THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^■i .OM curUs f %^%^i 'if' ' . *h#T^^' h" Tt '■■ M&slM CMsLiU. LlMMki^,^ Ui2 llGUiSS SUSPENSE HENRY SETON MERRIMAN ! S^^i- Author of ' ' Rodens ' Corners, " " Prisoners a nd Captives, '* " The Phantom Future,'' " Young Mistley," Etc. > 1 New York The F, M. Lupton Publishing Company SZJJ SSSf CONTENTS. BOOK I. CHAP. Msa I. On board the "Hermione" 9 II. The Exception 15 III. AProblem 28 IV. A Storm 87 V. The Compact 48 VI. A Shadow 60 VII. A Sportsman's Death 00 VIIL A Joint Command 79 IX. A Divided Responsibility 91 X. Fjaerholm 100 XI. A Commercial Transaction 113 XII. Bad News 183 Xtn Off! 184 BOOK II. I. At Sea 144 II. Sisters 165 III, Alice Returns 164 rV. To the Front , 178 V. Under Fir© 100 8 2138043 4 CONTENTS. VI. Trist Acts on his Own Responsibility 199 VII. Quicksands 209 VIII. Masked 219 IX. In Case of War 280 X. A Problem 238 XI. Mrs. Wylie Leads 248 XII. The Philosophy of the Sea 260 XIII. Cross-Purposes 269 XIV. A Social Conspiracy 282 BOOK III. I. The Sport of Fate 298 n. Breaking It 802 in. Mrs. V^''ylie takes the Offensive 812 rv. An Interview 820 V. Southward 332 VI. Theodore Trist Is Arou.sed 340 VII. A Lesson 851 VTII. Hicks' Secret 860 IX. Wyl's Hall 867 X. Diplomacy 378 XL Good-bye! 386 XIL At Work 897 XIII. Plevna 406 XIV. The Puzzle of Life 413 XV. The End of it All 421 SUSPENSE. BOOK I. CHAPTER L ON BOARD THE '' HERMIONB.*' "Brenda, what are you thinking about ?** It was hardly a question. The intonation of Mrs. Wylie's voice was by no means interrogative, and she returned placidly to the perusal of her novel without awaiting a reply. The ladies had been reading silently for at least an hour, until the younger of the two allowed her book to lie unheeded on her knee, while the pages fluttered in the breeze. The remark called forth by this action was ac- cepted literally and as a question. " I was thinking of Theo Trist," replied the girl gravely. She did not meet her companion's gaze, but looked wistfully across the fjord toward the bleak, dismal cliffs.' Mrs. Wylie closed her novel on one white plump finger and drummed idly upon the back of it with the other hand. In movement and repose alike this lady was essentially comfortable. Her pres- ence suggested contentment and prosperity amidst 6 % SUSPENSE, the most unpropifcious environments. The Her- mione, her temporary home, a broad, slow-sailing achootier-yacht, was, below decks, conducted on the principles of a luxurious, roomy-house. She had a wonderful way with her, this plump and fluiiliug lady, of diffusinginto the very atmosphere a sense of readiness to meet all emergencies. The elements, even, seemed to bow to her. Overliead the winds might roar and moan aloud through stay and rigging — all around tlie waves might leap and throw themselves against the standi, low bul- warks of the yacht — but in the cabin was warm comfort ; and with it, dainty, womanly ways. .Mrs. Wylie proved most effectually that at sea, in fair weather and in foul, a woman can be a woman still. She now reopened her book, but instead of reading, sat gazing thoughtfully at the young girl. Presently she laughed musically and turned resolutely to the open page. " Yes,'* she murmured — confessing, as it were, that her thoughts had on former occasions been drawn in the same direction. ''Yes. But, Bren- da — I — should not advise you — to — think — of Theo Trist." There are in the lives of most of us passing mo- ments which leave a distinct impression upon the mind. Of all the million words wo hear there are some trivial remarks which hold fast to the inner sinews of the great machine we call memory — a machine which rests not by night or day, in health or sickness, in })ro3perity or woe. Often it ii a jest, or some weighty saying spoken in jest. There is no apparent reason why some words should be so distinctly remembered while others ]>ass away from recollection ; and yet small obger- ON BOARD THE " HERMIONE," 7 vations, interesting only in the passing moment, catch as it were iu the mental wheel, and, adher- ing to the spokes, spin round with them, just as a mere muddy piece of paper may cling to the wheel of au emperor's carriage and flutter through the clieeriug crowd, calling for universel atten- tion, Brenda Gilholme listened to Mrs. Wylie's laugh- ing caution in a vague way, and there seemed to come into her mind an indefinite recollection. Certain it was that she had never heard the words before, but yet they were forebodingly familiar. The semi-bantering ring of the lady's voice, the soft hum of the breeze through the rigging over- head, the ripple of the awning stretched tautly, and the regular plash of tiny wavelets beneath and all around, formed an entire harmony of sound which was instantaneously graven on her memoiy, never to leave it from that day forth. Mrs. Wylie, having married' happily herself, was of the firm opinion that marriages are made in heaven. (TVe of course know better. The manu- factory is situated, my brothers, in another quarter, where fuel is cheap and steam-power readily ob- tainable.) She was too kind-hearted and too merci- ful to the human race to think of interfering in the work. Perhaps she felt that if heaven turned out such poor work, hers could not well be satis- factory. Be that, however, as it may, Mrs. Wylie •was no matchmaker. She held strange views — alas ! too rarely fostered — that if a man be worthy of a woman and love her truly, he should be able to win her for himself ; and that if he cannot do this unaided, he is better without her. A bold theory most assuredly, and one worthy of con- sideration, • g SUSPENSE. Of conrse she knew that Theo Trist and Brenda were great friends. She was well aware that in some future time tiie friendship might turn to something else. With most young men and mai- dens the word " would " could well be substituted for ''might." But these two were not of that human material which is woven upon a common web. Brenda Gilholme was not one of the crowd — she had the misfortune of an intellect. As existence is managed in these days, a woman with a mind nmst not expect too much happiness. It is lamentable, but true, that the brain has little to do with earthly joy. In these esthetic days we talk a great quantity of nonsense about " soul," and inner consciousness, and feeling. In fact, we are getting too clever, and our minds are running away from our bodies. Our existence is material, talk as we may about abstract idealisms ; and our joys are material. Eating, drinking, working, sleeping— this is human life, and those among us who perform those functions well are undoubtedly the happiest. A superior intellect, more especially in woman, is not conducive to happiness. Indeed, it is di- rectly opposed to that impossible state. It was this possession that made Brenda Gilholme some- what different from her fellows. Theo Trist, again, had his peculiarities, but these must perforce be allowed to transpire here- after ; and besides such individual matters there ■were several facts knowr. to Mrs. Wylie which raised doubts as to wiiat the end of this fritMidship might be. Trist was twenty-eight and Brenda was nineteen, while both were in manner and ap- pearance older than their years could warrant. Also was there another matter of some weight. ONBOARD THE '^ ills. RMIUNE:' 9 Brenda had a sister, a lovely, unscrupulous co- quette, two years older than lierself . Alice Gilholme had been pleased to change her name and state in St. George's, Hanover Square, earlier in the year, while the Hermione was yet in dry dock. Three Aveeks after the wedding, Theo Trist returned from abroad with his bland, broad forehead tanned and brown. He expressed no surprise. In fact, he vouchsafed no opinion what- ever. Had lie met Captain Huston, the happy bridegroom ? Oh, yes ! They had met in South Africa. That Avas all I He never related details of that part of a difficult campaign which they had passed together. The laconic praise contained in the two words *' good soldier," such as has been applied to many of his acquaintances, was not forthcoming. From a lady's point of view, Alfred Woodruff Charles Huston Vt'as the beau ideal of a soldier. Tall, straight and square-shouldered, he carried his small head erect. His clear brown eyes were quick enough, his brown, clean-cut face almost perfect in its outline. Indefatigable at Sandown, Hurlingham, Goodwood, Ascot — in the Grand Stand bien ent(!ndn — he had a pleasant way of appearing to know something about every one and everything. But Theo Trist had not met him at ai\y of these places or in fashionable London drav,'-^ iiig-rooms later in the day. They had come together in South Africa in the course of a cam- paign, when both h;id lain aside the accessories of pleasure and were hard at work, each in his chosen groove. It was somewhat strange that he should never offer to discuss Captain Huston as a military man. *' That fellow Huston," a general officer had Id s us pens/-:. OQce said in an unguarded moment — '" that fellow Huston, Trist, is the biggest duller in the Britisli Army ! " And Trist's answer, given after careful consid- deration, was laconically severe : " Yes, I am afraid so." But Alice Gilholmo omitted to consult the general officer ; and after all, if Captain Huston was no soldier, he was at least a gentleman, uith elegant, high-bred ways, and an ejnpty, high-bred head, containing just enough brain to find out the enjoyment of existence. The happy couple were now in India, where we will leave them. Whether the marriage of Alice Gilholme had been a severe blow to Theo Trist or no, it were hard to say. Mrs. Wylie even could give no opinion on the subject, and Brenda never men- tioned it. There was no perceptible change in the man's strange incongruous face when the news was broken to him without premonition in a crowded room. His life was essentially ruled by chance ; good or bad tidings were therefore no new things to him. The liermione rose and fell slightly, almost im- perceptibly, to the waves, and backward and for- ward across tho spotless deck Brenda Gilholme walked pensively. She was motherless, and her father was entirelv absorbed in political strife, being an English Home-Kuler. This thoughtful girl "had grown ti]i in the shade of her sisters beauty, an"^!, like many a fair young flower, had perhaps suffered from" the contiguity. She was pleased to consider herself a plain uninteresting girl, which was a mistake. Her face, small ana proud, was in profile almost perfect ; but her eyes were set too close together, which caused a ON BOARD THE " HERMIONE." 1 1 peculiar disappointment to those meeting her face to face. Perhaps she was a discontented little person. Her expression certainly warranted such a belief. Undoubtedly she thought too little of herself. In personal charms she compared unfavorably with her sister Alice, and in that small fact lay the secret of it all. Glory of any description un- fortunately casts a reflection which is sure to be unpleasant either to the reflector or to the friends of that person. The sister of a celebrated man, his cousins, and also his aunts, are usually dis- agreeable people ; or, if by chance they be colored with the same brush and possess in a slight degree his talent, they are discontented and unhappy. The second fiddler will be found less companion- able than the eager time-server who plays the triangle in the dark corner near the stage-box. Had Brenda Gilholme been launched upon the troubled waters of society alone, she would probably have made a better place for herself there than her sister Alice ever reached ; but, unfor- tunately, she started the world as Alice Gilholme's sister. In a thousand ways clumsy and well- meaning men allowed her to define her own situation. With that sweet charity which warms the fair bosoms of our sisters and female cousins, girls took every opportunity of lamenting Alice's backslidings and social sins in the hearing of her sister. There are some who will say that those lamentations were the fruit of jealousy and petty female spite, but this assuredly could not be, be- cause these same guileless maidens were never tired of praising and upholding their dear /r/f/if/'.s beauty. Now, would they do that if they were jealous ? Oh, no ! 12 SUSPENSE. " Brenda," Admiral Wylio used to say, with a loving twinkle of bis intensely blue eyes, " Brenda is a brick." She was true and loyal ; a devoted sister, and a stanch friend. Had she loved her sister less she would have carried a lighter heart tlirough many a gay ball-room. She would have suffered less from — let us call it the mistaken kindness of her sister's friends. She would have tliought more of herself and less of Alice. And yet there was in this little maiden a strange touch of pride. She carried her neat little head very high, although she failed to recognize the rare beauty of the brown, soft hair nestling there. As she walked up and down the deck she trod firmly, with a certain stnootli strength, although she was f>leased to ignore the possession of the daintiest ittle feet ever shod by Pinet. Her small and beautiful person was adorned with a simple seve- rity which was almost defiant. It seemed to throw the glove down before the face of human weakness — to defy opinion. Alice had always been the beauty ; to her had been relegated the fine dresses and fascinating hats, and Brenda had played second fiddle. Now that Alice had left her life, the little maiden went on her way with ap- parent serenity ; but beneath the quietly thought- ful exterior, behind the sad, questioning eyes, there was that curse, the bitter sorrow of a supe- rior intellect placed within a woman's brain. Brenda Gilholme knew too much. Her esti- mate of human existence at the age of nineteen was truer and deeper than that of her grandmother at the age of ninety. And around us, my brothers, there are many Brendas — many women and young maidens who "know us too well. Human nature has been ecraped, and probed, and stripped until ON BOARD THE " HERMIONE." 13 the gilt and glamour are quite lost. Moreover, the fault is chiefly ours. We have probed and analyzed with our pens most foolishly. Urged on by the spirit of competitiou, we have searched deeper into man's heart and woman's motive, each trying to get nearer to the core, un- til at last the subject has become almost repulsive. The analyst soon discovers that many substances are the mere outcome of a few components var- iously mingled. Men and women can no more bear analysis with dignity than can the common ruck of cvery-day food. There are certain com- ponent parts capable of nourishing the human frame, but we mix them up into many dishes. He who dissects his meat will have small appetite, and those who study their fellow men and women too closely will learn to despise their own parents. "Women are, in this respect, worse off than men. Their greater insight and quicker divination en- able them to judge mercilessly and with unfortu- nate accuracy. Since they have joined us in the great work of analysis (with but poor results from a literary point of view, but mighty profits to the printer), the seamy side has been held u]) to in- quiring eyes with the veriest shamelessness. Surely we know the worst of human nature now and most certainly those who are running behind us in the race, those little children and soft-eyed maidens, can read even as they run. Brenda Gilholme was a living protest against mental cultivation as it is understood to-day. Her exceptionally capable mind was the victim of over- education and a cheap literature. Beneath that soft brown hair was a fund of classical knowledge sufficient for the requirements of an Oxford pro* le^^or, theology onough for a deacon, geometrj 14 SUSPENSE. mixed np with political econoniv, geography and algebra, general knowledge, lind no arithmetic worth speaking of. All this, forsooth, added to a taste for music, and an innate power of making it very sweetly. And all for what? To be wisely forgotten as soon as possible — let us hope. The best woman and the truest lady I know has never seen an examination paper in her life. At least, I believe she has not. Filial respect withholds my question. It is rather disappointing to come freshly into a world of men and women and find it sorely want- ing. This Brenda had done. The women ap- peared to her affected and ignorant, because with her they were not quite at ease by reason of her deep education. The men were trivial or narrow. This one knew more geometry than she did, but of classics and theology he knew nothing. An- other was well versed in theology, while of political economy he could speak but haltingly, and so on. Each was in his narrow sphere ; she knew too much for all, and could apply it to nothing be- cause she was a woman. She had been taught that knowledge was power — that the whole world passed the Cambridge examinations — that women were born to muddle their sweet inconsistent brains over deep questions relative to scmi-pre- Berved languages, to weary their young eyes over imperfectly printed algebraical problems, and to learn many things which they are best without. But with it all, Brenda Gilholme was a woman. Instead of puzzling her daring brains over ques- tions which have never yet been approached with safety, she would have done better had she knelt down and thanked God for that same womanliness. And being u woman, she weakly thought thnt idl THE EXCEPTION'. 1$ men are not alike. She fondly imagined that an exception had been especially created and placed within her own sphere. Presently she stopped walking and stood beside the low rail, grasping an awning-stanchion with one hand. Tlie wistful, discontented look left her eyes, which were clear and bine, with long, dark lashes, and in its place came an interested, keen expression. " I think," she said aloud, *' I see him coming. There is a small sail away down the fjord." Mrs. Wylie looked up vaguely. "Yes," she answered absently; ''I dare say you are right I " CHAPTEK IL THE EXCEPTION". Tub Hermione lay at the head of that small branch of the sea called the Heimdalfjord. This long and narrow inlet is an insignificant branch of a greater fjord where steamers ply their irreg- ular traffic ; where British tourists gaze up with weary eyes at the towering rocks and bleak cliffs ; and where, during the lon'g, silent twilight winter, the winds howl and roar round tlie bare crags. On either side of the Heimdalfjord the gray hope- less cliffs rose a sheer two thousand feet, while the blue deep water lapped their base with scarce a ripple. The fjord lay between the mighty bar- riers with a solemn sense of profundity in the ptillnesa of its bosom. One could almost picture 1 C SC/S/'£NSJi. to one's self the continuation of the steep incline into a great dark valley beneath the superficial vittple, where mighty marine growths reared their brown branches up toward the dim light, never swaying to the ocean swell — where strange north- ern fishes and slow crawling things lived on un- known, unclassified. Amid such surroundings, upon the face of so large a nature, the Ilermione looked incongruous. Her clean, long spars, her white awning, the yel- low gleam of her copper beneath the clear water, nil suggested another world where comfort and smisll refinement live. Here all is of a rougher, larger stamp. Here man and his petty tastes are as nothing. The bleak and dismal mountains were not created for his habitation, for nothing grows tliere, and human ingenuity, human enter- prise, can uo naught with such stony chaos. On the entire Heimdalfjord there are but two boats — mere pinewood craft heavily tarred. One is owned by Hans Olsen, who lives far away at the point nhere the Sognfjord begins, and the other belongs to Christian Nielsen, who farms the two acres of poor soil at the head of the Heimdalfjord. No steamer has ever churned the still waters ; few yr.clits have ventured up to the head of the inlet, "where there is no attraction to the sightseer. But Nielsen looked every year for the white sails of the nerniionc, and with native conscientiousness re- frained from netting the river that ran past his l)ro\vn log-hut. The river brought him in more money than his farm, and even at this out-of-the-world corner of the Heimdalfjord money and the lust of it are the chief movers of men's hearts. Five hundred crowns a year was a sum Avonli thinking about, worth de- THE EXCEPTION, ij privinc; one's self of a little salmon for, which, .ifter all, was plentiful enough when once the Her- rnione had cast anchor. Four miles down the fjord there was another break in the great wall of mountains, andasecoiid river danced gaily down its narrow, barren valley to the sea. From this river-mouth a small boat was now making its way under sail up tlio fjord. A tiny speck of white was all the girl could distinf'uish from the deck of the vacht, and she stood silently watching its approach until the form of the sailor sitting low in the bow of the small brown craft was discernible. The sun had set some time before, so that tho water was in shadow, deep and blue ; but up on the hills and away to the south upon the distant snow-clad mountains a warm, pink glow lay hazily. Deep purple vales of shade broke the line of clilTa abutting the water here and there. "Where the hills closed together, five miles away (so that the fjord appeared to be a lake), there was a rich back- ground of blue transparency through which the broken crags loomed vaguely. It was nearly nine o'clock, and this clear twilight was all the dark- ness that would come to the Heimdal that July night. The breeze hold its own bravely against the so- porific influence of Arctic sunset, and with full taut sail the dinghy splashed and gurgled through the waters. The steersman was invisible by rea- son of the recfloss sail, but his handiwork was ap- parent and very good. A wonderfully straight course had he steered from the mouth of the river, Buch a course as a purposeful man will steer when he is without companion beyond hia own though ta. l5 SUSPENSE. '* He's driving her along I " muttered the stew- ard, as he stood for a moment at the galley-door. ■'* The driving is like unto the driving of Jehu," answered old Captain Barrow, who was smoking his evening pipe upon his own small piece of deck between the galley and the after-companion. Captain Barrow rarely missed an opportunity of throwing at the head of the steward, who (like most good cooks) was a godless person, a Biblical quotation more or less correct. Before the silence had again been broken the dinghy came rushing on. Down went the tiller, and with shivering canvas the little boat swung round alongside. Beside the after-rail Brenda stood motionless ; her eyes were resting on the dreary, lifeless scene which was nothing but a still blending of hazy blues, now that the small, white sail no longer gave life to it. She did not even turn when the sound of wot splashy footsteps upon the deck came to her oars. The newcomer had kicked off his brogues amidships, and was coming aft in wet waders and soaking outer-socks, out of respect for the Hermione's deck. There was a vague suggestion of respectful familiarity in his movements. One could tell in- stinctively that he had known these ladies for numy years. Xor did he apologize for the in- formality of his pedal attire. This man was clad du reste disgracefully. His old tweed coat was baggy and most lamentably worn. One sleeve was very wet, while the other was muddy. The gray waders were discolored, and he had apparently been kneeling in green slime. And yet withal Theo Trist was undoubt- edly u gentleman — unmistakably, undeniably so. THE EXCEPTION. 19 Tho manner in which he set his shoeless feet npom the deck betrayed it. His very silence confirmed it. He came beneath the awning, and raised from his close-cropped head a most lamentable hat of gray cloth, with a vagno brim and no independent shape. Ail round it were gaudy salmon-flies and a coil of gleaming gnt. As ho stood there beneath the awning in the gray twilight with his head bared, the strange in- congruity of his person was very noticeable. A sturdy, lightly-built body spoke of great activ- ity. It was the frame of a soldier. But the face was of a different type. In itself it was inconsist- ent, because the upper part of it had no sympathy with the lower. A forehead which receded slightly in a kindly curve to strong curled hair could only be described as bland, while beneath straight, thick brows there smiled a pair of gray eyes as meek as human eyes were ever made. It v;as in these same meek eyes that all the world misread this man. In brow and eyes he was a soft-hearted phil- anthropist, such as are easily misled and gulled with exaggerated tales of woe. A man to take up some impossible scheme to alleviate the sorrows of a class or kind, to busy himself unprofitably in a crusade against class privileges and uphold the so- called rights of a victimized working population. But from the eyes downward this was all lost, and there were other signs instead. The nose was straight and somewhat small, while the lips, though clean-shaven, were entirely devoid of any suggestion of coarsness, such as one may read upon the mouths of most men past the age of twenty-five, unless a mustache charitably hide such failnig. The mouth was almost too severe in its clean curve : in repose it was Napoleonic^ in gaiety it lost all to SUSPEATSE. hardness. The chin, again, was square and slightly prominent. To judge from nose and lips and oliin, this new-comer had been intended for a soldier, but the meek eyes disturbed this theory. His face was brown, of a complexion which by reason of its nnchangeableness never betrayed thought, emotion, or physical pain. That his life had been chiefly spent in the open air was discern- ible from his bearing and appearance, yet his manner (more especially with ladies) was that of a polished courtier. Judging from outward things, one could not help feeling that Theodore Trist was an exceptional man in some way or other, in sport or work, in deed or thought. Ilis broad, pensive brow Avould seem to indicate a literary or poetic tendancy, while the meek eyes spoke of a great love for Nature and her unfuthom- ahle ways. The man might easily have been a naturalist or a vague day-dreamer, dabbling in the writer's art. Certain it was that he could only be a specialist of some description. No universal- ity could exist behind those gentle eyes. Certain also, it would seem, that he trod in tlie paths of peace where'er he went. His gentle movements, his calm, soft speech, were almost womanlike. But then these indications ran full tilt against the soldierly frame and the still hard lips. Tlie most discerning physiognomist would not have dared to say that those gentle eyes had looked upon more bloodshed than any warrior of the day ; that the brown ears had been torn by more human shrieks of utter agony than any army-surgeon has ever listened to. This man of peace was the finest, ablest, truest chronicler of a battle tliat ever scrib- bled notes amidst the battle smoke. Few of ns find the exact groove for which we were created^ THE exception: it and Trist was no more fortunate than the rest. Many a good soldier had spent his life in the counting-house, while there are unmbers wearing a red coat to-day whose place is in the pulpit. Theodore Trist was a born soldier, if ever man was born with military genius in his soul. Had his natural turn of intellect been in any other direc- tion, he could, in later life, have followed it, but the British army is constructed upon a system which forces achild to grasp the sword (metaphor- ically, if not in deed) before his fingers have learned the shape of hilt, or pen, or brush. Consequentl}-, our forces are officered by a fine stalwart body of gentlemen, who arc, some of them, parsons — some artists, some farmers, some sailors, some sol- diers — and a good many mere idlers. This is no cheap sarcasm, nor is it the ready complaint of the British universalist, who writes on the least prov- ocation to the newspapers upon subjects of which his knowledge is culled from other news- papers. I am not finding fault, nor would I sug- gest off-hand a complete scheme for reorganizing what I have always been taught to consider the finest military force in the world. It is merely an observation, made with the view of rendering ob- vious the reason why Theodore Trist was not a soldier. He found out his groove too late in life, voila tout. Moreover, he found that it was like the queue at the pit-door of a French theater. One cannot enter in the middle, and it is of little use taking the last place if the door be open and others crowding on in front. Far from this humble pen be it to libel the gentlemen who have professed themselves ready to lay down their lives for the rights of their country. They are good soldiers, brave men, and M SUSPENSE, what is tersely called upon the Continent hardy companions; but sometimes I liave found inside a red coat a parson, au artist, a farmer, or a sailor. Whatever dreams may have flitted tlirough the boy's head, tlie man Theo Trist never spoke of his unfortunate mistake. It would be better termed a mishap, because he made no choice of the Church, but was urged into it by a zealous and short-sighted mother. He did not, however, reach ordination. Before that final step was taken his mother died, and all Europe stood hushed in the presence of a mighty war impending. The war-clouds rolled up and gathered force. Men spoke in lowered voices of the future ; women trembled and concealed the newspapers from their children. A dread thirst for blood seemed to parch the throats of soldiers, and statesmen hesi- tated upon the brink of a terrible responsibility. Commerce was hindered, and sailors went to sea with uneasy hearts. Then arose in the soul of Theo Trist — the Oxford undergraduate — a strange, burning unrest. As a dog raises his head with quick glance and parted fangs at the approach of game, so leapt this man's heart in his breast. But no one knew of this ; his benevolent brow and gentle eyes misled them all. "When at last the quick defiance was hurled from one nation to another. Theodore Trist dis- appeared. The sound of battle drew him away from peaceful England to that fair country by the Rhine where blood has been sucked into the fertile earth to grow again into deadly hatred. The din and roarand fury of battle was this mild- eyed man's element. The sulphureous smoke of cannon was tho breath of life to him. His walk was upon the sodden, slippery field of blood, THE EXCEI'TIOM: 23 And yet through it all there went the strange in- congruity of his being. In the wild joy of fight- ing (which carries men out from themselves and transforms them into new strange beings), Trist never lost his gentle demeanor. The plucky Frenchmen, with whom he spent that terrible win- ter, laughed at him, but one and all ended their merriment with upraised finger and grave, assur- ing eyes. " Mais," they said compensatingly, '' d'un courage . . ." and the sentence finished up v/ith a shrug and outspread hands, indicating that the courage of ''ce drole Trist" was practically with- out bounds. And yet ho did not actually fight with sword and rifle. The pen was his arm and weapon. In two languages he wrote througli all that campaign the brave record of a losing fight. While endeav- oring to give a somewhat unchivalrous enemy his due, he made no denial of partisanship. The ease and fluency with which he expressed himself in French excluded all hope of that, and Trist frankly arrayed himself on the side of the losing nation. Finally he occupied with perfect serenity the anomalous position of a non-combatant who ran a soldier's risk — a neutral totally unprotected, and unrecognized as such — an English war-cor- respondent who, of his own free will, refused to lay himself under the obligations entailed by pro- tection. Thus this half-fledged parson feathered his wings. Destined to preach peace, he suddenly turned and taught war. In two countries simul- taneously he made a brilliant name, proving that if he could not fight, because the possession of a fighting soul had become known to him too late 24 SUSPENSE. ill life, he could at least watch others battliug as no inan of his age could watch. Whcu at length Paris had fallen, an emaciated, pale-faced Englishman turned his back upon the demoralized capital and sought his native land. His groove in life had been found. Theodore Trist was a born chronicler of battle-tields, a sub- tle strategist, a lost general — in throe words, an ideal war-correspondent. His great knowledge of his subject, his instinctive diviiuition of men's mo- tives, and his exceptional good-breeding, saved him from the many pitfalls that usually lie con- cealed in the puth of all who follow an army-c.-orps without occupying a post thereiii. He was never in the way, never indiscreet, never iiii]nisitive. and, above all, neverself-opinionated. He watched war as a lover of war, not as a self-constituted rep- resentative of a hypercritical nation. The spirit of competition did notv/ith him override thesenso of patriotism, simply because such a spirit in no wise affected him. He went his own way, and struck out a line of his own, never seeking to be before his compeers with news or guesses. Con- sequently his position was unicpie — Miidway be- tween a war-correspondent and a warlike historian, for his writings on the battle-field were nothing less than history. So Trist returned to England and found himself famous. Upon every bookstall in the kingdom he found a small red vobinip of his letters collocied from the columns of the journal he had represented during the great unfinished war. In the course of a few days he called upon his various friends — Mrs. Wvlie among the first ; Alice and Brenda Gilholme, at the residence of their aunt, Mrs. (lilholme, shortly afterward. It THE EXCEPTION. 25 xv^as about this time that Brenda conceived the idea that Theo Trist loved her sister. He waa ouiy one among many, but he was difi'erent from the rest, and the young girl, for the first time, blamed her sister seriously. She kept these tilings in her heart, however, and said nothing, because there was nothing tangible ; nothing to authorize her speaking to Alice. If Trist had fallen a vic- tim to the facinations of the light-hearted coquette, he certainly concealed his feelings most jealousl}j. Brenda fully recognized that the fact of his being less light-hearted, less cheerful than of old, might easily be accounted for by the horrors through which he had passed during the late months ; but there was something else. There was another change which had come over him since his return. While she was still watching and wondering, Theo Trist suddenly vanished, and soon afterward there broke out a small war in the Far East. Like a vulture he had scented blood, and was on the spot by the time that the news of hostilities had reached England. He never wrote private letters, but his work in the new field of battle was closely watched by the small circle of friends at home. As usual, his letters attracted attention, and peo- ple talked vaguelv of this wonderful war-corre- spondent— vaguelv because he was personally un- known. His individuality was nothing to the warlike host of men who follow events quietly at home with a half-defined thrill of envy in their hearts — for every Englishman has a secret love of war, a well-concealed longing to be fighting some- thing or some one. When he returned, Alice Gilholme was married, and Brenda had to tell hira of it. No surprise. »6 SUSPENSE. no signs of discomfiture were visible in the man's incongruous face, where strength and weakness were strangely mixed. He inquired keenly and gractically about settlements, expressed a gentle ope that Alice Avould be happy, and changed the subject. CHAPTER III. A PROBLEM. Trist approached Mrs. Wylie M'ith slow and almost timid steps, yet there Avas nothing apolo- getic in his demeanor, for he was perfectly self- possessed, and even reposeful, Avith that quiet assurance which only comes with innate good- breeding. In his two hands he carried a fine stout salmon with a sharp snout. Its dark lips curled upward with an evil twist, and even in death its eyes wero full of fight. The lady dropped her book upon her lap and looked up with a smile. In her eyes there was a kindly and yet scrutinizing look which was almost motherly in its discernment. This young man was eviJently more to her than the rest of his kind. She knew his impassive face so well that she could read where others saw an unwritten page. " Ah," she said, with some interest (for she was a sportsman's wife, " that is a good fish, Theo ! '* " Yes," he acquiesced in a soft and rather mono- tonous voice, harmonizing v/ith his eyes. "He is a fine fellow. We had a desperate fight ! " J PROBLEM. ay As if to prove the severity of the struggle, he looked dowa at his knees, which were muddy, and then held out his right hand, which was streaked with blood. " Ah, how nasty ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wylie pleasantly. ''Is it yours or his ?" *' Mine, I think. Yes, it must be mine." Brenda had approached slowly, and was stand- ing close to him. She stooped a little to examine the fish, which he held toward her with his left hand, and even deigned to poke it critically on the shoulder with her straight white finger. *' Are you hurt ? " she inquired casually, with- out looking up. A slow gleam of humor lighted up Trist's soft and melancholy eyes as lie looked down at her. *' He cannot answer for himself," he said sug- gestively. '•' But I think I can volunteer the information that he is not hurt now. He died the death of a plucky fish, and did not flinch." " I meant you." " I ? Oh, no, I am not hurt, thank you. Only very dirty, very sanguinary, and quite happy." At this moment the steward, a dapper and noise- less man with no appeai-ance of a sailor, came up and took the fish from Trist's hands. Mrs. Wylie returned to her book, and the two young people stood silently in front of her. Presently they moved away as if with one accord, farther aft, be- side the wheel. Here Brenda seated herself side- ways with one arm round the white awning-stan- chion. She looked up, and, as he happened to be gaz- ing gently down at her, their eyes met. There was no instant withdrawal, no change of expres- aion. These two were evidently very old friends. aS St/SPBJVSE. because a young man and a maiden rarely look into each other's eyes for any appreciable space of time without some sliglit change of expression supervening. rheo Trist smiled at length, and looked away for a moment. Then he glanced down at her face again. "Well?" ho said interrogatively. "You are going to make one of those deep remarks which would take away the breath of some people." She smiled, but did not turn away in maidenly reserve. Indeed, she continued to watch his face, wonderingly and absently. " What a peculiar man you are, Theo I " He bowed politely, and slipping the ends of his fingers into either trouser-pocket, he stood deG- antly before her, with his unshod feet set well apart. " And you, Brenda ... I have never met any one in any way like you." But she had no intention — this independent little person — of being led away thus from the original question. "Sometimes I almost dislike you . . . and at other moments I admire your character very ranch." She was quite grave, and loolced up at him anx- iously as if the character of some third person very near and dear to them both were under dis- cussion. " When do you dislike me?" he asked in his monotonous, gentle way. To this she made no answer for some moments, but sat looking thoughtfully across the deep- bosomed water, which was now almost glassy, for the breeze had dropped with the yetting sun. She ^ PROBLEM. I<> waa frowning slightly, and leant her chin npon her hand, which action gave additional thought- fulness to her well-read face. She might have been solving some great problem. Indeed, sbo was attempting to find an explanation to the greatest problem, we have to solve. This foolish little maiden, with all her great and mistaken learning, her small experience and deep, search- ing mind, was trying to explain hnman nature. Not in its entirety, but one small, insignificant example taken from the whole. She was trying to reduce this man to an orderly classification of motives, desires, and actions ; and he stood defy- ing her to do so. She wanted to understand Theo Tnst. In faith, she did not ask for much ! An educated and refined gentleman, an experienced and time-hardened man. A philosopher without a creed. A soldier without a sword. A soft heart that sought bloodshed. Brenda had undertaken a very large task. She might have begun upon the simplest, most open-hearted sailor-man in tho forecastle, and yet I am sure that he would liavo failed. With Theo Trist she could do nothing. Does any one of us understand his brother, his sister, his mother or his wife ? Scarcely, I think. This only I know, that I have never yet qaito understood any human being. There are some — indeed, there are many — whom I have been pleased to consider as an open book before my discerning gaze, but Time has changed all that. lie has proved that I knew remarkably little about the printed matter in that open book. Trist repeated his question : " When do you dislike me, Brenda ? " Her reply was somewhat indirect. ** At times," she said, without looking toward JO SUSPENSE. him, *'' you attempt wilfully to misrepresent your- self, and I cannot quite see wliy you should wish to do 80. You said just now that you were very sanguinary and quite happy. You meant to con- vey a deeper meaning, I know, because you glanced involuntarily toward me to see if I had caught it. Now, why should you pretend to bo a hard- hearted, cruel and cold-blooded man ? That is what I do not understand.'' She shook her small head despairingly, and looked up at him with a very shadowy smilei There was no question implied in the tone of her voice. Slio showed clearly that she expected no answer. It was merely her recital of a difficulty encountered in the study of a problem. This problem was the character of the man standing before her, the only man of her own age, and among her friends, to whose intellect her own was content to bow. To him she talked of many strange undiscussed matters, and together they had waded very deeply into questions which were opened centuries ago, and are now no nearer their solution. It was not that Theo Trist was a super- naturally grave man, but Brenda felt instinctively that ho would never laugh at her. He was a good" and careful listener ; moreover, she had never yet propounded a question, in her vague, half-wistful way, about which he did not know something ; upon which he could not put forward, in his gen- tle and suggestive way, an opinion whirh was either the result of his own thoughts or of those of other men. " Everything is a matter of habit," said the mill! -eyed sportsman vaguely. He knew that stie was not thinkinir about sal- mon-fishing and its cruelty at all, but of the A PROBLEM. 31 jtrange iQcongrnitj of his profession. He was ■well aware tliat Brenda Gilholme, iu her brave little heart, disapproved of his calling. Of war and its horrors she rarely spoke, for she felt that his existence was necessarily bound to such things. It was a gift vouchsafed with a reckless disregard for incongruity which could only be providential — this gift of a