilbert sniffed, but as he and his brother walked out on 
 the veranda he grew suddenly silent. Presently Gilbert 
 faced his brother and stared at him steadily, a shifting 
 look of concern in his eyes. 
 
 "What did you mean by that last remark?" he asked. 
 
 Thomas shrugged his shoulders. "If I tell you it will 
 be for your good, and for no other reason," he said, ear 
 nestly. "I've been here only three days, and every night 
 I've seen you walking about at all hours, sometimes in 
 your room, then in the library, then out here on the 
 grass chewing and smoking, moving about as restlessly 
 as a tiger in a cage. Then at times you have a queer look 
 in your eyes, as if as if " 
 
 "I've had big things to think out," Gilbert broke in 
 with a touch of rising irritation. "When big deals hang 
 fire or some fool upsets my plans I can't sleep. So much 
 depends on me, you see. I take a notion to put a thing 
 through, and I can't rest till it is done and I see the results 
 in hard cash or substantial, interest-drawing investments." 
 
 "Well, you are killing yourself, that's all," Thomas said. 
 " Keep it up and you won't be alive five years from to-day." 
 
 Gilbert sat on the balustrade and folded his arms. 
 "Humph!" he ejaculated. "That's your opinion, eh?" 
 
 "You may sniff and sneer," the other said, "but I am 
 giving you the best advice you ever had. My quiet life 
 in the mountains has given me the opportunity to read 
 and think on lines often overlooked by more active 
 
 9 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 persons. The foundation of your fortune and the little 
 I have to-day was made by our father. You resemble 
 him in many ways." 
 
 "I've been told that before," Gilbert said. "He was 
 the keenest trader of his day. If he had lived longer and 
 the war hadn't taken his negroes he'd have left us a 
 bigger chunk of money than he did." 
 
 "Yes, if he had lived longer, but he didn't live. He 
 burnt the candle at both ends. He died at about your 
 age. Did you ever think of that? He died of softening 
 of the brain. The disease itself is not hereditary, but the 
 mental habits which produce it are. I do not want to 
 make you mad, but I do want to warn you. The other 
 day you told me an odd thing. It worried me, and it 
 ought to worry you." 
 
 "What was that?" Gilbert took the quid of tobacco 
 from his mouth, threw it on the grass, and fumbled in his 
 pocket for a cigar. He avoided his brother's kindly gaze. 
 His hands quivered; his broad lip twitched. 
 
 "Why, you told me that a stranger introduced him 
 self to you recently, and when you tried to tell him 
 your own name you could not do so. You could not 
 remember it." 
 
 "Yes, that was true, but I was worried at the time over 
 business. He asked me rather sudden-like. Bosh ! You 
 can't scare me." 
 
 "I remember that that was one of the first symptoms 
 of our father's breakdown," Thomas Crofton w r ent on. 
 "He came in one day and admitted to us all that his 
 memory was gone. He couldn't recall things which had 
 happened only the day before. He was frightened. Un 
 like you, he saw the seriousness of his condition. He went 
 to doctors, you know, and they all advised a less strenuous 
 life. He tried to follow their directions, but it was too 
 late." 
 
 Gilbert struck a match and lighted his cigar. "Oh, I 
 
 10 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 remember all that," he said, stubbornly. "You can't 
 frighten me. You and I are different sorts of men. 
 I'm all right. I'll live as long as you do mark my words. 
 Huh! I'm laying plans for things now that won't get 
 ripe for twenty years." 
 
 "You really don't know how serious your condition is," 
 Thomas went on, gravely. "The night before last you 
 left your bed about three o'clock. You walked un 
 steadily, knocking against tables and chairs. I heard you 
 go down the stairs and into the library. I looked down 
 the steps, and as there was no light below I wondered what 
 was wrong. I heard you in the hall, fumbling with the 
 lock of the front door. Then you crossed the veranda 
 and stumbled down the steps. I went to the window of 
 my room and looked out. I saw you restlessly pacing 
 back and forth on the walk. I went back to bed and 
 tried to sleep, but I still heard your step on the gravel 
 and failed. You were there fully two hours. I looked 
 out several times and you were always smoking. It was 
 five o'clock by my watch when you came back to your 
 room." 
 
 Gilbert laughed contemptuously. "You think you've 
 made a big discovery, don't you? That's because you've 
 not seen much of me for the last twenty-five years. I've 
 been doing that sort of thing for a long time now. It is 
 the way I work out some of my best schemes. To tell 
 the truth, I was awfully worried that night. I had just 
 made a big investment in Charley Farnham's new railroad. 
 I was acting on my best judgment when I went into it, and 
 I ought to have let that first impression suffice, but a 
 spiteful fellow that envies Charley's big success set in to 
 poison my mind. He told me all sorts of things about 
 Charley's fast life and extravagant habits, and hinted that 
 I was the chief financial cat's-paw of the scheme and the 
 laughing-stock of the whole town. He said Charley would 
 go to pieces in a month or so, and that the cash I'd ad- 
 
 ii 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 vanced would be lost. I ought to have had more sense 
 than to let a meddling fool like that upset me, but I could 
 not sleep that night. The more I thought about it the 
 more I was convinced that I had been taken in. You 
 see, it hurt my business pride to think that I'd been hood 
 winked by a man as young as Farnham is. The reason I 
 happened to favor the railroad in the first place was that 
 Farnham and Carter are such close friends. I said to 
 myself that the investment was to be a fine, substantial 
 nest-egg for Carter, one that will eventually make him 
 rich. Carter is my favorite among my children. I don't 
 deny it. The other two rub me the wrong way, but some 
 how he never does. He has a fine nature and everybody 
 knows it. He'll never be a practical man, but I don't 
 care. We've had writers and teachers in our stock away 
 back. In fact, we all thought you'd be a poet your 
 self. I know mother was disappointed when you mar 
 ried and settled down on a farm and quit writing. Yes, 
 they all say Carter will make his mark, and I want to 
 help him all I can. To write well, they tell me, a man 
 ought to have his mind free from worry over business 
 matters, and the railroad interest struck me as being the 
 most substantial thing for the boy. But the worry I had 
 that night did me good. I set inquiries afloat the next 
 day and fully investigated Farnham's record. He does 
 spend money like water. He gives swell dinners and 
 acts as lavishly as a royal prince, but it is because such 
 things bring him into contact with men of big capital. 
 No one has ever seen him drunk. He has never played 
 a game of cards in his life nor gambled in risky stocks or 
 futures. There is no secret about his habits with certain 
 fast women. He comes from the same sort of hot blood 
 that, you and I came from, and is not a whit worse. The 
 Lord knows we have no right to criticize him on that 
 score." 
 Thomas Crofton shuddered. An expression of deep 
 
 12 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 pain clutched his thin features. "You always manage 
 to lug that in," he said, coldly. 
 
 "And you always manage to keep it out," Gilbert 
 laughed, coarsely. "I'll be hanged if I don't believe 
 you are becoming a saint out there in your mountains. 
 I haven't much use for a man that condemns the young 
 for doing things he is too old to enjoy himself." 
 
 Thomas turned upon his brother almost fiercely, "If a 
 man learns by experience that lust of the flesh is actual 
 damnation to the soul, and does not advise the young 
 against it he is a weakling and a coward." 
 
 "Puff!" sniffed Gilbert, and he laughed softly. "You 
 may have learned that it is damnation, but what is that 
 to the rest of the world? Well, you may preach your doc 
 trine where you want to, but don't mention it to a Crof- 
 ton. So far Carter is as innocent as a girl, but I am watch 
 ing him. One of these days he will blaze out and come 
 to me for help out of his scrapes as Henry has done often 
 enough." 
 
 "For God's sake don't entertain the thought," Thomas 
 cried. "I believe he will be different. His soul is more 
 awake than than ours were than Henry's was. He is 
 your son and not mine, but I sometimes put him in my 
 poor dead boy's place, and I am praying to God to keep 
 him pure. Why should we all be accursed? There are 
 pure, clean men in the world. Why should there not be 
 one at least in our family?" 
 
 "They are as God made them, if there is a God," Gil 
 bert smiled. " If there is a God He put certain impulses of 
 procreation into men, and men such as you've become 
 lately say that it is the work of hell and the devil. 
 But you and your sort are in the minority. All men of 
 experience and observation know that your views are 
 poppycock pure and simple. There comes Henry now. 
 The Lord only knows what he's been up to to-day. He's 
 a sly rascal one of the old style that saws wood and says 
 
 13 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 nothing. One day I heard that he Never mind, I can't 
 tell you now; he doesn't know I'm on to him. Some 
 married man with sand in his gizzard and a pair of eyes 
 in his head will shoot him down in his tracks one of these 
 days." 
 
 The gate was open, and Henry Crofton strolled up the 
 walk. He was short in stature, inclined to thinness of 
 frame, had light-blue eyes, brown hair, a rather large 
 head which was becoming bald on top. He was stylishly 
 and even foppishly attired, and a faint perfume came from 
 the handkerchief with which he was wiping his brow. 
 His lips and mouth were rather sensuous in appearance. 
 His slender, all but attenuated fingers had long, well- 
 cared-for nails, their tips stained with nicotine from cig 
 arettes; his brown mustache was curved and twisted 
 after the most approved fashion. The pin in the full, rich 
 necktie was a fine pearl surrounded by diamonds. He 
 carried a light cane with which he gracefully saluted the 
 two men as he drew near them. 
 
 4 'Hot enough for you, unc'?" he asked, with an easy 
 smile. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," Thomas replied, a far-away look in 
 his eyes. "I'm not used to it, you know." 
 
 "I'm just back from Asheville," Henry went on in his 
 rather shrill voice. "It is fine and cool up there slept 
 under blankets every night." 
 
 "You ought to come out my way," his uncle said, soft 
 ly. "It is delightful there even in the warmest weather." 
 
 "I've been thinking I would," Henry returned with 
 a smile, "but something always prevents. This town is 
 not what it was in your day. It is a gay place socially, 
 and our leading business men are as active as plungers 
 in Wall Street. I wish you would talk to father. I don't 
 profess to know his business, but he is working too hard. 
 All his associates say so to me, at least, and I've seen him 
 at his desk when he was on the verge of collapsing. I 
 
 14 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 was there once lately when he was unable to sign his 
 name, and you remember it, father the matter had to 
 stand over till the next day." 
 
 Gilbert frowned and averted his face. He said nothing. 
 
 Henry looked at him regretfully a moment, then said: 
 "Forgive me, father. I'm afraid I've offended you again, 
 but I didn't mean to meddle. It is only natural for me 
 to worry. I can't give advice. I'm a dead failure at 
 everything. Even Carter, as young as he is, has a future 
 before him that will be worth while. I know I'm proud 
 of him. Well, I'll go up and wash the dust off my hands, 
 and will see you at supper. There is the bell; I must 
 make haste." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE whole family answered the bell's summons. 
 Milicent sat in her mother's chair at the head of 
 the table, her two brothers on her right, her uncle on the 
 left. Her father sat at the opposite end. A yellow maid, 
 in white cap and apron, brought in the dishes from the 
 kitchen adjoining the dining-room through a doorway, the 
 shutter of which swung noiselessly. There were cold ham, 
 hot biscuits, fried chicken, eggs, home-made preserves, 
 coffee, and tea. The meal passed almost in silence. 
 Thomas Crofton, as he ate and drank, wondered how it 
 could be that his niece and nephews were so unobservant 
 of the great change that had come over their father 
 within the two years since Thomas had paid his last visit 
 to them. Was it possible that they failed to note the 
 deep lines about the too-loose mouth, the quivering 
 fingers, the restless eyes beneath the lowering brows which 
 shot questioning and yet cautious glances, now behind 
 him, now on either side, or over the heads of his children 
 to the curtained windows? How was it that they failed 
 to see Gilbert now and then drop his knife and fork, 
 clutch his food with his fingers, and shove it clumsily into 
 his mouth as from animal instinct alone? 
 
 When they all rose from the table Thomas Crofton 
 went out on the veranda; thence he descended to the 
 lawn and strolled across the grass to a summer-house, 
 where he sat staring blankly before him. He was think 
 ing of Henry's character and the horrible indifference of 
 his father to it. 
 
 16 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "My God! the curse is on us all!" he cried, almost 
 aloud. " My father had it in his veins. Lust, lust was in 
 his blood and loins. Gilbert is checked only by his failing 
 health and craze for wealth. Henry is going down if 
 ever a man was, and I myself stand before God still un- 
 pardoned, and I may never be." 
 
 There was a step on the grass in the direction of the 
 house. Some one was coming. It was Carter. He 
 paused and leaned in the vine-hung doorway. 
 
 "I saw you come this way," he began, half timidly. 
 "I've been waiting for a chance to see you alone. Milly 
 happened to say she is so anxious to encourage me, you 
 know she happened to say, uncle, that you had the kind 
 ness to look over my scrap-book. I was not sure that 
 you had ever run across any publication of mine. To 
 tell the truth, I've dreaded your verdict, for I know the 
 fine taste you have in such matters. The things you, 
 yourself, wrote when you were young always appealed 
 to me." 
 
 "Oh, don't mention anything of mine!" Thomas said, 
 quickly. "All that belongs to the past. I didn't keep 
 it up, you know. I let other matters distract my atten 
 tion. I dawdled my time away till it was too late." 
 
 "What you wrote was written at about my age, I be 
 lieve," Carter remarked, tentatively. 
 
 "Yes, just after leaving college." Thomas motioned to 
 the seat beside him, and his nephew sat down. Neither 
 could see the face of the other distinctly, for it was quite 
 dark, the only light being that of the electric lamp sus 
 pended across the street. An audible sigh escaped the 
 older man. He raised his hand and stroked his beard. 
 
 "Even now," Carter began, "it seems to me with your 
 ripe experiences in life, and that ideal retreat of yours in 
 the mountains, that you ought to be able to " 
 
 "It's too late it's too late!" broke in the other. "You 
 are too young to understand what I mean, my boy. I'm 
 2 17 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 afraid I could not make it clear without going into mat 
 ters which I'd rather forget. When we fail to take the 
 right course in life the time comes when the remainder 
 of life seems too short too unimportant to be worth im 
 proving. Living poetry, it seems to me, must bubble up 
 from implicit faith in the the ultimate meaning of life 
 and the boundless content that accompanies such a faith." 
 
 "I wish I had your beautiful philosophy," Carter said. 
 "I've thought hundreds of times of what you said to me 
 at poor Tom's funeral. No one else had ever been so 
 outspoken, and I think it did me good." 
 
 "What I said that day came from abject despair," 
 Thomas said, huskily. "My whole hope had been in my 
 boy, and there he lay in his coffin. He loved you, Car 
 ter, and for his sake I've loved you ever since his death. 
 I want you to be happy and successful, though I am almost 
 past desire in most things. I would give my life now if 
 by so doing I could teach you to avoid certain things 
 which lead the young away from correct living. Some 
 of us here in the South are terribly wrong in a certain 
 attitude to life. My father was blind to the moral dan 
 gers which lay before me, and your father blind or in 
 different, one or the other and your father, I fancy, has 
 never spoken plainly to you or Henry or warned you." 
 
 "No, he has not," Carter replied, somewhat abashed. 
 "I know what you mean, and I appreciate your mention 
 ing it." 
 
 "If I could only feel sure that you do fully understand 
 I would rest satisfied," Thomas pursued, earnestly; "but 
 you may not you really may not, and above all things 
 I want you to understand. To be plainer, Carter, there 
 seems to be a hereditary trait in the blood of the Crof- 
 tons that few of the men have escaped. Those of coarser 
 fiber Henry and your father have not suffered much in 
 consequence of it, and they may not, but it would be dif 
 ferent with you. I know what I am talking about. It 
 
 18 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 would crush out your beautiful ideality, kill your poetic 
 inspiration, and in the end you'd loathe yourself. The 
 mystic sense of God and His laws must inspire all true 
 poetry, and that wondrous sense of the transcendental 
 does not accompany lust of the flesh and its horrible con- 
 Sjpquences." 
 
 For a moment neither of the two spoke. Milicent was 
 playing on the piano. The sweet old song she began 
 to sing came through the open windows of the drawing- 
 room. Presently Carter broke the silence. His voice 
 was low and full of sympathy. 
 
 "I want you to know, uncle, that I fully understand 
 what you mean. Father has kept back nothing from me 
 as to his early life; I know it all. In fact, I know the 
 type of man my grandfather was. I couldn't avoid that. 
 Even Milly knows, for among the old papers in the house 
 is his will, in which he makes bequests to certain ille 
 gitimate children of his. That came to me as a shock, 
 for in a way I reverenced him." 
 
 "I see you do understand, and I am satisfied." 
 
 "Yes, and I can promise you that 
 
 "Don't!" exclaimed the other. "Make no promises to 
 me or to any one. I once made a promise to God I'm 
 speaking plainly, my boy I made a promise to God on 
 my bended knees, and broke it. Some day I may unroll 
 my life to you. I will, if it will prevent you from doing 
 what I've done. I've searched all literature in vain for 
 a record of any human agony as refined and intricate as 
 mine has been, and still is. If God has ever yet laid His 
 hand on man as heavily as He has on me I do not know 
 of it. I want you to come to see me. I won't preach to 
 you any more, but something has given me the hope that 
 I may help you into the road I missed, and that perhaps 
 God may grant me that as a part of my atonement." 
 
 "I am coming. I've set my heart upon it," Carter re 
 sponded, with feeling. "I appreciate more than I can 
 
 19 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 express, uncle, what you have said and the way you have 
 put it. I feel drawn to you to-night as I've never been 
 drawn even to my father. I know you are suffering, and 
 if I can help you during my stay out there I shall do it. 
 You inspire me as I never was inspired before. I shall 
 come very soon. I am tired of the silly chatter and whirl 
 of people and things here in town." 
 
 Milly was beginning another song. Thomas Crofton 
 rose and laid his hand on the shoulder of his nephew, who 
 felt it quivering. 
 
 "It has been several years since I've heard music like 
 that," he faltered. "The piano out home has been closed 
 a long time now and there is no one to open it. Let us 
 go in and join your sister. You have have taken a load 
 off my mind, my son. You are coming soon, you say?" 
 
 " Yes, very soon. You may expect me within the week, 
 and I shall stay till you order me away. I am going to 
 work hard and enjoy it fully." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 AS the time approached for his visit to his uncle's farm 
 /v Carter became more and more delighted with the 
 prospect before him. He got together the few books, 
 notes, and manuscripts which he intended to take with 
 him and began to pack his trunk. He smiled as he put 
 in his evening suit. "I'll have no need for it out there," 
 he said. "We'll go to bed with the chickens and rise 
 with the sun." 
 
 At this moment Henry came across the hall from his 
 room. He paused in the doorway and looked in. He 
 nodded and smiled. 
 
 "Say, Cart', have you got any spare change? I'm 
 going to Rome with some fellows. There is a dance on 
 to-night, a horse-race to-morrow, and I am clean out of 
 cash. I must have a ten-spot. I won't have time to 
 see father; he has gone to the country to attend a land 
 sale." 
 
 "Yes, I can spare it," Carter answered, and he gave his 
 brother the money. 
 
 ' ' Thanks . So you are off to-morrow ? ' ' Henry thrust the 
 bill into his pocket carelessly and turned to leave. "Well, 
 I can't say much for your taste, but I hope you will like 
 it. I spent one day in that old house last summer, and 
 it gave me the shivers for a month afterward. Gloom 
 leaked out of the very walls and stood in black puddles 
 on the floor, but you and uncle have a lot in common, and 
 you may like it. There was only one redeeming feature 
 about the place. There was a girl there. Gee! she was 
 
 21 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 a gem the most luscious trick I ever saw. She was the 
 daughter of the old mountain woman who does the house 
 work. The girl was only about seventeen, and shy and 
 awkward, but she had a shape and complexion ahead of 
 anything in this town. She couldn't read or write, bless 
 you! She told me so in her awful dialect, but her voice 
 was as round and mellow as a mocking-bird's. Well, 
 good-by. I must hurry on. I sha'n't forget this money. 
 I'll lay it aside for you sure." 
 
 When he had left Milicent came to the door. "You let 
 him have it; I know you did," she said. "He tried to 
 get it from me, but I flatly refused. I can't let him throw 
 away my savings. He never thinks of repaying; besides, 
 he is living too fast. He spends three times as much as 
 you do. I am absolutely ashamed of him. Everybody 
 knows what he is; he hasn't a particle of pride. I blush 
 and shudder every time I meet him out among my friends. 
 He has such a bold, coarse manner, especially among 
 women." 
 
 "Never mind," Carter said, consolingly. "We can't 
 help what he is. Besides, he may come out all right." 
 
 "No; it is too late," Milicent declared. "His affairs 
 are the talk of the town. He glories in his awful conduct 
 with disgusting women all over the South. He breaks 
 hearts and tramples them under foot. He will never 
 marry no self-respecting woman would have him, and 
 the others are too wise. Did you ever think of it? The 
 future of our name is now solely in your care. Uncle's 
 son is gone, and uncle will never marry again. Oh, Car 
 ter, I can't tell you how much I depend upon you. You 
 are brilliant. You have brains and lofty ideals. You 
 are going to pull the Crofton name out of the mire and put 
 it where it used to stand in the history of the country. 
 You will marry some nice girl, have children, and lead a 
 normal life." 
 
 "Poor sis!" He kissed her brow gently and stroked 
 
 22 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 back her hair. "You are blue to-day. Uncle Tom's 
 coming has reminded you of his troubles, and you have 
 taken them on yourself." 
 
 "Oh, it's everything put together," Milicent sighed. 
 "Haven't you noticed the change in father lately?" 
 
 "I noticed that he was rather talkative," Carter replied, 
 "and rather over -affectionate with me, at least. He 
 caught me the other day in the hall and actually hugged 
 me. Tears came into his eyes, and his voice shook so 
 that he could hardly speak. That was strange conduct 
 for him, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, he has changed remarkably," Milicent agreed. 
 "He speaks to me about things no man ought to men 
 tion to his daughter. The other day he made the coarsest 
 sort of allusion, and laughed as if he thought I ought to 
 appreciate it. That is an indication of approaching in 
 sanity. I am afraid he is failing fast. It is a wonder 
 to me that he can attend to business as he is. But 
 you must not worry about him. I want you to have a 
 good, restful time in the mountains. You must send me 
 what you write. Really, your career is all I have to care 
 for now. I love to hear your poems spoken of." 
 
 "Well, I'll do my best for your sake," he smiled. "I've 
 been unproductive for several months, and I feel as if I 
 shall get down to hard work out there." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 AS Carter sat in the railway-car and through the open 
 Jr\ window watched the dingy suburbs of the city thin 
 out and vanish, and the green fields and meadows unfold 
 before him, he had a sense of vast freedom and poetic 
 elation. He felt that he was putting something sordid 
 and unworthy away and breathing into himself that which 
 was true and permanent. He whistled as he always did 
 when quite contented with himself. He got out his Keats 
 and read several selections which fitted into his mood. 
 
 Seated in front of him was an elderly woman and a 
 rather pretty young girl, evidently mother and daughter. 
 He caught the girl's glance, steadied his own upon her, 
 feeling that she was conscious of his warm and respectful 
 admiration. He looked away, only to glance back the 
 next moment and catch her almost tentative look. He 
 held his book so that she might read the author's name 
 on the cover and understand the kind of literature he 
 cared for. He wondered if by any chance she might be 
 familiar with his own productions. A girl like that cer 
 tainly would be pleased to know that she had actually 
 seen and attracted the admiration of the young Crofton 
 of whom the papers had spoken so highly, and whose 
 words had been set to music in one case at least. But 
 the harmless flirtation was soon to end, for at the first 
 station the porter came to help the two ladies from the 
 car. When they had descended to the ground the poet 
 went to the door and looked out. The negro driver of a 
 carriage had met them and was helping them into the 
 
 24 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 vehicle. As the train was moving on Carter caught the 
 girl's backward glance; she flushed slightly and he smiled. 
 She all but smiled in return, and he nodded regretfully. 
 A comfortable-looking farm-house half a mile away, with 
 green blinds, a windmill for supplying water, and great oaks 
 in front, was doubtless the destination of the two, and as 
 he resumed his seat he allowed his fancy to dwell on the 
 idyllic life such a residence would afford him with such a 
 companion as the girl he had just seen. But the real 
 girl of his dreams was yet to be met. He certainly would 
 not attempt to describe her, for she would have qualities 
 of mind and points of physical beauty far beyond the 
 ordinary. She might be the petted daughter of some great 
 general, Senator, or Governor, or she might be a poor girl 
 without fortune or name. It would be a delight to furnish 
 every needed thing to the one he loved. She would be 
 neither tall nor short, stout nor slight, but she would be 
 beautiful in thought and person, and aristocratic in bear 
 ing. Now he fancied her home as being some ancient 
 mansion in Virginia, and she might be some far-off cousin 
 of his with the refined features he had seen in the por 
 traits of his mother's ancestors. Her fox-hunting brothers 
 in their rough rural clothes would not appreciate his poetic 
 nature fully, and in their presence he would have to sup 
 press his ideals, but she would understand. He pictured 
 their marriage in a quaint chapel near the mansion. Milly 
 would be a bridesmaid. The newspapers in reporting the 
 wedding would have much to say about his standing as 
 a poet and the considerable fortune he was to inherit 
 from a wealthy and indulgent father. He had heard men 
 say that a man could never marry his ideal woman, but 
 that was absurd. The wonderful creature destined for his 
 companionship was waiting for him somewhere in flesh 
 as well as in spirit. 
 
 Such dreams kept him company during the entire two- 
 hour journey. Indeed, he was conscious of a disagreeable 
 
 25 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 shock as the shrieking whistle of the locomotive an 
 nounced its approach to Benton, the village where his 
 uncle's carriage was to meet him. It was as if he were 
 waking from a delightful sleep filled with intangible, far- 
 leading visions. By contrast, the hot car with its dust- 
 covered passengers, some of whom were perspiring farmers 
 without their coats, and bedraggled women with crying 
 infants in their arms, jarred on him. The gleaming steel 
 rails of the switch-yard, in which the train was slowing 
 down, reflected the hot rays of the sun, and the cluster 
 of small cottages and stores of the hamlet wore a lonely, 
 dejected look. Scarcely a man, woman, or child was seen 
 on the unpaved street which led down to the station's 
 platform, and when Carter descended to the ground and 
 went into the little waiting-room his spirits sank lower 
 on the discovery that no one was there to meet him. As 
 the train rolled away he put his bag and book on a bench 
 and sat down. There was a square hole in the partition in 
 front of him, and peering from it was a young man wearing 
 the cap of a telegraph-operator. He nodded and smiled. 
 
 "Are you Mr. Crofton?" he asked, affably. 
 
 "Yes," Carter returned. 
 
 "I thought you might be. I have a message for you. 
 A man from your uncle's place came in just now and said 
 tell you that you'd have to wait here a while. One of Mr. 
 Crofton's horses sprained its ankle, and he had to send for 
 another. Somebody will be along in an hour or so." 
 
 "All right. Thank you," Carter replied, with a smile. 
 "I am in no special hurry." 
 
 The operator drew his face out of sight, his instrument 
 began to click, and Carter took up his book and tried to 
 read, but to no good effect. Putting the book down, he 
 rose and stood in the doorway and looked out. The 
 stores facing the street on both sides had low board awn 
 ings, and in front of one of them stood a hooded wagon 
 laden with coops of chickens and cases of eggs. Down 
 
 26 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the winding red-clay road on a hillside came a young 
 farmer astride of a mule. He was driving some cows and 
 calves toward a store with a butcher's sign on it. A little 
 way down the railway track was a stock-pen full of hogs, 
 up to the chute of which a rusty switch-engine, which 
 rocked to and fro, in actual decrepitude, was shifting a car. 
 
 "How can people live like this?" the poet asked him 
 self, with a weary sigh. " It would kill me." He strolled 
 to the end of the platform, where there was a well with a 
 bucket and windlass. Having nothing else to do, he low 
 ered the bucket into the well and drew up some water. 
 A tin dipper hung from a nail near by, and he drank some 
 of the water, which was delightfully cool and refreshing. 
 
 "Right you are, stranger!" some one called out behind 
 him, and, turning, he saw a spry young man putting down 
 a leather sample-case in the doorway of the waiting-room, 
 from which he was emerging. "Adam's ale is the only 
 drink you can get in this hot hole, and that is the best 
 freestone I know between here and Atlanta. If you don't 
 mind I'll join you." 
 
 With a smile Carter filled the dipper and extended it. 
 "Yes, it is good," he agreed; he was pleased to have the 
 companionship of a man even of the type the stranger 
 represented, and yet he did not wholly approve of the 
 fellow's crude familiarity. 
 
 "Waiting for the train, eh?" the drummer gulped as 
 he drank copiously. "The operator says she's on time, 
 for a wonder. Traveling-man?" 
 
 Carter shook his head coldly. It struck him that the 
 question was obviously absurd. He flattered himself 
 that there was nothing about his appearance that would 
 justify such a supposition. Surely any one could see 
 that his clothing was not cut by the kind of tailor who 
 supplied commercial men with their rather flashy apparel ? 
 His shoes were different in style; his cravat was rich and 
 full, carefully tied, and not one of the kind the drummer 
 
 27 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 wore. The man wore cuffs with glaring links which were 
 separable from the sleeves, a veritable abomination in 
 Carter's eyes, who regarded such contrivances as con 
 fessions of both stinginess and uncleanliness on the part of 
 the wearer. The voluble young man had refilled the dip 
 per, and now proffered it with a broad, friendly grin. 
 
 "Take one with me," he said. 
 
 "Thank you. No more," Carter returned, frigidly, for 
 he was determined now to show the stranger that his 
 familiarity was unwarranted. 
 
 "We can slide into the smoking-car when that dang 
 train gets here." The drummer had taken out two cigars 
 and held them forward. "Have one; they don't really 
 cost me anything such things go into my expense ac 
 count under the head of extras necessary treats to prom 
 ising customers and the like." 
 
 "Thank you. I don't care to smoke now," Carter said; 
 and he coldly explained that he was not to take the train 
 in question. 
 
 To his surprise the drummer smiled frankly, chuckled 
 aloud, and said: "There is no use beating the devil 
 around a bush, Mr. Crofton. I knew you were not a 
 drummer. A drummer that didn't have sense enough 
 not to know that you are not one would lose his job the 
 first day out. I just spoke as I did to sort o' set the ball 
 rolling, as the fellow said. To tell the truth, the operator 
 in there told me your name, and said you were a nephew 
 of Tom Crofton. I was wondering if you are a son of old 
 Gilbert, of Atlanta?" 
 
 "I am," Carter replied, simply. 
 
 "By George! you don't mean it? Then you may be a 
 brother to the one that writes the fine poems I've read 
 in the papers. Gee! you may be the man himself!" 
 
 Carter was unaware of the fact, but he flushed with 
 pleasure. "I do write now and then," he said. "I sup 
 pose I am the one to whom you refer." 
 
 28 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 The drummer drew back, thrust his thumbs into the 
 armholes of his waistcoat, and stared. ' ' ' To whom. ' Now, 
 I know you are. Nobody says that but a writer or a teacher 
 these days. Stand still, by gum! Stand still and let me 
 take a good look at you. There, that's all right. Now 
 shake! Honor me with your hand, sir. Harris is my 
 name plain Jim Harris, head traveling-man for Trigg 
 Brothers & White, of Baltimore sugar, coffee, and tea, 
 with a side line of paper, bags, and twine. Glad to 
 meet you, sir. I don't know when I've had a greater 
 pleasure." 
 
 With a pleased laugh Carter submitted his soft, slender 
 hand to the hard, broad one. His flush had increased; 
 he was tingling with delight which he made no effort to 
 conceal. 
 
 "You flatter me," he said. " I am only a beginner, and 
 it is pleasant to have a stranger say he has read my pro 
 ductions." 
 
 "I couldn't flatter you, sir. I take off my hat to your 
 gift wherever I meet it. All my life, since I was a little 
 boy, I've thought that to be able to write beautiful things 
 to be read the world over, after you are dead and gone, 
 was the greatest gift the Almighty could grant a human 
 being. I will say now that the delight this meeting gives 
 me is partly selfish. Let me explain, sir. I am engaged 
 to a fine, well-born country girl in the upper part of the 
 State, and it was through her that I first came in contact 
 with your work. You may know how young couples will 
 do when they are corresponding with each other? Well, 
 she has often cut out your love-poems from the news 
 papers and inclosed them in her letters as having some 
 sort of application to our case. You remember the one 
 about the young poet meeting the unhappy married wom 
 an out in the moonlight? Gee! that was fine the most 
 original idea I ever saw in print. I didn't send that to 
 Mary, and I don't know that she ever run across it. Of 
 
 29 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 course, you know that it would not be exactly the sort 
 of thing for a fellow to send to his best girl, for you'll 
 admit, I reckon, that it had a sort of I don't know a 
 sort of double meaning." 
 
 "Well, it wasn't exactly intended for the very young," 
 Carter returned, wisely. "But I think the situation was 
 a true one." 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt," the drummer nodded as he 
 smoked. "But how a human being could imagine such 
 a thing, get it up out of air, as the fellow said, is a mystery 
 to me. You poets must live two lives one of the flesh and 
 blood, and the other of what you might call the fancy. 
 If there is no harm in asking a question right here, I'd 
 love to do it." 
 
 "Go ahead," Carter answered. "You seem to be a 
 close observer." 
 
 "I don't know that I am, but the imagination has al 
 ways been a great puzzle to me. I reckon because I 
 never had it. What I want to know, and you needn't 
 answer unless you want to, is this : when a poet is writing 
 a poem like that one of yours, does he, or rather is he for 
 the time being in the shoes of his hero? Oh, I'm getting 
 this all balled up! Say, I mean this, did you while you 
 were writing the description of that chap's short love for 
 that lonely, passionate woman did you, in your own 
 heart, actually love the woman you were writing about?" 
 
 Carter smiled with delight over the man's naive ques 
 tion. "I really may have," he admitted. "I think the 
 imagination does sometimes temporarily take on even 
 that much reality. Yes, I think that I could not have 
 done the work to suit me if I had not been able to feel 
 at the moment as I thought the man of the poem felt." 
 
 The drummer looked down and slowly shook his head. 
 "An opinion of mine isn't worth a hill of beans to a man 
 like you," he said, seriously; "but for my part, I'd be 
 afraid of that sort o' thing. I really would." 
 
 3 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ''You think you would be?" Carter was smiling over 
 the sheer simplicity of the man's point of view. 
 
 " Yes, I'd hate to handle it," he said, still gravely. "I 
 wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. It seems to me 
 to be as dangerous to the health of the natural mind as 
 morphine is to the average body. Let a man fancy that 
 he is in love constantly, first with this girl and then 
 with that one, in his imagination or out, and it won't be 
 long till he won't be able to love anybody deep, and, take 
 it from me, that must be awful. I've seen a lot of life 
 since I went on the road, and I've run against things that 
 have switched other men off the right track in a hurry. 
 I'm old-fashioned. I came from old-fashioned Methodist 
 folks on both sides, and I want to settle down in an old- 
 fashioned way marry the right sort of a woman and try 
 to bring up the right sort o' children. That's me. When 
 I say I've seen good men go crooked on the road I mean 
 it. I've seen fellows who had lovely wives at home get 
 to making dates with gay women in this town or that, and 
 it wouldn't be twelve months before home would be the 
 last place they'd want to go back to. But you couldn't 
 head off one of those smart Alecs to save your neck from 
 the halter. They see no harm in it as a pastime, and 
 never let up till it's too late. They usually end by blaming 
 their Vives with it, and get a divorce or force their wives 
 to do it. So I'll tell you, Mr. Crofton, that I don't let 
 my mind dwell long on any woman except my girl. When 
 my day's work is over I set in the office of some hotel or in 
 my room, and write her a letter. Sometimes the young 
 folks are dancing in the parlor, and other drummers are 
 palming themselves off as unmarried men and having the 
 time of their life; but I cut it out. I'm a great hand at 
 believing that my girl has every bit as much right to 
 carry on with fellows behind my back as I have to flirt 
 with girls on the road." 
 
 "You are right, of course," Carter answered. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "I wish you could meet Mary, I really do," Harris ran 
 on. "Gee! won't she be astonished when I write her that 
 I've actually met Carter Crofton? Say, I hear my train 
 coming. I don't know how you will look at it, but I 
 want to ask a favor. I don't know if you make a habit 
 of doing the like or not, and if you don't it is all right. 
 Would you mind scribbling your name down in my order- 
 book? If you will I'll tear the leaf out and send it to her. 
 By gum! she'd frame it, hang it up in the parlor, and 
 show it to all the neighbors." 
 
 "I will do it with pleasure," Carter agreed; and he 
 took the book and pencil and complied, finishing the 
 signature with the boyish flourish he liked to use. 
 
 "Thank you, very, very much, sir," Harris said. "I'll 
 watch your career from now on with double interest, and 
 so will Mary. When the grand event comes off I'll send 
 you a card I will sure. Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by." They shook hands, and as the cars 
 slowed up at the platform the drummer hurried away 
 to get his sample-case. As the train rolled off Carter 
 saw him leaning from a window, waving his handkerchief. 
 And although it seemed to him to be a little beneath his 
 proper dignity on such a short acquaintance, Carter 
 waved his own handkerchief in response. Surely the man 
 was a diamond in the rough. 
 
 The very air seemed full of ecstasy. As he walked to 
 and fro on the deserted platform our poet was wafted 
 along by the very "breath of the gods." How glorious 
 it was to be able to sense the exquisite things which were 
 too fine, too elusive for ordinary minds, and to have the 
 genius to record them in lasting form! God had been 
 kind to him indeed. The choicest gifts of the universe 
 were falling around him like the leaves and petals of 
 flowers. He had youth, health, wealth, good birth, and 
 now fame glorious, deathless fame was coming. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AS! hour later a horse and buggy in charge of a lank 
 negro man of middle age drove up. Carter recog 
 nized the man as a farm-laborer on his uncle's place 
 an ex-slave of the Crofton family whom he had seen a 
 few years before. 
 
 "Marse Tom say fetch you on in de buggy, young 
 marster," he announced, as he stood servilely scraping his 
 broad, ill -shod feet backward, and holding his slouch- 
 hat in his hand. "He say he couldn't send de ca'ge wid- 
 out another hoss." 
 
 "All right," Carter answered. "What about my trunk?" 
 indicating it on the platform near by. 
 
 "De farm-wagon comin' fer it," said Hank. "It '11 be 
 on from de grist-mill in er few minutes wid er load er 
 co'n meal fer we-all's hands." 
 
 The ten-mile drive along the side of the foot-hills of the 
 mountains which rose blue and hazy in the distance was 
 cool, shaded by the boughs of overhanging trees, and de 
 lightful in many ways. As the road took them into a 
 higher altitude the air became more crisp and bracing. 
 Many wild flowers were seen, and as Carter breathed in 
 their fragrance he was filled to overflowing with inspiration. 
 The transcendental peace and quiet of the spot clutched 
 and charmed his fancy as nothing had ever done before. 
 Surely it was a divine fatality which had brought this 
 welcome change into his life just when he needed it. As 
 he feasted on the bluish distance he seemed to possess 
 the mystic power of seeing beyond the material limits of 
 
 3 33 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 matter into the invisible, indescribable, unnamable some 
 thing which had long haunted his boyish dreams. He 
 smiled to himself as he wondered how he had borne the 
 conventional routine he was leaving. In Atlanta he had 
 been a slave to the habits and whims of a lower order of 
 mentality, but now he was to be himself and allow his 
 richest impulses full play out in nature, as the greatest 
 of poets and artists had done. 
 
 They drove through a delightful shaded dale, and came 
 out on a spot where two roads crossed and a little wooden 
 school-house with green blinds stood in a grove of trees. 
 A hundred or more boys and girls, who evidently had been 
 playing games, now stood still, all eying with curiosity 
 the approaching buggy. 
 
 ' ' They are at recess, I suppose, ' ' Carter remarked to Hank. 
 
 "No, suh," was the smiling answer, "recess done over. 
 De teacher let um stay out 'ca'se I tol' 'im, so I did, dat 
 I was gwine fetch you by dis mawnin'." 
 
 "Oh, it can hardly be that!" Carter said, gratified, and 
 yet, it may be stated, not actually surprised. 
 
 A slender young man in a long clerical-looking black 
 coat was seen leaving the group and hastening toward 
 the buggy. He was bareheaded, and held a book in his 
 hand. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Crofton," he began, 
 rather stiffly, as he bowed. "I hope you won't think I 
 am officious, but I want to introduce myself and bid you 
 welcome to our county, sir, in my humble capacity as 
 teacher here. I am Marvin Lewis, sir. I know your 
 uncle pretty well, and he and I have often talked over 
 your rare talent and laudable ambition. He is very proud 
 of you; in fact, we all here in the South are justly so. We 
 sorely need more Laniers, Poes, and Haynes." 
 
 Uncle Hank had stopped the horse, and Carter took the 
 hand extended over the front wheel of the buggy. 
 
 "I am glad indeed to meet you, Mr. Lewis," he said. 
 "It is very kind of you to come out." 
 
 34 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 The teacher smiled, touched his thin, beardless lips with 
 his closed book. "You notice the curiosity of my pupils 
 up there, sir?" he continued. "They all wanted to see 
 you. I never fail to give them every encouragement in 
 my power, and it is my opinion, sir, that the mere sight 
 of a graduate of Harvard and a poet whose work they have 
 seen in print will be stimulating to them. These poor 
 mountain boys and girls, Mr. Crofton, who have to work 
 in the fields the greater part of the year, can never hope 
 for such opportunities as you have had; but there is 
 sterling worth and boundless energy in many of them. 
 I am saying this as the introduction to something in the 
 form of what may seem a bold request. We have our 
 public debating evenings, which are well attended by 
 adults as well as scholars, and while you are at your uncle's, 
 if you would honor us by your presence we'd take it as a 
 great favor. If you'd read one of your own productions 
 to us we certainly would appreciate it. It would be a 
 thing we'd long remember." 
 
 "I will do so with pleasure," Carter promised. "I can 
 read fairly well, but I'm not a good speaker, so I shall beg 
 you to excuse me from making a talk." 
 
 "Oh, I understand," the teacher smiled as he drew back 
 to allow the buggy to go on, "and I shall keep you posted 
 as to the date of our entertainment. We shall be deeply 
 in your debt. I am not thoroughly familiar with all your 
 work, so I shall beg you to make your own selection. 
 Most of your poems which have come my way have 
 been love-lyrics, and they are exquisite in form and 
 sentiment. Your uncle tells me you have lately written 
 a few on philosophical lines, which have not been pub 
 lished. I confess I am curious to see them, and, while 
 I do not wish to influence you in your choice of what to 
 read to us, I assure you anything of that kind will be more 
 than welcome. I am sorry to say that some of my scholars 
 here got to reading trashy novels, and I'd like to divert 
 
 35 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 their minds into more wholesome channels. You see 
 mine is a mixed school" the teacher was now smiling 
 "and I have some pupils of both sexes who regard the 
 institution as a sort of free matrimonial agency. A couple 
 of them, who, although full grown, are still in the third 
 reader, were planning to run away and get married last 
 week. I happened to intercept some of their love-notes 
 and sent for their parents. I understand they were licked 
 good and sound." Lewis forgot his rules of grammar and 
 laughed aloud as he finished: "It actually cured them. 
 Do you know, they never looked at each other again 
 after that. So you see the minds of such impressionable 
 creatures as that pair ought not to be fed on sensational 
 love-stories. I am glad you are leaning toward philosophy. 
 Philosophy is in the air, and seems to be taking the place 
 of the creeds in many quarters. Your uncle and I have 
 had some wonderful chats. He is a remarkable man, and 
 one I am not able fully to understand. He is certainly 
 not what he used to be before he lost his wife and son. 
 Sometimes I think he is living too lonely a life, and when 
 I heard you were coming to keep him company I was 
 delighted." 
 
 As the horse started onward Carter looked back toward 
 the school-house. A youthful thrill of triumph passed 
 over him, for not a face in the cluster was averted from 
 him. A moment later he saw them gathering about their 
 returning teacher. Something was said, and then Carter 
 heard the lusty young voices cheering. Understanding 
 the import of it, he waved his hat in response, and the 
 cheering was repeated. He could not remember ever 
 having felt so happy before. Even the girls were cheer 
 ing and waving their handkerchiefs. And some of them 
 were quite pretty. Yes, he was very happy, and to 
 morrow he would begin work on the great epic which, 
 when finished, would surprise the world. 
 
 They were now almost within sight of the farm-house. 
 
 36 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 The horse had stopped to drink at a clear, unbridged 
 brook which crossed the road. 
 
 "Huh! dat so, dat so," Carter heard Hank muttering 
 to himself. 
 
 "What are you talking about?" he asked, still elated 
 over what had taken place at the school-house. 
 
 "Dat so, what de teacher say 'bout Marse Tom," the 
 negro answered. "De Lawd know he ain't de same, an* 
 you gwine ter find out he ain't, young marster." 
 
 "He's broken-hearted over his great loss," Carter said. 
 "At his time of life, you see " 
 
 "Huh! dat ain't it! My Gawd! dat ain't it!" 
 
 "You say it isn't?" Carter replied. " Well, what is it, 
 then?" 
 
 "I don't know, young marster." The negro raised a 
 sincere stare to the young man's face. "I don't know; 
 my wife, Mandy, she don't know, nuther, an' it de fust 
 time I ever seed 'er stumped, too. She kin tell 'bout 
 white folks; you cayn't fool Mandy wid high or low 
 wid quality or white trash, an' she done give Marse Tom 
 up. Me, too. I 'lowed once dat he was gittin' out'n his 
 senses, but dat ain't it. No, suh. You wait till you see 
 how he act. You gwine git puzzled see ef you don't. 
 'Tain't jus' we-all at de house, nuther; folks fer miles 
 around don't know what ter mek o' his doin's." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THEY were now approaching the front gate of the 
 Crofton farm-house. It was a spacious, rambling, 
 one-story frame building which had more than a dozen 
 rooms. It had a long, wide veranda in front, which was 
 well provided with easy wicker chairs and benches. The 
 house had been white at one time, but the rains had 
 washed off most of the paint and left the walls with a 
 fuzzy drab look. The windows had faded green shutters, 
 and over the small panes hung ivy-leaves and morning- 
 glory vines. A lattice of decaying woodwork surrounded 
 the veranda, upon which honey-suckles grew in such 
 neglected profusion that any one seated on the veranda 
 could not be seen from the lawn in front. The lawn, 
 which Carter remembered as being well kept on his last 
 visit, had now a run-down appearance. Gullies were 
 washed in what had been beautiful gravel walks, and the 
 level, once grassy sward was overgrown with weeds and 
 sprouting bushes. 
 
 As they drew in at the gate, which had a broken hinge 
 and had to be lifted aside by the driver, Carter saw his 
 uncle under the trees at the end of the house. He was 
 bareheaded; he seemed unaware of their arrival, and was 
 walking about, head down, his hands folded behind him. 
 Hearing the gate-latch click, he turned quickly and came 
 forward. Carter had the unpleasant impression that the 
 smile slowly coming into his uncle's face was somewhat 
 forced. 
 
 "Welcome! welcome!" the old man cried, extending his 
 
 38 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 hand and grasping that of his nephew. "Just think of 
 your having bad luck on your first day ! I know you must 
 have roasted at that hot station. Well, well, we'll make 
 up for it. You can lie around here in the shade and for 
 get it. Dinner is waiting for you. Come into your room 
 and wash off the dust, and then we'll dine together." 
 
 The room to which his uncle led him, through a commo 
 dious entrance-hallway, was most inviting. In a corner 
 stood a downy bed covered with a white counterpane and 
 having great, cool-looking pillows. In the center of the 
 room was a table which held some books and magazines, 
 a reading-lamp, a tray with pipes and tobacco, and a box 
 of cigars. 
 
 "How thoughtful you are!" Carter said. "You are 
 treating me like a prince. I don't deserve it. I intended 
 to live the simple life out here, but you will prevent it 
 if you keep this up." 
 
 "You mustn't miss too many things," Thomas said, a 
 touch of depression forcing itself into his would-be cordial 
 voice. "I laid out some books I thought you might care 
 to glance at, and the magazines have just come. You 
 must really own the place while you are here. Go and 
 come when you like that's the only way, and will be 
 best for us both. No poet likes regularity. Mrs. Rom- 
 ley, who is cooking for me now, will obey your every wish. 
 She won't be disturbed if you dine at midnight or break 
 fast at noon. She is a good, faithful old soul. It came 
 my way once to do a slight favor for her, and she has 
 always overrated its importance. She is here before day 
 light every morning, and is working her fingers to the 
 bone to please me. It is wonderful how grateful such per 
 sons are. I've tried to stop her to make her take a rest 
 but she won't let up a minute. She is a poor widow with 
 a young daughter to support, and they live in a log cabin 
 in the edge of the woods close by. I've offered to build 
 her a cottage nearer the house, but she has always lived 
 
 39 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 in cabins of that sort, as a child, as a young married 
 woman with a shiftless, drunken husband, and now she 
 won't have anything else. Now I'll leave you, and will 
 meet you in the dining-room. You must never wait for 
 me after this. I have moods which can't be depended 
 on, and eating has of late become almost the most objec 
 tionable thing I do. I only eat when I am obliged to; 
 but you are young and full of blood, and out here ought to 
 eat like a famished bear." 
 
 A few minutes later Carter went into the quaint, old- 
 fashioned dining-room adjoining the kitchen at the end 
 of the house. It was a large room, having a wide, deep 
 oriel window at one end, into which the midday light 
 streamed through stained glass and snowy lace curtains. 
 
 1 'Splendid! splendid!" Carter exclaimed as his uncle 
 Signified the chair he was to take at the long mahogany 
 table which held a vase of fresh flowers. "It takes me 
 back to to But pardon me, I must not remind you 
 of" 
 
 "Oh yes, you may," the old man said, his lips drawn 
 tight. "Why avoid it? I can't forget him. So what's 
 the use pretending? He is in my thoughts always, any 
 way, and I want you, above all, to be natural. We can't 
 bring him back. I'll soon master it. I must I must. 
 Seeing you here without him, of course, digs deep into me 
 to-day more so than I thought it would; but that can't 
 be avoided. To-morrow I'll be all right." 
 
 He was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Romley 
 with a tray of steaming dishes. 
 
 "Here he is, Mrs. Romley," Thomas said in a lighter 
 tone. "He is a fine, healthy sample of a boy, isn't he?" 
 
 The woman, who was about forty years of age, lifted 
 her eyes in evident embarrassment, started to speak, but 
 ended by saying nothing at all. It was plain to Carter 
 that she was very illiterate, and that she had been, even 
 as a servant, little with persons in the higher walks of 
 
 40 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 life. She was tall, thin, and patient-looking. Her lips 
 were stained with snuff, and her fingers were gnarled and 
 stiff. Her body was bent as if from some burden she 
 had borne from childhood. 
 
 "Mrs. Romley has been a godsend to me," the old 
 man went on, in the light tone he was trying to effect. 
 "Until she came to help me I was in desperate straits. 
 The negroes could not be depended on. She seems of 
 late almost to do my thinking for me. The only trouble is 
 that I can't make her believe she is as valuable as she is." 
 
 Glancing at the woman's profile as she moved around 
 the table, Carter noted a flushed look on her lined face 
 that was one of almost pained denial. He saw her shrug 
 her shoulders and heard a low grunt escape her lips, but 
 that was all. He was hungry, after his ride, and the food 
 had the delicious flavor which he had always found in 
 country cooking. He noted, too, that Mrs. Romley 
 seemed delighted by his evident appreciation. Her face 
 brightened as he helped himself a second time from the 
 dishes she brought in. 
 
 After dinner the old man led his nephew into the li 
 brary, which adjoined the drawing-room in front of the 
 house. "Here is your nest," he said, playfully. "It 
 has been cleaned thoroughly and aired. I've added some 
 new books which came only yesterday. You'll find them 
 all there." 
 
 It was a fine room, oblong in shape and lighted by sev 
 eral broad windows which opened out in French fashion, 
 like doors, on a pretty side porch. 
 
 "You can sit out there and smoke," Thomas added, in 
 dicating the porch with a movement of his hand, "and 
 when you get an idea you can turn back in here and write 
 it down." 
 
 Three sides of the room were lined with glass-doored 
 black-walnut bookcases, which were filled with well- 
 bound volumes, some of which looked very antiquated. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Above the cases were some family portraits, the canvases 
 and gold-leaf frames of which bore the stamp of age. 
 Seeing Carter looking at them, his uncle sighed. 
 
 4 'They fell to me," he said. "Your father didn't care 
 for them when the Crofton estate was divided up. I 
 think I gave him a small town lot in exchange for his half- 
 interest in them. For many years I dreamed of handing 
 them down to Tom, but now, of course, they must be 
 yours. Your brother has no sentiment for such things, 
 but the poet in you will cry out for them later in life." 
 
 "I certainly should value them highly," Carter said; 
 "but you are too young a man to count on parting with 
 any of your possessions." 
 
 Thomas seemed not to be listening. His eyes held a 
 far-off stare in their depths. "Now amuse yourself," 
 he said. "I have to ride over the mountain to see a 
 tenant of mine who has rented some land from me, and 
 I may not get back till bedtime or even later. I wouldn't 
 leave you alone if I did not know that solitude was the 
 best possible condition for the creative temperament." 
 
 A feeling of rare elation was on the poet as he lounged 
 in the easy-chairs and browsed among the books he found 
 on the shelves. He heard a horse walking past the win 
 dow, and, rising to look out, he saw Hank leading his 
 uncle's favorite mount around to the front from the stable 
 in the rear. The next moment he heard Thomas stalk 
 heavily through the uncarpeted hall, cross the veranda, 
 and clatter down the steps. Then the hoofs of the horse 
 were heard crunching the graveled drive from the house 
 to the gate. 
 
 Carter resumed his seat and took up his book, but to 
 his surprise he found that he could not readily fix his 
 mind on the words before his eyes. All at once he felt 
 unpleasantly impressed by the sheer stillness of the lone 
 ly old house. The breeze blew against the vines at the 
 windows, causing them to rasp the glass and mullions 
 
 42 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 with an uncanny scratching noise. Young and sound of 
 body as he was, Garter was, nevertheless, nervous at 
 times, and he got up, opened the window from which the 
 sound came, and with his penknife cut away the offending 
 twigs. He was about to resume his seat when he heard 
 Mrs. Romley softly shuffling from the kitchen out to a 
 side door. 
 
 " Whar did he say he was goin' to?" she asked Hank, 
 who was passing on his way back to the stable. 
 
 "He didn't tell me," replied the negro, "an' I didn't 
 ax 'im." 
 
 "Why didn't you ax 'im?" 
 
 "'Ca'se 'twasn't none o' my business. I ain't er fool, 
 white 'ooman. I knows my place, I does." 
 
 Hank was walking on, and, thinking that he might 
 answer the woman's question, Carter went to her as 
 she stood on the door-step. She was looking uneasily 
 down the road at the little cloud of dust raised by her 
 master's horse, and started suddenly and lowered her eyes 
 as the visitor appeared on the threshold. 
 
 "You were asking about my uncle," Carter said. "He 
 told me he was going to see a tenant of his over the moun 
 tain and might not be back till after dark." 
 
 The woman raised her eyes, a blank look on her face; 
 then, nervously wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled 
 in a forced sort of way. 
 
 "I just wanted to know," she faltered. " He 'ain't been 
 overly strong here lately. Sometimes he tells me whar he's 
 goin', an' sometimes he don't. I like to know, 'ca'se 
 sometimes neighbors drop in to see 'im, an' I don't know 
 what to tell 'em. They think strange ef I don't know 
 whar he is." 
 
 He felt a vague desire to detain her as her slipshod feet 
 bore her away, but he could think of no pretext for so 
 doing, nor did he know definitely what it was that he 
 wanted to ask her in regard to his uncle. 
 
 43 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 He was in the library, reading, at four o'clock when 
 she brought in a tray holding some cakes and tea. 
 
 "Oh, what's this, what's this?" he asked, with a play 
 ful laugh. 
 
 "Mr. Crofton told me to do it," she answered, simply. 
 "He wants you to have tea every day at four o'clock 
 said you had it when you an' his son was off at school." 
 
 "So we did so we did," he said, still smiling, "and it 
 looks nice and smells delicious." He watched her place 
 a little table near his chair, and arrange the things upon 
 it. "Uncle is a fine man, isn't he, Mrs. Romley?" 
 
 She suddenly rested her two hands on the table, and, 
 bending forward, she looked straight into his face. Her 
 voice was full and almost broke as she replied: 
 
 "He's the best man that ever lived. He's the best an' 
 kindest man that God ever made. Ef I stood here an* 
 talked all day an' all night, I couldn't tell you how good 
 he's been to me. He stood by me he come to he'p me 
 when all the rest of the world was agin me, an' he was a 
 plumb stranger. He's a saint that's what he is, a 
 saint!" 
 
 "Yes, he's good." Carter was surprised by the wom 
 an's vehemence. " I love him more than any other living 
 relative. He suffers awfully, Mrs. Romley. Life means 
 nothing to him without his wife and son." 
 
 The woman was gazing into his eyes almost tearfully. 
 Her lips moved as if she were trying to formulate some 
 reply, but, suddenly sighing, she turned to leave. "Is 
 thar anything else you'd like?" she faltered. 
 
 "Nothing else, thank you, Mrs. Romley." Again he 
 felt the inclination to detain her, but, having no valid 
 reason for so doing, he allowed her to shuffle out of the 
 room. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 had been at his uncle's a week. Never be- 
 fore had he so thoroughly enjoyed himself, and he 
 was sure it was the sylvan solitude and quietness of the 
 place that accounted for it. For the first time in his life 
 he was living wholly in his imagination. When he waked 
 in the mornings, instead of the rattle of wheels on pave 
 ments of stone, the clanging of bells, the tread of men's 
 feet on the way to work in a sultry city, he heard the 
 chirping of birds, the clucking of hens, the quacking of 
 ducks, the barking of dogs, the crowing of cocks, and the 
 bleating of sheep and calves. There was a bath-house 
 close to the main building, where he and his cousin used 
 to swim in the pool of running water, and invariably on 
 rising now he drew on his bathrobe and took a plunge in 
 the cold, clear stream. Then he rubbed his body briskly 
 till his blood fairly tingled in his veins, and, going back 
 to his room, he dressed for breakfast, smelling the delicious 
 food which Mrs. Romley was preparing for him. He 
 loved the uneventful routine of it all. He saw little of 
 his uncle, Mr. Crofton being absent most of the time, but 
 he did not miss him. In fact, he was conscious of a cer 
 tain depression of his spirits whenever the old man hap 
 pened to be with him at meals or joined him for an after- 
 supper smoke on the veranda. He had given up trying 
 to fathom his uncle's variable moods. Besides, there 
 were too many other matters to think about. He had not 
 penned a line of the great epic he was to write; but the 
 general scheme of it was constantly in his thoughts. It 
 
 45 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 was being born, he told himself it was filling him, pour 
 ing in like some divine fluid from the infinite reservoir of 
 beauty and truth, and soon it would force itself into ade 
 quate expression. That it would astonish the reading 
 world he had no doubt. He was young, but his work 
 would not be taken for that of a youth. A profound 
 religious change had come upon him. He often found 
 himself praying. He was inexpressibly grateful to God 
 for the countless blessings which he possessed, and he 
 wanted to express his gratitude. The sight of the simple 
 farmers working in the fields in their scant and sordid 
 clothing, Hank plodding about the malodorous stables or 
 toiling with hoe or plow in the garden, the old woman 
 shambling all day long in her patient, lonely way about 
 the house all these, by their sheer contrast to his own 
 more fortunate condition, made him grateful. The moun 
 tain men tipped their coarse hats to him when they drove 
 by him as he walked alone on the mountain roads, and if 
 there were women or girls in the wagons they turned their 
 heads and curiously stared after him. Of course they 
 knew who he was, he thought of course they had heard 
 of the phenomenon of youth, good looks, wealth, and 
 genius who was visiting the silent old aristocrat of the 
 neighborhood, and they would go back home and tell 
 others that they had seen him, and how he was rambling 
 alone out in nature because there was nothing else he 
 liked so well. He told himself that he had the means 
 with which every taste or whim could be gratified, but 
 that he was too much like Wordsworth and other out 
 door poets to follow the bent of average men. 
 
 One morning he had a notable experience. Just after 
 breakfast he went into the library to read and make some 
 notes. With a copy of Browning, whose method he was 
 studying, he had seated himself in an easy-chair at a 
 window, when the sudden closing of a bookcase in a far 
 corner of the room drew his attention. At first he saw 
 
 46 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 only a mass of golden-brown hair, and then a startled 
 flushed face and a pair of wonderful hazel eyes as the 
 owner, a girl about eighteen years of age, stood up, a 
 cleaning-cloth in her hand. 
 
 "Oh, I I didn't know you was here!" she stammered. 
 "Ma tol' me not to bother you. I didn't see you 
 thought you was out takin' a walk." 
 
 "I've just come in," he explained. "I didn't know 
 you were here." She was moving, stumbling as she 
 went, toward the door, and he detained her. "Don't 
 stop your work. I can read on the porch. I was 
 going to do so, anyway. I always sit there at this 
 time of day." 
 
 She paused, undecided. "I've got plenty o' time," she 
 said. "It don't have to be done now, nohow." 
 
 "Neither do I have to read now," he answered. "I 
 have the whole day before me." He was taking in her 
 appearance from head to foot. How wonderfully fresh 
 and pink was her complexion! How erect and slender 
 her form! Her coarse, untied shoes did not prevent his 
 seeing that her feet were small and high of instep. The 
 hand clutching the cleaning-cloth was tapering, though 
 the skin was rough and tanned from outdoor work. 
 "You are Mrs. Romley's daughter, I'm sure," he went 
 on, gently, to allay her embarrassment; "but I don't 
 know your Christian name." 
 
 "Lydia," she answered, going back to the bookcase 
 and picking up a book she had left on the floor. 
 
 " 'Lydia' that's a pretty name," he said, admiring her 
 rare beauty afresh. 
 
 "I don't like it much," she said, as she wiped the book 
 and restored it to a shelf. "I don't know why they ever 
 named me that. I never saw a girl called by it that I 
 know of. Pa used to call me Lyde, for short, when he 
 was alive." 
 
 "They must call you Lydia; that is better," he said, 
 
 47 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 wisely. "Have you read any of these books?" He in 
 dicated the shelves with a sweep of the hand. 
 
 "I can't read nor write," she answered, indifferently, 
 as she took down another volume and began to wipe it. 
 "I hain't never been to school none at all." 
 
 "But why?" he asked, wonderingly. 
 
 " I dun'no'. I just hain't. We never have happened to 
 live nigh to any school, an' pa was a great hand to move 
 about, fust one place an' then another, wharever he could 
 rent land handy. He never could read hisself, nor sign 
 his name. He made a cross mark, an' he said that was 
 enough. Ma never could read, nuther." 
 
 "But you are missing a great deal," he said, sincerely. 
 "Really, I think I should die if I were not allowed to 
 read the thoughts of the great men of the past and pres 
 ent." 
 
 She shrugged her shapely shoulders. He noticed her 
 beautiful neck and the fine poise of her head upon it. 
 "It don't bother me," she replied. "I don't see that 
 reading helps much. Look at all these books of Mr. 
 Crof ton's. He kin read 'em, can't he? Well, is he a 
 happy man? I've seed a few men in my time, but he 
 is the most miserable one I ever laid eyes on. Old Hank 
 out thar goes about singin' half the time, an* I've heard 
 'im shout out loud as he was comin' home from a nigger 
 meetin', an* he can't read a line in a book." 
 
 "All the same," Carter smiled, "it is our duty to edu 
 cate ourselves if it is in our power. Say, do you come 
 here often?" 
 
 "Once a week, on cleaning-day, to he'p ma." 
 
 "I see, and have you any sort of school-book at home?" 
 
 "I've got a ABC primer Mr. Crof ton gave me last sum 
 mer." She smiled, as if amused. "He tried to git me to 
 study it. Lordy! it was awful! He axed me the names 
 of the letters several times when I was here, but he soon 
 let me alone. I reckon I'm a hard nut to crack. Book- 
 
 48 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 learnin' is for folks that kin lie around idle, but I hain't 
 got time. I have to work." 
 
 "What sort of work do you do?" he inquired, half 
 amused. 
 
 "I work in the garden-patch," she said. "We got ten 
 acres fer our own use around our cabin. I hoe, spade up 
 ground, cut sprouts, grub, drap seed-corn an' cotton. I 
 milk the cow, an' drive 'er up from the pasture. I go to 
 the strip o' woods back o' the cabin an' chop up old trees 
 fer the fireplace. I split kindlin', an' tote it an' the wood 
 home. I churn an' make butter. I feed the chickens an' 
 look after the hens' nests to keep 'em from settin' an' 
 sp'ilin' the eggs. I take produce to the store an' git 
 barter or cash fer it. Lordy! I've got enough to do. 
 Huh! I reckon I have!" 
 
 "Still, you ought to learn to read and write," he con 
 tended. "You have as much right to an education as 
 as, well, my own sister, for instance. Have you ever seen 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes, twice." The girl now showed more animation. 
 She leaned on the table, her red lips parting over fine 
 white teeth, deep dimples showing in her cheeks. "She 
 was here last summer, but she didn't seem to have much 
 of a good time. No beaus round here rich enough fer 
 'er, I reckon. I never seed 'er except when she was out 
 walkin' with Mr. Crofton. They stopped at the cabin 
 one day, an' she peeked in like she took it fer a hen 
 house or a chicken-coop. I listened at a crack as they 
 walked off, an' heard her laughin' an' titterin' an* sayin' 
 some'n to yore uncle. I don't know what she was talkin' 
 about, an' I don't care. I know I didn't like 'er a bit." 
 
 "Oh, you didn't?" he laughed. "Did she say any 
 thing objectionable ?" 
 
 "I don't know jest what you mean. She looked like 
 she was afeard sh'd dirty 'er fine white dress, an' she had 
 a funny sort o' tilt to 'er nose like she was smellm' some'n 
 4 49 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 she couldn't stomach. She tried to poke fun at me in 
 'er high an' mighty way. She axed me ef I knowed I was 
 pretty, an* looked all about the cabin an' said, 'La! 
 you hain't got no lookin'-glass ! Maybe you hain't never 
 got a good look at yorese'f.' Ef Mr. Crofton hadn't been 
 close by I'd 'a' give 'er a piece o' my mind, so I would 
 comin' thar in 'er fine town duds, makin' fun o' me in 
 my rags." 
 
 Carter had risen and now stood close to the girl. "You 
 must not be unfair to her," he said, firmly. "Sis is cold 
 and stiff on a first meeting, but really she was not making 
 fun. You are pretty, Lydia there is no getting around 
 that fact. You are very, very pretty. Really, I don't 
 know of a girl in Atlanta who has half your good looks." 
 
 "You are pokin' fun, too," she said, with a little sus 
 picious toss of the head. "I know how I look. Thar's 
 plenty o' lookin'-glasses in this house, ef we hain't got 
 none at home, an* I've had to clean 'em often enough, 
 an* seed myself at it. They say fine feathers make fine 
 birds, an' I hain't had nothin 1 but rags on since I kin 
 remember." 
 
 "It is not really the clothes, in your case," he said, 
 admiringly. "You are simply stunning without adorn 
 ment. But to come back to that primer uncle gave 
 you. Promise me that you will study the letters when 
 you go home, and the next time you come here I'll see 
 how well you know them. Will you do it?" 
 
 She avoided his ardent gaze. There was something 
 exquisite about her profile, the curves of her pink lips, 
 and the long heavy lashes which fell over her dark, 
 somnolent eyes and lay lightly against her glowing skin. 
 She made no response and he repeated his question. 
 Emboldened by he knew not what, he bent down over 
 her and, with his hand tinder her firm chin, he forced her 
 to look at him. 
 
 "Will you promise?" he asked. 
 
 50 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ' ' Why do you want me to ? " She pushed his hand away, 
 but not angrily. 
 
 "Because I am asking you as a friend a new friend 
 who wishes well by you, Lydia. You seem not to approve 
 of town people, judging by your impression of my sister. 
 Do you dislike me?" 
 
 She hesitated. She was looking straight at him now. 
 He saw a charming flush creep up her pulsing neck, fill 
 her cheeks, and mount to her eyes. 
 
 "Huh! that's different!" she said, evasively. "She's 
 a woman, an' she's stuck up. She can't hide it. Sugar 
 wouldn't melt in 'er mouth." 
 
 "Well, we'll leave sis out of it," he said, taking the 
 little rough hand and holding it in his own, feeling the 
 warm fingers throb. "'This is just between you and me, 
 Lydia. I want you to study those letters. If I can 
 teach you to read a little this summer while I am here 
 you will thank me all the rest of your life." 
 
 "Do you really want me to do it?" Unconsciously she 
 pressed his fingers, and then quickly drew her hand away 
 as if suddenly aware of the impulse she had obeyed. 
 
 "Yes, I'm in earnest," he answered, "very, very much 
 in earnest." 
 
 Again she averted her face. She seemed to be strug 
 gling with an odd sort of pride which he could not com 
 prehend. Suddenly she sighed deeply, turned to him 
 and said: 
 
 "All right, I'll try. You'll find out that I'm a regular 
 blockhead, but I'll do the best I kin. It will be a hard 
 job. I hate the sight of a book, but I'll tackle them 
 letters." 
 
 "Then it's a bargain," he said, warmly, and, taking 
 her hand again, he pressed it firmly. He wanted to kiss 
 it he wanted to put his arm about her, but refrained. 
 
 He left her at her work and went for a walk along the 
 mountain road. His blood was tingling in his veins. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Something new and strange had happened to him. His 
 body seemed charged with fresh energy, and he fairly 
 bounded along the road. He tried to think of his epic, 
 as had been his habit on such walks, but not a line of it 
 came to his mind. He could think only of Lydia of her 
 face, her eyes, her form, her musical voice, her throbbing 
 hand. Could he be in love? Had the divine passion at 
 last kindled in his veins? And why not? Had any true 
 poet ever been restrained by the condition in which he 
 found his love? He thought of the great Rousseau and 
 his unlettered mistress, and how the two had sat together 
 till far into the night, blissfully happy. 
 
 He curtailed his walk, returning home at least an hour 
 earlier than usual. With unconscious stealth of eye and 
 movement he took in the various rooms, only to find that 
 Lydia was no longer about the house. He fancied, and it 
 came with a little shock of disappointment, that she had 
 already finished her work and gone home. Meeting her 
 mother in the hallway, he started impulsively to inquire 
 about the girl, but a lurking intuition checked him, and 
 he passed on without speaking. He went into the library 
 and picked up a book, only to lay it down. He had 
 loved it once, but now it was a cold, unresponsive thing. 
 Then he bethought himself of the side porch, and the 
 view from it of the field and meadow lying between the 
 house and the cabin occupied by Mrs. Romley, and, 
 stepping through the window upon the porch, he was re 
 warded by a sight of the girl as she slowly trudged home 
 ward along a meadow path. How erectly she walked, and 
 with what natural ease and grace! The sunlight fell on 
 the rich, long hair which hung down beneath the simple 
 straw hat. Oh, she was beautiful beautiful! Beautiful 
 of body and pure of soul! She was a revelation to him, 
 he declared the incarnation of an intangible personality 
 dropped from the infinite. He fairly held his breath as 
 he watched her moving in and out among the bushes till 
 
 52 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 she vanished. Duty called him to his work in the library, 
 but now it was all but repugnant to him. His whole 
 young being was aflame with fires, the warmth of which 
 he was feeling for the first time. Stepping out on the 
 lawn, he threw himself down on the grass and buried 
 his hot face in the cool blades. 
 
 "Wonderful, wonderful!" he exulted. "I'm in love, 
 in love actually in love!" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 HE was returning from one of his long walks on the 
 mountain road one morning when he saw, approaching 
 from behind, a sleek, richly harnessed pair of black horses, 
 drawing a fine carriage which, besides the negro driver 
 on the seat in front, held only a single occupant. He had 
 concluded that it was some one unknown to him and was 
 walking on, when he suddenly heard his name called 
 out merrily. 
 
 "Hello! Well here you are, you dreamy star-gazer!" 
 Turning, he recognized the speaker as Charles Farn- 
 ham, his most intimate friend, and his father's associate 
 in the new railroad which Farnham was promoting. 
 
 "Hello!" he returned, quite pleased by the encounter. 
 "What are you doing up here so far above sea-level? 
 You are not trying to get a right-of-way through here, 
 are you?" 
 
 "Hardly, but I did hope to see you while I was up this 
 way. I had to go to Benton on railroad business, and 
 am now on my way to your uncle's to see you. Say, do 
 you want to ride, or shall we walk down this slope? I'm 
 fairly stiff from sitting so long." 
 
 "Let's walk," Carter said. "It's fine along here." 
 "I might know you'd say that, you peripatetic poet. 
 Drive on, Luke, and wait for us at the bottom," said Farn 
 ham, who was tall, about thirty years of age, well built, 
 and richly dressed. He descended to the ground, clasping 
 Carter's hand as he did so. The driver started his horses 
 down the slope and the two friends fell in leisurely behind. 
 
 54 
 
THE INNER I,AW 
 
 "Yes, I wanted to see you." Farnham's blue eyes 
 twinkled with interest, and he put his ringed hand fa 
 miliarly on Carter's shoulder. " I often laugh when I think 
 about you and me. I don't mean to underrate you at all, 
 but there is almost ten years difference in our ages, I 
 know I was a mere boy in experience at your age, but here 
 I am to-day, while handling men of big capital of fifty 
 and sixty years of age in New York, Boston, and Philadel 
 phia here I am coming to you, young as you are, as 
 actually the most important man of all my business 
 associates." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" Carter asked, perplexed 
 over the evident sincerity of his friend's tone. 
 
 "Well, I mean that the investment your father made 
 in my railroad is a big enough slice of the whole thing to 
 make any man important in my eyes at least. Money 
 goes a long way with me, I confess." 
 
 "Well, what has that to do with me?" Carter asked. 
 
 "I see it is as I suspected," Farnham went on, still 
 smiling. "He hasn't told you about it, and I have a 
 surprise for you. Do you know, my boy, that he means 
 this railroad stock to go to you?" 
 
 "I did not," Carter returned. "He seldom speaks to 
 me of his business." 
 
 "Well, he has to me," Farnham replied. "He talks 
 more freely to me, I think, than to any one else. What 
 do you think of this? He made out his will in my office 
 the other day. In fact, I was a witness to his signature. 
 By George ! it took me off my feet ! I hadn't the least idea 
 he was worth what he is. But the thing that pleased 
 me most of all was that he is leaving you the entire in 
 terest in my railroad over and above your equal share 
 with your brother and sister in the remainder of the 
 estate. I'm going to tell you something, and I'm saying 
 it without any ax to grind in the matter, for your father's 
 money is paid in already, and I have nothing to gain one 
 
 55 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 way or the other. We are friends, and I glory in your 
 good luck, so I'm going to give you some inside, confiden 
 tial news. My plans have worked out better than I could 
 have hoped at the start. Your railroad stock is already 
 worth two for one in the eyes of any man who knows 
 what a safe investment is." 
 
 "Is it possible?" Carter exclaimed in slow surprise. 
 
 "Not only that, my boy" Farnham was smiling and 
 stroking his yellow mustache "but even greater things 
 still are in the wind in our favor. I've said nothing about 
 this even to your father. The truth is, he talks too freely 
 of late about his private matters, and I don't want any 
 one to know this yet. He is overworking and needs a 
 rest badly, so I say I have not confided in him; but I 
 will tell you. In fact, I feel now that you are the chief one 
 for me to consult in the matter as the largest stockholder 
 next to myself in the company. The other thing in the 
 wind is this: The W. L. & S. road went into the hands of 
 a receiver the other day. It is in a terrible condition, and 
 there are no ready funds behind it. Now, the A. S. & C., 
 the main trunk line from St. Louis to Savannah, you 
 know, need a short cut through these mountains, and 
 have their eye on the W. L. & S. property; but it is tied 
 up awfully and cannot be sold outright. Only the re 
 mainder of a ninety-nine - year lease is for sale, and 
 the A. S. & C. want to actually own their line from end 
 to end." 
 
 "I see," Carter said; "and you think" 
 
 "I am sure they will have to buy us out, or take us in 
 with them almost at our own valuation. Their directors 
 are to meet ours in Atlanta early next month, and then 
 something will be done. Shall you be home then?" 
 
 "I hardly know," Carter said. "I want to finish some 
 work here. What you say is very interesting, but I'm 
 afraid I'm not really a business man at heart. I've chosen 
 this profession, you see, and I want to make the best of 
 
 56 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 it. To be frank, business and social affairs seem to up 
 set me. Since I've been out here with my uncle I have 
 felt more like doing good work than ever before/' 
 
 "I see," Farnham nodded, sympathetically, "and you 
 may be right. Do you know, my boy, that you are actual 
 ly the most fortunate chap I ever met? People all over 
 the State are talking about you. If you don't have an 
 ideal life it will be your own fault. Your dream has al 
 ways been to live in Europe, you say. Well, you can do 
 it. You won't have to think of where the money is com 
 ing from, and your writing and reading will keep your 
 mind occupied. By George! you are fortunate! I 
 couldn't possibly imagine a more lucky man. You are 
 young and good-looking; you have health, strength, and 
 brains; women will adore you; you will be the pet of 
 every drawing-room. Your talent and standing will ad 
 mit you to the very cream of society in Europe as well 
 as America." 
 
 "You are rubbing it on," Carter said, with a flush he 
 tried to subdue. "I have done nothing worth while so 
 far. I've yet to prove myself, and I am going to pin 
 down to work. I may stay here till winter. It all de 
 pends on the progress I make. I am doing a lot of help 
 ful reading and making plenty of notes for future use." 
 
 "Well, I'll not bother you with the business end often," 
 Farnham smiled. "We've been good friends, and it 
 pleases me somehow to know that a scheme born in my 
 brain is to benefit you so substantially. Money-making 
 is my ambition, and poetry is yours. I'll swear we are 
 an oddly yoked pair. I believe we are both going to 
 win, and win big." 
 
 Carter laughed. "I know you are, anyway," he said. 
 "And if I fail it won't be for lack of application and hard 
 work." 
 
 They had reached the foot of the slope, and half a mile 
 away saw the roof of the farm-house. Farnham caught 
 
 57 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the driver's backward glance and motioned him to drive 
 on. Presently they came to the cabin occupied by Mrs. 
 Romley and her daughter, and in front of it, in a little 
 garden-patch, with a hoe in her hands, stood Lydia. 
 Carter's heart bounded at the sight of her, but, fearing 
 that his friend might read his thoughts, he refrained 
 from looking at her. 
 
 "I see a well there," Farnham said. "I'm dying for 
 some water. I suppose that young woman there would 
 give us a drink." 
 
 "Yes," Carter answered, hesitatingly; "it is on my 
 uncle's property. The mother of this girl is his house 
 keeper." 
 
 * ' Oh, I see, ' ' said Farnham. ' ' Well, suppose you ask her. ' ' 
 
 "I'll draw it myself," Carter answered. 
 
 There was no fence between them and the cabin. It 
 was a crude, one-room affair made of rough pine poles 
 with the bark on them. It had a chimney formed of 
 logs at the base and a pen of clay and sticks at the top. 
 
 As they drew near her, Lydia turned, and for the first 
 time saw them. Her sunbonnet was pushed well back 
 upon her head, exposing her face, which had suddenly 
 flushed crimson. 
 
 "We want some water," Carter said. "Don't bother; 
 we'll draw it." 
 
 She made no answer, and Carter passed on to the well, 
 noticing that Farnham, who was almost reluctantly fol 
 lowing him, had his eyes fixed on Lydia. While Carter 
 was drawing the water from the well, Farnham stood 
 watching the girl with undisguised admiration. The 
 bucket was up, and Carter had rested it on the stone 
 curb, and was looking about for a dipper, when Lydia 
 went hastily into the cabin and came out with a goblet, 
 which she placed by the bucket. 
 
 "Won't you have some?" Farnham tipped his hat, 
 smiled, and started to fill the glass. 
 
 58 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "No, I don't want none," she said; and she turned 
 back into the cabin, where she remained out of sight. 
 
 Farnham drank, but Carter declined. He felt an un 
 easy desire to get away from the spot to prevent this 
 man of the world from broaching a subject which he felt 
 intuitively would be broached. He knew the man in 
 timately, and felt that there were certain ideals concerning 
 womankind to which he could never rise. Farnham's 
 bold and even amorous stare at Lydia had offended him; 
 his pausing now when there was no excuse for lingering 
 was also annoying. 
 
 "I think I'll leave the glass at the door," Farnham said, 
 with a significant smile. "I'd like to thank that little 
 witch." 
 
 " Leave it where it is," Carter replied, coldly. " Let's go 
 on. You've got to stay for dinner, and rest your horses." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I'll stay. I want to chat with your uncle. 
 I can drive on in the cool part of the afternoon." 
 
 Carter saw him glance back at the cabin several times 
 as they walked along the road. Presently Farnham ex 
 haled a deep breath. "By George!" he exclaimed. 
 "That is by long odds the most luscious little trick I ever 
 laid eyes on. She'd turn the hearts of kings, alter the 
 fate of nations, with those eyes and that pouting mouth, 
 and you say her mother is a working-woman. You can 
 see from her speech that she is of the lowest class herself. 
 ' No, I don't want none !' How could such an expression 
 as that come from such matchless lips as hers?" 
 
 "She is hardly more than a child," Carter said, still 
 coldly. "She has had no chances. She can't I under 
 stand from my uncle that she can't read or write. She 
 has had no chances. Her father's dead and her mother 
 doesn't seem to bother about her education." 
 
 Farnham nodded. He was covertly watching his 
 friend's profile and suppressed a shrewd smile. " Do you 
 happen to know what her name is?" he asked. 
 
 59 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Romley. That's her mother's name." 
 
 "Ah, I see." Farnham spelled, " R-a-m-1-e-i-g-h. That 
 accounts for her beauty. I've read somewhere, and I've 
 observed it myself, that many of these scrub mountain 
 people are direct descendants of the bluest blood of Eng 
 land. This girl's name, no doubt, was originally Ram- 
 leigh. For all we know she may be a physical reproduc 
 tion of some far-off earl's daughter with royal blood in 
 her veins, and grace and beauty in every limb and fea 
 ture. And her fate, my Lord! her fate!" 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" Carter demanded, almost 
 sharply. 
 
 Farnham swept the face of his friend with his pene 
 trating and still cautious glance. "Why, it will be hard 
 for her anyway it turns out. Two things can happen to 
 her, and both will be deplorable enough, if one is silly 
 enough to look at it sentimentally. She will either marry 
 some rustic, tobacco-spitting lout who will make a slave 
 of her, load her down with screaming babies and hard 
 work, or the other thing will take place. By the way, 
 the last is most likely." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," Carter answered, con 
 siderably nettled. He was becoming angry, and yet was 
 ashamed to betray it to this man of varied experience, 
 who, in a certain sense, had a right to his opinion. 
 
 "Oh no, you don't know what I mean, of course." 
 Farnham now allowed himself to laugh sarcastically. 
 "I've lived in these mountains myself, and I know what 
 the average sons of well-to-do planters are like. The fact 
 that this girl has no father, that her mother is a woman 
 who will leave such a daughter unprotected here all day, 
 is enough to prove my point. The inevitable will have 
 to happen, and that very soon. The girl is only human, 
 and, judging from that tempting mouth of hers and that 
 wonderful development of body, she is a natural, pas 
 sionate woman." 
 
 60 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Carter drew back coldly. He was still angry and try 
 ing to hide it. "You know I do not agree with you on 
 these lines, Farnham," he said. "I believe in the innate 
 virtue of women, high or low." 
 
 "I know you do." Farnham smiled, and laid his hand 
 caressingly on Carter's shoulder. "That is the poet in 
 you. You are still a boy, and a remarkably pure-minded 
 one. I don't want you to be like me really I don't. 
 I'm having my fling, but I sha'n't always keep it up. 
 One of these days I'll settle down. I'll marry the right 
 sort of woman and make as good a husband and father as 
 the average man. You will have your fling, too. Who 
 ever heard of a poet that didn't? Oh yes, you will wake 
 up one of these days and smile as you look back on your 
 present rather callow frame of mind. You couldn't be 
 a Crofton and act otherwise. I'll give you another twelve 
 months. No, I won't, either" here Farnham glanced 
 back at the cabin and softly laughed "if you spend the 
 summer here I'll be your Father Confessor in the fall." 
 
 Carter frowned and the flush in his face deepened. 
 "The trouble with you is that you have a foul mind," 
 he said, sharply. "You may not know it, but you have." 
 
 Farnham again laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. 
 "Pardon me, my boy," he said. "You are too young 
 and full of dreams now to understand what I mean, but 
 you will later. I may be wrong, but I really think the 
 Puritanical ideas in this so-called land of the free are 
 robbing our men of all personal liberty. Frankly, it 
 would be impossible to meet in all Europe a rich young 
 poet of aristocratic birth with the flabby sexual ideas of a 
 mountain Methodist parson. I have never had patience 
 with such views. I have mixed red-blooded, normal pleas 
 ure with every bit of success I've had. I closed a big land 
 deal once with a man whose stunning, daredevil wife and 
 I Oh, but never mind. I don't want to shock you. 
 You are a boy yet you really are." 
 
 61 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 They were nearing the farm-house now, and saw 
 Thomas Crofton coming to the gate to meet them. 
 
 "Ask that old chap to tell you some of his college ex 
 periences," Farnham chuckled. "I've heard my father 
 say he was the wildest young buck he ever knew. He 
 talks like a saint now, but he certainly was on the turf 
 at one time. Well, King David, who gave us many of the 
 Psalms, was worse than I ever was. The great Solomon 
 was the result of conduct that would deprive a man of 
 club membership in any country to-day." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A MONTH passed. There was only one thing which 
 /"Y. stood between Carter Crofton and peace and content 
 ment, and that was his unexpected inability to do actual 
 productive work. Periodical spells of moroseness attacked 
 him, and he was constantly haunted by the fear that his 
 muse had permanently deserted him. There had been only 
 one palliative to these miserable moments, and that was 
 his frequent, almost daily, visits to Lydia's cabin and the 
 helpful lessons he had given her in reading and writing. 
 He had not actually wondered over the fact that these visits 
 had been clandestine, though he remembered the relief and 
 satisfaction he had experienced when she had somewhat 
 reluctantly complied with his adroit request not to inform 
 her mother of his coming. It pleased his fancy to feel 
 that they had such a sweet secret between them. Whose 
 business was it but their own, anyway? he often asked 
 himself, and so he never went to the cabin without being 
 sure that his uncle was away and that Mrs. Romley was 
 occupied with her duties at the farm-house. Lydia had 
 grown more beautiful mentally and physically, and she 
 was learning rapidly. He believed, in a certain way, 
 that his feeling for her was love of the highest type, and 
 yet, somehow, he had never quite thought of her as his 
 future wife. That vaguely seemed out of the question, 
 a desired thing not to be realized. It could not be, and 
 yet he told himself that he had every natural right to 
 love her as he did, and even to rejoice in her love; and 
 she loved him; he was sure of that. She had shown it in 
 
 63 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 many ways. That fact had given him joy unspeakable, 
 and the strangest thing in it all was that he had never 
 allowed himself to look ahead to the time when their in 
 evitable separation would bring unhappiness to them 
 both, to her more than to himself, for whom the attrac 
 tions and triumphs of the great outside world were wait 
 ing. He took the thought of her with him in all his 
 mountain rambles; she was in his mind when he went to 
 sleep at night. She haunted his dreams. Her childlike de 
 pendence on him was inexpressibly sweet. Her profound 
 ignorance of the ways of the world at large, her soft, crude 
 speech, were full of charm to him, and he delighted in tell 
 ing her of what he had seen, heard, and read. She was 
 to be the chief sylvan figure in the great poem he was to 
 write before long. 
 
 There was something pitiful in her effort to make her 
 self attractive in her poor rags and the few soiled ribbons 
 she possessed. One day he found her wearing a pair of 
 new shoes which her mother had bought at the country 
 store. They were heavy, clumsy in appearance, and ill- 
 fitting, and yet he saw that she was pleased to have them. 
 He thought of the beautiful garments, only slightly worn, 
 which he had seen his sister sell to the negroes of the 
 neighborhood, and how they would become the poor girl, 
 and yet he never spoke to Lydia of her clothes, telling 
 himself that his flower of the forest was beautiful enough 
 as he had found her. 
 
 One afternoon he went through the woods that he might 
 not be seen by any one on the road, and crept up close to 
 the front of the cabin without being noticed by her. She 
 was seated on the door-step, studying the book he had 
 brought her on his last visit. For several minutes he 
 stood hidden in the little thicket, feasting his eyes upon 
 her. Then something happened which filled him with 
 joy. She suddenly put down the book on the step and, 
 standing up, stared anxiously along the road toward the 
 
 64 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 farm-house. He held his breath in the sheer delight of 
 the moment, for he heard her sighing. 
 
 "She thinks I'm not coming to-day," he chuckled, "the 
 dear, dear girl!" 
 
 Then he moved around through the bushes so softly 
 that she was unaware of his nearness, and managed to 
 hide himself from her view behind a tall ash-hopper close 
 to the wall of the cabin. He heard her sigh again, and 
 then she turned back and went into the cabin. He heard 
 her move about over the rough floor, and soon she came 
 out with her arms full of clothes to be washed. There 
 was a big tub on a bench near the well, and into it she 
 put the things, pressing them down, firmly. Then she 
 turned to the windlass and began to lower the bucket 
 into the well. She was drawing it up when he suddenly 
 ran up from behind. 
 
 "Booh!" he cried, playfully. "You pretty little thief! 
 What do you mean by stealing my water?" 
 
 She was so startled that she released the handle of the 
 windlass and with a whir of the rope the bucket fell back 
 into the well. Her color ran high, enhancing her beauty, 
 as it always did in his eyes. She gave him a shy, warm 
 look of delight, and then, grasping the windlass, she 
 started to wind the rope up. 
 
 "Let me," he cried, catching hold of it, his hands 
 touching hers. 
 
 "No, no," she said, firmly, still holding the handle. 
 "Yousha'n't!" 
 
 "I sha'n't?" he laughed. "Who are you ordering 
 about, you beautiful young siren? Let go or I'll kiss you. 
 I swear I will." 
 
 "You won't you won't dare to!" she answered. 
 
 "I'll show you, if you don't let go," he said, pale with 
 passion. For a moment their eyes met, and then she 
 released the handle of the windlass and stood aside, her 
 beautiful lips pulsing and twitching, her wonderful eyes 
 
 5 6S 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 full of the flames he liked to see and trace to their source. 
 He drew up the water, laughing triumphantly as he did 
 so. "Now where shall I pour it?" he asked. 
 
 ' ' In the tub, " she said. * ' The clothes have got to soak. ' ' 
 
 He emptied the bucket and drew it up full several 
 times, with boyish pride in showing that he could do 
 manual labor when it was necessary. 
 
 "That's enough," she said, presently. "Look how 
 you've splattered yore clothes. You are soakin' wet." 
 
 * ' It doesn't matter, ' ' he answered. He noticed the book 
 she had left on the step, and, pointing at it playfully, he 
 said, "Get that book and let me hear you read the first 
 chapter." 
 
 "I won't do it," she said, firmly, a rebellious expression 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Why won't you?" 
 
 "Because you'll laugh as you did t'other day." 
 
 "No, I won't; on my honor I won't. Get the book." 
 
 "I hain't the time," she said. "I've got my work to 
 do. I've got to make a fire under the pot to boil some o' 
 the clothes." She glanced at the three-legged iron vessel 
 which, raised on flat stones, stood near the tub. 
 
 "Then I'll make the fire," he said. "I've got some 
 matches. I can soon start one. I'm a good hand at 
 fire-building. I was at a camp last summer up in Maine 
 with some Boston fellows. We learned all about wood 
 craft. I started a fire once with only some dry leaves 
 and a sun-glass. Wise as you are, you little minx, I'll 
 bet you've never seen that done. But a match will have 
 to do to-day. Get me a piece of paper." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "Huh!" she 
 ejaculated. "We don't need no match or paper. I'll 
 bring a shovelful o' coals from the chimney and some o' 
 the dry kindlin'-wood on the hearth." 
 
 "I see," he said, crestfallen. "Of course that will save 
 time." 
 
 66 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 She turned into the cabin, and he followed her. She 
 took up the iron shovel and filled it with live coals. 
 
 "Let me," he said. 
 
 "No; you'll drop 'em on the floor," she protested. "I 
 know how to do it better'n you do. A body has to tote 
 'em powerful steady." 
 
 "Then I'll bring some kindling," he said, and he picked 
 up several pieces of the rich pine sticks which lay in the 
 chimney-corner. 
 
 She carried the coals out and put them under the pot 
 and allowed him to lay the pine upon them. She turned 
 back to the windlass. 
 
 "Now what are you going to do?" he asked. 
 
 "Draw up some water and fill the pot," she answered, 
 beginning to lower the bucket. 
 
 "Let me!" he cried, catching hold of the handle, his 
 hands against hers. 
 
 "No; git away it 11 fly back an' hit you," she warned 
 him. 
 
 "Let loose, Lydia," he demanded, his face close to hers. 
 "Let loose or I'll kiss you." 
 
 Their eyes met, each could feel the heat of the other's 
 face. She had given in and stood aside before, but some 
 thing prevented it now something she could not have 
 fathomed. She held on tightly. His face changed. If 
 he could have seen his reflection in a glass at that instant 
 he would have thought he resembled his brother Henry 
 more than ever before. His veins rose; his lips were 
 full and quivering. He was panting. He was aflame 
 from head to foot. His neck was crimson and seemed 
 too large for his collar. 
 
 "I've given you fair warning," he said, almost fiercely, 
 and swallowing as he spoke. "I'm going to count three, 
 and if you don't let go I'll kiss you on those maddening 
 lips of yours or die trying. One, two, three!" 
 
 Lowering her head, she clutched the handle defiantly. 
 
 6? 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 With a grunt, half threat, half triumph, he put his arms 
 around her, drew her away from the windlass, and they 
 wrestled to and fro for a moment. Finally she ceased to 
 struggle, and, forcing her head back on his left shoulder, 
 he kissed her half a dozen times on the mouth. She made 
 no protest now. In fact, she almost smiled into his eyes 
 as she closed her own. Out of breath, he was about to 
 release her, when he thought of something else. 
 
 "Put your arm around my neck, you little devil! you 
 angel!" he demanded. She hesitated, and then slowly 
 obeyed. " Now, kiss me yourself!" he muttered, his voice 
 far down in his throat. "Again! again! again! There." 
 
 He released her. "Now I guess you'll let me draw 
 the water." 
 
 With her head down, her fine hair tousled and veiling 
 her flushed, contented face, she stood and let him fill the 
 pot. The sun was almost behind the hills. The shadows 
 were lengthening eastward. The air was growing cooler. 
 Suddenly she started into the cabin. 
 
 "Where are you going now?" he questioned. 
 
 "To get the clothes and sheets to boil." 
 
 "Oh, I see." He stood quivering all over. He saw 
 her disappear within. He heard her tread on the creaking 
 floor. He followed to the door and looked in. She was 
 standing near the great snowy bed, and, seeing his shadow 
 on the floor, she faced him. They looked at each other 
 mutely and steadily for a moment. He was advancing 
 when she said, sharply, and in a tone of alarm: 
 
 "Don't come in here." 
 
 "Why?" he asked, huskily. "Why, Lydia?" 
 
 "Because I say you mustn't that's why." 
 
 "But you know you can't order me about," he laughed, 
 hoarsely. "You've tried that and failed, you know. 
 You've got to kiss me again just once, darling, and then 
 I'll go home. I will I swear I will.' 
 
 *' Don't come in here don't!" she repeated, shrinking 
 
 68 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 back against the wall. "You mustn't Carter, you 
 mustn't!" She had never spoken his Christian name 
 before. Its startled utterance now was like a cry for 
 mercy. 
 
 "Humph! how silly you are!" He strode across the 
 threshold, and as she ran into a corner of the cabin he 
 followed and took her into his arms. She pushed him 
 from her desperately, pleadingly, several times, and then, 
 out of breath, and overpowered by his strength, she let 
 him hold her close to him and kiss her on the mouth. 
 
 An hour later he came out of the cabin alone. The sun 
 was down. The soft gray fringe of night lay over the 
 hills and mountains. The sticks had burned down under 
 the pot. Without looking behind him, he strode quickly 
 toward the thicket in front of the cabin. Once there, he 
 paused and glanced back, but Lydia was not in sight. 
 His hair was tousled, his necktie disarranged, his collar 
 crumpled. 
 
 "My God! what have I done!" he cried. "Oh, my 
 God! my God! my God!" 
 
 He sank down on the grass, buried his face in his hands, 
 and uttered a low groan. "What have I done? Oh, 
 what have I done? I'm a fiend, a devil the fire of hell 
 was in me. She was as helpless as a sparrow in the 
 hand of a giant. My God! I'm like Henry and all the 
 rest." 
 
 Presently he got up and peered through the bushes. 
 He saw Lydia emerge from the cabin and walk slowly and 
 disconsolately to the well, a pail in her hand. She averted 
 her face and wiped her eyes. She was crying. 
 
 "Oh, I love her I love her!" he cried, "and yet I've 
 wrecked her sweet young life. Oh, my God! something 
 must be done! I'll not forsake her." He felt actually 
 weak; his knees shook as he made his way over the fallen 
 leaves and twigs out into the road. Ahead of him he saw 
 
 69 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 a man with bowed head walking in the direction he was 
 going. He checked his steps that the man might go on, 
 but the man kept stopping and looking back. Then he 
 noticed that the pedestrian had turned and was coming 
 toward him. It was Thomas Crofton. Carter was 
 tempted to step into the wood at the side of the road, that 
 he might not be seen, but he feared that he had already 
 been recognized. In a moment they met. 
 
 "I was looking for you," the elder said. "You are 
 later than usual." 
 
 Carter's eyes flickered. He glanced toward the moun 
 tain road, now only dimly outlined in the dusk. "I 
 walked a little too far to-day," he said, evasively. 
 
 ' 'You mean that that you've you've just come down 
 from the mountain?" 
 
 "Yes; I go there nearly every day. I can't always 
 keep track of the time when I am preoccupied. I I get 
 to thinking over my work and almost forget that I own 
 a body that has to be properly fed." 
 
 "I see." Thomas was looking at the disordered tie 
 and collar and the crumpled coat. A great fear seemed 
 to lie in his grave eyes as he turned homeward and trudged 
 along by his silent nephew. 
 
 They were at the gate when Carter suddenly remarked, 
 "You said, I think, that you started out to meet me. 
 Was it anything of importance?" 
 
 " Oh, I forgot I entirely forgot !" the old man answered, 
 with a start. "I did want to see you at once. About 
 two hours ago a telegram came from Milly. She says 
 your father is not well. Henry is away and she is all 
 alone. It seems that your father has had a sort of nervous 
 breakdown. He keeps asking for you, and your sister 
 thinks you ought to come home, for a few days, any 
 way." 
 
 Carter stepped forward to open the gate. "What do 
 you think? Would you advise my going?" 
 
 70 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Yes, you'd better go. You have plenty of time to 
 pack your things and catch the ten-o'clock train in the 
 morning. Yes, yes, you'd as well go." 
 
 "Are you keeping back anything from me?" the young 
 man asked as they went up the steps together. "Is my 
 father seriously ill?" 
 
 " Not as yet," Thomas returned; " but your sister needs 
 you. I have no right to detain you here any longer just 
 now." 
 
 After supper was over the old man went out on the 
 lawn with his cigar. His nephew had always joined him 
 before, but he failed to do so to-night. 
 
 "He is packing his things that must be it," Thomas 
 mused. He walked around to the side of the house whence 
 he could see the window of his nephew's chamber. It 
 was lighted. The old man paced restlessly back and 
 forth on the dewy sward. The fire of his cigar went out. 
 He locked his hands behind him. 
 
 "He was there alone with her!" he said, with a groan. 
 "There is no doubt of that, for I saw him leave, but I 
 will not believe the worst I simply won't; I can't! It 
 may have been only for a short while. I'll swear he was 
 pure at breakfast. No one could have spoken as he did 
 about his plans and work and be otherwise. His father's 
 illness may be providential. God has sent it to remove 
 him in the nick of time. No, I won't believe it I won't, 
 I won't ! It is the old evil in me that makes me suspect 
 him. This may have been his first visit, and he may 
 have had a good reason for going. But, my God! the 
 look of him ! And he lied he surely lied about his walk. 
 Yes, yes, he lied!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 MILICENT met her brother the next day at noon at 
 the depot in the city. He saw her in the throng of 
 persons waiting at the iron gate leading to the street. 
 Her face had a worn, distraught look as she kissed him in 
 her usual perfunctory way and drew him toward the wait 
 ing-room. 
 
 "Larkin drove me down; the carriage is outside. I 
 wanted to speak to you privately, and couldn't wait for 
 you to get up home. Oh, I was so afraid you'd miss this 
 train!" 
 
 "Then father is critically ill?" he said. 
 
 "No, it isn't that," she answered. "He is up and 
 about; but" 
 
 "Ah, then it is Henry!" he cried, impatiently and with 
 a touch of anger. "The rascal must be in fresh trouble?" 
 
 She gave a little negative shake to her head, which he 
 failed to see, and remained silent. He saw Larkin, whip 
 in hand, outside, and he led Milicent toward him. In a 
 moment they were in the vehicle, the negro had closed the 
 door, climbed up to the front seat, and they were bowling 
 swiftly homeward through the busy, dusty street. He 
 thought he understood now. Henry had at last got into 
 really serious trouble. The telegram had been so worded 
 as to mislead any one who might happen to read it. 
 Perhaps he was under arrest, charged with some grave 
 offense. But he couldn't be angry at his brother now, for 
 was he not quite as bad? After all, could Henry have 
 ever committed a more despicable act than the one with 
 
 72 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 which his whole being had just been stained? Poor, igno 
 rant Lydia! He had wrung hope and purity out of her 
 fair life and left her without a word of explanation. Some 
 thing must be done, but what? That was the question 
 which had robbed him of tranquillity and caused him to 
 toss and writhe on his bed in sheer agony of remorse 
 through the entire previous night. 
 
 "So it is not father, after all," he said, catching his 
 sister's perturbed upward glance. "Then it is Henry. 
 What has he done now?" 
 
 " It is father," she answered. " I said he was not down 
 in bed; but it is even worse than that; he has lost his 
 mind." 
 
 "Lost his mind? Ridiculous! Why " Carter broke 
 off, checked by the girl's despondent face and eyes. 
 
 "Dr. Lloyd says it is softening of the brain," she went 
 on, more calmly. "There is no hope of ultimate recov 
 ery absolutely none. This is the first attack. Later, 
 they say he will lose vitality and be easier to control. 
 Now he wants his own way, and it is awful simply 
 awful. At times he loses the use of his tongue and doesn't 
 know he is speaking indistinctly. He stammers out 
 questions and gives fierce orders, and when we don't 
 understand he goes into a frightful rage. The doctor 
 sent a strong nurse a man by the name of Perry to 
 stay with him ; but the sight of the fellow infuriates him. 
 He keeps asking for you, and cries like a baby over not 
 seeing you. He says you are the only one who is not 
 against him." 
 
 "But how did it first come on?" Carter was trying to 
 drive Lydia from his mind, but the memory of her and 
 her sad plight thrust itself on him in spite of the grave 
 information he was receiving. 
 
 " I began to notice that something was wrong immedi 
 ately after you left," Milicent went on; "but I thought 
 it would pass away, and so I did not write to you. Father 
 
 73 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 came into my room one night and began to contend that 
 Henry was plotting to rob him. He sat up half the night 
 trying to convince me of it, and made several insane 
 statements to prove his point. He said he saw Henry in 
 front of a barroom with some notoriously bad men one 
 day, and when he passed them they all stopped talking 
 and looked down suspiciously. Then he said one of the 
 men dogged his steps to his office and peered at him 
 through the window. 
 
 "The next day Henry came home from Rome, and 
 father acted in the most cowed and servile manner before 
 him. He voluntarily gave Henry a considerable sum of 
 money, much to Henry's surprise. I did not want to hurt 
 Henry's feelings, and so I did not explain. After Henry 
 had gone down-town, father laughed heartily, and said 
 that he did it to keep Henry from poisoning him. He 
 warned the cook not to allow him in the kitchen. He 
 stopped drinking coffee, and smelled his food before eating 
 it. After that he got worse and worse. He was up prowl 
 ing about the house all night, constantly on the lookout 
 for the men he said Henry had employed to rob him. I 
 am sorry for Henry. He doesn't deserve this, at least." 
 
 "But when was father taken as he is now?" Carter 
 asked. 
 
 "Only the day before yesterday. They telephoned me 
 from the bank that he was there angrily making some 
 sort of demands that they could not understand. He had 
 lost the use of his tongue and could not write. I hurried 
 down to the bank, and found him almost in a comatose 
 condition in the president's office. Later he revived some 
 what and readily came home with me. It was after that 
 that he became so hard to control. So, you see, I had to 
 send for you. The mere sight of Henry infuriates him, 
 and at times he even raves out against me. His latest 
 idea is that Henry has killed you to get your part of the 
 estate, and that I am hiding the truth from him, I saw 
 
 74 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Charley Farnham that morning at the bank. He advised 
 me to telegraph for you. He said you could do more with 
 father than all the rest of us put together. I told father 
 that I was going to meet you, and he laughed and cried 
 like a child." 
 
 "Where is he now?" Carter asked. 
 
 "He is at home at least he was when I left half an 
 hour ago. Mr. Perry was watching him. Father often 
 tries to go down-town, but he keeps him back." 
 
 "And Henry, where is he now?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. He has kept away from the house 
 since father's breakdown. Larkin saw him on the street 
 yesterday, and thinks he is drinking again." 
 
 They were entering the drive at the house now. No 
 one was in sight except Perry, the nurse, who stood in 
 the front door, carelessly eying them. He approached 
 them as the carriage drew up in the porte-cochere, tossing 
 aside the cigarette he was smoking. He jerked his thumb 
 toward Gilbert's room up-stairs. 
 
 "He's lying down." A satisfied smile lay on his fat, 
 smooth face, and he shrugged his massive shoulders. He 
 wore no coat, and his shirt-sleeves were supported by 
 tight elastic bands above his elbows. His strong wrists 
 were covered with hair. He had once been a butcher. 
 He had a low brow and a ponderous jaw. 
 
 "Is he asleep?" Milicent asked. "Mr. Perry, this is 
 my brother Carter." 
 
 "Pleased to make yore acquaintance, I'm sure," said 
 the big man. "Yes, I think the old gent is dozing a 
 little. Maybe I didn't have a time with 'im, miss, after 
 you drove off. He got all sorts o' notions in his head, an' 
 I couldn't get 'em out. Yore other brother drove by 
 with some more sports just now, and stopped to get some 
 thing of his out of his room, and the old gent saw him. 
 Why, he's a funny old duck! Do you know he begun to 
 whimper, he did, and plead with yore brother about some- 
 
 75 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 thing or other, an' when yore brother was up-stairs in his 
 room yore pa got scared an' broke an' run behind the 
 house an' hid in the stable. He closed the door an* bolted 
 it on the inside. I tried for a half -hour or so to get 'im 
 to open it, an' then had to climb in through the loft. If I 
 hadn't 'a' been strong as three of 'im I'd 'a* been in a 
 tight hole, for he had a piece o' plank in his hand, an' 
 stood ready for me. I forced it from 'im, and finally got 
 'im quiet. But I'm no good at this job. He's agin me, 
 an' I never have any luck with patients who get that way. 
 I was telling Dr. Lloyd this morning that the case was 
 more'n I can handle. I don't sleep, you see, an' I'm 
 gettin' shaky. The old gent wakes every ten minutes 
 through the night, an' is always cocked an' primed for a 
 row. Listen! I hear 'im now. Say, Mr. Carter, I'd advise 
 you to go up to 'im. He dotes on you, an' has been wor 
 ried about you. You may not like his looks; he can't 
 shave hisself, and won't let a barber touch 'im. I'd go 
 up now, if I was you." 
 
 " Yes, go up at once," Milicent urged. 
 
 Carter complied, and as he ascended the stairs which 
 he had known from infancy every bright dream of his 
 life seemed to have vanished. Young as he was, he was 
 now practically at the head of the family. The strong 
 mind upon which he had always relied now lay in ruins, 
 as the consequence of a life ill-begun and ill-spent. And 
 what was his own beginning? Had not that already hap 
 pened which could never be forgiven? He suppressed a 
 groan. His feet seemed to have weights attached to 
 them. It was, to his sensitive fancy, almost as if the 
 calamity which had befallen his family was a visitation 
 of Providence on himself. 
 
 Entering his father's chamber, he saw the old man 
 seated on the edge of his bed. He had thrown the pillows, 
 sheets, and coverings on the floor. One of his shoes was 
 in the bed, the other he held in his quivering hands, and 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 was trying to draw it on a foot without a stocking. His 
 face was averted. His son saw only his profile. A four 
 days' growth of gray beard bristled on his cheeks and 
 chin. He was ghastly pale; his cheeks were sunken; 
 dark splotches were beneath his glaring eyes; and saliva 
 trickled from the twitching corners of his mouth down on 
 his crumpled and soiled shirt-front. He did not note 
 Carter's presence till he stood in front of him. Then, 
 with a glad cry, he sprang up and caught his son in his 
 arms. He stammered unintelligibly, burst into tears, 
 and began to whimper. Then, somewhat calmer, his 
 speech became more distinct. 
 
 "W-w-where you been? W-where'd he put you? I 
 knew it was his plot. He heard about your railroad in 
 terest. That was t-t-too much for the scamp. He and 
 his gang of bloodthirsty thugs wanted to put you out of 
 the way so he could nab it up himself. I fixed the will on 
 purpose. I didn't want to leave him so much to squander 
 on sots and dirty hussies. H-he'll have more than he de 
 serves, sharing equally with Milly; but you'll get the 
 plum. Huh! Ask Farnham. That railroad stock is 
 c-c-climbing by leaps and bounds. Y-you've got the 
 brains of 'em all. Y-y-you are clean and decent, too. 
 You are all I've got. Mil-Mil-Milly's in cahoot with 
 Henry. Oh, they can't fool me! I I don't let on to 
 them that I am on to their game, but I am I am. She 
 put this big thug here. He throws me down, beats me 
 in the face, and spies on me, the sneaking dog! They 
 are all against me. They won't pay me my own money 
 at the bank. Henry has been there and bribed them, 
 and Milly " 
 
 " Father, listen," Carter said, huskily. "You are mis 
 taken. You only fancy that they " 
 
 "Hush!" Gilbert sniffed, and then laughed out de 
 risively. "I see they are trying to hoodwink you, too. 
 But you pay attention to me. I know a thing or 
 
 77 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 two. Say, we must get away from them. We can't 
 stay here." 
 
 "Never mind, never mind," Carter said, soothingly. 
 "I'll take care of you." He was experiencing something 
 new and vastly tender. A strong yearning possessed him 
 to caress the bowed and broken man. They seemed to 
 have changed positions in regard to each other. Young 
 as he was, he felt toward the old man as a father to a 
 helpless child. His breast ached with a pitying tender 
 ness. Sobs hung in his throat, tears were in his eyes. 
 He sat down by his father and helped him put on his 
 stockings and shoes. Gilbert was calmer now and 
 shrewder. He fell to laughing softly and triumphantly. 
 
 "Oh, well fix them!" he kept chuckling. "Between 
 us we'll settle their hash. Huh! If they don't look out 
 I'll cut them out altogether and send them adrift to beg 
 their bread, so I will. They are entirely too meddlesome 
 and anxious to handle my funds before I'm underground." 
 
 Carter remained in the room for an hour. He noticed 
 a vacant stare in the old face, and then, grown drowsy, 
 Gilbert allowed him to take off his shoes and put him to 
 bed. Soon the old man was asleep. Carter stood at a 
 window, looking down on the lawn. He saw Dr. Lloyd, 
 a middle-aged man of portly frame, drive in at the gate. 
 A few minutes later he heard the low sound of the muffled 
 door-bell, and Milly's subdued voice at the door. Carter 
 decided that he would go down, but he dreaded the en 
 counter. He did not want to meet any one, for any rea 
 son at all. Insanity had'been a thing which had always 
 horrified him, and now it had come to his own father. 
 But the doctor would expect him, and he must go down. 
 He was now the only man in the family who could be 
 depended on, and he must do his duty. 
 
 He found the doctor and Milicent in the library, convers 
 ing in low tones, and when Carter entered the room she 
 rose and went out. 
 
 78 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "You are the best medicine he could have," Dr. Lloyd 
 smiled, as he got up and shook Carter's hand. "Nobody 
 else can do so much with him as you. You see, he has 
 sufficient mind left to reason a little, and he knows some 
 thing is wrong, having Perry here, you know, who has 
 to restrain him by force once in a while." 
 
 Carter nodded. He was trying to appear calm. "What 
 do you advise?" he asked, his voice sounding harsh and 
 guttural to himself. 
 
 "I was just consulting with your sister in regard to 
 .the only course open to us," Lloyd said. "The truth is 
 we can't keep him here at home. It is wholly impossible. 
 We haven't the facilities, and a disease such as he has 
 often progresses rapidly. He might become actually 
 dangerous, you see. We must put him in a sanitarium 
 where he can have constant medical attention and neces 
 sary restraint." 
 
 "So," Carter sighed, "you don't think this attack is, 
 in any sense, merely temporary?" 
 
 ' ' Oh no. We'd as well face the truth, unpleasant as it is, 
 my dear boy. There is no known cure for paresis, and 
 I'm afraid, from the symptoms, that your father cannot 
 live very long. He is losing vitality rapidly, but the 
 routine of a good sanitarium will prolong his life, if any 
 thing will." 
 
 " What is the primal cause of the disease?" Carter asked, 
 simply. 
 
 The doctor looked at him steadily for a moment. It 
 was as if he were about to speak quite frankly, but on 
 second thought he seemed to change his mind. "The 
 disease is well, rather hard to account for, but since 
 you are young and of a sensitive, imaginative type, I feel 
 that it is my duty to assure you of one thing positively, 
 and that is, it is not in any sense hereditary." 
 
 "I've heard that it was not," Carter answered, rather 
 bluntly, in his despair; "but it seems tome that I have 
 
 79 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 read that it is the final result of a certain blood disease 
 which young men contract early in life, and which seems 
 for a time to be cured, but which lies dormant and " 
 
 "I see you understand," Dr. Lloyd interrupted. " It is 
 wonderful how much you poets read. I suppose it can 
 do you no harm to comprehend the situation thoroughly. 
 We needn't discuss that particular feature further, but it 
 is quite likely that your father would have thrown it off 
 much longer if he had not had such a strenuous business 
 career. He has had enough on his mind to have killed 
 a dozen ordinary men." 
 
 There was a rather awkward silence. Presently Car 
 ter said, "Then you think he ought to be taken away?" 
 
 "Yes, and at once. I happen to know personally Dr. 
 Hamilton of the Sunnyside Sanitarium, near Cincinnati 
 only a few miles out. The fact is, I telegraphed him yes 
 terday, and find that he has an opening and will do all 
 he can for us. The only thing that was worrying me was 
 that we might have trouble in getting your father to go 
 quietly. But if you will allow me to suggest it, I think it 
 would be best for you to take him." 
 
 "Do you think I could do it?" Carter asked. 
 
 "Yes, for this reason: your father fancies that your 
 brother and sister are against both you and him, and he 
 says that he and you are going to leave Atlanta. Now 
 if you will only humor him in this whim of his I am sure 
 he will go with you without any trouble at all. Of course, 
 once you have him within the grounds of Dr. Hamilton's 
 establishment all your responsibility will be over." 
 
 "Yes, I think I had better undertake it," Carter con 
 sented. 
 
 At this moment Milicent returned. " I ' ve been worrying 
 about f ather's business, ' ' she said to her brother. ' ' Do you 
 suppose he has paid the premiums on his life-insurance?" 
 
 "Yes, I am sure he has," Carter replied. "I heard 
 him speak of it at the office one day." 
 
 80 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 " There is another thing," Dr. Lloyd said. "I am con 
 vinced that my man Perry is doing more harm than good 
 just now. He seems to infuriate your father, and I 
 think I'll take him away at once. Now that you are here, 
 Carter, I think you won't need him. The train leaves at 
 ten o'clock to-morrow night. We can reserve the draw 
 ing-room in the sleeper. If you say so I'll attend to all 
 the details. I'd go along myself, but he won't need 
 medical attention, and my presence would rouse his sus 
 picion." 
 
 "Very well, thank you," Carter answered. "I'm sure 
 you know best, and I'll follow your instructions." 
 
 "Then I'll take Perry back with me," Lloyd said. 
 "He has very little tact, and believes too much in brute 
 force for a case like this. Your method is best, Carter. 
 I see that by the way you are already handling your 
 father." 
 
 6 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THAT evening, just after nightfall, Carter sat alone 
 in the big parlor. Never before had he believed that 
 such terrible depression of spirits could come to any one 
 as now lay upon him. Presently he heard a cautious step 
 on the walk in front of the house, and a moment later 
 Henry tiptoed across the veranda and entered the hall. 
 Carter rose and went to the door just as his brother was 
 putting his hat and cane on the rack. 
 
 "Hello!" Henry said in an undertone. "So they made 
 you hustle home, eh?" 
 
 Carter drew him into the dimly lighted parlor. " Don't 
 wake him," he said, with a warning gesture toward his 
 father's room. "He is resting quietly." 
 
 "By God! it's time!" Henry answered, with a surly 
 grunt. "I know I'm tired of the whole damned thing. 
 I met Perry down-town. He told me about the old man's 
 fool notion in regard to me." 
 
 "You mustn't notice it," Carter said, gently. "He 
 doesn't know what he is doing or saying." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad you are going to take him off," Henry 
 said, indifferently. "The whole town is gabbing about 
 it. I'm going to get something to eat, and make myself 
 scarce afterward. I'm sleeping at the club. I have a 
 guest from out of town. If you need help let me know. 
 Say, how do I look? Bum, eh? I've been soaked for 
 a week. I came within an inch of the jimmies yesterday. 
 I'm going to let up. I'm no fool. I'm going to cut the 
 rum route off my map. I don't wish the old man any ill 
 
 82 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 luck, but I understand he'll never get well, and a slow, 
 lingering death is unpleasant all round. They say he 
 made his will before he lost his mind and all three of us 
 children share equally. I was afraid he was going to 
 act nasty with me, and I'm glad he did the fair thing. It 
 will be different with me when I have capital of my own. 
 This way of going to him for every penny I need is a pretty 
 tough proposition. It kills self-respect and ambition." 
 
 Half an hour later Carter saw his brother pass out at 
 the door and go blithely down the walk, lightly swinging 
 his cane in his hand. How was it, he asked himself, that 
 the family calamity could rest so lightly on Henry while 
 it had become such a weighty, far-reaching horror to 
 him? Why was it, too, 'that that one indiscretion with 
 Lydia seemed so unpardonable, when Henry had for 
 gotten many such experiences? Was it due to an ex 
 ceptional disposition? Yes, that must be it. He was 
 imaginative, full of ideals and the teachings of great minds, 
 while Henry was sordidly practical, materialistic, and un 
 read. Did he and his brother have separate laws accord 
 ing to which each was to live? And was the one who had 
 the higher light expected to live a better life than the 
 one who had scarcely any light save that which, phos 
 phorus-like, comes from dead matter? It seemed so, and 
 yet why should it be? 
 
 At this juncture he heard his father walking on the 
 floor above. And then he heard him at the head of the 
 stairs. He was coming down, dragging his feet from step 
 to step, and sliding his hand on the walnut railing. Mili- 
 cent heard him and ran out into the hall, followed by 
 Larkin. Seeing her brother in the dim light of the hall 
 lamp, she cried: 
 
 "Oh, catch him! He'll fall and hurt himself." 
 
 Therewith Larkin sprang up the steps and caught his 
 master's arm. " Steady, marster," he said, gently. "Be 
 careful! Don't hurry!" 
 
 83 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 But impatiently jerking from the negro's clutch, Gil 
 bert half slid, half tumbled down the remainder of the 
 steps and lunged out on the veranda. For a moment he 
 stood glaring about him, then he stumbled down to the 
 walk, where, snorting like a beast at bay, he turned and 
 faced them. 
 
 " D-d-don' t you dare touch me!" he cried, shaking his 
 fist at Larkin. "I-I-I'll break every bone in your black 
 hide, you stinking scamp!" 
 
 "Oh, go to him, brother!" Milicent pleaded. " Pacify 
 him, humor him! He will do anything for you." 
 
 "You dry up, you meddlesome, scheming hussy!" Gil 
 bert thundered. " I'm on to your tricks. You f-f -follow 
 me and I'll have the law on you. I'll call the police and 
 tell them w-what you're up to!" 
 
 He was turning toward the gate when Carter reached 
 his side. "Where are you going, father?" he asked, 
 greatly perturbed. 
 
 "To the b-b-bank," was the answer. "I want my 
 m-money. We've got to have some to to leave here on." 
 
 "But it is night; the bank is closed," Carter said, per 
 suasively. 
 
 "I can get in. They got to let me have my money," 
 Gilbert persisted, and he turned toward the gate. 
 
 "Leave him to me. I'll bring him home," Carter called 
 back to Milicent, who was following close behind. "Stay 
 here; he will be all right. I'll go with him." 
 
 "Yes, you come on," Gilbert said. "You can make 
 them do the right thing." 
 
 They passed out at the gate, Carter holding his father's 
 limp arm. The old man wore no hat, and his shaggy head 
 was down so low that his chin rested on his breast. He 
 was panting through his big nostrils like a tired beast of 
 burden. His son noticed that the strings of his shoes 
 were loose, and he tried to get Gilbert to let him tie them ; 
 but with an impatient snort the old man strode onward, 
 
 84 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 sliding his feet over the pavement and stumbling where 
 the stones were uneven. The people they met, mostly 
 laborers going home from work, turned and stared won- 
 deringly after them. At the end of the street they met 
 several young ladies of Carter's acquaintance. They 
 glanced at him and his charge sympathetically, bowed 
 silently, dropped their eyes, and went on without looking 
 back. He knew that they had heard the gossip and under 
 stood the situation. He felt sure that they were sorry for 
 him, and a lump of appreciation rose in his throat. In 
 all his life he had not dreamt that such humiliation as 
 this could fall upon him. But his post was there. The 
 bedraggled human wreck he was leading along was his 
 father. If the whole world were looking on, he would not 
 falter. He would bear his burden as a man should. 
 
 Finally they reached the business portion of the city, 
 and in passing the door of a hotel Carter saw Charles 
 Farnham about to get into a cab. He caught Carter's 
 bewildered glance and stepped toward him, an expression 
 of grave concern on his face. 
 
 "Can I help you?" he inquired. "Don't you want to 
 use my cab?" 
 
 "Yes, if he will take it," Carter answered, desperately. 
 " Father " he shook the drooping old man's arm " here's 
 Charley; he wants us to ride home with him." 
 
 ' ' Yes ; come, get in, ' ' Farnham urged, tactf ully . ' ' I want 
 to talk to you about our railroad." 
 
 "Oh yes, I know the railroad!" Gilbert grinned up 
 at him. "It's all right, eh? It's a whopping big deal, 
 eh, Charley?" 
 
 "Yes, it is doing finely." Farnham caught his disen 
 gaged arm and drew him toward the cab. "Come, let's 
 ride home and talk it over there. We are going to have 
 that big meeting of capitalists next month, and Carter 
 has to make a speech. Come on, now. We can't talk 
 here." 
 
 85 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Why not? I'm not afraid." Gilbert threw his full 
 weight backward, and, grown suddenly suspicious, twisted 
 his arm from Farnham's hold. "I'm going to get a gun, 
 I am, and blow their dirty heads off. And you, too. 
 What do you mean by holding me up like this?" He was 
 now addressing the cabman. "I know you, you dirty 
 whelp! You are in Henry's employ. You are trying to 
 abduct me. You want to kill me." 
 
 "Leave him to me," Carter begged of his friend. "It 
 is the only way." 
 
 "All right, but I wish I could help," Parnham said, 
 regretfully, as he stepped back toward the hotel entrance. 
 
 Then, chuckling softly, and bursting into little fits of 
 spasmodic laughter, Gilbert staggered onward, his son 
 by his side. Soon they were at the bank. It was closed. 
 Through the big plate-glass window a dim light could be 
 seen burning in front of the steel-doored vaults. The old 
 man caught the massive door-knob and shook it vigor 
 ously. 
 
 " Father, it is too late it is night !" Carter said. "You 
 know they don't keep open after dark. Come home with 
 me. We will sleep together. I'm tired, and I know you 
 are." 
 
 "Will you sleep with me? Will you?" Gilbert asked, 
 as anxiously as a worried child, a thwarted flare in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes, yes. Come on!" A group was gathering. A man 
 in the clothing of a laborer hurried forward excitedly. 
 
 ' ' Anything wrong with the bank ?" he panted. ' ' They've 
 got all my savings." 
 
 "No; my father is ill, that's all," Carter explained. 
 "He doesn't know what he is doing. He has had a ner 
 vous attack." 
 
 "Oh, then the bank is all right!" the man said, in relief, 
 and he went on his way, followed by some of the more 
 considerate of the bystanders. 
 
 86 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Gilbert now was more tractable. He allowed his son 
 to lead him across the street and thence slowly homeward. 
 A few curious stragglers, mostly young boys, followed some 
 distance behind, but they soon dropped back. The re 
 turn was slow and filled with meaningless pauses. It was 
 about ten o'clock when they finally entered the gate, 
 made their way along the walk and up the veranda steps. 
 Milicent stood in the darkened hallway, evidently un 
 decided as to whether she should be seen or not. Larkin, 
 who was on the lawn, crept forward, but Carter motioned 
 him back. 
 
 "We are going up to bed," he said. "Leave us alone." 
 
 "Yes, and you stay out of my room," Gilbert threw 
 back, angrily. "Carter and I know what we are doing." 
 
 Hearing this, Milicent slipped into the dark drawing- 
 room and remained out of sight. 
 
 As father and son ascended the stairs the son heard the 
 other chuckling, softly. " Huh !" he said. "That negro's 
 been hired to spy on me, and to slug me in the dark; but 
 you and I'll show them we are no fools." 
 
 Reaching his father's room, Carter turned up the light 
 and persuaded his now blandly staring charge to let him 
 undress him. Seated on the edge of the big, wide bed, 
 Gilbert allowed him to take off his shoes and stockings. 
 Then his trousers and other clothing were removed, and 
 a clean, cool nightshirt was put on. It was a strange, 
 weird experience to the sensitive, imaginative young man. 
 He could not remember ever having seen his father's 
 nude body, and the thin, wasted limbs, the hairy, yellow 
 ish skin filled him with combined dismay and pitying 
 tenderness. He felt that he was performing the last duty 
 of a son to a slowly dying parent. As he put the shirt 
 over the tousled head his hands touched the old man's 
 wrinkled neck, and an irresistible impulse came to him 
 to caress the emaciated frame. As he buttoned the shirt 
 at the neck, his eyes met those of the old man. They 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 were filling with tears. Suddenly Gilbert put his arms 
 about him and drew him tightly against his breast, which 
 was shaking with sobs. 
 
 " My darling boy !" he said, huskily. "You love me I 
 know you do." 
 
 "Yes, father.' 1 And Carter stroked back the stiff, 
 coarse hair from the dusty, perspiring brow. Then he got 
 Gilbert to lie back on a pillow and, dampening a towel, 
 he wiped the face, neck, and chest. "Now you will sleep 
 soundly," he said, soothingly. "I'll stay here with you, 
 but I'll lower the light." 
 
 "Don't leave me!" Gilbert pleaded, half sitting up in 
 sudden anxiety. 
 
 "No, I'll be right here in the room," Carter assured 
 him. "Now lie down." 
 
 It was after eleven o'clock. Gilbert lay with his eyes 
 open, placidly staring through the dim light at his son. 
 There was a soft step in the hall, a most cautious rap on 
 the door. Carter went to it. Milicent was there, holding 
 a glass with medicine in it. 
 
 "The doctor is down-stairs," she whispered. "He 
 says he will not come up, since you are doing so well. He 
 says if father is restless in the night to give him this. 
 Are you going to sit up?" 
 
 "No. I'll lie down by him; he wishes it," Carter said. 
 "He is getting quiet; we both may sleep a little." 
 
 " Oh, brother, isn't it terrible ? Have you seen the after 
 noon paper?" 
 
 "No. What is in it?" 
 
 "Oh, it is a long article written very discreetly as to 
 father's condition. It is spoken of as a nervous collapse, 
 the serious illness of Atlanta's leading capitalist. There 
 is a lot about you, too." 
 
 "About me?" 
 
 "Yes your talent and promising future, and your being 
 galled home suddenly. You know the reporters exert 
 
 38 
 
THE, INNER LAW 
 
 themselves to make their articles readable, and you have 
 admirers on all the papers. I'll show it to you in the 
 morning." 
 
 He extended his hand and detained her at the top of 
 the stairs. "Could you bring it to me here? I may get 
 a chance to look at it through the night. The article 
 did not say that I had accomplished any jresh work in 
 the country, did it?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so, but I looked it over hurriedly; I can't 
 say positively. I think they said you were at work at a 
 long poem on some ambitious subject. But I can't be 
 sure. I was so worried that I did not read it thoroughly." 
 
 "Well, bring it up. I'll wait for you here." 
 
 She tiptoed down the stairs, and he stood waiting in 
 the dark. She was gone longer than seemed necessary. 
 Going to the door of his father's room, he peered in, find 
 ing Gilbert lying just as he had left him, his eyes open 
 and staring blankly. Carter decided then that some 
 thing was detaining Milicent, and, rather displeased over 
 the delay, he started down to get the paper, when he saw 
 her coming with it in her hand. She gave it to him, and 
 he returned to the patient's room. The gas was too low 
 for him to read, and, seated by the bed, he wondered if 
 turning the light up would disturb his father. He was 
 afraid it might do so, and yet he was curious and even 
 impatient to read what had been written about his work 
 and himself. Presently he surmounted the difficulty by 
 slipping from the room, without attracting his father's 
 notice, and going into his own room across the hall. He 
 turned up the low-burning gas and, standing by his bureau, 
 he found the article in question and read it. Parts of it 
 he read several times, the parts referring to himself. 
 They were very complimentary, and pleased him as much 
 as anything that had ever been printed about him. The 
 whole South, the paper said, was justly proud of her 
 literary son, and would sympathize with him in the keen 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 pain that must now rest on a young man of such refined 
 and exalted nature. Great work was confidently expected 
 of him in the near future, and even the trying experience 
 he was now encountering would but serve to ripen the 
 budding genius and lyric power that he undoubtedly 
 possessed. 
 
 Carter folded the paper and put it into his coat pocket. 
 A warm glow suffused him from head to foot. After all, 
 he was not an ordinary, humdrum being, he told himself 
 as he moved softly back to his father's room and again 
 seated himself by the bed. Gilbert looked at him and 
 smiled as a child might, and he rose and went to him, 
 taking the medicine Milicent had brought. 
 
 "I think you'd better drink this," he said. "You 
 seem restless, and it will make you sleep." 
 
 Raising himself on his elbow, Gilbert obeyed, and then 
 with a little sigh reclined again. All at once a veritable 
 storm of shame swept over the son. Was it possible that 
 he had allowed himself to enjoy mere compliments such as 
 he had been reading while actually facing the most ter 
 rible of disasters? 
 
 He sat down in the chair, watching the pale face on the 
 pillow and reflecting poignantly on himself. Gilbert had 
 closed his eyes. In a moment he was sleeping soundly. 
 Carter rested his elbows on his knees, holding his head 
 between his hands, wondering, wondering now as to his 
 own complexity, his own shallowness. 
 
 Suddenly he thought of his visit to the country, next 
 into his mind came that first meeting with Lydia in the 
 library, then other meetings, and finally that last after 
 noon in the cabin, and with that he found himself burning 
 with passionate memories memories which for the mo 
 ment held no regrets. He raised his head and looked at 
 the form on the bed. The yellow face was that of a 
 corpse the corpse of his loved father, and yet even at 
 a moment like that he was unable to quench the fleshly 
 
 90 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 fires within him. His father would die soon had the 
 doctor not said so ? He would leave him a great fortune, 
 and with that fortune he could do as he liked. He could 
 live where he wished and satisfy every desire. The 
 world would marvel at the creations of his pen. The life 
 stretching out before him would be a perfect one. 
 
 The clock had struck twelve. He must lie down and 
 rest. He took off his clothing and reclined beside his 
 father, stretching out his plump, rosy limbs beside the 
 emaciated ones. He rested his young, shaven face close 
 to the old face that was covered with grizzled beard and 
 splotched with the brown marks of encroaching death. 
 
 Roused by the motion of the bed, Gilbert turned on his 
 side and stared into the eyes of his son. He sighed con 
 tentedly, smiled, slid his moist hand down by his side 
 into Carter's, and pressed his fingers. Carter returned 
 the pressure, and as he did so that incongruous, almost 
 maternal, feeling of pity and tenderness swept over him 
 again. He lay still, almost holding his breath, his fingers 
 clinging to his father's. Suddenly he thought of Lydia, 
 of how he had overpowered her and was now shocked at 
 the realization of his lost honor. He was inclined to 
 pray, but what was there to pray about ? Vaguely he felt 
 that he needed help from outside himself, from the great 
 Principle of Good which he had called God, but he was 
 not now ready to ask for it. Only the clean could ap 
 proach infinite cleanliness, and he was unclean. Yes, he 
 was unclean, and he had been despicably weak. His uncle 
 had duly warned him of the inborn family failing, but the 
 warning had been unheeded. He felt the fingers of his 
 father relaxing. Gilbert was asleep; but his son lay 
 awake the greater part of the night. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE arrangements were completed for the removal of 
 the demented man to the sanitarium at Cincinnati. 
 The chief fear that Carter had was that as the hour for 
 leaving approached Gilbert might refuse to go, and the 
 use of force in any form seemed out of the question. 
 However, as Larkin was packing the old man's trunk 
 Gilbert stood near and showed signs of interest. Once 
 while this was going on he turned to his son and, laying 
 his hand on his shoulder, whispered, cautiously: 
 
 "Don't let them know where we are going. It is none 
 of their business. We've got to give them the slip." 
 
 Overhearing this, Milicent nodded knowingly to her 
 brother and quietly left the room. 
 
 "I'm glad she is gone," Gilbert said, slyly, with an un 
 canny grimace. "She thinks she can fool me. But I 
 am on to her. She was asking me yesterday if I'd paid 
 up my life-insurance. She thinks I'm going to die." 
 
 That evening, when Larkin brought the carriage to the 
 door and took down the hand-bags, Gilbert went about 
 shaking hands with the servants almost with the glee 
 of a happy child. He even submitted to a kiss from 
 Milicent, seeming to have forgotten his suspicions against 
 her. Henry was not there. He had not been at home 
 all that day. 
 
 When the moment for leaving came Carter led his 
 father down to the carriage and got in beside him. He 
 gave the order to Larkin and they drove away rapidly. 
 The thought went hurtling through the young poet's 
 
 92 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 brain that his father was leaving his home for ever, and 
 with that a great depression came over him. How hor 
 rible to die like that! How horrible to linger in life like 
 a whimsical child in the tottering form of an old man 
 surrounded by the useless things your own life-energy 
 had created! Carter felt physically weak. He had 
 scarcely eaten enough to sustain him, so great had been 
 the strain on his mind, but he told himself that once the 
 responsibility of his father's care was off his shoulders 
 he would be himself again. Through the lighted streets 
 the carriage rolled. Gilbert was looking about curiously, 
 and a great fear came to Carter that he might at any 
 moment change his mood and refuse to go. But the train 
 was reached without halt or delay. They arrived, as 
 was their intention, only a few minutes before leaving- 
 time, and found the drawing-room in the Pullman ready 
 for them. Gilbert allowed himself to be conducted to 
 it, vaguely staring here and there as if he scarcely under 
 stood what it was all about. When the train started 
 he sprang up and ran to a window, a look of alarm on 
 his face. But Carter touched him on the arm and drew 
 him down to a seat. 
 
 "Where are we going?" Gilbert questioned. 
 
 "To Cincinnati," Carter answered. 
 
 "To Cincinnati? Wh-what for?" was the groping 
 question. 
 
 "Because that is best," the son answered, noticing that 
 some of the passengers were looking and listening in 
 surprise. 
 
 "But I want to see Charley Farnham about the rail 
 road deal," Gilbert began, rebelliously. "I want to go to 
 the bank, too, and attend to some of my business. Let's 
 get off." 
 
 Dismay filled the young man. How was he to control 
 such an irrational creature before strangers, who would 
 certainly object to such a questionable fellow-passenger? 
 
 93 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Gilbert was now standing in the drawing-room door 
 way. "I want to see Charley, I say. Stop the train!" 
 
 "Farnham is to meet us in Cincinnati in the morning," 
 Carter bethought himself to say, though he said it tremu 
 lously and with his heart in his tight throat. 
 
 "Oh, that's it, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, he will be there; now come sit down. We are 
 going to bed pretty soon." 
 
 "That's good," Gilbert chuckled as he turned back 
 to his seat. "Charley's all right, eh? A regular wheel- 
 horse?" 
 
 "Yes, he's all right. He is managing everything finely." 
 Carter started to close the drawing-room door, seeing 
 that some of the passengers were peering curiously at 
 them ; but Gilbert sprang up again, fiercely threw out his 
 hand, and stopped him. 
 
 "Don't shut me up here! Don't, I tell you!" he fairly 
 screamed. "I want air!" 
 
 There was nothing else to do but to humor him, and, 
 terrified by the situation, Carter allowed him to stand 
 in the doorway, rocking to and fro. Presently Carter 
 got him to sit down on the sofa, but the noise of the 
 wheels, the hurried movements of the passengers, con 
 ductor, and porters seemed to have unduly excited the 
 old man. He was constantly jumping up and asking 
 unimportant questions of any one who happened to pass. 
 He went through the entire car, smiling and bowing 
 suavely to the passengers, some of whom stared coldly 
 and shrank back into their seats in alarm. Carter caught 
 himself looking at them all appealingly, trying to make 
 his eyes plead his cause. There was no pride left in him 
 now. He was at the mercy of strangers, and hoped they 
 would see his plight and bear with him, even aid him. 
 Finally he got his father back to the drawing-room; but 
 Gilbert stoutly refused to be undressed for bed. Carter 
 succeeded in taking off his shoes and coat and vest, but 
 
 94 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 that was all. Carter decided not to undress himself, for 
 there was no knowing what whim might come to the old 
 man in the night. Most of the berths in the car were 
 being made ready when Gilbert rose and insisted on 
 starting down the aisle again. He had got half-way 
 through when the conductor, followed by a porter, met 
 him. The conductor frowned. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said to Carter, who was holding his 
 father's arm, "but this really can't go on. I've got some 
 nervous women aboard, and they are objecting. They 
 have paid their fare and have their rights." 
 
 "Yes, of course," Carter replied. "I'm doing the best 
 I can." 
 
 "I see you are, and I'm sorry for you," the conductor 
 returned; "but I have my duty to perform. The com 
 pany looks to me for the comfort of my passengers, and 
 complaints go against me." 
 
 Aided by a genial negro porter, Carter succeeded in 
 getting the old man back to his berth. From that mo 
 ment till daybreak was a continuous nightmare to Car 
 ter. Gilbert laughed aloud. He wept. He whined. 
 He whimpered. He sang snatches of songs. Finally, in 
 sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep; but there was no sleep 
 for his son. With his hands locked between his knees 
 Carter sat watching the lightly sleeping man. He won 
 dered if any human being had ever suffered quite as he 
 was suffering. He was so morbidly constituted that he 
 could all but feel his father's disease gnawing like in 
 sects into his own brain. He remembered that the doc 
 tor had said that paresis was not hereditary, but would 
 a doctor tell the truth to a son of such a patient? Might 
 he not even now be falling a victim to the grim horror? 
 For an hour or more he allowed these terrible breedings 
 to rest on him, unaware that they were due to his nervous 
 and physical exhaustion. 
 
 The gray light of morning was creeping in at the sides 
 
 95 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 of the closely drawn curtains. A porter was going 
 through the car extinguishing the dim overhead lights. 
 Looking along the aisle, Carter saw that none of the 
 passengers were up. He motioned to the negro, and 
 when the man approached he whispered: 
 
 "Are we on time?" 
 
 " Yes, boss," the negro returned. " It is five now; we'll 
 be in the city by seven." 
 
 Gilbert slept on. Every moment thus passed was 
 valued by his son. The asylum to which they were going 
 seemed the most desired goal of his whole life. Unspeak 
 able horrors and further humiliation could happen at any 
 moment. Gilbert might wake in the mood of a demon 
 enraged by restraint. The lives of the passengers might 
 be in danger. A panic in the car might ensue. The 
 demented man might have to be beaten, bound, and 
 thrust from the train. Was ever a more foolish journey 
 undertaken? 
 
 But, as if in answer to an unuttered prayer, Gilbert 
 slept on. The warm sunlight of another hot day was 
 streaming into the car. The curtains at all the berths 
 were being removed. The passengers, only partly clad, 
 were going to and from the dressing-rooms, jostling 
 against the seats. Carter felt the fine dust of travel on 
 his face and hands, and saw it on his father's cheeks and 
 brow, but was afraid to leave his post. However, just 
 before reaching their destination he managed to get away 
 and hastily made his toilet. Then with a dampened towel 
 he returned and wiped his father's face, thus waking him. 
 To his great relief Gilbert was placid and even pleased. 
 From the window he watched the houses of the suburb 
 through which the train was passing, and quite eagerly 
 helped his son repack their bags. 
 
 "Where's Farnham going to be?" he asked. 
 
 "At a hotel," Carter replied, helplessly. "We have to 
 take a carriage to it. It is a little way out of town." 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Gilbert chuckled and rubbed his hands together. 
 "Great ch-ch-chap, that boy! He'll help us get away 
 from those sneaking devils, won't he?" 
 
 "Yes, he'll help us." The train had stopped and the 
 porter had taken their bags out. "Come on, now; let's 
 
 go." 
 
 "What t-t-town is it?" 
 
 "Cincinnati. You know we are to meet Farnham here 
 to see about the railroad? The driver will take us to 
 him." 
 
 "But I'm hungry and I want m-m-my coffee." 
 
 "Then we'll get something at a restaurant outside." 
 
 "All right, then; let's hurry. We are giving them the 
 slip, eh?" 
 
 "Yes. Come on." 
 
 As they were descending to the ground Carter saw a 
 group of four or five passengers at the steps. Some of 
 them glared at him resentfully, and as he walked on, hold 
 ing his father's arm, he heard an elderly woman say: 
 "It is an outrage. I didn't sleep a wink. He was 
 making a noise all night. I was afraid he'd cut our 
 throats. Just think of it only a curtain between us and 
 a raving maniac!" 
 
 There was a cafe* across the street with some food dis 
 played in a window, and Gilbert strode hastily toward it. 
 Entering the dining-room, Carter selected a small table 
 in a corner, and they took seats at it. Gilbert wore his 
 hat, and for a moment protested against its removal. 
 A negro waiter came to take their order, wondering over 
 the old man's conduct. 
 
 "Bring us eggs and bacon and coffee," Carter said. 
 "We are going to the country at once. Will you have a 
 carriage at the door?" 
 
 ' ' Yes. There is one at the stand around the corner," the 
 negro answered. "It will be ready for you, sir." 
 
 Gilbert now sat idly twirling his thumbs over his folded 
 7 97 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 napkin. A puzzled expression was on his face, as if he 
 were trying to recall something which vaguely haunted 
 his memory. He glanced out at the window and - p at 
 the roofs of the tall buildings with the groping curiosity 
 of a child awaking amid new surroundings. 
 
 "W-w-where are we?" he suddenly asked, his lip trem 
 bling piteously. "I don't know this street or or those 
 houses." 
 
 Carter made no reply, for the waiter was bringing the 
 breakfast, which completely held his father's attention. 
 With quivering hands Gilbert poured out his coffee, and 
 began to drink it when it was so hot that it burnt his 
 lips. This made him furious, and, stamping his foot, he 
 swore at the waiter, who smiled at Carter as if he under 
 stood and sympathized. Gilbert began to eat, ignoring 
 his knife and fork and putting his food into his mouth 
 with his fingers. Carter ate, but with little appetite, 
 for his anguish seemed to have affected his whole phys 
 ical organism. Through the window he saw a carriage 
 drive up to the door, and, glancing at the waiter, he 
 said: 
 
 "Please put our bags in, and tell the driver we'll be 
 right out." 
 
 Breakfast over, Gilbert followed his son to the car 
 riage. He had taken a handful of toothpicks from the 
 table and was nervously chewing some of them. At the 
 open door he suddenly drew back and stared up and down 
 the street, a hint of rebellion in his manner. 
 
 Carter touched his arm and said : "Get in; let's go." 
 
 "Where t-t-to?" Gilbert's brow was wrinkled in per 
 plexity. 
 
 "To Farnham's hotel. He's waiting for us." 
 
 "Oh, he is! Well, he's all right. He's our friend, 
 anyway, you may bet your boots on th-th-that." 
 
 Gilbert bowed his head and got into the carriage. In 
 a low tone Carter gave the address of the sanitarium. 
 
 98 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 The driver nodded significantly. "All right. I know 
 the place. I've been there many a time." 
 
 Carter was about to get in when his father stopped him 
 by trying to get out. 
 
 "What's this for?" he demanded, one foot already 
 out. 
 
 "It's a nice ride, sir mighty nice," the driver said, 
 with a pacific smile. "It's through the woods all the 
 way cool, shady, and nice in hot weather like this." 
 
 "We are going to meet Farnham," Carter said, des 
 perately. " He is waiting for us." 
 
 "Oh y-y-yes, Farnham!" Gilbert sank back in the 
 carriage, and his son got in and closed the door. 
 
 The cool morning air swept in at the window as the 
 vehicle moved swiftly along, and the distraught young 
 man began to feel hopeful. His responsibility would soon 
 be over, he told himself, and alluring pictures of what he 
 would do when he was free once more began to flit through 
 his mind. There was a book he wanted to see, and it was 
 likely that it could be found in the public library of the 
 city. The magazines for the month were just out, and 
 he wanted to see if a poem he had sold to one of them 
 had been published. He liked the poem very much, and 
 he wanted his friends to see it in print. He wondered if 
 the editor would have it illustrated and give it the full 
 page it deserved. 
 
 They were soon in the country. Trees dropped their 
 thick branches over the narrow road. There were little 
 hills to ascend and shady vales to pass through. The 
 motion of the carriage had a sedative effect on the old 
 man. Gradually his head sank back on his son's arm; 
 he closed his eyes and slept. Again that odd, inexpressible 
 tumult of love and tenderness captured the heart of the 
 poet. But for the fear of waking the sleeper he would 
 have caressed the wrinkled face and sunken cheeks. 
 Surely this love of which he had become conscious only 
 
 99 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 since his father's illness was a queer thing! Was it be 
 cause a father in his weakness was being fathered by his 
 child, or was there even a deeper psychic meaning behind 
 it? All at once the carriage lurched sharply; Gilbert's 
 inert head rocked, and his cheek came in contact with 
 that of his son and lodged there. Under a yearning im 
 pulse, Carter stroked the opposite cheek, the bristling 
 beard rasping his hand and producing a strange, almost 
 exquisite thrill. Something impelled him further some 
 thing too deep down within him to be fathomed some 
 thing, perhaps, subconsciously linked with the childhood 
 period when he had sat upon that man's knee and leaned 
 against a breast the world considered sordid, but which 
 was not wholly so. He turned his face and kissed the 
 pale, cool brow. Then he sat still, willingly supporting 
 the rough cheek with his own. 
 
 The minutes passed. Thoughts came into his mind 
 which were so sadly tender in character that his throat 
 tightened with tense emotion. He thought of his dead 
 mother, of her long patience with her preoccupied hus 
 band, and her love for him. He thought of his uncle 
 and his unconquerable sorrow and moody manner. He 
 thought of the old servant-woman at the farm, Mrs. 
 Romley, and then he thought of Lydia Lydia, pure, 
 beautiful, innocent; Lydia and her reluctant kisses and 
 slow confessions of love. The carriage jostled again, the 
 clammy cheek shook his own, and it was as if he were 
 waking from a sensuous dream to a situation too horrible 
 to be conceived. The cheek of the dying man might as 
 well be that of a corpse, the corpse of the man who had 
 given him life, and yet at such a moment he had been 
 actually gloating over the first great sin of his life a sin 
 he had once thought he could never commit. He gently 
 pushed his father's head from him, staring at the closed 
 lids as if for advice. He recalled his uncle's talk that 
 night in the summer-house; he recalled how absurd it hacl 
 
 IPO 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 seemed that the old man should have fears of him, who 
 at the time was living on such an ideal plane. 
 
 "My God! my God! What am I?" he said, all but 
 aloud. His father opened his eyes drowsily and stared 
 at him; the eyes had a bloodshot look and seemed full 
 of reproach. They seemed to say: "Why did you go 
 and do as I did, as my brother did, as Henry did? You 
 were warned in time. You could see what we had come 
 to, all three of us. Take the advice of a dying man and 
 save your soul. There is a hell, but it isn't the old- 
 fashioned, material fire. It is the consuming flames of 
 the spirit. The worm that never dies is the conscience, 
 and it will writhe on the coals of infinite justice till it 
 purifies itself." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ""PHE pace of the horses had slackened. Looking out, 
 1 Carter saw that they were at the big gate of the 
 asylum grounds. A man on guard within unlocked it, 
 and the gate swung open. Just ahead of them stood a 
 great four-story white building with a long veranda in 
 front and balconies above. The grounds were shaded by 
 many trees, and the grass of the lawn was well cared for. 
 Under the trees were seats where the most tractable of 
 the inmates sat. Some of them looked up as the car 
 riage passed, while others sat staring blankly at the 
 ground. 
 
 The stopping of the horses at the door roused Gilbert. 
 He looked about him in a perplexed way and asked: 
 
 ''Is this th-th-the hotel?" 
 
 "Yes, this is the place," answered his son. 
 
 "And Char-Charley, where is the boy?" 
 
 * ' Well have to inquire, ' ' Carter said, evasively. ' ' Let's 
 go inside." 
 
 Gilbert permitted himself to be helped from the car 
 riage and up the steps. A young man in livery met them 
 at the door, bowing perfunctorily. 
 
 "Walk into the parlor," he said to Carter. "The doc 
 tor will be right in." 
 
 "The doc-doctordid he say doctor?" Gilbert stut 
 tered, as he shuffled along to the parlor door. 
 
 "He means the proprietor," his son said. 
 
 "But Char-Charley, where is he? You said he would 
 meet us here." 
 
 102 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "We'll ask for him presently," Carter said, soothingly. 
 They took seats in the big parlor with its glaring green 
 carpet, and chairs upholstered in flowered satin. A piano 
 stood in one corner, a marble-topped table in the center 
 of the room holding a plush-covered album for photo 
 graphs. On the plain white walls were some large steel- 
 engravings in walnut frames. 
 
 A moment later Dr. Hamilton came in. He was a 
 man of sixty years of age, of medium height, and stock- 
 ily built. His eyes were dark, his short, full beard and 
 hair were black, with faint touches of gray above the 
 ears. 
 
 "Ah, this is Mr. Crofton, I'm sure," he said, advancing 
 to Gilbert, his hand extended 
 
 Gilbert took the hand reluctantly, staring in an im 
 patient, bewildered way into the broad, strong face. 
 
 "Charley Farnham. I want to see him Far-Farn- 
 ham, the railroad president," Gilbert stammered. 
 
 "Oh yes, yes; I see!" the doctor smiled at Carter know 
 ingly as he shook hands with him. "He is around some 
 where; we'll look him up. But you must go up to your 
 room first" he turned back to the patient "you've had 
 a hard trip in such hot weather, and must wash the dust 
 off and lie down and rest. Come this way." 
 
 He took Gilbert's arm and led him out into the foyer 
 and to an elevator. 
 
 "I'll go up with him and then come back to you," he 
 whispered to Carter. "Please wait in the parlor." 
 
 The elevator closed on him and Gilbert, who was star 
 ing perplexedly about him. 
 
 Carter sat alone in the parlor, conscious of inexpressible 
 relief in having the responsibility of his charge taken 
 from him. After half an hour had passed he heard the 
 elevator door open, and Dr. Hamilton came in. He 
 smiled as he sat down and began to break the tip from a 
 cigar with his thumb-nail. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "I presume, from Dr. Lloyd's letter, that he has al 
 ready informed you of the gravity of your father's con 
 dition?" 
 
 Carter nodded; and the doctor went on: 
 
 " I am sorry to have to tell you, after the examination 
 I have just made, that your father's condition is even 
 worse than I expected. From the symptoms the disease 
 is progressing very rapidly. He may at any moment 
 have a more severe attack than he has had, and he may 
 remain as he is for a month or more. At any rate, it is 
 well for him to be here, and I assure you that he shall 
 have the best attention. I shall examine him again to 
 morrow. May I ask if you wish to return to Atlanta 
 at once?" 
 
 "I thought I'd stay here awhile," Carter answered; 
 "that is, if you" 
 
 "Oh, we have plenty of room for visitors!" Dr. Hamil 
 ton broke in; "but I think if I were in your place, Mr. 
 Crofton, I'd stay in town. I can see by looking at you " 
 here the doctor took his wrist and tested the pulse " that 
 you are somewhat unstrung yourself, which, of course, 
 is due to sympathy, and in your condition I think the 
 surroundings here would not be best. I can keep in 
 touch with you by the 'phone and inform you of any 
 change in your father's condition." 
 
 " Yes, I think you are right," Carter returned. " I'll go 
 to a hotel in town, and come out every day. The car 
 riage is waiting and I will go back in it. How does my 
 father take the the restraint?" 
 
 "Oh, as well as we could expect. He has been a man 
 of strong will, and he has not lost it all, low as he is. But 
 don't worry. Long experience has taught us the best 
 way to handle such patients. Now take my advice and 
 think as little of this matter as possible. Go about and 
 amuse yourself in town. You are of a highly nervous 
 type and need diversion now especially. Lloyd writes 
 
 104 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 me that you are a poet. I haven't had the pleasure of 
 reading any of your work. In fact, I read nothing at all 
 now except the newspapers. I haven't time. I'm busy 
 night and day. But you must take care of yourself 
 and throw all this off as much as possible. Don't brood 
 over it. It won't do you a bit of good. Worrying over 
 business has had much to do with your father's breakdown. 
 Don't follow in his footsteps." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 HOW differently the world appeared as Carter drove 
 back to the city! The light of the afternoon sun 
 seemed to hold a vague promise of infinite hope and 
 peace. The most awful ordeal he had ever met was over. 
 He had done his duty. He was sure that many young 
 men would have shirked the thing he had undertaken 
 and accomplished. His heart warmed even toward the 
 carriage driver, whom he intended to tip liberally. He 
 was sure the man might look upon him with more interest 
 if he knew that he was not only the son of a rich man, 
 but that he was a poet whose lyrics a considerable part 
 of the world was reading with delight. Surely the fellow 
 did not often come into contact with a real poet. It was 
 quite likely that he had never served one, and if he were 
 informed of this fact in regard to his present passenger it 
 might please him. He might have a wife and children 
 at home, and close friends to whom he would relate the 
 circumstances with natural pride. 
 
 Arriving at the hotel, he paid the driver, and added a 
 tip that surprised the fellow and caused him to bow pro 
 fusely. 
 
 " You'll be going out again, I guess/' the man said, 
 eagerly. "I'll be on the lookout for you." 
 
 "Yes, I'll go out every day for a while, I think," Car 
 ter returned. "I'll be busy in town part of the time. I 
 have a lot of writing to do. That is my profession. I 
 am a poet." 
 
 "A poet," the driver said, absent-mindedly, as he 
 
 106 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 glanced toward his horses. "Well, I hope I gave you 
 satisfaction, sir. I understand my work. I can drive 
 fast or slow, just as you see fit. Just ask anybody about 
 town if they know Jack Larrigan. They all know me 
 and call me just 'Jack.' I know high and low lawyers, 
 doctors, politicians, gamblers, barkeepers, and the chief of 
 the police. I had the mayor and his family in my rig only 
 yesterday, and Senator Gibbs wires me to meet him at 
 the station every time he comes home from Washington." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I see," said the poet, vaguely crestfallen. 
 "Well, I'll look you up, Jack." And as he followed a 
 porter into the foyer of the great hotel he was conscious 
 of a sort of chagrin which was hard to define. Without 
 knowing it, the driver had rebuked him. 
 
 At the desk, behind which stood several dapper clerks, 
 he registered and secured the best chamber with a private 
 bath and sitting-room that was available, feeling gratified 
 by the clerk's suddenly lifted brows and obsequious man 
 ner. 
 
 "Do you wish to go up now, Mr. Crofton?" he asked, 
 reaching for a key. 
 
 "Yes," Carter answered. 
 
 Even the negro porter, who was conducting him to 
 the elevator, was obviously influenced by the number 
 of the choice suite which the clerk had called out, for 
 Carter heard him whisper it to one of his fellows as they 
 passed a row of bell-boys seated against a wall. 
 
 "After all," Carter reflected, as he lay in the tub of 
 the sumptuous bath-room, "I can't help matters, and I 
 ought to take the doctor's advice and not worry." 
 
 He dried himself, and with a newspaper and cigar lay 
 down on the lounge in his sitting-room, conscious of a 
 sense of vast restfulness and actual content. He was 
 hungry, now that his anxiety was over, and about seven 
 o'clock he got up and dressed for dinner. He was glad 
 that he had brought his evening clothes, for he had al- 
 
 107 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ways thought that men in business dress in fashionable 
 cafes appeared out of place, uncouth and unaccustomed 
 to the usages of the best society. 
 
 As he went into the great dining-room, which was 
 lighted from crystal chandeliers, the gay scene charmed 
 his fancy. At the far end there was an orchestra in a 
 balcony decorated with palms, and they were playing a 
 selection from an opera which he admired. He was in 
 spired by the air, and his bouyant step, as he followed 
 the head waiter to a small table on one side of the room, 
 was sympathetically conformed to it. There were many 
 diners of both sexes in the room, and all were in evening 
 dress. After he had given his order he sent for an after 
 noon paper, and while he was waiting for his dinner to 
 be brought he convinced himself that he was reading the 
 news, while, in fact, he scarcely took in a line of the 
 paper's contents. The personal column, however, set 
 him to thinking that, since the reporters of daily journals 
 often looked over the registers of the leading hotels, they 
 might see his name and make note of his arrival as a 
 man of importance. Indeed, they might even seek to 
 interview him on the subject of current literature, as an 
 Atlanta paper had once done. That interview had been 
 a tribute to his genius, and he had mailed many copies 
 of it to his friends, and had preserved it in a well-worn 
 scrap-book. 
 
 At a table close to his own sat a family group, a middle- 
 aged man and woman with three young ladies, evidently 
 their daughters. The youngest and tallest of the three 
 girls was strikingly pretty. He told himself that she was 
 a veritable human flower, a regal white rose. He was 
 sure she loved poetry. He had met many such, and they, 
 all of them, had liked to have him read his poems to them. 
 She sat very erect, her long lashes lowered. Her hands 
 were delicate and tapering, her abundant brown hair fell 
 back in artistic waves from her fine white brow, and was 
 
 108 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 fastened in a graceful knot at the back. He stared at her 
 covertly from behind his paper. He was sure that she 
 had noticed him. How romantic it would be, he thought, 
 if by some chance they should meet through some com 
 mon acquaintance who happened to come along! He 
 smiled to himself as he imagined her surprise at being 
 informed that her admirer was none other than Carter 
 Crofton, of whose rare gift so much was being said, and 
 who, for the sake of his work, had become something of 
 a recluse, though not quite the woman-hater as had been 
 stated. However, she was taking no further notice of 
 him now, for her parents and sisters were rising from the 
 table and leaving the room. His eyes followed her as she 
 walked toward the door. She really had the slow awk 
 wardness of an overgrown school-girl, but this was not 
 apparent to him. In fact, he was sure she danced di 
 vinely and had a mind worth knowing. He sighed, for 
 it struck him that they would perhaps never meet, never 
 in the great wide world. 
 
 When his dinner was over he went into the foyer, and 
 thence into a smoking-room. Finding a card of amuse 
 ments, he looked it over. The plays at the theaters did 
 not appeal to his fancy, so he decided that he would go 
 to a certain famous beer-garden on "The Heights." He 
 had heard some of his college friends speak of the resort 
 as well worth a visit. Wearing his silk top-hat and stylish 
 gray overcoat, and smoking a fragrant cigar, he went out 
 side and had an attendant call a cab for him. 
 
 As the cab bore him along a vast content rested on him. 
 It was a glorious thing to be young, wealthy, and gifted; 
 and those things had not been sought by him; they had 
 come to him as a birthright. His father was dying, but 
 Gilbert Crofton was old; all men have to die when their 
 time comes, and their children ought not to be sad over 
 the inevitable and yet, and yet the broken man might 
 even now be asking for him, wondering why he was not 
 
 109 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 there, weeping, pleading, declaring that a trick had been 
 played on him by his enemies perhaps now suspecting 
 that his favorite son had also turned against him. Per 
 haps Gilbert had rebelled against restraint, necessary- 
 force had been used and bodily pain inflicted. If so it 
 would never be known, for, of course, such establishments 
 had their private methods. A thrill of horror accom 
 panied by a wave of incongruous grief passed over him. 
 Ah, the helpless old man now realized that he was deserted, 
 a prisoner among strangers! Perhaps sufficient reason 
 remained to make the realization to such a man as Gil 
 bert Crofton terrible in the extreme. 
 
 The cab was putting him down at the door of the beer- 
 garden. Lively music came from the crowded place. 
 His gloom was lifting. Why should he worry? he asked 
 himself. That would do no one any good. On a platform 
 a group of Tyrolian singers in peasant dress were yodeling 
 and dancing merrily. Carter admired the form of one 
 of the young women very much, and as he took a seat at 
 a table quite near the platform he looked up at her, smiled 
 patronizingly, and clapped his hands approvingly. She 
 may have been the faithful wife of the singer next to her, 
 and yet she smiled back with appreciation, for the rich 
 dress and youthful face of her admirer indicated that he 
 was perhaps a college student who belonged to a privileged 
 class in the eyes of many vaudeville performers. An idea 
 for an Alpine poem flashed into his mind. He was sure 
 he already had a good first line and a fine title. He must 
 not forget it, and, taking a pencil from his pocket, he 
 made a note on the margin of the program. Then he 
 ordered beer of the man who was removing the empty 
 glasses and wiping the damp table. When the beer came 
 he raised his glass and, catching the singer's eye, play 
 fully indicated that he was drinking her health. She 
 bowed, smiled, and made a pretty feint of responding by 
 raising her cupped hand to her painted lips. Some of the 
 
 no 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 audience noticed the little flirtation and smiled good- 
 naturedly. This pleased our poet, for he felt quite the 
 experienced man of the world to-night, and was sure his 
 easy manner and dress indicated it. He began to wonder 
 what his income would be when his father was dead. 
 He tried to put it from his mind as unworthy of considera 
 tion at such a time, but it persisted. It would be hand 
 some; he knew that from what Farnham had said about 
 the railroad. Then he began to dream of the life before 
 him. He would live in the best fashion, have the best 
 things money could buy. He would pass most of his time 
 in Europe. All the best minds had lived and worked in 
 that congenial atmosphere, and why should not he do so? 
 He would write only when he felt truly inspired and show 
 the world that it was not necessary for a genius to occupy 
 an attic to be at his best. 
 
 A rouged woman in a flashy dress was smiling at him 
 from a table near by. Indifferently he nodded and re 
 turned the smile. She inclined her head to the vacant 
 chair on her right and winked, thus inviting him to join 
 her; but with a reluctant smile he shook his head and 
 directed his attention to the performers. Such a common 
 creature was not for him, he said to himself. Then his 
 thoughts drifted into a more serious channel. Perhaps 
 she was once an innocent girl who had been led astray 
 by some idle trifler, and had finally sunk to this manner 
 of earning a living. Why had he not thought of it be 
 fore? What, after all, was to become of Lydia beauti 
 ful, trusting, innocent child of the mountains? What was 
 to prevent her from going the way of all such desperate 
 creatures? All at once the life and joy went out of the 
 gay scene around him. The music had lost its charm. 
 He sat with his glance on his dead cigar, his second glass 
 of beer untouched. Something must be done, but what? 
 Marriage was the only honorable thing for some men, 
 but that was out of the question in his case, for he was 
 
 in 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 a Crofton, a member of an old family, a man of wealth, 
 a genius. The Croftons all along had done as he had done. 
 How could he be expected to act differently when the 
 tendency was inborn and not to be eradicated? In fact, 
 it would be harder for him to marry under such circum 
 stances than it would have been for Henry, for instance, 
 for the world had already taken notice of him, and social 
 as well as mental triumphs were expected of him. No, 
 no; marriage to such a girl, beautiful and true as she was, 
 was absurd, but he would have plenty of money before 
 long and she should be amply provided for. Perhaps he 
 might take her with him abroad. It might be managed 
 secretly. He could give her the prettiest, most costly 
 things to wear. He could show her the great foreign 
 world. She would be grateful; she would be happy; 
 she would adore him; they could be together whenever 
 it was convenient. Yes, yes, that must be done. It was 
 a dazzling solution of the miserable problem. And he 
 loved her he loved her. 
 
 He got up and started out. He was now burning with 
 the passionate memories of their last meeting. The 
 women who sat alone at various tables, and who glanced 
 at him seductively as he passed, were unnoticed. Lydia, 
 Lydia! no king could have a more beautiful mistress. 
 He would teach her all needed things, and, above all, to 
 understand him. After all, what was wrong about it? 
 Was he not more European by nature than American? 
 And what European of his rank and fortune would let 
 a thing like that mar his happiness? 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE next day was Sunday. Carter slept till ten 
 o'clock, and then arose and took his bath. An un 
 accountable feeling of morbid depression was on him, 
 and as he bathed he rubbed his skin vigorously to give 
 his blood better circulation. Before dressing he took his 
 usual exercises by swinging his arms about and bending 
 his body to and fro. But the exercise did not seem to 
 help him into a happier mood, and presently he became 
 aware of the cause of this. It was because he had to visit 
 the asylum. He might not be permitted to see his father, 
 but he would have to see the grim, accusing place of his 
 confinement and confer with its manager. How much 
 more welcome death would be, since death had to come 
 so soon, anyway, than this prolonged torture of those who 
 loved the doomed man! 
 
 There was a telephone in his sitting-room, and, seeing 
 it, Carter suddenly decided to call up Dr. Hamilton. 
 Perhaps he would find that it was not necessary for him 
 to go out that day, and certainly to-morrow would suit 
 him better. 
 
 The connection was made and he was soon speaking to 
 Dr. Hamilton. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand," came over the wire. "I 
 have just seen your father. He is doing as well as I 
 could expect. You, of course, know that he is a difficult 
 patient to control, but every possible thing is being done 
 that can be done." 
 
 "I was wondering, doctor, if there would be any use 
 
 8 113 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 in my coming out to-day," Carter returned. "I am still 
 a little tired from my trip and loss of sleep." 
 
 "None in the world, Mr. Crofton," the answer came 
 quickly. "In fact, if you came to-day I should not let 
 you see your father, for it would not be advisable now. 
 To-morrow I think you may see him, but it is better for 
 him to be alone to-day. I assure you you have no cause 
 for worry at present, and if there is any change for the 
 worse I'll telephone you at once." 
 
 "Thank you. Very well, I'll wait till to-morrow," said 
 Carter, and as he hung up the receiver he was conscious 
 of a sense of boundless relief. Now he could be himself 
 and spend the day as he liked. Under a little glow of 
 anticipation he finished dressing. He could now sit over 
 his breakfast with the morning paper and enjoy it as he 
 would also enjoy his cigar in the smoking-room afterward. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock when his breakfast was over and 
 he went out into the streets for a stroll. Why was he so 
 constantly thinking, in connection with his father's ap 
 proaching end, of the share of the estate which would fall 
 to him? He fairly shuddered under the weight of self- 
 accusation, and yet he could not free himself from the 
 thought. He recalled Gilbert's chief holdings one by 
 one, and a comforting charm hovered over each. There 
 were the Western mining stocks which were constantly 
 advancing in value; the investments in Southern iron- 
 ore lands and iron-furnaces; the cotton-mills; the bank 
 ing shares; the United States bonds; the private loans, 
 large and small, which were well secured by real estate 
 and good collateral. One-third of all this was to be his 
 own, and in addition there was the special gift from his 
 father of the interest in Farnham's railroad, which his 
 friend had assured him would be a fortune in itself. 
 Surely, surely he was a lucky man, and yet something was 
 wrong somewhere, else why this constant, haunting de 
 pression? Was it grief? Was it the shock of his father's 
 
 114 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 breakdown? Was it remorse? He could not answer. 
 He tried to revive the pleasure the anticipation of his 
 coming wealth often brought to him, but it was in vain. 
 Yes, something was wrong decidedly wrong. 
 
 As he strolled aimlessly along the streets he noticed 
 groups of persons, old and young, in their best attire, 
 going to the various churches. He heard a bell ringing 
 in the tower of an old-fashioned edifice near by, and for 
 no special reason he went toward it. 
 
 Deep down within him lay a certain respect for religious 
 observances. He recalled, with a touch of sadness, how 
 punctual his mother had been in her attendance at the 
 Presbyterian service. Milicent, too, was religious, in a 
 formal way; but the years spent at a Unitarian college 
 among friends who were free-thinkers had quite deprived 
 him of the orthodox faith. He no longer believed the 
 simple biblical stories he had been taught in childhood. 
 He told himself that he was a philosopher, but of the 
 idealistic rather than the materialistic school. It was 
 plain to him that all true poets were mystics, and if he 
 had any religion it was that of Emerson, Tennyson, and 
 Browning. 
 
 He went into the vestibule of the church, paused at the 
 door, and looked in. The congregation was filing in and 
 taking seats. A polite usher offered to direct him to a 
 front pew, but he entered one close to the door, thinking 
 that he might more easily withdraw if he felt so inclined. 
 He was strongly impressed by the contented-looking fam 
 ily groups which came in and went to their pews. There 
 were mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, and the 
 sight of them there together, the young bearing resem 
 blances to the old, struck him as being eminently beautiful, 
 but, so far as he was concerned, vaguely inadequate. 
 
 Thereupon his morbidness descended upon him even 
 more heavily. Family life was certainly good and essen 
 tial. The fact that his own home had been so inhar- 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 monious made him more keenly appreciate harmony in 
 other homes. He caught himself looking at some of the 
 sons in the family groups. They appeared to be clean, 
 pure-minded young men. There certainly could be no such 
 complex storm raging in their breasts as was then raging 
 in his. He was sure his experience with young men of 
 Puritan descent made him sure that not one of those in 
 the pews now holding the hymn-books for their sisters or 
 mothers could ever descend to the unconventional life 
 abroad which he had planned to live with Lydia as an 
 escape from the consequences of the wrong he had done. 
 
 After all, how could he do it? What would be the 
 final end of it all? Who would be the father of the pos 
 sible children of such a nameless union? How could he 
 marry the sort of woman he had dreamed of as his wife 
 if he were then living with and actually loving the partner 
 of his first great sin? 
 
 The organ was being played. The choir rose and be 
 gan to sing; the music was good, but it made him all the 
 more restless all the more wretched. Rising, he left 
 the church. Lydia, Lydia, poor stranded, misused, 
 wrecked creature! Something must be done, but what? 
 He was to blame; yes, yes, he was to blame, wholly to 
 blame. She had pleaded with him like a beautiful, cow 
 ering slave sensing disaster, and yet in the hot tumult 
 of his passion he had overpowered her and shown her that 
 the will the desire of a Crofton would not be thwarted, 
 once it had reached the point of bestial demand. 
 
 He spent the remainder of that day in loneliness save 
 for the companionship of unwelcome reflections. He 
 walked much, and when he returned to his hotel at night 
 he was greatly fatigued. 
 
 On the table in his sitting-room he found the maga 
 zines he had ordered. Almost listlessly he turned the 
 leaves. The discovery that his own expected poem had 
 not yet appeared did not disappoint him so much as had 
 
 116 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 been the case the month previous, and the poems by 
 other authors seemed flat and purposeless. Something 
 was wrong with him. Was he actually losing all vital 
 interest in his art? 
 
 A horrible fear attacked him. He remembered having 
 read that some great authority had said that no writer 
 could produce good, lasting, uplifting work who was him 
 self immoral. He tried to laugh at the idea and recalled 
 name after name, especially among the French, English, 
 and German poets whose private lives contradicted the 
 statement, but still the idea clung to him. Perhaps there 
 were different spiritual laws for different men and differ 
 ent countries. This must be true, or he would not be so 
 depressed over an act that many other poets would scarce 
 ly think about a moment. Yes, it was because he was 
 an American, but he would not remain in America. He 
 would live where men were free, and he would be free. 
 He was a genius, and genius made its own laws. 
 
 He went to bed and tried to sleep, but the night was 
 warm and he tossed about restlessly. Suddenly the mem 
 ory of his father's distraught face, as he looked at him 
 through the iron lattice of the elevator at the asylum, 
 returned to him. A lump of emotion pained his throat. 
 Tears came into his eyes and fell upon his pillow. He 
 loved that man. It was queer, but he loved his father 
 in his infantile helplessness more than he had ever loved 
 any one else on earth. Perhaps it was because the old 
 man had believed in him so thoroughly and trusted him 
 even in the mental darkness that was on him. 
 
 After hours of such musings as these he fell asleep. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE next morning he had his breakfast in his room, 
 telling himself that it was the French custom and 
 a delightful, luxurious one, owing to its privacy and to 
 the fact that it was pleasanter to go through the ordeal 
 of dressing after one had drunk one's coffee, smoked, and 
 read the papers. 
 
 He ordered a carriage, and it was at the entrance when 
 he went down at ten o'clock. The drive was an attrac 
 tive one, as he had found before, but its object was un 
 pleasant to the point of gruesomeness. His sensitive, 
 high-strung nature shrank from further contact with the 
 man who was now more dead to him than alive. Would 
 that senile mind, so facile in its flights, suspect the guilty 
 thoughts which were running rife through his brain? 
 Would the once shrewd reader of men's motives see 
 through the mask of the son he had loved and trusted? 
 
 He had been seated only a few minutes in the parlor 
 of the asylum when Dr. Hamilton came in and extended 
 his hand perfunctorily. 
 
 "I'm glad you came this morning," he began, a thought 
 ful frown settling on his face. "I like to be in close asso 
 ciation with the relatives of my patients, especially in 
 critical cases, and I am sorry to have to report that your 
 father is still not doing so well as I expected. He passed 
 a very rough night, and gave the attendants consider 
 able trouble. He has surprising physical strength when 
 wrought up, and you may find that his face and hands 
 are bruised a little; but it is due to his stout resistance. 
 
 118 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 You can well see, I presume, that absolute control of such 
 patients is necessary?" 
 
 "Yes, of course," Carter answered. "I suppose there 
 is no other way. Am I to see him this morning?" 
 
 "Yes, I have already prepared him as well as I could 
 for your visit. In a dim way he is expecting you, though 
 he seems to wonder why you and he are not together all 
 the time. When you meet him I'd advise you to humor 
 him as much as possible." 
 
 "Is he in his his bedroom?" Carter inquired. 
 
 "Not at present. There is a large parlor on that floor 
 which is used by some of the patients, and he is there now, 
 carefully watched by two attendants. We may go up 
 now, if you wish." 
 
 Dr. Hamilton led him to the elevator. They ascended 
 to the third floor and got out. At the end of a long, bare 
 corridor, on the plain white walls of which hung no orna 
 ments or pictures, was a closed door. Reaching it, the 
 doctor rapped sharply and an attendant opened it from 
 the inside. 
 
 The floor had no carpet. There was a massive oaken 
 table in the center of the room, and scattered here and 
 there were heavy straight-backed chairs of the same 
 material. A babble of voices burst forth as the door 
 opened. There were nine or ten men of various ages 
 standing about, and most of them were talking and 
 gesticulating wildly. One man was striding back and 
 forth, singing a religious song, clapping his hands and 
 shouting: "Praise the Lord! Praise the Redeemer, the 
 Saviour of damned souls!" Another stood in a corner 
 of the room making a disjointed political speech. Another 
 was laughing hilariously and shedding tears at the same 
 time. 
 
 Seated at a window, Carter saw the drooping form of 
 his father. Gilbert seemed to be almost asleep. The 
 doctor went to him and touched his shoulder lightly. 
 
 119 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Gilbert looked up quickly, sprang to his feet, backed 
 against the wall, began to shake his fist in the doctor's 
 face and stammer out a flow of unintelligible words. 
 
 " I've brought your son to see you. Now be quiet," Dr. 
 Hamilton said, firmly. 
 
 Herewith Carter stepped forward and met his father's 
 furious glare. Gilbert's brow was bruised and swollen, 
 his lower lip gashed and bleeding, a scrap of sticking- 
 plaster hanging loosely from the wound. 
 
 "W-w-where've y-y-you been?" Gilbert demanded. 
 "Where were you when th-th-these th-thugs held me 
 down and tied me to the bed?" 
 
 "I had to see Farnham," the son returned, inventing 
 the best excuse available. 
 
 "Farnham? Then you you saw him, did you? 
 What d-d-did did he say?" 
 
 "The road is all right, father. He will be here to see 
 you soon." Carter had to raise his voice to be heard 
 above the noise on all sides. 
 
 "I I don't believe it," Gilbert fumed. "They are all 
 tricking me they are fooling you, too. Why d-d-don't 
 they let me out of here?" 
 
 "You are not exactly well, father," Carter said, look 
 ing at the doctor. "You do not realize it, but you are 
 not well, and must stay here under the doctor's care 
 till" 
 
 "Me sick? Who, me? It's a dirty lil-lil-lie! Henry 
 and your sister are at the bottom of it ! They are trying 
 to rob us, I tell you. They may rope Farnham in, too. 
 They w-w-will do anything to get my money. Farn- 
 ham's no saint, either. Look how he acts with the wives 
 of other men? You you watch 'im." 
 
 A drowsy look was stealing over the old man's face. 
 He stared about him aimlessly for a moment, then sank 
 limply into his chair, dropped his head, closed his eyes, 
 and began to breathe loudly. 
 
 120 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Come away now," Dr. Hamilton whispered, and, un 
 noticed by Gilbert, they left the room. 
 
 "You may think it is not good to have him with the 
 others," the doctor remarked, when they were down 
 stairs; "but it is better for him. The sight of you roused 
 him considerably just now, but just before you came he 
 was much quieter in fact, he was laughing with some of 
 the others. If you remain in Cincinnati you might come 
 out every other day, or say twice a week. Of course you 
 could return to Atlanta and I could telegraph you; but 
 I am bound to inform you that your father might die at 
 any moment, and suddenly. He might linger for months, 
 but it is not likely. He doesn't take proper nourishment. 
 We can't well force it on him; it would be more cruel than 
 kind in a case where death is only a question of time." 
 
 "I shall remain close at hand," Carter said. "Tele 
 phone me if there is any change and I'll drive out at once." 
 
 "Very well," Dr. Hamilton answered. "I want to 
 please my patrons, and if there is anything I can possibly 
 do please don't hesitate to call on me. I'm glad to see 
 that you yourself are looking better already. You are 
 still worrying, I think, but you must throw it off." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ON the whole, the weeks which followed were passed 
 agreeably enough by the young poet. He readily 
 adapted himself to the routine of his slight daily avoca 
 tions. Almost every morning he wrote a line to Milicent. 
 He either telephoned to the asylum or drove out to see 
 how his father was getting along. After the first week 
 his visits became less often, for he saw that they did his 
 father no good and only served to depress himself. The 
 luxury of living in a fine hotel became more and more 
 agreeable. He found that there was a considerable Ger 
 man population in the city, and both as a pastime and as 
 a preparation for his life in Europe he, already a master 
 of French, took up the study of conversational German. 
 He spent many of his evenings in the beer-halls and 
 beer-gardens, where he confined himself to that tongue. 
 He was liberal with his funds, and made congenial ac 
 quaintances among dancers, singers, and actresses of the 
 vaudeville class. He bought many books and read a 
 good deal, chiefly the best works of poets and philosophers. 
 There was one disagreeable thought which constantly 
 haunted him, and that was that he was producing nothing 
 himself in the way of poetry. Even the scheme for his 
 great epic had become vague and shadowy. Something 
 was wrong, but he could not tell what it was. He was 
 too young to understand that his failure to write was due 
 to his absorption in sensual pleasures at the expense of 
 his art. He kept telling himself that the inspiration 
 would come again in due time. It would come when this 
 worry over his father was past, when he was wholly his 
 
 122 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 own master and could visit the far-off places his fancy 
 had so warmly painted with the brush of ideality. It 
 would come when his debt to Lydia was paid in some 
 form or other. 
 
 He had been to a dinner party one evening with some of 
 his new friends, and returned to his hotel, when to his great 
 surprise he found his Uncle Thomas waiting for him in the 
 foyer of the hotel. There was something reluctant, it 
 seemed, in the way the old man offered his hand. There 
 was an evasive shifting of the latter's gentle eyes, as they 
 walked into the smoking-room and sat down. 
 
 "I had no idea you were coming," Carter said. "Milly 
 didn't write me you intended to do so." 
 
 "I decided rather suddenly," Thomas answered, slowly, 
 as if carefully weighing his words, his unreadable eyes 
 still averted. "Your sister has been writing me every 
 day or so, giving me your reports. She did not happen 
 to mention where you were living, and so so I could not 
 write to you myself." 
 
 "I see," the nephew said. He was strangely embar 
 rassed, and why he could not have explained. "I pre 
 sume you will want to see him to-morrow?" 
 
 "I've already seen him." 
 
 "Oh, you have!" 
 
 "Yes. When I got here at noon to-day I thought you 
 were staying at the sanitarium, and so I went there direct 
 from the train. Dr. Hamilton gave me this address, and 
 so I came here and took a room for the night." 
 
 "And what did you think of him?" Carter asked, won 
 dering what the almost palpable thing was which seemed 
 to hang between him and his uncle. 
 
 The old man shrugged his shoulders, still avoiding his 
 nephew's groping stare. "It is as bad as it could be," 
 was the reply. "He is dying rapidly. He didn't even 
 recognize me. I suppose that it is well that I saw him 
 again, but I did not come to see him, really." 
 
 123 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Thomas paused, his eyes on the Turkish rug at his feet. 
 It was as if he wanted to go further, but was unable to 
 formulate the requisite words with which to express 
 himself. 
 
 "You did not come to see him?" Carter said, perplexed. 
 "Then you came on business of your own?" 
 
 "I came to see you. I wanted to talk to you about 
 something of a a rather delicate nature, but I have de 
 cided to wait till it is all over here and you return home. 
 Dr. Hamilton says your father is sinking very rapidly. He 
 was walking about this morning and fell down suddenly. 
 They put him to bed, and he may not leave it again." 
 
 "Yes, he can't last long now," Carter said, conscious 
 that the sigh he gave was somewhat artificial. "It is 
 only a question of a few days. Was it any matter per 
 taining to his estate that you wanted to speak to me 
 about?" 
 
 "No, it wasn't that." Thomas flashed a sudden 
 glance at his nephew and then looked down. "He was 
 good enough, as you may know, to lend me some money 
 a year ago, but I paid off the debt in the spring." 
 
 "And you do not feel inclined to to tell me about it 
 I mean about the matter that you thought of mentioning?" 
 
 "No, not now," Thomas said, firmly, and with what 
 seemed to be a little shudder. "Your place is here now, at 
 such a critical time, and and everything else must wait. 
 But when you get back to Atlanta you will come right 
 out to see me, won't you?" 
 
 "Yes, of course. In fact, I want very much to come 
 again, and " 
 
 "Have I your faithful promise that you will do so with 
 out delay after it is all over?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly. In fact, I shall need the rest and 
 quiet of the mountains after all this worry and strain on 
 my nerves. Of course, I've tried to divert my thoughts 
 as much as possible." 
 
 124 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 A frown settled on the old man's face. To his nephew's 
 surprise, he got up suddenly and extended his hand. On 
 grasping it Carter felt it quivering. 
 
 "I am very tired from my trip, and shall turn in," 
 Thomas said in a low voice, "and as I leave on a very 
 early train six o'clock I'll say good-by now." 
 
 "Good-by," Carter answered, and at the desk in the 
 office, where his uncle was asking for the key to his room, 
 they separated. 
 
 The young man bought a cigar at the news-stand and 
 went back into the smoking-room. He was haunted by 
 a subconscious hint of something he could not grasp 
 something which his uncle's personality seemed to give 
 forth and yet hold in check. 
 
 There was some sad mystery about Thomas Crofton, 
 and this hurried visit had something to do with it. Well, 
 he would understand it later. He was sure the old sufferer 
 was going to confide in him. Yes, that was it. Before 
 long he would know the cause, perhaps, of his uncle's 
 moody habits and lonely way of living. 
 
 Meanwhile he had begun to smoke. His promise to 
 his uncle to visit him now brought up visions of delight. 
 He would see Lydia every day and tell her how beautiful 
 she was, and how he had missed her. He would tell her 
 of his plans their plans. She no doubt understood by 
 this time why he had left her so abruptly, and would for 
 give him. He was quite a man of the world now. He 
 was no longer a callow, inexperienced boy. Those weeks 
 of bohemian freedom spent in Cincinnati had taught him 
 that the habits of a man of fortune and genius could 
 never fit the mold adapted to the humdrum and the 
 ordinary. He smiled as he thought of what a simpleton 
 he must have appeared to the experienced Farnham. 
 Well, he would lose no time in showing his friend that 
 his boyhood was over and that he was as wise in the way 
 of the world as Farnham or any of his class. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ONE morning, a few days later, he waked earlier than 
 usual. He had been out till late the night before, 
 his head was aching, and he felt unaccountably depressed. 
 As he dressed and saw his heavy eyes and haggard face 
 in his mirror the thought came to him that perhaps some 
 thing quite serious had happened to his father, and that 
 his feelings were due to a premonition of it. He tried 
 to banish the impression as he ate his breakfast in the 
 cafe*, but it clung to him so persistently that it took away 
 his appetite. He had not seen his father for several 
 days, and his conscience sharply accused him of 'filial 
 neglect. He had the waiter order a carriage for him so 
 that he might take it immediately after breakfast, for 
 he was determined now to delay no longer in going to the 
 asylum. 
 
 He had reached the door when a porter came to him 
 hurriedly. 
 
 "You are wanted on the 'phone," the man said. 
 
 "The 'phone!" Carter repeated, his heart sinking under 
 a sudden conviction that he was to hear unpleasant 
 news. 
 
 The man led him to a booth and he entered, closed the 
 glass door, and took up the receiver. 
 
 "Hello!" he said. 
 
 "Hello!" came back on the wire. "I'm waiting to 
 speak to Mr. Carter Crofton. Why can't I get him?" 
 
 "I am Mr. Crofton," Carter answered, "Who is 
 that?" 
 
 126 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 " Oh, I see ! I am Dr. Hamilton, Mr. Crofton. I don't 
 want to excite you unduly, but you'd better come out at 
 once. Your father is not so well." 
 
 "I was just starting out." Carter was conscious of 
 the need of some explanation. "I would have been out 
 before this, but was engaged on some work and special 
 reading I was doing; besides, I thought that I could 
 really do no good out there." 
 
 The anticipated agreement to this was oddly lacking. 
 There was a short pause, and then Dr. Hamilton answered 
 in a tone that seemed to the young man to be abrupt, 
 hurried, if not contemptuous. 
 
 "You'd better drive fast, I think; they have sent for 
 me again, and you may not really be in time." 
 
 The close air of the booth was suffocating. A dizzy 
 sensation came over him. He hung up the receiver, 
 pushed the door open, breathed in the fresh air, and has 
 tened out to the carriage. Not see him alive not see 
 Gilbert Crofton alive! Could it be possible that death, 
 actual death, had come to that particular man? He 
 sprang into the carriage, ordered the driver to make all 
 possible speed, and as he leaned back and closed his eyes 
 he became the prey of a thousand poignant thoughts and 
 visions of the past. He recalled the old man's gentleness 
 and kindness to him all through his childhood, and his 
 constant revelations of confidence in him. He remem 
 bered how proud Gilbert had been of his poetic talent 
 and his college degree, and the many times that the old 
 man had seemed to check an impulsive affection that 
 he was too proud to show. Then there was that special 
 gift of the railroad interest over the inheritance of the 
 other two heirs. All that was from a man who, perhaps 
 in great pain and even lucidness of mind, was dying while 
 the ungrateful recipient was enjoying himself in the most 
 sensual manner with degraded associates. 
 
 At the door of the asylum he met Dr. Hamilton. "I 
 
 127 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 am sorry to say that you are too late," he said, as he led 
 Carter into the parlor. 
 
 "Too late?" Carter felt the words stir his brain, but 
 they did not reach his lips. 
 
 "He began to sink very rapidly about eight o'clock this 
 morning," the doctor continued. "I was needed at his 
 bedside, and so I could not 'phone as quickly as I wished. 
 In such cases I always like to have some representative 
 of the relatives of my patients present at the end, but, 
 you see, owing to your staying in town, it was not possible 
 in this case. They have laid out the body in his room, 
 and you may see it now if you wish." 
 
 "I think I'll go up," Carter said, his voice having a 
 far-off and unfamiliar sound even to his own ears. There 
 seemed to be an accusing coldness in the doctor's manner. 
 It struck Carter as being so, who was not familiar enough 
 with the ways of such establishments to know that Dr. 
 Hamilton would have been less than human if he had 
 not felt the financial loss incurred by the too-early death 
 of his wealthiest patient. 
 
 "The attendant will show you up," Hamilton said. 
 "I am busy right now, but shall see you before you 
 leave." 
 
 The attendant opened the door of the room Gilbert 
 had occupied, and when Carter had entered it he with 
 drew, softly closing the door behind him. The bed had 
 been removed, and on some smooth boards resting on 
 undertaker's stools, beneath a sheet, lay the wasted form 
 of the dead man. 
 
 The morning sunlight streamed against the yellow shade 
 of the window, the shadows of the prison-like iron bars 
 showing through in black squares. The face was covered 
 with a thin white cloth which gave forth the sickening 
 odor of some disinfectant, and for a moment Carter stood 
 almost without the courage to lift it. His mother's had 
 been the only dead face he had ever seen. He had always 
 
 128 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 avoided such sights, telling himself that they were not 
 good for his temperament; but something told him that 
 it was his sacred duty now to look at the face beneath 
 the cloth. He took a step or two back and forth, but the 
 sound of his shoes on the bare floor grated on his highly 
 wrought nerves, and he paused at the head of the corpse. 
 His fingers seemed lifeless prongs in stiff motion as they 
 pinched up the cloth at the edges and turned it back. 
 There it lay in the yellow light that ashen face, so 
 like and yet unlike what it once had been. The lips were 
 set, as if they had been pressed tightly together in the 
 last desperate throe of conscious existence. The lids of 
 the eyes were closed, the balls all but visible through the 
 thin skin. The cheek-bones seemed ready to push through 
 the decaying flesh that covered them. The whole object 
 was but a skeleton clothed in parchment. 
 
 Almost with a sob of terror and grief combined Carter 
 replaced the cloth and stepped back. There was a 
 chair near the window, and he sank into it. He felt that 
 he ought to cry, ought to shed tears, and he actually tried 
 to do so. He heard himself whimpering and moaning, 
 and, in accordance with his introspective habit, wondered 
 if any actual sincerity lay beneath the uncouth effort. 
 Had he not looked for his father's death as something 
 to be desired for the sake of the chief sufferer and all 
 others concerned? Then why should he be grieved? 
 Was it not best to have the prolonged agony over? It 
 seemed so, and yet there was that still thing beneath the 
 cloth. It had something to say, and it was saying it as 
 mutely as a signal-flag waved out of the infinite by the 
 very hand of God. It was saying: 
 
 "As he lies there so you must lie. What do you think 
 about it? What are you going to do about it ? The man 
 that occupied that wormy husk led a self-absorbed life 
 and finally reached this goal. And you yourself were 
 so eager to plunge into the mire of sensuality that you 
 
 9 129 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 could not spare a moment from your revelries to hold his 
 hand while the last throb of life flickered in it. You 
 what are you, anyway? Poet? Are you a poet? Poets 
 have souls. You have none." 
 
 He was stifling. He seemed to be breathing into his 
 lungs the very atoms of his father's body which, released 
 by decay, were floating like sentient insects in the air. 
 He got up and went to the door; but with his hand on 
 the latch he paused. He remembered hearing an old 
 woman in the mountains say, superstitiously, that it was 
 well to touch the face of the dead that such an act helped 
 the living bear the loss of the departed. Reluctantly he 
 went back. Slowly he raised the cloth, finding now that 
 he was not so horrified as before. Putting his hand 
 against the cheek, cleanly shaven since death, he stroked 
 it. Then an impulse flowed through him that he could 
 not resist; he bent and tenderly kissed the cold, clammy 
 brow. 
 
 "Oh, father, forgive me!" he cried; and then his tears 
 flowed freely. Through them he gazed upon the pale 
 mask. Strange, but the whole contour now seemed lined 
 in transcendental peacefulness. Sobbing deep in his 
 breast, Carter kissed the brow again. He put his hand 
 down under the sheet and pressed the fingers of the stiff 
 hands crossed like slabs of ice upon the cold chest. Then 
 he turned from the room and descended the stairs. 
 
 He was on the lawn, walking to and fro on the 
 greensward, still wondering over his complex emotions 
 and trying to analyze them, when Dr. Hamilton ap 
 proached. 
 
 "I presume you will want to take the remains to At 
 lanta?" he said, tentatively. 
 
 "Yes, of course," Carter answered, "and as early as 
 possible." 
 
 "A reliable undertaker has just come from the city. 
 He is waiting, and if you care to consult him " 
 
 130 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "I'd be glad to leave it all to him and you," Carter 
 interrupted. "I want no expense spared." 
 
 "Very well," the doctor returned. "You can trust 
 him thoroughly. I have known him several years. You 
 may leave all arrangements in his hands. If you would 
 like to accompany the remains the body can go on the 
 same train you take. The railways require that a regular 
 first-class ticket be bought for a corpse, and they attend 
 to everything en route. The casket would have to be 
 transferred only once between here and Atlanta, and 
 that is at Chattanooga. The best train leaves here at 
 ten o'clock to-night, and you can get sleeper accommo 
 dations on it. The undertaker will arrange that, too, so 
 you may do as you like till leaving-time to-night." 
 
 "Thank you," said Carter, vaguely relieved. "Then I'll 
 take that train, and shall expect everything to be done as 
 you say." 
 
 He drove back to the city. He first sent a telegram 
 to his sister, then another to his uncle, informing them of 
 the death and the hour of his arrival in Atlanta. After 
 that he was free to pass the intervening time as he liked, 
 and it was just noon. He sat down in the smoking-room 
 of his hotel with a newspaper and a cigar, but his former 
 sense of ease and content at such moments was gone. 
 The very atmosphere about him seemed charged with 
 some element, psychic or otherwise, which was new and 
 indescribable. Dead? How could his own father 
 Gilbert Crofton, that man of force, energy, and hope 
 be actually gone for ever? He told himself that it was 
 unrealizable, and yet it was true. 
 
 He remembered that he had planned to go to a certain 
 vaudeville performance that afternoon to see a French 
 danseuse, whom he had met at a dinner in a bachelor's 
 rooms, in a startlingly original act ; in fact, he had a ticket 
 for a box seat in his pocket; but now, of course, he would 
 not go. But why should he allow what had happened to 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 interfere? Would it not be sensible in him to resort to 
 any means to banish the terrible mood that was on him? 
 He thought so, and yet he could not fully decide to go. 
 
 He went to the theater as the hour approached. He 
 saw the people going in and reached the door himself, 
 and then turned slowly and aimlessly back to his hotel. 
 Then the thought came to him that there was a book 
 he wanted to consult in the public library, and he di 
 rected his steps thither, only to find at the door of the 
 building that he was in no mood for reading. Thereupon 
 he began to stroll about the city, telling himself that the 
 exercise would fatigue him, cause him to sleep on the 
 Pullman, and thus provide, at least, temporary oblivion. 
 
 Herewith his thoughts took him swiftly to Atlanta. 
 The morning papers would contain lengthy accounts of 
 the death of the city's wealthiest citizen. Mention would 
 be made of the son who was bringing home the remains 
 for interment the brilliant son of whom the State was 
 so proud, and who now had the heartfelt sympathy of the 
 public at large in his great bereavement. Then there 
 would be the service at the church. He saw Milicent 
 veiled from head to foot in black; Henry, if the man could 
 be found and coached into his duty, would be there, look 
 ing strangely out of place; also Thomas Crofton, the taci 
 turn brother of the deceased, and himself, upon whom all 
 eyes would rest in sympathetic admiration, for what could 
 be more interesting than the grief of a high-strung, sensi 
 tive poet? 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 HE was at the train a few minutes before leaving-time. 
 He was unaccompanied by any of his new friends; 
 he had not informed them even of his father's illness, so, 
 of course, information of the death would be out of place. 
 Besides, he doubted that he would ever meet any of them 
 again, for he was sure he would go abroad very soon. He 
 was about to step into the sleeping-car in the station when 
 he was accosted by a stranger wearing a silk top-hat and 
 black frock-coat. The man bowed servilely and intro 
 duced himself as the undertaker in charge of the remains. 
 He pointed to a truck, among some others laden with 
 trunks, which held, as its sole burden, a long unpainted box. 
 
 "They are going to put it in the baggage-car now," he 
 said. "I waited for you to come. Some like to see them 
 safely put on, and I thought I'd give you the chance if 
 you got here soon enough. Those are my men there. 
 They know their business. If there is a single thing 
 wrong when you get home it won't be my fault. Part of 
 the road is rough between here and Atlanta, and he might 
 shake about some, but " 
 
 "I understand," Carter interrupted, as the man led 
 him toward the box. On the end of it was tacked a 
 shipper's card with something written upon it. 
 
 "If you are satisfied, I'll order my men to go ahead," 
 said the undertaker. 
 
 "Yes, go ahead," was the reply; and Carter stood by 
 and saw the truck rolled up to the car door and the box 
 shoved in. Then he shook hands with the undertaker. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 thanked him, and went to his seat in the Pullman. The 
 undertaker, however, soon followed him. 
 
 "There is a thing I intended to mention, but I over 
 looked it," he said, his hat in his hand. "A transfer of 
 the remains must be made in Chattanooga. You may 
 be asleep when the train gets there, and I thought that 
 I'd tell you if you don't want to get up to see the transfer 
 made that you needn't do so. The baggage-master is a 
 friend of mine, and he has promised me that he will pay 
 special attention to the transfer." 
 
 "I'll be up," Carter said, coldly. "I'll have the porter 
 call me." 
 
 "Well, just as you wish," the man said, bowing again 
 and moving away. 
 
 A moment later the train started. Three men seated 
 near him had taken out a deck of cards, ready to begin a 
 game of poker. One of them, who looked like a traveling 
 salesman, caught his eyes and smiled. "Want to come 
 in?" he asked. 
 
 Carter shook his head mechanically and declined. 
 "I'm tired and am going to bed early," he said. 
 
 Shortly afterward his berth was made ready and he 
 undressed and lay down. The air in the car was stuffy 
 and close, and his brain seemed over-active. The con 
 versation on all sides, the rumble of the wheels, disturbed 
 him. There were so many things to think about. He 
 was now a man of wealth and importance and perfectly 
 free to live as he liked. Still he was depressed. He told 
 himself that it was owing to his being within only a few 
 car-lengths of the actual corpse of his father, whom he 
 had loved so tenderly. Well, the ordeal would be over 
 after another day and life would then go on as it should. 
 The great epic would be written; even the sorrow he was 
 now experiencing might add a deeper note to his work. 
 Presently his thoughts became jumbled and vague, and 
 he slept. 
 
THE .INNER LAW 
 
 He was dreaming. He seemed to be in London. His 
 poems had crossed the ocean and were being read all over 
 Europe. He was in a drawing-room filled with person 
 ages of rank, title, and genius. He was being lionized, a 
 veteran English poet was congratulating him. Some 
 one led out to dinner. A stately lady bedecked with jewels 
 and in the richest costume was on his arm. Suddenly 
 into the whole brilliant scene came a metallic grinding 
 sound. The faces and forms in the dream were blurred. 
 The lady on his arm was acting queerly. He was study 
 ing her twisting features in slow amazement, and then 
 he saw that she was Lydia. 
 
 "You cannot get away from me," she said, "for I am 
 on your soul." 
 
 He waked with a start. Some one was pulling at his 
 arm. It was the negro porter. 
 
 "You said you wanted to be up at Chattanooga," the 
 man reminded him. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes." 
 
 The berth curtains closed. Raising the shade of his 
 window, he saw that dawn was breaking, barely breaking, 
 in the dun eastern skies. He shuddered. He had seemed 
 to be far off in some sort of transcendental freedom, and 
 now he was occupied with the most gruesome of duties 
 as the sole guardian of the body of the man from whose 
 loins he had sprung. He shivered from the chill of early 
 morning and dressed himself, feeling as lonely there among 
 the closed curtains of strange sleepers as a disembodied 
 soul seeking light in a new and darkened existence. 
 
 When the train had stopped he went out to the plat 
 form. The gray light of dawn lay like a fog over every 
 thing. The lanterns of the trainmen shone and waved 
 here and there. Few persons were in sight. He walked 
 ahead to the baggage-car, to the door of which a truck 
 was being trundled. It was for trunks, and he had to 
 wait for another which was to do the work he was to 
 inspect. The loaded truck rolled away and another took 
 
 135 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 its place. Then the unpainted box was slid out upon 
 the truck, where it rested till a switch-engine brought 
 into place the car which was to take the remains on to 
 Atlanta. 
 
 He had seen the work properly done, and was starting 
 back to the Pullman when a man approached him from 
 behind and touched his arm. It was Farnham. 
 
 " Hello, old chap!" he said, softly, as he took his friend's 
 hand and pressed it sympathetically. "Surprised to see 
 me, I guess. I ran up to meet you spent the night here 
 at the hotel, and had them call me. I'm going back on 
 your train." 
 
 "It is very good of you, Charley. I wasn't expecting 
 any one, and I am more than glad to see you." 
 
 The locomotive's bell was ringing. The conductor 
 was calling out, "All aboard!" and the two friends has 
 tened toward the Pullman. 
 
 "Do you want to go back to bed?" Farnham asked, as 
 they stood in the smoking-room. 
 
 "No; I couldn't sleep," Carter said. "What are you 
 going to do?" 
 
 "Sit up and chat with you here till the dining-car opens 
 at eight o'clock; then we'll have breakfast together." 
 
 "Very well; that will be nice," Carter said, gratefully. 
 "I'm glad you came up. How are they all at home?" 
 
 "Very well, I think. Your sister was quite shocked 
 by your telegram. I called as soon as I heard the news, 
 but could not see her. I think she is better now. Henry 
 was there and your uncle Tom. Together we planned 
 the arrangements. The remains are to be taken to your 
 house, where they will stay till to-morrow morning, when 
 a church service is to be held. The afternoon papers 
 were full of it, and I look for big accounts in the papers 
 this morning. I am glad to be able to tell you that 
 your father's business affairs are in first-rate order. 
 Your sister was worried about his life-insurance policies. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 but I found that all the premiums were paid up. She 
 was afraid, too, that he might have made some serious 
 financial mistake when his mind was not exactly right, 
 but last night I was talking with McCorkle, who has 
 his papers in charge, and he says they are in tip-top shape, 
 so I assured her that there was nothing to worry about. 
 As for the railroad, that is in better condition than ever; 
 and think of it, my boy, you now own fully one-third 
 of it." 
 
 "I am sure I owe that to you," Carter said. "It was 
 a whim my father had to give it to me because you and 
 I are friends." 
 
 "It may be as you say," Farnham admitted. "Now 
 let us talk of something else. The old have to die to make 
 place for the young, and goodness knows you have noth 
 ing to complain of. Your path is certainly strewn with 
 roses if ever a man's was." 
 
 X, 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 S they left the train in the depot in Atlanta they saw 
 Larkin, whip in hand, at the door leading to the 
 street. 
 
 "Now you drive straight home," Farnham said, as 
 he parted from Carter. "Ill attend to everything here. 
 The hearse is waiting. Milicent will be impatient to 
 see you." 
 
 "Thank you, Charley; you are very kind." 
 
 A few minutes later he alighted at home. Milicent met 
 him at the door and coldly kissed him. She was dressed 
 in black. Her face was very grave, but it showed no 
 signs of tears. 
 
 "Oh, you must have had an awful, awful time up there 
 through it all!" she said. "You are too young and sensi 
 tive to have undertaken it." 
 
 "I'm all right," he said, returning her kiss and going 
 into the hall, his arm about her waist. Larkin followed 
 with his bag and bore it solemnly up the stairs to his 
 room. 
 
 The drawing-room held great heaps of flowers which 
 had been sent by friends, and the air was full of their 
 blended fragrance. The chairs had been placed close 
 against the walls, and in the center stood the undertaker's 
 stools ready to support the casket. 
 
 "I understand uncle and Henry are here," Carter re 
 marked. 
 
 "Yes. Henry is in his room as restless as a fish out of 
 water. I am ashamed of him. It looks as if he begrudges 
 
 138 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 even this one day to us in our trouble. He has sunken 
 very low. He actually had the audacity to try to bor 
 row some of my money just now. I wouldn't let him have 
 it, even if he is to come into his part of the estate. Do 
 you blame me?" 
 
 "No, I suppose not," he said, surprised that she should 
 make so sordid a remark at such a moment. "Where is 
 uncle?" 
 
 "He is out on the back porch. He seems to be in one 
 of his gloomy moods. He says nothing, and only walks 
 up and down with his hands behind him. We are a 
 strange family, brother we really are. I realize it more 
 and more every day. But it is a comfort to feel that we 
 are not left poor, as many children are. Mr. McCorkle 
 says father's affairs are in good order." 
 
 "I'll go speak to uncle," Carter said; and he turned 
 down the hall toward the door in the rear. 
 
 He found Thomas Crofton standing on the steps of the 
 porch, his back to the door, staring out into the garden. 
 His head was bare, and somehow the gray hair stroked 
 back from his high brow seemed to his nephew to be 
 more scant than formerly. Hearing Carter's step, he 
 turned, seemed to start as if in surprise, then with a 
 touch of reluctance he held out his hand. 
 
 "You are in on schedule time, I see," he said, simply. 
 "That must have been a tiresome trip. He died some 
 what sooner than I expected or or I'd have stayed over 
 to help you." 
 
 "Yes, it was rather sudden," Carter answered. 
 
 The hearse was now at the door, and a moment later 
 the attendants bore the casket up the steps and into the 
 drawing-room. The two men stood silently listening to the 
 harsh grind of feet on the parlor floor. Presently the at 
 tendants filed out through the hall and descended the steps. 
 
 "Will you go in and see him?" Carter asked. "I think 
 the top of the casket has been removed." 
 
 139 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "No, I'll not see him yet!" Thomas answered, with a 
 visible shudder and a sudden grim setting of his features. 
 "In fact, I may not look at him at all. But your sister 
 and Henry may be waiting for you. I'll stay out here at 
 present, anyway. But wait a minute just a minute. 
 You promised me you remember, up in Cincinnati 
 you promised to come out to my place as soon as it was 
 all over. I'm going back this afternoon. Could you come, 
 say, the day after to-morrow, without fail?" 
 
 "Why, yes, of course! I see nothing to prevent it; 
 but are you not going to remain? Surely you know that 
 the funeral is to be to-morrow?" 
 
 Thomas dropped his glance. "I know that, but I can 
 not stay. I have my reasons. I sha'n't be missed here, 
 and and I must go back, that's all. I must go back at 
 once. I'll make it all plain to you later. You'll under 
 stand, and will excuse me if the rest do not. Say I'm sick 
 say anything, but keep your promise. That is the main 
 thing now. I'll look for you. You really mean to come, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Why, yes, certainly," Carter answered in surprise. 
 "In fact, I am looking forward to it. There are too many 
 sad reminders here, while out there in the mountains with 
 you " 
 
 "Well, don't forget. The afternoon train is best. My 
 carriage will meet you at the station about sundown." 
 
 "But couldn't you stay over?" Carter asked. 
 
 "No, no. It is out of the question. I I'm needed 
 there more than here. I would go at once, but there is no 
 earlier train." 
 
 "Something is troubling you," Carter ventured. "I 
 saw that in Cincinnati. You seem even more worried 
 now." 
 
 "Yes, it is trouble, but I can't explain now. Nobody 
 can help me but you, and you say you are coming without 
 fail?" 
 
 140 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Yes, without fail, and if it is money you need, uncle, 
 you have only to mention " 
 
 "It is not money," Thomas blurted out. "God knows 
 I wish it were that." 
 
 Carter shuddered. His gloom, almost like a palpable 
 substance, clung to him as he went into the house in 
 search of Milicent. "His mind may be failing, too," he 
 reflected. " He certainly is acting strangely. His brood 
 ing habits and solitary life are killing him." 
 
 He did not see Milicent, and he sat down in the library 
 to wait for her. The door which led into the parlor was 
 open, and he caught a glimpse of the somber casket in 
 the center of the room. He knew that the face of the 
 corpse was exposed to view; but he felt no inclination to 
 see it just now. When Milicent came he would support 
 her through the ordeal, but not till then would he look at 
 the vanishing symbol of the man he had loved. 
 
 He began to make plans. Somehow such thoughts 
 charged upon him like soldiers in ambush at the most 
 unexpected moments. To-morrow morning the funeral 
 would be over. The grim thing on the stools and in its 
 box of metal would be put for ever out of sight, and he 
 would be free to think and act for himself again. The 
 following day would find him at his uncle's. The busi 
 ness, whatever it was, would soon be settled, and then 
 he would take one of his glorious mountain walks. He 
 would have to pass Mrs. Romley's cabin. Lydia would 
 be outside at work. He would slip up behind her while 
 she stood at the well or the wash-tub. She would cry 
 out and blush in blended joy and surprise. He would 
 clasp her in his arms, kiss her beautiful mouth, and 
 tell her how he had missed her, longed for her and suffered 
 for the lack of her sweet companionship through all his 
 trouble. 
 
 Milicent was coming down the stairs, followed by Henry, 
 and Carter rose to meet them. Milicent was weeping 
 
 141 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 softly, and it struck Carter that his brother, spick and 
 span in new clothes, was a most ridiculous sight as he 
 stood wiping his dry eyes on a black-bordered handker 
 chief, screwing his face into a look of woe, and making 
 a snuffing sound through his drink-reddened nose. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ON the day following the funeral Carter alighted from 
 the train at Benton. Old Hank was there with the 
 carriage to meet him, and they were soon on the way to 
 the farm. 
 
 "How is my uncle?" Carter inquired. "He did not 
 seem quite well in Atlanta the other day." 
 
 "De Lawd only know what do ail Marse Tom," Hank 
 said, succinctly. "Some'n's wrong, but I don't know 
 what 'tis. Per de last mont' sence you lef 'im he's 
 been act powerful quar an' restless. I've ketched 'im 
 up at all hours thoo de night, an' heard 'im prayin' time 
 after time when he didn't know I was nigh 'im." 
 
 Carter did not encourage the negro to gossip. He felt 
 inspired by the glow the setting sun had spread on the 
 western sky. Ah, real life was just beginning for him! 
 There were thousands of adventures and experiences 
 ahead. He would write great poems. He would become 
 the man he was expected to become by competent au 
 thorities. He would live abroad. In fact, he would sail 
 very soon, for the change was just what he needed. He 
 might take Lydia, and he might not be able to do so. 
 The enjoyment of her beauty there in the mountains in 
 secret was one thing, but to take her with him might be 
 difficult. He would want to marry some day, and surely 
 in time a girl like Lydia would become a decided incubus 
 even to a man of wealth. Surely a young man ought not 
 to tie his life to his first indiscretion. He told himself 
 that he would wait till he had seen her again and talked 
 
 143 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 it all over. Therewith he became impatient. The horses 
 seemed to be going very slowly. The night was about to 
 fall. Mrs. Romley soon would be going back to the 
 cabin, and he would have to wait till the next day for a 
 chance to see the girl alone. How could he possibly wait 
 so long with no companion save his taciturn, gloomy 
 uncle? 
 
 It was almost dark when they reached the farm. On 
 the lawn beneath the trees, among his beehives, without 
 his hat, stood Thomas Crofton. Carter saw him slowly 
 turn and look in his direction, and was somewhat sur 
 prised that the old man seemed to hesitate for a moment 
 before advancing to him. It was unlike his uncle's usual 
 cordial manner, and the cold, limp hand which Thomas 
 extended, when he finally met his nephew, seemed a 
 further departure from former habits. 
 
 "Just in time for your supper," Thomas said, leading 
 the way up the veranda steps. "It's on the table. Go 
 in and help yourself. There will be nobody to wait on 
 you to-night. Things here are a little upset just now. 
 I've had my milk and bread; that is all I want, so don't 
 wait for me. I'll stay out here awhile. In such weather 
 as this a stuffy house drives me crazy. I must be out in 
 the open or I can't breathe." 
 
 Carter went into the dimly lighted dining-room. A 
 good cold supper was spread for him, and yet it had an 
 uninviting look. He told himself, with a pang of disap 
 pointment, that Mrs. Romley had already finished her 
 work and gone back to the cabin, and, that being the 
 case, he would have to wait till the next day to see Lydia. 
 The thought angered him. An evening spent with so 
 morose and non-communicative a companion as Thomas 
 Crofton was anything but enticing. It would be some 
 new phase of the old man's troubles. Some speculation 
 had gone the wrong way, money was needed to save the 
 farm, and to whom could Thomas more reasonably turn 
 
 144 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 than to a nephew who had fallen heir to such substantial 
 wealth? Carter's wrath increased as he sat down and 
 began to eat. He told himself that he really was too good- 
 natured. Every poor relative and friend would now try 
 to ride him like a free horse, and if he did not look keenly 
 to his own interests how could he keep his income up to 
 what it ought to be to further his future plans? Yes, it 
 was money Thomas Crofton was after, and he was count 
 ing on it so surely that he could even demand an imme 
 diate visit from the one who was to supply it. Well, he 
 would look into the matter closely and he would require 
 reasonable security, if any loan was made. He told him 
 self that he was a poet, but a poet who was descended 
 from a shrewd, cautious business man, and he would not 
 allow himself to be laughed at by business men who were 
 no doubt predicting that he would soon throw away 
 what was left to him. 
 
 He was finishing his supper when he heard his uncle pass 
 through the hall and enter the library. Hank, who was 
 seated in the kitchen, rose and went in after him. 
 
 "Mus' I light de lamp?" the negro asked; and Carter 
 heard his uncle reply: 
 
 " No, it's warm, and the light attracts the moths. When 
 my nephew has eaten his supper ask him to come to me 
 here." 
 
 The delivery of the message was unnecessary, for Car 
 ter was already on his way to the library. He had to 
 stand in the doorway for a moment to accustom himself 
 to the darkness before seeing where his uncle was. It 
 struck him as odd that the old man did not speak to him 
 at the moment. It was odd, too, that he remained seated 
 at the library table, his elbows on it, his head supported 
 by his splaying hands. 
 
 "Sit down, please," Thomas said in a voice full of 
 huskiness. "I'm obliged to have a talk with you, and I 
 want it over with." 
 
 10 US 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 There was a pause in which Carter took a seat near 
 the bowed man. He now suddenly recalled that his 
 uncle had assured him in Atlanta, and in Cincinnati also, 
 that he was not in need of financial aid. So it was some 
 thing else, but what? Thomas now had his hands over 
 his face and began rubbing the sockets of his closed eyes 
 with his fingers. His palms muffled his faltering voice 
 when next he spoke. 
 
 "Would you mind closing the door?" 
 
 Full of intangible forebodings, Carter got up and com 
 plied. He was sorry that there was no light in the room. 
 It was quite dark, now that the rays of the dining-room 
 lamp were no longer admitted. In the gloom Thomas 
 Crofton's skin seemed to shine faintly like phosphorus. 
 
 "I was afraid you would not come to-day," he said, 
 huskily. "If you hadn't I'd have been in to-morrow. 
 I've got to tell you something I've got to tell you a 
 thing that has never passed my lips a thing known by 
 no living creature. I want it off of my burthened soul. 
 The telling of it may do you good. Who knows? God 
 only can foresee the outcome. I may break down before 
 I get through. It is a hard thing to put into words a 
 matter that has never been expressed in words, that has 
 only been in one's thoughts night and day for several 
 years." 
 
 Carter heard the speaker heave a sigh. A feeling akin 
 to terror was on him as he resumed his seat. Here, he 
 told himself, was another case of insanity in the family, 
 and it might foreshadow his own fate. 
 
 "Couldn't we wait till morning, uncle?" he pleaded, 
 gently. "I am tired, and I see that you are unduly 
 excited." 
 
 "No, no, I can't wait. I ought to have told you in 
 Cincinnati. Failing that, I ought to have told you the day 
 you got back to Atlanta. I ought to have told you the 
 whole story over your father's dead body. I ought to 
 
 146 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 leave no stone unturned to make you understand me fully 
 and act, act, act!" 
 
 "You are excited, uncle," Carter repeated. 
 
 "I know it. I can't help it. I'm trying now to 
 control myself. I must be calm. O God help me!" 
 Thomas here beat his breast with his right hand, the dull 
 strokes sounding through the room. "O God help me, 
 and through me, help him. It is all I can offer now." 
 
 There was a pause. The house was very still. A cow 
 was lowing in a distant pasture. A cricket beneath the 
 sills of the building was snarling intermittently. 
 
 "I must tell you my life, and you must listen. You 
 must not lose a word. I have spoken to you of the curse 
 of lust that lies on us Crofton men. You've seen it in 
 your father; you see it in your brother. It was in me 
 I say was because there is not now physical life enough 
 left in my flesh and bones to foster it. The desperate 
 yearning of my soul to escape it has borne fruit of a cer 
 tain sort. I am trying to get right trying to get for 
 giveness trying to see God's face turned toward me. 
 
 "Listen. In college and afterward as a young unmar 
 ried man I gloried in the strength of my physical being. 
 I lived as I saw fit, as your father lived, as most of our 
 social equals lived. I thought nothing of a helpless wom 
 an's honor. Women were made for me and the like of 
 me. I was on the point of marrying the woman who 
 later became my wife. I loved her with a love that can 
 never die. She loved me in return, and we became en 
 gaged to be married. She was too pure of mind to dream 
 of the existence of the filth that lay in my being. I was 
 her ideal, and I let her keep it. We were to be married 
 in the winter, and in the early fall she went for a visit 
 to her relatives in Virginia. It was then, while she was 
 away, that I met a poor country girl of what we idle young 
 slaveholders called the lowest class of whites. I man 
 aged to meet her almost daily. I knew that a young back- 
 
 147 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 woodsman of fine character was in love with her. I knew 
 that I ought not to come between the two, but my pas 
 sion overpowered me. I won her confidence by a thou 
 sand tricks of face, voice, and action. I ruined her. 
 Only a short while before my marriage, which I hoped 
 God would bless, I wrecked the life of an innocent human 
 soul. I tried to pacify the poor girl, but she was in tor 
 ment, for she was facing disgrace through the conse 
 quence of our act. How it came about I do not know, 
 but, in her despair, she confided in her old lover. He 
 was a rare man, one in a million, for he came to me not 
 with murder in his mind, but with the sole hope of doing 
 something for the girl he loved and pitied. He tried to 
 get me to make her my wife. I told him of my engage 
 ment, and explained that it was utterly impossible. He 
 pleaded; he wept; he told me she was his very life, and 
 that if something was not done for her he would kill 
 himself. He came to me several times, always with that 
 desperate look in his dumb, pleading eyes. He spoke 
 in dialect; he could not read or write, and yet I saw he 
 was my spiritual superior. He was nearer God than I 
 could ever expect to be. He opened my mind to things I 
 had never dreamt of. He showed me what sin was. I 
 wrestled with God and the devil. For days and nights 
 I tried to muster up the courage to write my fiancee a 
 frank confession and do my full duty by that helpless 
 girl. But the world and its claims upon me overpowered 
 me. I knew full well what God was demanding, and yet 
 I was too weak to obey. Announcements had been made 
 of my approaching marriage. I had talked with the rela 
 tives of my prospective wife. She and I had planned the 
 building of this house. We were well mated socially and 
 mentally, having like tastes, and her fortune was equal 
 to mine. There is such a thing, my boy, as actually sell 
 ing one's soul into the bondage of hell. Skeptics may 
 sneer and sniff, but they wouldn't if they knew what I 
 
 148 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 know. I know that in refusing God's aid at that time 
 and taking the advice of the devil, I deliberately gave 
 my soul over to the torments of the damned. I know 
 there is a hell, for I have been in it for years. 
 
 "One day this man I have told you about came to me 
 and said the girl had promised to marry him. I could 
 have danced with joy to the music of hell itself. I told 
 him he was saving me. Then I made a mistake. I of 
 fered to give him a certain sum of money. This enraged 
 him. He shook his fist in my face; he caught my throat 
 and started to strangle me, and then desisted, going away, 
 declaring that nothing but just punishment could be my 
 portion. 
 
 "I rankled under his fierce rebuke. It comes to me 
 afresh every day. I cringed under the memory of it as 
 I stood at the altar with my spotless bride on my arm in 
 that fashionable old church. His prophecy of misfortune 
 and his curse upon my life haunted me constantly. They 
 were married and moved over the mountain into another 
 county. A child was born my child, and yet he gave 
 the little girl his name. I saw her once by accident when 
 she was about three years of age. She was beautiful, 
 gentle, and refined. That, too, was added to the torture 
 of my soul. I had robbed my own blood of its rights. 
 
 "We were living here, my wife and I, in this house, 
 when our own baby was born. I had been ambitious to 
 write poetry, as you now are, but all my inspiration sud 
 denly left me. I could not fix my thoughts upon such 
 work. The things I had done in the past filled my mind 
 too completely. 
 
 "My son grew up to be a manly fellow, as you know. 
 But God only knows what I suffered through him. I 
 watched him constantly, fearing in my guilt that he would 
 inherit the family lust. He was never out at night that 
 I did not lie awake fancying that he was doing the things 
 that I had done. He was pure in thought and deed, but 
 
 149 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 part of my punishment was that I should judge him by 
 myself. I was suffering the agonies of hell, and was re 
 signed to it, but I could not bear the thought that my 
 adored son would follow in my steps, down, down to 
 damnation. I worshiped him. I actually worshiped him. 
 Then he" 
 
 The old man's voice became husky and inaudible. 
 There was silence. Carter broke it. 
 
 "Why are you telling me all this?" he demanded, grown 
 suddenly suspicious, even alarmed. 
 
 "Wait, and you will see." Thomas was recovering 
 himself. "Wait. You'll understand yes, yes, you sure 
 ly will! Don't interrupt me. I must go on. My son, 
 at the age of twenty, was visiting some friends over the 
 mountain, and there there he met and fell in love with 
 whom do you think? My God! in all the wide, wide 
 world full of women whom do you think my boy met and 
 loved? His own half-sister!" 
 
 "Oh!" escaped from the listener's tense lips. 
 
 "You may well exclaim, but do you fancy that was all? 
 Do you think any but a wrathful, revenging God could 
 visit such punishment on a guilty soul? The girl was 
 poor, but she was beautiful and pure, and my son, meet 
 ing her in secret many times, and sure of her love, deter 
 mined to marry her. He not only determined to do so, 
 but he came and told me that he could not live without 
 her. I was speechless; I was tied hand and foot; the 
 more I tried to change his intentions, without being able 
 to tell him the truth, the more determined he became. 
 He defied me. They planned a secret elopement. He 
 joined the girl one night. They were about to leave her 
 home in a buggy. The girl, thinking her mother would 
 be sympathetic, told her what she was about to do. Her 
 mother tried to dissuade her, but, failing, became hys 
 terical and confessed the truth to both of them. Tom 
 came home directly. His mother and I were here in this 
 
 150 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 very room when he staggered in, his clothing disarranged, 
 his eyes wild and staring, his face haggard, and right here 
 before the woman who till then had trusted me he told 
 me what he had heard. He asked me if it was true. I 
 could not lie to him. Then he told me that he hated me, 
 that his soul writhed at the thought that he was the son 
 of such a human scab. He turned and left us, went to 
 his room and shut the door. I bent over his mother, who 
 lay rather than sat in a chair. I started to raise her up, 
 but, choking down a shriek of disgust, she sprang from 
 me and hid herself in her own room. 
 
 "I sat here just as I am sitting now, facing what no 
 other man has ever faced in the history of the world. 
 Hours passed. There was no sound from my wife's room 
 or from my son's. I went to her door and knocked. She 
 came to the door, opened it a little, and coldly demanded 
 that I should go away. I went to Tom's room. I rapped. 
 There was no sound. I rapped again and again. Then 
 I turned the latch and went in. He was lying on his bed. 
 A box which had contained morphine powders lay on the 
 floor. He had killed himself" 
 
 "Oh, I didn't know that!" Carter cried in horror. 
 
 "No, I kept it a secret," the old man groaned, softly. 
 "The first thing I did was to hide the evidence of the act. 
 Then I sent for my wife. She came and looked at our 
 boy, gently stroked his cold cheek, kissed his brow, and 
 without looking at me she left the room. The coroner 
 held an inquest. My wife was excused from being pres 
 ent, owing to prostration. I testified. To hide the awful 
 truth I swore that my son had had touches of heart-weak 
 ness, and gave it as my opinion that his sudden death was 
 due to heart-failure. It was believed. No human soul 
 doubted it, save my wife, who was willing to hide the facts 
 from the world. 
 
 "We buried him. My wife went into the church and 
 to the grave on my arm. She returned here and lived be- 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 fore the world as my wife for six months longer, but with 
 out ever speaking once to me. She died of a broken heart. 
 But I lived on. People hinted that I was becoming in 
 sane; but I was and am to-day the sanest man alive, for 
 I know better than the wisest man on earth the conse 
 quences of the violation of God's laws. My illegitimate 
 daughter and her mother and foster father moved away. 
 I have never seen them since." 
 
 "But why why do you tell me all this?" Carter ques 
 tioned, tremulously. 
 
 "Wait and you'll comprehend. I am coming to that 
 now. I have tried every possible way to atone to get 
 peace. I prayed night and day for years. I humbled 
 myself. Secretly I did all I could to help others. Then 
 one day I read a notice about you and your bright pros 
 pects, and my heart warmed to you, as I remembered 
 how Tom had loved you. I kept thinking about you and 
 your future. You recall our talk at your house that 
 evening? I thought I was reading you aright. I knew 
 you were at the turning-point which all young men reach. 
 You were surrounded by the same temptations that had 
 surrounded me at your age. Your most intimate friend 
 was Charley Farnham, and I knew his influence was bad, 
 for everybody knows what sort of man he is. Do you 
 know what I did before that talk with you? I prayed to 
 God that He would let me be the means of saving you, 
 and that your salvation might be a sign from on high 
 that I was on the way to forgiveness." 
 
 "Of saving me?" Carter said, under his breath. 
 
 "Yes, for I saw the Crofton weakness in your eyes, in 
 your full lips in two or three of your poems those 
 which were not accepted for publication. I begged you 
 to come live out here, you remember. That was to get 
 you away from the city and its influences. I intended 
 to unfold my history to you that it might be a lesson 
 that you'd never forget. You came. I watched and 
 
 152 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 prayed. I went away for days at a time and prayed 
 alone on the mountain-top. My own salvation seemed 
 to lie in your hands. Then, then oh, my God!" 
 
 * ' What is the matter ?" Carter gasped, uneasily. ' ' Uncle, 
 what is the matter?" 
 
 With a deep groan Thomas lowered his head to his 
 hands and sat like a figure of stone. 
 
 "What is the matter?" Carter repeated, his voice shak 
 ing, a great fear clutching him. 
 
 "One evening," Thomas went on, with an effort to 
 steady his voice, "I was out looking for you to inform 
 you that you were wanted in Atlanta, your father being 
 ill, and I saw you leaving Mrs. Romley's cabin. I was 
 afraid even to hint to you what I feared, and so I let you 
 leave without mentioning it." 
 
 "What what you feared? 11 Carter echoed the words 
 in quaking dismay. "Why, uncle, I " 
 
 " Don't lie to me! I am in no mood for that. I won't 
 stand it!" 
 
 "Then then I won't," Carter muttered, doggedly. 
 "I won't." 
 
 " It would do no good to lie. I was obliged to know the 
 truth. I could not bear the suspense. I was looking for 
 God's answer to my prayer in your conduct, so I watched 
 the girl daily after you went to Cincinnati. One morn 
 ing, when you had been away about two weeks, I found 
 her weeping alone in the swamp. I sat down by her. I 
 assured her I was her friend. I told her I would do any 
 thing on earth for her, and hinted that I suspected the 
 truth and was sorry for her. She was touched by what 
 I said, and, bursting into tears, she confessed everything. 
 For more than an hour we sat there in silence, I as des 
 perate as she. I finally advised her to tell her mother, 
 and that night she did so." 
 
 Silence fell. Carter heard his uncle breathing heavily. 
 Presently the young man spoke: 
 
 153 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 " You've yielded to temptation yourself, uncle, and at 
 my age, too; surely you won't judge me harshly. I had 
 no idea of doing what I did. I know it was wrong, 
 wrong, wrong, but it is done. It is over now." 
 
 "Over? You think it is over? Look at me and see if 
 mine is over. I tell you and I'm speaking with the 
 very voice of God I tell you if you do not profit by 
 what I've told you, if you do not profit by the sight of 
 me, as I sit here scorched by the flames of my writhing 
 soul, your punishment may be even worse than mine is. 
 You may be even more culpable, for you are now warned. 
 If you do not do your duty if you allow empty, God- 
 cursed pride of birth and position to hold you back you 
 will be selling your eternal soul for a mess of pottage. 
 Your newly acquired gold, your puny fame, your family 
 name all that you value now will either vanish or mock 
 your guilty soul when it is too late to undo what you 
 have done." 
 
 The young man's head sank. His face was hot with 
 shame. He crossed his legs and nervously fumbled the 
 string of one of his shoes which rested on his quivering 
 knee. 
 
 "You think I ought to make her my wife?" he asked, 
 huskily. 
 
 "I know it. To do your duty may seem difficult, but 
 to neglect it will destroy your peace of mind for ever. 
 You've committed a crime. You have a chance to escape, 
 a chance that I missed. The girl is uneducated, but she 
 has a fine mind and will make you a faithful wife. God 
 will bless you with ultimate happiness if you will stand by 
 her like a man. You will never get over it if you don't." 
 
 "You are asking me to do what you yourself refused 
 to do," Carter argued, faintly. "Can I be less human 
 than you were at my age? In fact, it would be harder 
 for me than it would have been for you. The critics, the 
 press, my friends, society, all expect me to " 
 
 154 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Thomas rose to his full height and stood slightly sway 
 ing in the dark. He snapped his fingers. "Only perdi 
 tion could advance such empty excuses!" he cried, fiercely. 
 "Do you think God will let your rotten plans succeed any 
 better than He did mine? Did not my plans draw to my 
 bosom a wife I adored, a son I worshiped, and did I 
 not live to see them die with loathing in their hearts for 
 me? Great heavens, man! Don't you see that I would 
 not be demanding this with the last black drop of my lost 
 soul's blood if it were not right? If I, who am almost the 
 food of maggots, can look up from the depths of my own 
 hell to plead with you to save yourself from my fate, how 
 can you hesitate? Is your puny gift for jingling words, 
 your possession of a name that is a lie and a sham, your ill- 
 gotten wealth to stand between you and your honest duty?" 
 
 Carter rose. He caught his uncle's hand and pressed 
 it. His voice shook. "You've said enough," he replied. 
 "I'll do my duty. I promise it here and now. I'll go to 
 her to-night. We'll be married at once." 
 
 "You can't now, at least. She's gone," the old man 
 said. 
 
 "Gone?" 
 
 "Yes. I didn't stay for the funeral and hurried back 
 from Atlanta to prevent it, but failed. I did not like the 
 way Mrs. Romley was acting. She is a queer woman. 
 Without knowing the cause of it, she has known for some 
 time that I am a miserable man. She was in great dis 
 tress a few years ago. She needed money to help a 
 brother of hers who was dying of consumption out West. 
 I furnished it, and she is so grateful for my aid that she 
 now looks upon this trouble as adding to mine, and so 
 she has taken Lydia away. She has not once thought of 
 your marrying her. In her humility there are such per 
 sons in the world she blames the girl rather than you; 
 but that doesn't free you, you understand not in God's 
 eyes." 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "No, it doesn't free me," Carter agreed. "I'll follow 
 them. Do you know where they went?" 
 
 "I managed to find that out," the old man answered. 
 "I thought I might persuade you to do your duty. From 
 the station agent at Benton I discovered that they have 
 shipped their few belongings to New Orleans. Mrs. 
 Romley once lived there with a married sister of hers, 
 who is still there. I do not know the street or number; 
 but if you will go to New Orleans at once you will be apt 
 to run across them. I am quite sure that they are there, 
 and intend to stay." 
 
 "I will take the first train to-morrow," Carter prom 
 ised. "Uncle, will that satisfy you?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, and may God bless you, my boy." Sud 
 denly the old man turned and abruptly stalked from the 
 room, leaving his nephew standing at the table. 
 
 Carter sat down in the darkness. He locked his tense 
 hands between his knees and bent forward. "I'll do it, 
 I'll do it," he said, half aloud. "I love her I love her! 
 Oh, Lydia, will you ever forgive me? I want you want 
 you!" 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE following evening at eight o'clock Carter arrived 
 in New Orleans. He went to the nearest hotel to 
 the station, registered his name, and asked for the best 
 room available. 
 
 "Ah, you are from Atlanta!" the dapper young clerk 
 said with an affable smile. "I know of you, Mr. Crofton. 
 I stayed for a while at the Kimball House in your bustling 
 city. Down to see something of our society, eh? Well, 
 it is gay enough here. You must see the French quarter. 
 Let me know when you want to see the sights, and I'll 
 put you on to the ropes. That's part of my duty." 
 
 "I am not going to see much of the city," Carter an 
 swered, awkwardly, angry over having to explain even 
 so much to the mere night-clerk of a hotel, who he felt 
 had no right to speak to him when he was in no mood 
 for it. 
 
 "Ah, business, eh?" the clerk ran on. 
 
 "Yes, business. I am tired, and wish to go up to my 
 room at once." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly." The clerk struck a call-bell, 
 and a porter took his bag, conducted him to the elevator, 
 and thence to his room. However, once there, and hav 
 ing bathed, dusted his clothes, and brushed his hair, there 
 was nothing else he could think of doing, so he sat down 
 and began to smoke. He took up a newspaper, but found 
 that while his eyes were following the lines automatically 
 he was unconscious of what they stood for. The incon 
 gruity of his position struck him keenly as he fell into his 
 
 ?57 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 habit of introspection and self-analysis. Could any per 
 son of his acquaintance, on meeting him there, dream of 
 the uncouth object of his visit? After all, had such a 
 thing ever happened to a proud man of exquisite taste and 
 refinement? He had always fancied that his wedding, 
 when it did come about, would be of notable importance, 
 and now he saw no other way than to make it very pri 
 vate, if not temporarily a secret one. He was disturbed 
 by the thought of either contingency. If private, his 
 marriage to a girl in Lydia's walk of life would have to 
 be adequately explained and justified to a penetrating 
 public which was watching his movements more just now 
 than ever before. If secret, only one construction could 
 be put upon his union with such a girl, and that con 
 struction would mar his life and Lydia's. Lydia was 
 beautiful bodily, and her quick mind gave rare promise 
 of future development, but just now to introduce her to 
 his friends as his chosen life companion would excite com 
 ment, if not suspicion. What was to be done? Why had 
 he not asked the advice of his uncle on those points? 
 
 The night was warm and sultry; the room seemed op 
 pressively close, so, wrought to a high state of nervous 
 ness by the turmoil in his mind, he decided to go down to 
 the streets and stroll about till a reasonable bedtime. 
 He did not think it was likely that he would meet either 
 Lydia or her mother, and vaguely he hoped he would not 
 do so till he had slept upon the problem uppermost in his 
 thoughts. So he walked through the streets, going here 
 and there without aim or even knowledge of his where 
 abouts. Part of the time he was actually aglow with the 
 expectation of meeting Lydia again and holding her to 
 his breast and making arrangements for their immediate 
 marriage; then again the two difficulties which he had 
 just been considering confronted him like an impassable 
 wall of stone. He told himself that he was not thinking 
 of himself in viewing these difficulties, but of the beautiful 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 mountain child whose future character must be con 
 sidered as spotless since he himself had so ruthlessly 
 handled her. 
 
 It was late when he finally returned to his room, and 
 when he had undressed and was ready for bed he obeyed 
 a sudden desperate impulse and sank on his knees and 
 tried to pray to he knew not what, for a God of dogmatic 
 origin no longer appealed to him. Still, he felt that there 
 must be something in prayer. He felt that there might 
 be, or ought to be, some spiritual principle, or intelligent 
 force at the back of the universe, that would aid him. 
 But though he prayed that night deeply and sincerely for 
 guidance, no sort of response came, and with a groan of 
 deeper indecision than ever he threw himself on the bed, 
 where for hours he lay, unable to sleep. 
 
 A week went by without result in the quest which had 
 brought him to New Orleans, and he was beginning to 
 lose faith in his pursuit. He went to the post-office and 
 inquired there for information, but received none. Such 
 individuals were unknown to the postmaster or the mail- 
 carriers. He went to police headquarters and mentioned 
 his desire to find "two missing friends who had recently 
 come to the city," but received no aid. 
 
 A fortnight passed and he was no whit nearer his ob 
 ject. He had lost flesh; he was pale, haggard, and ner 
 vous. He was returning one evening, when he found 
 Farnham waiting for him in the foyer of the hotel. Their 
 eyes met. Carter's glance fell to the ground, and a flush 
 crept into his wan face as he reluctantly took his friend's 
 extended hand. 
 
 "You are surprised to see me, I know," Farnham began, 
 rather awkwardly for so suave an individual. "The 
 truth is, I've been looking for you. I've been consider 
 ably worried, so has your sister. There are some family 
 papers to sign by the three heirs of your father's estate. 
 They are of no importance, in fact, but everything of a 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 legal nature is important to women. Where their finan 
 cial interests are involved they are painfully accurate, 
 and your sister has become already quite a woman of 
 business. She knows exactly what her various holdings 
 are, and she intends to look out for her best interests. 
 She is the type of woman who will make money." 
 
 ''But why were you worried?" Carter managed to ask. 
 
 "Well" Farnham seemed to be selecting his words 
 diplomatically "you see, I could see no rational reason 
 for your sudden disappearance. We hold large interests 
 in common, and naturally I wanted to talk them over 
 with you. That was one reason; the other is that I have 
 been afraid that you were allowing yourself to become 
 morbid over your father's death. I tried to find you in 
 Atlanta, but failed. I went out to your uncle's, but he 
 would tell me nothing. I'm afraid he is losing his mind. 
 He is a walking corpse. He bluntly refused to talk of 
 you at all, and was so silent and despondent that I hardly 
 knew what to make of it. In a business way I wanted 
 to see you specially." 
 
 Mechanically, and still abashed, Carter led him into 
 a little smoking-room adjoining the foyer. "You say 
 you wanted to to see me, specially?" he faltered, as 
 they sat down. 
 
 "Yes, I feel that I ought to consult with you about our 
 railroad meeting. As a chief stockholder you must be 
 present. It takes place next Thursday. And as I learned 
 by accident that you were here " 
 
 "By accident?" 
 
 "Yes; there was a slight local mention of you in one 
 of the New Orleans papers." 
 
 "I did not see it," Carter said, suspiciously, fearfully. 
 "When was it?" 
 
 "Yesterday. It was only a few lines which said that 
 you had come here for local color, literary material, or 
 something of the sort, and that you were living quietly 
 
 160 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 at this hotel and were at work on something. I begin to 
 think you are a real poet. You certainly are acting like 
 a genius. I presume you have a productive spell on you 
 just now, and while you are that way you cannot conduct 
 yourself like a mere ordinary person." 
 
 Carter could formulate no suitable response. Auto 
 matically he took the cigar Farnham was offering him, and 
 began to pinch off the tip, his fingers shaking. "I have 
 been trying to write some," he managed to say, feebly. 
 "But I am not quite as well as usual, and I " 
 
 "You show it," Farnham interrupted, boldly, as if he 
 had suddenly determined to speak with more candor. 
 "You are a walking shadow of your old self, and must 
 call a halt. There is no use beating about the bush, 
 Carter. I am a true friend of yours, and want to prove 
 it. I am sure you are in trouble. It may be due to your 
 father's death, but I can't quite feel that it is wholly that. 
 Whatever it is, I fancy it partly concerns your uncle. At 
 least I fancy that he knows something of it. There is 
 only one thing that seems plausible" Farnham was 
 smoking steadily, his shrewd eyes averted "and, knowing 
 the world as I flatter myself that I do, I am obliged to 
 entertain it." 
 
 "And what is that?" Carter heard himself asking in a 
 tone which quite confessed his dejection. 
 
 "Why, there is a woman at the bottom of it. When I 
 met you that morning at Chattanooga on your return 
 from Cincinnati I thought you had become entangled 
 with some one you met up there; but when I went out 
 to your uncle's farm I changed my mind, at least in regard 
 to the woman's place of residence." 
 
 "You changed your mind?" echoed Carter. "Then 
 my uncle must have " 
 
 "No, he told me nothing," Farnham broke in; "but 
 I admit that his disturbed manner set me to thinking. 
 Then, in driving past you remember the cabin where 
 ii 161 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 that pretty mountain girl lived? in driving past that 
 cabin I noticed that it was vacant. Old Hank was at 
 work in a field near by, and he informed me that the girl 
 and her mother had suddenly moved away without tell 
 ing any one of their intentions, so when I heard you were 
 here light began to break. Pardon me, but you remember 
 what I prophesied in regard to you and that very girl?" 
 
 Carter was silent. He sat with bowed head, his limp 
 hands on his knees. Presently and in absolute despair 
 he became confidential. In a quivering, halting voice he 
 told his story from beginning to end, not even omitting 
 the tragic matter his uncle had confided to him. 
 
 When he had concluded, Farnham leaned forward, 
 smiled, and laid a would-be comforting hand on his knee. 
 "I'm certainly glad I came to-day," he said. "You have 
 got a brooding, morbid imagination, and you have let 
 that crazy old man upset you frightfully. It is a shame 
 for him to play on your emotions and sympathy as he has 
 done. He may be suffering. Who wouldn't, living like 
 a hermit as he does, with nothing on his mind but such 
 horrible things as those? What a foolish idea to tell you 
 that you must necessarily suffer exactly as he is suffering ! 
 It is all a matter of temperament. I happen to know 
 dozens of happy married men who have forgotten scores 
 of such natural boyish acts as you have committed. No 
 one but a crazy lunatic would advise a person in your 
 position to marry a girl like that one under such circum 
 stances. Trouble? Why, yours would just begin. You'd 
 never live it down. You'd never hold up your head after 
 ward. Your whole life would be ruined. It is all rub 
 bish about that sort of thing haunting a normal man's 
 conscience. Theft, mean business conduct between men, 
 will be remembered, and sting a fellow of principle, but 
 that particular thing has never bothered a natural man. 
 Why, the girl's own mother, according to your uncle, 
 does not even raise the slightest claim against you. What 
 
 162 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 does that prove but that the old woman knows her own 
 blood too well to blame the man in the case? You are 
 more fortunate than I've been once or twice. All you've 
 got to do is simply to let the two go their way and forget 
 them. Huh! I had to pay, and heavily, more than once." 
 
 ' ' But I don't want to give her up. I honestly love her, ' ' 
 Carter declared, earnestly. 
 
 "Bosh! bosh! bosh!" Farnham laughed merrily. 
 "You think you do, but you don't. A man of your type 
 never could love a woman after what has happened. It 
 isn't in your nature. A butcher might, but a poet of 
 your brand, never. I made a true prediction about you 
 and that girl once. Let me make another?" 
 
 "What is it?" There was a rising note of relief in the 
 subdued voice of the questioner. 
 
 "Why, you are going to be present at that railroad 
 meeting, and you are going to have the time of your life 
 with those jolly Yankees. They all want to meet you. 
 They call you our poet mascot. But that is only a starter. 
 You and I are going to do something together something 
 as fun-seeking bachelors, with nothing on earth to bother 
 about." 
 
 "What is that?" Carter asked. 
 
 "It is this," Farnham returned. "You have put a flea 
 in my ear that lately has kicked a lot. You've said so 
 much about the delights of Europe that I want to go 
 myself. Now that the railroad is all right, I feel like 
 letting off steam and having a real lark. As soon as those 
 chaps have gone away in their private cars you and I 
 are going to accept a certain bang-up invitation." 
 
 "An invitation? Absurd." 
 
 " Yes. The Red Star Ocean Steamship Co. have offered 
 me two of their best staterooms to Southampton. They 
 will treat us like princes on the voyage. I'll spend two 
 months with you over there, then I'll leave you in Paris 
 or London to pursue your work. I'll come back home 
 
 163 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 and plunge into mine. Your affairs all of them are in 
 tiptop shape. Your agent will look after everything. If 
 he neglects you in the slightest I'll cable you." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Presently Carter said, 
 "I have promised my uncle that " 
 
 "Such a promise ought not to bind any rational man. 
 You were not yourself when you made it; he was taking 
 unfair advantage of you. Why, you haven't the moral 
 right to marry that girl. You'd make her life miserable. 
 Would that be just to her? You couldn't wholly love or 
 respect her. At this moment you are influenced by passion 
 and nothing else. You'd never forget that she was weak 
 enough, as all such girls are, to Oh, you know what I 
 mean! If she had been a virtuous woman of your own 
 class you would never have acted toward her as you did. 
 You know that as well as I do. Marriage would be 
 worse than suicide for you both." 
 
 "I think I'd better do as you say," Carter finally gave 
 in, conscious of a sickening sensation which was like, and 
 yet was not, relief. "Yes, I'll do as you say. I would 
 like to have you with me in Europe. I've always wanted 
 that." 
 
 "Well, it is settled, then," Farnham said, smiling as 
 upon a wilful child. "Now I'm off to Savannah and 
 Charleston to-morrow morning too early for you to be 
 up, so I'm going to say good night now. When shall I 
 expect you in Atlanta?" 
 
 "I'll leave here to-morrow night." 
 
 "I may count on that?" 
 
 "Yes positively, and I am grateful to you, Charley. 
 I was awfully, awfully upset, and and undecided as to 
 what I really ought to do." 
 
 " I know it, but it is all over now. Go to bed and sleep. 
 You need rest and a free mind. Good night." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 HTHE following afternoon Carter was packing his bag 
 1 in his room. He had put all his things into it, and 
 for the first time in a month was whistling cheerfully, a 
 fine cigar between his lips. How different was his present 
 outlook on life from the one he had put aside ! He felt as 
 a man might who had left a dungeon and come out into 
 sunlight. Already his health had improved. His old 
 appetite had come back. His pride had returned. He 
 was no longer inclined to avoid contact with the other 
 guests in the hotel. He now wanted them to realize that 
 he was a man of wealth and genius. He astonished the 
 servants by lavish tips and friendly, even jocular remarks. 
 There was a famous literary man living in the city, and 
 he now regretted that he had not let the man know of 
 his presence there, for he was sure the author would 
 have called on him, and entertained him, as was his due. 
 The scheme of his great epic began to warm his brain; 
 two striking lines occurred to him, and he wrote them 
 down with a real thrill of satisfaction. If he was not 
 right in taking Farnham's advice in regard to Lydia, why 
 this return to hope, health, and happiness? Had a 
 man the right to destroy all his chances in life for the 
 whimsical notion of a self-tortured, morbid recluse such 
 as his uncle was? No, decidedly no! 
 
 At this instant he heard a rap on the door. It startled 
 him, he knew not why. Going to the door, he opened it. 
 It was one of the bell-boys. 
 
 "There is a gentleman down in the office who says he 
 wants to see you," the boy announced. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "To see me?" Vague, unaccountable fears fell upon 
 Carter. ' ' Where is his card ?" 
 
 "He wouldn't give his name; said he wanted to see 
 you in private. He asked if he could come up here to 
 your room, but the clerk told him he'd have to wait down 
 there." 
 
 "He did? Was it the gentleman who was with me 
 last night?" 
 
 "No, sir not Mr. Farnham. I know him. He's gone, 
 sir." 
 
 "What sort of man is this one? What does he look 
 like?" 
 
 "He's an oldish-looking gentleman, sir." 
 
 "And you say he wants to come up here? You see, I 
 haven't much time to spare. I am to take a train." 
 
 "The clerk told him that, sir, but he said he must see 
 you right off that it was important." 
 
 "Well, send him up." Carter left the door slightly 
 ajar, and stood back in the center of the room. His 
 heart seemed to cease beating. He was quivering in 
 every limb. He knew that he was pale. What was it 
 that he feared all at once? Who could the man be? 
 Why had he refused to give his name? Why did he 
 desire a private interview? Perhaps the visit concerned 
 Lydia. Was the visitor a lawyer, an officer from the 
 police station, a detective? Ah! perhaps Mrs. Romley 
 was not the yielding woman Thomas Crofton had deemed 
 her. She might have read the notice in the paper of his 
 being in New Orleans, and some friend or relative of hers 
 had persuaded her to defend her daughter's rights or ex 
 pose the rich man who had brought about her ruin. In 
 that case in that case he might have to he might 
 have to 
 
 The elevator stopped at that floor. A step sounded in 
 the corridor. "That's the room, sir," he heard the bell 
 boy saying. "He's inside." 
 
 166 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 There was a firm rap on the door. Carter shuddered 
 and drew himself up. 
 
 "Come in," he called out. 
 
 The door opened. Thomas Crofton stood on the 
 threshold, his soft, broad-brimmed hat in hand. His 
 brow was damp with dusty perspiration. He advanced 
 into the room with a slow, almost reluctant step. In his 
 shadowy, shifting eyes his nephew read a doubt as to 
 whether a hand-shake would be welcome. The old man's 
 hand was not extended; Carter's remained hanging by 
 his side. 
 
 "You must pardon me for coming," Thomas began, 
 haltingly, and yet there was a ring of far-reaching 
 determination in his voice. "I hesitated. I reflected 
 a long time before making up my mind to make this 
 trip." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad you came," Carter said, insincerely, 
 not knowing what else to say. He was slightly relieved 
 to find that the visitor was his uncle, and yet he dreaded 
 an interview with him he dreaded what he would now 
 be obliged to say concerning Lydia. 
 
 "You see, you did not write me a line after you left," 
 the old man said. "I thought that was queer, after our 
 understanding. I thought you'd write surely after a day 
 or so." 
 
 "I intended to, but was so busy that I neglected it," 
 Carter faltered. "Won't you sit down?" 
 
 The old man slowly moved toward a chair. His eyes 
 fell on the packed bag which lay open on the table; they 
 lingered there a moment, then he sat down, crossing his 
 legs, placing his hat in his lap and locking his slender 
 fingers under it. 
 
 "I see you are ready to to go somewhere," he ob 
 served. "Home, I presume?" 
 
 There was a pause. Carter moved nearer to the window 
 and stood in the fuller light of the sinking sun which fell 
 
 167 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 over the dun roofs and smoked chimneys of the adjoining 
 houses. 
 
 "Yes ; I am taking the next train for Atlanta." 
 
 "I see. Then you have so far, you have accom 
 plished nothing?" 
 
 "I have not been able to find them." Carter had no 
 sooner spoken than he felt that he had been guilty of 
 cowardly evasion, and yet he let his words stand. 
 
 "I thought it might be hard to find them in such a 
 large city," Thomas went on, "especially as they are, 
 no doubt, staying close indoors wherever they are. It 
 was because of that that I came down to help you. I 
 happened to find out from the station agent at home that 
 they did, after all, leave an address to which they wished 
 their things shipped. Mrs. Romley, it seems, begged him 
 not to reveal it, but when I assured him that I wished to 
 befriend a good woman who had been a faithful servant 
 to me he gave in. I have the address written down here." 
 Thomas now got up, took from his coat pocket a slip of 
 paper, and extended it to his nephew. 
 
 Automatically Carter took it and read the penciled 
 words. His eyes, beneath frowning brows, remained 
 fixed upon them. His hand shook, and the paper, sud 
 denly released, fluttered down to the floor. He bent and 
 picked it up, almost toppling forward as he did so. Why 
 could he not be firm and frank with this simple old man? 
 Why was he making a bad matter worse by this delay 
 and childish subterfuge? 
 
 "I've been thinking over it all, uncle, and " he finally 
 began, but that was as far as he went. 
 
 "I was afraid you might hesitate," the old man said, 
 quietly, "and I admit that was another reason that I 
 had for coming. There must be no hesitation in a matter 
 as grave and all-important as this. My boy, my boy, 
 if you could only, only understand the situation as I do, 
 you'd never have delayed a minute. Listen to me. God 
 
 168 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 is giving you a last chance to redeem yourself and remain 
 a man. That poor girl is there at that address. Go to 
 her now. Come with me. We'll go together." 
 
 "Uncle, I can't!" 
 
 "You can't?" 
 
 "No, I can't I simply can't! I did not know what I 
 was doing when I promised you what I did that night. 
 For God's sake pity me be reasonable! Put yourself 
 in my place in the place you were in as a young man. 
 You say you had no advice. Even if you had been 
 advised just as you are advising me you'd have been as 
 weak as I am. I can't do it. I simply can't. The cost 
 is too great. I am not built for the shame and humilia 
 tion that would follow." 
 
 "Farnham was here yesterday," the old man said, bit 
 terly. "He is your present adviser. You have placed 
 your soul in the hands of that adroit tool of Iniquity. I 
 can't give you over to the same long, pitiless remorse that 
 has been mine and still is mine. It seems to me, my boy, 
 my boy " the old man's voice broke, a sob struggled up in 
 his dry throat, and tears sprang into his eyes "it seems 
 to me that the very spirit of your dead mother, now awake 
 to the meaning of the Great Mystery of the life eternal, 
 is pleading with me at this moment to save you from 
 actual crime. It seems to me that the spirit of my wife 
 and the spirit of my poor, wronged son are anxiously 
 waiting for me to influence you. Me me! It may be 
 an insane idea, but the chance seems to be given to me 
 to gain pardon and peace through you. Only the deep-- 
 est suffering can give one a knowledge of the infinite laws 
 which control the unseen. Farnham is a poor, blind, 
 money-seeking fool. Material laws are for the guidance 
 of the blind who have to feel their way from object to 
 object. Spiritual laws are for those who see with the 
 eyes of the soul. Hell itself is piling mountains in your 
 path, but you must scale them." 
 
 169 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "It is all well enough to talk," the young man said, 
 bluntly defiant. "I know myself now better than I did 
 when you last spoke to me. I am only a frail human being. 
 The thing you demand of me was not demanded of my 
 grandfather or of my father for their youthful errors. 
 They lived their lives through in some shape or other, 
 and they were as as guilty as I am. You feel as you 
 do because you've lived your life and have nothing left 
 to lean upon." 
 
 "Ah, I know, I know!" Thomas lowered his head 
 and moaned. "So you won't do it you won't?" 
 
 "No; I can't. That is final. I don't want to pain 
 you, but I must refuse. Please don't mention it again. 
 Please, please don't! I have some rights left, and I must 
 stand on them. I haven't the remorse you seem to be 
 under; perhaps I may never have it." 
 
 "So you think to-day, my boy, but your time will 
 come." The old man's eyes were on the packed bag on 
 the table. "May I ask what your immediate plans 
 are?" 
 
 Reluctantly and all but coldly Carter informed him 
 of his decision to go abroad with Farnham. He noticed 
 a necktie which he had left on the bureau, and he picked 
 it up, folded it with undue care, and put it into the bag. 
 He took it out and placed it beneath one of his shirts. 
 Then he began to examine the straps and buckles on the 
 bag, and, taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he put 
 one of them into the brass lock and tested it by clicking 
 .the tiny steel bolt back and forth. 
 
 "Ah, you are going to Europe!" he heard the old man 
 sigh. "At least I did not have that distraction, nor the 
 means to obtain it. Besides, you remember, my mar 
 riage was approaching. I won't say anything against 
 your trip, since all hope of the other course is now gone. 
 You will have the advantage of being able to put the poor 
 girl out of your sight. You may in time expatriate your- 
 
 170 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 self. I will prophesy nothing more as to your future. 
 You are in God's hands and Farnham's. If you don't 
 mind I'll -go back to Atlanta with you. I'd like to help 
 Lydia and her mother in some material way, but they 
 would not accept anything. I may, myself, never see 
 them again, and it may be as well for me not to do so. 
 See? I'm shirking, too. I ought to stand by them as a 
 near blood relation of yours, anyway; but I can do noth 
 ing. Mrs. Romley appreciates some things I've done for 
 her, and she is now trying to save me from embarrassment. 
 She wants to bury her daughter's shame among total 
 strangers. I shall let her do so, in her own way. But 
 you have not said whether my company will be welcome 
 to you on the train back?" 
 
 "Of course I want you," Carter answered, flushing 
 more deeply. "How can you put it that way?" 
 
 "Then I'll wait for you down-stairs," the old man 
 said. 
 
 Finding himself alone in the room, Carter sat down on 
 the bed. A desperate glare was in his eyes. Presently 
 he shuddered. 
 
 "My God!" he cried. "Uncle has given me up in 
 despair. He was right, and I am wrong wrong wrong! 
 O God! how can I leave her, never to see her again? I 
 love her I love her. I'll never love any one else on earth. 
 She was made for me, and I for her. My God! What 
 ails me? I do not know my own mind. I'm lost. She'll 
 hate me. Eventually she will marry another man, and 
 he'll hold her in his arms; he'll kiss her lips and she'll 
 she'll " He groaned aloud, and, springing to his feet, 
 he closed his bag, took his hat, and started for the door. 
 "What's the use?" he muttered in his throat. "There 
 is no other way!" 
 
PART II 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 ARTER'S long life abroad, which had begun so gaily 
 in the company of his friend Farnham, gradually 
 lost its novelty as the years passed. He finally settled 
 permanently in Paris, where he had a luxurious and artistic 
 apartment in which he entertained men and women of 
 wealth, talent, and distinction. He was always thinking 
 that he would go back to America; he was always finding, 
 when the appointed time arrived, that he simply did not 
 want to go. He had come to think that America was 
 hopelessly crude in its lack of art and literature, for its 
 vulgar, money-getting passion, but above all for its nar 
 row puritanical views of morality. 
 
 He failed in his poetic aspirations. His offerings to 
 the English and American magazines were declined so 
 repeatedly that he finally ceased to hope that his work 
 would ever be accepted. At his own expense he printed 
 a sumptuous volume in a limited edition, which he auto 
 graphed and distributed to personal friends, but there 
 was little in this to satisfy the old creative longing, for 
 even his friends had scant praise for the book. He 
 could never forget the reception it had received from an 
 aged English philosopher to whom he had presented it 
 after having met and chatted with the man at the house 
 of a common friend. 
 
 "I haven't had time to read all of it," the man said, 
 coldly, "and, frankly, I would not finish it if I could. It 
 seems to me to have come from a man whose soul is dead, 
 or dying. You have tried in it to glorify evil. Great 
 
 175 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 poems come from live souls full of longing to comprehend 
 the vast meaning of life, not out of vain, blustering denial 
 of all that is good. Pardon me, but your book is an in 
 sult to my intelligence and ideas of ordinary decency.'* 
 
 So after that venture he wrote no more. In the be 
 ginning of his life abroad he had sought artistic and 
 literary companionship, but now he began to shun it. 
 No successful book or poem wholly pleased him. That 
 the public liked a thing proved its inherent weakness. 
 The modern decadent writers, essayists, and poets pleased 
 him best, but he shunned personal contact with them 
 because of their failure to recognize him as one of them. 
 
 He next busied himself with fads. He made collections 
 of curios and editions of rare books. At one time, while 
 living in London, he took up the study of the genealogy 
 of his family. He conceived the idea that the first Crof- 
 ton to settle in Virginia was a younger son of an English 
 earl. Two years were spent in this vapid research, during 
 which time he associated by choice with men and women 
 of title or of ancient lineage. He had the means to enter 
 tain such people lavishly, and a few noblemen who were 
 broken down in fortune hung around him. There was 
 an ancient family by his own name living in Devonshire, 
 in a fine old mansion which had been owned by a certain 
 branch of the Crofton family over four hundred years. 
 It pleased him to claim without proof of any sort that 
 his own direct ancestors had lived there, and that the 
 family coat of arms was also his. He sought an invita 
 tion to the house, by an adroit letter addressed to the 
 gentleman who had inherited the estate, in which he 
 spoke of the strong likelihood of his relationship, only to 
 get in return a coldly polite and evasive note. This did 
 not deter him, however, from claiming the relationship, 
 and he spoke of it to his friends on all occasions. He was 
 fond of refuting the charge that there were no persons 
 of gentle birth in the United States. Younger sons even 
 
 176 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 of royal descent had settled in Virginia, as had his own 
 ancestor. Of course, there had been settlers of the lowest 
 order, convicts, and the like, and it behooved every Amer 
 ican gentleman to establish his rights in justice to his 
 posterity. For this reason he got together the material 
 for a book which he published under the title of The 
 Croftons of England and Virginia. There was no sale 
 for the work, but he had the satisfaction of having it 
 accepted by the genealogical departments of several public 
 libraries in England and America. 
 
 When he reached the age of forty he began to think 
 seriously of marriage, late as it was. There was some 
 unconquerable instinct within him which was constant 
 ly crying out for fatherhood. He wanted children, es 
 pecially a son to bear his name. The sight of younger 
 men than himself in the company of their wives and 
 children rebuked him constantly. Something kept whis 
 pering to him that it was his own misspent early life 
 that had robbed him and was still robbing him of this 
 natural joy, as well as the love and sympathy of a good 
 wife. These reflections finally became almost a mono 
 mania with him. He had the means with which to bring 
 up a family and own an establishment in approved style, 
 and he must set about the matter in proper form and 
 without delay. He had not forgotten Lydia. Indeed, 
 that beautiful first love of his was almost constantly 
 in his thoughts. He was always comparing other women 
 with her; he was always wondering how time had served 
 her, or, indeed, if she were still alive. But those memories 
 were too painful to be entertained, and he began deliber 
 ately to try to banish them. 
 
 He had met a young lady, Miss Edith Caruthers, an 
 orphan daughter of an English gentleman who had died 
 in poverty. She was living in Paris, where she was 1 
 teaching English to the children of a wealthy French 
 Academician, in whose drawing-rooms Crofton had met 
 
 12 177 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 her. He called upon her many times. She seemed to 
 like him, their tastes were similar, and the thought of 
 marrying her took hold of him and grew day by day. 
 She had a brother, who was without any fortune and was, 
 in fact, only a clerk in a London bank, still his name and 
 his sister's were recorded in Burke's Landed Gentry, and 
 there was a possibility of his coming into a great landed 
 property, so Crofton told himself that a wife of that sort 
 would be very suitable, and such a sensible marriage 
 on his part would show all his friends that he was by no 
 means a fortune-hunter. 
 
 Notwithstanding these things, however, he hesitated 
 many months. Why he could not ask her to marry him 
 and be done with it became a psychological problem to 
 him which caused him much uneasiness. His reason told 
 him that a poor girl who was earning her own living as 
 Edith was doing would not be apt to decline his proposal, 
 and yet he was afraid to declare himself. She was about 
 twenty-seven years of age, and was not considered good- 
 looking; in fact, her features were rather plain, and she 
 bore herself somewhat too stiffly to be graceful, but she 
 was very intelligent, well-informed, well-educated, and, 
 above all, well-bred. She spoke French and German 
 fluently, and had a fine taste for the best in literature, 
 music, and art. She seemed to have faith in his own 
 creative ability, and more than once had urged him to 
 resume his literary efforts. He often caught himself ob 
 serving her when she was with others. He admired the 
 ease and skill with which she handled the most distin 
 guished of men. At such times he was fond of picturing 
 her as the mistress of his home, and he would actually 
 glow with the warm sense of prospective ownership. 
 
 Still he delayed his proposal. More than once he set 
 out to spend an evening with her, sure that he would de 
 clare himself before leaving her, only to come away with 
 out doing so. During this period of indecision his old 
 
 178 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 habit of rigid self-analysis settled on him more firmly 
 than ever before. He wondered and this may have 
 been due simply to an outraged conscience if he had 
 not, by that first great sin of his, by his manner of living 
 since it was committed killed within himself the ca 
 pability of loving and respecting a wife as a man should 
 love and respect the one woman among all women who 
 was to be his life companion, the mother of his children. 
 He was honest enough to admit that the fault was wholly 
 of his own making. 
 
 About this time something occurred which drove him 
 closer to the point of actual decision than anything else 
 had done. Miss Caruthers was given a month's vaca 
 tion, and she decided to spend it, the summer being at 
 hand, in Geneva at a little pension where she had lived 
 once before. She made no mention to him of her inten 
 tion to go, and it was only by his calling at her Paris 
 home that he discovered her absence and secured her ad 
 dress. He thought he understood her failure to inform 
 him of her movements, and he liked the subtle and 
 novel sense of pursuit which came to him with the deter 
 mination to follow her. 
 
 She was well aware of the fact that he was a man who 
 was well-to-do financially, and once or twice he had fancied 
 that she was a little sensitive of her own shortcomings 
 in that respect while receiving such marked attentions 
 from him, and this he liked. 
 
 He went to Geneva on a night train, arriving at about 
 eight o'clock in the morning. There was an invigorating 
 quality in the crisp, cool air, and as he drove to his hotel 
 in a cab through the quaint streets of the town he had his 
 first view of Mount Blanc beyond the hills in the far dis 
 tance. One of his most hopeful moods was on him. He 
 was satisfied that he loved her as much as he was capable 
 of loving any woman that he was experiencing at least 
 a rebirth of the romantic feeling he had had several times 
 
 179 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 before, yet in diminishing force as his various feminine 
 fancies had come and gone. 
 
 "At last, at last," he kept saying, without knowing 
 that he was only fighting rising doubts and fears "at last 
 I am to be happily married. Ill be proud of her. What 
 man could help it ? Fate has reserved her for me. Here, 
 in this beautiful spot, on that blue lake perhaps this 
 very evening, I'll ask her to be my wife. She will consent ; 
 yes, she'll consent." 
 
 That morning he sent her a message. ' * Dearest Edith, ' ' 
 he wrote, "you see I've followed you. Paris was insup 
 portable after I discovered that my one dear friend had 
 left. When may I call?" 
 
 As he sealed the note he asked himself, with a qualm 
 of self-suspicion: "Why did I begin so naturally, so 
 warmly, and yet use such an equivocal term as 'dear 
 friend'? Do I really know myself? What is wrong with 
 me, anyway? What has ailed me all along? Am I sane? 
 Did any other living man ever at once want to marry a 
 woman and be afraid to do so ? Why am I always think 
 ing of my uncle, of his morbid prophecy, and of Lydia? 
 Do I still love her? I must do so, or why can't I forget 
 her? My uncle must have left a sort of hypnotic sugges 
 tion on me of which I am unable to rid myself. He was 
 afraid things would go wrong with me, as they had with 
 him. Will this marriage prove disastrous, as his was? 
 Is this a trap through which I am to receive what he 
 would call retribution? Am I actually losing my mind? 
 If not, why can't I form a positive decision and abide 
 by it? Why am I wavering like this? Why am I sure 
 at one moment that I ought to do this thing, and the 
 next that I ought not?" 
 
 The note he received in response to his was, he thought, 
 unduly cold, and yet its very coldness pleased him, for 
 he liked to feel that she was modestly avoiding him. He 
 could come in any afternoon after three, she said, and 
 
 180 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 that was all. He decided to call that very afternoon. 
 Why should he wait? They were both there among 
 strangers. What more natural than that they should be 
 company for each other? 
 
 He spent the afternoon with her in the simple salon of 
 the pension kept by an old German and his wife on the 
 third floor of an apartment-house in the Quai des Eaux- 
 Vives. 
 
 When the sun was almost down they took their chairs 
 to the little balcony which overlooked the lake above 
 the fine trees which shaded the long water-front. He 
 was elated, happy, but he left her without declaring his 
 intentions. He returned that evening with a bouquet 
 of white roses which he had bought of a pretty Swiss girl 
 at a flower-shop in the market-place. The girl had at 
 tracted him by her youthful charm and vivaciousness, 
 and strongly reminded him of many flirtations he had had 
 with such persons in various places. He told himself that 
 all such frivolities must now be over. He would become 
 the model husband that such a sterling woman as Edith 
 Caruthers deserved. He would respect her too much 
 to deceive her in the slightest thing. 
 
 Again she met him still behind the inexplicable veil of 
 reserve which had been so noticeable in the afternoon. 
 She placed the roses in a vase on the center-table of the 
 salon, and thanked him almost formally. There hap 
 pened to be no other boarders at the pension, and again 
 they had the balcony to themselves. There was music 
 in the Jardin Anglais, the lights of which could be seen 
 at the end of the street, and gay singing in a caf6 chantant 
 near by. The colored lights of excursion steamboats 
 and smaller pleasure craft shone here and there on the 
 surface of the lake. Near the shore a tall fountain be 
 gan to play, the jet and spray of which were illuminated 
 by constantly changing colors. A soothing, restful spell 
 was on him. Every minute he was sure that the next 
 
 181 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 would lead him to the subject that had brought him to 
 Geneva, and yet the minutes passed into hours and he 
 had not yet spoken the fateful words. It was late, she 
 playfully told him finally, and he must go. He was em 
 boldened by this, slight as it was. He smiled and laughed 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Do you know why I came to Geneva?" he asked. 
 
 She glanced at him in a startled way, then avoided his 
 eyes, making no answer. 
 
 He repeated his question, leaning toward her, and 
 taking her hand. She allowed him to hold it for a bare 
 instant, then gently drew it away. Her face held a 
 gravity he had never seen on it before. 
 
 "I think I do, perhaps," she said, still looking away 
 from him. 
 
 "I came because I could not exist without your com 
 panionship," he heard himself saying. "Edith, I'm the 
 loneliest man on earth. I have everything and nothing. 
 I'm tired of everything in life but you. I was at the 
 point of suicide from sheer ennui when I met you and 
 began to hope that you would change it all. I came 
 here to ask you to be my wife." 
 
 He heard her sigh. She still kept her face averted. 
 "I thought so," she almost whispered. "I could see no 
 other reason for your following me." 
 
 Silence fell between them a silence that bore down on 
 him, perplexed, alarmed, depressed him. Why had she 
 answered in that way? Thousands of fears, memories, 
 visions of faces, past forebodings, flashed before him. He 
 broke the silence. Leaning forward, he tried to take her 
 hand again, but she thrust it beneath the light lace wrap 
 about her shoulders, sat erect in her chair, and sighed 
 again. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he faltered. "Are you not 
 going to give me my answer?" 
 
 He plainly saw her shudder. She gave him a swift 
 
 182 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 passing scrutiny, and then her profile was all he could see 
 of her rigid face. 
 
 " There is something you should know before making 
 such a proposal," she muttered, clearing her voice and 
 trying to speak steadily. "I've been afraid you'd come 
 to me like this, and I didn't openly encourage you, 
 Carter, did I? Really, did I?" 
 
 "No!" he gasped, now clutched by certain intangible 
 fears which could have found root in no other brain than 
 his. "What what is it, Edith?" 
 
 "There is something you should know about me, 
 about an early love-affair of mine," she went on, still in 
 low, halting tones. "There are men Englishmen, at 
 least to whom. I'd not feel obligated to say this, but cer 
 tain remarks you have made on various occasions make 
 me feel that that I ought not to be your wife without 
 making a complete revelation of of my whole life." 
 
 Therewith, and gaining a grim sort of courage as she 
 proceeded, she told him of her love as a girl for a certain 
 young English officer, a most unhappily married man 
 for whom she had had great sympathy, and who had 
 died shortly afterward. 
 
 "Is that all?" he asked, in great relief. "Surely you 
 are making a mountain out of a molehill. I could hardly 
 expect to meet a girl anywhere who has not had some 
 sort of fancy or other. I am not the only man in the 
 world." 
 
 "You must understand me fully, 11 she said, her lips 
 pressed tightly together, her fine face pale and rigid as 
 stone. 
 
 "Fully oh, you can't mean ?" he went no further, 
 for she had risen and was moving toward the salon. 
 
 "Yes, I mean that" she answered. "For ten years 
 I've both regretted it and been proud of it. Before God 
 I regarded him as my husband. I know my own worth, 
 and I could not marry a man who failed to understand 
 
 183 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 my act, and me as well. I am lonely, too. I know the 
 manner of life you have led, and the contemplation of it 
 in a man whom I admire for many good qualities has 
 sickened me at heart, and yet I feel that I can help you 
 as you can help me. I feel that you are now inclined 
 toward better things. You have reached the point in 
 life where a turning must be made. I know that I can 
 help you, but not if you doubt me for one instant or hold 
 against me the fault I am voluntarily confessing." 
 
 He was pale, cold from head to foot, and quivering in 
 every limb. He started to speak to say he knew not 
 what in his awful perturbation, but she checked him with 
 a quick, firm wave of the hand. 
 
 "Not a word now. You must you, of all men, Car 
 ter, must think this over. You are a vacillating man, and 
 I will not have you decide under an impulse. Come to 
 see me Thursday evening this is Tuesday. Come then 
 and let me know how you feel about it. Now, good night, 
 Yes, yes, I insist upon it good night." 
 
 He was trying feebly to detain her, but she passed into 
 the salon, walked swiftly through it, and disappeared in 
 the direction of her bedchamber. 
 
 He took his hat from the piano and went down the 
 stairs to the street. He was unconscious of the existence 
 of his material body. It seemed to him that he was sim 
 ply an entity of mind and soul blown along by the surg 
 ing winds of sheer chaos. He was stunned, shocked, 
 bewildered. He passed the cafe chantant where merry 
 makers at little tables on the sidewalk were tinkling their 
 glasses and shouting, and went on into the Jardin Anglais. 
 He found a seat in a retired spot and sank into it, but he 
 was too restless to bear the inactivity of sitting still, so 
 he went out of the garden and crossed the bridge over the 
 Rh6ne to his hotel 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ALONE in his room, he began to prepare for bed, but 
 -T\ as he doffed his garments one by one, threw himself 
 down, and saw his stark limbs against the white sheets, 
 the gruesome picture came to him of an undertaker dress 
 ing his body for burial. What was left for him now? It 
 was wise of Edith Caruthers to dismiss him with the prob 
 lem to solve. The horror which was sucking the life- 
 blood from the veins of his scant manhood would have 
 been visible to her in another moment, and she would 
 have despised him as she would have done already had 
 she known him as he was. 
 
 Two days to decide a thing of that sort! It would 
 take a lifetime for a man of his stamp, a man rendered 
 incapable of justice by a thousand unjust deeds. He 
 extinguished the gas, groaned aloud, and lay with his 
 eyes open in the dark. His uncle's grim experiences and 
 warnings came to him, as they had through all the years 
 of his expatriation, but never with such sinister force as 
 now. He had gone through that spiritual struggle in 
 New Orleans and refused to take the course advised by 
 a man beaten to earth by conscience. That sin against 
 poor Lydia was irretrievable, but should he take an un 
 fair course again? Was not this opportunity laid upon 
 him by God Himself? 
 
 "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who 
 trespass against us," he quoted. How could he expect the 
 longed-for content and peace if he held the rod of con 
 demnation over the gentle woman who had so frankly 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 revealed the one mistake of her life, which was pardon 
 able if the smallest of his deeds was pardonable? He 
 told himself that there was nothing for him to do but to 
 overlook it, forget it, and he would; yes, he would! He 
 would hasten to her in the morning and laugh about the 
 whole matter. They would be married and be happy. 
 With this thought he grew calmer, and finally dropped 
 to sleep. 
 
 He waked the next morning with a headache. His 
 mouth had a disagreeable taste, as if his food had not 
 properly digested. He rang for his breakfast to be 
 brought; but when it came and was put on the table by 
 his bed, he had little appetite for it. He began to dress 
 for his visit to Edith. But why, he asked himself, was 
 he still so cheerless, so despondent? Did ever a man 
 go to see the woman he was to marry in such an incon 
 gruous mood? He was wealthy; he was not hopelessly 
 old; women by the hundreds could be met who would 
 accept him as a husband; he was not even in love, actual 
 ly, passionately in love, and yet he was about to select 
 a fallen woman for his bride. A fallen woman! How 
 preposterous ! How far from his long-pursued ideal ! And 
 yet how, under the laws of the universe, was it to be 
 avoided if his soul was to be freed from its self-welded, 
 time-strengthened shackles ? 
 
 Yes, he must take a just course, now. He must do 
 the manly thing. He would go to Edith at once. He 
 would laugh her fears to scorn. He would promise never 
 to think of the thing which disturbed her. Never think 
 of it? Would that be possible in his case? Could a man 
 whose life had been steeped in lust condone even a 
 touch of it in the woman who was to be his wife? Should 
 two persons of that ilk bind themselves together for life? 
 Could Satan devise a rarer comedy for the delectation of 
 his gibing imps? Two criminals of opposite sexes on 
 a holy nuptial bed! Merciful God! Thomas Crof ton's 
 
 186 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 morbid prediction was more than coming true. Remorse, 
 as well as the unconquerable tendency to evil, was the 
 living lees of the Crofton blood. But something must be 
 done, and what? Ah, she had given him till Thursday 
 to think it over. He would wait; yes, that was wise of 
 her. She had, no doubt, thought of all these things. Per 
 haps her confession had come about through her own 
 remorse, and was a supreme effort to obtain divine for 
 giveness. She had intimated that she was not to blame, 
 but she may have been to blame. She may deliberately 
 have tempted the unfortunate man, now dead. Of 
 course she had not confessed all not quite all. What dis 
 creet woman would? Still, he must not judge her if he 
 would not be judged, and the judgment upon him had 
 penetrated the very marrow of his bones. 
 
 He left the hotel, and, crossing the bridge to the excur 
 sion-steamboat landing, he took a ticket and went aboard. 
 The boat was to make a circuit of the lake. Perhaps the 
 trip would divert his mind. But he found this to be a 
 vain hope. The passengers in their merriment, the 
 placid Italian musicians in their quaint costumes, ac 
 tually irritated him. So when a landing was made at 
 Lausanne, for a short stop, he left the boat and, going 
 into the town, he wandered about aimlessly, now among 
 the peasants offering their wares in the market-place, 
 again in the streets, seeing nothing, hearing nothing but the 
 terrible groaning of his vacillating purpose. He told 
 himself that if only he could have the advice of some one 
 any one, friend or stranger he might be able to act upon 
 it, for he had completely lost control of his own reasoning 
 powers. He was an infant in the knowledge of good 
 things, and it was a good thing which he was to do or 
 leave undone. 
 
 Coming from a church he saw a priest. He was an old, 
 gray-haired man with a calm, fatherly face and gentle, 
 portly mien. Crofton looked at him wistfully, doffed his 
 
 187 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 hat, and bowed. The priest smiled benevolently and 
 was about to pass on, but Carter, obeying a sudden im 
 pulse, extended his hand. The priest took it and pressed 
 it cordially. 
 
 "I've met you before?" he said, half tentatively, in 
 French. "My eyesight is getting bad. I no longer re 
 member faces as I once did." 
 
 "I am a stranger, Father, an American," Crofton re 
 sponded. "I am quite alone, trying to pass a few days 
 in Geneva. I come of a Protestant family, but am my 
 self a member of no church. I am ignorant of the cus 
 toms of your calling, but I couldn't, somehow, let you 
 go by. Frankly, Father, I am in trouble great trouble." 
 
 "Ah, I'm sorry!" the priest said. "May I ask if it is 
 of a financial nature?" 
 
 "No, it is wholly mental in fact, spiritual. I am 
 afraid I'm almost afraid, Father, that I am quite in 
 capable of making a decision between two opposite courses, 
 and it happens that a decision must be made at once. I 
 have heard that confidences are held sacred by your order, 
 and and I am almost desperate." 
 
 "Ah, I see, I see!" They had come to a little house in 
 a simple garden surrounded by a stone wall. " My rooms 
 are here," the priest said. "Will you come in?" 
 
 Carter accepted, passing through the gate, a far- 
 reaching sense of relief settling on him. The priest un 
 locked the door and led him into a cozy study, the walls 
 of which were lined with books and pictures. 
 
 "Pray be seated," he said; and when the visitor had 
 taken a chair the priest filled a glass with wine from a 
 decanter and proffered it on a quaint little tray of carved 
 copper. 
 
 Crofton drank it, thanked the priest, and fairly fed 
 upon his benign countenance. "It is queer, Father," he 
 began, tremulously, "that I should have stopped you. 
 I've never done such a thing before never, never before." 
 
 188 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "It happens to me almost every day/' the priest smiled. 
 "Oh, the world is so full of sorrow! Even our saints, 
 our Lord Himself, suffered to the last. Why shouldn't 
 you why shouldn't I? Your face shows that you are 
 not at peace. You would not need me if you were. You 
 need not come to me, but you ought to go to God. 
 God alone can aid you." 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course; but may I tell you my trouble?" 
 Crofton faltered, most anxiously. " I want to tell you the 
 whole thing. Somehow I feel impelled to do it." 
 
 The priest nodded. He lowered his head to his delicate 
 white hand, closed his eyes, and his lips moved mutely. 
 Crofton remained silent till the priest raised his head, 
 then he told him the story of his life. 
 
 "Ah, ah! sad, sad!" the good man kept exclaiming as 
 the account was being given, and when it was finally con 
 cluded he lowered his head to his hand again. There was 
 silence for several minutes ; then he said, looking straight 
 and sympathetically at his visitor: 
 
 "It is a grave situation, but it seems to me that you 
 are pursuing a wrong course. If the thing that you want 
 to do were in accordance with the infinite law of spiritual 
 harmony you would not be in such doubt as you are now 
 in. To be frank with you, the reason you have for de 
 siring this marriage is fundamentally a selfish one. You 
 are trying to convince yourself that you can right a ter 
 rible wrong done to one person by avoiding the doing of 
 a slight one to another. You are thinking of your own 
 comfort solely your own salvation. If the lady you 
 wish to marry is suffering for her act, it is God's will 
 that she should so suffer, and you likewise. The way to 
 the Kingdom is not through social and material ease, but 
 through self-abnegation, pain, and even agony. You 
 are a beautiful sight to me, for you are groveling in 
 spiritual darkness out of which you are sure to rise 
 not at once, perhaps, for you have not yet suffered enough. 
 
 189 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Now you must leave me. I've said all I can say. God 
 bless you, my son." 
 
 Crofton returned to Geneva by the next boat. As he 
 sat on the deck in the gentle, crisp breeze from the icy 
 Alps he was wondering what he would say to Edith 
 Caruthers. He couldn't tell her of the priest's advice, 
 for he was not willing to admit his weakness in seeking it. 
 To-morrow she would be expecting him. He would wait 
 till then to decide what course to pursue, and at the last 
 moment perhaps he would act upon whatever impulse 
 came to him. 
 
 When he arrived at his hotel, a porter gave him a note. 
 It was addressed in the handwriting of Edith Caruthers 
 and had come that morning. He opened it nervously. 
 It ran as follows: 
 
 "I am leaving Geneva. It should make no difference 
 to you where I am going. I hope I shall never see you 
 again. This must be final. If you had refused to let 
 me leave you last night because of your faith in me it 
 might have been different, but intuitively I read your 
 mind and know exactly what you think. Good-by." 
 
 It was an odd psychological thing, but as he put the 
 note into his pocket he was conscious of a throbbing sense 
 of relief, and as he lighted a cigar and began to smoke 
 he planned his return to Paris. Surely he would find 
 something there to divert him, some new face or fresh 
 emotion which would help him to forget what had hap 
 pened. One thing, however, rankled, and that was the 
 contempt he knew that Edith Caruthers had for him. 
 
PART III 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 /BARTER CROFTON, five years older than when we 
 \<^t last met him in Geneva, was returning to America. 
 The steamer, after six days of pleasant sailing, was 
 within sight of New York. Eager homesick voyagers 
 were leaning on the railings and pointing out certain 
 recognizable objects in the sky-line, the whole of which 
 was new to Carter. The stewards were hurrying to and 
 fro, piling up luggage for prompt handling at the pier. 
 The pilot had come aboard. The custom-house agents 
 were finishing their work of taking declarations in the 
 great salon. Men and women who had been seen only 
 in deck costumes lounging beneath rugs in steamer-chairs 
 appeared strange to one another in street hats and cloth 
 ing. It was in the early part of June, and the afternoon 
 was warm. 
 
 Carter had made the acquaintance of no one during the 
 voyage, and stood on the deck alone, viewing with a de 
 spondent stare, now the nearing shore, again the elated 
 passengers around him. He had turned quite gray; his 
 skin had a dingy, bloodless look. Some of his teeth had 
 disappeared and artificial ones held by caps of gold on 
 roots and snags had taken their places. There were 
 wrinkles in his sunken cheeks and around his eyes. He 
 had touches of rheumatism at times, which his doctor 
 had said came from the things he ate and drank. He 
 tried to take an interest in the aspect of the long water 
 front, but couldn't do so. It all seemed an evidence of 
 useless and hasty productivity at the cost of national re 
 finement and artistic growth. 
 
 13 193 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 What he would do when he left the ship he did not 
 know nor care. The sight of his fellow-passengers waving 
 their hats and handkerchiefs at the mass of expectant 
 humanity gathered on the pier sickened him at heart, as 
 the thought struck him that no one would be there to 
 meet him. He was a man without a country, without a 
 true friend. He had neglected his correspondence with 
 his family, and had lived in all the countries of Europe 
 a solitary life in hotels and in chambers to which few 
 outsiders were admitted. 
 
 He fancied that he would remain a month or so in New 
 York, and then go to Atlanta; but there was nothing in 
 viting in either prospect. In the latter place he would 
 have to shake hands with people who had known him 
 as a young man, and be entertained in their homes in 
 the old way, and this was anything but welcome. He 
 fancied he would like New York better, for there he could 
 live as privately as he wished. 
 
 He remained on deck till most of the voyagers had 
 gone down the gang-plank, and then he went ashore. In 
 the long, shedlike structure he stood listlessly watching 
 the custom-house inspectors examine the contents of his 
 trunks, and when the task was over he took a taxicab 
 for his hotel. 
 
 For a while he looked at the buildings he was passing 
 with faint surprise over their spick-and-span appearance 
 and immense height. The women on the crowded side 
 walks appeared to be inartistically dressed, compared to 
 the Parisian styles to which his eyes had become accus 
 tomed even in the poorest of the working classes. 
 
 It was growing dark when he arrived at the hotel, and 
 the great building was ablaze with electric light. He 
 found several letters on business matters awaiting him; 
 but he did not then look them over. To-morrow, he told 
 himself, he would employ a stenographer and dictate 
 answers to them. He went into a great glass-inclosed 
 
 194 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 cafe in the center of the ground floor, which was thronged 
 with gay diners. What a rasping twang most of their 
 loud, insistent voices held, he thought. And for what 
 earthly reason were their overdressed owners so terribly 
 gay? At the moment he did not reflect that the ma 
 jority of them were persons who were simply visiting the 
 metropolis, and perhaps for the first and last time. He 
 did not want to eat, and decided that he would wait 
 till he felt more like it. He walked listlessly through 
 what appeared to his jaundiced taste gaudily upholstered 
 and tapestried corridors, Turkish smoking-room, recep 
 tion-rooms, and salons. Even the bulky newspapers in 
 the reading-room had a cheap, sensational appearance, 
 and in the few lines he scanned on the editorial pages he 
 detected several slangy Americanisms, expressions which 
 had come into use since he left the country. 
 
 Leaving the hotel, he went for a walk, and soon found 
 himself in "The Great White Way." He had seen noth 
 ing so electrically brilliant in London, Berlin, or Paris; 
 but its effect on his high-strung nerves was anything but 
 soothing. He passed several theaters, but the flashy, 
 sensational bill-boards leaning in the doorways did not 
 stir his interest. He finally selected the one he thought 
 he would like best, and, getting into a line before the 
 ticket-window, he secured a seat and entered. The first 
 act of the play struck him as being unbearably crude in 
 construction and motive, and the performers utterly hope 
 less. He left during the first intermission, fairly infuri 
 ated by the enthusiastic applause of the audience. 
 
 " Fools, fools!" he muttered. "They would applaud 
 a mountain-school exhibition. No wonder the outside 
 world is laughing at them!" 
 
 In the middle of the next block he came to the entrance 
 of a cabaret, and, obeying a weary impulse, he went in 
 and sat at a table and ordered a bottle of beer, which he 
 began to drink after critically examining the foreign label 
 
 195 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 and deciding that it had not really been bottled abroad. 
 He believed that he was a judge of drinks, and the taste 
 of this was flat and insipid. 
 
 There was a little stage at the end of the room, and on 
 it stood a male monologist dressed like a Jewish clothing- 
 dealer. Crofton tried to catch the drift of his humorous 
 recital, but failed to fix his attention on it firmly enough 
 to do so. Next on the bill was a French danseuse. He 
 was sure he had seen her in Paris, and the idea came to 
 him that it might gratify the girl to have the fact men 
 tioned to her in her own tongue by a traveled stranger; 
 but she was no longer very young, the paint and powder 
 were fairly daubed on her face, neck, and arms, and her 
 dress had the seedy, bedraggled look of a rented costume. 
 
 He paid for the beer, listlessly tipped the waiter, and 
 went into the street again. It was now about eleven 
 o'clock. He was not sleepy; he was too nervous to be 
 sleepy, and yet he told himself there was nothing else 
 to do but to go to bed and try to lose himself in sleep. 
 So he went to his hotel and up to his room. Here he 
 stood looking at his image in the big mirror on his bureau, 
 as he took off his collar and necktie. Why of late had he 
 come to look so much like a dying man? Why did his 
 clothes hang as if upon a mere rack of flesh and bones? 
 Why did the reflection of his face always horrify him? 
 What was it that lay at the fount of those piteous, plead 
 ing eyes? 
 
 He recalled what a friend of his who was a mental 
 scientist once told him, that the condition of the mind 
 affected the body. The statement had clung to him and 
 become logical enough. The friend had said that to have 
 a healthy body the soul must be pure, have high spiritual 
 aspirations, and be free from worry in every form. 
 
 "Free from worry!" In his case, that was out of the 
 question. For years he had scarcely known an hour's 
 freedom from actual carking despondency. The friend 
 
 196 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 had told him that the mental cure for the ailment was 
 easily demonstrable. All one had to do was to sit alone 
 in absolute quiet and realize that he himself was not com 
 posed of matter, but was wholly spirit which should not 
 be controlled by any material "claim." In moments of 
 abject agony Crofton had secretly tried to follow these 
 instructions, but never with success. His friend had told 
 him that there was such a thing as mental suggestion, 
 and if a man's thought or conduct had been on evil lines 
 for a long time his whole nature would be molded in 
 accordance with those things. Hence, if an evil-minded 
 man would constantly insist upon and practise purity of 
 thought he would find, through mental suggestion, that 
 he was gradually rising from the low, material plane to 
 a high, spiritual one which was the only eternal reality. 
 Crofton tried at times to direct his mind to higher 
 things, but seldom succeeded, and now he was coming to 
 believe that there was really such a thing as actual spirit 
 ual damnation. His uncle, now dead, had been under 
 its spell for many years, and he himself was a living proof 
 of it. So to-night when the return to the land of his 
 nativity had failed to interest him, had even increased his 
 burden, he sat down, turned off the light, and in darkness 
 endeavored to "treat" himself silently, according to the 
 directions of his friend. But the desired effect had never 
 held more aloof than to-night. The roar and hum of the 
 great city around him, the strains of music from the lower 
 floor, the click and clash of elevator doors, the clanging 
 of telephone and call bells, drew his mind from the 
 placid condition into which he was trying to force it; so 
 he finally desisted. In his pocket he carried a bottle 
 of morphine tablets, and now and then, while too care 
 ful in their use to become a slave of the drug, and in ex 
 treme cases only, he took one to induce sleep. He dis 
 solved a tablet in a glass of water now and swallowed it, 
 smiling grimly at the thought that morphine could be 
 
 197 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 more relied on, in his case, at least, than any mental atti 
 tude or modern metaphysical formula. 
 
 He went to bed and slept. He dreamt of Paris, of the 
 Latin Quarter. He was in the company of a gay crowd 
 of art students and their mistresses in the Cafe d'Harcourt. 
 They were teasing a stranger, an American tourist who 
 had dared to enter wearing a silk top-hat and evening 
 clothes. There was a deafening clatter of drinking- 
 glasses hammered on beer-wet tables, merry songs, risque 
 jests, dense cigarette-smoke. Crofton was once more an 
 irresponsible youth, and it was all gloriously novel. A 
 pretty young girl was selling flowers, and he bought a 
 bouquet of roses. How strange! they were wilting, dy 
 ing, turning into a wisp of brown hay such as he had seen 
 back in the Georgia mountains. 
 
 "What is your name?" he asked her. 
 
 "Oh, you know me!" she answered, with a rasping 
 laugh which, somehow, seemed to come from a fat French 
 man's trombone in the orchestra, and he saw her face 
 crinkling up to that of an old hag. "I'm Lydia Romley. 
 How small the world is ! Do you know, Carter, old boy, 
 I've been in your pocket all these years. Ha, ha! in the 
 corner of your pocket like a bad penny sewed in with the 
 stitches. You can't lose me ! I'm at the bottom of your 
 subconsciousness." She was laughing now like the snarl 
 of the kettledrum. A drunken student was dashing beer 
 in his face, another was kicking him from behind. 
 
 "You are an interloper!" one of them was shouting. 
 "You ravish the bodies of women and murder their souls! 
 Get out! Get out!" 
 
 He waked or was he fully awake? He lay with his 
 eyes closed, trying to remember where he was. Was it 
 Paris, Geneva, London, on shipboard? No, it was 
 America. He was home again. Sick of soul, weary of 
 life, and yet home once more. 
 
 So passed several days. He avoided the bare chance 
 
 198 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 of meeting any one who might know him, and for that 
 reason he rambled through the crowded East Side streets, 
 walking, walking all day long, simply that he might be 
 so fatigued that he would sleep without recourse to his 
 vaguely dreaded morphine. 
 
 One day he decided suddenly that he would go to 
 Atlanta. A will-o'-the-wisp idea had come to him that 
 he could stop over at Washington for a week and enjoy 
 the sights of the city, the new library of which he had 
 heard, and a certain art-gallery. He took a midnight 
 train and waked in Washington the next morning. But 
 he had barely left the Pullman, and was being conducted 
 by a porter to the waiting-room in the big station, when 
 he decided that he did not want to stop in Washington, 
 after all. There was nothing there for him to see, and 
 the great, quiet town, contrasted to the metropolis, made 
 him feel lonelier than ever. On inquiring at the Bureau 
 of Information he found that there was a fast train leav 
 ing at three o'clock for Atlanta, and, after sending a tele 
 gram to Milicent informing her of his coming, he went out 
 into the streets. 
 
 "Surely," he said to himself, as he started toward the 
 Capitol, which loomed up in the distance, "I can manage 
 to amuse myself till train-time; then night will soon 
 come and I shall sleep till I get to Atlanta. But after I 
 reach the place what will I do ? My God ! what can I do 
 anywhere?" 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 HE walked along a quiet street which led gradually 
 up Capitol Hill. As he drew near the great structure 
 he was reminded of a trip he had made with his cousin 
 Tom to Washington on their way to college. What a 
 gay time they had had! They had jested with police 
 men, to whom they had pretended that they had lost 
 their way, and with the importunate professional guides, 
 to whom they pretended, with the blandest of faces, that 
 they could not understand English. And Tom was dead; 
 he had been dead a great many years as the outcome of 
 his awful tragedy. Yes, both Tom and his father were 
 dead and out of it all, while he remained, a haunted 
 soul in a tottering, withering body. What was coming 
 to him what? If merry, jovial, innocent Tom had suf 
 fered agony and death by his own hand, what might not 
 lie ahead of his surviving comrade? 
 
 On his left he descried the library, and was going tow 
 ard it when he saw a lady in front of him pause to ask 
 a man the direction to Pennsylvania Avenue. 
 
 "I'm sorry, madam," the man answered, ''but I'm a 
 stranger here," and, tipping his hat, he walked on. 
 
 "I think I can help you," Crofton said, stepping for 
 ward. "It lies down this way." He indicated the di 
 rection by a movement of his hand, and then his eyes 
 met those of the lady. She was staring at him as if as 
 tonished, even alarmed. 
 
 "Oh!" he heard her exclaim. "Oh!" 
 
 Crofton stood speechless with wonder. Surely he had 
 
 2QO 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 seen somewhere those sweet hazel eyes, that tender, ap 
 pealing mouth, the light golden-brown hair, the shapely 
 form, and perfect facial lines. 
 
 "Surely it can't be," he began, and paused, for she had 
 turned her head away, her gloved hand to her lips. She 
 was quite pale and he saw that she was trembling. 
 
 "Lydia, Lydia!" he muttered; "it must be you it is 
 you!" 
 
 She kept her face averted for a moment, then she 
 turned toward him. He saw that she was growing calmer. 
 Her wonderful eyes seemed to hold some grimly set purpose. 
 
 "Yes, it is I," she said. "I didn't count upon ever 
 seeing you again. I saw a statement in a Southern paper 
 ten years ago that you were living permanently abroad. 
 I I was glad to hear it, for for of course, I But you 
 understand surely you do?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," he gasped. "Oh, Lydia, Lydia! if you 
 only knew how I have suffered, how I am suffering now, 
 surely you " 
 
 "Suffered?" she broke in, suppressing a little incredu 
 lous laugh. "What, you?" 
 
 "Yes. Let me tell you. I" 
 
 "No, no, no! You must not!" The words rippled 
 quickly from her tongue. She stood erect, her eyes full 
 of angry fire. "This meeting is offensive to me. I've 
 prayed that it should never come about. You don't 
 understand you could never understand. I am not 
 what I used to be. My great sorrow and trouble the 
 awful blight on my girlhood awakened me to life as it 
 really is. I fought my battles. I worked, toiled, studied, 
 read, and have become what I am. I can't tell you my 
 history. You have no right to know it, but I respect 
 myself. We are strangers we must remain such. At 
 last God has given me contentment, happiness, faith in 
 myself and in Him. We must part here and now, never 
 to meet again never!" 
 
 201 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Oh, I see." And to his surprise a strange, unex 
 pected pang went through him at the thought. "You 
 are are married, and " 
 
 "No, it isn't that!" she corrected. "Ah, you think 
 that of me, I see! You think I've hidden the truth from 
 some good man and become a wife to him without re 
 vealing my past. I could have married a dozen times, 
 but refused. I wanted to be independent, and I am so. 
 I'm living under another name. I'm supposed to be a 
 widow. I have a right to practise that deception." 
 
 "Yes, of course," he returned, lamely, a hungry, de 
 feated stare fixed upon her unrelenting features. "I am 
 aware, Lydia, that I can never be pardoned. You hate 
 me you hate me. I know it because I hate myself. 
 I am in despair. Life has no interest for me. I am at 
 the end of my resources. I'd rather be dead than alive." 
 
 "I can see it all written in your worn face," she said, 
 with a little reflective shake of her head. "I did not 
 dream that you were like this, and yet I might have 
 known it, for you had, I remember, redeeming spiritual 
 qualities, and it is the spiritually inclined who suffer 
 from remorse, and it was remorse it must have been 
 that." 
 
 "It is worse than remorse," he cried. "Lydia, have 
 mercy on me. I am sinking into hell itself. You are 
 the only one who can hold out a saving hand. I've never, 
 since I saw you, been drawn in actual love to any living 
 woman. The passion I had for you, away back there, 
 must have been real the one reality of my misguided 
 life, and as I stand here with you now I feel that with 
 you and your forgiveness " 
 
 "You forget you forget!" she cried out, sharply, 
 even indignantly. "If you could look back on what I've 
 been through you'd see how utterly futile your suggestion 
 is. Why, all these years I've been schooling myself to abso 
 lute contempt of you ! At this moment I shrink from you, 
 
 202 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Perhaps you understand me well enough to respect me 
 a little now, but that is because you've never once thought 
 of me during all those years in Europe, while it has been 
 my life's aim to get the the awful stain of you out of 
 my being. Ah, but I really ought not to complain, for 
 that very disaster, sickening as it is to think of, has 
 actually lifted me to a plane unreachable in any other 
 way. You yourself taught me to read the books and 
 helping hands God cast in my way did the rest." 
 
 * 'There is nothing I can say, then nothing !" he groaned, 
 softly. 
 
 " No, no; it would do no good at all," she said, looking 
 up at the sun, and then at a tiny gold watch on her soft, 
 pink wrist. "We must not meet again. I do not live 
 here; I'll say that much. I am only passing through 
 Washington on business. I earn my own living, you 
 see." 
 
 For an instant it was as if she were about to give him 
 her hand, but instead she used it in raising her sunshade. 
 
 "Oh,Lydia,Lydia," he cried out," think, think! Don't 
 go like this! You are too kind and good to " 
 
 "No, I can't explain," she interrupted, firmly, her lips 
 drawn tight, the lips which now seemed sweeter and 
 more beautiful than ever before, " but you may as well 
 know this: there is an obstacle to our being known even 
 as old acquaintances a most serious obstacle." 
 
 "Ah, I see. You love some one else. I deserve it I 
 deserve it. I've lost you, that's all; I've lost you, and 
 that is to be my punishment." 
 
 She took a step away from him, her eyes cast thought 
 fully on the wide, shaded avenue leading down the hill 
 in the direction of the Washington Monument, which 
 pierced a mass of fleecy clouds. 
 
 "It is nothing to me what you think, ' she said, with 
 a proud curl to her lip, "but, nevertheless, your supposi 
 tion is untrue. Now, I am going." 
 
 203 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Without glancing back she moved away. He hesitated 
 for a moment, then hastily followed till he was once 
 more by her side. 
 
 "Don't, don't!" he pleaded. "One moment, Lydia, 
 please, please!" 
 
 She paused and turned a sensitive face and twitching 
 mouth toward him. "What is it?" she asked in the 
 voice which had once been so musical to him, and was 
 now, in its tone of reproach, more so than ever. "I 
 can't remain here longer I must go. I am leaving the 
 city to-day." 
 
 "So am I," he said, huskily, hastily, hardly knowing 
 what it was that he wanted still to plead. Then the 
 thought came. His voice shook and his eyes were full 
 of agony as he went on: "Lydia, I am still a man of 
 means. Everything else has left me but my money. 
 That has even increased. I have no use for it. Away 
 back there I did not have the courage, the manhood to 
 offer to aid you after deserting you when you were my 
 wife in the sight of God, but now now I " 
 
 "Do you think I need your money?" she cried, in with 
 ering scorn. "Great heavens! can you so little under 
 stand me? Don't I know that it is the same paltry stuff 
 that enticed you into cowardly dishonor along with your 
 puny pride? When I knew you, you were a man. If you 
 hadn't been I, ignorant and young as I was, would not 
 have trusted you. You had a living soul then a soul 
 full of wonderful beauty and high aspirations. I saw it 
 then it was that which attracted me. It is dead now. 
 It is; it is; your soul is dead! My poverty was my sal 
 vation, while your wealth has held you down. If I cared 
 for your welfare I'd beg you to give it away throw it 
 away! It is trash!" 
 
 He was not comprehending the full depth of her philo 
 sophical remark; he was thinking only of the widening 
 chasm between them. 
 
 204 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Lydia, Lydia, don't go yet not yet!" he cried, for 
 she was turning away. "I'll do anything in the world 
 you advise, but don't leave me. Let me know where 
 you live where I may write to you. I can't stand this 
 parting. Look at me, pity me ! For God's sake pity me ! 
 Not in a thousand years could I tell you what I have be 
 come what I have sunken to." 
 
 He thought he saw a soft light dawn in her eyes, but 
 it was only a flash; it was gone in a moment. 
 
 "You don't know what you are asking," she said, stern 
 ly. "I can't make you see the utter impossibility of 
 what you wish without telling you certain things which 
 I don't want you ever to know. Do you understand? 
 Things you shall not know. I wonder if I can put it 
 strongly enough to convince you, force you to desist, and 
 let me remain out of your life for ever and make you stay 
 out of mine. Carter Crofton, I am so situated so situ 
 ated that I would rather be slowly tortured to death a 
 hundred times than have my my friends know that I 
 ever knew you. Is that plain enough?" 
 
 He uttered a deep groan. "Then then it is final?" he 
 gasped. 
 
 "Yes, it is final." 
 
 "There are so many things I want to ask," he faltered. 
 "Your mother is she " 
 
 "She died five years ago. God helped me to help her. 
 By my sole efforts I lifted her out of the life of toil you 
 saw her in. She lived for fifteen years in ease and comfort. 
 She shielded me from the world's contempt. In the strange 
 places we lived in she kept my secret. She was a wonder 
 ful woman. She was uneducated, but she had the finest 
 character I ever knew. She never told me till shortly 
 before her death that her ancestors had been people of 
 high position in England. The revelation did me no 
 harm; in fact, it encouraged me to strive hard to rise 
 and overcome my obstacles. You can't imagine what 
 
 205 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 I've been through you shall never know; but it is over 
 now and I am happy, or was till till now. I don't know 
 what the promise of such a man as you are may or may 
 not amount to, but if I could get you to promise never 
 to seek me, never to mention my name to a living soul, 
 I'd feel safer in parting from you." 
 
 He was silent for a moment, for a group of sight-seers 
 was passing, accompanied by a talkative guide. 
 
 "Oh, Lydia, you don't know what you are asking! I 
 feel for the first time in years that a bare chance of re 
 demption is given me through you. I want to atone. 
 I want to live for you (pardon me) and with you, at least 
 with you under my eyes and care, so that " 
 
 "Stop and be done with it!" she cried out, sharply, 
 even angrily. "I've said it was impossible. Listen, and 
 have the decency to promise what I ask. I can't explain 
 fully, but to accept you as even as a friend, I'd have to 
 be humiliated again as badly, if not worse than I was 
 before. Yes, yes, it would be even worse. I stood that, 
 but I couldn't stand this. I'd rather have my heart torn 
 out. Tell me, do you promise? I've not asked anything 
 else of you. Will you grant me this?" 
 
 "Yes," he said, with a sigh which was all but a moan, 
 "I promise, Lydia, I promise." 
 
 "Thank you. Good-by," she said; and, turning, she 
 left him standing in the shadow of the Capitol's dome. 
 
 He watched her as she went down the great, wide flight 
 of steps. He even followed her with his despondent 
 eyes till she had reached the Avenue. He saw her signal 
 a cab with her sunshade. The cab turned in to the 
 edge of the sidewalk, and she got inside and was lost to 
 his view. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 HE arrived in Atlanta the next morning at eight o'clock. 
 He half expected Milicent to meet him with a car 
 riage, but as she did not do so, he went up in a cab. The 
 city had changed greatly. There were many tall new 
 office buildings, and other modern improvements. He 
 was surprised at the metropolitan air of the place. The 
 electric cars had a new look; they followed one another 
 in quick succession, and, early as it was, were crowded 
 with passengers. 
 
 The thing which was changed least of all was the old 
 homestead which Milicent, who had never married, owned 
 and occupied. 
 
 When she met him at the door he thought that she was 
 not very greatly altered. Her hair was only slightly 
 touched with gray; her complexion had a healthful look, 
 and there were few lines in her face. She kissed him rather 
 formally, and then held him from her, studying his features 
 with an expression of surprise in her eyes. 
 
 "You don't look well," she said, rather bluntly. "Why 
 didn't you write me that you were under the weather?" 
 
 "I'm not really unwell," he tried to explain; "but I 
 presume I am tired by travel. I know I look older, of 
 course. I am aging rather fast. It runs in the family, 
 don't you think so?" 
 
 She made no direct answer, but led him into the parlor. 
 How antiquated and forlorn it appeared to him, for it 
 was the same furniture which he had seen as a child! 
 
 "I've kept breakfast for you," she said. "Run up to 
 your old room and hurry right down. You will find 
 
 207 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 everything there exactly as it used to be. People say 
 I'm a fool for keeping this old ruin of a place, but it is 
 rising in value. I am not spending much money; you 
 will find that out. I don't believe in it. I keep only 
 one servant, and a cheap one at that. I do most of the 
 work myself. It is good for me." 
 
 He found her at her old place at the end of the long 
 mahogany table which he remembered so well. Here 
 also few changes had been made. He noted nothing 
 except a new portrait of his father beside that of his 
 mother over the mantelpiece, and recalled that Milicent 
 had allowed him to pay for it. 
 
 "Now you will want to know the family news first, 
 of course," she began, as she poured his coffee. "I have 
 never been able to understand now I am not scolding 
 why you have written so seldom and why you have never 
 shown any interest in us at all. Even when I wrote you 
 of uncle's death you made no response." 
 
 "There was nothing to say," he answered, somewhat 
 awkwardly. " He was very old, you know. I presume he 
 remained a recluse to the end?" 
 
 "Yes; he didn't encourage me to visit him, so I ceased 
 to go, and as for him, I can't remember his coming to 
 Atlanta even once after you left. I heard that his finances 
 were low. When Henry lost all he had speculating so 
 wildly, and was bothering me for money, which, of course, 
 I couldn't let him have to throw away as he had his own, 
 uncle borrowed money and let him have it. That was 
 not all. Now I never wrote you this, for I saw there was 
 no use to bother you with disagreeable news, but I'll tell 
 you now, for you really must know how Henry is situated. 
 He got into serious trouble. I don't know what it was, 
 exactly, but it was something about a check Henry had 
 given at a bank when he had no funds there. Henry was 
 arrested and would have been sent to jail, but uncle made 
 the loss good and he was released." 
 
 208 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "And when uncle died he left him the farm?" Carter 
 said. "I think you wrote me that." 
 
 " Yes; it was a silly thing to do, but he left him every 
 thing he had out there the farm, horses and cattle and 
 run-down implements." 
 
 "A pretty farmer Henry must be," Carter smiled. 
 "How does the place look?" 
 
 "I don't know. I have not been there for years and 
 years, and shall not go again. I went once and was in 
 sulted." 
 
 "Insulted?" Carter exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, it was equal to that. Henry is living there with 
 a woman who is not his wife, a most wretched-looking, 
 half -educated creature. Uncle took them in. The two 
 were starving somewhere, and he took pity on them. 
 She was the wife of a mountain farmer who left her hus 
 band and ran off with Henry. Together the two nursed 
 uncle in his last illness, and were with him at the end. 
 It must have been a queer household. I am sure the 
 decent people in the neighborhood don't call on her. I 
 did not know the woman was there, and when I went out 
 Henry expected me to sit at the table with her. I left 
 on the first train. He was furious and swore at me. Oh, 
 you wouldn't know him; he has changed frightfully. He 
 has lost every bit of his old swaggering pride. He wears 
 rags and mopes about the place, pretending to be busy 
 with his crops, and never accomplishing anything. It 
 made me sick, actually sick, to think he was my brother. 
 I was haunted by the memory of it so that I hardly slept 
 for a month afterward. Carter, something is wrong with 
 us Croftons. I'm leading a lonely life; some persons say 
 that I'm stingy, but I don't think it is stinginess to look 
 out for one's interests. Uncle was a hermit; Henry is a 
 dwindling human wreck, and you are a dissatisfied wan 
 derer on the face of the earth." 
 
 With a slow nod he agreed with her. "I'm going out 
 14 209 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 to see Henry," he sighed. "I wonder Do you happen 
 to know how uncle died? I mean was he conscious up 
 to the end? Did he have anything to say?" 
 
 "I don't know," Milicent replied. " Henry was angry 
 at me and did not even write me that uncle was not ex 
 pected to live. In fact, I did not hear of his death till I 
 saw an account of it in the papers. Yes, I suppose you 
 ought to go out to see Henry, but he will want money, 
 and I know he cannot give you good security." 
 
 "Do you think he is in need?" 
 
 " Yes. He tried several times to get your address before 
 he stopped coming to Atlanta, but I wouldn't give it to 
 him. I knew he would bother you incessantly. Once I 
 thought I'd warn you to look out for him, but I decided 
 not to do so.'* 
 
 "Is Charley Farnham in Atlanta?" Carter asked. 
 
 "Oh yes. You wouldn't know him, he is so fat and 
 gross-looking. He is still making money. He invested 
 in real estate before the boom, and the railroad has paid 
 both of you, he tells me." 
 
 "Yes, it has done quite well. Charley is happy in his 
 marriage, I think you wrote me." 
 
 "I presume so. She is a plain, unpretentious little 
 woman from Cleveland, Ohio. She had quite a snug 
 little fortune, I've heard. She was an only daughter of 
 some wealthy railroad man. She doesn't care a thing for 
 dress, doesn't take to Southern customs is one of those 
 women who think it is wrong to wear corsets. She seems 
 to live only for the children." 
 
 "They have more than one?" 
 
 "Oh yes, two fine boys of fourteen and sixteen, and a 
 girl of twelve, quite a pretty little thing. Charley takes 
 great pride in them indulges them frightfully and spends 
 too much money on them. He knows I was expecting 
 you. I 'phoned him yesterday. He will be around to 
 see you to-day sure." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MILICENT'S prediction was fulfilled. Carter was 
 seated on the front veranda after breakfast when 
 Farnham rode up to the gate in a fine automobile driven 
 by a skilled colored chauffeur. Farnham alighted care 
 fully, for he was quite heavy. He opened the gate slowly, 
 and with a ponderous tread entered, waving his hand 
 merrily as he caught the eye of his friend, who was stand 
 ing on the step waiting for him. 
 
 "Commong voo, porty voo, mon ammy?" he laughed. 
 "How did you ever leave gay Paree to come to this hole 
 in the ground?" He was now extending his fat hand 
 toward Carter's thin, nervous one. "Don't pull me up 
 the steps. I've got to be careful in my old age. If I 
 stumbled and fell I might break a blood-vessel. Gra 
 cious ! you are as thin as a match. The doctor says I must 
 play golf and get some of this meat off of my bones or 
 I'll go out like a flash when I'm least expecting it." 
 
 "You have taken on weight," Carter said. "That is 
 something I can't do, try as I will." 
 
 "Well, well, you've changed, too." Farnham was star 
 ing in frank surprise into his friend's face and sweeping 
 him from head to foot with a critical scrutiny. "Gee! 
 you are as gray as a badger and have some crow's-feet. 
 I haven't any white hairs, but I'm as bald as an egg. 
 Look!" He removed his straw hat and displayed a per 
 fectly bare pate which he gingerly stroked with his pudgy 
 pink hand. 
 
 "Come into the house," Crofton said. "There is not, 
 
 211 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 so much glare there." And he led the way into the par 
 lor. 
 
 "Really, I can't see how Milicent stands this stuffy old 
 joint," Farnham remarked. "It would give me the all- 
 overs. Everybody that can afford it is building up-to- 
 date houses, and she has plenty of money, the Lord knows. 
 As for business, she is the keenest trader for a woman 
 that I ever saw. You must see my home. If there is a 
 modern, up-to-date wrinkle or improvement I haven't 
 got I'll put it in in twenty-four hours. I guess my garage 
 alone is as big as this house. My caretaker and his 
 family live on the second floor of it. I'd call it a lodge if 
 I was a blawsted Englishman like the chap that enter 
 tained us at the Savage Club and talked poetry to you. 
 What a funny bloke he was! Lord! I've thought of those 
 gay old days a thousand times and told things we did 
 over there. It is the place to enjoy money in, beyond a 
 doubt. I've both envied you and been sorry for you." 
 
 "Sorry for me?" Carter exclaimed. 
 
 "Well, yes. You see, I know it is all right just for a 
 trip of a month or so, but as a steady diet give me my 
 old stamping-ground here in the sunny South, where folks 
 are just plain folks and niggers are niggers. Then I 
 reckon if I'd been living over there I'd have been like 
 you and never married, and you may say what you please, 
 Carter, but marriage is as necessary to the rounding out 
 of a man's life as food, clothes, and money." 
 
 "You think that, do you?" 
 
 "Oh yes, and I ought to know. I gave the thing a lot 
 of consideration. I thought more about it on the ship 
 coming home after I left you than I ever had before. 
 You see, I was getting along in years even then, and 
 well, I actually worried over it. I tussled with the prob 
 lem for five years after that. The truth is, I wanted 
 children. Funny to hear me say that, isn't it? But I 
 I got so I wanted the darn little brats in my arms, 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 and sometimes picked up babies, where nobody knew me; 
 and hugged them." 
 
 "It seems to be a natural human instinct/' Carter re 
 turned, with a frown of which he was not conscious. 
 "And so you finally decided to marry?" 
 
 "Yes, and, indirectly, at least, you had something to 
 do with it." 
 
 "I? I don't understand." 
 
 "Well, perhaps I ought not to have said you, for maybe 
 it was more your uncle than you. Now I think of it, it 
 was both of you put together. It was that awful story 
 of his life and what he tried so hard to get you to do. 
 The whole blame thing stuck to me, it did not while we 
 were kicking up such high jinks in Europe together, but 
 after I got home. You see, I began to wonder if the old 
 man was right in well, in what he was afraid would 
 happen to you if you didn't take action in that matter. 
 I don't bother much about well, about things concerning 
 what you might call the conscience, but somehow my mind 
 stuck to that thing a lot. I met him out on his farm once 
 or twice maybe three times, altogether, and while I 
 never let him know, of course, that I knew about his 
 trouble or yours, still it made me watch him and set me 
 to thinking about myself." 
 
 "About yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, it was strange, but I admit it worried me. I re 
 member asking myself one day, after I saw him pass with 
 his old white head down, looking so gloomy I asked my 
 self what would he say to me if he knew exactly how I'd 
 lived, and the answer was that he'd advise me just as 
 strongly as he did you to turn over a new leaf and make 
 amends before it was too late." 
 
 "Before it was too late?" 
 
 "Yes. I seemed to feel, somehow, that if I'd cut out the 
 old way of living, turn over a new leaf, and actually pin 
 it down by straight conduct from that time on, I would 
 
 213 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 come out right in the end. The first thing I did was to 
 quit drinking so much. Next I cut out poker and fast 
 society generally. I quit giving big dinners, and you 
 may laugh, but I stopped flirting with other men's wives. 
 I went about the whole thing in a thorough, business 
 like way. I had determined to get married, you see, and 
 knew if I got the right sort of woman I'd have to find 
 her in a different sort of circle. At last I met her. I 
 seemed to know intuitively on the spot, the day her 
 father introduced us, that she and I would hit it off. I 
 give you my word, old chap, that I have never regretted 
 it a minute. She has a long business head on shoulders 
 which she got from that Yankee dad of hers, and has 
 made a model mother to three of the finest kids you ever 
 saw in a bunch. Say, you must see them, Carter. They 
 are all at St. Simon's Island for sea-bathing, just now, 
 but when they get back I'll have you out on a visit. Oh, 
 I'm a regular fool about my family! I miss them now 
 frightfully. I am living at the club while they are away, 
 simply because I can't stand the sight of that big, empty 
 house without them. When they were little things I 
 used to leave the office early just to go out home and romp 
 about with them. Huh! I've been down on my all-fours 
 on the floor or grass with them on my back like a horse 
 many a time, and have kept it up till my spine was 
 bent and knees ached. Oh, I've had my share of trouble 
 with them, too! They've been sick, and met with the 
 usual accidents, and I've lost sleep on account of it all; 
 but it is worth it. I reckon you've given up all idea of 
 marrying by this time?" 
 
 "Yes." Carter tried to smile. "I'm too old now." 
 "I guess you have passed the limit," Farnham agreed, 
 candidly. "A bachelor of long standing has habits which 
 he can't easily twist into shape with domestic life. I just 
 did escape, you see. Maybe I would have been too old 
 as it was if I hadn't been so tired of living in clubs and 
 
 214 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 hotels that home life appealed to me as a novelty. Of 
 course, there are things I have to remember that I'd like 
 to forget things that stick, somehow. I wonder if you 
 are like me in that respect." 
 
 "I suppose all men are more or less alike in that, way," 
 Carter answered, evasively, his brow corrugated, a vague 
 shadow in his eyes. 
 
 "I've often wondered that is, I've thought, owing to 
 your uncle's making so damned much ado over that par 
 ticular girl, that perhaps you have wondered what ever 
 became of her." 
 
 Carter started. His face became rigid. His lips 
 quivered. "I have not allowed my mind to dwell on it. 
 I I don't like to think of it. It is all past and gone. Let 
 us not talk about it." 
 
 "All right, but I fancy you may have let it bother you 
 some, and it strikes me that I may be able to relieve your 
 mind a little bit, in one way, at least, for I guess you 
 would like to know that she is well and doing well." 
 
 "Do you mean that you have seen her?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so that is, if I am right in a certain sup 
 position. I am almost sure that I saw her about five 
 years ago. I started to write to you, and then decided I 
 would not stir up such an old matter besides, as I say, 
 I was not absolutely sure." 
 
 "Where did you think you saw her?" Carter's voice, 
 to his own ears, had a hollow sound. "Of course, of 
 course, I'd like to hear anything about her anything." 
 
 "It happened like this," Farnham began, "and I wish 
 I could be absolutely sure it was she. I can't give you 
 any more than my impression at the time. I was in St. 
 Louis on railroad business when I was taken down with 
 a sharp pain in my right side. A doctor I sent for to come 
 to my room in the hotel said he was afraid I had acute 
 appendicitis, and advised my going to a private hospital 
 at once. I was taken there, and Dr. Ansley, the famous 
 
 215 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 St. Louis specialist, was called. It was appendicitis, and 
 I was operated on. I came through it all right, and a day 
 or so afterward, for some unknown reason, a new nurse 
 had to be assigned. Dr. Ansley told me that he had sent 
 for a Mrs. Somebody I can't recall the name, though I 
 have tried often to do so. He said she was the most 
 wonderful woman he had ever met, and that he was sure 
 I would like her. I flatter myself that I know men pretty 
 well, and I made up my mind, from his talk, even before 
 I saw the woman, that Ansley, being a sedate bachelor, 
 was in love with her, and when I finally did see her I was 
 certain of it. I was quite surprised when she came, for 
 I was almost sure that I had seen her somewhere before. 
 She was beautiful beautiful! and had a wonderfully 
 sweet and appealing way about her. She bent down, 
 spoke to me, and something in her soft, mellow voice re 
 minded me of that mountain girl away back in Georgia. 
 I said nothing, but during the next day, not being per 
 mitted to talk, I lay and studied her. Dr. Ansley came 
 oftener than was necessary, and I soon saw that it was 
 to see her more than me. I could see that she was treat 
 ing him with dignified reserve, and that he was making 
 every possible effort to win her regard. Then something 
 happened which made me almost positive that I was 
 right in thinking she and your old friend were one and 
 the same, but, mind you, I say almost positive, for, after 
 all, there may have been some other reason for the way 
 she acted." 
 . " Acted about what?" 
 
 "Why, it was like this: On the morning I was allowed 
 to talk for the first time, she bent over me and among 
 other questions she asked me my name, saying that the 
 doctor had failed to mention it and that she must enter 
 it on her chart. I gave it to her in full. With that she 
 started, and it seemed to me that she actually turned pale 
 as she stood and studied my features excitedly. 
 
 216 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "'You are Southern, are you not?' she asked in a 
 shaky sort of voice, and when I told her I was from 
 Atlanta she tightened her lips and turned suddenly 
 away. She was writing on her chart, I think, behind a 
 screen at a little table, and I could not see her face. In 
 fact, she left the room with her face turned aside, as if 
 she did not want me to look at her. And that was not all. 
 She put an assistant in her place at once and left the hos 
 pital. I inquired, but no one could tell me anything about 
 her. I might never have heard anything but for Dr. 
 Ansley. He came that night and seemed very much dis 
 turbed. He told the nurse who was on duty to leave 
 the room, and then he began asking me adroit questions, 
 and making hints that I could not catch the drift of. 
 But presently, as if irritated with me, he came out blunt 
 ly and wanted to know frankly if I had said anything to 
 offend the nurse who had left. I assured him that I 
 had not, to my knowledge, and he seemed to believe me. 
 He was so much upset by what had happened that he 
 refused to obey a call which came to him, and remained 
 with me. He finally and you know only a man desperate 
 ly interested in a woman would do such a thing with a 
 comparative stranger such as I was he told me frankly 
 that his future happiness was tied up in her. He said 
 that he had admired her from the moment he met her on 
 an important case in Philadelphia six months before, 
 and that he had induced her to come to St. Louis to attend 
 some important cases with him. She had never told him 
 where she was from, but from her accent he supposed she 
 was a Southerner. She never spoke of herself or her 
 family except to say that she was a widow who had had 
 sad experiences which she wanted to forget. I suppose 
 Ansley took the interest I secretly had in her for sym 
 pathy with him in his love-affair, for the next day he 
 brought the matter up again, and he did so every day of 
 my convalescence. He said he could not understand 
 
 217 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 why she had quit the case, for she would make no ex 
 planation at all. Then came a further surprise. I was 
 about to leave the hospital when Ansley came, looking aw 
 fully depressed. At first he had nothing to say, then he 
 fairly broke down. Strong man though he was, he 
 couldn't hide his feelings. 
 
 "Tve lost her,' he said. 'I've lost all I care for in 
 the world, or ever can care for!' 
 
 "Then he went on to say that he had called on her 
 and proposed marriage, and that she had not only re 
 fused to be his wife, but had quickly and mysteriously 
 left the city, leaving only a short note to him in which 
 she begged him never to try to find her. I was sorry for 
 the fellow, for he was one of the finest men I ever met. 
 I was sure that I had it in my power to explain much to 
 him; but, of course, could not tell what I knew about the 
 poor woman. Do you think, Carter, that I was right in 
 my supposition? Could this beautiful woman be the 
 girl I saw away back there that day?" 
 
 Crofton had turned his face aside; he said nothing for 
 a moment, then he looked up. "I am sure it was she," 
 he admitted. "In fact, I am positive of it." Haltingly, 
 and with many sensitive reservations, he recounted his 
 meeting with Lydia in Washington. 
 
 "That settles it," Farnham said. "She was dodging 
 you just as she dodged me, and as she perhaps dodges 
 everybody in any way connected with her past. I'm 
 sorry for you, Carter, for I see that you are worked up 
 over it. However, it ought to be a satisfaction to you 
 to know that she is doing so well. Ansley told me that 
 she had a very wealthy clientele, that she was called only 
 on important cases, made a great deal of money, and 
 that brings up another thing about her which he admired 
 so much. He said she seemed utterly to despise money, 
 and gave away all her earnings to unfortunate persons, 
 particularly poor, struggling girls in the big cities. After 
 
 218 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 all, I don't see why you need be so troubled over it. She 
 certainly is better off than when you knew her in her rags 
 in that log cabin." 
 
 "I ruined her life," Crofton broke in, desperately. 
 " Wonderful woman that she is strong, brave, intellec 
 tual, beautiful I sent her adrift ashamed to own her 
 name, without a tie, without a friend, a poor, gentle out 
 cast, righting the world, while I while I, my God! Farn- 
 ham while I was dawdling my damned life away in 
 Europe and growing sick from the very stench of my 
 putrifying soul. I tell you, Farnham, that my uncle was 
 right in what he feared for me. There is such a thing as 
 actual foreboding of future events. He saw, from his 
 own experience, what was coming to me, and tried his 
 best to avert it. Note how similar our cases have been. 
 The wreck of his every hope and entire life followed that 
 one particular act of his. Has not just as great misfor 
 tune befallen me? In a million years I could not explain 
 the constant agony I am in. Day by day it increases, 
 grows thicker, blacker, clutches me tighter. I am in hell 
 every waking moment of my existence. I try this; I 
 test that; I go here; I go there; but nothing gives me 
 relief. I thought perhaps my return home might divert 
 my mind, but here in America has fallen the greatest blow 
 of all. Incredible as it may seem to you or any other man, 
 yet I now know that I love Lydia Romley love her love 
 her more desperately than a man ever loved a woman 
 before. God has made me love her, as He made my uncle 
 love his son, that I might be hated by her in the end, 
 as my uncle was hated in their last conscious moments by 
 his only child and adored wife. Don't think I'm crazy. 
 I am not. I am in full possession of all my reasoning 
 powers. Look at me if you want to see a proof of hell 
 made visible to human eyes. The physical flames the 
 ancients talked about would be balm contrasted to the 
 remorseful fires raging within me. I am using my uncle's 
 
 219 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 words his very words, but they are the only ones that 
 half express my feelings." 
 
 Farnham, with a startled look of concern on his stolid 
 face, rose and put his hand on the bowed head of his 
 friend. "I must go now," he said. "You must not keep 
 this up, Carter. You'll go crazy, if you do. You are 
 not well. Your restless, irregular habits have upset your 
 liver. You will be all right after a few days of rest. I'll 
 bring my car around in the morning I have an appoint 
 ment this afternoon and we'll take a spin around town 
 and meet some of your old friends. You must not cry 
 over spilt milk. What is done is done, and brooding 
 over it won't help a bit. I've done a few things in my 
 life which I'd rather undo, but I don't let them get on my 
 nerves. Life is too short and there is too much to be 
 doing. I presume it is that blasted artistic tempera 
 ment which you have to an abnormal degree. I can see 
 now that your uncle was right in wanting you to marry 
 the girl, and of course I was wrong in advising you as I 
 did; but I was guided by the best light I had at the time. 
 Of course, if I had dreamt that she would turn out to be 
 the woman she now seems to be, I would have taken a 
 different view. I was judging her by her sordid surround 
 ings. She must have good blood in her veins away back 
 somewhere. Now get your mind off this thing. Good- 
 by. I'll see you to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 ONE day, after a week spent in Atlanta, a week of 
 social torture rather than pleasure, Carter decided 
 to surprise his brother with a visit, so he took the train 
 to Benton, intending to walk out to Henry's farm if there 
 was no conveyance at the station. The train arrived 
 there at eleven o'clock in the morning. It was a fine, 
 cool day for midsummer, and the altitude of the place 
 gave additional crispness to the air. The village seemed 
 to have changed very slightly. It was no larger than it 
 was when Carter had last seen it. At the edge of the 
 platform stood a rather ramshackle "hack," or cab, drawn 
 by a thin horse in the care of a negro driver holding a worn 
 whip and wearing a slouch-hat on his kinky head. 
 
 "Do you know where Mr. Henry Crofton lives?" Car 
 ter asked, approaching him, bag in hand, after the train 
 had gone on. 
 
 "Yas, suh; yas, suh. You mean de ol' Tom Crofton 
 farm. I know it pow'ful well." 
 
 "Henry Crofton is my brother," Carter explained. 
 "I want to go out to see him. Will you take me?" 
 
 "Yas, suh; yas, suh. Jump in. I know de way been 
 over de road mo' times 'n I got fingers en toes. En you 
 is Mr. Henry's brother? Well, well! Folks say I hear 
 urn say dat you never was gwine ter come back ter dis 
 here country no mo'." 
 
 Crofton ignored this tentative comment as he seated 
 himself in the vehicle and saw the negro mount the front 
 seat and place his bag beside him, 
 
 ii 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "I hain't seed Mr. Henry fer mo* er mont' now," the 
 negro pursued, whipping his horse into a slow trot along 
 the red-clay road. "I reckon he ain't able ter git about 
 much now." 
 
 "You mean that he is sick?" Carter asked. 
 
 "I don't know dat he is ter say actually flat o' his back 
 in bed, suh; but I think he is some wuss'n he was. He 
 cert'ney is poly. In de spring he used ter come here ter 
 Benton ter see Dr. Manson fer treatment, but he hain't 
 been here fer er long time now. I hear um all say Mr. 
 Henry got kidney trouble, en dat he cayn't nacherly 
 expect ter las' long, but he cert'ney holds on. I hear um 
 all say he's down one week en on his feet de nex*. De 
 trouble wid him is dat he hain't got no mo' money ter 
 buy medicine en treatment wid. Doctors dese days won't 
 credit nobody, white ur black, en Mr. Henry done spent 
 all he ever had flyin' round. Folks say he was powerful 
 rich 't one time." 
 
 Crofton did not encourage the driver to talk further. 
 What he had heard depressed him, and this depression 
 seemed to be increased by the bare, sterile lands through 
 which the rugged road passed, the decaying rail fences 
 on either side, the cabins of logs, the grain-cribs of pine 
 poles, and other signs of poverty. Now and then they 
 met a farmer on a wagon of wood, lumber, or produce, or 
 passed women and boys plowing or hoeing, barefooted and 
 half-clad, in the fields. The placid contentment mirrored 
 in their simple faces sent shafts of vague self-accusation 
 to the tired world-wanderer. What would he not give 
 to be like them? he asked himself over and over. They 
 had only to toil in the open air and sunshine by day, eat 
 bread earned by the honest sweat of the brow, and sleep 
 like tired children at night their debt to the law of life 
 fully paid. Such persons, he told himself, could meet grief, 
 misfortune death itself with the equanimity of a faith 
 incomprehensible by any process of intellectual reasoning. 
 
 222 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Presently they reached the vicinity of Mrs. Romley's 
 cabin. There was only a little curve in the road to make 
 and the spot would be in sight. Carter stopped the driver, 
 telling him he would get out and walk, and asking him 
 to drive on and wait at the farm-house gate with his bag. 
 
 Finding himself free from observation, Carter made 
 a short cut through the bushes till he came in view of the 
 cabin. It was unoccupied, and surrounded by a riotous 
 growth of weeds and tall, blooming sunflowers. The 
 crude, wooden-hinged door-shutter had fallen inward. 
 The upper half of the mud-and-stick chimney had top 
 pled down. The plastering of clay between the logs had 
 been washed away by the rain. The well-curbing had 
 disappeared, and branches of trees and old rails had been 
 thrown over the opening to prevent accidents to straying 
 hogs or cattle. He walked into the cabin, the rotting 
 planks of the floor breaking beneath his feet, and with a 
 sinking heart looked about him. There in that sordid 
 room he had actually overpowered the helpless girl whom 
 he now loved and knew to be his superior. There in the 
 corner, filled with cobwebs and the refuse of rats and mice, 
 the crude bed had stood that bed which had been 
 stamped on his brain during all those years of reckless 
 living and vain seeking of pleasure. He went to the door 
 and looked out toward his brother's house. How could 
 he go on and attend to that dismal duty in his present 
 frame of mind? What was the use to live, anyway? 
 He put his hand into the pocket of his coat and felt the 
 bottle containing the morphine tablets. He took it out 
 and rattled the contents. 
 
 "Enough to put me to sleep for ever!" he muttered; 
 "and what more appropriate spot could be found than 
 this?" 
 
 A shudder ran through him, leaving him cold from 
 head to foot. No, he could not do it not yet, anyway, 
 for there might be something beyond. He half believed 
 
 223 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 there was, for if he couldn't kill consciousness now, if 
 he couldn't kill memory now, how could it ever be done? 
 Yes, he was afraid frankly afraid. His uncle must have 
 been afraid, too afraid to meet the outraged spirits of 
 his son and his wife, if not to see the face of an offended 
 God. 
 
 Putting the bottle back into his pocket, he stepped 
 down into the yard and plunged through the weeds tow 
 ard the farm-house. He found the cabman waiting at 
 the gate, and dismissed him. Taking his bag, he entered 
 and started toward the house. Upon everything in sight 
 lay ruin and desolation. The once beautiful lawn where 
 he and his cousin Tom had played ball, tennis, and 
 croquet with the young people of the neighborhood was 
 literally a thicket of bushes and vines through which only 
 a narrow foot-path led to the porch steps. The fences, 
 summer-house, and rustic seats were gone, having been 
 used for firewood by the careless inmates of the house or 
 rotted on the dank ground. The green blinds to the 
 windows had disappeared, the small panes of glass were 
 broken, the paint had been washed from the weather- 
 boarding. A few chickens and ducks stalked and waddled 
 about an unclean yard in the rear. 
 
 As he put his foot on the lower step of the porch he felt 
 the board give beneath his weight, and he stepped upon 
 the remaining ones with care as he ascended. The door 
 was closed; there was no sign of human life about the 
 place. Taking hold of the loose brass handle of the old 
 bell, Carter drew it toward him, hearing the dismal ring 
 far back in the house. 
 
 Presently the door was opened by a slatternly, middle- 
 aged woman who was barefooted and wore a soiled ging 
 ham dress. She shrank in evident surprise at the sight 
 of a well-dressed stranger, her pale-blue eyes rolling help 
 lessly. 
 
 "Is Mr. Crofton at home?" Carter asked. 
 
 224 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Turning her head, the scant yellow hair of which was 
 fastened in a tight, unbecoming knot behind, she glanced 
 through the cheerless, empty hall toward a closed door 
 in the rear. "Yes; he is lying down," she said. 
 
 "I'd like to see him. You may tell him, if you please, 
 that it is his brother." 
 
 The woman flushed deeply, dropped her eyes, and wiped 
 her trembling red hands on her ragged apron. "You say 
 you are are " She went no further. He saw that she 
 was greatly excited, pale splotches appearing in her red 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Yes, I'm his brother Carter. I've just got back from 
 Europe." 
 
 She left him standing in the doorway and hastily sham 
 bled along the hall to a bedroom and entered. It was the 
 room he had once occupied. Carter heard low voices, one 
 of which he recognized as Henry's. He couldn't hear the 
 words that were spoken, but there was a note of petulant 
 complaint in the masculine voice. Was it possible that 
 this dejected-looking woman was his brother's mistress? 
 he asked himself, gloomily. It must be so, he thought; 
 and this, then, was the last of the gallant, devil-may-care 
 Henry's conquests, a woman who had left her husband 
 and home for this. He saw her returning. She was still 
 frightened and abashed. 
 
 "He says come in," she faltered. "He's in bed." 
 
 There were no curtains or blinds to the windows of the 
 room, no rugs or carpet on the floor, and no furniture ex 
 cept the bed in one corner and a table and two chairs near 
 it. On a soiled mattress, his head slightly raised by a 
 ragged pillow, lay the sick man. And as he looked upon 
 him Carter was conscious of the sudden reflection that not 
 a single recognizable feature remained in the greenish-pale 
 mask of skin drawn over the facial bones. The iron-gray 
 beard was long and tangled, and the thin hair of the head 
 was only a scant fringe to a withered bald pate. Henry 
 15 225 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 turned on his side with evident difficulty, and held out a 
 thin hand the nails of which had not been cared for. 
 
 "How are you, Cart?" he smiled in a ghastly way, dis 
 playing his brown, broken teeth. "Saw in the paper you 
 were back. Thought you never would land on this side 
 of the water again. You certainly find me down, old boy. 
 I happen to be a little bit worse right now than usual. 
 I'm generally able to potter about my farm a little, but 
 for the last week I've been unable to walk at all. Marty, 
 give him a seat." 
 
 "I am sorry to see you ill," Carter answered, lamely, 
 and found himself unable to say more. Henry's failure 
 to introduce the woman was significant and confirmed 
 his first impression. 
 
 Lifting a water-pail from one of the chairs and wiping 
 it with a towel, the woman placed it near the bed, and 
 Carter sat down, a desolate chill creeping over him. The 
 whole thing seemed a terrible nightmare. Was it possible 
 that he himself had been living like a prince abroad 
 while his only brother lay dying like a beast in a stall? 
 
 "I thought you might write a fellow a line now and 
 then, once in a great while; but you never did," Henry 
 complained. "I'd have written to you by George! I 
 reckon I'd have boned you for the loan of a few dollars 
 to tide me over this present trouble, but I didn't know 
 how to reach you. Farnham made some fool excuse or 
 other when I mentioned it to him one day, and Milicent 
 well, I've cut her clean off my list. I'd see her dead and 
 in her box before I'd ask a favor of her, even a little one 
 like that. But, Lord! times are hard; they surely are, 
 Cart! Not like the old days when we children had the 
 old man's keen brain to supply us with pocket change. 
 But I reckon I ought not to complain I am the black 
 sheep of the lot, the bad egg, and always was. You held 
 on to what was left you, and added to it, and Milly she's 
 done well with her part. But, Lord ! I wouldn't have the 
 
 226 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 heart that's in that woman for worlds. But I won't talk 
 about her. It makes me mad even to hear her name 
 mentioned. You must pay us a visit, old chap. Uncle's 
 old room has a bed in it, and we can give you some plain 
 country cooking. Marty" here Henry's stare became 
 unsteady "is a good plain cook. Our pantry isn't 
 exactly overloaded with the fat of the land, but we can 
 manage somehow. You used to like young frying chickens 
 and fresh eggs, and we've got plenty of them, and good 
 butter and milk. Our cow has just had a calf and is in 
 a fine condition, pasture-grazed." 
 
 The bare thought of being a guest in such a place was 
 most repellent to Carter, and yet he knew there was noth 
 ing for him to do but to accept the invitation, for a few 
 days, anyway. 
 
 "I came to stay awhile," he said, "though I had no 
 idea you were under the weather like this. I suppose 
 you have a doctor?" 
 
 "A sort of makeshift, Dr. Manson," Henry sneered. 
 "I don't like him, and he doesn't like me. He is as stingy 
 and grasping as Milly, or any other miser. I owe him a 
 little back pay, you see, and he treats me like a pauper. 
 As soon as he found out I hadn't any more money, had 
 mortgaged my farm up to the hilt, and owed a few bills 
 here and there, he quit calling regularly. He was here 
 yesterday, though, and the day before, and said he would 
 come back to-day. I can't see why he is coming so often 
 now when he neglected me so much a month ago. If I 
 didn't know Milly so well I'd think maybe she had heard 
 I was down and agreed to pay him. Say, you haven't 
 been to him, have you, Cart?" 
 
 "No; I don't know him," Carter answered, "but I 
 want to pay him for you, and I will do it gladly. In fact, 
 anything you need I shall get at once. You must let me 
 advance you some money, Henry." 
 
 "Do you really mean that, old boy?" The wasted 
 
 227 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 features were working under stress of rising emotion. 
 1 ' Marty, did you hear that ? Did you hear what he said ?' ' 
 
 The woman had turned her perturbed face toward the 
 window. A mumbling, unintelligible sound came from 
 her lips, and the visitor saw her untidy head nodding. 
 
 "It is good of you, Cart, old boy," the sick man fal 
 tered, his voice catching in his throat like that of a happy 
 child. "You came just in time, so you did. Well, you 
 won't lose by it I don't somehow believe that a fellow 
 ever loses by extending a helping hand to another and 
 then, after all, you and I were born from the same parents. 
 La! doesn't it seem a long, long time since we were kids 
 in that fine old house, wearing nice nifty clothes, with all 
 those servants at our beck and call? I sometimes look 
 back and wonder, wonder, wonder. Even Milly, snarl 
 ing old maid as she now is, was well, she was a sweet, 
 gentle sort of a girl. When she was about eighteen I re 
 member I was awfully proud of her. Nobody ever would 
 have thought then that she'd turn out to be a regular old 
 hag hoarding a pile of gold in a big, empty house, and as 
 hard as flint against the unfortunate ones of her own sex. 
 Oh, I'll tell you about that I'll tell you about the way 
 she treated Marty." 
 
 At this juncture the woman at the foot of the bed 
 muttered something indistinctly and stalked from the 
 room. 
 
 "She didn't want to hear it," Henry said, his eyes 
 dumbly following the woman and remaining for a mo 
 ment on the door which had closed behind her. "Marty 
 has got a great big heart in her, Cart. She holds out all 
 right at times, and then again she breaks down all of a 
 sudden. She may hold in now because she has to fix 
 up for you, and the best thing for her is to be busy. I've 
 found that out. Of course, you know, or you can guess, 
 Cart, that she and I are not, to say exactly, married?" 
 
 Carter nodded, "I thought that might be the case," 
 
 228 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 he said, as gently as he knew how to speak. "I had 
 never heard of your marrying any one else, and natu 
 rally-" 
 
 "Well, never mind," Henry broke in, almost peevishly, 
 ' ' there is some justification for the whole thing some for 
 her, anyway. You know me, Cart ; you know how I was 
 all along with women. Well, I'm not sure but old age 
 and ill health were the only things that forced me to call 
 a halt, even one like this. But now I'm going to be 
 pretty frank. Out of all the affairs I was mixed up in, the 
 one with Marty bothered me the most. I met her over 
 the other side of the mountain and made love to her away 
 back when she was a bright, happy young girl. I didn't 
 do anything wrong then I swear it, Cart I swear it to 
 you as a man. It may be because I didn't have just the 
 opportunity, but I did make love to her, and I got her 
 to love me. Then I went off and left her. 
 
 "A young farmer wanted her to marry him. He was 
 honest, upright, a hard worker, and steady. Her mother 
 and father wanted her to take him, and they browbeat 
 her, argued with her, and threatened till finally they got 
 her to marry the fellow. I happened to go back near her 
 home about five years after she was married and acciden 
 tally met her. Oh, well, Cart, I may as well tell it all; 
 she was still good-looking, in love with me even more 
 than she had been, and I was just a natural man. She 
 sneaked out and met me often. She simply couldn't 
 stand her husband said she felt like screaming when he 
 laid his hands on her or when she had to be alone with 
 him, and I found that I liked her more than any other 
 woman I'd ever been intimate with. 
 
 "I'd come here to live with Uncle Tom, and she came 
 crying one day and begged me to stick to her said she 
 had left her home and was staying with a cousin, a lonely 
 widow, near us. She declared she would drown herself 
 if I left her that she never loved anybody else, and 
 
 229 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 didn't care what happened if her life had to go on like it 
 was. 
 
 "I went to see her husband to tell him I was ready to 
 marry her if he would let her have a divorce. I expected 
 to be shot, but it didn't matter to me. I'd just lost my 
 last dollar in cotton-futures, and didn't care a rap whether 
 I lived or died. The fellow happened not to be the 
 shooting sort. He was of the old-fashioned, rigid, re 
 ligious order. He was as white as a sheet and leaned 
 back in his hard, cold sanctimony and told me Marty 
 could do as she liked with me; but he would do his duty 
 to God. He believed divorce was an unpardonable sin, 
 and he wouldn't get one himself nor allow her to have one. 
 Said he would take her back any time, but that was all 
 he would do. 
 
 "Well, Uncle Tom got it all out of me. He wormed 
 it out of me one night when he and I were together. I 
 expected him to kick me out of the house, but he didn't. 
 In fact, he acted awfully queer, I thought, for in his way 
 he was religious, too. Poor old man! He kept shaking 
 his head and sighing while I was talking, and he was 
 never in his life so gentle with me as he was that night. 
 He treated her nice, too, and she was astonished as much 
 as I was, if not more. She had come over one day to 
 see me and was out at the barn, crying at a terrible rate. 
 He saw her and came out and talked good and kind to 
 her. By George ! it was a pretty sight ! He put his old 
 arm around her and petted her and did his best to com 
 fort her. He went to see her husband, too, but could 
 do nothing with him. Then what did I do? What do 
 you suppose I did, Cart? I rented a little cottage half a 
 mile down the road, bought a little furniture with some 
 money uncle let me have, and Marty and I moved in. 
 You may think I acted wrongly, considering public opin 
 ion, but that was all that was left for me to do, and I 
 was plumb fagged out and wanted peace and quiet and 
 
 230 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 home comfort. Of course, none of the neighbors would 
 come about us they cut us dead; but we were happy. 
 Her husband moved away to escape the talk, I reckon, 
 and we were not bothered by the sight of him, and uncle 
 say, Cart, he acted white; that's the word, 'white.' 
 He used to come over of an evening and sit and smoke 
 his pipe and talk to us in his slow, simple way. It was 
 always about religion, and God, and forgiveness, and re 
 demption, and being sorry for this, and atoning for that. 
 I swear, with his long white beard and hair he looked 
 like one of the saintly old patriarchs of biblical days. 
 Marty and I hardly knew what he was talking about 
 half the time, but we humored him by listening. He 
 fed us he was hard run himself, but he fed us, and used 
 to call us his children, and it was funny; but every time 
 he'd come he'd apologize in the meekest way and smile 
 wistfully and say he knew we did not want ' Old Gandpa ' 
 there. I remember one night, when we were all three 
 seated in the moonlight in front of the little house, that 
 some mention of Marty's husband was made, and uncle 
 fancied she was a little bit worried over treating him bad, 
 and so he set in to comfort her. I wish I had written down 
 in black and white what he said. I'd certainly read it 
 over, now that he is dead and gone. Lord ! that talk was 
 beautiful! It set Marty to crying, I remember, and it 
 was all I could do to hold in, though I didn't exactly 
 know why. 
 
 "Well, shortly after that he was taken down so sick 
 that he couldn't take care of himself, and we came here 
 to live with him and nurse him. It made him happy. 
 He said so over and over. Marty fairly worshiped him, 
 for he was always, always dying man though he was, 
 Cart he was always trying to keep her from feeling bad 
 over what had happened to her. 
 
 "Then Milly heard of uncle's low condition and came. 
 Humph! she came! She dropped down into our peace- 
 
 231 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 fid circle one day, like some haughty, perfumed, powdered, 
 and silk-dressed she-devil. She turned up her nose at 
 Marty, and treated her as if she were a dog under her 
 feet. She said a few cold words to uncle. She lectured 
 me about the way I'd lost my part of the estate, and then 
 whisked off to Atlanta to her damned old hermitage, 
 where, thank God, she's been ever since. I didn't notify 
 her when uncle died. We didn't want her about. It was 
 all sad enough, anyway. Lord! how we missed him! He 
 had got to be a sort of baby to me and Marty in his gentle 
 helplessness. He never complained once; he was always 
 the same quiet, gentle old man, constantly excusing him 
 self for troubling us in the slightest thing we did for him. 
 He left me the farm in his will, of course, but we missed 
 him so much that we didn't think much about it. It was 
 awful the way Marty took his death. She cried night 
 and day for a month after the burial. We didn't have 
 any service at the church, for uncle had quit going; but 
 we had a country preacher come and say a few words 
 and read over the coffin in the library. The room was 
 full of men; not a woman came not a damned one dark 
 ened the door. Do you know why? It was to keep from 
 meeting Marty. The men could nib against me, but the 
 women pulled their saintly skirts back from her. I was 
 sorry for Marty, and loved and pitied her more that day 
 than I ever had as she sat in that crowd all by herself 
 in her black, the only female under this big roof. Both 
 her ma and pa had died, and she hadn't shed a tear; but 
 her heart was broke when uncle passed away. Do you 
 know I wish there is one thing I'd like to have, and that 
 is I'd like to live long enough to make somebody regret 
 my death as as we do his. It was just his way, his 
 character, I reckon, that makes us feel as we do about 
 him now that he is gone for ever." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 HERE the sick man had a fit of coughing which lasted 
 several minutes, and, glancing toward the door, 
 Carter saw Marty silently motioning to him to come to 
 her. He rose and went out. Seeing him coming, she 
 turned and led him into the dining-room, where he found 
 that she had spread a clean but ragged cloth at the end 
 of the old mahogany table and placed some freshly cooked 
 food upon it. 
 
 "I know you must be hungry," she said. "I hope you 
 will excuse this poor meal." 
 
 "It is just what I like," he said in a kindly tone. He 
 noted that she had put on her shoes and stockings and a 
 clean apron. 
 
 She left him eating the fresh fried eggs and bacon and 
 hot bread with cold milk. He wanted to detain her, to 
 ask her some questions, but she was very shy, and re 
 mained out of the room till he rose from the table; then 
 with lowered head and reluctant step, she came in to re 
 move the few simple dishes. 
 
 "I was a little afraid," he began, "that my brother was 
 talking longer than was good for him just now." 
 
 He saw her nod affirmatively, but she made no 
 sound. 
 
 "It is best, I presume, not to let him get excited?" he 
 went on, tentatively. 
 
 "Yes; the doctor said not to let him talk much," she 
 said; "but he will talk when he gets started nothing 
 will stop him." 
 
 333 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "I wanted to ask you," Carter said, "what the doctor 
 thinks about my brother's condition." 
 
 "He says he's dying," she answered in a low, husky 
 voice. 
 
 "Dying?" Carter exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 The woman nodded. "Yes, he's dying. Dr. Manson 
 says he has done all he can. Henry doesn't like him, but 
 he has treated us fair. He told me a month ago that there 
 wasn't the slightest hope. Henry can't keep a thing on 
 his stomach. The doctor expects him to die every day 
 that's why he comes often now. He says Henry will 
 go out like a candle just stop breathing, and he says 
 he says Henry won't suffer. Do do you reckon he's just 
 talking to comfort me?" 
 
 "I I don't really know." Carter hardly knew what 
 he was saying. Dying? That one word seemed to fill 
 his entire consciousness. Could it be possible that 
 Henry, his only brother, the happy, rollicking playmate 
 of the long ago, was on the brink of actual annihilation? 
 And to go out like that like that, in that sinister nest 
 of tragedy! as if it were a fitting place for a Crofton to 
 die in. 
 
 The woman had left the room with a tray of dishes. 
 He heard her shuffling feet in the kitchen. The fear came 
 to him that something was wrong with his own heart. 
 He took his left wrist between the fingers of his right hand 
 and tested his pulse, or tried to do so. It appeared to be 
 throbbing only faintly. This was fancy, of course the 
 autosuggestion of an imaginative man, but it clung to him 
 like a gruesome reality. He next fancied that he felt the 
 germs of his brother's disease gnawing at his own kidneys. 
 He tried to remember if the disease was contagious, but 
 in his present agitation he could not do so. The woman 
 returned to fold up the table-cloth, and with a flare of 
 dumb despair in his eyes he tried to think of something 
 to say to her. A dead man had taught him a lesson, and 
 
 234 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 he wanted to emulate that dead man's example in his 
 treatment of this stricken woman. He wanted her to 
 think of him as she did of Thomas Crofton. 
 
 ''I am sorry for you, Marty," he said. "I wish I 
 could say something or do something to help you in your 
 trouble. We must be friends" here he thought again 
 of his uncle, and added "we are more than that already, 
 though, for we are brother and sister. In God's sight 
 we are that, you know." 
 
 He saw her start and stare with wide-open eyes, then 
 her face began to fill with emotion; he saw her breast 
 rise high and sink quiveringly. She started to speak, 
 but choked up and coughed deeply in a brave effort to 
 hide it. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," he heard her half whisper 
 after a moment's silence, "thank you." 
 
 "Did the doctor leave any directions which have not 
 yet been carried out?" he asked her. 
 
 Here, with the folded cloth on her arm, she met his 
 eyes with her own in a steady, desperate stare. "All but 
 one thing," she blurted out. "I've tried and tried, but 
 I can't do it. I've prayed to God to give me the strength 
 to do it, and still I can't. I try, but I break down." 
 
 "Is it something which requires strength?" he inquired, 
 thinking that it might perhaps pertain to the lifting of the 
 sick man. 
 
 ' ' No. The doctor says Henry ought to be told. ' ' 
 
 "Told? You mean" 
 
 " Dr. Manson says somebody has got to tell Henry that 
 there is no hope. He says if I don't he will have to do 
 it. He is an old-fashioned doctor, and he says he con 
 siders it his religious duty not to let a dying person be 
 ignorant of his condition. Every time he comes he asks 
 me if I've told Henry, and yesterday he said if I hadn't 
 told him when he got here to-day he would himself. He 
 thinks I can do it, but I can't I can't! Henry has no 
 
 235 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 idea it is so bad; he thinks he'll get well. Oh, I can't 
 tell him! I can't!" 
 
 "Perhaps I can help you," Carter plunged, impulsively. 
 "If you want me to, I will tell him what the doctor said. 
 I understand how you feel about it." 
 
 Marty said nothing, but he saw a surprised flare of 
 gratitude in her dumb eyes. She left him to go to Henry, 
 and presently tiptoed back. "He's asleep now," she 
 whispered. "Maybe you'd like to go to your room. 
 It is ready." 
 
 He followed her to the open door of the room, where 
 she left him, and he entered. The first slant of the after 
 noon sun came in at the curtainless windows and fell on 
 the bare floor. There were only a wash-stand, a bed, a 
 chair, and his costly, foreign-made bag in the big room. 
 The bag, like a traveled, isolated thing, scarred by bril 
 liant hotel advertisements in many lands, stood in the 
 center of the room. A yellow wasp was buzzing against a 
 dingy pane of glass; a black, red-eyed spider watched it 
 from its web in a corner of the mullions, perhaps alarmed 
 at the sight of an enemy too large and desperately ruth 
 less for prey. Why was it that Carter gently raised the 
 sash of the window and with his handkerchief softly 
 brushed the wasp down to the airy port of escape? Then 
 he turned to bathe his face and hands at the wash-stand 
 in the cooling well-water. How strange! he mused, that 
 he should be giving attention'^ to his mere body when the 
 great destroyer of bodies had almost exterminated all 
 that was left of the once gay, care-free Henry Crofton. 
 Henry was dying, and he himself had to die. To die 
 what a word, what a short word to mean so much! 
 
 As he was going out he saw the doctor, a portly, gray- 
 bearded old man, leaving the house and trudging gravely 
 toward a buggy at the gate. Carter called to him softly, 
 and he turned, smiled casually, and held out his hand. 
 
 "Your brother told me you were here," he said. "I 
 
 236 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 used to know your father rather well away back just after 
 the war. You don't resemble him much, even as he was 
 in his younger days." 
 
 "I've been told, doctor my brother's companion 
 says that you see no hope in his case," Carter said, un 
 willing to talk of less important matters. 
 
 * ' No, none at all, " was the prompt reply. ' ' No medical 
 skill on earth could even prolong his life beyond a few 
 days. I am doing no good at all, but my presence some 
 times helps the grieving ones at such a time, and I al 
 ways try to be on hand. There is another thing. I feel 
 it to be my Christian duty, Mr. Crofton, as I think Marty 
 has already told you, when a patient is so completely in 
 possession of the reasoning faculties as is the case with 
 your brother, to inform him of his fate, and I always 
 insist upon it. She can't do it, it seems, but she says you 
 have promised to mention it to him." 
 
 "Yes; I shall do it at once," Carter said. "It seems 
 that he has little idea of the gravity of his condition." 
 
 "No; he is full of hope; in fact, more so since you've 
 come than ever. Well, I'm glad you will attend to that 
 matter. It is one thing I never leave out if I can help 
 it. Civilization gives even condemned criminals a chance 
 to prepare for the end. Why should a Christian physician 
 neglect his sacred duty in that line?" 
 
 "I shall do it as well as I can," Carter promised. "I 
 want to say, too, doctor, that I wish to pay all my brother's 
 bills, and I will do so as soon as they are sent to me. I'm 
 grateful to you for your attention to him." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," the old man answered. "I don't 
 know that I was expecting pay. I try to do my duty to 
 humanity without thinking of what I am to get out of it. 
 If you had not spoken of your wishes you'd never have 
 heard from me. Good day. I may call to-morrow; but 
 I will be of no medical service at all. His death is only 
 a question of a very short time." 
 
 237 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Carter walked to the gate with him. "Do you think 
 if I telegraphed to Atlanta for a private nurse that it 
 would do any good at all?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "No; besides, you'd hardly have time to get one here, 
 and a new face might upset him. Marty is doing all that 
 can be done. She is suffering awfully, but she doesn't 
 show it to him." 
 
 When the doctor had disappeared down the hot, sun 
 baked road, Carter went back to the house and stood on 
 the porch, wondering what he would do next. The gloom 
 upon him was like some palpable substance which he 
 breathed into his lungs and admitted through the pores 
 of his skin to every part of his body. His gay and strenu 
 ous past flitted by him like a varied panorama. What 
 would his erstwhile friend, young Lord Colvin, or the 
 Countess of Marian think of him if they could see him 
 now or what would Lydia Romley think, say, or do? 
 Would she gloat over it all? Would she read in his face 
 the blended terror and remorse which was wringing the 
 spirit-blood from his cowed and humbled soul? 
 
 A sound in the hall notified him that some one was ap 
 proaching. It was Marty. She leaned against the door 
 frame, and with full, glistening eyes stared at him. 
 
 "Henry wants to see you," she whispered. 
 
 A strange, cool psychic wave from a mystic something 
 hitherto unexperienced met him as he turned from the 
 open sunlight into the shaded interior of the house and 
 followed her to the sick-room. 
 
 "Here he is, darling," Marty said, remaining in the 
 hall. 
 
 Henry made an effort to raise his head on his hand 
 and elbow, as his brother entered, but with an impatient 
 sigh he sank back on his pillow. 
 
 "Is the doctor gone?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," Carter replied. "Is there anything I can do 
 for you, Henry?" 
 
 238 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 The sick man laughed harshly. "I told him I'd have 
 money soon and would pay his dirty bill. He pretended 
 not to care one way or another, but I'll bet he'll make it 
 big enough when he does send it in." 
 
 ' It will be all right; everything will be made all right," 
 Carter said, clearing his throat and wondering what 
 would be suitable for saying. There was a swarm of 
 hungry house-flies over the bed, some on the sick man's 
 face and hands, some on the windows and floor and ceil 
 ing. Carter felt a touch of nausea as if the food he had 
 just eaten were kept from digestion by his perturbed state 
 of mind. 
 
 "Well, I'll certainly be glad to be free from debt again," 
 Henry half chuckled, "and you bet I'll stay out this 
 time. I'll make better crops next year. I wonder if 
 that damned old sawbones will be here again to-morrow. 
 I don't like him. I heard him whispering to Marty out 
 in the hall, asking her if she had told me something or 
 other. I heard her crying and saying she hadn't, but that 
 you were going to attend to it. Say, Cart, if you are going 
 to pay bills for me I want to know what they are I 
 want to see them and check off the items. I won't be 
 swindled or let you be, either." 
 
 "It wasn't about the bills," Carter said, lamely. 
 
 "You say it wasn't? Then what was it?" 
 
 Carter was silent. He felt the stare of the deep- 
 sunken eyes drift to his face, though his own were di 
 rected toward the window. 
 
 "Did you hear me? What was it?" 
 
 Carter sat motionless, though he felt a veritable storm 
 of conflicting impulses rising within him. "It was some 
 thing of an unpleasant nature to us all," he began. 
 "Marty didn't have the heart to tell you, and I thought 
 that perhaps I I " 
 
 "Ah, I see!" sighed the sick man, and an oath escaped 
 his lips. "I'll bet I know what it is. Some of my old 
 
 239 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 devilment has cropped up. I could lay my finger on it 
 first guess. They are going to try me for selling moon 
 shine whisky. I know the sneaking rascal that gave me 
 away, too. I didn't sell more than a few flasks and jugs. 
 They can't call this house 'a blind-tiger.' I got the stuff 
 from a fellow I knew, and kept it in the barn. Well, they 
 may give me trouble. Uncle Sam is a hard master, but 
 I had to have some ready money at the time, and it came 
 easy that way, and I was accommodating the chap that 
 made the stuff. Well, they will send me up, or stick on 
 a heavy fine. They may even try to bleed you." 
 
 "It is nothing of that sort," Carter said. "Henry, the 
 doctor thinks that you ought to be told that there is little 
 hope of your immediate recovery, and " 
 
 * ' Huh ! What does he know about it ?" 
 
 There was no answer. Carter detected a muffled sob 
 at the door and understood its meaning. He continued: 
 "Henry, the doctor thinks there is no hope none at all. 
 I am very, very sorry, but he thinks the end is really 
 only a few days off at best." 
 
 The crinkled, cavity-filled face turned on its side till the 
 eyes of it met those of the speaker. The stare from the 
 bed was steady and pregnant with meaning, and the silence 
 upon which it floated so helplessly seemed to come from 
 a sudden new conviction of the doomed man. 
 
 He sniffed defiantly, and yet his lips were quivering. 
 "You don't believe it, do you? You wouldn't rely on 
 the opinion of a a green country yokel like like " 
 The words trailed away into the drone of the flies against 
 the window-panes. 
 
 Carter made no response, and this itself seemed sig 
 nificant to the doomed man. 
 
 "Tell me tell me straight out, brother to brother, 
 Cart, old boy, do you believe him?" 
 
 "Henry, I'm afraid I am afraid that I do." 
 
 "You do? Great God! Do you think, as your honest 
 
 240 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 opinion, Cart, that I'm going to die here, like this, and 
 right off, with only a day or two left me, Henry Crof- 
 ton? Humph! It is ridiculous! Huh!" 
 
 Carter lowered his head and kept it down. "I wish I 
 could help you," he answered. 
 
 There was a pause. Henry wet his dry lips with his 
 white-coated tongue. "Humph! Humph!" He was 
 trying to sneer again. "What does Marty think? Does 
 she believe the damn fool knows what he is talking 
 about?" 
 
 "I think she does, Henry." 
 
 "How do you know? Where is she? Tell her to come 
 here." 
 
 The woman must have been listening at the door, for 
 she came in without waiting to be summoned. She had 
 hastily wiped her eyes, Carter knew, for damp traces of 
 tears were on her cheeks. She stood at the foot of the 
 bed, her back to the light, her face in the shadow. 
 
 "Marty, do you believe this fool thing the doctor 
 says about me?" 
 
 She lowered her head. She stood still for a moment, 
 and then a sob was wrung from her breast. 
 
 "I see you do, too." Henry turned his face from 
 them. The bony fingers on his breast were moving like 
 the legs of a crab. Presently they heard him say: 
 
 "Go away, both of you. I I want to be by myself a 
 little while. I want to to take a nap. I I feel sort 
 o' drowsy. O, my God, my God! I wonder I won 
 der " The last words were uttered too softly to be 
 heard, for Carter was following the weeping woman into 
 the kitchen. He stood by her side. He felt as if he 
 were drowning in a tumultuous sentient sea, and the 
 straw he tried to grasp, for some inscrutable reason, was 
 the forlorn creature at his side. 
 
 "He takes it hard," he heard his lips saying. "I think 
 he is beginning now to realize it." 
 
 16 241 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Yes, he thinks so now. Oh, Mr. Crofton, he is not 
 ready. He's not he's not ready!" 
 
 "You mean that he is not ready in in a spiritual 
 sense?" Carter floundered. 
 
 She nodded. "I've known it a long time. I've tried 
 the best I could to get him to pray and to give up to God, 
 as I did in my trouble, but Henry wouldn't listen; he 
 always laughed and made fun when I read my Bible and 
 tried to talk to him. God is good and merciful, but He 
 turns his back on folks who won't come to Him of their 
 own free will and accord." 
 
 The world-traveled man, the student of philosophies, 
 the past companion of authors and thinkers of Europe, 
 found himself unable to formulate a reply which would 
 at once adapt itself to his reason and to his compassion 
 for the sufferer at his side. 
 
 He was silent, but the desperate woman wanted to 
 say more. "Henry said once that you didn't believe in 
 the Bible, yourself," she went on, as appealingly as an 
 anxious child, and yet with a touch of reproach. "I 
 think it was something you said once about Tom Paine, 
 or Darwin, or their books, that made him first laugh at 
 religion. Mr. Crofton, listen to me. I'm just a poor, 
 unhappy woman. I don't know much, and I haven't 
 any proof at all, but if there is not a kind, good Heavenly 
 Father above us, and a place of peace and rest for tired 
 human souls like Henry's, this universe, just as it stands, 
 is a fiendish thing that was made by a devil, and God 
 had no hand in it. I'm giving up the body of the man 
 that I gave up everything else for, but I won't give up 
 his soul. My own soul won't permit it, and I believe I 
 want to believe, and don't doubt it till I meet somebody 
 like you that my soul not my body but my soul, is 
 part and parcel of God's own great spirit." 
 
 "I'm sorry if it was anything that I said that caused 
 Henry to " Crofton began, but she broke in. 
 
 242 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Oh, it may not have been you!" she corrected, quickly. 
 "Plenty of people he knows and goes with haven't any 
 faith. Forgive me, forgive me. I don't know what I am 
 doing or saying to-day. It is awful, awful. I'm an out 
 cast. I'm a widow without a name. I'm shunned by 
 my kind for something I couldn't help I swear it before 
 God's face at this minute. I couldn't help what I did. 
 I am righting for belief, for faith for something to hold 
 to. If God doesn't stand by me I'll have to kill myself 
 do you understand? Now you may see if there is a God. 
 Watch me and see what will happen. When Henry's 
 gone, who will back me if God doesn't?" With her apron 
 to her writhing mouth she turned and left him. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 FJINDING himself alone, Carter tiptoed softly into 
 JL the hall and across to the library, or what was once 
 the library. The big room contained no furniture, being 
 quite bare save for a dusty pile of old agricultural im 
 plements on one side, a few bundles of fodder, and a dry- 
 goods box containing shelled corn on another. He lo 
 cated the spot where the table had stood at which he had 
 written part of that long-dead poem. There against the 
 wall had stood the bookcase at which Lydia was at work 
 when he first saw her. Lydia Romley, the ignorant 
 mountain girl whom Fate, Time, and suffering had fash 
 ioned into the rare woman she had become. There he 
 stood in the room in which their passion was born. The 
 room was in ruin, as he was in ruin. But Lydia was not 
 desperate, as he was desperate, for he had seen a perma 
 nent light in her face which had never for one moment 
 shone in his. 
 
 Leaving the room, which was so like a sepulcher filled 
 with accusing atoms of his decaying self, he went out and 
 took the direction of one of his old mountain walks. The 
 sun was going down. From the level valley below he 
 heard the lowing of cattle, the bleating of lambs, the 
 early supper-horn of some farmer all just as it was in 
 his youth. He recalled a sunset he had seen at a little 
 inn in the Alps, and how he had lain awake that night 
 listening to the song of a nightingale. That was when 
 he was a lone wanderer, and he was still a lone wanderer. 
 After Henry was buried, he told himself, he would flee 
 
 244 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the spot; he would go he knew not where, but he would 
 go somewhere. He had tried in vain all his life to fly 
 from memories, but he would try again. That was all 
 that was left him flight, flight! 
 
 It was growing dark when he descended to the farm 
 house. A light in the kitchen told him that Marty was 
 there, and he went around the house to the outer door. 
 She was standing over the hot stove. She looked up, and 
 came to him. 
 
 ''How is he?" he asked. "Has he waked yet?" 
 
 "He hasn't been asleep," she answered. "He was just 
 pretending, to mislead us. I've heard him rolling and 
 tumbling and moaning ever since you left him. It isn't 
 pain of the body; it is trouble of the mind. When he 
 hears me coming he lies quiet, but when I go away he 
 begins again. I can hear him make the slightest move 
 in this big, still house; I've got accustomed to it. I 
 could hear a rat gnawing a piece of wood if I was here 
 and it was at work away out under the front porch. 
 Your supper will be on the table in a few minutes." 
 
 "Thank you," he said. He had no appetite, but he 
 did not want to admit it to her, for it was a sign of a 
 weakness of which he was ashamed. 
 
 After supper was over he sat on the grass at the front 
 door. Now and then during that dreary, monotonous 
 hour he heard low voices from the sick-room. At eight 
 o'clock Marty came to him to say that she was tired and 
 would lie down by the sick man. 
 
 "If you need any assistance you must call me," he said. 
 "How is he resting now?" 
 
 "He is not resting at all; he's still bothered," she 
 faltered. " I don't know that we did right to tell him the 
 truth, after all. I almost wish we hadn't done it. Doc 
 tors may know about the body, but they don't know any 
 more about the spirit than other folks do. Good night." 
 
 She had been gone only a few minutes when he went 
 
 245 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 to his room. He wondered if he would be able to sleep. 
 He bethought himself of his morphine tablets, but again 
 resisted the temptation to use them. Of late he was 
 becoming afraid of the drug. The sleep it induced re 
 sembled death. He wondered how a photograph of him 
 self would look if taken as he lay under its influence. 
 He shuddered, for death now alarmed him more than 
 ever before. He had taken the bottle from his pocket, 
 but he thrust it back, the superstitious fear hurtling 
 through his brain that perhaps grim, purposeful Fate had 
 lured him there to die at the same time that Henry died, 
 and under that tragic roof. 
 
 "What an insane idea!" he muttered. "After all, I 
 may be insane, or fast becoming so. Am I acting, feeling, 
 thinking as a rational man would under like circum 
 stances? Father was insane at the last. Uncle may have 
 been at one time, if not when he died. His son killed him 
 self. Henry is not dying a natural death, and I have never 
 been normal, and am not now. I once thought it was due 
 to genius, but I am not a genius. Do I look like a sane 
 man? Would a sane man have allowed his only brother, 
 the pal of his childhood, to come to this while he was 
 swimming in the social sewers of Europe? Would a ra 
 tional man allow his brother's mistress a woman of that 
 stamp to stab him through and through with her back 
 woods ideas of a Creator and the soul's responsibilities?" 
 
 Midnight came and passed. Still his eyes were open. 
 He rose, groped in the dark for his coat, and began to 
 fumble for the morphine; but again irresolution clutched 
 him, and he sank back on the bed without touching the 
 bottle. 
 
 At three o'clock, still unable to sleep, he crept to the 
 door, opened it cautiously, and stood listening. Low 
 voices came from the sick-room. He saw a slender bar 
 of light beneath the door-shutter. It could mean noth 
 ing but that the doomed man was also unable to sleep. 
 
 246 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 He went back to his bed and sat on its edge. How long 
 would his torture last? Since Henry had to die, how 
 much better it would be for it to happen without delay, 
 so that he could go away from a spot which was pregnant 
 with much that was so hauntingly horrible! Then sud 
 denly he shuddered, for he had actually desired his broth 
 er's death. "O God, forgive me!" he cried, unconscious 
 that the words were a prayer. 
 
 It was growing light in the eastern sky when he heard 
 a step at his door. There was a cautious rap on it. He 
 opened it and saw Marty standing back in the darkness 
 of the hallway. 
 
 "I'm sorry to wake you," she faltered; "but Henry 
 has been begging for you. He hasn't slept a wink. I 
 told him I'd come and tell you." 
 
 "I'll be right in," Carter said. He dressed rapidly, 
 pushing his feet into his shoes without putting on his 
 stockings, and tying a handkerchief around his neck in 
 place of a collar and cravat. 
 
 A lamp was burning on the mantelpiece. A news 
 paper was leaning against it to shade the bed. Henry 
 turned his head slowly, laboriously as he entered. 
 
 "You asked for me?" Carter inquired. 
 
 The gray, cracked lips moved at first without sound, 
 then: "Yes, Cart, I want to talk to you or or some 
 body. Marty" sending his glance to the still sentinel 
 at the foot of the bed "would you mind leaving us two 
 alone ? We have no secrets, but but I want to talk to 
 to well, to just one at a time. I've said all I can to you, 
 and I I want to speak with with my brother." 
 
 Without a word and like a shifting shadow she left the 
 room. Carter was undecided whether to sit in the chair 
 by the bed, or on the edge of the bed itself, where there 
 was ample space. He felt that the relationship, the cir 
 cumstances, demanded the latter, and yet his whole being 
 shrank from close contact with the putrefying mass of 
 
 247 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 conscious humanity which was and was not his brother. 
 He did neither. He took the woman's place at the bed's 
 foot, and leaned upon one of the cool, smooth posts. 
 
 "I wish I could do something for you," he managed 
 to say, feeling that it was a useless, insincere platitude. 
 Henry was silent for several minutes, lying with averted 
 eyes. There might have been a frown on his brow had 
 the flesh not been too thin to produce it. 
 
 "Cart, I've been thinking of what the doctor said. I 
 reckon, after all, that he knows his business I reckon 
 I am going to die. I can see that Marty thinks so, too, 
 and you." The glance was now full of open appeal 
 as it went straight to the listener. "/ reckon you think 
 so, too?" 
 
 "I am afraid I do," Carter answered. "I'm sorry, but 
 it is true, I suppose." 
 
 "You feel pretty sure of it, Cart, don't you?" 
 
 Carter nodded. "I suppose you may as well face the 
 the inevitable. It can't be avoided." 
 
 A desperate sigh flitted like a scared, invisible thing 
 from the flat chest. The fingers of the hands were balled 
 convulsively. "Cart, brother Carter, / don't want to die! 
 / don't want to / don't want to!" 
 
 No answer was forthcoming, though the stare of the 
 dying man seemed to be trying to fix itself upon at least 
 some facial response which might give hope. 
 
 "I don't want to die," Henry repeated, desperately. 
 "I can't think of anything else to say, right now, and it 
 can't do any good to say even that, but my God ! brother, 
 what am I to do? Why, just a few hours back I had no 
 idea that I could ever feel like this. I had no idea any 
 man could feel like it. Do you hear me any man? I 
 am actually up against it. I've heard of death all my life, 
 but I never dreamt it would be like this. I don't want to 
 die I don't I don't ! Say, is there absolutely no chance, 
 none at all? But, oh, what is the use for me to ask such 
 
 248 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 a foolish question? I'm all in. I've been lying here 
 fighting it ever since the doctor left. There is nothing 
 for me to do except to try to believe in Marty's religion. 
 Say, Cart, I'm going to ask you what I would have been 
 ashamed to ask a week ago. I wouldn't ask it now, but 
 I haven't a thread of any other hope to tie to, and I am 
 afraid to die if if the church folks are right about the 
 judgment to come, and I don't want to die if I am to 
 be blotted out of existence. I can't stand the idea of 
 that, either, and why I don't know. Say, you've been 
 around the world a lot, Cart. You've read the greatest 
 books and met great thinkers and talked to them face to 
 face. Now you can tell me, if anybody can. What is 
 there ahead for me, for Henry Crofton as you know the 
 man and as you see him now? Is there such a thing as 
 God and His forgiveness, or is it all bosh pure and simple? 
 Answer me, Cart. I'm all in; I'm plumb desperate I've 
 got to know something. Did a man called Jesus Christ 
 ever die away back in that far-off country to save men as 
 bad and tough as I've been? I used to believe it, in a 
 way, when you and I were little boys and mother talked 
 it so much, but I'm all in the dark now? I'm desperate. 
 I've even prayed as Marty told me to using her exact 
 words but nothing came of it that I could see. She says 
 when a man is sorry for what he has done that the Lord 
 will forgive, and she may be right she may be, and the 
 trouble with me is that I am not actually sorry. Maybe 
 I'm so full of fear that I am too selfish to be sorry. Do 
 you catch my point? As I look at her the woman I've 
 brought all this to, and I try to see if I am sorry about 
 her, for instance, I find myself wondering if I really am 
 or if I am only trying to make a deal with God in my own 
 interest. The trouble is, you see, that Marty is not the 
 only woman I've harmed; and now I wouldn't have her 
 know this, but I'd rather crawl away to some hiding-place 
 and die alone than here under her care. It hurts me and 
 
 249 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 makes me ashamed. I can't keep from thinking that I'm 
 dying here like this, nursed and grieved over by a woman 
 who never was my wife never was the mother of my chil 
 dren. You see, the very bed I die on is unholy, and I am 
 a father, Cart, who has never seen all of his own children. 
 I turned my back on them, and now I am wanting God 
 to turn His face to me in kindness. Think of that!" 
 
 The lips of the dying man were twitching, a dry sob 
 hung and gurgled in his throat. He was silent for sev 
 eral minutes. Again Carter wondered how long it would 
 be before the agony his own agony would be over. 
 Surely, since Henry had to die, it would be better for the 
 end to come at once. Again he had entertained that 
 thought again he was horrified by it. 
 
 "Well, well, I see you can't help me," Henry sighed. 
 "Cart, I wish I was a Catholic. I knew a fellow I 
 bummed around with him a lot in Louisville ten years ago, 
 gambling, carousing, and the like. He was one he was 
 a Catholic. A fellow shot him over a poker game in a 
 bar-room, and he lay there in the bloody sawdust on the 
 floor. It was hot and I fanned him with my hat while 
 some of the rest ran to get a doctor and a priest. He 
 had but one thought in his mind. He kept begging for 
 the priest, and praying and praying that he would get 
 there in time. It was terrible the way he went on. The 
 doctor came and could do nothing to save him. All the 
 time he was begging for the priest and praying out loud. 
 Then at last the priest came and did all that to him 
 you know what I mean. Words don't come to me now, 
 but the priest was bending over him, putting stuff on his 
 brow, crossing him, and whispering and listening to what 
 he said. He got through the priest got through and 
 stood up, looking contented, his face and eyes shining in 
 a way I never have forgot. 
 
 '"You are all right now,' I heard him say, and 'Toady' 
 that's what we always called the fellow said: 'Thank 
 
 250 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 you, Father. God bless you!' And he died Cart, he died 
 right there in that bloody puddle with a smile on his lips 
 like a child going to sleep watched by its mother. Now, 
 Cart, that is what I want something like that, but who 
 could give it to me? There are no priests in these moun 
 tains nothing but Protestants, and they don't believe 
 in confessions. What am I to do what?" 
 
 Carter was unable to answer. A turgid hope crawled 
 through his consciousness that the dying man would in 
 terpret his bowed head and silence as grief. But, after 
 all, what could he possibly say? For was he not virtually 
 suffering at least spiritual death himself? Yes, it was as 
 bad as that, and he was becoming alarmed by it. 
 
 "I've told you this for a reason, Cart. I thought it 
 out in the night. Do you reckon if I sent for the Metho 
 dist preacher, Mr. Clark, who lives half a mile up the road 
 if I got him here would he do, or say, anything that 
 would help?" 
 
 "He might," Carter answered, at the end of all his 
 resources. "Shall I go for him?" 
 
 "I wish you would, Cart," the sick man moaned. "I 
 want to try something, and I can't think of anything else. 
 But wait! Before you go I want to tell you that a year 
 ago, with no idea of dying soon, in mind, though in fact, 
 I did it to spite some of these gossips around here who 
 were turning up their noses at Marty a year ago I made 
 a will by which I left her this farm. Now what I want 
 to ask is this do you reckon it will hold good in law? 
 There is a big debt on the place, but if it was sold at public 
 outcry something might be left over for her a few hun 
 dred, anyway." 
 
 "I promise you that I'll pay off the debt in full," Carter 
 said. "Then the entire property will be wholly hers and 
 she can live well on the income from the land. I'll give 
 her some money, besides. I'll see that she is provided 
 for all her life." 
 
 251 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Good! good! You will do that, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, gladly." 
 
 "And and" a shudder convulsed the thin frame 
 "the ready money for for You know what I mean, 
 Cart? I hate to think of it." 
 
 "I am sorry, but I do not quite understand." 
 
 "I mean the burial expenses. Strange how I hate to 
 say it." 
 
 "Oh yes, I'll pay for everything. Don't worry." 
 
 "Then try to get the preacher and explain, if you can, 
 what I want. Maybe he will understand. He is a 
 crusty sort of a man that I've had some disputes with. 
 Oh, Cart, Cart, I don't want to die! I don't want even 
 to think about it, much less arrange for it, but I must 
 I must! Go get him go get him!" 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE dawn was breaking when Carter went out from 
 the house and started toward the home of the 
 preacher. He breathed in sheer relief, and yet he knew 
 the relief was only temporary, for he would have to go 
 back to the harrowing scene in a few minutes. But it 
 would all be over sooner or later, and then he would be 
 free from the awful clutch of the thing, and he would travel 
 travel again, seek new scenes, fresh diversions, and for 
 get -forget? 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Clark's house was a small cottage 
 which stood at the side of the road, shaded by some apple 
 and cherry trees. Early as it was, smoke was issuing 
 from the chimney of the little lean-to kitchen in the rear. 
 No one was within sight, and, passing through the gate, 
 Carter went round the cottage to the door of the kitchen. 
 Here a young, florid-faced woman, her hands coated with 
 flour dough, met him, a look of surprise in her blue eyes. 
 
 "Is Mr. Clark at home?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes; he's back at his hog-pen feeding the hogs. He'll 
 be here in a minute. Won't you step in and sit down?" 
 
 "No, thank you; I'm in a hurry, and I'll walk back 
 to him." 
 
 Bending over a pen made of fence-rails, a slop-pail in his 
 hand, in a stiff white shirt, without coat, collar, or neck 
 tie, stood the minister, a pair of loose carpet slippers on 
 his sockless feet. He was under thirty years of age, and 
 yet he wore a full, glossy brown beard which gave his 
 youthful face a look of artificial gravity. Carter intro- 
 
 253 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 duced himself and partially explained the object of his 
 caH. 
 
 The preacher wiped his right hand on his trousers and 
 extended it formally. "I heard you were here, Mr. 
 Crofton," he said. "And of course I knew how bad off 
 your brother was. The doctor told me, as he passed, 
 but I had no idea that my services would be asked for. 
 It certainly comes as a great surprise, for your brother 
 is not a member of any church, and has the reputation 
 of being a scoffer. Of course I'm willing to hold the ser 
 vice at our meeting-house, provided the members raise 
 no objections. You see, Mr. Crofton, they built it with 
 their own hands at odd times, and and they feel a cer 
 tain personal interest in it. I don't know how to explain 
 something that will be hard to bring up to you as a brother 
 to Mr. Crofton, but a state of affairs exists here that is 
 complicated, to say the least that can be said. I suppose 
 you know that that the woman now living with your 
 brother is not his wife?" 
 
 "Yes, I know that, but I hope at such a time that you 
 will set that aside and " 
 
 "I would myself oh, I would as far as I am concerned; 
 but I see you don't fully understand. We can't make 
 human nature over human nature is human nature, and, 
 to be frank, your brother has been in a regular turmoil 
 here for the last three years, criticizing these people be 
 cause they don't approve of his high and mighty way of 
 living. He has gone so far as to tell some of them to 
 their teeth that his woman is as pure as their wives, and 
 that they haven't a speck of religion or they wouldn't 
 find fault with her. Why Well, I'm going to be plainer 
 yet. I've stopped a white-cap gang twice as they were 
 ready to tar and feather them and ride them on a rail 
 out of the community. Your brother was born rich and 
 of a high family, and he has tried to ride rough-shod over 
 a whole settlement of decent, God-fearing citizens just 
 
 254 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 because they were poor and simple. You see the situa 
 tion. Whether they would let their church-house be 
 used in such a way I don't know. I'd have to call a 
 meeting of leading members and put it before them." 
 
 "I don't think my brother had any church service in 
 mind," Carter explained, awkwardly. "It was only that 
 he thought you might say something or do something to 
 relieve his mind. He knows he has to die, and he is very, 
 very much depressed." 
 
 "Oh, I see! That is quite a different matter. I'll do 
 what I can. I always do. I'll come right over as soon as 
 I wash and fix up a bit. I reckon he's in a repentant mood, 
 and if he is I'll do all I can, and niaybe it will help him. 
 God knows I hope so." 
 
 The sun was up when Carter got back to the farm-house. 
 Its yellow light was sparkling in the dewdrops on the 
 weeds and grass of the neglected lawn, giving out pris 
 matic gleams of blue, red and gold. 
 
 Half an hour later the preacher walked in. He wore a 
 long black frock-coat, black necktie, and his heavy new 
 shoes creaked loudly as he crossed the porch and strode 
 down the hall in the wake of the awed and silent Marty. 
 
 Carter was seated by the bed, and rose to give the minis 
 ter his chair, while Marty, with a cowed look on her face, 
 hastened to fetch another from the dining-room. Carter 
 declined the chair when it came, some inner impulse 
 causing him to plead with her to take it instead. But 
 as she would not sit, he stood by her at the foot of the 
 bed. He recalled being at the bedside of a dying friend, an 
 artist in the Latin Quarter, and seeing the wife and the mis 
 tress of the man treated with equal courtesy by those who 
 were present, and he wondered if he, himself, had become 
 genuinely humane at bottom, or if he were merely follow 
 ing an example set for him by a class of people supposed 
 to be highly cultured. 
 
 The minister stared at Henry and muttered something 
 
 255 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 indistinctly as he sat down and crossed his legs. He 
 drew a small, well-worn bible from his pocket and cleared 
 his throat. He glanced about the room, then fixed his 
 eyes on the thin countenance of the dying man and said: 
 
 "Your brother told me that you'd like to see me, Mr. 
 Crofton. Of course this is not a time for any ill will over 
 past differences. I have laid all those things aside, and 
 I hope you have." 
 
 "Yes, yes; oh yes," Henry said. "I'm a dying man, 
 Mr. Clark, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm 
 sorry if I ever hurt your feelings. I've never been re 
 ligious, and I thought that maybe you could help me in 
 some way in some way." 
 
 "There is only one thing that can help anybody at such 
 a time, Mr. Crofton," was the perfunctory answer. "And 
 it is very, very simple. We are told in this precious Book 
 that Jesus came to earth and died to save all sinners. 
 You are a sinner, and I am a sinner all of us are sinners. 
 All you have to do to gain pardon, to secure eternal life, 
 is to believe on our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Re 
 member the thief on the cross. That was late, as your 
 case is late and yet our blessed Lord practically gave 
 him the key to heaven on the spot. If you want me 
 to read that account I will do so, and then I would sug 
 gest a short prayer. After that I will sing a hymn that 
 I think is a beautiful one. My voice is not good, but I'll 
 do the best I can. We've been running a big revival 
 over in the Cove, and I sang so much there that I'm a 
 little hoarse; but, as I say, I'll do the best I can." 
 
 "Marty, why don't you sit down? There is a chair," 
 Henry said, with a sudden show of irritation that was 
 unexpected. As if she hardly knew what she was doing, 
 the woman sank into the chair, covering her startled face 
 with her work-reddened hands. There was silence then, 
 broken by the harsh breathing of the sick man through 
 his thin, fluttering nostrils. 
 
 256 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Shall I begin?" The preacher looked inquiringly at 
 Carter, ignored Marty, and then rested his eyes fixedly 
 on the face of the dying man. 
 
 "I don't know I really don't know," Henry sighed, 
 wearily; and they saw him make a feeble effort to shake 
 his head. "I don't believe it will do me any good I 
 don't I don't. It might help some men, but it won't 
 help me" 
 
 "You haven't given it a trial" the preacher said, 
 testily. 
 
 "Oh, I know I know," Henry moaned. "I don't 
 want to hurt your feelings I don't want to hurt the feel 
 ings of any human being alive to-day. I'm sorry we had 
 those words over your creed and calling, but, Mr. Clark, 
 I don't think I could bear to hear you read and pray and 
 sing, feeling as I do. If there is a God I want Him to 
 help me. If there was such a man as Jesus, and His soul 
 is still in existence, I want Him to help me. I'm all 
 tangled up with my past life, and this awful thing that 
 has come on me I mean death death! I've prayed 
 and prayed. Why, this is a prayer itself what I am say 
 ing now is a prayer. I'm more desperate than the thief 
 on the cross. Maybe he just stole a thing or two, but 
 I've done a thousand wrong things things that never 
 could be righted. It is the thing that you can't put right 
 that counts. I've heard my uncle Tom say that, and 
 he was a deep thinker." 
 
 "Right there lies your trouble," the minister said, re 
 sentfully. "You say if there is a God if Jesus ever 
 lived. I must be plain with you, sir. God and Jesus 
 can't and won't be interested in a man who says 'if in 
 the way you do. That very word shows you haven't 
 got faith, and without faith there is no salvation for you 
 nor any one else." 
 
 " Oh, I can't argue!" Henry wailed out, sharply. " But 
 please don't read and sing and pray. I don't want to 
 
 i7 257 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 hear you. You stoned that poor, suffering woman hud 
 dled up there in that chair; you stoned her by not treat 
 ing her as a lady and rising when she came in the room, 
 and by the way your back is turned to her now. Please 
 go away and leave me. My brother will pay you for " 
 
 "Pay me!" the preacher sniffed, reluctantly twisting his 
 body so that he half faced Marty. "I don't make visits 
 like this for pay. You nor he nor no one else could pay 
 me. I see I'm not needed. Thank God, I have kept 
 my temper. I am sorry for you. I am sorry for the 
 the lady you allude to, also, and if I didn't treat her with 
 all the respect she deserves, it was not intended." 
 
 Carter remained standing after the preacher had angrily 
 stalked from the room. Marty sat staring at the floor like 
 a convicted criminal. Presently she got up to go to the 
 kitchen. Henry had turned his face toward the wall, 
 and only the rising and sinking of the sheet over his 
 breast indicated that he was still alive. Carter took the 
 chair vacated by the preacher. It was his movement 
 that caused Henry to glance in his direction. 
 
 "Oh, Cart, Cart, I don't want to die!" he moaned. 
 "You don't know what it's like you never will know till 
 your time comes, till all hope is gone. Say, you haven't 
 led a religious life, either, have you?" 
 
 "No, no." Carter felt that he was fairly hurling a 
 confession at the desperate man with the hope that his 
 own culpability might comfort him. "I've been worse. 
 Henry, I've been a thousand times worse than you. You 
 were never warned, deliberately warned; but I was. 
 At one time I had a chance to make amends for my most 
 grievous offense, and refused. In cold blood, after days 
 of reflection, I refused. I am suffering untold agony at 
 this moment. Your death is my death. It may not seem 
 possible to you, but it is the truth. I sinned against God 
 as no other man to my knowledge ever sinned, and the 
 consequences stand before me in letters of accusing fire." 
 
 258 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "I don't believe it!" Henry said. "You are all right. 
 You show it by your kindness and charity to Marty. 
 She told me last night that she was surprised. She 
 thought you were like Milly, and dreaded meeting you 
 more than anybody in all the world, and yet, she said, 
 from the minute she laid eyes on you she knew you had 
 a kind, pitying heart. She will be awfully lonely after 
 after it is over. She will have no kin or friends to speak 
 a kind word, and I brought her to it. If she hadn't met 
 me, and if I hadn't followed her up, she would have been 
 a contented wife and have had a home and friends." 
 
 "I'll be a friend to her as long as I live," Carter said, 
 deeply moved. 
 
 "I know, but, after all, what can you do? Nothing 
 nothing! Now please leave me alone." 
 
 Wearily Henry turned his face away, and his brother 
 crept softly from the room and out where the slanting 
 rays of the sun swept the yard. 
 
 A long, sultry day dragged by. Late in the afternoon 
 Dr. Manson came. He remained alone with the patient 
 several minutes; then he came out to where Marty and 
 Carter sat on the lowest step of the porch. 
 
 "He is much weaker," he announced. "He is sinking 
 fast. He can't live till sun-up to-morrow." 
 
 "Does he realize that it will be so soon?" Carter 
 asked. 
 
 "I think not. He may soon become unconscious. 
 There is absolutely nothing I can do, and as I am greatly 
 needed on a maternity case down the river, I am afraid 
 I cannot stay longer." 
 
 After he had driven away, Marty went into the sick 
 room and Carter walked to the gate, looking at the bril 
 liant sunset. He thought of the immensity of the ma 
 terial universe, and then the idea occurred to him that 
 the power behind it all was the very force which was 
 then working upon his spirit and that of his dying brother. 
 
 259 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 " What can I do what?" he asked himself, over and over. 
 "And I must do something. I must I must!" 
 
 At twelve o'clock that night Marty came to him as he 
 lay, partly clothed, on his bed. 
 
 " Please come!" she whispered. "I don't know what 
 to do." 
 
 Side by side they went along the hall to the door of 
 the sick-room. Carter heard Henry's voice, and a shock 
 of horror went over him. In low, harsh tones Henry 
 was cursing. Oath followed oath; obscene words, un 
 mentionable confessions made with low, satanic chuckles, 
 fell from his lips. As they entered the room he glared 
 blankly at them, and they saw that he did not know 
 them. 
 
 "Hey, you fellows, listen to this!" He laughed and 
 began a ribald song in a low, piping voice, and then drifted 
 into a story of the vilest order. To stop the sheer horror 
 of the thing Carter bent over him and took his hand. 
 
 "How do you feel, brother?" he asked. 
 
 Henry stared blankly for a moment, then a look of 
 recognition gradually dawned in his eyes. "Oh, it's 
 you!" he cried; and then he frowned upon Marty. "Go 
 away, for God's sake, woman, go away!" he cried. "I 
 can't die with you looking at me like that. You you, of 
 all! Somehow, some way, you look like like my own 
 mother and some dirty harlot all in one. Go away! Go 
 away!" 
 
 With a bewildered stare in her eyes, a welling sob in her 
 throat, Marty glided from the room. Carter heard her 
 tiptoeing along the hall to the front porch, and he had 
 a mental picture of her standing there, looking into the 
 night, weeping and praying desperately. 
 
 "Oh, Cart, Cart" Henry seemed unconscious of what 
 he had just said ' ' can't you do something for me ? May 
 be some specialist some big city doctor could save me. 
 Telegraph to Atlanta. You are rich, one} they would 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 come on the first train. I can't give up! I can't I 
 can't! I've had dreams, awful dreams. Cart, I dreamt 
 that I was at the gate of heaven, unable to enter. I 
 dreamt that I stood there, a raging devil, cursing God and 
 all the angels of light. Oh, Cart, Cart, don't let me die 
 don't!" 
 
 "I'll go; I'll telegraph!" Carter gasped. 
 
 He went out, found Marty on the porch, and told her 
 what Henry wanted, asking her how he could get to the 
 telegraph-office. 
 
 " There is no way to go now," she said, bluntly. " Can't 
 you see that he is dying? The doctor knows and I know 
 he can't last till morning. All the skill on earth couldn't 
 save him. He is doomed or he couldn't say that to me." 
 
 "Yes, it is too late," Carter agreed. "It was only be 
 cause he requested " 
 
 "Hush! Listen!" Marty cried, laying her stiff hand 
 on his breast. 
 
 A sound of harsh, gurgling breathing came to them 
 through the still hall, and they hastened to the sick-room. 
 Henry lay, his head off the pillow, as if he had been try 
 ing to rise in a last supreme effort. He was unconscious, 
 the lids of his eyes opening and closing spasmodically. 
 Marty raised Henry's head and put it on the pillow, and 
 as she did so all sound of his breathing ceased. The face 
 and body lay motionless. 
 
 "Oh, I've killed him!" Marty cried. "I didn't go to 
 do it. Oh! Oh!" 
 
 Carter bent over his brother's face. Presently he felt 
 Henry's breath faintly fanning his cheek and detected 
 the gentle movement of the low chest. 
 
 "No, he is still living," he said. "You've only made 
 him more comfortable, that's all; but he is dying." 
 
 Half an hour later it was over. Carter left Marty 
 drawing a clean sheet, which she had washed and ironed 
 with her own hands, over her dead lover, and went out into 
 
 261 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the still starlight. He breathed in the moist air in selfish 
 relief. Another day, he reflected, and Henry's body would 
 be laid in the little plot back of the house, where lay the 
 remains of his uncle, of his aunt, and of his cousin Tom. 
 Then he, the last male survivor of the tragic family, would 
 leave the spot, never to see it again. Among men, women, 
 and affairs, books and things, he would try to forget it 
 all, and yet there was something he was sure he would 
 never forget never cease to see. It was that last, peace 
 ful look that eyeless stare of wonder and pleased ex 
 pectancy stamped upon the rotting lineaments of a 
 corpse resembling himself. 
 
PART IV 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 TO obtain diversion, to avoid contact with the things 
 which reminded him so keenly of the past, which he 
 now loathed with a slowly awakening soul for higher 
 things, Carter Crofton returned to New York. A change 
 had come over him which only an experienced psychologist 
 could fully explain. He had begun to feel, as all the great 
 mystics of the past have felt, that luxurious living was 
 fundamentally wrong. He had learned from Tolstoy and 
 others that the gradations of selfishness were innumer 
 able, and that even the finest form of it was more or less 
 wrong; the grosser forms wrong to gross men, and the 
 finest forms wrong to those who have partial visions of 
 infinite truth, and yet remain too material to quite shake 
 off the clinging demands of the flesh. So Crofton had 
 come to be almost in terror of his own wealth, and to 
 wonder what he would ultimately do with it. He saw 
 poor men happy, their faces lighted up with content over 
 their humble work, and, while he envied them their lot, 
 he began to feel sure that the whole discordance of his 
 life had risen primarily from his father's selfish accumu 
 lation, and his own more than selfish use of his share of 
 it. This reasoning made him more generous with every 
 one, especially the poor. He did not often give to per 
 sons who knew him, but he gave freely to needy strangers, 
 exulting over the secret thought that he was obeying the 
 divine precept that one should not let his left hand know 
 what his right did. 
 
 So when he reached New York he shrank instinctively 
 
 265 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 from going to the fashionable hotel where he had stayed 
 a short time before. Through an advertisement in one 
 of the morning papers he secured a very inexpensive room 
 in the unpretentious house of Mr. and Mrs. Lampson, 
 an aged couple, in West Ninetieth Street. The quiet, 
 homelike simplicity of the place appealed to his tired 
 fancy; he liked the old people, and they seemed to like 
 him from the start. It pleased him to think that they 
 knew nothing of him and that they would judge him for 
 what he showed himself to be intrinsically. He told 
 them that he was a literary man and a student, and 
 they were not curious to know more, evidently regarding 
 him as a bachelor of limited means, as his simple manner 
 of living and plain attire suggested. 
 
 An idea had come to him that he would, if possible, 
 stay out of all contact with people and things belonging 
 to his past, so he had his letters and business communi 
 cations forwarded to him by his New York bankers, who 
 were instructed not to mention to any one the address 
 of his residence. 
 
 He was now occupied with the rarest pursuit known to 
 those intellectual men who have renounced dogmatic 
 belief, and yet ardently desire as far as possible to solve 
 the "Great Mystery." He was trying to prove to him 
 self that there was an infinite meaning to life. He often 
 told himself that if such men as Jesus, Kant, Rousseau, 
 Socrates, Plato, not to mention hundreds of modern seri 
 ous thinkers of note, had satisfied themselves of their own 
 continuance in another and higher life, such an assur 
 ance might be found even for him, and that was what he 
 now craved almost to the point of monomania. 
 
 He spent at least half of every day reading in the great 
 reference-room of the Public Library, the remainder was 
 given to walks in the streets or parks. He had always had 
 the knack of gaining prompt and easy access to the com 
 panionship of strangers, and now, under the thought that 
 
 266 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 he would not be apt to meet such persons a second time, 
 and that no two of them would compare notes and dis 
 cover the single trend of his mind, he made a point of 
 drawing them into the subject which had so completely 
 absorbed him. Was any human being immortal! If so 
 he himself was, and if he was immortal, then there was a 
 reason for all he had been through and was then experienc 
 ing. The idea that he might be an earthly pupil in an 
 eternal school of spiritual evolution raised him to a trans 
 cendental height. 
 
 He had acquired the habit of talking aloud to himself 
 as he strolled about in quiet places, and he prayed. He 
 prayed oftener when he recalled Henry's death, which 
 he had come to look upon as his own death, for he knew 
 his own was quite as certain and physically would amount 
 to the same. 
 
 One temporary phase of his pursuit was unusual for 
 a man of his type. He had read a good many of the works 
 issued by the Society for Psychical Research and its mem 
 bers in England and America, and in his coversations with 
 strangers he frequently inquired if they or their friends 
 had had such experiences as that society has recorded, 
 investigated, and published. And the result of these 
 inquiries surprised him greatly, for almost daily he was 
 told marvelous things by persons whose sincerity he had 
 no cause to doubt. 
 
 He heard of a certain spiritualistic medium who was 
 said to have wonderful power of divination, and he at 
 tended one of her afternoon seances, although he had 
 learned that such meetings were contrary to the law. 
 He was admitted by a servant-girl, to whom he paid the 
 required fee of one dollar, into a long, gas-lighted parlor 
 where he found about a score of men and women seated 
 in chairs against the wall. In the center of the room, 
 walking to and fro, was a blond woman of middle age 
 and medium height, who weighed over two hundred and 
 
 267 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 fifty pounds. She was dressed as fancifully as a young 
 girl, and seemed proud of the adoration of her audience, 
 all of whom seemed to be habitues of the meetings. When 
 Carter was shown in the medium approached him and 
 gave him a fat hand heavily decorated with rings, and 
 smiled cordially. 
 
 "This is your first visit," she said. 
 
 "I've only been in the city a short while," he returned, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "But you are interested in spiritualism, I'm sure," she 
 went on, still smiling agreeably, and toying with a great 
 red rose which some one of the audience had brought to 
 her. 
 
 "Yes, naturally," he said; "but if you will excuse me 
 for it, I will admit frankly that I am a doubting Thomas." 
 
 "They all are at first'' she laughed, softly; "then some 
 slight thing shows them that I know more than they 
 think I do, and then they come often enough to be wholly 
 convinced in the end. By the way, how did you leave 
 the South?" 
 
 "The South?" he said. "Then you think I am a 
 Southerner?" 
 
 "I? Oh no, not I myself. Such information is always 
 given me by the spirits. There is an elderly lady with 
 you." Here the medium put her hand over her closed 
 eyes and remained silent a moment. "Ah! she may 
 give you a message later. She is your mother, I know that. 
 I see an old-fashioned Southern home, and negroes all 
 about. But I can't get more for you just now; they are 
 pressing around you other relatives, I mean all try 
 ing to speak to you. They know they can use me, you 
 see. I'm what the spirits call 'a light.' I must go to 
 work now; all these good people are waiting on me. I 
 may have a message for you. I can't say positively, but 
 I may." 
 
 She left him and took her place on a low platform at 
 
 268 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the end of the room, where two heavy dark-green curtains 
 hung ready to be drawn together. The gas in the room 
 was lowered till the faces in the group were unrecognizable 
 one to the other. She announced in her natural voice 
 that after a few moments, in which she wished a hymn 
 to be sung, she would become entranced, and while in 
 that condition she would become possessed by her "con 
 trol," a young girl known as "Sunbeam," who had died 
 during the Civil War. The curtains were drawn. Carter 
 heard a chair groan as she sat down in it. Then some one 
 near the platform began to sing "Lead, Kindly Light," 
 and when it was over a low, girlish laugh was heard from 
 behind the curtains. 
 
 "How are you, everybody?" the childlike voice piped 
 up, in tones which to Crofton bore a strong resemblance 
 to the medium's natural utterance. 
 
 "Quite well, thank you, Sunbeam," a woman cried 
 out from the dark human line opposite Crofton. "How 
 are you, to-day?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right," Sunbeam answered in rippling 
 tones. "We are always right on this side. We have 
 nothing to bother us but you poor people who are still 
 sleeping in the dark. We feel like shaking you sometimes, 
 you stupid things!" 
 
 Thereupon followed many eager questions from the 
 audience, to which Sunbeam gave answers which were 
 evidently satisfactory. A tailor wanted to ask his dead 
 father if he should continue to pay for his shop as much 
 rent as his landlord was demanding. 
 
 "If you can't make him more reasonable, give in to 
 him," was the prompt response. "Things are coming out 
 well for you, Mr. Weinmeister. I can't explain how just 
 now, but everything seems bright ahead for you." 
 
 A young woman wanted to know of her departed 
 brother, whom she called "Frank," if she should continue 
 to take the tonic she was using for indigestion, and was 
 
 269 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 told that she might take it at least two weeks longer, 
 but that she must constantly have outdoor exercise and 
 not worry. All these things were boring and disgusting 
 Crofton, and he wanted to get away, but did not know 
 how to do so without disturbing the others, for the door 
 was closed, and he could not see his way to it through the 
 darkness. Suddenly Sunbeam called out: 
 
 "The gentleman from the South is impatient. South 
 erners are impatient as well as hot-headed in a fight or 
 politics," she laughed. "His mother is here. She knows 
 he has had disappointment, grief, or trouble, and wants 
 me to tell him that he worries too much. It will kill 
 him if he doesn't stop." 
 
 At this point Crofton found courage to speak out. He 
 wanted more proof of the genuineness of the thing than he 
 had had. "You say I am from the South," he said. 
 "Perhaps you can tell me my name?" 
 
 "Ah, there you are breaking the rules of the game, 
 sir," Sunbeam tittered. "Names used on earth are sel 
 dom ever recalled by us on this side. It is hard to ex 
 plain, but we have no longer any use for them. Mine 
 was was I declare I don't remember." 
 
 "Well, what can you tell me that I ought to know," 
 Crofton said, coldly. 
 
 "This much," was the obviously resentful reply, "and 
 that is that you want to understand these things very 
 much, but you have now a frame of mind that will pre 
 vent you from getting at the truth. You doubt every 
 thing you see and hear in this room. I am never able 
 to satisfy a doubting person, and I no longer try. I tell 
 you now, however, that I can help you in your business 
 if you will come to my meetings like the rest of these 
 people, and not always be on the lookout for fraud." 
 
 "My business?" Crofton sneered. "I have no busi 
 ness." 
 
 "You say you have no business?" The voice fell al- 
 
 270 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 most into the coarser tone of the medium's normal voice. 
 "You see, sir, what you mean and what I mean are dif 
 ferent things. I use the word 'business' for everything 
 that a person is engaged in. Your business at present is 
 getting this spiritual question settled. Am I on the right 
 track?" 
 
 "Perhaps," he answered; "still, you have not told me 
 anything that is at all convincing." 
 
 "I haven't, eh? Well, it is only your own fault. 
 What what is it back there? Don't all speak at once. 
 I'm under an awful strain to-day. Tell him what? What 
 is it you want him to know? You are his brother, eh? 
 You look dazed. You haven't been over here long. Now, 
 now, that will do. I will tell him if I can, but I'm sure 
 when I get back on the earth plane it will slip from me." 
 
 "Did you say it was my brother?" Carter asked. 
 
 "That is what he says," the medium answered. "He 
 told me something he wanted you to know, but I can't 
 remember it. If you will come here again I may be able 
 to tell you, but not to-day. I've given you a lot of my 
 force. I'm as weak as a sick kitten." Here Sunbeam 
 laughed softly. "Hush! 'sh sh! That same fellow is 
 tugging and pulling at me. He is a desperate, miserable 
 shade of a man, anyway. They are calling him back 
 there, his mother and father and an uncle, I think he is 
 yes, his uncle. I hear the name Hal Hal Hen Hen 
 Henry ! Henry yes, that is right Henry. Henry some 
 thing or other. It begins with a C, but that is all I know. 
 Folks, I'm plumb fagged out. You must all go away now. 
 I'll see you, as usual, next meeting." 
 
 The gas was turned up; a curtain at the window on the 
 street was raised; the sunlight blended with that of the 
 gas, showing faces from which Crofton shrank instinctive 
 ly as belonging to persons of materialistic tendencies. In 
 the crowded hall he found himself close to a short, bald, 
 middle-aged man. 
 
 271 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "You had luck," the man said, his eyes blinking almost 
 timidly behind a pair of double-thick glasses. 
 
 "Luck? What do you mean by that?" Crofton asked, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Why, she told you a lot for a first visit. I came here 
 five times before she ever gave me as much as she did 
 you. I lost my wife three years ago. I was miserable till 
 I happened to hear of Madam's wonderful power. I 
 wouldn't take a fortune for what she's told me. I get a 
 message at least once a week from my wife. She says 
 she is waiting for me on the other side. That's comfort, 
 isn't it, when up to that time I didn't believe I was any 
 more than a hog? Now I know what is ahead." 
 
 "Has this medium ever told you a single thing that you 
 did not already know?" Crofton asked, sharply. They 
 were on the stoop outside now, and the man made no 
 answer till they had reached the pavement. He seemed 
 to be reflecting. 
 
 "I can't say she has, exactly," he answered, presently; 
 "but but I'm satisfied. Didn't you like what she told 
 you?" 
 
 "She told me nothing that I did not know," Crofton 
 said in a tone of contempt. "Thought-reading even 
 subconscious thought-reading is an established fact, as 
 is telepathy and other psychic phenomena. In my opin 
 ion this woman is a fraud and ought to be arrested." 
 
 "You don't mean that, surely?" The man shrank 
 back in surprise. 
 
 "I certainly do," Crofton answered, sharply. "She 
 has deluded you, for one." 
 
 He left the man staring dumbly after him as he strode 
 away. Crofton was thoroughly disgusted. He felt as if 
 he had pulled a beautiful ideal down into the mire. He 
 told himself that if he could not arrive at the great truth 
 which he was seeking by a more worthy means he would 
 give up the pursuit of it. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 HE had never felt more lonely and discouraged in his 
 life than he did that night when he went to his room 
 to go to bed. The old couple were entertaining visitors 
 in the back parlor. Their daughter, son-in-law, and 
 two children, a boy and a girl, had come in from a subur 
 ban town to spend a few days. Mr. Lampson heard his 
 latch-key in the lock and hastened out to invite him in to 
 meet his guests and partake of some beer and a rarebit 
 which the son-in-law was making. But Crofton excused 
 himself and went on up to his room. 
 
 It was not ten o'clock, and yet he began to prepare for 
 bed. Some one, he was sure, from the touch on the keys, 
 that it was a child, began playing the piano. The simple 
 air ended, and the older people clapped their hands and 
 shouted in admiration. 
 
 "Splendid! Splendid!" It was Mr. Lampson's voice. 
 "Now, come sit on my knee and give 'old granddad' a 
 hug, you little beauty!" 
 
 Crofton closed his door to shut out the sounds of merri 
 ment. 
 
 "What is the use?" he asked himself. " How can I pos 
 sibly go on like this ?" Suddenly he bethought of his mor 
 phine, took the bottle from his pocket, and fondled it in 
 his sweat-damp palm. "More than enough to put me 
 out of it all," he reflected. "They say it is a painless 
 sleep, a soothing glide off into eternal nothingness. Why 
 shouldn't I end it all? Why?" 
 
 He shook out some of the tablets into his hand. " That 
 would be enough," he said. "They would find me here 
 
 18 273 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 in the morning, looking like like Henry did. My God! 
 I'd look like that! I'd be like that! Lydia Romley might 
 hear of it through some newspaper and know that she was 
 at last avenged. She would feel relieved, perhaps. Oh, 
 how beautiful she was that day in Washington! She 
 has risen in spite of the blight I left upon her, while I 
 have sunk down, down to this, and what could be worse 
 what more just?" 
 
 Obeying a sudden impulse, he put the tablets back into 
 the bottle and dropped it into his pocket. Then he fin 
 ished disrobing and got into bed, and lay there trying 
 to compose his mind for sleep. 
 
 He waked the next morning with a headache and feel 
 ing even more despondent than ever. He thought of 
 going to the Public Library to read, but gave up the idea, 
 for he was in no mood for reading. In fact, there was no 
 subject which interested him now except the one he had 
 entertained the night before suicide, and it both charmed 
 and repelled him. 
 
 He thought of it as he sat in the little restaurant, drink 
 ing his coffee. He wondered what the jovial young Irish 
 waitress, with that rosy glow on her cheeks and those 
 smiling pink lips, would think if she knew she was serving 
 a man who was going to die by his own hand. He was 
 sure now that he would not live till the sun set that day. 
 Indeed, when he left the restaurant he began deliberately 
 to plan the gruesome act. He had read of persons who 
 had taken their lives out in quiet, shaded retreats in the 
 open air. That was good, he told himself, for it would 
 be dying on the bosom of Nature like a starved animal, 
 a bird with broken wings, or a reptile reptile! Why had 
 he thought of that? He thought of Lydia, and a sob of 
 self-pity rose and hung in his throat. Oh, if only she 
 would forgive him she whom he had wronged so terribly, 
 and whom he had loved and still loved with a passion 
 which he was now beginning to understand. 
 
 274 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 He found himself at the Subway station at Ninety- 
 sixth Street, and entered the up-town side with a throng 
 of passengers. On the concrete below the street he stood 
 hesitating, not knowing what he would do. He allowed 
 several trains to pass him, and then, seeing one marked 
 Van Cortlandt Park, he went in and sat down. A merry 
 party of young men and girls with golf -bags sat across the 
 aisle and were laughing merrily. They were going to 
 play a game with sticks and balls on a sward of green! 
 while he was going out to die. How wretched life was, 
 These young fools would realize it sooner or later. Had 
 life not once been as bright to him, and what was it now ? 
 
 At Dyckman Street he left the train, for he had got a 
 glimpse of the sheer, brown cliffs of the Palisades on the 
 New Jersey shore across the Hudson, and remembered 
 that there was a small motor-ferryboat at the foot of the 
 street which took passengers over every few minutes. 
 Leaving the train, he walked along the street till he saw 
 a brown, brawny boatman waving a red flag and shouting : 
 
 "Ferry! Ferry! This way, please! First boat to 
 Jersey!" 
 
 The little launch was almost filled with eager excur 
 sionists. Some Boy Scouts, in brown-duck uniforms, 
 with tents, cooking utensils, and axes in unwieldy bundles, 
 were loading a flatboat which was rocking alongside the 
 float. Several young men and young girls in attractive 
 bathing-suits were getting into canoes. Most of the 
 young men were smoking cigarettes. A sweet-faced 
 woman sat next to Crofton, holding a big basket filled 
 with provisions. She was explaining to another woman 
 opposite that her three little sons were living in a tent 
 among the campers on the other side, and that she was 
 going over to see how they were getting on. After the 
 boat had started a girl in the stern began to play a man 
 dolin, and her companion, a handsome young man in a red 
 sweater, white-duck trousers, and tennis shoes, began to 
 
 275 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 sing. Some of the passengers joined in. The boatman, 
 busy at the wheel, made a jest about taking up a collec 
 tion, and everybody laughed except Crofton. How could 
 he laugh? The very care-free merriment of the others 
 grated on him. How could they be so joyous? He told 
 himself bitterly that they were mere human flies buzzing 
 before the cobweb trap of life in the depths of which lay 
 hidden a monster which, sooner or later, would devour 
 their bodies and souls. What would they think of the 
 part he was to play in the day's program? Would it stop 
 their insane merriment for a minute? 
 
 A great steamer bound for Albany had just passed. 
 Its decks were filled with passengers. It threw off huge 
 waves which caused the little ferryboat to rise and fall 
 like a floating nutshell, and the spray to dash over the 
 merrymakers. They passed a young man swimming 
 toward the Jersey shore with strong, even strokes. 
 
 "He is going across again," the boatman told a man at 
 his side. "I know him. He does it once a week. One 
 of these days he will go down with the cramps. He is 
 tired now, but it would make him mad if I offered to take 
 him aboard." 
 
 "Hey, want a cigar, Joe?" he jestingly called out to the 
 swimmer. 
 
 "No, thanks," was the answer. 
 
 The landing was made. The boatman sprang upon the 
 pier, drew a rope around a post, and began to help the 
 women out. The pier was quite long, and from its sides 
 men and boys were throwing out crab-nets. The beach 
 was level and sandy, and there were bath-houses and 
 floats for bathers. Canoes of many brilliant colors and 
 several launches and rowboats gave almost a Venetian 
 touch to the scene. The blue water was alive with swim 
 mers, who were shrieking from the pure joy of life. All 
 along the wooded shore at the immediate foot of the brown 
 cliffs stood the white tents of campers from the city, 
 
 37$ 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Leaving the pier, Crofton took a winding path which 
 led into the dense shade of a veritable jungle of trees, 
 underbrush, wild vines, and mossy, gray boulders. He 
 looked up the side of the great natural wall and wished 
 it would lean forward, crack, groan, fall upon him and 
 bury him from the sight of mankind for ever. 
 
 He had walked northward perhaps half a mile before 
 he saw a spot which seemed retired enough for his purpose. 
 It was a nook thickly clothed in dogwood and sassafras 
 bushes about a hundred yards from the path on his left. 
 The ground was uneven; covered with jagged stones, and 
 the incline was steep ; but he finally reached it and sat down 
 with his back against a cool foot-stone of the vast cliff. 
 He told himself that the spot was suitable. What more 
 fitting than that last view of the sun across the water, 
 and the far-off white line of the city's apartment-houses ? 
 for he was done with it all. The first stood for relentless 
 Nature, the other was the useless work of Nature's blind 
 and stupid victims. Shouts and songs came from the 
 camps along the shore below. How could they be so 
 contented? Had they never suffered or seen suffering in 
 others? Had they never pleaded with God to tell them 
 the awful meaning of life, and been beaten by the mad 
 dening silence of the unknowable? 
 
 He took from his pocket his little bottle and kissed it. 
 He shook out the tablets one by one into a palm which 
 appeared to him to be paler, more bloodless, and more 
 clammy than ever before. The five-pronged thing with 
 its polished nails was steady. He marveled over that, 
 and held out his arm at full length. It, too, was steady. 
 He himself was steady. His pulse was beating no 
 quicker than usual. Why wait? Why wait? he asked 
 himself. One by one he would swallow the tablets till 
 he had taken enough, then he would lie back and sleep 
 sleep! 
 
 He was about to take the first tablet when he heard 
 
 277 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 some one idly whistling not far from him. Quickly con 
 cealing the morphine, he looked about him. Presently 
 he discovered, a few yards above him, on a vine-hung 
 shelf of the cliff, a young man with a pencil and a pad of 
 paper on his knee. He was busy writing even while he 
 whistled. He was tall, well formed, athletic in build, 
 had a smooth, sun-browned face, neck, and hands, hazel 
 eyes, and a thick shock of dark hair, which he wore rather 
 long and carelessly roached back from a fine brow. Crof- 
 ton watched him for several minutes, and presently the 
 other, looking down, caught his eye. 
 
 "Good morning," he said, smiling. "I saw you climb 
 up there just now, and started to warn you to look out. 
 There are a lot of rattlesnakes around us. I've scared up 
 two or three this morning, myself." 
 
 "Thank you very much." Crofton shuddered at the 
 sudden sound of his voice. 
 
 "It is a wonderful day, isn't it?" the younger man said, 
 agreeably. "May I ask if you happen to have a match? 
 I'm dying for a smoke. I had some, but I got them wet 
 in my canoe."- On receiving an affirmative reply he 
 took a big pipe from his pocket and began to fill it with 
 tobacco. "Don't get up," he cried; "I'm coming that 
 way. I've got to go down to my tent to cook some lunch. 
 I am as hungry as a bear." 
 
 Crofton had taken some matches from his pocket, and 
 the young man started down to him. He tripped on a 
 rolling stone, slid to a sitting posture, and with a merry 
 laugh got up, his pipe still between his fine white teeth. 
 
 "I'm always doing that stunt," he said, flushing be 
 neath his dark skin, his deep brown eyes seeming to smile 
 behind their thick lashes. "Thank you, thank you, very 
 much, sir," taking the matches. " I simply go crazy when 
 I can't smoke. Oh, I say, sir, look where you are sitting!" 
 He was pointing the stem of his pipe at the thick, dark- 
 leaved vines upon which Crofton sat. "Don't you know 
 
 278 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 that plant? It's poison ivy. It plays the very devil 
 with the skin this time of the year when the pores are open. 
 I had a dose of it three years ago when I and some other 
 fellows were camping over here." 
 
 "I didn't know what it was," Crofton answered, rising 
 and moving to a fallen tree, where he sat down. " I don't 
 think I touched it with my hands." 
 
 "Oh, I guess you've escaped it this time." The young 
 man had lighted his pipe, and as he puffed the smoke from 
 his mouth he bent over the ivy leaves and examined them 
 closely. "Isn't it queer that they haven't the same nor 
 mal look as ordinary leaves?" 
 
 "I had not thought of it," Crofton answered. 
 
 "I wonder if I have a special sight for such things?" 
 the other continued, as if speaking half to himself, and 
 bending lower. "I sometimes fancy that I see a deeper 
 meaning in natural things than many of my friends do." 
 He raised his eyes with an expression almost of earnest 
 appeal. "For instance, it seems to me that these leaves 
 have their noisome character stamped upon them like the 
 faces of some disagreeable people. See how how vil 
 lainous, how different from other plants they look! I've 
 seen a stout young oak actually killed by their twining 
 about its trunk. Of course plants feel, think, and know 
 what pertains to their welfare, and the beautiful and use 
 ful ones, with their flowers and their fruits, must heartily 
 detest these contemptible things." 
 
 "I presume so." Crof ton's thoughts were quite drawn 
 from himself and his troubles by the youth's attractive 
 appearance and original talk. "You must be a great 
 student?" he added, his glance now on the pad and 
 pencil. "And do you write, too?" 
 
 " Yes, I write more or less, and I'm a regular book fiend," 
 the other laughed! "As for my writings, I am not sure 
 yet what they amount to. I think I am peculiar, for 
 everybody says so. They call me a crank. It used to 
 
 279 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 make me very unhappy. I worried about it a great deal, 
 and finally I determined to find out what was wrong with 
 me and sought the explanation in books." 
 
 "Wrong with you? Why do you put it that way?" 
 Crofton asked. 
 
 "Well, it was an uncomfortable feeling, anyway." 
 The speaker sat down on the log beside Crofton and con 
 tracted his brows thoughtfully. "You see, I am always 
 finding that the things which interest me most are abso 
 lute foolishness to everybody about me, and my friends 
 do not hesitate to tell me so whenever I open my mouth 
 on any subject that claims my attention." 
 
 "WTiat subject, for instance, if you would not mind 
 making your meaning a little clearer?" Crofton leaned 
 forward almost eagerly. 
 
 "There you go!" the youth laughed. "You ask that 
 like the average practical person that takes me to task, 
 and if I give you a straightforward answer from my heart 
 you will no doubt think I am silly, and deny my statement 
 as all the rest do. I sometimes think, from books I've 
 read, that I am a mystic, and I don't say it boastingly, 
 you see, for very uneducated persons shoemakers, tai 
 lors, and the like are often mystics." 
 
 "What is your definition of the word 'mystic'?" Crof 
 ton inquired, even more interested. 
 
 "Oh, the regular philosophical one, I suppose," the 
 youth said, with another of his characteristic frowns. "I 
 think a mystic is a person with a highly developed power 
 of sensing the infinite spirit of the universe within himself, 
 and, that being so, he comprehends the unimportance of 
 the visible material things which the ordinary world not 
 only values, but worships. That frame of mind isolates 
 him, you see, from the rest of his kind. But I am boring 
 you, I am sure." 
 
 "Oh no, you are not!" Crofton declared. "In fact, I 
 am very, very much interested. I have read these things in 
 
 280 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the works of old philosophers, but never expected to find 
 that they were believed in by one so young as yourself. 
 You certainly think deeply and also you seem to believe 
 in God." 
 
 ' ' Believe in God ? who doesn't ?" the boy replied. "Ah" 
 he dropped a sudden sympathetic and probing glance 
 on Crof ton's face "now I understand you better. I was 
 wondering what was was odd about you. I felt it I 
 felt that you were out of harmony somehow, and now 
 that I look at you more closely I see marks of suffering 
 in your face. You have suffered, have you not?" 
 
 "I've always been morbid," Crof ton answered, with 
 desperate candor. "I have never been able to quite con 
 quer the tendency. It has clung to me since I was a 
 young man, and increased till at times it is almost un 
 bearable." 
 
 "I see." The youth gravely refilled his pipe, packing 
 the tobacco down into the big bowl with a slender finger. 
 "I wish I could help you, but I'm afraid I can't. There 
 is one single thing, and one thing only that will cure a 
 man of your disease, and no one can give it to him. He 
 has to have if naturally. It is expressed in one short 
 word Faith." 
 
 "Faith?" Crofton repeated, wondering what his strange 
 companion would say next. 
 
 "Yes, if a man believed absolutely that all was well 
 with the universe, and reflected for a moment on its 
 grandeur, he could not be unhappy about anything. The 
 unhappiness of intellectual persons and they are the 
 most unhappy persons in the world comes from doubt. 
 But, after all, in a way, you are lucky to be as you are." 
 
 "Lucky? Why do you say that?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "Because it proves that you have a rare quality, and 
 that is the capacity for suffering. It proves, too, that 
 you are on your way out." 
 
 "On my way out?" Crofton wondered at the soothing 
 281 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 spell that lay over him at the subtle comfort he was 
 finding in the companionship of this startling youth. 
 
 "Oh yes, you are on the way out. I can see it in your 
 face and eyes I can almost now I am tempted to say 
 one of the things that people always laugh at, and yet 
 which I believe and which some great philosophers be 
 lieve, according to their writings, and that is, that " 
 Here the speaker paused, looked silently at the ground 
 for several minutes, and flushed. "What's the use? I 
 can't put it in words. I am always tempted to try to 
 express such things, only to find my tongue tied in the 
 effort. The very greatest things are those which one can 
 not transmit to another, and this is one of them. It haunts 
 me at this instant haunts me like like a dream that is 
 full of meaning, but I can't express it. I can't I can't." 
 
 "I wish you would try," Crofton gently urged. "You 
 see, you mentioned it as some impression you got from 
 my own looks." 
 
 "I wish I could make myself clear" the youth was 
 still modestly flushing "especially since you are in 
 terested, and so few are in such things. Whitman touches 
 upon the idea, and Maeterlinck goes more deeply into it. 
 I have felt it often often, and it has given me the great 
 est happiness. Well, it is like this: I have been talking 
 to persons average persons and in my work (I am a 
 cabinet-maker, a wood-carver) I meet all classes of people 
 from the lowest to the highest. I say I've been talking 
 to persons it might be an ex-convict, a thief, a close- 
 fisted business man, a daredevil sailor with half a dozen 
 wives in as many ports, a girl prostitute, when in mo 
 mentary flashes I have seemed actually to see, not only 
 feel and sense, but see with the eyes of my subconscious 
 self their perfect souls shining pleadingly through their 
 bodies like a wonderful light that is not a light." 
 
 "And do you feel that way about me?" Crofton asked, 
 breathlessly, almost in reverential awe. 
 
 283 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Yes; not just at this instant, for it always seems to 
 go when I try to fix it, or analyze it, and I can't make it 
 come again. It is a strange, wonderful thing, but to a 
 person who has not had the experience it is an idiotic idea. 
 I have an imagination which I have indulged since I was 
 a child, and I like to fancy things that no other human 
 being ever thought of. It seems to me that everything, 
 Df a high order, at least, that is imagined may be a reality 
 to the one who conceives it. I have written hundreds of 
 things sketches, poems, stories and stacked them up in 
 my room. I may try to publish the best of them some day, 
 but I am not ready yet. I want to be older and have 
 more experience. I want to travel see the world and 
 live. I've been tied down all my life, and my longing to 
 know more is almost unbearable." 
 
 "Have you been to college?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "I, to college? That's a joke," the youth laughed. "I 
 have never had the chance. I've had to work hard -all 
 my life. I went to the public school a little while. My 
 mother taught me almost all I knew till I began to read 
 for myself. My father well, I have never seen him in 
 my life, and may never do so. I sometimes hope that I 
 never shall. I don't like to think of him. My mother 
 had to work hard to support me and my grandmother, 
 and I started to work as soon as I was big enough. I am 
 having a two months' vacation this summer. That is why 
 I am here now. The shop I am working at has shut 
 down for the season. I dread going back in the fall. 
 This" he waved his hand toward the river and the cliffs 
 "is heaven. I wish it could last for ever. Well, I must 
 go down to my tent. If you feel hungry and will come 
 with me I'll cook something for you, and make some 
 good coffee." 
 
 "Thank you," Crofton answered, "I am going back to 
 the city now, but I am coming over again." 
 
 "To-morrow? Shall you be over then?" the youth 
 
 283 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 asked, eagerly. "For if you are coming I'll give you a 
 good lunch. I've ordered a big beefsteak to be delivered 
 in the morning. Some fellows were to be with me from 
 the other side, and they sent word that they would not 
 be over. We have no ice here, and meat will spoil soon. 
 I wish you would come help me eat it." 
 
 "I can't come quite so soon, though it is kind of you 
 to want me," Crofton answered. "I'll be over again in a 
 few days, and I'll be sure to look you up. Whose tent 
 shall I ask for?" 
 
 "Just ask for 'Socrates,'" the youth laughed. "A 
 witty Irishman dubbed me that in the shop a few years 
 ago, and it has stuck to me ever since. My name is 
 Allen Joseph Allen; but everybody, even my boss, now 
 calls me 'Socrates.' You see, they make sport of me for 
 reading so much. You'd laugh to hear the staggering 
 questions they put to me. Well, good-by. I'll expect 
 you soon." 
 
 "I'll be sure to come," Crofton answered. 
 
 He sat watching the boy descend the steep incline, 
 jumping as nimbly as a fawn from rock to rock, and 
 darting like a wild thing through the vines and bushes till 
 he was out of sight. Crofton heard his merry whistle 
 down near the tents on the water's edge, and wondered 
 over the new interest which had so quickly risen in his 
 life. For the first time in years he felt that he had found 
 a friend whom he could trust and whom he could unsel 
 fishly care for. He put his hand into his pocket, felt the 
 bottle of morphine, and shuddered. He had actually 
 been on the verge of self-destruction. He must have 
 been mad, he told himself. What would his new acquaint 
 ance have thought of that? With the heel of his shoe he 
 dug a hole in the dark, moist soil, shook the tablets into 
 it, and in shame over his past weakness he pounded the 
 earth over them. Then he hurled the bottle against a 
 boulder and smashed it. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A) he walked back to the boat-landing, along the rugged 
 path, Crofton was conscious of a certain buoyancy of 
 mood and body that was new and delightful. The air 
 Socrates had whistled was ringing in his ears like a sooth 
 ing lullaby to the discordance which had so long mas 
 tered him. If a mere boy like that who had to work for 
 his living could have such a sustaining and uplifting faith, 
 why couldn't he have it? 
 
 "Socrates, my new friend," he said, aloud, "you shall 
 not escape me. You are my panacea. I'll dog your 
 steps, my boy. I'll drink at your fount of wisdom till 
 I am drunken with the truth and find peace 'the peace 
 which passeth understanding/" 
 
 Under his new experience he hardly knew how the 
 remainder of the day was passed. He walked in River 
 side Park like a dreaming somnambulist till eight o'clock 
 in the evening; then he went to his room, disrobed, and, 
 the night being warm, he threw himself down on his bed 
 before an open window. How could he account for the 
 compelling and yet elusive charm of that chance acquaint 
 ance? He gave up trying to do so. He knew, only, that 
 the boy's rich personality and evident genius had nestled 
 into every recess of his tired consciousness. 
 
 When he waked the next morning his first thought 
 was of Socrates. He looked from his window into the 
 street. An ice-wagon stood on the opposite side, the 
 driver was sawing a huge block of ice into small pieces 
 and taking them to the basement doors with massive 
 
 385 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 tongs. Why, a laborer like that could be happy with the 
 faith of Socrates a man on the gallows would be in bliss 
 with it to hold to. 
 
 Then Crofton began to wonder how long it would be 
 before he could meet the youth again without appearing 
 to be too eager. Why had he not accepted the invitation 
 for that very day ? The boy had extended it sincerely ; 
 he had really wanted him to come. Without knowing who 
 or what he was, Socrates had shown a sincere desire for 
 his company. Then perhaps the attraction was mutual. 
 
 Crofton spent the greater part of that day in the Public 
 Library. He pulled down book after book in the vast 
 reference-room, but scarcely read a dozen pages. How 
 flat and uninspired the written words seemed contrasted 
 to that unique talk on the side of the cliff ! 
 
 When he waked the next morning and saw that the 
 day was fine he decided to go at once across the river. 
 
 "Why delay? Why delay?" he said. "I want to 
 see him. I must see him!" 
 
 Accordingly, he ate his breakfast in a cheerful, even 
 joyous mood, and by ten o'clock had reached the New 
 Jersey shore. He betook himself at once to the path 
 leading to the encampment. The day was glorious. A 
 faint, bluish haze hovered over Columbia College, Grant's 
 Tomb, the lofty apartment-houses and mansions farther 
 northward on Riverside Drive, and over Fort Washington 
 Park. 
 
 After a few minutes' walk the long line of tents was 
 reached. All were close to the water's edge, and many 
 of them showed great care and pride in their keeping. 
 Before the doors little fires of driftwood were smolder 
 ing in small ovens of stone covered with iron gratings. 
 Crofton paused at a fire where a brawny young man with 
 an abnormally red face, and wearing a ragged bathing-suit, 
 was boiling some vegetable soup in a pot. 
 
 "Good morning," Crofton greeted him. "I am look- 
 
 286 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ing for the tent of Joseph Allen, a young man. Is it near 
 here?" 
 
 "Don't know any guy by that name," the man an 
 swered, "and I've been here some time. Maybe you are 
 on the wrong track; there is a gang of young blokes with 
 a lot of canoes and plenty of booze in a big tent below 
 the landing. I don't know that they own up to any of 
 their nasme. The police on this side have threatened 
 to lock them up several times." 
 
 "No, Allen's tent is somewhere near here, I am sure," 
 Crofton answered. "I met him up there on the rocks 
 the other day. I think his friends call him * Socrates.'" 
 
 "Oh, Socrates!" the other laughed. "Say, Skipper, did 
 you hear what the guy said?" turning toward his tent. 
 
 "I heard him," a voice answered, and the smoke- 
 begrimed face of another young man, who was lying 
 on a canvas cot, was exposed by the sudden widening of 
 the tent's entrance. "Call Soc by a name like that and 
 he wouldn't look around." 
 
 "You bet we all know that guy," the first speaker 
 smiled. " He's everybody's friend. There are thirty-odd 
 tents in this row alone, and twenty of them came here on 
 account of that lad. His tent is further up the line. 
 You can't miss it. It is the only one with a wood floor 
 to it. Soc built it out of planks he picked up on the 
 water. He knows how to use a saw and hammer. Walk 
 straight ahead. You can't miss it." 
 
 Crofton went on up the line. Men and women, boys, 
 girls, and babies in hammocks and boxes were in and 
 about the tents. Presently he descried a neat white tent 
 on a raised floor. It was open, but no one was in or 
 about it. On the water's edge near by a barefooted 
 young man with an Irish type of face, in a soiled under 
 shirt and brown overalls rolled up to his knees, was 
 painting an inverted canoe which rested on two stones. 
 Crofton inquired for Socrates. 
 
 287 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "He's out on the float," the boy answered, with a touch 
 of the Irish brogue. "He's in the swimming-match the 
 boys got up for to-day. They are going to dive off in a 
 minute. Look, they are lining up now. They will start 
 as soon as the gun is fired." 
 
 Crofton saw a float three or four hundred yards out, 
 on the edge of which a dozen young men stood in a straight 
 line, looking down-stream. He thought he recognized the 
 tall, slender form of his new friend. 
 
 "What is the course?" he asked the boy beside him. 
 
 "See the launch anchored this side of the landing?" 
 was the reply from a big, facile mouth into which the 
 boy had thrust the handle of his brush. "They have to 
 go down there, pass around it, and swim back. The first 
 man to touch the float wins." 
 
 "What sort of swimmer is Socrates?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "Fine a regular fish!" the paint-brush mumbled; "but 
 Soc don't feel so certain to-day. You see, two regular 
 champs from the City College came over and entered 
 at the last minute. Soc is the best unprofesh swimmer 
 on the shore. He's got a dandy stroke. Shoots along with 
 his head underwater like a torpedo-boat, and for a slim 
 guy his wind is tiptop, but he is nervous to-day." 
 
 There was some delay; the line broke up and a group 
 formed as if some discussion were taking place. All along 
 the shore Crofton saw the inmates of the tents emerge 
 and stand watching, and there was much impatient 
 shouting and many jocular suggestions 
 
 "Say, want to row out with me?" the boy asked. "I 
 have got a boat handy. We could get close to 'em and 
 follow 'em along." 
 
 "Yes, if you don't mind," Crofton replied. 
 
 "Well, come jump in!" The boy was already drawing 
 a narrow white boat over the sand to the water, and the 
 next moment it was afloat on the rising tide. Crofton 
 took a seat in the stern, and the boy, who had waded 
 
 288 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 into the shallow water, sprang in, grasped the oars, and 
 began to pull for the float. The argument among the 
 contestants was evidently prolonged, and the boat was 
 quite near the float before the swimmers were ordered to 
 form another line. And when they were so ordered 
 Crofton saw Socrates stand erect on the edge of the float. 
 As he did so Socrates caught sight of the boat and its 
 occupants, and with evident pleasure smiled and waved 
 his hand. 
 
 "Soc, I've got a friend o' yours," the boy cried out. 
 "He was lookin' for you." 
 
 "I see you have, Jimmy. Thanks, old boy. I'll come 
 ashore soon." 
 
 "Hey, Soc, you are goin' to win this race, remember!" 
 Jimmy shouted back for other ears than his friend's. "You 
 will leave them fat, bloated life-preservers like empty 
 beer-kegs behind you. They can't swim outside of a pool 
 under a college roof. Hold your wind, old boy, and don't 
 make us ashamed of you." 
 
 "All right Jimmy!" Socrates laughed. " I '11 do my best." 
 
 "Hey, Jimmy," one of the college men retaliated, 
 "keep your boat close to your friend. You may have 
 to pick him up before we get through with him." 
 
 Jimmy grunted loudly in contempt, but made no 
 further answer. The line of swimmers stood straight 
 on the edge of the float. Every man had his hands 
 clasped above his head. Crofton was strangely stirred 
 by the scene, and the form of his new acquaintance was 
 a poem in manly athletic flesh. 
 
 "Ready!" the leader cried, pointing his revolver up 
 ward. " I'll count three and fire. Ready now. One, two, 
 three!" 
 
 The revolver was fired. The line of men, curving down 
 ward, cut the water's surface and went out of sight. 
 Presently they appeared, spouting and churning the water 
 like sporting seals, and yet all were moving forward. 
 
 19 289 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 The sunlight glaring on the water temporarily blinded 
 Crofton, and he lost sight of Socrates. 
 
 " I don't see him," he said to Jimmy, anxiously. 
 
 "I do; he's all right!" Jimmy panted, as he threw him 
 self backward and jerked the boat along. "He's all right 
 second so far. Gee! look at that stroke! He is getting 
 there, I tell you ! He's on his mettle this morning. The 
 honor of the camp is in his hands, and he knows it. Go 
 it, Soc! You've just got one to beat! Spit on the fat 
 son-of-a-gun and drown him!" 
 
 "Go it, Soc! Go it, Soc!" The cries came from the 
 men, women, boys, and girls on the shore. And Crofton 
 heard himself shouting like a madman and waving his 
 hat and handkerchief. "Go it, Soc! Bravo!" he cried. 
 And he had time, too, strange to say, to marvel over his 
 own experience, which somehow seemed the rarest of his 
 life. He found himself almost chilled by a fear that an 
 accident might happen to his friend. Socrates might 
 break a blood-vessel under such great strain, and sink. 
 
 On the swimmers went like a triangular school of fish, 
 two still in the lead. They were now going round the 
 anchored launch. Now they were heading back for the 
 float. 
 
 "Damn 'im, the fat guy has gained on 'im!" Jimmy 
 swore, under his breath, as he madly cut and "feathered" 
 the water with the oars. "It is too long a dash for Soc 
 rates. Take breath, you damn fool!" he called out to 
 his friend. " That bloak is all in ! Be deliberate ! Plenty 
 of time before you. There you are there! God bless 
 you ! That's the lick ! You swiped a full yard from him ! 
 He is swallowing water. He's done for. God bless you, 
 Soc, you may fry my ears for your dinner!" 
 
 There were now only two contestants; all the others 
 were swimming more or less leisurely in the rear, and 
 those two were battling side by side with apparently 
 equal chances. The shouting and screaming came in a 
 
 290 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 rolling wave of sound from the shore, where several were 
 watching with field and opera glasses. Jimmy was silent 
 now in sheer anxiety, keeping the boat alongside the two 
 swimmers. Crofton caught a view of Socrates' face, as 
 it swiftly turned to and fro with each stroke. It was 
 tense and pale; his fine lips were pressed tightly together. 
 In a flash their eyes met, and the swimmer smiled. 
 
 "You are bound to win!" Crofton shouted, his heart in 
 his mouth. " Don't give up don't!" 
 
 The float was now only thirty yards distant. He was 
 not sure, but it struck Crofton that his words had had a 
 powerful effect on Socrates. He seemed electrified. One 
 mighty stroke pushed him a foot ahead of his rival, an 
 other backward thrust through the foaming water and he 
 was still further ahead. Crofton heard the college man 
 swearing, saw conscious defeat stamped on the dripping 
 face, and then, as the slim swimmer shot ahead like an 
 eel, he gave it up, and turned on his back to float and 
 rest. The hand of the leader reached down and drew 
 Socrates out of the water. The hand holding the re 
 volver went round the strong, brown neck. Jimmy was 
 lying in the bottom of the boat, kicking the middle seat 
 with his heels and actually shedding tears. 
 
 "Darling boy! Angel one! King of the deep, deep 
 sea!" he sobbed, as he sat erect. "The man that can 
 beat you, my honey, has a steam propeller at the base of 
 his spine. Say, some of you Latin and Greek and trigonom 
 etry chumps, tie your dead ox to my line and I'll tow 
 'im ashore!" 
 
 Socrates was now seated on the edge of the float. The 
 swimmers were gradually coming in, shaking hands with 
 him, or patting him affectionately on the back. 
 
 The leader stood forward to make an announcement. 
 He had made a megaphone of a newspaper, and, placing 
 it to his lips, he called out: "The winner is Soc Damn 
 it, what's your real name, anyway?" 
 
 291 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Joe Allen!" Jimmy called out. "The guy with the 
 electric fins the shooting submarine ramrod. When he 
 is in a match he goes through a bunch o' prize swimmers 
 like a toad in a puddle full of oysters." 
 
 "The winner is Joe Allen!" the improvised megaphone 
 shouted; and the tented shore sent out vociferous ap 
 plause. 
 
 Jimmy had shoved his boat close to Allen. "Come, 
 my hearty, let us take you ashore. Here is your friend. 
 I'll make you a cup of tea and cook you a snack." 
 
 "All right, Jimmy," Socrates accepted. "I'm hungry 
 as a bear. Haven't had a bite to-day." He smiled as 
 he got into the boat and shook hands with Crofton. 
 
 "You did wonderful work," Crofton said. 
 
 "I didn't think I had a chance to win," the youth re 
 plied; "that is, not till the last minute. I'm queer about 
 some things, and I'll be frank and tell you that in a way 
 you did it." 
 
 "I? Why, surely you are jesting!" Crofton stammered 
 in suppressed delight. 
 
 " No, I'm not," Allen answered. " It always takes some 
 thing unusual to spur me on to my very best, and when I 
 saw you in the boat with Jimmy well, I did not want to 
 fail before you. The thought of it somehow stung me, and 
 I tried extra hard. I'd seen that college man swim in a 
 race at a regatta on the other side of the river a month 
 ago, in which he took the first prize. And when he en 
 tered here to-day I thought it was all up with me. But 
 when I saw you, and heard you calling out to me as if 
 you were really interested, why, I determined to win or 
 die trying." 
 
 "I was interested," Crofton admitted, shaken by a 
 sentiment which he could not fathom, "and I cannot 
 explain how glad I am that you won." 
 
 The water, the sky, the balmy air, the towering Pali 
 sades seeme4 to smile benignly on the lonely world- 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 wanderer that day. The careful courtesy with which 
 both Jimmy and Socrates treated him was a thing hitherto 
 unwritten in his experience, as they insisted on his staying 
 in the boat while they sprang into the shallow water and 
 all but lifted it and him ashore. He leaned back in a camp- 
 chair before Socrates' tent, while the campers all along 
 the line pressed around the swimmer, congratulating him 
 with triumphant expressions of delight. Jimmy was busy 
 at the fireplace making tea and frying eggs and bacon, 
 and constantly joining in the talk with a wit that kept 
 the group in constant roar of laughter. 
 
 "How do you like your eggs cooked?" he asked Crof- 
 ton, approaching with a greasy spoon in his hand. "I 
 can do them any way. I worked in a Bowery restaurant 
 once." 
 
 "Oh, I am going back to the city, thank you," Crofton 
 replied. 
 
 "Not before you break bread with us, you won't," 
 Jimmy said, firmly. "Soc told me just now to make you 
 stay not to take a refusal. His word's law on this 
 beach, I'm here to state." 
 
 "Well, I'll have mine just as you are frying them," 
 Crofton gave in. "I'm hungry for the first time in a 
 month." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 AiTER that day Crofton was a constant visitor at the 
 camp. When the weather was too inclement for 
 such an outing, and he was forced to pass the day in the 
 city, he found himself at a loss as to what to do. Reading 
 no longer interested him. He was rejoicing in a mar 
 velous new experience which soothed him more than any 
 thing that had ever happened to him. He felt that Soc 
 rates and his associates genuinely liked him. They 
 scarcely knew his name. They evidently thought he was 
 a man of very limited means, or one out of regular em 
 ployment, and he did not care to remove the impression. 
 Another thing that surprised him was that he liked every 
 one of them sincerely and genuinely liked them, sym 
 pathized with them, listened eagerly to their personal 
 accounts of their affairs. A man might be a plumber, a 
 stone-mason, a janitor out of work, and yet this past asso 
 ciate of lords and ladies listened to the petty details of 
 their calling more eagerly than he had listened to the chat 
 of great European writers. He kept telling himself, and 
 exultantly, too, that this was the real thing which had 
 fallen upon him in his despair the thing Count Tolstoy 
 had tried to drag into his conventionally elegant and re 
 bellious home; the thing Whitman had found in the com 
 panionship of stage-drivers, barkeepers, and human wharf- 
 rats. It was glorious glorious! he told himself. He 
 had once believed that peace of mind could not possibly 
 be found by a man of his peculiar temperament; he now 
 realized that it was quite a simple matter. All that a 
 
 294 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 despairing man had to do was to stop valuing himself 
 and think only of the good of others. He must lose his 
 life to gain it. 
 
 And yet there were secret, invisible forces to contend 
 against. Now and then they would sweep down on him 
 like keen winds of adverse design. 
 
 "What a fool you are!" an actual voice seemed to say. 
 "Putting yourself down below your natural social plane 
 at the suggestion of such dreaming fanatics as your 
 idiotic Jacob Boehme, St. Francis of Assisi, and others. 
 You have ample wealth, opportunity, the entree to the 
 best, and are throwing them away that you may be the 
 boon companion of butchers, cobblers, sunken-browed 
 truck-drivers, and the lowest of the low." 
 
 And the voice of this tempter depressed him at times, 
 especially when he was alone in the city, and the sole 
 cure for the mood was a visit to the camp across the river. 
 When he had spent a day there, the return to his stifling, 
 unornamented room in the sun-baked street was by sheer 
 contrast all but unbearable. The money-getting grind 
 of the people on all sides seemed actually abnormal. 
 From the lowest to the highest it was a mad, blind rush 
 for things that were unnecessary to any one's actual 
 well-being. Men did both day and night work, wrecking 
 their nervous systems, merely that they might live in the 
 darkened rear of apartment-houses having liveried porters 
 and situated in a so-called fashionable section. 
 
 He and Socrates took long walks through the country 
 together, eating their simple meals at the roadside like 
 hardened tramps. Once they spent the night out, sleep 
 ing on the ground on beds of fallen leaves. It was glori 
 ous that night, for the moon was shining brightly and the 
 Hudson was spread out beneath them like a strip of 
 burnished silver. As they lay there side by side, Socrates 
 became more confidential than he ever had been before. 
 
 "Oh, I've not always been contented and cheerful," 
 295 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 he said, with a reminiscent sigh. "I have read that 
 great crises usually come into the lives of thinking persons 
 when they are in or past middle age, but my real crisis 
 came when I was only fourteen. Oh, it almost killed me! 
 I actually tried to take my life. What do you think of 
 that?" 
 
 "That was sad sad!" Crofton seemed to feel the 
 very chill of the earth creep through him, so great was 
 his sympathy for the boy whose voice was now quavering 
 so pathetically at his side. 
 
 "Yes, yes, it was awful. I never have been able to 
 speak to any one of the the thing that drove me to it, 
 and I may not go so far to-night. Don't you think one 
 may have a trouble which is too profound and sacred to 
 mention?" 
 
 "Yes, I presume so," Crofton answered, aimlessly. 
 
 "I feel that way about this, with most people, but not 
 with you," Socrates went on. "In fact, somehow I 
 can't explain it but somehow I want to tell you. It all 
 came in a certain discovery I made, or reasoned out till 
 it was a fact of my being, and in one moment I became 
 just the opposite of what I had been up to that time 
 a care-free, joyous boy who believed he was going to con 
 quer the world. It seems to me, as I look back on that 
 period eight years ago, poor as we were, I had the pride 
 of an emperor. I know now that it was only my imagina 
 tion at work. I used to walk the streets with my head high, 
 thinking how low the common laboring people were by 
 contrast to me and mine. I was proud of my mother. 
 She was then and is now the most beautiful and noble 
 creature in the world. I think it was my grandmother, 
 rather than my mother, who put the silly ideas of superi 
 ority into my young brain. She was an unlettered wom 
 an, yet I used to hear her sighing and telling my mother, 
 who had to work hard, that the blood of kings flowed in 
 our veins, and that we had never been fairly treated, 
 
 296 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 I tried, you see, to offset our poverty with the thought of 
 our superior birth. Hell itself seemed leading me, a mere 
 boy, into a deadly trap of human vanity." The voice of 
 the speaker died away. Socrates seemed to be hesitating 
 over what he might or might not care to tell. 
 
 "I am sure what you are saying is painful," Crofton 
 mildly protested; "perhaps it would be better for us to 
 talk of something else?' 1 
 
 "I don't know why I want to tell you at least a part 
 of it," the boy returned, sitting up in the moonlight and 
 locking his sinewy arms about his knees; but I love your 
 sympathy. I simply love it. I have never met a man who 
 appeals to me so deeply as you do. I seem to have known 
 you for years and years and years. When you stay in 
 the city and do not come I miss you in a way that is 
 actual pain. Do you think I am silly for feeling this way 
 and speaking so frankly?" 
 
 "No, no; oh no!" Crofton felt a lump filling his 
 throat. He wanted to tell the boy how he himself prized 
 their companionship, but could not do so. He shrank 
 from formulating into spoken words the sentiment which 
 had captured him body and soul, and now held him in a 
 clutch of actual bliss. 
 
 "Well, I can't help feeling as I do," Socrates laughed, 
 impulsively. "The other day I had a. thought that fairly 
 transported me. You remember you spoke of not work 
 ing now, being out of employment, and the thought came 
 to me that the most delightful thing imaginable would 
 be for me to be able to earn money for you in your old 
 age." 
 
 "Oh, absurd, absurd!" Crofton stammered. He was 
 tempted here to make a confession as to the part he was 
 playing, but something seemed to check the impulse. He 
 was half afraid that the true charm of the unique relation 
 ship would vanish at such an announcement. Of course 
 he would let the boy know later, but not yet, 
 
 297 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Well, I feel that way," Socrates said, "and I am not 
 ashamed of it. You see, I have never known my father, 
 and a person with a highly developed imagination reaches 
 out passionately for the things which are denied him, and 
 so all through my childhood I used to ask questions con 
 cerning him. Neither my mother nor grandmother would 
 gratify my curiosity, and as I grew older and began to 
 piece things together I became conscious of a family mys 
 tery into which I was not admitted. Then, young as I 
 was, I shrewdly, and in secret, determined to solve it. 
 The first thing I noted was that neither of them ever said 
 anything in my father's favor, and that troubled me. 
 My mother was everything that a woman could be that 
 was good and self-sacrificing, and I wanted him to be the 
 same." 
 
 "So your mother was religious, then?" Crofton said. 
 ^"No doubt it was her early teaching which made you 
 so phenomenally reverent and full of faith?" 
 
 "It was one of the things which belonged to the mys 
 tery concerning me, at any rate," Socrates returned, with 
 another sigh. "My father's ill treatment and desertion 
 of my mother before my birth made her so desperate and 
 miserable that she gave her whole attention and heart 
 to me. Even before my birth, I understand now, she 
 prayed constantly that I might not inherit my father's 
 characteristics. And from the moment I was old enough 
 to talk she began to train me, I sometimes think, as no 
 living mother ever trained a child. I can remember when 
 I was only about five that I told a lie, and how she cried 
 over me, prayed aloud at my bedside, and pleaded with 
 me never to do it again. It was like that all through my 
 boyhood. I was ashamed to do wrong even in thought, 
 for I actually worshiped her and looked upon her as a 
 suffering saint. She told me that my father was dead, 
 and she still thinks I believe it. My grandmother joined 
 her in this, and I was forced back into my secret wonder- 
 
 208 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ing as to what it was all about. One day, when I was ill, 
 I overheard my mother and grandmother talking in pri 
 vate, and then I knew the whole truth. I didn't let them 
 know I had heard. You can easily guess what it was. I 
 can't speak of it, even to you. But you can guess. You 
 have only to think of the one thing which could stab the 
 very soul of a child abnormally sensitive as to his parent 
 age. It brought me down to the very dregs of despair. 
 I became a sullen" young fiend. I cursed the God my 
 mother had taught me to worship. I laughed at the idea 
 of a religion of love at the idea of a God who could bring 
 beings into a heartless world to suffer as my helpless mother 
 and I were suffering through no fault of our own. It was 
 then that I lost all hope and determined to end my life. 
 At one time I thought of killing her, too, but gave up the 
 idea. I couldn't bear to give her pain." 
 
 "And you a mere child!" Crofton cried, aghast. 
 
 "I seemed to be as old as Time," the youth declared, 
 bitterly. "My soul was a wrinkled, gray, decrepit thing, 
 snarling at the breath my body drew. Day after day I 
 thought of the different ways to die, finding myself con 
 stantly checked by the thought that the knowledge of 
 my suicide would add to my patient mother's burden. 
 So I began to plan an end to myself that would seem 
 accidental. We had lived in several cities, where my 
 mother's work took her, but at this time we happened to 
 be in New York. My mother and I had gone down to 
 spend Sunday at Far Rockaway. I concluded that I would 
 drown myself in the ocean. I was not then a good 
 swimmer, and I decided to go out a little way and sink 
 myself, thus making it appear that I had been attacked 
 by cramps. I left my mother reading on the beach, went 
 into a bath-house and put on my bathing-suit. At the 
 moment I was so nearly crazed by my approaching ordeal 
 that I was not very sorry for her. I remember I kept 
 saying that a boy without a legal name had no right to 
 
 299 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 live among millions of other boys who had not only names, 
 but well-to-do fathers. I argued, too, that when I was 
 dead my mother would not have to work so hard to pro 
 vide for me, and she would not have me to remind her of 
 her early misfortune the scab upon her past would be 
 removed. 
 
 '"Be careful,* I heard her say, as I kissed her, smiled, 
 and started for the surf. Her sweet, sad look of pride, as 
 her eyes followed me, went to my heart, and I choked down 
 a sob of pity both for her and me as I plunged into the cool, 
 rolling surf and began to swim from the shore. I went 
 pretty far out, and felt the strong undertow dragging me 
 further. From the crest of a billow I saw my mother 
 drop her book, rise in excitement, run up and down the 
 beach, calling for help and wildly pointing in my direction. 
 But the guards were not on duty at the spot I'd chosen, 
 and few men who were able to swim were near. I tried 
 to sink myself, but while I went under I always came up 
 again, and found myself automatically struggling to keep 
 myself afloat. In one of my rises to the surface, I saw my 
 mother kneeling on the sand of the beach and knew she 
 was praying. Then something happened to me that has 
 happened to many others whom I've read about. No 
 one on earth could convince me that it was not some sort 
 of psychic reality. I heard a voice call out far more 
 clearly, more distinctly than I am speaking now. It said: 
 
 " 'Be a man, my boy! Save yourself! Bear your bur 
 den for your mother's sake and your own immortal soul!' " 
 
 "Wonderful!" Crofton exclaimed. "And you?" 
 
 "I was completely changed in an instant," Socrates 
 went on, a flare of enthusiasm in his eyes. "The sunlight 
 dancing on the waves seemed filled with rare promise. 
 Then I prayed I prayed with every slow stroke I made to 
 save myself. It was an awful fight. From the top of 
 every billow that raised me I saw my mother still on her 
 knees, her hands held up to the sky. A man was running 
 
 300 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 for a boat. He sprang into it. He was not a good oars 
 man, but he pulled toward me slowly and awkwardly, 
 while a crowd gathered on the beach and screamed en 
 couragement to both of us. He finally reached me and 
 drew me out of the water. I was so weak that I fainted, 
 but I came to by the time we reached the shore, where I 
 was received into my mother's arms." 
 
 "Did she know did she ever suspect?" Crofton asked, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 1 ' Never. I kept my secret and have always let her think 
 she is keeping hers. I was changed from that moment. 
 The experience was my turning-point. Young as I was, it 
 led me to the reading of philosophy, and I finally came to 
 see that all suffering is for our good if only we look deeply 
 enough into the meaning of life. I can see now that my 
 trouble has broadened me, and that my mother's has 
 made her the gentlest, most wonderful woman on earth. 
 Oh, she is she is! I am not saying it because she is all 
 I have; it is because she is what she is and has been. 
 She is now in California, but she will be home soon. She 
 works very hard. She travels a great deal, and we can 
 not live together; but we meet often when she is in New 
 York. I go to see her at her boarding-house and take 
 her out to dinner and places of amusement like a sweet 
 heart. She is young-looking people take her for my 
 sister. Now I have told you more than I have ever 
 told any one. You have been so kind to me that I wanted 
 you to know all about me absolutely all." 
 
 "I am glad you trusted me to that extent," the other 
 returned. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 CROFTON had thrown himself back on his bed of leaves 
 and was looking at the moonlit sky. He had never 
 felt more depressed in his life. The most regrettable ex 
 periences of his past were crawling through his memory 
 like magnified vermin, leaving their slimy tracks upon 
 his consciousness. In what way was he better than the 
 fiend who was the author of this helpless boy's agony? 
 Suddenly he sat up and glanced at the poetic profile in 
 the moonlight beside him. 
 
 "Was was your father young when when he left 
 deserted your mother ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes; I caught that much in the talk I overheard," 
 Socrates answered. "He was only a few years older than 
 she, and she was only seventeen or eighteen. He was 
 proud, and rich, and ashamed to do his duty before the 
 world, and she was very poor and at that time uneducated. 
 She taught herself afterward. She often said it was for 
 my sake that she studied and worked so hard night and 
 day." 
 
 "And you think it is likely that he is still alive?" Crof- 
 ton asked. 
 
 "Yes, I am pretty sure of it, and I think my mother's 
 sole object now is to keep us from meeting. She wants 
 me to think that I am the legitimate son of a man who 
 could not live to do his duty by me and her. Oh, I don't 
 want to see him! I sometimes shudder over the thought 
 of meeting him even in eternity. I revel in the thought 
 of Paradise with her, but the idea of his being there mars 
 
 302 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the fancy, almost wipes it out of my hopes. Oh no! I 
 pray to God to keep us apart. I am afraid of meeting him 
 face to face. I am at peace now, and sometimes with the 
 eyes of a mystic I actually see my way on, on into the 
 'Kght which never lay on land or sea,' and that man, 
 absent though he is, gives me my only doubt, my only 
 sense of insecurity." 
 
 "Your only doubt!" Crofton repeated, tentatively, as 
 he bent down almost in awe over the twitching poetic face. 
 
 "Yes, the thought of him fills me with a great, uncon 
 querable fear in regard to my real self." Socrates sat 
 up again. His jaw was set firmly; his long fingers were 
 clenched. "It may be that I am only having a respite 
 at the hands of a sinister fate. I sometimes fear that I 
 may be destined to further trouble. I may meet that 
 man, you see, and have to kill him. I've done it in my 
 thoughts, in awful nightmares. I may have to do it in 
 fact. God may keep us apart Satan may throw us to 
 gether. If we met I would not be able to check! 'my rage." 
 The voice of the boy rose, cracked, and quivered. " I have 
 felt my fingers at his throat a hundred times. He was 
 not my father in any holy sense. He was hell's agent in 
 the production of the worst part of me. See see? I'm 
 crazy the thought of his deed sets my brain on fire." 
 
 * ' Don't, don't ! Stop, stop !' ' Crofton implored. ' ' These 
 memories are doing you no good. You are not yourself. 
 You surprise me. I did not dream that it was in you." 
 
 ' ' Oh, how can I keep from being bitter ?" The boy cov 
 ered his face with his hands, and Crofton saw his fine 
 chest rise under a welling sob. "Why couldn't I have a 
 father whom I could love and who would love me I, who 
 so passionately desire it? You see how I love to be with 
 you, how I care for your company more than I do for 
 the company of fellows of my own age. It is because 
 I sometimes fancy oh, you'll say I'm a silly, sentimental 
 fool! but I play at the game of son-and-father when I 
 
 303 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 am with you. I hang upon your words; I try to please 
 you I almost swoon with joy when you say that my 
 ideas actually help you. Oh, I know it is a dream, an 
 empty, hysterical figment born from the sheer poverty 
 of my yearning for the impossible, but you you are what 
 I would have created for a poor boy's father had I been 
 God and God been me." 
 
 "Don't, don't, don't!" Crofton groaned. "You don't 
 know how you are tearing my heart out. I love you, 
 my poor boy I don't know why, but I love you, and I 
 am unworthy of what you say. I can't hide under a false 
 cloak and look you in the face. I want you to think well 
 of me, but I cannot gain your respect by a deliberate lie. 
 I am bad as bad as your father ever was. I " 
 
 "Oh no, you are not !" Socrates firmly shook his head. 
 "You couldn't act as he did. It isn't in you. Your 
 face, your voice, your pleading, suffering eyes, your con 
 stant kindness to me whom you have known such a short 
 time, prove what you are. What you have said in so 
 justly criticizing my stories and poems, and the gentle 
 way you have spoken for fear of discouraging me, have 
 won all the heart I have. And it is not only I who like 
 you everybody down at the camp feels the same way 
 toward you. They have said so time and again. When 
 you fail to come any day they speak of it with regret. 
 At the lower end of the line they watch for you to get 
 off the boat, and, when you are coming, they shout the 
 news from tent to tent up to us. They are even now 
 planning a camp-fire dinner in your honor. They are all 
 contributing toward it. Oh no, no, if my father had been 
 like you I would ask no more." 
 
 "But I tell you, my boy, that I am not what you 
 think I am. Your friends may like me, but it is because 
 they don't know me as I am. I like them all because 
 they are better than I am. I can't hide my appreciation 
 of them; they perhaps feel it and respond with unselfish 
 
 304 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 friendship; but it is because they think I am the opposite 
 of what I actually am." 
 
 "What you are saying is absurd," Socrates declared, 
 with a firm, wan smile. "I don't want to hear more of 
 it. I want to be like you. I am proud of the fact that 
 I am tall and slender like you are, and have the same 
 broad shoulders. The other day while we were bathing 
 I noticed that your instep was high like mine, your ankles 
 small, and that your finger-nails are shaped like mine, 
 and was proud to find it so. I have never before cared 
 how I looked, but now I would like to look like you I'd 
 like to be like you." 
 
 After that silence fell between them. The lapping of 
 the water on the rocky shore, the shrill piping of crickets 
 in the wood behind them were the only sounds of the still 
 night. They were both fatigued. Crofton saw that his 
 companion had closed his eyes. The face upturned to the 
 moon was beautiful in all its lines. The boy was soon 
 asleep, but the man lay awake, his brain charged with the 
 force of a hundred self -accusations that besieged him 
 like enemies rising from the dark. His uncle's first de 
 spairing warning; then his sin; next his uncle's discovery 
 and the choice laid before him; then that deliberate sale 
 of his soul, followed by those blighting years in Europe 
 and his brother's awful death these things and many 
 others tormented him. More painful than all was the 
 faith in him held by the young sleeper at his side. Hours 
 passed. He was still awake. Presently Socrates stirred, 
 drew his feet up, rolled over, rose, and stood blankly 
 staring through the moonlight at the river. For a mo 
 ment he remained so, then he bent down and looked into 
 Crofton's face without a word or expression of conscious 
 ness on his own. Then he slowly turned into the path 
 they had traversed and began to walk along it. 
 
 "Where are you going?" Crofton asked, anxiously. 
 
 At this Socrates paused, turned half around, and began 
 20 305 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 to mutter : * ' I was was I want want Why, what 
 is it? Where am ami? Oh, I'm sorry! I was walking 
 in my sleep. I've waked you, and you were tired." 
 
 "I was not asleep," Crofton said, taking his arm. 
 "Come, lie down again. When I was young I used to be 
 that way myself, but outgrew it at about your age. You 
 will outgrow it, too, I'm sure." 
 
 "Perhaps so; it only happens once in a great while 
 now," Socrates said. "Oh, I had such a beautiful dream! 
 I dreamt that I had been dreaming all the horrible things 
 I told you to-night that they were dreams and not 
 realities. It seemed to me that I was sick of the fever, 
 as I once was when a child, and you were bending over me 
 telling me that you yourself were my father. Oh, oh! 
 why am I tormented this way? Is God good? Is He 
 is He?" 
 
 "I am sorry you feel as you do." Crofton answered the 
 best he could. He remembered his own exaggerated 
 pride of birth when he was young, and his heart was 
 torn with sympathy for the boy who was suffering so 
 keenly. 
 
 Socrates was lying on his bed of leaves now. The sad 
 ness of his placid face seemed laid on by the relentless 
 moonbeams. After a while he was asleep. The expression 
 changed, a smile lifted the corners of the tender mouth. 
 His companion heard him muttering : 
 
 "Mother! Mother!" 
 
 Crofton returned to the city early the next morning, 
 and when he found himself again in the busy streets a 
 brooding sense of having np particular thing to do op 
 pressed him to the point of actual pain. In such moods 
 he had often sought the slums of the great town, where 
 he had come into contact with the poorest of the poor, 
 so now he took the Elevated train to Mulberry Bend Park 
 on the Lower East Side. His clothing was soiled from 
 
 306 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 his long walk the day before; his straw hat had been 
 stained by a fall into a stream while it was coated with 
 dust; his collar was wrinkled, his tie carelessly arranged, 
 and his shoes needed polishing; but the thought that he 
 was thus less conspicuous in such sordid surroundings as 
 he was now in appealed to him. In fact, all that day, as 
 he wandered about among the Italian push-cart men, the 
 Jewish venders of old clothing, or sat chatting with some 
 drunkard or clerk out of employment in the little park, 
 he was, in his imagination, an actual outcast himself with 
 scarcely a penny in his pocket. It afforded him a strange, 
 mystic sense of peace and even enjoyment which a year 
 previous would have seemed wholly absurd to him. 
 Wayfarers, tramps, men with gay, drink-flushed faces, 
 men with daredevil attitudes who scowled and swore at 
 the policemen that pushed them along, greeted him with 
 a cordial smile of fellowship. He never refused the pennies 
 they pleaded for and which they may have thought he 
 needed for himself. In truth, he frequently gave money 
 he knew was to be spent for rum. An odd thing in this 
 connection happened to him that day. A shabbily dressed 
 young man approached him as he stood near a bubbling 
 fountain of drinking-water. 
 
 "Say, boss," the man said, "you look like a good chap. 
 Give a fellow a dime for a drink. I am dying for it. 
 You may not be a drinking man, and don't know what the 
 feeling is like, but if you are you will understand." 
 
 Crofton gave him the money. "Thanks, boss, thanks," 
 the man said, gratefully, and left. Crofton watched him 
 cross the street. There was a bar-room on the opposite 
 corner, and he expected to see him enter it. He did not 
 do so, however, but passed on to the shop of a baker two 
 doors below and entered. Wondering over this, Crofton 
 crossed the street and looked through the plate-glass 
 window of the shop, seeing the man buying two loaves of 
 bread from a girl behind the counter. Hardly knowing 
 
 307 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 what to think of the occurrence, Crofton was turning 
 away when the man looked up suddenly, and, recognizing 
 him, flushed red and dropped his eyes to the floor. Taking 
 his parcel under his arm, the man hurried out, still red in 
 the face. Crofton had started on, but the man followed 
 him with quick, dogged strides and soon overtook him. 
 
 "You think I'm a blooming liar, I guess," he began, 
 sheepishly. "Well, I did lie to you, boss, but I didn't 
 mean no harm. I'm sorry, though, for you may need that 
 dime yourself. Say, I asked you for money for a drink, 
 and I had a reason for it reason enough for me, anyway. 
 My wife and kids are hungry, boss. I was fired from my 
 job as janitor two weeks ago, and can't get another. Well, 
 why did I lie? Because it is like this: do you know, boss, 
 it's God's truth what I'm telling you. I ain't lying now. 
 I have asked for bread-money dozens of times and got 
 turned down in every case, but when I ask for the price 
 of a drink the average sporting man gives it to me with 
 out a word. I learned that men are like that, boss, when 
 I was a rummy myself before the kids was born. Most 
 men know what it is to want a drink after a soaking 
 spree, but they don't know the feeling of being without 
 bread for sick women and little children." 
 
 Crofton took the man's arm, and they moved along 
 the sidewalk together. He was buoyed up by that strange 
 spiritual element which had so powerfully influenced him 
 of late. He had so much money in his purse that he was 
 ashamed to draw it out before the man. However, he 
 remembered that he had put a ten-dollar bill into a blank 
 envelope for a certain purpose, and that it was in the 
 breast pocket of his coat. He got it out from among 
 the letters and memoranda about it, and, without opening 
 it, gave it to the man. 
 
 " Take it home with you," he said. " It may help you." 
 
 The man stared. He shifted the parcel under his arm 
 awkwardly and hesitated. "Is it a tract?" he asked. 
 
 308 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Oh, I'm done with them, boss. I've read them till my 
 head spins. They don't help the likes o' me." 
 
 "It is not a tract; it is a little money," Crofton an 
 swered. 
 
 The man's grimy fingers quivered with excitement as 
 they opened the envelope; they contracted like mechanical 
 prongs as they fumbled the green bill. The bread slid 
 from beneath his arm and fell to the pavement. The 
 man's form swayed as he stooped to take it up, still 
 clutching the money. 
 
 "Good God !" he cried, with an incredulous stare. "You 
 can't mean it, boss." 
 
 "Yes, I mean it for you and your family." 
 
 "Honest? You do you do?" 
 
 "Yes, and here is my name and address," Crofton went 
 on. "If you can't get work come and see me, will you? 
 Promise me." 
 
 The man made no answer. His eyes were filling with 
 the transcendent light Crofton had begun to see, under 
 rare conditions, in certain human faces. 
 
 "Say, boss, you are the real thing you are you are! 
 You make me feel feel " He was beginning to cry. 
 
 Crofton took his arm again and held it tenderly as he 
 led him along. He looked away, for he heard the guttural 
 sounds his companion was making as he crushed down 
 his sobs. The man's arm was shaking, and its muscles 
 were contracting convulsively. On the corner they 
 stopped. The man held out his hand. 
 
 "You are the real thing, boss," he repeated. "I didn't 
 know it could be found anywhere in this great hole of 
 hell." 
 
 Crofton pressed the hard fingers gently. "Promise me 
 to come to see me or, better still, let me come to see you 
 and your children. I am fond of children. I have none 
 of my own, and my life is lonely. Give me your address." 
 
 The man pointed down the street to a disreputable- 
 309 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 looking tenement-house. "There, top floor above the 
 junk-shop," he said. "We was to be ousted to-morrow 
 for the rent, but this will fix that," he added, with a 
 chuckle. "You may come if you like, boss, but it is a 
 terrible place. My wife will be ashamed to have you see 
 us like we are, for she is used to a better deal than she is 
 getting; but you can come if you feel like it. I hope God 
 will bless you for this." 
 
 "I will come soon," Crofton promised, and he intended 
 not only to go, but to help the man and his family in some 
 substantial way, as he intended from that day on to help 
 all human sufferers. What a life lay before him what 
 a glorious life! He was forgetting himself actually for 
 getting himself, and living in the lives and emotions of 
 others. He was discovering that infinite peace could 
 only be had for one's self by helping the needy. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ABOUT three o'clock Crofton returned to his room. 
 He had just started to take a bath and change his 
 soiled clothes when the only maid-servant in the house, a 
 rather slovenly girl, brought up Farnham's card. 
 
 "Farnham!" he exclaimed, inwardly and aghast, for 
 he was in no mood to meet this particular man. 
 
 " Where is he?" Crofton inquired. 
 
 "He is waiting at the foot of the stairs in the hall," 
 the girl replied. "I invited him in the parlor, but he 
 wouldn't go said he thought you'd let him run up here, 
 as he is an old friend." 
 
 "Up here? Well, tell him to come up," Crofton said, 
 recklessly, almost angrily, and the maid departed to do 
 his bidding. 
 
 Crofton stood holding the door of his room open. Pres 
 ently he saw the portly form of Farnham almost filling 
 the narrow stairway as he puffed up the two flights, slid 
 ing a fat hand holding a cane on the walnut balustrade. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" he panted, as he reached the top 
 and saw Crofton. "What in the name of the devil does 
 this mean?" 
 
 1 ' I don't understand you. ' ' Crofton extended his hand, 
 a flush of inner resentment on his face. 
 
 Farnham clung to the reluctant fingers with his gloved 
 hand, and stared quite curiously into Crofton's eyes. 
 "Why, your hiding in a place like this, old chap?" Farn 
 ham was sweeping Crofton's bedraggled attire from top 
 to bottom with a bland stare of perplexity. "I tried to 
 
 3" 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 find you three weeks ago when I was here, but failed. 
 Your bankers acted queer, I thought. They intimated 
 that they knew your whereabouts, but were bound in 
 confidence not to inform any one, so I had to go back 
 home without seeing you." 
 
 "I am sorry," Crofton answered, lamely, even helpless 
 ly. "Come into my room." 
 
 "Your room! Have you only one? My Lord! old 
 chap, is this it?" Farnham stood in the doorway, his hat 
 and cane in hand, his eyes roving over the bare white 
 walls, the almost rugless floor, the old-fashioned bed, the 
 small, crude table in the center, the cheap bureau which 
 matched nothing else in the room. 
 
 "Yes, this is all I have at present," Crofton faltered, 
 abashed, against his will. "But it is comfortable; it is 
 good enough; it is quiet. I couldn't stand the hotel; it 
 was too noisy. You see, I I wanted a place where I could 
 be wholly undisturbed and to myself. Sit down. Let 
 me have your things." 
 
 He took the hat, cane, and gloves of his wondering 
 guest and laid them on the bed. 
 
 "But why, if I may ask, did you choose exactly this sort 
 of a joint?" Farnham stared at his friend's back, now 
 so willingly turned upon him. "Why, the door-mat has 
 holes in it; I almost jerked the bell-handle out of its 
 socket and waited an endless length of time before that 
 horrid creature stuck her frowsy head out of the door 
 under the stoop and asked what I wanted. 'Do you 
 mean the gent in second front?' she asked, as if she had 
 never heard your name before. Say, Cart, old boy, what 
 in the name of common sense does all this mean?" 
 
 "Mean?" Crofton asked, helplessly, to gain time. 
 "How did you get my address?" 
 
 "From your sister; she heard I was coming to New 
 York and asked me to look you up. She said you had 
 written her a short letter from this street and number, 
 
 312 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 but that you had asked her to reply in care of your bank 
 ers. Frankly, she is puzzled, as I'm puzzled, as all your 
 friends down home are puzzled." 
 
 "I can't see what you are puzzled about?" Crofton re 
 plied, with chilling restraint. "I am simply living as 
 best suits my own individual taste, and and present 
 ideas of duty. What do you mean?" 
 
 Farnham twirled his short, fat fingers between his 
 pudgy knees, contracting the thick lids of his eyes, and 
 continued to stare at his friend, who was now drawing a 
 rickety chair forward and sitting down in it. 
 
 "Why, Carter, there is such a change in you that I 
 hardly know what to make of it. Your your looks, for 
 instance. You need a shave. Your clothes are out of 
 style, and as really, old chap, they are as dirty as a 
 tramp's; your hands are as rough as a plumber's; your 
 hair has not been trimmed for a month." 
 
 "I've been roughing it across the river," Crofton ex 
 plained. " I was just about to put myself to rights when 
 you came. I live outdoors a great deal of late. I like 
 it. It seems to me that it is the first thing I have ever 
 genuinely liked." 
 
 "I see, I see." But it was plain that Farnham was 
 still mystified and wondering where he should next put 
 the probe he had come to use. "The truth is, the first 
 thing which struck me as being odd unlike you, wholly 
 unlike you was the fact that when I wrote you in re 
 gard to the rise in your railroad interest you did not even 
 answer the letter. There I was chuckling over our good 
 luck, and all the rest who had put money in my scheme, 
 and you did not care enough about it to write me. Any 
 sound business man would resent that, old chap, even 
 from a man of artistic temperament such as you have. I 
 confess it riled me. I'm justly proud of what that road 
 has done, not only for us, but for our State. Between you 
 and me, I have been spoken of as our next Governor, but 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 I shall not enter the race. The fact that a lot of leading 
 men want me is compliment enough. The pay would not 
 amount to much, you know, and it would .take up my 
 time. I have always been interested in you, and this 
 damned queer turn you have taken is anything but ra 
 tional. Then there is Milicent. She " 
 
 "Milicent? What about her?" Crofton broke in, more 
 and more angered by his sheer inability to express him 
 self satisfactorily to this densely materialistic friend. 
 
 "Why, the poor woman is upset, to say the least, " 
 Farnham said, more delicately now. "She cannot talk 
 of anything but the way you have acted since your brother 
 died. She says you did not inform her of his death till 
 he was buried, and that during your short stay in Atlanta 
 afterward you scarcely spoke to her, but moped about the 
 house as if as if your mind was affected. Then she got 
 hold of the information, in some way, that you have pro 
 vided most extravagantly for the woman Henry was 
 keeping when he died." 
 
 "I have satisfactory reasons for everything I have 
 done in that case, and as for my unhappiness over my 
 brother's death, that is my own private matter," Crofton 
 blurted out. 
 
 Farnham now locked his twirling fingers tightly. He 
 cleared his throat and bit the ends of his mustache, 
 which he swept between his teeth with a hesitating tongue. 
 "I see, as a true friend to you, Carter, that I must be 
 more frank with you," he said, his glance resting un 
 steadily on the floor. "Carter, I happen to know per 
 sonally that you have given considerable sums of money 
 to certain other individuals in Atlanta. I don't say they 
 are not deserving that is neither here nor there, but 
 Milicent got wind of it and, naturally, as your sister " 
 
 "I can't see why you are continually bringing in her 
 name," Crofton cried, impatiently. "Heaven knows I 
 don't owe her anything, and she is well provided for, 
 
 3*4 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Those faithful old friends of my boyhood wrote me that 
 they were in great need, and I simply instructed my 
 agents to provide for them in a substantial way. That is 
 all. Do you realize that I am a bachelor, and have less 
 and less use as the years go by for the fortune which my 
 father left me, and which is growing instead of diminish 
 ing? I enjoyed helping those people enjoyed it more 
 than anything I ever did. I have read their very grateful 
 letters over many times. Say, Farnham, it is my turn 
 to be frank with you if I can if I can. I don't know 
 whether I can possibly make my position clear to to a 
 man like you, but I will try. You know I am a student 
 of philosophy I have read everything I could lay my 
 hands on. I know now that I am essentially an idealist, 
 as my uncle Tom was. I have had a great awakening 
 to my true inner self. It is hard to speak to a practical 
 business man of these things, for he simply cannot under 
 stand them can't see them from the same point of view. 
 Charley, I know what I am going to say will be regarded 
 as sheer foolishness; still, I am going to say it. It is my 
 right. I am going to say that after I was left that fortune, 
 and began trying to buy only material pleasures with it, 
 I was leading a life that was contrary to the infinitely 
 high spiritual law which governs the universe. I know 
 almost as well as any of the ancient seers did that the 
 hoarding of and idly subsisting upon personal posses 
 sions is fundamentally wrong. I know now that the 
 humblest, poorest man in the world a black-fingered 
 cobbler at his bench, a laborer in a filthy sewer is hap 
 pier, more sane than any rich man in his mansion or on his 
 yacht. Say what you will, think what you will, this is the 
 truth. I have begun to demonstrate it in my own life. 
 I know what I am talking about." 
 
 Farnham 's heavy cheeks twitched; he blinked; he 
 avoided his friend's eager stare. He forced a stiff smile 
 to his face and then wiped it away with his glove. 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "You are too deep for me," he stammered; "but I'm 
 afraid the honest truth is, I'm afraid you are are, well, 
 fanatical, to say the least. What you are saying is this 
 if I may make a personal application of it you think 
 I, for instance, have no absolute right to enjoy as I will 
 what my brain has earned. You speak of the joy you 
 are getting out of your new ideas and habits. Let me tell 
 you that I get joy and satisfaction out of mine. I'm 
 satisfied you bet I am. I don't want to live like a pig 
 in a filthy pen, or drag my wife and children into one. 
 Why, my friend, what you are saying is an insult a down 
 right insult. I oughtn't to do as I am doing that is the 
 sum and substance of your crazy argument." 
 
 "No, no, I can't say that it applies to you you don't 
 understand," Crofton corrected, quickly. "The thing I 
 am talking about seems to be demanded that's the 
 word demanded only of certain individuals. From the 
 very beginning you have been a man who, it seems to 
 me, was created to be exactly what you are, to feel as 
 you feel, and to live as you live." 
 
 ' 'And you are different is that it ?" A sneer, half of pity, 
 half of indignation, crept over Farnham's flushed face. 
 
 "I don't know how to say it without appearing egotisti 
 cal, Charley, but that is what I mean," Crofton answered, 
 candidly. "I think I was given, early in life, a sort of 
 mystic comprehension of ultimate spiritual verities which 
 practical minds do not receive. I deliberately turned my 
 back upon them, and have suffered in consequence ever 
 since. I know that I have lived wrongly I know it 
 because, through it all, Charley, I never had one moment's 
 peace of mind. I was in a constant turmoil, tossed like 
 a ball between matter and spirit. When I got back to 
 America I had an awakening. I met the wonderful woman 
 whose life I wrecked, and saw endless reproach on her 
 beautiful face. Later, my brother's death staggered me, 
 stunned me. I saw that I was going to die in torture as 
 
 316 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 he did, and for the same sort of offenses. You don't know 
 all about that, and I won't go into it, but the whole thing 
 has haunted me day and night. If you had turned over 
 millions of dollars to me as my share of the profits in our 
 investment, I would hardly have cared to see the money 
 safe in a bank. That is why I don't answer your business 
 letters. The very thought of wealth only increased the 
 terror of my condition. Do you think you could interest 
 a man in the inheritance of a heap of gold who is standing 
 on the scaffold, looking at the black cap in the sheriff's 
 hands? I have been standing there I swear I've been 
 standing there ever since Henry died. There is no use 
 in my trying to make this clear to you. You could never 
 dream of what it is like without going through it with 
 exactly my temperament and exactly my damnable past 
 oozing from the pores of your soul. History is full of 
 men's names who grew sick of material possessions, aims, 
 and accomplishments, and in sheer desperation humbly 
 sought God in solitude and renunciation of self. It was 
 exactly so with me, but I have found the way out I 
 know it. I discovered, when I left off expensive habits, 
 sought the companionship of simple people, learned to 
 love them unselfishly I say, when I did those things, 
 Charley, I began to live in the light. It is hard for me 
 to say these things, for I know you think I am a fool." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know that I think that," Farnham an 
 swered, awkwardly, as he nervously stroked his mustache. 
 "But to be honest with you honest, man to man, if you 
 want me to tell you just what I think, I will do so." 
 
 'Til be glad to hear it," Crofton replied, tremblingly, 
 for he had spoken with great force and energy. 
 
 "Well, then, I think that you have perhaps inherited 
 what may be called a a slight mental taint in your 
 family. Your uncle became well, queer, to say the least, 
 at about your age, when he began leading a lonely life 
 somewhat like yours at present. He became careless of 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 his financial affairs, and the way he acted in taking Henry 
 and that woman in with him at the last was a crazy thing 
 to do, considering the conservative and respectable lo 
 cality it happened in. You see, your own provision for 
 the woman " 
 
 "It was for Henry's sake/' Crofton interrupted. "He 
 was dying and was disturbed over the matter. You 
 may call that an insane act if you like, but it is only your 
 opinion. The greatest men of history are my standards 
 men like " 
 
 "Yes, but the cool-headed view of a man of my stripe 
 may be of more practical value to you than the ideas of 
 them all," Farnham broke in. "Say, Carter, I feel it 
 my duty as a friend, and a close business associate of 
 yours, to tell you frankly that, in my judgment, your 
 sister is going to give you serious trouble down at home." 
 
 "Serious trouble? What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, women are cranky, as a rule, and where their 
 moneyed interests are concerned they often act impulsively 
 and sometimes without reason. Now you know Atlanta 
 has plenty of shyster lawyers who are on the lookout for 
 cases, and if they choose to poison the mind of a woman, 
 well" 
 
 "I don't understand," Crofton said, irritably. "I 
 don't see what you are driving at." 
 
 "Well, I'll be plain. The truth is your sister has an 
 abnormal love for money. She has shown it by the way 
 she has hoarded the income on her property, and the 
 quiet, inexpensive way she lives. Now it is my opinion 
 that she has simply gone to a certain shrewd lawyer and 
 asked for legal advice as to how she ought to act as your 
 next of kin." 
 
 "Surely you can't mean " Crofton began, but al 
 lowed his astonished voice to die away in silence. 
 
 "Yes, I mean that it looks at present as if she is think 
 ing of restraining you by process of law from an irrational 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 disposition of your effects. She has, it seems, a letter 
 from you containing some of the odd views you have just 
 expressed to me, and that, along with the ill-advised pro 
 vision made to Henry's companion, and sums given to 
 others in Atlanta, she adduces as proof that you are of 
 unsound mind, and an unsafe guardian of her prospective 
 rights." 
 
 "Oh, I see!" Crofton said, bitterly, and he flared up 
 suddenly. "There's proof enough of what I was saying 
 about the hellish effects of money. You see what it will 
 do in her case? She is rich; she is a crabbed, lonely, al 
 most friendless old maid, and yet she wants to add to 
 her pile of useless coin at the expense of my reputation 
 for sanity. She would weld the chains of sordid law about 
 the spiritual desires I have toward the close of a life which 
 has been of no use to humanity or to God. Well, do you 
 think the courts would listen to her?" 
 
 " To be absolutely honest with you, I think they might," 
 Farnham returned. "As long as you remain unmarried 
 Milicent has a certain claim on you and the money left 
 by your father. You see, Carter, the courts of our 
 country are not governed by the strange ideas you have 
 recently acquired. I will speak plainly. I have myself 
 been on juries chosen to settle disputes in families, and, 
 frankly, if I did not know you too intimately to be a 
 juror on this particular case, and had to serve under oath, 
 I would be compelled to throw my vote against your 
 policy. It does not appear rational to me, and, as a 
 practical man, I can't help it. If our laws were made 
 by men with such visionary ideas as you hold the world 
 would drop to pieces in no time. As I look at it, nothing 
 of importance has ever been built up which was not 
 founded on some man's effort to help himself. Every 
 invention we have and enjoy our telephones, wireless, 
 steamships, flying-machines, come from the desire of men 
 to profit personally by their ideas. Our own railroad, 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 which is helping the South market its products, and doing 
 good in many ways, grew up out of my own determination 
 to show a certain bunch of scoffing, tight-fisted specu 
 lators that I could make more money than they could. 
 Edison declares immortality is a silly dream. By George ! 
 now I think of it, you wouldn't have the very money 
 in question, which you say you are using to a good end, 
 if your father had not looked out for number one and piled 
 it up in doing so. Your sister is looking out for number 
 one, and she may tie up your whole self-sacrificing scheme 
 in a knot so tight that you will not be able to move hand 
 or foot." 
 
 "Perhaps so, perhaps so," Crofton sighed. "I know I 
 am standing by myself in these things. I find few in 
 actual life who think as I do, or yearn for what I yearn for. 
 When I enter a great library, however, I find the works 
 of the believers in the idea staring at me from the shelves, 
 and take them down and caress them. And masses of 
 people are reading them who never dream of following 
 their precepts. Why is that in the name of common 
 sense, why are they devouring the works of men turning 
 them into classics as the years pass of men whose theories 
 they denounce as empty dreams? The face of the earth 
 is dotted with churches founded on the philosophy of a 
 Man who held that material possessions are a curse, and 
 that total self-renunciation is the only firm step toward 
 eternal life. On Sundays the bells ring, and the people 
 throng the streets in smug attire, going to worship the Man 
 whose best advice they tread underfoot. Tell you, as I 
 have told you, as I have written Milicent, that His law 
 is the only rational law of life, and you reprove me she 
 takes me to court. You say if I were married she would 
 be powerless to interfere with me. I know now that I 
 shall never marry that the only woman I desire more 
 than life itself is beyond my reach for ever. You know 
 who I mean. As for fighting my sister in the public eye, 
 
 320 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 I am not sure that I would make any defense at all. 
 To fight for that fortune would be as bad as amassing it. 
 It has been a curse to me. If the law so decides, it may 
 go. If it remains in my hands I'll try to use it for the 
 good of others. If it goes to her she can gloat over it as a 
 miser over his gold, and when her time comes she may 
 die as Henry died, horrified by the memory of his life 
 long mistakes." 
 
 "You frighten me, old man; you really do," Farnham 
 exclaimed. "You are going too far you really are. 
 Your state of mind is a dangerous one. I hate to say it, 
 but you may hear it from others in fact, Milicent is sure 
 to allow it to be brought forward if she does go to law. 
 The truth is, your father's life ended in an asylum ; your 
 uncle died a miserable recluse from the world; and your 
 brother" 
 
 ' ' I know all that . ' ' Crof ton smiled wistfully. ' ' I know 
 they might be regarded as having unsound minds by your 
 world, but I am not mad in any sense. Through the fre 
 quent companionship with one person scarcely out of his 
 teens, the books I have read, the spiritual experiences I 
 have had, I know that I am wiser than I used to be. In 
 all ages men who have dared to stand by their best inner 
 convictions have been ridiculed by the masses. I have 
 groveled in the mire, and fed upon the scum of existence. 
 My pitiful life, such as it has been, was given me for some 
 inscrutable purpose. I was born to experience exactly 
 what I have experienced, and to come out of material 
 darkness into spiritual light, as I am slowly coming out 
 slowly, but it seems surely." 
 
 "You can't be serious when you say you would not con 
 test your sister's action," Farnham returned. "That 
 surely would be madness." 
 
 "Madness to shrink from having my father's, my 
 brother's, my uncle's miserable lives unrolled before the 
 public gaze, now that they are dead and at rest? I'd 
 
 21 321 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 rather give up ten fortunes such as the paltry one in 
 question. Oh yes, she may have it, if it comes to that! 
 At present my daily companions consider me a poor man, 
 and their friendship on that basis is the sweetest experi 
 ence I have ever known. I quake with the fear that they 
 may accidentally learn who I am and no longer consider 
 me wholly one of them. Farnham, there is such a thing 
 as actually being born again. The time comes in the 
 middle life of certain persons when they are completely 
 changed the things they once cared for no longer appeal 
 to them. They seek God in humility, prayer, and self- 
 immolation, and His light finally dawns upon them." 
 
 "You are too deep for me," Farnham said, with a sickly, 
 reluctant smile "too deep or too crazy, one or the other. 
 I think we had better change the subject. Well never 
 agree. Say, my train leaves at two o'clock to-morrow 
 morning, and this evening will be a lonely one for me un 
 less we spend it together. Meet me at my "hotel. I have 
 box seats for a good play. We'll have dinner together, 
 see the show, take in a cabaret supper, and be as jolly 
 as we used to be in Paris and Berlin. Then I'll take a 
 taxi for the station. What do you say? It will do you 
 good. You are killing yourself in this hole in the wall, 
 brooding over your brother's death and other like things.'* 
 
 Crofton hesitated for a moment, but finally accepted. 
 
 Farnham smiled triumphantly and rose to go. "I'll 
 make you more cheerful," he said, dubiously, slapping 
 Crofton on the shoulder. "You've got to pull yourself 
 out of this. Your uncle's morbid solitude ruined him , 
 and you have taken on his tendencies. Good-by till I 
 see you." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE evening spent with Farnham in the conventional 
 world of fashion was like a garish nightmare to the 
 man with his newly acquired vision. He was wearing 
 evening dress for the first time in several months, and the 
 black coat and trousers, the snowy whiteness of the stiff 
 waistcoat, shirt, and tie struck him as being the almost 
 degrading uniform of men who are held down from the 
 actual heights of life by sheer trivialities. He wondered 
 what his plain friends of the riverside encampment, the 
 poor families he knew on the East Side, would think if 
 they saw him there. No longer would they open their 
 hearts in brotherly confidence, for they would know that 
 he was an impostor, a man who had entered their simple 
 fraternity behind a mask. Farnham's easy chat at din 
 ner about politics, commerce, interstate railway regula 
 tions, the stock-market, and comments on the costly 
 gowns and jewels of the women in the room, were foreign 
 matters expressed in a foreign tongue. Crofton observed 
 the tired look of the bald, middle-aged waiter who served 
 them, pitied him, wondered if the man had a wife and 
 children at home, and if they longed to rise above the 
 condition of servitude of their wage-earner. And when 
 Farnham had excused himself to go out to look at the 
 "ticker," leaving him alone at the table, he ventured to 
 ask the man if the tips were good in that house. 
 
 "Not now, sir," the waiter replied, with a sigh. "We 
 used to pick up a good deal, but the talk in the papers 
 against tipping has almost stopped it. Not only that, 
 
 323 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 but our wages are lower and living is out of sight. Some 
 of the public treat us like dogs unfit to eat the bones 
 they leave on their plates. Some waiters know how to 
 make it pay, but I am getting old and slow." 
 
 "I am this gentleman's guest to-night," Crofton an 
 swered, with a furtive look toward the door. " I wouldn't 
 like to offend him, and yet I'd like to give you something." 
 He put his hand into his pocket and took out a five-dollar 
 bill, folded it, and slipped it into the waiter's palm. 
 
 "Thank you. I understand, and God bless you, sir," 
 the astonished man exclaimed as he quickly concealed 
 the money. "I can't explain everything, for your friend 
 is coming back, but I needed it, sir oh, I needed it badly 
 at home! Do you know, sir, this is actually an answer to 
 a prayer? I've been praying for help to-night, and, you 
 see, it has come it has come! God will bless you, sir 
 He will, He will as sure as His stars are in the sky to 
 night He will. I am going to ask Him to bless you 
 that is, if you don't mind? Some men I meet don't be 
 lieve in God, but if you " 
 
 "I believe in God," Crofton said, fervently, surprised 
 at his own candor, "and I want your prayers." He then 
 did a thing that -was unknown to conventional caf life: 
 he extended his hand and pressed the thin fingers of the 
 servant, while a lump of emotion filled his throat with 
 delicious pain. 
 
 "'Sh!" the beaming waiter bent to fill his tray with 
 the dishes -"your friend is coming. God bless you. I 
 shall never forget this night never!" 
 
 At the play, in the box Farnham had provided, Crof 
 ton sat all but unconscious of the drift of the drama. He 
 was glad of the opportunity to escape Farnham's talk. 
 The whole thing, compared to the recent nights and days 
 spent out in nature, under the skies, with open-hearted, 
 simple men and women, jarred harshly upon him. After 
 th play F^raharn begged him to go with him to a cabaret 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 where there was a good stage performance; but he de 
 clined, saying that he was tired and was in the habit of 
 going early to bed. He no longer cared what his friend 
 would think of his mood and actions, and yearned to be 
 alone with his thoughts. Above all, he wanted to think 
 of the waiter and the man's appealing manner and words. 
 The evening, after all, he told himself, had not been 
 thrown away. 
 
 "Well, then, 111 say good-by here," Farnham said at 
 the door of the theater. "I'll keep you posted about that 
 unpleasant family matter, and if I can help you in regard 
 to it I shall do so. I think I can influence Milicent I 
 really do. She listens to me, and I'll give her some strong 
 advice. By George! I'll tell her you are going to get 
 married that will settle it. In that case she'd have her 
 fees to pay for nothing." 
 
 As he walked to the Subway station through the glaring 
 white light of the theatrical section, Crofton had a bound 
 less sense of relief in being rid of the company of the man 
 who could not understand him in the slightest, and who 
 was now all but a gross mystery to him. 
 
 Indeed, the next morning he waked with a haunting 
 sense of having lowered himself the night before. He 
 wondered how he could have led that sort of life for so 
 many years, and how Farnham could still rejoice in it. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast he went to the ferry and 
 crossed the river to the encampment. He found Soc 
 rates in his tent with a pencil and a pad, writing a poem. 
 The young man looked up with a beaming face and smiled. 
 
 "I want you to read it," he said, flushing modestly. 
 "I may be mistaken, but I think it is the best I have done. 
 I have almost made up my mind to offer it to a maga 
 zine. I may, and I may not." 
 
 Crofton sat down on the canvas cot beside the boy and 
 read the lines. He was astonished at the philosophic 
 depth and rhythmic beauty of the poem. 
 
 325 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "It is great/' he said. "You must publish it." 
 
 "But I really don't know how to go about it," Socrates 
 said, trying to conceal his delight. 
 
 "I've had some experience in such things, and I'll send 
 if for you if you will let me," Crofton proposed. 
 
 "Oh! will you?" the boy exclaimed; "and do you 
 really think it has any chance at all of acceptance?" 
 
 "I am sure of it," Crofton replied. "You are destined 
 to be a great writer. You have the true creative sense 
 and deep mystic originality." 
 
 Some one called Socrates from a boat on the shore, 
 and he ran out, leaving the poem in Crofton's hands. 
 Crofton put the manuscript into his pocket, reclined on 
 the cot, and looked out through the door of the tent. 
 He heard Socrates and Jimmy singing. The atmosphere 
 held the faint blue which composed the denser sky above; 
 the lazy waves lapped the rocky beach ; the sea-gulls were 
 curving and dipping over the water; the towering cliffs 
 behind the tent seemed the verdure-clothed breast of 
 nature soothing the living and growing things which 
 crept and took root upon it. 
 
 "I am a new man actually a new man!" Crofton 
 chuckled. "A year ago I would have been envious of 
 this boy's work, or too materialistic to appreciate it, but 
 now I comprehend his genius and had rather see him 
 succeed than to succeed myself. Marvelous, mar 
 velous!" 
 
 The loss of his usual sleep the night before had told 
 upon him. He felt drowsy, closed his eyes, and slept with 
 half -conscious delight for several hours. When he waked 
 he heard Jimmy and Socrates conversing in low tones 
 over the fire in front of the tent. 
 
 "He likes his coffee strong," he heard the poet saying. 
 "Let me put it in. I know exactly how to measure it. 
 The other day he said my coffee was fine." 
 
 326 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Well, he liked the 'spuds' I roasted in the sand," 
 Jimmy retorted. "You burn them every time." 
 
 Crofton closed his eyes. The droning voices were like 
 far-off music to his ears. "Hush!" Socrates said, "I'll 
 see if he is awake." Thereupon he cautiously parted the 
 tent-curtains and looked in, catching Crof ton's smiling 
 glance. 
 
 "Dinner is almost ready," he announced. "You've 
 had a nice long nap, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes. I was up later than usual last night." 
 
 "Isn't that strange?" Socrates said, entering the tent 
 and sitting on a camp-stool, his fine shock of hair against 
 the sloping, overhead canvas. "I knew you were up 
 last night awake, at least." 
 
 "How could you know?" Crofton asked, attracted by 
 the naive gravity of the boy's manner and tone. 
 
 "I felt it," was the answer. "I am that way with a 
 few a very few my mother all my life, and lately with 
 you. I couldn't sleep last night. I had been rowing, 
 swimming, and gathering driftwood all day, and was 
 quite fagged out, still I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking 
 of you and knew or thought, at least that you were 
 awake." 
 
 "I was, "Crofton said. 
 
 "But that wasn't all," Socrates went on. "I had the 
 feeling that certain things were happening that you 
 didn't like. It seemed to me that you were nervous and 
 upset different from what you are with us. I had that 
 feeling till about midnight; then all at once it lifted and 
 I felt that whatever it was that disturbed you was over 
 with. Then I went to sleep." 
 
 "It is a good example of thought-transference," Crof 
 ton said. "I was awake and feeling uncomfortable 'till 
 after midnight." 
 
 "I always know when you are coming over here," 
 Socrates went on. "I knew it to-day. I told Jimmy. 
 
 3 2 7 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 It is a queer thing telepathy is, for you can't experiment 
 with it. Experimenting always kills it. That is why 
 some scientists refuse to accept it. But it is true, and in 
 the future it will be better understood and actually put 
 to use." 
 
 "I am sure you are right," Crofton returned. 
 
 Jimmy, outside, was striking a goblet with a fork and 
 making a tinkling sound. "There is no telepathy in 
 that." Socrates laughed, merrily. "That is the dinner- 
 bell. Let's go. I'm as hungry as a bear." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A si unexpected thing was to happen to Crofton. He 
 was riding one morning on the top of a 'bus up 
 Riverside Drive, when he noticed a lady dressed in brown 
 on a corner signaling to the driver to stop. It was Lydia. 
 From his position on one of the front seats he could not 
 see her again till she had ascended the narrow, winding 
 stair and was taking one of the rear seats. Then he had 
 a full view of her. His heart was in his mouth. He felt 
 cold from head to foot, and trembled with excitement. 
 She was viewing the river with evident interest, and did 
 not notice him, although he sat furtively and even fear 
 fully watching her. She was even more beautiful than 
 when he had last seen her. At One Hundred and Sixteenth 
 Street she rang the bell and stopped the 'bus. Still she 
 had not noticed him. He was tempted to go back and 
 assist her, but she was already on the way down. Sud 
 denly he realized that he was about to miss the only 
 chance he might ever have to appeal to her once more, 
 and with great trepidation he followed her to the pave 
 ment. Indeed, he was so close behind her that he could 
 have touched her arm. When the 'bus had left, she 
 turned, saw him at her side, started, and uttered a little 
 cry of blended surprise and protest. 
 
 "Oh, Lydia, you must forgive me!" he humbly and 
 huskily pleaded. "I cannot let you go again without 
 seeing you. I must speak to you, if only for a mo 
 ment." 
 
 It struck him that a faint light of sympathy lay in her 
 3 2 9 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 beautiful eyes for a bare instant; then he saw her face 
 hardening with displeasure. 
 
 "What is it that you want to say?" she asked, biting 
 her lip and stabbing the pavement with her sunshade. 
 "I have to cross the Drive here. I am going down into 
 the Park. I sometimes go there to walk." 
 
 His pulse beat quickly under the thought that she might 
 permit him to accompany her, and yet he was afraid to 
 propose it, feeling instinctively that if he mentioned it 
 she would refuse. However, she allowed him to take her 
 arm and help her across the Drive, and that vaguely 
 encouraged him to remain at her side a moment longer. 
 Near by there was a stone stairway leading down into 
 the Park, and she permitted him to descend it with her. 
 
 "You can't imagine how glad I am to see you, Lydia," 
 he faltered. "Since I saw you in Washington I have 
 thought of little else than that meeting. I deserve all 
 you said and more, but I am sure you would pity me if 
 you knew me as I now am and all that I have suffered." 
 
 They had reached a shaded walk, and she paused and 
 looked at him steadily and curiously. He felt her calm 
 eyes sweeping his lined face, clothes, and gray hair. 
 
 "I can see that you have suffered," she said, with a 
 little sigh. " I was sorry afterward that I spoke so harsh 
 ly to you that day; but I was frightened oh, I was 
 frightened! I cannot now make you understand my 
 position without explaining certain things which I never 
 shall explain. One thing, however, is sure our lives 
 must lie apart there is no other way none under the 
 sun." 
 
 "God knows I cannot ask you to make a confidant of 
 me after my cowardly conduct," he faltered; "but you 
 are noble-hearted, Lydia, and you will forgive. You 
 may not believe it, but I'd give my life to atone for the 
 wrong I have done you." 
 
 Again she was eying him studiously. "I think you 
 
 330 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 look altered," she observed, "and I am sorry for you. 
 Still, if I could tell you all, you would know that that 
 we must never be seen together." 
 
 "Oh, then you are are bound to some one else?" he 
 gulped. 
 
 "No, no, not in the way you think," she thrust in 
 quickly. "I am giving my whole life to my work." 
 
 "I know I know, and it is a noble calling," he said, 
 off his guard. 
 
 "What do you know of my work?" she asked, sus 
 piciously. "I have not yet told you what I do. How 
 could you know?" 
 
 He hesitated, his eyes averted from her now quite 
 anxious stare, the blood rushing to his face. "Perhaps 
 I haven't quite the right to to say how I discovered it," 
 he said; "but it was purely accidental." 
 
 A knowing look came into her eyes. "Oh, I think I 
 know now! I thought I was unrecognized that day by 
 your friend Farnham, but he knew me, after all. He 
 was the only old acquaintance that I had run across for 
 years and years. I tried to escape his notice, but I see 
 now that he knew me." 
 
 "Yes, he knew you. He spoke of that meeting to me 
 early this summer, but he could not recall the name you 
 bore." 
 
 "Well, I am glad that he could not, for I don't want 
 you to know it, but I assure you that I am tired of hiding 
 from it all." 
 
 "But why do you?" he faltered. 
 
 "Why do I, indeed?" she cried. "Oh, that' you, of all 
 persons, could ask such a question! Well, I am not going 
 to explain. I have reasons for my silence, and they are 
 sufficient quite sufficient." 
 
 There was a bench at the side of the walk, over the 
 back of which hung a mass of green shrubbery, and she 
 sat down to rest. He hesitated, fearing that the liberty 
 
 33 1 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 might offend her, but finally seated himself on the end 
 of the bench. 
 
 "Lydia," he resumed, appealingly, "I was a thought 
 less, brainless boy when I deserted you so heartlessly. 
 Since then sorrow, trouble, and a dissatisfied mind have 
 crushed all pride out of me. I am humiliated as few men 
 have ever been humiliated, and it is by the very hand of 
 God. I myself have reached a point in life at which 
 I would forgive the greatest personal wrong that could 
 possibly be done me. You are kind and good. I see it in 
 your sweet face, hear it in your voice. I presume I am the 
 only person in the world whom you could never forgive?" 
 
 11 1 don't know oh, I don't know!" she returned, 
 thoughtfully. Then suddenly she drew herself erect, 
 tossed her head, and flared out, angrily: "You talk of 
 suffering you, you! Pardon me, but I can't see what 
 you've ever had to suffer about," her pretty lip curling. 
 "From newspaper notices, mostly of a high social nature, 
 which I happened to see from time to time, I learned that 
 you were leading a gay and reckless life in Europe, often 
 with titled men and women, always with the rich and the 
 influential. Do you think any proud girl would be apt to 
 forgive a man under such circumstances? And I was as 
 proud as the proudest! I discovered that, when my heart 
 broken mother took me to New Orleans and showed me 
 that I must act a lie among total strangers all the rest of 
 my life for the sake of our helpless child that " Lydia 
 suddenly checked herself, her hand quickly raised to her 
 mouth. She turned pale, her face hardened, and her lips 
 twitched and quivered. She looked away, seeming con 
 scious that she had said more than she intended. 
 
 "Our child our child?" he gasped in surprise. "Was 
 there a child? Is there a child, Lydia?" 
 
 She seemed frightened by his question. She was dog 
 gedly silent, almost sullenly so till he had repeated his 
 query; then she blurted out: 
 
 332 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "No, no ; I don't know what I was saying. At times my 
 mind gets wrong and I say things with no meaning at all." 
 
 "But you said it you said it!" He leaned forward, 
 his face ashen and quivering. "Oh, Lydia, you said it! 
 You may have a reason for wanting to deceive me about 
 this, but for God's sake don't do it. If there is a child, 
 a son or a daughter, I want to know it I ought to know 
 it. Surely, surely you would not keep such a vital thing 
 as that from me?' 1 
 
 She lowered her head in dumb defiance. He saw only 
 her exquisite profile. Her lips were tightly pressed to 
 gether. The lids of her eyes seemed to contract under 
 fear and indecision. He saw her gloved fingers clenched 
 tightly over the handle of her closed sunshade, upon which 
 she leaned almost limply. 
 
 "Oh, Lydia, you must tell me the truth!'* he pleaded. 
 "If there is a child you have no right, before God, to hide 
 it from me." 
 
 She still refused to look at him. "Well, I did say it I 
 did say it," she confessed, frowningly, and in growing 
 desperation. "There was a child, but he died he died, 
 I tell you, and you can never see him. You deserted him 
 as you deserted me. He is dead yes, dead, dead!" 
 
 "Dead? Oh, Lydia, Lydia, what are you saying? 
 How long did he live?" 
 
 She turned upon him almost as an angry tigress. ' ' Why 
 do you want to know so much ? Why do you ask ? It 
 it is my matter, not yours. God knows you have no right 
 to be told anything concerning me and mine. I know 
 things which you can never know which you should 
 never know and that must suffice. I was his sole guar 
 dian, an ignorant mountain girl, the daughter of a ser 
 vant, the mother of a budding genius." 
 
 He groaned aloud. "Dead! Dead!" he cried. "A 
 son of mine and yours, and I am not even to know how 
 be looked or what he was like?" 
 
 333 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 She seemed to be softened by the wilted look of despair 
 which lay upon him, the sickening pallor of his face; she 
 seemed even to pity him. 
 
 "I would like to tell you more, but I can't I simply 
 can't," she said, more gently now. "Yes, you have a 
 right to know what he was like. He looked something 
 like you did when I first met you. I mean I mean," 
 she nervously corrected, "that, as child, he was slender 
 and had some of your features. He was imaginative, 
 wonderfully bright, and had a most lovable disposition. 
 Strangers often stopped and admired him on the streets 
 and gave him presents. He was always saying unex 
 pected things wise things. I studied hard that I might 
 teach him. He was very affectionate, and and I adore 
 adored him." 
 
 "And he died without my ever seeing him," Crofton 
 moaned. "I have been heavily punished already, Lydia; 
 but this punishment will last the remainder of my wretched 
 life. I shall never cease to remember that I had a son 
 and lost him through my own cowardice and despicable 
 weakness." 
 
 "Do you mean" she bent toward him eagerly and 
 yet dubiously "that if he were alive you would actually 
 care for him?" 
 
 "I would worship him die for him," Crofton answered, 
 fervently. "I'd die for him a thousand times." 
 
 "Ah, I see I see," her beautiful brows drawn thought 
 fully together, "but you are not looking deeply enough. 
 It would take the experience I have had to be able to do 
 so. What if knowing you to be his father, in the sense 
 that you were his father, would have made his whole life 
 miserable? You see, he never suspected the disgraceful 
 blight upon him. It would have killed him. He was 
 almost abnormally proud, sensitive, and aspiring. No, 
 he could not have stood it, and it would have been a 
 crime to put the consequences of our conduct upon him." 
 
 334 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 They were both silent for several minutes, their glance 
 on some sail-boats on the river. Presently Crofton spoke 
 again : 
 
 "You have not told me how old he was when he died, 
 Lydia?" 
 
 "Haven't I?" her lashes flickering as they sank over 
 her wonderful eyes. "He was young he was young; 
 that is enough to say." 
 
 "And since then you have been all alone?" he said, 
 gently. 
 
 "Yes, all alone; but I had my work, and it absorbed 
 me. Now, I must go. I have stayed out as long as I 
 can. I have a patient near here." She stood up erectly, 
 opened her sunshade, and turned toward the street. He 
 was by her side at once, but she gave him a cold, firm 
 glance. "I don't want to pain you again," she said; 
 "but I'd rather you would let me go to the street alone. 
 I can't fully explain, but I have acquaintances in this 
 neighborhood whom I have known for years, and I might 
 meet them. Women in my profession have to be careful, 
 and I more than any of the others. I could not lie to 
 them about you, as I'd have to do. I could not introduce 
 you. My life has been a lie, but not a direct one." 
 
 "I understand," he said, dejectedly; "but am I not 
 to see you again ever again?" 
 
 "But why, why do you want to see me?" she asked, 
 her face filling with a faint, pink glow which reminded 
 him of her girlhood. 
 
 "Because you are all I have to care for in the world," 
 he answered, fervently. "I know now that I loved you 
 when I left you, and that I have loved you ever since. 
 A quarter of a century of blind stupidity has shown me 
 your depth of soul and character. I know what you have 
 suffered. I must see you again I must I must! Oh, 
 Lydia, I must I must!" 
 
 The pink glow was still on her exquisite face; it seemed 
 335 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 to sweep into her eyes and fill them with a melting light 
 of pity. 
 
 "I walk here on Saturday mornings," she said, finally. 
 " It is wrong for me to meet you for me to take the risk 
 of meeting you, but I will once more, anyway. I will be 
 here next Saturday morning at about the time I came 
 to-day. Now, good-by. Don't be unhappy don't!" 
 
 When she had left him he walked down to the river's 
 edge. His very body seemed imponderable. It was as 
 if he were a moving entity without form or substance. 
 "I shall see her again! I shall see her again!" he kept 
 saying to himself. "Lydia, Lydia, the mother of my 
 dead child the sweetest, most suffering, most wronged 
 of all women. God will show me a way to win her for 
 giveness. He will, He will!" 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE next afternoon Crofton went to the encampment. 
 Jimmy was on the landing, throwing out and drawing 
 in his crab-nets. 
 
 "Socrates has just left here," he said. "He is half off 
 his nut to see you. He went back to the camp. He is 
 afraid you won't come to-day." 
 
 "Anything particular?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "You'll have to ask him," Jimmy smiled, mysteriously. 
 "It is his business. He says I can't hold my tongue, 
 nohow." 
 
 When he had gotten half-way to the tent Crofton saw 
 Socrates approaching. On seeing him, the boy threw his 
 cap in the air, shouted with glee, and danced merrily on 
 the grass by the path, kicking high and comically curv 
 ing his arms over his head. 
 
 "What is all this about?" Crofton asked, feeling like 
 a boy at sport with a boy. The hope roused by his last 
 meeting with Lydia had taken the weight of years from 
 his shoulders. He felt like dancing and shouting himself. 
 The whole world seemed transcendentally bright, the 
 youth some sort of human assurance of the infinite friend 
 liness and forgiveness of the universe to all created beings. 
 
 "We were afraid you'd happen not to come to-day, of 
 all days." Socrates was now at his side, and had put his 
 arm familiarly about his shoulders. "If you had failed 
 we'd have been the most disappointed bunch on the 
 shore. We are getting ready for the spread in your honor. 
 We are to have it at six this evening." 
 
 22 337 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Ah! is that so?" Crofton exclaimed, delighted. 
 
 " Yes. We have been at work all morning, ten or twelve 
 of us, gathering logs and driftwood for a big bonfire. 
 We have bought a whole pig, and are now roasting it 
 over a bed of living coals. Hurry up, I want you to see 
 what we are doing. The women all along the line have 
 lent us dishes and knives, forks, and spoons, and we have 
 built a long table out of planks and boards. It is to be 
 a barbecue out and out." 
 
 "I don't deserve it, Socrates," said Crofton, resisting 
 an impulse to embrace the boy. "I am almost a stranger 
 to you all." 
 
 "Humph! Well, they don't feel that way," Socrates 
 returned. "They have never wanted to do this sort of 
 thing for anybody else. And I haven't myself. We 
 want to do it that's all. Say, I think they are getting 
 on to you." 
 
 Crofton started. "What do you mean?" he asked, al 
 most fearfully. 
 
 "Why," Socrates laughed, "they've been owning up 
 to one another. They know you can't afford it, but you 
 have lent money or given it, rather to nearly every 
 man here who is out of work. Two of them said last 
 night that in their cases you had not waited to be asked. 
 One said you actually apologized for doing it, that you 
 made several 'round-about stabs at it,' as he put it, be 
 fore you made the offer. Say, you may think what you 
 will of the joys of existence, but the joy of helping men 
 who are down and out is actually the greatest joy in 
 life. How can a person doubt the love of God when 
 a human being can love another as you do, and be 
 kind to him? God made mere human machines who 
 can be kind, and yet skeptics say God Himself is not 
 kind." 
 
 The path was now sloping down to the encampment 
 on the beach. Socrates gave a keen whistle, which was 
 
 333 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 answered by a hallo from below. At this moment Jim 
 my hurriedly passed them, carrying a crab-net in either 
 hand. 
 
 "Have you told him?" Crofton heard him ask Socrates 
 under his panting breath. 
 
 "Yes, he knows, you blooming chump," Socrates 
 laughed. 
 
 "Yes, I know, Jimmy," Crofton added. "It is the 
 greatest honor ever paid me." 
 
 "Oh, come off!" Jimmy sniffed. "We are nothing but 
 a bunch o' hoboes. Well, we'll have some fun. That 
 pile of logs will set the river on fire. We had a good one 
 last year, but it wasn't in it wid dis one." 
 
 That afternoon Crofton worked with the others, draw 
 ing logs, beams, boxes, kegs, barrels, and hogsheads from 
 the incoming tide, and heaping them upon the vast pile 
 of rubbish on the shore. The sweat rolled in drops from 
 his body; his skin was pink and blended with tan; his 
 muscles had grown and toughened; he felt stronger than 
 he ever had felt before. It was a novel experience; he 
 was playing like a child with grown men who had lapsed 
 into childhood. He had been born into a veritable new 
 life in which there was no hint of his old cares. 
 
 While he was helping in this work the palatial yacht 
 of a well-known young millionaire passed down the river. 
 It was snowy white, and as graceful and swift as a bird. 
 A small party sat under awnings on deck. Crofton paused 
 in his work, watching the craft with the others, and listen 
 ing to their wise and droll comments. 
 
 "Boys, stand out o' me way!" Jimmy cried, jerking a 
 soiled red handkerchief from his pocket and stepping 
 forward on the sand. "I told John P. last night at the 
 club that I would be here to-day. He offered to send a 
 launch ashore for me and take me for a ride wid him and 
 his dames (see 'im waving his cap?), but I told him I 
 wanted to be here to-day. Hey, hey! old boy Johnny, go 
 
 339 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ahead!" vigorously waving the handkerchief. "I can't be 
 wid you dis morning. I'm doin' some slummin' work; 
 but good luck to you, and me regards to de dames." 
 
 "Yes, he wants you, you slob," a dry wit, a shad-fisher 
 man from up the river, called out; "he wants you to peel 
 potatoes or mop the deck." 
 
 "Dry up! I've got your number, you rummy." 
 Jimmy smiled good-naturedly, stuffing his handkerchief 
 into his hip pocket. "I know you, all right." 
 
 The sun went down in a blaze of red and gold which 
 rested like a crown on the Palisades. The shadows of 
 the mighty cliff -peaks crept across the river and the far- 
 off buildings of the city were draped in the thickening 
 folds of twilight. The heap of logs was lighted. Slow 
 ly it burned at first, and then the flames crept in and 
 out and higher and higher. They danced around it, 
 men, women, and children shouting, laughing, singing, 
 jesting. When the blaze was at its height dinner was 
 announced. Jimmy and another man grasped Crofton 
 by the arms and forced him to take the only seat at the 
 table, an inverted sugar-barrel. Jimmy invited himself 
 to make a speech, and would have succeeded in doing so 
 but for the yells and groans of the others. There were no 
 formalities. Crof ton's brain fairly swam in a flood of 
 content. Everybody was hungry and everybody was 
 joking and yet courteous to his fellow. 
 
 The bonfire began to lose its whiter light, and by the 
 time the feast was over it had become a vast heap of livid 
 coals and embers. The lights in the boats on the river 
 were like creeping stars in a sky lowered to the feet of 
 the beholders. Now and then from some boat came 
 music, singing, the twanging of stringed instruments, 
 merry laughter. The joy on the water seemed an over 
 flow of the joy on the shore. 
 
 When most of the women and children had gone to 
 their tents some of the men, who lived too far away to 
 
 340 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 return that night, threw themselves on the ground near 
 the fire and went to sleep. Socrates approached Crofton, 
 who was thinking of going back to the city. 
 
 "You mustn't go," he said. "I have an extra cot in 
 my tent for you. It would be hard for you to catch a 
 boat at this hour, and I know you are tired like all the 
 rest of us." 
 
 Crofton gratefully accepted the invitation, and he and 
 the boy went to the tent and retired. They were about 
 to extinguish the little oil-lamp when Crofton thought 
 he detected an unexpressed desire of some vague sort in 
 his companion's shadowy face. 
 
 "What is on your mind, Socrates?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," but the word was accompanied by a 
 sigh, and the boy turned the wick of the lamp low and 
 asked: "Are you ready? Shall I put it out?" 
 
 "Yes; but you haven't answered my question yet," 
 Crofton replied. "I have caught you looking at me anx 
 iously several times to-day." 
 
 "Oh, is that so?" He blew out the light, and they 
 were in darkness. Crofton heard the boy's cot creak as 
 he stretched his slender limbs out on it. 
 
 "Yes, your mind was on something besides all that fun 
 and nonsense. There were times when you did not join 
 in with the others. Once I saw you sitting alone with a 
 worried frown on your face. You are too young for that." 
 
 "Well, I'll own up," Socrates said, unsteadily. "Say, 
 you will think I am a hopeless novice and troublesome, 
 but you remember you promised to to send that poem 
 of mine to a magazine?" 
 
 "Yes. Didn't I tell you I'd sent it? I supposed you 
 would take it for granted, after what I said. I sent it 
 off at once." 
 
 "Did you really, really?" 
 
 "Yes, of course, and, moreover, I wrote a strong letter 
 of commendation with it." 
 
 34i 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "And and " Socrates' voice faltered and died 
 away. For a moment neither of them spoke, but Crofton 
 heard the boy sigh again, turn over suddenly, and utter 
 an exclamation of impatience. " What's the use?" he 
 cried. "I might as well own up. The thing has worried 
 me more than anything for years." 
 
 "Worried you? I don't understand." 
 
 " Well, it has. I'm made that way, and I can't help it. 
 You saw something in the blame poem because you want 
 to please me, and you think it will suit a magazine, but 
 it won't. It will come back to you, and then you will 
 have the contempt for me that I deserve for being so 
 conceited. A success like that is not for me. I'd rather 
 have it than all the money in the world, but it is not for 
 me not for me, and it is hard to think how thoroughly 
 you will despise me when you realize the truth. I ought 
 to have stopped you I ought I ought!" 
 
 Crofton was deeply moved. He sat up and leaned tow 
 ard the silent shape against the tent cloth. "Listen to 
 me," he said, almost huskily. " I am not overrating your 
 work because I know and like you personally. That 
 poem is wonderful. The lines ring in my ears constantly ; 
 your original thought and richness of expression thrill 
 me through and through. There are times when I look 
 upon you as a prophet a reincarnation of one of the old 
 ones. I am as sure of the success of that poem, and 
 others you have written, as I am that you lie there tor 
 turing yourself with self-criticism." 
 
 "Oh, it can't be it can't!" the boy fairly sobbed. "I 
 dare not let myself hope it. The disappointment would 
 kill me. I want it for your sake. I want it for my 
 mother's sake. I don't think she has ever hoped that I 
 could do such a thing well enough for publication. I want 
 it for the sake of the work itself, too ; but, oh, it will come 
 back it will come back! Then you will see that you 
 were mistaken, that you let your kind heart run away 
 
 342 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 with your judgment. Poof! I'm only a mechanic. My 
 place is at a bench on a carpet of sawdust and shavings. 
 God made me nameless. Why should I be allowed to gain 
 a name or a respectable place in a world which has never 
 been mine?" 
 
 "For the very reason that you have suffered so bravely, 
 so patiently," Crofton was fairly pleading. "And it 
 would please your mother, you say?" 
 
 "Please her? She'd be the happiest woman in the 
 world. She thinks I have a good mind, but she doesn't 
 dream that I ever really hoped for success as a writer, 
 and I don't I don't! Remember that remember that, 
 when the manuscript comes back. Don't bring it to me ; 
 destroy it don't let me see it again. Simply remain 
 silent and I'll understand I'll understand!" 
 
 "The editor will communicate with you, in my care," 
 Crofton said. "I asked him to do that, because I thought 
 he would like to write to you personally. Don't be de 
 spondent, my boy. The world is brighter than it looks. 
 I know, for I have been through the depths and seem to 
 be coming out into light." 
 
 They were silent for several minutes. Presently Soc 
 rates spoke again of his mother. "Yes, it would delight 
 her! She wants me to quit my job, anyway. She is 
 pleased with California. She has decided to buy a small 
 cottage out there so that she and I can live together. 
 She hopes that I can get employment, and she wants to 
 stop traveling about so much. Oh, if only I could earn 
 money by writing! What joy could be like that for her 
 and for me?" 
 
 "California!" Crofton lay still. California would be 
 his new friend's home in the future, and he would remain 
 alone in New York or be forced to resume his wanderings, 
 with nothing for their object, nothing for their goal. 
 He now realized for the first time and fully how fond he 
 was of the lad by his side, and a pang of pain passed 
 
 343 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 through him at the thought of parting from him for 
 ever. 
 
 "You will be happy there with a home of your own," 
 he heard himself saying. "It is a beautiful country, and 
 the climate is fine. They appreciate art and literature 
 out there, and will encourage you." 
 
 "If only it could be!" the boy sighed. "But it can't 
 it can't ! Fate has hit me below the belt all my life, even 
 when I was younger and weaker. It won't fight fair in 
 this, either. It is a dream a dream and I'll have to 
 remain as I am." 
 
 An hour passed before the tired boy slept, but even 
 then the man remained wakeful, for he was unusually 
 distressed, and it was long past midnight before he, too, 
 fell asleep. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ON the Saturday morning of his appointment to meet 
 Lydia in Riverside Park, Crofton received a letter 
 from Farnham, and he read it as he walked away from 
 the house. The first part of the letter pertained to busi 
 ness matters, but it was the closing lines which interested 
 the recipient most. 
 
 "Don't think I've been meddling clumsily/' Farnham 
 wrote, "for I am sure I have accomplished results in that 
 family matter of yours. In fact, I think I worked your 
 sister as fine as I ever did a man in a keen trade, and 
 that is saying a lot. The more I thought of the injustice 
 of her rotten scheme, the madder it made me. You see, 
 I've got a personal interest in it, too, for her ridiculous 
 suit would naturally bring our enterprises to the front, 
 and some jokes would be made at our expense which would 
 not exactly help increase dividends. So I simply decided 
 to get to work on the matter and wipe it out. 
 
 "I called on her in her shady, cavelike home, ostensibly 
 to let her know I had seen her dear brother in New York 
 and found him well; then I gave her plenty of line and 
 watched her play. She took my bait and swam straight 
 toward me, every fin and scale showing. She appealed 
 to my honor as a Southern gentleman of the old school 
 (I'm afraid I was expelled long ago), and said it was the 
 talk of all Atlanta that you were losing your mind, throw 
 ing your money away recklessly on anybody who would 
 take it, and insisted on my standing by her and furnishing 
 ample evidence to support her claim. I listened 
 
 345 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 lively and then proposed that she and I go see her 
 lawyer and talk it over. She fell into it at once. You've 
 seen that despicable shark, Wade Darlington. He is by 
 far the most contemptible scoundrel unhung. He would 
 have been behind the bars long ago but for his knowledge 
 of how to evade the law. He has defended so many cut 
 throats and thieves that he is an embodiment in bloodless 
 flesh of both classes. When he saw me enter his office 
 with your sister he at once took it for granted that I was 
 her witness, and he fell all over me. My very name 
 melted in his mouth. I listened to their talk and their 
 plans for an hour, pretending all along to see nothing 
 wrong in them. Finally, your sister left me and him to 
 gether. I had myself been laying a little plan more or 
 less justifiable according to the state of one's morals and 
 enforced associates, and when I had him to myself I re 
 marked to him as a starter that had I only known 
 that there really was such a legal brain in the South as 
 his our company certainly would not have allowed another 
 firm of lawyers to represent us in our legal matters. 
 Thereupon I hinted you may not know, on your highly 
 spiritual plane, how I can hint at purely mundane things 
 which have no possibility of existing, but I hinted that 
 there was really no actual reason why we should not a 
 little later turn our legal matters over to him. I did not 
 commit myself I seldom do, you know I simply hinted 
 at what might happen, seeing that I had by pure accident, 
 as it were, discovered a real legal genius. He bit my 
 bait, too it was a good day for suckers. He abused 
 our lawyers as the most brainless, inefficient firm that 
 ever disgraced the bar of America, and asked me trem 
 blingly, as he spoke of his big earnings, how much his ser 
 vices would be worth to us. I told him I'd have to con 
 sult our directors, and rose as if to go. At the door I 
 turned back, as if on second thought. There is one diffi 
 culty in your getting the appointment right off, anyway, 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 I remarked, casually, though I knew I was hurling a 
 bomb. 'What is it?' he asked, uneasily, almost pale with 
 sudden anxiety. 
 
 "'Why,' I answered, 'as matters now stand, I'll have 
 to get Crofton's sanction as a director and main stock 
 holder, and I'm just a little bit afraid when he learns of 
 your management of his sister's case he might oppose any 
 effort of mine to employ you.' 
 
 "He actually turned pale. 'I see, I see,' he frowned. 
 'Why didn't I think of that?' He made me stay longer. 
 He walked back and forth as restlessly as a lion in a 
 cage. Suddenly he turned to me. 
 
 "This matter of Miss Crofton's is merely a chance, 
 anyway, don't you think?' he inquired, anxiously. 
 
 "'Oh, well,' I said, 'I presume you get a fair retaining 
 fee, anyway, and that is something to the good?' 
 
 "'She won't pay any,' he growled; 'she never does. 
 If I can't put the thing through I won't get a red cent. 
 What do you think of my chances?' 
 
 "I shook my head slowly I was afraid my hook would 
 slip out of his gills. 'To be frank,' I answered, finally, 
 ' if I am put on oath as a chief witness, I could not swear 
 that I think Crofton is insane, or anywhere near it. It 
 would be a strange jury of human beings that would 
 take a man's property from him for being mildly chari 
 table, and turn it over to one who isn't. I am afraid there 
 are two kinds of insanity liberality and stinginess and 
 there are some people who say that your client is not 
 wholly rational.' 
 
 " 'I see, I see.' He squeezed his bearded chin nervous 
 ly, and his little eyes blinked rapidly. 'What do you 
 think I'd better do?' he inquired. 'You and I may be 
 closely connected in future, and I want your advice. You 
 see, I am between two fires.' 
 
 "I still hung back, for I was afraid the scamp might 
 have intuition. I resented his cocksureness, too, in re- 
 
 347 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 gard to the imaginary change of our legal advisers, and 
 felt like kicking him for their sake as well as yours. He 
 warmly insisted on hearing from me, however, and my 
 delay in giving an opinion made it all the more convinc 
 ing. Presently I said: 
 
 '"I can only tell you how I would act if I were in your 
 place. I wouldn't touch as flimsy a case as that with 
 a ten-foot pole. You can't win it, and your failure would 
 only make you the laughing-stock of the entire South, 
 and turn Crofton against you.' 
 
 '"I think you are right/ my floundering fish said. ' I'll 
 see her to-day and advise her to drop it.' 
 
 "'Well/ I said, indifferently, 'I think that is best.' 
 
 "To make a long story short, your sweet sister came to 
 me the next day and told me she had decided not to pro 
 ceed against you, that she loved you too much, and a 
 lot more. She begged me not to tell you what she had 
 been about (and I sha'n't I swear I sha'n't). As she 
 was leaving she asked me if I thought you'd ever marry, 
 and I told her I did not think it was likely that sane 
 men seldom ever did, and that I was sure you still had 
 your wits about you." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 PLEASED and vaguely soothed over the contents of 
 1 the letter, Crofton strode blithely along Riverside 
 Drive toward the entrance to the Park. It was a rarely 
 beautiful morning. The walk was shaded by the tall 
 apartment-houses on the eastern side of the wide thorough 
 fare and the fine trees in its center. The loungers reading 
 newspapers on the green benches, the nurse-maids in white 
 aprons and beribboned caps with the pretty, well-groomed 
 children, reminded him of the boulevards of Paris. 
 
 He descended into the Park and at once sought the seat 
 he had occupied with Lydia. He was full of nervous 
 excitement and anxiety. What if she should not come, 
 after all? What if she should have changed her mind 
 and gone away from the city on some sudden call to duty? 
 The day was warm, and yet he was cold all over and trem 
 bled. How could he bear such a disappointment, for he 
 had built much on her reluctant consent to meet him? 
 She had been in his thoughts every hour since they had 
 parted. She must pity him she must listen to him. He 
 couldn't give her up. The hope of her was filling his 
 lonely life like an infinite promise of ultimate redemption. 
 She must be his she must, she must ! 
 
 The minutes dragged by; an hour was gone and still 
 she had not come. His hopes were at the lowest ebb. 
 He paced restlessly back and forth along the concrete 
 walk, now and then returning to ascend the stone steps 
 and look down and up the Drive. Presently he saw her 
 alighting from a 'bus at the point where she and he had 
 
 349 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 descended before, and his blood pounded madly in his 
 veins. Remembering what she had said about not 
 wanting to be seen with him on the street, he quickly re 
 treated to the bench where they had sat before, and stood 
 waiting for her. Oh, how slow she was how very slow! 
 In fact, she was so long in making her appearance at the 
 head of the steps which he was hungrily watching that 
 he was filled with fresh apprehension. What could be 
 the matter? He was about to go back to the street 
 when he descried her at the head of the stairs, stepping 
 daintily down. She smiled apologetically when she had 
 reached him. 
 
 "You thought I was not coming," she began, tenta 
 tively, as she half -hesitatingly gave him her gloved hand. 
 "I was detained at home for fully an hour. I had to 
 talk with a physician about an important case of a poor 
 woman who is unable to pay him or me. I have agreed 
 to take it and begin this afternoon. Then right up there, 
 as I left the 'bus, I met a doctor I know. I had to stop 
 for a moment. I saw you standing at the entrance, and 
 was glad you came back here." 
 
 "I have been crazy to see you, Lydia," he began. "I 
 have thought of nothing but you since last Saturday. 
 You have given me new life; you must not take it from 
 me." 
 
 He saw her beautiful brows contract, and a troubled 
 look rise in the depths of her thoughtful eyes. "Oh, if 
 only it lay with me wholly with me!" she said, almost as 
 if to herself. "But it doesn't, Carter" the old name 
 pronounced as of old in the sweet Southern accent 
 slipped from her impulsive lips. "See, I have always 
 called you that in my memory, because I once did, you 
 know. Oh, I am helpless, Carter, absolutely helpless!" 
 
 "How? What do you mean? Can't you explain?" 
 he implored her. 
 
 She slowly shook her head as she sat down. "Explain? 
 
 350 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 That is it; I can't even explain. You will have to take 
 my word for it, that is all." 
 
 "Take your word for it?" He checked a groan. "I 
 can't, Lydia, if it means that we are to remain parted. I 
 can stand anything but that now. I now know that in 
 the eyes of God you are my wife, and weak as I have been, 
 neglectful as I've been, cruel as I've been, still oh, 
 Lydia, you are the mother of our poor dead son, and I, 
 who have never known what it was to be a father, and 
 who yearns for fatherhood as no man I have ever known 
 yearns " 
 
 "Don't don't speak of him!" she exclaimed, her lips 
 twitching. "We mustn't speak of him we mustn't!" 
 
 "But why?" he groaned, as he sat down closer to her 
 than he had dared on their former meeting. "Lydia, in 
 my mind I have asked you a thousand questions about 
 him since I learned of his birth and death. Oh, Lydia, 
 you saw him you knew him you actually heard his 
 voice, while I, who deserted him like a craven coward " 
 
 "Don't! Don't!" she pleaded. "I shall go if you 
 don't stop." 
 
 "Then I'll stop," he yielded. "You know best." 
 
 "Yes, I certainly know best, about him, at least," she 
 agreed. He saw tears in her eyes; the flood of them 
 seemed to back up beneath her delicate pink-and-olive 
 skin, adding inexplicable emotional beauty to her rare 
 face. "It was of something else I hoped to speak to you 
 to-day. We have naturally different points of view, 
 perhaps. Carter, from words you have dropped I fancy 
 you are different in character from what you were away 
 back there in the mountains. I almost think I think 
 sometimes that you have become even religious." 
 
 "I may be," he admitted. "I am just beginning to 
 try to live as I think a man ought to live to put himself 
 into harmony with God's highest law." 
 
 She led him on adroitly, a vast interest and suspense 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 in her manner, to speak of his gradual awakening to 
 spiritual verities. He left nothing out. He bared his 
 soul to her as he had scarcely even bared it to himself. 
 He went back to his terrible struggle between two im 
 pulses in New Orleans, his uncle's God-lent advice on one 
 hand and Farnham's materialistic views on the other. In 
 a cowed whisper, and avoiding the steady stare of her eyes, 
 which were full of shimmering tears of sympathy, he told 
 of his final decision. Next he spoke of his reckless life 
 in Europe in that long, misguided effort to drown the past 
 in the pursuit of vanity, frivolity, and a collapsing career 
 in letters. He spoke of his effort to marry a woman he 
 did not love, merely that he might have companionship 
 and some sort of home. He described his return to 
 America, his brother's terrible death and its profound 
 effect upon him. He mentioned his search for the mean 
 ing of life through idealistic philosophy, and lastly how 
 he had found a certain sense of peace, or a promise of 
 peace, in self-renunciation and association with the hum 
 blest of humanity and his effort to help them. 
 
 When he had finished she suddenly put out her hand in 
 an unconscious impulse, and laid it on his arm almost 
 with a touch of tenderness. "And to think that this 
 can be you, actually you!" she said, tremulously. "Oh, 
 I have prayed that this might come to you, the father 
 of my sweet boy, for his sake as well as yours. It is the 
 only key to life, Carter, and you are finding it through 
 trouble and pain just as I found it in the darkest shadows 
 that ever encompassed a woman. Oh, Carter, my whole 
 life has been one of lonely spiritual hunger to meet some 
 one who understands these great truths, and I have found 
 that person in you you of all human beings under the 
 sun!" 
 
 "You understand, too, I see," he said, gently, tenderly. 
 "There is a law, and man can grasp it, can't he, Lydia?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, without doubt," she returned. "I wonder 
 
 352 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 if I am not wrong in deploring anything that has taken 
 place anything? ' ' 
 
 "I don't quite follow you," he ventured, feeling ec 
 statically as if they had left their bodies and were float 
 ing hand in hand somewhere, somehow, in a new and 
 unknown element from which all material sordidness was 
 dropping like rain from a cloud. 
 
 "Why, Carter, since our troubles, our bitter experiences 
 have brought us to this wonderful exaltation and vision 
 of mystic truth, how can we reproach God for leading 
 us through them? Faith is so beautiful faith to God 
 first, and next to man as His miniature. See, you have 
 faith in me. You have not seen me for all these years. 
 My life has been a closed book to you. When you left 
 me I was a poor, ragged, ignorant girl. I am now in a 
 profession that has thrown me into contact with all sorts 
 of men and temptations, yet here you are full of boundless 
 faith and trust in me. You doubted that woman in 
 Geneva whom you thought of marrying. You do not 
 doubt me because God has torn the scales from your eyes 
 and shown you my true self. I trust you, too. I see 
 your very pleading soul with the eyes of mine, and I am 
 going to confess something that many a proud woman 
 would hide for ever, and that is, Carter, that, in spite of 
 all that has happened, I have loved you every day, every 
 hour, every minute, since I first met you with that dusting- 
 rag in my hands in your uncle's library. I have always 
 known that it was your outer self that was cruel, blind, 
 and thoughtless, and so, as I nursed that tiny counter 
 part of yourself on my breast I kept you in my heart and 
 prayed for you day and night." 
 
 Crofton was so full of blended sympathy and joy that 
 he could not speak. There was no one in sight, and he 
 reached out and took her hand. She allowed him to hold 
 it for a moment, and then he felt her gently, firmly, with 
 drawing it. To his surprise, he heard her sigh. She 
 
 2 3 353 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 stroked her quivering lips with the hand he had released, 
 and her face clouded over. 
 
 "Oh, Lydia, Lydia, you have made me very happy!" 
 he faltered. "You are to be my wife at last. We'll be 
 the happiest pair God ever created. We've been expelled, 
 but we are going back into the Garden of Eden, my own, 
 my own, my darling!" 
 
 "Oh, I see I see what you you hope for." She 
 lowered her head and uttered a little gasp which was like 
 a welling sob. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he pleaded in growing con 
 sternation. 
 
 She was silent. She rose, turned her back upon him, 
 and he thought that the action was to hide her face, for 
 it was filling with the gray shadows of inner and sensitive 
 pain. He stood beside her, wondering what could be in 
 her thoughts, far-reaching, even superstitious fears flood 
 ing over him. Still silent, she led him down the walk 
 closer to the water's edge. On the greensward children 
 were playing with tennis-balls and rackets, and with merry 
 shouts and laughter rolling on the thick grass like playful 
 puppies. 
 
 "You alarm me, Lydia," he ventured, tentatively. 
 "You show that you are not happy." 
 
 "Happy? How can I be that?" She suddenly turned 
 her wistful eyes upon him. She laid her hand on his arm. 
 "Listen to me, Carter, oh, listen to me, dear!" she said, 
 softly. "We have both been blessed by an almost super 
 normal knowledge of God and His holy demands on His 
 children. Have you ever thought that the strangest, 
 the very strangest thing that Jesus ever said was that we 
 must love God more than wife, husband, or child, and if 
 not we cannot be true followers of Him?" 
 
 "Yes, it is strange, almost incomprehensible," Crofton 
 returned, wondering what her drift could be. 
 
 "It may be the truest thing ever spoken by 'God to 
 
 354 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ,man," she went on, "a message not meant for the unini 
 tiated, but for such as you and me. Carter, Carter, dear, 
 God may not intend us for each other, here on this plane of 
 life, at least." 
 
 "Oh, don't say thatdon't, don't!" he pleaded, pas 
 sionately, desperately. 
 
 "I can't help it, for I know know know a thing that 
 you don't know, and which you must never know. I can't 
 serve God and Mammon and you are my Mammon !" 
 
 " Puff!" he exclaimed in relief. " I'll throw it all away, 
 if money is what you mean. I don't want it. It has been 
 a curse to me every day of my life, and if I lose you 
 through it it will be worse than a curse, it will be my 
 eternal damnation." 
 
 "I don't mean that you are my Mammon in that sense." 
 She was quick to correct the impression he had sprung to 
 receive. "I mean I mean oh, if I dared to tell you 
 everything you would see what I mean, but as much as 
 I trust you in all other things I cannot quite trust you in 
 this. I can't I can't! Your very nobleness and ten 
 derness of heart make it impossible." 
 
 "You bewilder me, you mystify me!" he cried. " You 
 intimate that I am to lose you, and I can't lose you now, 
 Lydia. I can't I simply can't!" 
 
 "Not if God has decreed it decreed it as our supreme 
 test of faith and total renunciation of ourselves?" she 
 asked, a soft glow of supernal light filling her face and eyes, 
 its accompanying music vibrating in her tense voice. 
 
 "It couldn't be so," he groaned, "not now not after 
 all we have suffered." 
 
 "Is it not a spiritual fact," she asked, with a little con 
 clusive sigh, "has it not been shown in religious history, 
 that the nearer a bowed and broken seeker gets to God 
 the greater the sacrifices which are demanded? If you 
 knew all I know you'd see, as I see, that we cannot do 
 ourjluty to the supreme law we cannot fully atone for 
 
 355 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 our transgression without giving up each other. We 
 want each other now more than we want God, and we 
 must rise above it or we are lost." 
 
 He was actually stunned by her words and the calm 
 force of her utterance. " You are keeping back something 
 from me," he finally said. " My God, my God, Lydia, are 
 you married?" 
 
 "Oh no, no!" she shook her head. "It isn't that oh 
 no, no!" 
 
 "And you won't explain?" he gasped, his face white, 
 his lips limp and sagging piteously. 
 
 "I can't," she said, her own lips drawn tight from pain. 
 "I have no right to do so. And if you knew all you'd 
 see you really have no right to ask." 
 
 He pleaded no longer. They had found another bench 
 and seated themselves upon it. An hour of bleeding si 
 lence passed. The bell of a church across the river a 
 mile or more distant rang slowly, the waves of sound 
 floating mellowly on the sunlit waves of water. 
 
 "And yet he ought to know; he has a right to know," 
 he heard her saying, almost as if in prayer. "He would 
 not betray such a sacred trust; he is too noble." 
 
 "I would betray nothing." He leaned toward her, his 
 very drooping attitude a prayer to her. "I would give 
 my life a dozen times rather than disobey you in the 
 slightest wish." 
 
 "Then I'll trust youI'll tell you," she said, impul 
 sively. "Carter, our union even a continued friend 
 ship is absolutely impossible. You will understand 
 when I say that our son is not dead. For his sake I lied 
 to you. From his very babyhood to save him from pain 
 and humiliation before the world I taught him that his 
 father was dead. He is as proud as you once were, and 
 as ambitious and sensitive." 
 
 "Not dead?" Crofton cried. "Our son alive?" 
 
 She nodded her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the 
 
 356 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 toe of her shoe showing beneath her skirt. "No, he is 
 not dead; now you comprehend," she added, almost in 
 a ghastly whisper. "It would take me years to make 
 you thoroughly understand the situation, and I shall not 
 undertake it. You must simply abide by my judgment. 
 If there were any other way I would take it, but there 
 is not." 
 
 "Not dead not dead! How strange it seems!" Crof- 
 ton said. "My son and yours! Oh, I've always wanted 
 a son, Lydia, even in my vilest days abroad, and somehow 
 in my fancy I've always pictured you as his mother, and 
 now that we have one in reality he is lost to me. lam 
 not even to see him is that it, darling? My God, is 
 that it?" 
 
 "Yes, that seems best to me, Carter. Ever since I 
 have witnessed the change for good in you I've been 
 afraid that your very better self would be his undoing 
 and mine. You'd love him you couldn't help it every 
 body loves him. You'd betray our secret. He is he is 
 so, so But I can't tell you about him." 
 
 "You can't?" he panted. "You can't even tell me 
 what he is like?" 
 
 "No, for as it is now, he is nothing to you. He is a 
 mere mind-picture of your own which holds nothing that 
 would actually tie you to him. He died to you, Carter, 
 even before he was born to me. Don't seek to know him, 
 dear, but leave him to me. I love you almost as much as 
 I love him, but my first duty is to him. He thinks I am 
 his legal mother, worthy of the world's respect. I could 
 not bear to have him know the truth. You see, dear, it 
 would be placing our own just punishment upon his young, 
 innocent shoulders. It would blight his whole life, and 
 we would be doing it to gratify ourselves." 
 
 "I see, I see," Crofton groaned. "I am lost, Lydia. 
 I thought I was reaching the earthly gate, at least, of 
 the Kingdom of God. I was hoping that all the dark- 
 
 357 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ness of my past, by some wonderful spiritual process, 
 was turning to light. I thought I was becoming truly 
 unselfish, but now I see that I want you and my son more 
 than I want God." 
 
 "Don't say that," she said, with a rising sob, "and 
 yet I must not judge you. I am sorry for you, for I 
 have him and you have not. I have deceived- him, but 
 I have him." 
 
 Crofton's emotions overpowered him. He was shaken 
 from head to foot in a manly effort to calm the swirling 
 tide in his breast and throat. 
 
 "Oh, if there were any other way!" she said, laying her 
 hand on his arm and pressing it. "But, Carter dear, 
 there really is not. I could not bear the look of sheer 
 incredulity which would fill his sweet, trusting eyes if I 
 told him what his parents have been. He is keenly sensi 
 tive, almost morbidly so. I think he fancies I was not 
 quite happy with you, and for many years he has not 
 spoken of his father, though as a little boy he was con 
 stantly doing so and telling his playmates, with a child's 
 pride, that his father was in heaven." 
 
 "In heaven?" Crofton echoed, bitterly. "His father 
 is in hell, Lydia, the deepest hell known to the lowest of 
 the damned." 
 
 "Can you suggest any other course?" she asked him, 
 with a piteous little sob. "I'd do anything to help you, 
 Carter, but I see no other way." 
 
 "I see no other course," he said "no other course, 
 Lydia. If I should suggest anything it would rise from 
 a selfish desire, and I have lost the right to consult my 
 own desires." 
 
 "There is only one thing to do," she moaned, softly, 
 "and that is to bow our heads humbly and submit. We 
 will lose all earthly rewards, Carter, but I am sure God will 
 give us something in their place. For one thing, He will 
 give our son his rightful happiness. God will bless us, 
 
 358 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 too, Carter not here, not here, but Beyond. I feel it, I 
 know it. We are suffering, but it is for a divine purpose. 
 God has us on trial." 
 
 "There is one thing you will let me do, Lydia," he be 
 gan, a faint hope flaring up in his eyes. "I have means, 
 you know useless means which I am giving to strangers. 
 Won't you let me through you give him a substantial 
 part of the inheritance which is his by right?" 
 
 "By right?" she sighed; and he saw her head slowly 
 shaking. "Carter, one's duty to God is a marvelously 
 delicate and intricate thing. You think that I could do 
 that. You think that I, after all these long years of 
 deception before my son, could go to him with a fresh lie 
 on my tongue and face, but I couldn't, Carter I simply 
 couldn't; and why, why, oh, why? you will ask. It 
 seems to me a thousand reasons fall from God's spirit- 
 sky and pack upon my feeble utterance. First, I've 
 taught my boy to hate rank and distinction, money and 
 the folly it buys. Thinking his blighted life would hold 
 nothing but toil and poverty, I have filled him with the 
 sublime idea of the equality of all men. I taught him to 
 rely wholly on himself, and to give his all freely to every 
 needy soul. Another reason is this: I have put myself 
 and him in God's care, believing that we shall have need 
 for no actually good thing. If I were to lean upon your 
 fortune if I were to fill my hands with the coin your 
 father accumulated and take it to my son with some adroit 
 lie as to how I came by it, his open soul would sense the 
 cringing shame of mine and stand back in amazement. 
 That or or the other thing:' 
 
 "What other thing?" Crofton groped, like a darker 
 soul led somewhither by a lighter one. 
 
 "He might want it might actually learn to love 
 it!" The words fell, one by one, like bits of metal on 
 stone. "He might fill his young soul with the subtle 
 poison and fall, Carter, as his father fell, as many others 
 
 359 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 have fallen. No, no, dear, he is best as he is. My long 
 prayer is being answered. God has him in His care. 
 You could never understand without knowing him, as 
 I do, and you must not know him that is settled once 
 for all, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes, that is settled." Crofton stared like a man en 
 tranced by his own doom. "And I need not ask the 
 name he bears, even the one that you bear?" 
 
 "What is the use?" she sighed. "No good could come 
 of it. Carter, we must not meet again, ever again. I 
 feel it, I know it." 
 
 "Not meet again?" he muttered; "never again?" 
 
 "Never," she said, firmly. "This interview is destroy 
 ing my courage, weakening my faith, filling me with im 
 possible desires. I am lonely, and know you are, too; 
 but we are not for each other. God Himself has decreed 
 it otherwise. This is our test our supreme test the 
 last obstacle to be surmounted by our tired feet on this 
 plane of life." 
 
 He found himself unable to formulate any logical op^ 
 position to her ultimatum. They rose and walked slowly 
 back toward the entrance of the Park. Near the spot 
 where they had first sat together she paused and gave 
 him her hand. He thought that her face wore the holy, 
 consecrated look of a nun under the soft, mystic glow of 
 complete renunciation. 
 
 "Good-by," she said, simply, and she turned and left 
 him. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HPHE next morning Crofton found in his mail a letter 
 1 directed in his care to Joseph Allen. It was from the 
 magazine to which he had sent his young friend's poem. 
 Had it been his own first offering to a periodical, Crofton 
 could not have felt more interested. Did the thick en 
 velope, in addition to an editorial note or a printed 
 rejection, contain the one-page manuscript or a check? 
 It was impossible for him to decide, though he anxiously 
 tested its weight, felt its thickness, and held it up to the 
 light. He would not, of course, take the liberty of open 
 ing the letter, so he decided to go to the boy's camp at 
 once. He was now possessed with misgivings for which 
 he could hardly account. He had had strong faith in 
 the poem, but now, under his intense desire to have his 
 protege succeed, the warmth of his former confidence 
 was cooling. This was due, no doubt, to the fear of the 
 great disappointment which a declination of the poem 
 would bring to the sensitive, modest young writer. 
 
 Reaching the tent, he looked in. Socrates sat on one 
 of the cots, a writing-pad on his knee, a pencil in his 
 slender, sun-browned fingers. 
 
 "Caught you at it?" Crofton jested. "I am sorry to 
 disturb your muse." 
 
 In a swift glance the youth studied his friend's face. 
 He put down the pad quickly. He was quite grave, 
 quite agitated. 
 
 "I knew you were coming," he faltered. "I knew 
 exactly when you left home. I know more than that, too. 
 I know now that you've heard from that editor." 
 
 361 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Yes, I have a letter for you." Crofton drew it out 
 and extended it. 
 
 "And you did not open it?" the youth asked. "Why 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "Because it is addressed to you personally." 
 
 "Oh! and not because because you suspected the 
 rejection it contains?" 
 
 "I haven't the slightest idea what it contains," Crof 
 ton answered. "There was nothing to do but to bring 
 it to you at once." 
 
 Socrates held the envelope in limp fingers. Pale 
 splotches came into his cheeks and spread. He made no 
 effort to open the communication. Presently, to the sur 
 prise of his companion, he laid it on the little stand beside 
 his cot, rose abruptly, and left the tent. Crofton heard 
 Jimmy call out to him, playfully, from one of the other 
 tents, and Socrates answered in a strange, forced tone: 
 "All right. Ill come after a while. I can't now I'm 
 busy." 
 
 But he wasn't busy, as Crofton noted, for he was 
 standing still and erect by the smoldering camp-fire, 
 his hands in the pockets of his sweater, staring out over 
 the water. Crofton hesitated for a moment and then 
 went and joined him. 
 
 "I think I understand you," he said, sympathetically. 
 "You are dreading disappointment?" 
 
 The boy shrugged his shoulders. The expression of 
 his handsome face was unreadable in its profound agita 
 tion. 
 
 "Yes, that is it," he said. "Oh, I've waited and 
 waited for it. I've prayed. I've tried to believe that 
 faith in it my faith would make it go. And when 
 doubts would rise I would try to kill them as dangerous 
 psychic enemies to my poetic child. But now the the 
 actual verdict has come. It lies there and I'm afraid of 
 it I'm afraid of it." 
 
 362 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "But you ought not to be." Crofton knew he was 
 uttering an empty platitude. "You might as well know 
 the outcome and be done with it." 
 
 Socrates bent down and added some sticks to the fire 
 and mechanically fanned the underlying embers with his 
 cap. "Oh, I know that," he said, presently. "I know 
 it is weak and silly of me. I have a streak of superstition 
 in me, after all. Small things don't affect me, but big 
 ones like this take me by the throat and fairly throttle 
 me. You may not realize it, but my life hangs on this 
 my very life. I would not have risked it for years if 
 you had not advised it. Do you oh, do you feel as 
 as confident now as you did when you sent the poem 
 away?" 
 
 Crofton avoided the dumb stare of the suffering eyes. 
 "I don't know," he said, evasively, "but that I am some 
 what influenced by your present fears and anxiety. It is 
 natural for one to be so. In my most unprejudiced mo 
 ment, however, I decided that your poem was great, and 
 I must still stick to that opinion. If this particular editor 
 should not care for it you must not lose hope, but must 
 try elsewhere." 
 
 "Ah, you say 'if now," Socrates sighed. "You did 
 not talk that way when you sent it off. I think I am in 
 for disappointment, and I've got to meet it. I have had 
 too many licks in my life to win this one thing for which 
 I'd give my soul. I want it for the joy and pride it would 
 afford my mother. I want it for your sake, after you have 
 tried to help me. Well, well, I must see what he says. 
 I am gaining nothing by this." 
 
 He turned into the tent. Crofton saw him unfasten 
 the curtains and let them drop down. There was a pause, 
 then Crofton heard the tearing and rustling of paper, 
 after which silence fell. 
 
 Jimmy came along with a pail of water from the spring. 
 "Where is Soc?" he asked, carelessly. 
 
 363 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Crofton nodded toward the tent. "He's busy just 
 now," he said in a significant tone. "Don't disturb him, 
 please." 
 
 "Ah, I see writing a pome, eh? He's a nut bug 
 house for him." And Jimmy trudged on, playfully 
 shouting to some men who were beaching a boat contain 
 ing a laughing party of girls in bathing-suits. 
 
 Presently the curtains of the tent parted and Socrates 
 came out. His face was ablaze, his eyes shone with the 
 suppressed light of ecstasy. In his hand he held the 
 closed letter. 
 
 "Guess," he said, a catch in his voice "guess what it 
 says." 
 
 "I don't have to guess," Crofton answered, his heart 
 leaping and pounding as he spoke. "I know. I can 
 see it in your face." 
 
 Socrates said nothing. He took a full breath, expanding 
 his chest, and then throwing himself upon his back on 
 the sand, he covered his face with his hands. He lay 
 still for several minutes, and then drew himself up to a 
 sitting posture. "I can't believe it yet," he laughed. 
 "I'm afraid I'll wake. I'm dreaming dreaming of the 
 impossible! How can the man mean it? He says he 
 actually says he has not read anything in recent litera 
 ture deeper or more beautifully expressed. He has not 
 only taken it, but he has sent me a check for fifty dollars, 
 and he wants more of my work; he actually asks for more 
 at once ! He says that you made such a good selection that 
 he hopes you will look through my manuscripts and send 
 him four or five poems for a special philosophical issue. 
 Read, read what he says!" 
 
 Fairly transported by delight, Crofton read the letter 
 and looked at the check. 
 
 "You deserve it," he said. "You are simply getting 
 your just dues, that is all. This is your opportunity, and 
 you must act on it. Such a chance seldom comes to a 
 
 364 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 young writer. This editor will make you famous. He 
 is a noted critic. He believes in your genius, and his 
 magazine has an enormous circulation among a high class 
 of readers." 
 
 Without another word Socrates rose and went down 
 the beach to where Jimmy stood mending his crab-nets. 
 He stood there several minutes, and then came back, his 
 face still flushed, his step light. 
 
 "Did you tell him?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "Oh no," Socrates answered. "I shall not tell any of 
 them yet not yet. It is too sacred. They wouldn't 
 understand, anyway. They would think only of the 
 money. They laugh at me for writing. But I shall tell 
 her. She will understand. She will be very happy, too." 
 
 "You mean your mother?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "Yes, who else? I have no one else but her and you, 
 for you have done this, and I am going to beg you to do 
 something else. I hesitate to do it, but I am afraid to 
 act on my own judgment of my work." 
 
 "I should be glad to do anything you wish," Crofton 
 said. "What is it?" 
 
 "I want you to look through my manuscripts again, 
 help me improve them, and make the selections the editor 
 wishes that is, if " 
 
 "Oh, I want to do that and right away to-day, if 
 you will let me." 
 
 "Are you sure it won't bore you?" 
 
 "Bore me? How could it? My boy, I'd give a year's 
 time to it if it required that to help you. I can't tell you 
 how delighted I am to assist you. Get the manuscripts 
 now." 
 
 With a light step Socrates went to his tent and came 
 out with his portfolio. "Let's go up among the rocks 
 and trees," he suggested, his face beaming. "Oh, I'm in 
 heaven this morning ! I want to get down on the earth and 
 hug it in my arms. I feel as if I could clasp its whole, 
 
 365 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 round, delicious bulk, and squeeze it till it shrinks to 
 nothingness. I feel I feel as I think God must feel." 
 
 They climbed the rugged hillside to the spot where Crof- 
 ton had gone that day to take his life. 
 
 "Do you remember?" the boy laughed, joyously, "I 
 first saw you there behind the vines and bushes. I knew 
 then I felt then that I was going to like you. There 
 was something sad and lonely in your eyes that day. 
 Something told me we were alike in some things and des 
 tined to lean on each other as true friends. I am doing 
 the leaning so far" he laughed again "but the time 
 may come when I may help you, also. I'd love to I'd 
 love to. I'm so much younger that you may need me 
 later, if not now. Then I will try to repay you. You 
 say you have no family ties. I am almost glad of that. 
 Your coming here to the camp has been the greatest joy 
 of my life, and just think what you have done and are 
 doing!" 
 
 "It is not I, but your marvelous work," Crofton in 
 sisted, seating himself on a flat boulder and opening the 
 portfolio. "You would have won sooner or later, in any 
 case." 
 
 For hours that day, with their heads close together, 
 they read the poems and discussed the various qualities 
 they contained. Crofton suggested certain improve 
 ments in form and wording which the poet readily agreed 
 to. The sun was going down when the task was com 
 pleted, and with the selected poems in his pocket Crofton 
 started back to the city. 
 
 "I'll have them neatly typewritten and send them in 
 the morning," he said, "and you? What are you going 
 to do? I fancy you won't sleep much to-night. You 
 see, I know. I was that way once myself, long, long ago." 
 
 "I don't expect to close my eyes," was the laughing 
 retort. "Sleep should be only for the unhappy. I don't 
 feel as if I shall ever want to sleep again. I am going 
 
 366 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 to the city to-morrow. I am going to put on my best 
 suit and take my mother out to dinner. I won't mention 
 this at first. Then, suddenly, I'll astound her. I'm 
 going to write my name on the back of that check, 
 hand it to her, and watch her face. She needs several 
 things which she can't buy because she gives away her 
 earnings, and she can get something with it. I want the 
 first fruit of my brain to go to her who gave me my 
 brain and taught me all I know." 
 
 "It is fine of you to think of her first/' Crofton said. 
 "She will certainly be proud of you. I can imagine 
 nothing which would please a parent more than to have 
 a son meet just such success as has come to you." 
 
 Socrates blithely accompanied him down the path to 
 the landing, often slipping on ahead like a happy child, 
 and stood on the pier until he was seated in the boat. 
 As he was being borne out upon the water Crofton looked 
 back and saw him gazing after him. Socrates waved his 
 cap and tossed it in the air. Crofton responded by waving 
 his handkerchief. Then a sudden thought came to the 
 lonely man, bringing with it a brooding sense of far- 
 reaching despair. He thought of his own son, whom he 
 was never to see, and the brave mother of that son from 
 whom he had parted for ever. His spirits sank lower, his 
 lips tightened grimly as he looked at the red sky -sea 
 into which the sun was sinking. He leaned over the boat 
 and trailed his hand in the cooling water. 
 
 "God have mercy on me!" he whispered. "Have 
 mercy, have mercy!" 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ONE afternoon, four days later, Crofton decided to 
 visit the camp again. He had something of impor 
 tance to tell his protige about his poems. When he 
 reached Dyckman Street, and started to the landing, he 
 noticed that it was very cloudy and that a high wind 
 was blowing from the north, and when he was in sight of 
 the river, he saw that the water was very rough. Not 
 a boat of any sort was in view save the little ferry launch, 
 which rocked wildly at the side of the rising and falling 
 float. A heavy mist sweeping down the river quite ob 
 scured the rugged shore opposite. 
 
 The brawny boatman stood with his red signal-flag in 
 his hand, a dissatisfied look on his face. 
 
 " Going over?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "I don't care to, but I have to," was the reply. "I 
 agreed to cross over and bring a man back, and I must 
 keep my word." 
 
 "The water is rough, then?" Crofton said. 
 
 "I don't know that I ever saw it much worse," was the 
 reply. "I can make it all right with this boat, but it 
 will drink up plenty of gasoline. Do you want to cross?" 
 
 "Yes," Crofton answered. Somehow the very risk in 
 volved appealed to the despondent mood which he had 
 been unable to conquer ever since his parting with Lydia. 
 
 "Well, I'll be with you in a minute. Say, that is a 
 little fool there," pointing to a Jewish boy of slight frame, 
 sallow complexion, and rather short stature, who was 
 putting a camping outfit a tent, stools, folded cot, and 
 
 368 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 cooking utensils into a small and shallow rowboat. 
 "He says he is going to row across." 
 
 "But he mustn't try it," Crofton said. 
 
 ' ' Huh ! You can ' t advise his sort ! ' ' the boatman sniffed . 
 "He is always doing that sort o* thing. I've warned him 
 my last time. He will go to the bottom like a rock one 
 of these days." 
 
 Crofton went to the boy. "You mustn't try it to-day, 
 my boy," he said, gently. "It is terribly rough. It 
 doesn't look so bad close in, but the waves are very high 
 farther out. A boat like yours couldn't live in a squall 
 like this." 
 
 The pinched features of the boy produced a slow smile, 
 and he shrugged his shoulders. " I can make it, all right," 
 he said. "The fellows are expecting me over there. 
 They won't have any shelter to-night if I don't get this 
 tent and other stuff over." 
 
 "Well, take the ferry," Crofton suggested. 
 
 The boy shook his bare, tousled head. "I go higher 
 up than the ferry does," he said. "Leave me alone, boss, 
 I know what I'm about. That guy there is just talking 
 because he wants everybody to cross with him. I can 
 handle this boat, and I can swim some." 
 
 He got into his boat, sat down, and jerked his short, 
 clumsy oars into the worn locks. He thrust out his bare 
 feet and made a confident side stroke which swerved the 
 boat from the float. There was nothing for Crofton to 
 do but to allow him to have his way. The ferryman 
 had turned aside to see if any other passengers were 
 in sight, and now came back, his eyes on the tossing 
 craft. 
 
 "Rotten little fool !" Crofton heard him mutter. " That 
 damned tub of his isn't fit for anything but a mill-pond 
 or a park lake. Say, there!" loudly calling against the 
 wind. "Don't be a blooming idiot you kid! I know 
 what I am talking about. You can't pull against that 
 
 24 369 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 tide and wind six of your sort couldn't. Your fool 
 soup-plate will be full of water in ten minutes." 
 
 ''Bah! Come off!" the boy shouted back, derisively. 
 "I don't need a cranky old gasoline-engine to pull me 
 along like you do." 
 
 " He may go to hell, for all I care," the ferryman snorted. 
 11 There will be people around here that will blame me 
 for letting him go out, as if I can 'tend to my work and 
 run a kindergarten reformatory. Two boys about his 
 size was drowned out there last Sunday fell out of a 
 canoe with a top-heavy sail to it and dragged each other 
 down. Come ahead if you are going." 
 
 Crofton got into the boat. "Sit back in the stern," 
 the man sharply ordered as he took the wheel. "You 
 will get wet with spray in front, if you are not washed 
 clean overboard." 
 
 After he had been seated and the boat was curving out 
 into the foaming river, Crofton looked for the boy in the 
 boat. The mist was thickening, and all but obscured 
 the tiny craft and its inmate. Presently he saw them 
 well out in the river. The boat was rising and fall 
 ing with the waves, now in sight, now out of sight. The 
 little oarsman had his thin back and the sharp point of 
 his boat to the wind, and was pluckily pulling against 
 the tide. 
 
 "He is in danger," Crofton remarked to the ferry 
 man. 
 
 "You said it!" was the affirmative answer. "Now we 
 are hitting it ourselves. The wind is rising." 
 
 Crofton started to stand up to look for the boy, but 
 the boatman cried out: "Don't stand up! Sit where 
 you are! You tip the boat!" 
 
 Crofton apologized and resumed his seat, his anxious 
 eyes scanning the mist-swept billows. At times he saw, 
 like a dark spot on a curtain of gray, the other boat and 
 its occupant, and then they were lost from sight between 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the white-capped hills of water or in the swirling mist. 
 Presently he could see them no more. 
 
 "Do you think that boy has gone down?" he asked the 
 man at the wheel. 
 
 With a scowl on his heavy-cheeked face, the man hur 
 riedly scanned the water. " I don't know," he said. "It 
 wouldn't surprise me. Even you and I have no cinch, 
 I tell you. It is worse than I thought it was. It is an 
 awful squall. I hope my engine won't break down. 
 Look out!" A wave dashed against the side of the boat 
 and drenched them to the skin. The boat leaned over, 
 rose like a bit of chaff in a wind, and fell with a thump 
 and a groan in all its timbers. The boatman swore under 
 his breath. "Can you swim?" he asked, doggedly. 
 
 "Pretty well," Crofton answered. "Is it as bad as 
 that?" 
 
 "You never can tell," the man muttered, bending down 
 to examine his clicking engine. "I'm all right myself, 
 but I never know about a passenger. The life-preservers 
 are under the seat. I'm only telling you that as a matter 
 of caution. Say, if I was in your place I'd shuck off my 
 coat and shoes. To tell you the truth, we are in pretty 
 bad. The wind is rising, and this boat is none too steady. 
 I'm all right, but I don't know about you." 
 
 "Don't worry over me." Crofton refused to act on 
 his advice. "What do you think about that boy?" 
 
 "Damn the boy!" the man grunted. "Look out for 
 yourself, mister. I don't like the looks of my engine. 
 If she stopped, and the right sort of wave struck us, we 
 might go over. Take off your coat and shoes. You 
 couldn't swim ten feet in a strait-jacket like that with 
 your shoes full of water." 
 
 Reluctantly Crofton obeyed. It was strange, after all, 
 that he was really more concerned about the boy than he 
 was about himself. As he kicked off his shoes and doffed 
 his coat he peered into the swirling mist again. His heart 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 bounded, for he thought he saw, in a wind-blown rift 
 in the curtain of moisture, the boat with the boy still in 
 it. With a throb of elation he announced his discovery 
 to his companion. 
 
 "He hasn't struck the worst of it yet," was the curt 
 reply. "He is not as far out as we are, but he will be 
 soon. I wouldn't give a snap for his chancel" 
 
 Five minutes passed. They could not see the shore 
 toward which the launch was sturdily forging its way. 
 Crofton spoke to the boatman several times, but received 
 no reply. 
 
 The man's troubled face explained his silence. Present 
 ly he drew a deep breath. ' ' We are through the worst of it 
 now, thank God!" he said. "We are all right, I guess. 
 My Lord ! mister, I didn't want to scare you, but I thought 
 we were up against it." 
 
 In front of them was the long pier. The boat was 
 headed for the sheltered cove it afforded on the leeward 
 side. They landed safely. 
 
 "Going back soon?" Crofton asked, as he stepped 
 ashore. 
 
 "Not on your life," the man smiled grimly; "not until 
 this squall is over. I'll lie right here." 
 
 No one was in sight as Crofton took the path leading 
 to the camp, and he met no one. It was beginning to 
 rain, and he walked hurriedly to escape being drenched. 
 Reaching the camp, he found it in a state of great excite 
 ment. Some of the tents nearest the water's edge were 
 being flooded by the waves, and Socrates, Jimmy, and 
 half a dozen other men were busy trying to construct a 
 breakwater of stones and logs. Crofton at once set to 
 work helping them. 
 
 "It is grand, isn't it?" Socrates said, as he greeted his 
 friend. "It is like a storm at sea. You can't go back 
 to-night. You will have to bunk with me." 
 
 "It lopks like it," Crofton said, thrilled by the scene, 
 
 372 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the bustling activity of the others, and his part in 
 it all. 
 
 Suddenly Jimmy called attention to a sound he had 
 heard from the water. 
 
 "That is a yell for help, boys!" he cried, excitedly. 
 "It is! It is!" 
 
 The workers paused, stood still, and listened. A faint 
 cry was borne by the wind from the mist over the river. 
 It was a piteous, short-lived scream of terror from a young 
 throat. 
 
 Hurriedly Crofton told them of the boy and his boat. 
 
 "That's him!" Jimmy cried. "Poor kid! poor kid!" 
 
 The workers at the breakwater and the women and 
 children ran up the beach toward the direction from which 
 the sound came. It was heard again and again. So 
 great was Crofton's excitement that he took no thought 
 of Socrates. Suddenly, however, he heard Jimmy fairly 
 screaming as he stood drenched to the waist on the sand, 
 and, looking back, he saw Socrates pushing a frail green 
 canoe into the water and climbing into it. 
 
 "My God! look at the fool!" Jimmy cried. "Don't 
 do it, Soc! What is the use? Don't throw your life 
 away!" 
 
 But the canoe, like a slender nutshell, was shooting 
 out into the flood, forced by the double paddle of its 
 muscular occupant. Crofton raised his voice in protest, 
 but the youth did not even look in his direction. On he 
 went, swaying back and forward, rising and falling with 
 the surf. 
 
 "The last of him!" Jimmy groaned. "He doesn't care 
 for his life. I've heard him say he wished he could die 
 saving somebody. He's the cream of the earth that 
 guy is ! Oh, my God ! my God ! Holy Mother Mary, save 
 him!" It was a prayer from a fervent Catholic, and 
 Jimmy covered his face with his hands, his lips mutely 
 moving. 
 
 373 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 Dumb and terrified, Crofton stood with the others and 
 watched Socrates vanishing in the mist. Again the child 
 like cry was heard. 
 
 "The boy must be holding to his boat," a man said. 
 "He couldn't swim in water like that. Hush! That's 
 Socrates' voice!" 
 
 "Hold tight!" they heard him shouting, like a wind- 
 torn echo of the other voice. "Keep your nerve, kid! 
 I'm coming. I'm " 
 
 What had happened? What had stilled the familiar 
 voice? The terrified cry of the boy was heard again, but 
 there was no reply. 
 
 "My God! Socrates is over!" Jimmy moaned. "Now 
 they will both go down!" 
 
 The mist was lifting slightly. The watchers saw two 
 blurred spots that looked like upturned boats thirty or 
 forty yards apart, but whether human beings were cling 
 ing to them could not be seen. The angry tide was 
 rapidly bearing them down-stream and farther from the 
 shore. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN a sheer spasm of despair Crofton told himself that 
 something must be done, but he did not know what. 
 Suddenly he bethought himself of the ferryboat he had 
 just left, and without waiting to explain his intentions 
 to the others, he dashed into the path and started 
 toward the pier. It was fully half a mile over rough 
 ground, but he tore along the way at the top of his speed. 
 Fortunately he found the boatman at his launch. Breath 
 lessly he explained the situation. 
 
 ' ' Quick ! " he cried . ' ' Your boat ! Any price you ask ! ' ' 
 
 "You don't mean Socrates? He's a friend of mine!" 
 the man cried. 
 
 "I do. Quick!" Crofton was already in the boat. 
 "They are drifting with the tide, alive or dead. Hurry!" 
 
 "All right, I'm your man. I don't want your money. 
 That young guy is my friend," the boatman said as he 
 sprang into the launch. "Which way?" 
 
 "Out toward the middle and down-stream as fast as 
 you can go!" Crofton cried. 
 
 The boat swung round and shot out into the mad tor 
 rent. Crofton strained his eyes, but could see nothing 
 on the surface of the water. 
 
 "On, on !" he kept crying. "They must be there some 
 where!" 
 
 "If anybody can keep afloat, Socrates can," said the 
 boatman; "but it wouldn't be in a canoe; he has lost that 
 already unless he is riding it." 
 
 Several minutes passed. Nothing could be seen but 
 
 375 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 foaming water below, thickening mist around them, and 
 lowering clouds above. The wind whistled by; the 
 spray showered upon them. Suddenly Crofton called 
 attention to a low, flat object ahead, and the boatman 
 mutely steered toward it. It was the boy's upturned boat. 
 
 "That's the danged tub!" the boatman said, grimly. 
 "Now their only chance is the canoe or swimming, and 
 God knows that is slim enough!" 
 
 They passed the boat and sped onward, straining their 
 eyes through the mist. The vague outlines of Fort Wash 
 ington Point appeared on the left like the hulk of a great 
 brown steamer, and immediately vanished. Presently 
 Crofton descried a dark object just ahead of them. Was 
 it a log, beam, barrel, or box, or was it an upturned 
 canoe? It was impossible to tell yet, but the launch, like 
 a bucking horse, was lunging toward it. 
 
 "I see a canoe!" Crofton shouted. "And two heads!" 
 he added, pointing. "There they are!" 
 
 "Are you sure?" the boatman asked. 
 
 "Sure! Hurry! They are giving out!" 
 
 A little farther and Crofton plainly saw Socrates with 
 one arm locked over the side of the canoe, the other around 
 the boy, whose dripping head lay limply on his shoulder. 
 
 "Hold tight!" Crofton shouted at the top of his voice. 
 "You are safe now." 
 
 He saw Socrates' lips move, but no sound issued. He 
 was ghastly pale, and the eyes of his human burden were 
 closed, the mouth open. 
 
 As the launch glided close to the canoe Socrates let 
 go of it, and with one hand swam toward his rescuers. 
 The next moment Crofton had him by the wrist. 
 
 "Take him in, quick!" Socrates said, hoarsely, as he 
 tried to lift the boy upward. "I'm afraid he is dying!" 
 
 The boatman leaned down and drew the dripping lad 
 from the water, while Crofton aided Socrates to climb 
 aboard. The Jewish boy was laid on the bottom of 
 
 376 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the boat, and Socrates reeled to a seat on the side. He 
 showed that he had not lost his presence of mind, for he 
 pointed to the nearest boat-house, dimly outlined in the 
 mist. 
 
 "There, there!" he gasped. "I'm all right, but he is 
 in a bad fix. Plucky, plucky little kid!" 
 
 Crofton bent down and felt of the boy's heart. It was 
 still beating, though faintly. Thinking that he had swal 
 lowed water, he was about to turn him over when Soc 
 rates stopped him. 
 
 "It isn't that!" he cried. "He is worn out. I've 
 never seen such an awful fight for life as he made. It 
 was twenty minutes before he and I could get together, 
 and he couldn't hold to his boat. My canoe was upside 
 down. I was afraid to let go, for that was our only 
 chance. Sometimes he would be almost within an 
 arm's length of me, and then be swept yards and yards 
 away." 
 
 They were now near the float of one of the boat-houses. 
 No one was on it, and the door of the house was closed 
 to exclude the blasts. The launch slid up against the 
 float. Crofton took the boy in his arms and got out. 
 Though fairly sinking from weakness, Socrates sprang in 
 advance up the creaking runway and opened the door. 
 The wife of the man who kept the house met them. She 
 uttered a short, surprised scream, and then commanded 
 herself sufficiently to lead them up the steps to her apart 
 ments above, where a fire was burning in a cooking- 
 range. Hurriedly she showed them a cot, and she and 
 Socrates drew it near the fire. Crofton laid the boy on 
 it, and as he did so the little fellow opened his eyes and 
 took a deep breath. 
 
 "Good!" the boatman exclaimed. "He's coming out 
 all right!" 
 
 The boy stirred and tried to sit up, but the woman 
 gently pushed him back on the pillow she had taken from 
 
 377 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 a bed behind a curtain. "Don't move yet, dearie," she 
 said. "I want to give you a nip of whisky. It will do 
 you good." 
 
 She hurried into the little bar below, and came back 
 with a glass holding the liquor. The boy drank some of 
 it and then waved it aside. 
 
 "I don't like it it goes to my head," he said, and then, 
 with an appealing glance at Socrates, he asked, "Say, 
 is my boat lost?" 
 
 "I'm afraid it is," Socrates answered. "Never mind 
 that now." 
 
 "My eld man will beat me," the boy began to whim 
 per. "He didn't know I had the boat out. He bought 
 it for me, and told me to take care of it. And the things 
 I was taking to the fellors they are gone, too, eh? Oh, 
 gee! What 11 I tell 'em? They saved their money all 
 winter for that outfit and me me, I did it when you 
 two fellers told me not to be a fool; but I was I was, 
 and I got it in the neck, didn't I?" 
 
 He was beginning to cry aloud, his little fists in his 
 eyes. Crofton sat on the edge of the cot. He leaned 
 down. "Hush," he whispered; "don't cry. I'll buy 
 you a good new boat at once and replace the other 
 things. You shall have them early in the morning, and 
 you can take them right over." 
 
 "Say, whatcher giving me? Are you kidding?" the 
 boy demanded, with an incredulous stare into the speaker's 
 eyes, which he swept on to the face of his rescuer. 
 
 "No, I meant it," Crofton said. "Now be quiet and 
 rest." 
 
 "Yes, he means it,- kid." Socrates was seated in an 
 easy-chair close to the range, drying his thin trousers, 
 shirt, and stockings. He was still shivering and some 
 what pale. 
 
 The woman brought him a cup of hot tea. "Drink it, 
 Socrates," she said, smiling. "You don't remember me. 
 
 378 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 I am Mrs. Myers. I saw you here with some boys one 
 Sunday, and heard your name." 
 
 "I remember, Mrs. Myers." He smiled as he took the 
 tea and thanked her. 
 
 Crofton was struck by his features, which his Weakness 
 and pallor were rendering more distinct. The outlines 
 and a certain indefinable expression of the eyes reminded 
 him of his brother Henry in his younger days. There 
 was a vague something, too, in the poise of the body, the 
 way the cup was held, the genial upward smile that re 
 called his cousin Tom during their college days when 
 they used to serve tea in their rooms. 
 
 "You must let me keep the boy awhile," the woman 
 said to Crofton. "He is all right now, but he must rest. 
 I'll feed him and keep him here to-night. In fact, I have 
 plenty of room for you all if you will stay. You are en 
 tirely welcome." 
 
 Crofton glanced at Socrates. The youth was smiling. 
 "It would be a good idea," he said. "It is too rough to 
 cross to-night, and we could go right over in the morning. 
 Our friends will not know what has become of us." 
 
 So it was arranged. The ferryman was to go back to 
 his work as soon as the wind fell, and he promised to 
 report to the camp. Crofton had a vast sense of satis 
 faction in not being separated from Socrates. Mrs. 
 Myers showed them a room at the head of the stairs, 
 containing a wide bed and other furniture. Lighting 
 a lamp on a table, she left them. The rain was beating 
 fiercely against the window-sashes, which rattled in their 
 loose frames, and the wind whistled dolefully under the 
 eaves of the crudely built house. From the river came 
 the sound of the fog-horn of a creeping tugboat. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Myers brought a most tempting sup 
 per on a tray, and put it on the table in the room. 
 
 " How kind of you, Mrs. Myers !" Socrates said. " You 
 are treating us like royal princes." 
 
 379 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 " Pshaw! It is nothing," she answered, beaming on 
 him in a motherly way. "I only wish I could do more 
 for you and any friend of yours. Look what you did for 
 that poor little water-rat. He's been telling me about his 
 mother, and how she worries over him when he is away. 
 He is afraid she will find this out." Mrs. Myers's voice 
 grew unsteady. "Think of the sorrow you've saved that 
 poor woman from. I know, I know. I never had but 
 one little boy, and he he was drowned when he was only 
 five. He fell off the float when my back was turned one 
 day, and I did not know it till I saw his little body floating 
 away. You are welcome any time any time you are 
 passing." Turning suddenly she left the room, her eyes 
 filling with tears, her breast heaving. 
 
 ' ' Poor woman ! ' ' Socrates said, softly. ' ' Poor woman !' ' 
 
 The two friends heartily enjoyed their supper, and after 
 it was finished, the storm being over, they went to the ve 
 randa overlooking the river. Suddenly, when they were 
 smoking some cigars Crofton had provided, it occurred 
 to him that he had not yet told his companion what he 
 had to say in regard to his poems. 
 
 "I think I know what you are thinking about?" Soc 
 rates said, suddenly. "It is those poems you took. 
 Did you send them?" 
 
 "No; I took them down in person." 
 
 "You did? You say you did?" Socrates exclaimed in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes, and I am glad I did, for I was never better re 
 ceived in my life. The editor was eager to talk about 
 you. He asked many questions. He and his associates 
 read the poems while I was there and discussed them. 
 They were all enthusiastic. The editor accepted them 
 and" 
 
 "Accepted? Are you sure?" Socrates broke in, ex 
 citedly. 
 
 "Absolutely. A check, and a good one, will be sent to 
 
 380 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 you at the end of the week. I wish you could have heard 
 all the editor said. He spoke as if I had discovered 
 your genius, but I told him I had nothing to do with it." 
 
 "Nothing to do with it?" Socrates disputed. "Why, 
 you did it all absolutely all. I would never have sent 
 him anything but for your encouragement and advice. 
 I'll be in your debt always. Not only for those things, 
 but for something else. You saved my life to-day." 
 
 "Oh no!" Crofton protested. "You'd have got in all 
 right." 
 
 "No, I couldn't have made it," Socrates declared. "I 
 was losing consciousness. I was all in. My arm which 
 held the canoe was numb and giving way. Every wave 
 wrenched it with the force of a powerful lever. I couldn't 
 drop the boy. He spoke to me just before he fainted. 
 He is an honor to his race. He said: 
 
 ' ' You'll drown if you hold me. Let me go. What's 
 the use of both of us going under?'" 
 
 "And did you really think you were going down?" 
 Crofton asked. 
 
 "I was sure of it. I know now that death is not a ter 
 rible thing when it actually comes to one. It may sound 
 like boasting for me to say so, but I really didn't care at 
 all. The thought flashed upon me that nothing in exist 
 ence could destroy my soul. I was becoming dazed, 
 everything was vanishing. The waves and mist were 
 turning into some sort of light that I've never seen save 
 in dreams. Just then I heard your voice shouting to 
 me. That call seemed to bring me back to my body." 
 
 "So you believe in the immortality of the soul?" Crof 
 ton asked, deeply interested in the psychic phase of his 
 friend's experience. 
 
 "Without a doubt," Socrates answered. "One minute 
 more and I am sure I should have been experiencing some 
 thing a transcendental something which no one in the 
 flesh has ever experienced, or can experience," 
 
 381 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "At that particular moment did your whole life flash 
 before you, as so many have claimed as their experience?" 
 Crofton inquired. 
 
 "No; I thought of nothing I had ever seen, done, or 
 fancied before. Really I seemed to be quite myself, and 
 yet to be on the verge of becoming a greater, wiser per 
 sonality. I can't explain it. I feel what I want to say, 
 but I can't I can't express it in words. I seemed almost 
 to be merging into God, who was not a person, but a vast, 
 indescribable, ecstatic principle. It all seemed to lie 
 out before me where that strange, supernal light was grow 
 ing brighter. It seemed to be drawing me toward it, in 
 to it. I felt I felt I can't tell you how I felt. But 
 I'm happy to-night. I am glad you saved me. Oh, I'm 
 so happy over my poems ! It seems too good to be true. 
 You did it; you did it; and you saved my life to tell me 
 of it." 
 
 "You said that you intended to tell your mother about 
 the first acceptance. Did you?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "Yes," Socrates smiled, "but not till we were seated 
 that night at dinner in the corner of the little cafe where 
 we often go. Then suddenly I showed her the check and 
 the editor's letter. I have never seen her so surprised 
 and happy in my life. She read the letter a dozen times, 
 and asked me scores of questions. But women are strange, 
 strange creatures, aren't they?" 
 
 "In what particular way?" Crofton asked. 
 
 "Oh, in many intricate ways," Socrates answered, 
 suddenly grown thoughtful. "One can never wholly 
 understand them or get their peculiar point of view. My 
 mother was always rather non-communicative, but the 
 other night she mystified me more than ever. To be 
 frank, I was almost alarmed. I couldn't understand her, 
 and I could not get her to explain. She would not answer 
 direct questions. One thing that puzzled me was this: she 
 had said that she must positively get away from the caf 
 
 382 ' 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 by eight o'clock to be with a patient who was quite ill. 
 She had mentioned it two or three times, and had been 
 looking at her watch and even urging the waiter not to 
 delay our dinner, when all at once she seemed to forget 
 her appointment. Eight o'clock came and passed, and 
 she had not finished her dinner she had scarcely touched 
 it, although she had said she was hungry. I reminded 
 her of her engagement, but she would not even talk about 
 it. She was strangely agitated. She seemed even to for 
 get my success, which had pleased her so much at first." 
 
 "You speak of your mother having a patient,'" Crofton 
 said. "I thought she was in some sort of business." 
 
 "She is a private nurse," Socrates informed him. "She 
 has been wonderfully successful. I really was alarmed 
 that night, and began to wonder if her mind was de 
 ranged, for I saw no rational reason for her failing to keep 
 an appointment which she had said was so important. 
 We finally went to a telephone and she called up the 
 doctor, who was then at the house to which she was to 
 go. I could tell by her voice that she was excited to the 
 point of hysteria. I heard her tell the doctor that she 
 was not feeling well enough to come, and ask if he 
 could send a taxicab for another nurse. He answered 
 that he could without any serious consequences to the 
 patient, and we walked home. She said the walk would 
 do her good. I told her I was worried over the way she 
 was acting, but she made no reply, and that was odd, 
 too it was not like her. She had taken my arm, and I 
 felt her hand trembling." 
 
 "It was certainly very odd," Crofton observed. "Did 
 you finally discover what had so disturbed her?" 
 
 "Not absolutely," the boy said, a touch of restraint in 
 his tone. "The truth is, she is becoming as great a 
 mystery to me as she was before before I learned that 
 sad secret of hers, and which she doesn't yet dream that 
 I am aware of. She gave me no satisfaction that eve- 
 
 383 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 ning. I was forced to surmise one thing only, and I hesi 
 tate to tell you about it you in particular, of all persons." 
 
 "Me? Do you really mean that?" Crofton groped. 
 
 " Yes, it seems wrong to say it of a woman who has so 
 strong a character as my mother has, but I can account 
 for her mood in no other way than that she is jealous. I 
 did not know she was that way, but it must be that. I 
 can't explain it otherwise." 
 
 "Jealous of whom?" Crofton wanted to know. 
 
 "Of you" Socrates replied, with a faint smile and a 
 shrug of his shoulders. "I am sorry to say that I am 
 forced to think that your friendship and mine has actually 
 made her jealous." 
 
 "Our friendship?" Crofton exclaimed. "Why, aren't 
 you mistaken?" 
 
 "I don't think I can be, for her whole agitation began 
 when she asked me who the friend was to whom the editor 
 referred as having forwarded my poem. I told her how 
 you and I had accidentally met, and how often we had 
 been together. Yes, she must be jealous, and to an ab 
 normal degree. I didn't dare tell her actually how much 
 I think of you, and even now that you have saved my life 
 and helped me with my other poems I may not be able 
 to tell her of it. She acted queerly queerly! She ac 
 tually spoke and it seemed to me anxiously of our tak 
 ing a trip to Europe at once, and begged me not to let any 
 one know of it said she had reasons which she could not 
 tell me quite yet." 
 
 "She must be a very strange woman," Crofton said, 
 regretfully. "I am sorry she feels as she does, for I am 
 very fond of you and like your companionship." 
 
 "And I yours." Socrates leaned on the railing, looked 
 out over the restless water, and sighed. "You have be 
 come almost everything to me. You are doing so much 
 for me, and I am doing nothing in return. She must not 
 part us. She will feel differently when she meets you." 
 
 384 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "She might even object to meeting me," Crofton sug 
 gested, gloomily. 
 
 Socrates hesitated for a moment, and then: "There is 
 no telling what she will think or do if her mood doesn't 
 change. She clung to me in the hallway of her boarding- 
 house that evening and sobbed in my arms like a des 
 perate, broken-hearted child. I finally left her, but I am 
 quite upset over it. You see, I did not really know 
 what to do or say. I have had a letter from her every 
 day since then, and they are not like her they seem 
 nervous, unnatural, and pointless." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Myers came up the stairs to 
 remove the tray of dishes, paused in the doorway, and 
 glanced out at them. She smiled. "That little chap is 
 asleep at last," she said. "He seemed too nervous to 
 quiet down at first. My husband came back just now 
 in a boat which one of our customers wanted him to sell 
 for him at half price. The boy heard him speak to me 
 about it and insisted on going out to look at it, weak as 
 he was." 
 
 "I see," Crofton laughed, "he has not forgotten my 
 promise, and is already looking the market over." 
 
 "I think that is it," Mrs. Myers smiled; "but when 
 he heard that the price was twenty dollars, and saw 
 what a fine boat it was, he gave it up. ' Gee !' he said, 
 ' the guy that pulled us out o' the water ain't no Rocky- 
 feller.'" 
 
 Crofton laughed. "Well, he shall have the boat, any 
 way. Tell your husband I'll take it and will settle for 
 it in the morning. You may tell the boy, too, that I'll 
 give him the money to buy the other things." 
 
 "Really? Really?" Mrs. Myers cried in delight. "If 
 he knew it now he would not sleep a wink to-night. 
 Well, I'll tell him in the morning." 
 
 When they were alone, a moment later, Socrates glanced 
 at Crofton, and observed: "Sometimes I fancy that you 
 
 25 385 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 are not as poor as I at first thought; you are always 
 spending money on others." 
 
 "Well, I have more means than I was willing to admit 
 when I first met you," was the answer, "but I don't 
 want to keep anything from you now. I want you to 
 know me as I am. I am in comfortable circumstances 
 financially. I have a strong premonition that we are 
 not going to see much more of each other. If our friend 
 ship worries your mother it must not go on. She has been 
 all the world to you, and you are all she has." 
 
 "It wouldn't be fair to you and me," the youth said, 
 rebelliously. "It is only a whim of hers. I don't know 
 how I could get along without you. I can't explain it. 
 I love to be with you as much as with my mother. It 
 seems to me that I have known you from babyhood up. 
 Why, really, half the joy I have in succeeding with my 
 poems comes out of my desire to please you." 
 
 Crofton was deeply touched. He stood smoking in si 
 lence. There was a break in the filmy clouds, and the 
 moon, a great round white lantern, lit the surface of the 
 river, bringing the long, dim outlines of the Palisades 
 into view. 
 
 Presently Crofton said: "You are tired; perhaps we 
 had better go to bed." 
 
 Socrates nodded acquiescence, and they went to their 
 room. A cot and a bed were ready for them, both having 
 fresh sheets and pillows, and looking very inviting. 
 
 "I'll take the cot," the youth said, quickly; and Crof 
 ton knew that it was out of courtesy to his age that he 
 spoke. "I've slept on one all this summer, and I'd not 
 feel at home in a bed, while you are accustomed to one." 
 
 They undressed, and Crofton noticed the bare right arm 
 of his companion. It was black and blue from bruises, 
 badly swollen, and he went to examine it. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me it was like this?" he asked. 
 "How did it happen?" 
 
 386 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "That blasted canoe," Socrates said, indifferently. 
 "It is a wonder the blame thing was not cut to the bone." 
 
 "You must put something on it," Crofton said, con 
 siderately. "Let me ask Mrs. Myers " 
 
 "Bosh! Rubbish! It is nothing at all!" the boy 
 sniffed. "The swelling will go down by to-morrow. I'll 
 not do any rowing or swimming for a day or two, that 
 is all." 
 
 "You have a lot of nerve," Crofton said, as he went 
 back to his bed. "I'm afraid your arm will pain you in 
 the night." 
 
 "Oh, it may, a little bit," Socrates lightly returned; 
 " but that's nothing. Shall I blow out the light?" 
 
 "If you are ready," Crofton answered, admiring the 
 perfect physique of his companion as he walked to the 
 lamp and extinguished it. "Good night," Crofton said. 
 "If your arm pains let me know." 
 
 "Thank you. I will. Good night." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 /^ROFTON lay with his eyes on the moonlight which 
 ^^ fell in at the window upon the rough floor. How 
 strange it was! he thought. His boyhood was flowing 
 back upon him in a constant stream of scenes, incidents, 
 and sayings. The room seemed to be the one in the old 
 home in which he and Henry had slept as boys. One 
 circumstance he remembered now for the first time in 
 years. Henry had come in after midnight and waked 
 him as he clumsily undressed. Half an hour passed. 
 Henry was breathing heavily and, it seemed to his imagi 
 native brother, with difficulty. Carter rose, went to him 
 and spoke, but received no reply. He shook the sleeper, 
 but could not wake him. Alarmed, he went to his 
 father's room across the hall and roused the old man from 
 sleep. Gilbert entered the room, bent over his sleeping 
 son, roughly turned his face to him, and with an angry 
 grunt moved away. "Drunk!" he said. "Can't you 
 smell it on him?" 
 
 That was away back in Henry's youth, and now Henry, 
 who, somehow, was dearer than ever before, was dead. 
 He had lived his mistaken career out, and was now mere 
 food for worms back there in the blue Georgian hills. 
 The remains of young Tom Crofton jovial, prank-playing 
 Tom were there, too, and those of his father, who had 
 erred, suffered in consequence, and yearned so much for 
 peace of soul. What could it all mean? To what was it 
 tending if to anything? The swash of the river's flow 
 against the float and the piles which supported the house, 
 
 388 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 the tugging of rocking boats on their painters outside, 
 was the sole answer. An hour passed. Crofton could 
 not sleep, and heard the creaking of the cot of his com 
 panion, who was constantly turning over. 
 
 "You are not asleep yet," he said, suddenly. 
 
 ' ' Nor you , either, ' ' Socrates laughed, evasively. ' ' I hope 
 I am not disturbing you." 
 
 * ' Not at all, " Crofton answered. ' ' But I 'm afraid your 
 arm is paining you more than you will acknowledge." 
 
 "No, it is not my arm," was the answer. "It doesn't 
 hurt much now, but somehow I can't get down to sleep. 
 I was that way after a long-distance swim once. My 
 nerves were strung high this afternoon; besides besides, 
 you know, there is something in thought-transference. 
 I have read your mind often, you remember, and to-night 
 I may be wrong but it seems to me that you are 
 unusually sad depressed, unhappy." 
 
 Crofton found himself unable to formulate a denial 
 that would be satisfactory to himself, so he said nothing, 
 but simply lay still, his eyes now on the boy's dim form. 
 
 "Of late," Socrates went on, sympathetically, "it has 
 seemed to me that you have met with some new and 
 particular disappointment. I have seemed to read it in 
 your face and detect it in your voice. I wish I were 
 worthy of your entire confidence. I think I have told 
 you all about myself, but I feel that you have kept some 
 things from me. I would not say this, but something tells 
 me it is almost like the strange, psychic voice I've heard 
 once or twice in my life something keeps telling me that 
 I, young as I am, could help you actually help you. 
 God knows I'd like to if you need me in any way." 
 
 "Nobody on earth can help me!" Crofton suddenly 
 blurted out. "This much I will say, and then we will 
 drop the subject for ever. I wouldn't confess it to one 
 so young, but for the hope that it may prevent you from 
 making my mistake that my terrible, lifelong remorse 
 
 389 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 may be a helpful warning to you. My boy, the man you 
 look upon as a friend worthy of friendship is not worthy 
 of the friendship of an outcast dog. Listen. When I 
 was about your age when I was as full of high, pure 
 aspirations as you now are, I sank to the very depths of 
 human depravity. I was carried away by passion. I 
 wrecked the life of the sweetest, loveliest girl ever created. 
 She has since fought her way to the top, while in idleness, 
 frivolity, pride, and vanity I was dragged down to what 
 I am. I met her recently, after a separation of over 
 twenty years. I now want her and need her more than 
 I want and need life itself. I want to care for her and our 
 son whom I have never seen, but it is impossible. She 
 has shown me that it is impossible. After losing her, I 
 began to lean on you for companionship, only to find 
 now that even that is denied me. I'm not complaining. 
 I deserve it all. At times, among poor, simple people 
 here in the city, and with your friends across the river, 
 I am able to forget myself in their honest, untroubled 
 lives; but to-night I am face to face with my wretched 
 self as I never was before. It seemed to me that I was 
 rising to better things in your wonderful career, in living 
 a new life in you and the triumphs which are before you, 
 but that, too, you see, must end. I have sinned too long 
 and too grievously. God is laughing at me fool that I 
 am for hoping to find peace through the wronged son of 
 another man, while I'm never to see my own face to face." 
 
 Silently, and in awe, the youth put his feet down on the 
 floor, sat up, and then came across to the bed. He seemed 
 checked by embarrassment for a moment, and then sat 
 down on the edge of the bed. 
 
 "Oh, how it pains me to hear you say this!" he faltered. 
 4 'For I want you to be happy. Somehow I feel to-night 
 as if I can never be happy myself if you are not as if 
 all the world will be wrong if you are made to suffer 
 longer." 
 
 390 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "You are very, very kind," Crofton answered, huskily. 
 "I ought not to have told you what I have young as 
 you are but it slipped out before I thought.'* 
 
 "Perhaps you have not wronged your son and his 
 mother so much as you fear," Socrates went on in a brave, 
 boyish effort at giving comfort. "I once thought I was 
 wronged by my absent father, too; but since this great joy 
 in the success of my poems and your friendship have come 
 to me, I have begun to feel that the very shadows of my 
 life were cast by the hand of God. I once thought I'd 
 actually want to kill my father if I met him, but now 
 now it is different oh, so different ! I've come to under 
 stand to see that what seems to us mortals to be the 
 worst in life is really the best. My poor, young fether was 
 not wholly accountable. His life and lines were laid upon 
 him while he was ignorant of the law. My mother, an 
 unsuspecting girl, received her burden on young and ten 
 der shoulders. Mine fell to me in the cradle. You have 
 yours we are all alike, and we are all the loved children 
 of God being led onward and upward in ways we cannot 
 understand." 
 
 "Do you think that do you do you?" Crof ton's 
 voice filled to overflowing and broke. "And could you 
 actually forgive your father?" 
 
 "Yes, easily now. I'd like to see him. I'd like to com 
 fort him if he needs it, and if he is living he will need it 
 sooner of later, for repentance is demanded by the law. 
 But you and I must not part. It can't be it sha'rit be! 
 Lying there unable to sleep, just now, another possible 
 explanation of my mother's strange attitude flashed upon 
 me." 
 
 "What is it?" Crofton inquired, eagerly. 
 
 "Why, it may be this. See if you don't think so. You 
 see, as I told you, she still thinks I am ignorant of the 
 true facts of my birth, and morbidly dreads my discovering 
 them. May it not be that she is now afraid that the 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 publication of my poems may, in some way, bring me 
 to a realization of the truth?" 
 
 Crofton sat up. "It may be so," he said. "In fact, 
 that seems more likely to me than your first supposition. 
 No natural mother could object to her son's having a 
 genuine and sincere friend. Let's hope it is that, and 
 yet I cannot see any reason for her being quite so greatly 
 disturbed. I think you said she was a private nurse. 
 The unfortunate mother of my son took up that Calling, 
 and" 
 
 Here Crofton stopped short, stared through the dim 
 light at the profile by his side the profile which had so 
 often suggested that of his cousin Tom. He looked down 
 at the long, slender hands of his companion. The fingers 
 and the curving nails were like Tom's and like his own. 
 "A private nurse!" he said to himself; "a private nurse 
 with a nameless son who has the features of a Crofton! 
 My God, my God!" 
 
 "I am sure you want to sleep now," Socrates said, 
 starting to rise. He laid his hand on the older man's 
 arm and gently pressed it. 
 
 "Wait, wait!" Crofton gulped, the room, his com 
 panion, and all visible objects seeming to whirl about him. 
 
 The youth paused, standing erect by the bed. "What 
 is it?" he asked. 
 
 "Why, this this " Crof ton's voice caught in his 
 throat. "You have often spoken of your grandmother, 
 who died when you were young. Was was she the 
 mother of your father or of your mother?" 
 
 "My mother's mother," was the answer. 
 
 "Your mother's mother? Are you sure, absolutely 
 sure?" 
 
 "Why, of course I am!" 
 
 There was silence. The youth paused a moment longer, 
 and then started back to his cot. "I'm keeping you 
 awake," he said. "I ought to go out on the float and 
 
 392 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 walk off my restlessness. What you have told me about 
 my poems and all that excitement in the river is robbing 
 me of sleep. Really/' he laughed, "I'm too happy to 
 sleep!" 
 
 "You have never told me where you were born," Crof- 
 ton said, irrelevantly and with suspended breath. 
 
 "In New Orleans, but I remember nothing of the 
 place, for we left it when I was less than a year old." 
 
 "New Orleans! New Orleans! What was your mother's 
 maiden name?" 
 
 "Romley Lydia Romley." 
 
 "Lydia Romely!" The name struggled for birth in 
 Crofton's tight throat, and died there. The youth went 
 on to his cot and sat down. Crofton still sat erect, 
 staring with fixed eyes, his lips parted. "My God!" he 
 whispered. "My boy! my son! my own son!" 
 
 "Gee! my muscles really do ache a little!" Socrates 
 was softly laughing; "but I sha'n't disturb you any more 
 to-night. I'll lie still from now on." 
 
 Crofton heard nothing of what he was saying. The 
 sound seemed a meaningless voice muttering out of chaos. 
 The bell of a passing steamer rang. Its yellow light 
 flashed into the white light of the moon on the floor and 
 walls. Crofton sank back on his pillow and tried to 
 think tried to pray but he could do neither. His brain 
 was lashed by threats, forebodings, warnings, dire mem 
 ories. 
 
 "Merciful God help me guide me!" he cried within 
 himself. He rose, stood out in the floor, and went to 
 the window which overlooked the river. It was now a 
 broad, dancing sheet of reflected moonlight. He re 
 mained there in limp, reeling silence for a moment; then 
 the creaking of the cot drew his eyes to his son, who was 
 lying on his side, looking at him wonderingly. 
 
 "God help me! Oh, God help me!" Crofton prayed 
 anew, and then, obeying a sudden impulse, he moved 
 
 393 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 slowly to the youth and stood before him. He started 
 to speak, but the words he was trying to summon to his 
 aid refused to fall into proper order, and he simply stood 
 over his son, his desperate gaze on the placid young face. 
 
 "What is the matter?" the boy asked. 
 
 Again Crofton started to speak, but failed, and, as a 
 child might have done, he bowed his head and covered 
 his face with his hands. His bosom was wrung and 
 shaken by a sob which he was trying to suppress, and 
 this the youth noticed. 
 
 "I see you are even more unhappy than I thought," 
 he said, in a tone of pained sympathy. "I wish I could 
 help you. I'd give anything on earth to be able to do it. 
 I would I would!" 
 
 "You are the only one in the world who can help me," 
 Crofton said, huskily. "You, you, and no one else!" 
 
 "I? I? Then show me how; please show me how." 
 
 Crofton threw all discretion aside. He forgot the plans 
 of the boy's mother. He forgot everything but his yearn 
 ing love for the lad on the cot and his raging desire for 
 forgiveness. 
 
 "My boy, my boy," he gulped, folding his arms and 
 standing erect, as a brave soldier might to be shot under 
 the sentence of a court martial, " I have just made a great 
 discovery. It may pain you it may stab you to the 
 heart it may make you despise me and desert me for 
 ever but I am your father, your own father!" 
 
 * ' My father? ' ' The youth gasped incredulously. * ' My 
 father?" 
 
 "Your father. Oh, my son, my son, my son! Pity 
 me ! Have mercy on me !' ' 
 
 In the dim light he saw the boy's animated, soulful 
 face become rigid and pale; the lips were set, the brows 
 contracted. Crofton's chin touched his breast, his eyes 
 were closed. Remembering something the boy had once 
 said, he pictured him in the act of springing at his throat 
 
 394 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 and clutching it with his long, slender fingers. But as he 
 stood thus, self-blinded, he became conscious that his 
 son had not moved. He opened his eyes. The boy sat 
 bent downward, his face in his hands. He was crying, 
 his young shoulders shaken by the tumult within him. 
 Crofton suddenly knelt beside him and put a pleading 
 hand on the boy's knee. 
 
 " My fate lies with you, my son," he muttered. ' ' With 
 out knowing what you were to me by blood, I have loved 
 you as a son. You have inspired me; you have given 
 me faith. I have often thought you were Godlike; be 
 Godlike in your mercy to-night. Forgive me, as your 
 mother has forgiven me, and let me spend the remainder 
 of my wretched life in your service and hers. I owe my 
 all to you both, and I want to pay. I love you my son, 
 my son my poor wronged son! My life, as it is, will not 
 be enough, but let me give that to you and to her." 
 
 The boy was sobbing unrestrainedly now. He tried 
 to speak, but could not, and, shamed by his weakness, he 
 fell back and buried his face in his pillow. Crofton rose 
 and crept back to his bed, where he sat still and wordless, 
 at the end of his resources. It may have been his silence 
 that helped restore the youth to calmness, for he sat up, 
 wiped his eyes, hesitated for a moment, then faltered: 
 
 "You mustn't mind me you mustn't misunderstand. 
 I'm not disappointed. I'm not grieved; I'm only sur 
 prised; it is all so new so unexpected!" He stood up 
 and came toward the bed. "So you are my father, you, 
 you of all men on earth? I've always dreaded meeting 
 him seeing him, fearing that I'd hate him alone of all 
 men in the world, and yet here to-night I know that I 
 love him as much as a son ever loved a father. It is not 
 for you to help me; it is for me to help you, and I will, 
 I will. I'm happy to-night happier than I ever thought 
 a mortal could be on earth. I now have everything 
 everything that I wanted." 
 
 395 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "Oh, I've wronged you wronged you!" Crofton 
 moaned. "I can't give you a name except by law, when 
 I'm willing to give you my very soul." 
 
 "What is a name?" the boy half laughed, half sobbed. 
 " I don't believe there are any names in Eternity, and this 
 life, at its best, is only the crudest beginning of the life 
 ahead of us. I'm happy, happy, inexpressibly happy 
 to-night!" 
 
 Crofton rose and took him into his arms and pressed 
 him to his breast. After that they said nothing more 
 not another word. Crofton went back to his bed, and his 
 son to his cot. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE next morning Crofton called at the boarding- 
 house where Lydia was staying and sent in his card. 
 A maid-servant invited him into a little parlor in the rear, 
 and he waited there for Lydia to come. 
 
 "She said she would be down at once," the girl an 
 nounced, a moment later. 
 
 He was not kept waiting long. Lydia was already 
 dressed to go out, and hurried down. He saw that she 
 was greatly agitated and even pale. When she had en 
 tered the room she glanced uneasily back into the hall 
 way, and then deliberately closed the door. She turned 
 her back to the window, where some plants were growing, 
 and grimly faced him. He thought it significant that she 
 had not offered her hand. 
 
 "I half expected you," she began, her beautiful lips 
 trembling. "I have been crazy insane! I haven't 
 slept. I tried to find you to warn you, but could not. 
 Do you know have you found out?" 
 
 "That he is our son? Yes, by accident, and only last 
 night." 
 
 "I was afraid you would betray me," Lydia ran on, 
 desperately. "He happened to mention meeting you and 
 your friendship for him. I was overcome with fear and 
 despair, and yet I tried to hide it from him. I don't know 
 what to do. I'm glad you came, for now we can agree on 
 some plan. He must never know his father is alive. If 
 
 397 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 he discovered that he would suspect the rest, and it would 
 break his heart and kill his courage. Surely you know 
 him well enough to know how such a thing as that would 
 sting his pride?" 
 
 "Yes, but as it is " 
 
 " Oh, he must never know !" Lydia broke in, desperately. 
 "He is all I have. I have lived for him and for nothing 
 else. He would despise me for my weakness, and for the 
 part I have played in deceiving him all his life. He doesn't 
 dream he doesn't suspect, does he?" 
 
 Crofton could not meet the fierce stare in her great, 
 suffering eyes. He looked away and was silent. Her 
 face changed; her lips parted; she came toward him 
 swiftly; she laid her two hands on his shoulders and bore 
 down on them heavily. 
 
 "You can't mean my God! you can't mean you 
 surely have not come here to tell me that you have let 
 him suspect " 
 
 Her voice failed to sustain itself; she clutched his arms 
 as her hands slipped downward, and then she shook him. 
 
 "Don't dare to tell me," she caught her breath and ran 
 on, "that you have thwarted my plans stepped into my 
 life again and ruined it?" 
 
 "Wait, wait! For God's sake, listen to me!" he cried, 
 suddenly remembering something he had come to reveal. 
 "Lydia, he already knew the truth. He has known it for 
 several years and hidden it from you. He overheard you 
 and your mother talking once when he was ill. He suf 
 fered under the discovery for a long time, but finally rose 
 above it. He knew all but the name of his father. He 
 confided all this to me some time ago." 
 
 "Oh, oh ! is it possible? My poor boy ! my poor darling 
 boy!" She almost fell as she tottered toward a chair, 
 caught hold of the back, swayed a moment, and then sank 
 into it. 
 
 "Don't take it so hard," Crofton pleaded, hoarsely. 
 
 398 
 
THE INNER LAW 
 
 "He is happy now, he says happier than he has ever 
 been. He loves me, Lydia; he has forgiven me. Oh, 
 Lydia, I love him with all my wretched soul! You and 
 I must live for him and make him happy. We can do 
 it. He has consented to my adoption of him as a son 
 under my name. He and you shall have all I possess in 
 the world. You shall use my fortune as you like. You 
 must be my wife. I can't live without you. I love you 
 I adore you. Well go to California, where he says 
 you wish to live. Oh, Lydia, it is all for the best! He 
 says so, and, young as he is, he is as wise as a sage of old. 
 Together we'll watch his growing fame and nurse his 
 wonderful genius. He is going to have the thing I missed 
 a successful career. Tell me, dear, will you let it be 
 so?" 
 
 A new light had dawned in the sweet face which she 
 raised to his; her long lashes glistened with tears; a pink 
 glow was rising into her pale cheeks. He bent down, took 
 her into his arms, and held her to his breast ; he kissed her 
 pulsing lips; her head sank to his shoulder; she clung to 
 him tenderly and sobbed. 
 
 THE END 
 
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 Harben, W.N. 
 The inner law. 
 
 PS1787 
 15 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS