She pressed his hand in answer.

"I ain't got a single friend in all God's world to stand up for me but just you."

"You don't need anyone," she whispered.

"You'll give me a chance to get back at 'em if any of your friends knock me, won't you?"

"Why should they dislike you?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I ain't exactly one o' the high-flyers now am I?"

"I'm glad you're not."

"Sure enough?"

"Yes."

"Then it's me for you, Kiddo, for this world and the next."

The car swung suddenly to the curb and Mary lifted her eyes with a start to find herself in front of her home.

Jim sprang to the ground and lifted her out.

"Keep this coat," he whispered. "We'll need it tomorrow. What time is your school out?"

"At three o'clock."

"I can come at four?"

"You don't have to work tomorrow?"

He hesitated a moment.

"No, I'm on a vacation till after Christmas. They're putting through my new patent."

He followed her inside the door and held her hand in the shadows of the hall.

"All right, at four," she said.

"I'll be here."

He stooped and kissed her, turned and passed quickly out.

She stood for a moment in the shadows and listened to the throb of the car until it melted into the roar of the city's life, her heart beating with a joy so new it was pain.



CHAPTER VII. A VAIN APPEAL

A week passed on the wings of magic.

Every day at four o'clock the car was waiting at her door. The drab interior of the school-room had lost its terror. No annoyance could break the spell that reigned within. Her patience was inexhaustible, her temper serene.

Walking with swift step down the Avenue to her home she wondered vaguely how she could have been lonely in all the music and the wonder of New York's marvelous life. The windows of the stores were already crowded with Christmas cheer, and busy thousands passed through their doors. Each man or woman was a swift messenger of love. Somewhere in the shadows of the city's labyrinth a human heart would beat with quickened joy for every step that pressed about these crowded counters. Love had given new eyes to see, new ears to hear and a new heart to feel the joys and sorrows of life.

She hadn't given her consent yet. She was still asking her silly heart to be sure of herself. Of her lover, the depth and tenderness, the strength and madness of his love, there could be no doubt. Each day he had given new tokens.

For Saturday afternoon she had told him not to bring the car.

When they reached Fifth Avenue, across the Square, he stopped abruptly and faced her with a curious, uneasy look:

"Say, tell me why you wanted to walk?"

"I had a good reason," she said evasively.

"Yes, but why? It's a sin to lay that car up a day like this. Look here——"

He stopped and tried to gulp down his fears.

"Look here—you're not going to throw me down after leading me to the very top of the roof, are you?"

She looked up with tender assurance.

"Not today——"

"Then why hoof it? Let me run round to the garage and shoot her out. You can wait for me at the Waldorf. I've always wanted to push my buzz-wagon up to that big joint and wait for my girl to trip down the steps."

"No. I've a plan of my own today. Let me have my way."

"All righto—just so you're happy."

"I am happy," she answered soberly.

At the foot of the broad stairs of the Library she paused and looked up smilingly at its majestic front.

"Come in a moment," she said softly.

He followed her wonderingly into the vaulted hall and climbed the grand staircase to the reading-room. She walked slowly to the shelf on which the Century Dictionary rested and looked laughingly at the seat in which she sat Saturday afternoon a week ago at exactly this hour.

Jim smiled, leaned close and whispered:

"I got you, Kiddo—I got you! Get out of here quick or I'll grab you and kiss you!"

She started and blushed.

"Don't you dare!"

"Beat it then—beat it—or I can't help it!"

She turned quickly and they passed through the catalogue room and lightly down the stairs.

He held her soft, round arm with a grip that sent the blood tingling to the roots of her brown hair.

"You understand now?" she whispered.

"You bet! We walk the same way up the Avenue, through the Park to the little house on the laurel hill. And you're goin' to be sweet to me today, my Kiddo—I just feel it. I——"

"Don't be too sure, sir!" she interrupted, solemnly.

He laughed aloud.

"You can't fool me now—and I'm crazy as a June bug! You know I like to walk—if I can be with you!"

At the Park entrance she stopped again and smiled roguishly.

"We'll find a seat in one of the summer houses along the Fifty-ninth Street side."

"All right," he responded.

"No—we'll go on where we started!"

With a laugh, she slipped her hand through his arm.

"You were a little scared of me last Saturday about this time, weren't you?"

"Just a little——"

"It hurt me, too, but I didn't let you know."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right now—it's all right. Gee I but we've traveled some in a week, haven't we?"

"I've known you more than a week," she protested gayly.

"Sure—I've known you since I was born."

They walked through the stately rows of elms on the Mall in joyous silence. Crowds of children and nurses, lovers and loungers, filled the seats and thronged the broad promenade.

Scarcely a word was spoken until they reached the rustic house nestling among the trees on the hill.

"Just a week by the calendar," she murmured. "And I've lived a lifetime."

"It's all right then—little girl? You'll marry me right away? When—tonight?"

"Hardly!"

"Tomorrow, then?"

She drew the glove from her hand and held the slender fingers up before him.

"You can get the ring——"

"Gee! I do have to get a ring, don't I?"

"Yes——"

"Why didn't you tell me? You know I never got married before."

"I should hope not!"

He seized her hand and kissed it, drew her into his arms, held her crushed and breathless and released her with a quick, impulsive movement.

"You'll help me get it?" he asked eagerly.

"If you like."

"A big white sparkler?"

"No—no——"

"No?"

"A plain little gold band."

"Let me get you a big diamond!"

"No—a plain gold band."

"It's all settled then?"

"We're engaged. You're my fiance."

"But for God's sake, Kiddo—how long do I have to be a fiance?"

A ripple of laughter rang through the trees.

"Don't you think we've done pretty well for seven days?"

"I could have settled it in seven minutes after we met," he answered complainingly. "You won't tell me the day yet?"

"Not yet——"

"All right, we'll just have to take blessings as they come, then."

Through the beautiful afternoon they sat side by side with close-pressed hands and planned the future which love had given. A modest flat far up among the trees on the cliffs overlooking the Hudson, they decided on.

"We'll begin with that," he cried enthusiastically, "but we won't stay there long. I've got big plans. I'm going to make a million. The white house down by the sea for me, a yacht out in the front yard and a half-dozen thundering autos in the garage. If this deal I'm on now goes through, I'll make my pile in a year——"

They rose as the shadows lengthened.

"I must go home and feed my pets," she sighed.

"All right," he responded heartily. "I'll get the car and be there in a jiffy. We'll take a spin out to a road-house for dinner."

She lifted her eyes tenderly.

"You can come right up to my room—now that we're engaged."

He swept her into his arms again, and held her in unresisting happiness.

It was dark when he swung the gray car against the curb and sprang out. He didn't blow his horn for her to come down. The privilege she had granted was too sweet and wonderful. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

The stairs were dark. Ella was late this afternoon getting back to her work. His light footstep scarcely made a sound. He found each step with quick, instinctive touch. The building seemed deserted. The tenants were all on trips to the country and the seashore. The day was one of rare beauty and warmth. Someone was fumbling in the dark on the third floor back.

He made his way quickly to her room, and softly knocked, waited a moment and knocked again. There was no response. He couldn't be mistaken. He had seen her lean out of that window every day the past week.

Perhaps she was busy in the kitchenette and the noise from the street made it impossible to hear.

He placed his hand on the doorknob.

From the darkness of the hall, in a quick, tiger leap, Ella threw herself on him and grappled for his throat.

"What are you doing at that door, you dirty thief?" she growled.

"Here! Here! What'ell—what's the matter with you?" he gasped, gripping her hands and tearing them from his neck. "I'm no thief!"

"You are! You are, too!" she shrieked. "I heard you sneak in the door downstairs—heard you slippin' like a cat upstairs! Get out of here before I call a cop!"

She was savagely pushing him back to the landing of the stairs. With a sudden lurch, Jim freed himself and gripped her hands.

"Cut it! Cut it! Or I'll knock your block off! I've come to take my girl to ride——"

He drew a match and quickly lighted the gas as Mary's footstep echoed on the stairs below.

"Well, she's coming now—we'll see," was the sullen answer.

Ella surveyed him from head to foot, her one eye gleaming in angry suspicion.

Mary sprang up the last step and saw the two confronting each other. She had heard the angry voices from below.

"Why, Ella, what's the matter?" she gasped.

"He was trying to break into your room——"

Jim threw up his hands in a gesture of rage, and Mary broke into a laugh.

"Why, nonsense, Ella, I asked him to come! This is Mr. Anthony,"—her voice dropped,—"my fiance."

Ella's figure relaxed with a look of surprise.

"Oh, ja?" she murmured, as if dazed.

"Yes—come in," she said to Jim. "Sorry I was out. I had to run to the grocer's for the Kitty."

Ella glared at Jim, turned and began to light the other hall lamps without any attempt at apology.

Jim entered the room with a look of awe, took in its impression of sweet, homelike order and recovered quickly his composure.

"Gee, you're the dandy little housekeeper! I could stay here forever."

"You like it?"

"It's a bird's nest." He glanced in the mirror and saw the print of Ella's fingers on his collar. "Will you look at that?" he growled.

"It's too bad," she said, sympathetically.

"You know I thought a she-tiger had got loose from the Bronx and jumped on me."

"I'm awfully sorry," she apologized. "Ella's very fond of me. She was trying to protect me. She couldn't see who it was in the dark."

"No; I reckon not," Jim laughed.

"I've changed our plans for the evening," she announced. "We won't go to ride tonight. I want you to bring my best friend to dinner with us at Mouquin's. Go after her in the car. I want to impress her——"

"I got you, Kiddo! She's goin' to look me over—eh? All right, I'll stop at the store and get a clean collar. I wouldn't like her to see the print of that tiger's claw on my neck."

"There's her address the Gainsborough Studios. Drop me at Mouquin's and I'll have the table set in one of the small rooms upstairs. I'll meet you at the door."

Jim glanced at the address, put it in his pocket and helped her draw on her heavy coat.

"You'll be nice to Jane? I want her to like you. She's the only real friend I've ever had in New York."

"I'll do my best for you, little girl," he promised.

He dropped her at the wooden cottage-front on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-eighth Street, and returned in twenty minutes with Jane.

As the tall artist led the way upstairs, Jim whispered:

"Say, for God's sake, let me out of this!"

"Why?"

"She's a frost. If I have to sit beside her an hour I'll catch cold and die. I swear it; save me! Save my life!"

"Sh! It's all right. She's fine and generous when you know her."

They had reached the door and Mary pushed him in. There was no help for it. He'd have to make the most of it.

The dinner was a dismal failure.

Jane Anderson was polite and genial, but there was a straight look of wonder in her clear gray eyes that froze the blood in Jim's veins.

Mary tried desperately for the first half-hour to put him at his ease. It was useless. The attack of Ella had upset his nerves, and the unexpressed hostility of Jane had completely crushed his spirits. He tried to talk once, stammered and lapsed into a sullen silence from which nothing could stir him.

The two girls at last began to discuss their own affairs and the dinner ended in a sickening failure that depressed and angered Mary.

The agony over at last, she rose and turned to Jim:

"You can go now, sir—I'll take Jane home with me for a friendly chat."

"Thank God!" he whispered, grinning in spite of his effort to keep a straight face.

"Tomorrow?" he asked in low tones.

"At eight o'clock."

Jim bowed awkwardly to Jane, muttered something inarticulate and rushed to his car.

The two girls walked in silence through Twenty-eighth Street to Broadway and thence across the Square.

Seated in her room, Mary could contain her pent-up rage no longer.

"Jane Anderson, I'm furious with you! How could you be so rude—so positively insulting!"

"Insulting?"

"Yes. You stared at him in cold disdain as if he were a toad under your feet!"

"I assure you, dear——"

"Why did you do it?"

The artist rose, walked to the window, looked out on the Square for a moment, extended her hand and laid it gently on Mary's shoulder.

"You've made up your mind to marry this man, honey?"

"I certainly have," was the emphatic answer.

Jane paused.

"And all in seven days?"

"Seven days or seven years—what does it matter? He's my mate—we love—it's Fate."

"It's incredible!"

"What's incredible?"

"Such madness."

"Perhaps love is madness—the madness that makes life worth the candle. I've never lived before the past week."

"And you, the dainty, cultured, pious little saint, will marry this—this——"

"Say it! I want you to be frank——"

"Perfectly frank?"

"Absolutely."

"This coarse, ugly, illiterate brute——"

"Jane Anderson, how dare you!" Mary sprang to her feet, livid with rage.

"I asked if I might be frank. Shall I lie to you? Or shall I tell you what I think?"

"Say what you please; it doesn't matter," Mary interrupted angrily.

"I only speak at all because I love you. Your common-sense should tell you that I speak with reluctance. But now that I have spoken, let me beg of you for your father's sake, for your dead mother's sake, for my sake—I'm your one disinterested friend and you know that my love is real—for the sake of your own soul's salvation in this world and the next—don't marry that brute! Commit suicide if you will—jump off the bridge—take poison, cut your throat, blow your brains out—but, oh dear God, not this!"

"And why, may I ask?" was the cold question.

"He's in no way your equal in culture, in character, in any of the essentials on which the companionship of marriage must be based——"

"He's a diamond in the rough," Mary staunchly asserted.

"He's in the rough, all right! The only diamond about him is the one in his red scarf—'Take it from me, Kiddo! Take it from me!'"

Her last sentence was a quotation from Jim, her imitation of his slang so perfect Mary's cheeks flamed anew with anger.

"I'll teach him to use good English—never fear. In a month he'll forget his slang and his red scarf."

"You mean that in a month you'll forget to use good English and his style of dress will be yours. Oh, honey, can't you see that such a man will only drag you down, down to his level? Can it be possible that you—that you really love him?"

"I adore him and I'm proud of his love!"

"Now listen! You believe in an indissoluble marriage, don't you?"

"Yes——"

"It's the first article of your creed—that marriage is a holy sacrament, that no power on earth or in hell can ever dissolve its bonds? Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, my dear! They always have—they always will, I suppose. This is peculiarly true of your type of woman—the dainty, clinging girl of religious enthusiasm. You're peculiarly susceptible to the physical power of a brutal lover. Your soul glories in submission to this force. The more coarse and brutal its attraction the more abject and joyful the surrender. Your religion can't save you because your religion is purely emotional—it is only another manifestation of your sex emotions."

"How can you be so sacrilegious!" the girl interrupted with a look of horror.

"It may shock you, dear, but I'm telling you one of the simplest truths of Nature. You'd as well know it now as later. The moment you wake to realize that your emotions have been deceived and bankrupted, your faith will collapse. At least keep, your grip on common-sense. Down in the cowardly soul of every weak woman—perhaps of every woman—is the insane desire to be dominated by a superior brute force. The woman of the lower classes—the peasant of Russia, for example, whose sex impulses are of all races the most violent—refuses with scorn the advances of the man who will not strike her. The man who can't beat his wife is beneath contempt—he is no man at all——"

Mary broke into a laugh.

"Really, Jane, you cease to be serious you're a joke. For Heaven's sake use a little common-sense yourself. You can't be warning me that my lover is marrying me in order to use his fists on me?"

"Perhaps not, dear,"—the artist smiled; "there might be greater depths for one of your training and character. I'm just telling you the plain truth about the haste with which you're rushing into this marriage. There's nothing divine in it. There's no true romance of lofty sentiment. It's the simplest and most elemental of all the brutal facts of animal life. That it is resistless in a woman of your culture and refinement makes it all the more pathetic——"

The girl rose with a gesture of impatience.

"It's no use, Jane dear; we speak a different language. I don't in the least know what you're talking about, and what's more, I'm glad I don't. I've a vague idea that your drift is indecent. But we're different. I realize that. I don't sit in judgment on you. You're wasting your breath on me. I'm going into this marriage with my eyes wide open. It's the fulfillment of my brightest hopes and aspirations. That I shall be happy with this man and make him supremely happy I know by an intuition deeper and truer than reason. I'm going to trust that intuition without reservation."

"All right, honey," the artist agreed with a smile. "I won't say anything more, except that you're fooling yourself about the depth of this intuitive knowledge. Your infatuation is not based on the verdict of your deepest and truest instincts."

"On what, then?"

"The crazy ideals of the novels you've been reading—that's all."

"Ridiculous!"

"You're absolutely sure, for instance, that God made just one man the mate of one woman, aren't you?"

"As sure as that I live."

"Where did you learn it?"

"So long ago I can't remember."

"Not in your Bible?"

"No."

"The Sunday school?"

"No."

"Craddock didn't tell you that, did he?"

"Hardly——"

"I thought not. He has too much horse-sense in spite of his emotional gymnastics. You learned it in the first dime-novel you read."

"I never read a dime-novel in my life," she interrupted, indignantly.

"I know—you paid a dollar and a quarter for it—but it was a dime-novel. The philosophy of this school of trash you have built into a creed of life. How can you be so blind? How can you make so tragic a blunder?"

"That's just it, Jane: I couldn't if your impressions of his character were true. I couldn't make a mistake about so vital a question. I couldn't love him if he really were a coarse, illiterate brute. What you see is only on the surface. He hasn't had his chance yet——"

"Who is he? What does he do? Who are his people?"

"He has no people——"

"I thought not."

"I love him all the more deeply," she went on firmly, "because of his miserable childhood. I'll do my best to make up for the years of cruelty and hunger and suffering through which he passed. What right have you to sit in judgment on him without a hearing? You've known him two hours——"

Jane shrugged her shoulders.

"Two minutes was quite enough."

"And you judge by what standard?"

"My five senses, and my sixth sense above all. One look at his square bulldog jaw, his massive neck and the deformity of his delicate hands and feet! I hear the ignorant patois of the East Side underworld. I smell the brimstone in his suppressed rage at my dislike. There's something uncanny in the sensuous droop of his heavy eyelids and the glitter of his steel-blue eyes. There's something incongruous in his whole personality. I was afraid of him the moment I saw him."

Mary broke into hysterical laughter.

"And if my five senses and my intuitions contradict yours? Who is to decide? If I loved him on sight——If I looked into his eyes and saw the soul of my mate? If their cold fires thrill me with inexpressible passion? If I see in his massive neck and jaw the strength of an irresistible manhood, the power to win success and to command the world? If I see in his slender hands and small feet lines of exquisite beauty—am I to crush my senses and strangle my love to please your idiotic prejudice?"

Jane threw up her hands in despair.

"Certainly not! If you're blind and deaf I can't keep you from committing suicide. I'd lock you up in an asylum for the insane if I had the power to save you from the clutches of the brute."

Mary drew herself erect and faced her friend.

"Please don't repeat that word in my hearing—there's a limit to friendship. I think you'd better go——"

Jane rose and walked quickly to the door, her lips pressed firmly.

"As you like—our lives will be far apart from tonight. It's just as well."

She closed the door with a bang and reached the head of the stairs before Mary threw her arms around her neck.

"Please, dear, forgive me—don't go in anger."

The older woman kissed her tenderly, glad of the dim light to hide her own tears.

"There, it's all right, honey—I won't remember it. Forgive me for my ugly words."

"I love him, Jane—I love him! It's Fate. Can't you understand?"

"Yes, dear, I understand, and I'll love you always—good-by."

"You'll come to my wedding?"

"Perhaps——"

"I'll let you know——"

Another kiss, and Jane Anderson strode down the stairs and out into the night with a sickening, helpless fear in her heart.



CHAPTER VIII. JIM'S TRIAL

The quarrel had left Mary in a quiver of exalted rage. How dare a friend trample her most sacred feelings! She pitied Jane Anderson and her tribe—these modern feminine leaders of a senseless revolution against man—they were crazy. They had all been disappointed in some individual and for that reason set themselves up as the judges of mankind.

"Thank God my soul has not been poisoned!" she exclaimed aloud with fervor. "How strange that these women who claim such clear vision can be so stupidly blind!"

She busied herself with her little household, and made up her mind once and for all time to be done with such friendships. The friendship of such women was a vain thing. They were vicious cats at heart—not like her gentle Persian kitten whose soul was full of sleepy sunlight. These modern insurgents were wild, half-starved stray cats that had been hounded and beaten until they had lapsed into their elemental brute instincts. They were so aggravating, too, they deserved no sympathy.

Again she thanked God that she was not one of them—that her heart was still capable of romantic love—a love so sudden and so overwhelming that it could sweep life before it in one mad rush to its glorious end.

She woke next morning with a dull sense of depression. The room was damp and chilly. It was storming. The splash of rain against the window and the muffled roar from the street below meant that the wind was high and the day would be a wretched one outside.

They couldn't take their ride.

It was a double disappointment. She had meant to have him dash down to Long Beach and place the ring on her finger seated on that same bright sand-dune overlooking the sea. Instead, they must stay indoors. Jim was not at his best indoors. She loved him behind the wheel with his hand on the pulse of that racer. The machine seemed a part of his being. He breathed his spirit into its steel heart, and together they swept her on and on over billowy clouds through the gates of Heaven.

There was no help for it. They would spend the time together in her room planning the future. It would be sweet—these intimate hours in her home with the man she loved.

Should she spend a whole day alone there with him? Was it just proper? Was it really safe? Nonsense! The vile thoughts which Jane had uttered had poisoned her, after all. She hated her self that she could remember them. And yet they filled her heart with dread in spite of every effort to laugh them off.

"How could Jane Anderson dare say such things?" she muttered angrily. "'A coarse, illiterate brute!' It's a lie! a lie! a lie!" She stamped her foot in rage. "He's strong and brave and masterful—a man among men—he's my mate and I love him!"

And yet the frankness with which her friend had spoken had in reality disturbed her beyond measure. Through every hour of the day her uneasiness increased. After all she was utterly alone and her life had been pitifully narrow. Her knowledge of men she had drawn almost exclusively from romantic fiction.

It was just a little strange that Jim persisted in living so completely in the present and the future. He had told her of his pitiful childhood. He had told her of his business. It had been definite—the simple statement he made—and she accepted it without question until Jane Anderson had dropped these ugly suspicions. She hated the meddler for it.

In the light of such suspicions the simplest, bravest man might seem a criminal. How could her friend be blind to the magnetism of this man's powerful personality? Bah! She was jealous of their perfect happiness. Why are women so contemptible?

She began a careful study of every trait of her lover's character, determined to weigh him by the truest standards of manhood. Certainly he was no weakling. The one abomination of her soul was the type of the city degenerate she saw simpering along Broadway and Fifth Avenue at times. Jim was brave to the point of rashness. No man with an ounce of cowardice in his being could handle a car in every crisis with such cool daring and perfect control. He was strong. He could lift her body as if it were a feather. His arms crushed her with terrible force. He could earn a living for them both. There could be no doubt about that. His faultless clothes, the ease with which he commanded unlimited credit among the automobile manufacturers and dealers—every supply store on Broadway seemed to know him—left no doubt on that score.

There was just a bit of mystery and reserve about his career as an inventor. His first success that had given him a start he had not explained. The big deal about the new carburetor she could, of course, understand. He had a workshop all his own. He had told her this the first day they met. She would ask him to take her to see it this afternoon. The storm would prevent the trip to the Beach. She would ask this, not because she doubted his honesty, but because she really wished to see the place in which he worked. It was her workshop now, as well as his.

For a moment her suspicions were sickening. Suppose he had romanced about his workshop and his room? Supposed he lived somewhere in the squalid slums of the lower East Side and his people, after all, were alive? Perhaps a drunken father and a coarse, brutal mother—and sisters——

She stopped with a frown and clenched her fists.

She would ask Jim to show her his workshop. That would be enough. If he had told her the truth about that she would make up to him in tender abandonment of utter trust for every suspicion she harbored.

The car was standing in front of her door. He waved for her to come down.

"Jump right in!" he called gayly. "I've got an extra rubber blanket for you."

"In the storm, Jim?" she faltered.

"Surest thing you know. It's great to fly through a storm. You can just ride on its wings. Throw on your raincoat and come on quick! I'm going to run down to the Beach. Who's afraid of an old storm with this thing under us?"

Her heart gave a bound. Her longing had reached her lover and brought him through the storm to do her bidding. It was wonderful—this oneness of soul and body.

She was happy again—supremely, divinely happy. The man by her side knew and understood. She knew and understood. She loved this daring spirit that rose to the wind—this iron will that brooked no interference with his plans, even from Nature, when it crossed his love.

The sting of the raindrops against her cheek was exhilarating. The car glided over the swimming roadway like a great gray gull skimming the beach at low tide. Her soul rose. The sun of a perfect faith and love was shining now behind the clouds.

She nestled close to his side and watched him tenderly from the corners of her half-closed eyes, her whole being content in his strength. The idea of dashing through a blinding rain to the Beach on such a day would have been to her mind an unthinkable piece of madness. She was proud of his daring. It would be hers to shield from the storms of life. She loved the rugged lines of his massive jaw in profile. How could Jane be such a fool as to call him ugly!

The weather, of course, prevented them from walking up the Beach to their sand-dune. The walk would have been all right—but it was out of the question to sit down there and give her the ring in the pouring rain. She knew this as well as he. She knew, too, that he had the ring in his pocket, though he had carefully refrained from referring to it in any way.

He led her to a secluded nook behind a pillar in the little parlor. The hotel was deserted. They had the building almost to themselves. A log fire crackled in the open fireplace, and he drew a settee close. The wind had moderated and the rain was pouring down in straight streams, rolling in soft music on the roof.

He drew the ring from his pocket. "Well, Kiddo, I got it. The fellow said this was all right."

He held the tiny gold band before her shining eyes.

"Slip it on!" she whispered.

"Which one?"

"This one, silly!"

She extended her third finger, as he pressed the ring slowly on.

"Seems to me a mighty little one and a mighty cheap one, but he said it was the thing."

"It's all right, dear," she whispered. "Kiss me!"

He pressed his lips to hers and held them until she sank back and lifted her hand in warning.

"Be careful!"

"Whose afraid?" Jim muttered, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. "Now tell me what day—tomorrow?"

"Nonsense, man!" she cried. "Give me time to breathe——"

"What for?"

"Just to realize that I'm engaged—to plan and think and dream of the wonderful day."

"We're losing time——"

"We'll never live these wonderful hours over again, dear."

Jim's face fell and his voice was pitiful in its funereal notes: "Lord, I thought the ring settled it."

"And so it does, dear—it does——-"

"Not if that long-legged spider that took dinner with us the other night gets in her fine work. I'll bet that she handed me a few when you got home?"

Mary was silent.

"Now didn't she?"

"To the best of her ability—yes—but I didn't mind her silly talk."

"Gee, but I'd love to give her a bouquet of poison ivy!"

"We had an awful quarrel——"

"And you stood up for me?"

"You know I did!"

"All right, I don't give a tinker's damn what anybody says if you stand by me! In all this world there's just you—for me. There's never been anybody else—and there never will be. I'm that kind."

"And I love you for it!" she cried, with rapture pressing his hand in both of hers.

"What did she say about me, anyhow?"

"Nothing worth repeating. I've forgotten it."

Jim held her gaze.

"It's funny how you love anybody the minute you lay eyes on 'em—or hate 'em the same way. I wanted to choke her the minute she opened her yap to me."

"Forget it, dear," she broke in briskly. "I want you to take me to see your workshop tomorrow—will you?"

A flash of suspicion shot from the depths of his eyes.

"Did she tell you to ask me that?"

"Of course not! I'm just interested in everything you do. I want to see where you work."

"It's no place for a sweet girl to go—that part of town."

"But I'll be with you."

"I don't want you to go down there," he sullenly maintained.

"But why, dear?"

"It's a low, dirty place. I had to locate the shop there to get the room I needed for the rent I could pay. It's not fit for you. I'm going to move uptown in a little while."

"Please let me go," she pleaded.

He shook his head emphatically.

"No."

She turned away to hide the tears. The first real, hideous fear she had ever had about him caught her heart in spite of every effort to fight it down. His workshop might be a myth after all. He had failed in the first test to which she had put him. It was horrible. All the vile suggestions of Jane Anderson rushed now into her memory.

She struggled bravely to keep her head and not break down. It was beyond her strength. A sob strangled her, and she buried her face in her hands.

Jim looked at her in helpless anguish for a moment, started to gather her in his arms and looked around the room in terror.

He leaned over her and whispered tensely:

"For God's sake, Kiddo—don't—don't do that! I didn't mean to hurt you—honest, I didn't. Don't cry any more and I'll take you right down to the black hole, and let you sleep on the floor if you want to. Gee! I'll give you the whole place, tools, junk and all——"

She lifted her head.

"Will you, Jim?"

"Sure I will! We start this minute if you want to go."

She glanced over his shoulder to see that no one was looking, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again and again.

"It was the first time you ever said no, dear, and it hurt. I'm happy again now. If you'll just let me see you in the shop for five minutes I'll never ask you again."

"All right—tomorrow when you get out of school. I'll take you down. Holy Mike, that was a dandy kiss! Let's quarrel again—start something else."

She rose laughing and brushed the last trace of tears from her eyes.

"Let's eat dinner now—I'm hungry."

"By George, I'd forgot all about the feed!"

By eight o'clock the storm had abated; the rain suddenly stopped, and the moon peeped through the clouds.

He drove the big racer back at a steady, even stride on her lowest notch of speed—half the time with only his right hand on the wheel and his left gripping hers.

As the lights of Manhattan flashed from the hills beyond the Queensborough Bridge, he leaned close and whispered:

"Happy?"

"Perfectly."

The car was waiting the next day at half-past three.

"It's not far," he said, nodding carelessly. "You needn't put on the coat. Be there in a jiffy."

Down Twenty-third Street to Avenue A, down the avenue to Eighteenth Street, and then he suddenly swung the machine through Eighteenth into Avenue B and stopped below a low, red brick building on the corner.

He set his brakes with a crash, leaped out and extended his hands.

"I didn't like to take you up these stairs at the back of that saloon, little girl, but you would come. Now don't blame me——"

She pressed his arm tenderly.

"Of course I won't blame you. I'm proud and happy to share your life and help you. I'm surprised to see everything so quiet down here. I thought all the East Side was packed with crowded tenements."

"No," he answered, in a matter-of-fact way. "About the only excitement we have in this quarter is an occasional gas explosion in the plant over there, and the noise of the second-hand material men unloading iron. The tenements haven't been built here yet."

He led her quickly past the back door of the saloon and up two narrow flights of stairs to the top of the building, drew from his pocket the key to a heavy padlock and slipped the crooked bolt from the double staples. He unlocked the door with a second key and pushed his way in.

"All righto," he cried.

The straight, narrow hall inside was dark. He fumbled in his pocket and lit the gas.

"The workshop first, or my sleeping den?"

"The workshop first!" she whispered excitedly.

She had made the reality of this shop the supreme test of Jim's word and character. She was in a fever of expectant uncertainty as to its equipment and practical use.

He unlocked the door leading to the front.

"That's my den—we'll come back here."

He passed quickly to the further end of the hall and again used two keys to open the door, and held it back for her to enter.

"I'm sorry it's so dirty—if you get your pretty dress all ruined—it's not my fault, you know."

Mary surveyed the room with an exclamation of delight.

"Oh, what a wonderful place! Why, Jim, you're a magician!"

There could be no doubt about the practical use to which the shop was being put. Its one small window opened on a fire escape in the narrow court in the rear. A skylight in the middle opened with a hinge on the roof and flooded the space with perfect light. An iron ladder swung from the skylight and was hooked up against the ceiling by a hasp fastened to a staple over a work-bench. On one side of the room was a tiny blacksmith's forge, an anvil, hammers and a complete set of tools for working in rough iron. A small gasoline engine supplied the power which turned his lathe and worked the drills, saw and plane. On the other side of the room was arranged a fairly complete chemical laboratory with several retorts, and an oxyhydrogen blow-pipe capable of developing the powerful heat used in the melting and brazing of metals. Beneath the benches were piled automobile supplies of every kind.

"You know how to use all these machines, Jim?" she asked in wonder.

"Sure, and then some!" he answered with a wave of his slender hand.

"You're a wizard——"

"Now the den?" he said briskly.

She followed him through the hall and into the large front corner room overlooking Avenue B and Eighteenth Street. The morning sun flooded the front and the afternoon sun poured into the side windows. The furniture was solid mahogany—a bed, bureau, chiffonier, couch and three chairs. The windows were fitted with wood-paneled shutters, shades and heavy draperies. A thick, soft carpet of faded red covered the floor.

"It's a nice room, Jim, but I'd like to dust it for you," she said with a smile.

"Sure. I'm for giving you the right to dust it every morning, Kiddo, beginning now. Let's find a preacher tonight!"

She blushed and moved a step toward the door.

"Just a little while. You know it's been only ten days since we met——"

"But we've lived some in that time, haven't we?"

"An eternity, I think," she said reverently.

"I want to marry right now, girlie!" he pleaded desperately. "If that spider gets you in her den again, I just feel like it's good night for me."

"Nonsense. You can't believe me such a silly child. I'm a woman. I love you. Do you think the foolish prejudice of a friend could destroy my love for the man whom I have chosen for my mate?"

"No, but I want it fixed and then it's fixed—and they can say what they please. Marry me tonight! You've got the ring. You're going to in a little while, anyhow. What's the use to wait and lose these days out of our life? What's the sense of it? Don't you know me by this time? Don't you trust me by this time?"

She slipped her hand gently into his.

"I trust you utterly. And I feel that I've known you since the day I was born——"

"Then why—why wait a minute?"

"You can't understand a girl's feelings, dear—only a little while and it's all right."

He sat down on the couch in silence, rose and walked to the window. She watched him struggling with deep emotion.

He turned suddenly.

"Look here, Kiddo, I've got to leave on that trip to the mountains of North Carolina. I've got to get down there before Christmas. I must be back here by the first of the year. Gee—I can't go without you! You don't want to stay here without me, do you?"

A sudden pallor overspread her face. For the first time she realized how their lives had become one in the sweet intimacy of the past ten days.

"You must go now?" she gasped.

"Yes. I've made my arrangements. I've business back here the first of the year that can't wait. Marry me and go with me. We'll take our honeymoon down there. By George, we'll go together in the car! Every day by each other's side over hundreds and hundreds of miles! Say, ain't you game? Come on! It's a crime to send me away without you. How can you do it?"

"I can't—I'm afraid," she faltered.

"You'll marry me, then?"

"Yes!" she whispered. "What is the latest day you can start?"

"Next Saturday, if we go in the car——"

"All right,"—she was looking straight into the depths of his soul now—"next Saturday."

He clasped her in his arms and held her with desperate tenderness.



CHAPTER IX. ELLA'S SECRET

The consummation of her life's dream was too near, too sweet and wonderful for Jane's croakings to distress Mary Adams beyond the moment. She had, of course, wished her friend to be present at the wedding—yet the curt refusal had only aroused anew her pity at stupid prejudices. It was out of the question to ask her father to leave his work in the Kentucky mountains and come all the way to New York. She would surprise him with the announcement. After all, she was the one human being vitally concerned in this affair, and the only one save the man whose life would be joined to hers.

In five minutes after the painful scene with Jane she had completely regained her composure, and her face was radiant with happiness when she waved to Jim. He was standing before the door in the car, waiting to take her to the City Hall to get the marriage license.

"Gee!" he cried, "you're the prettiest, sweetest thing that ever walked this earth, with those cheeks all flaming like a rose! Are you happy?"

"Gloriously."

She motioned him to keep his seat and sprang lightly to his side.

"Aren't you happy, sir?" she added gayly.

"I am, yes—but to tell you the truth, I'm beginning to get scared. You know what to do, don't you, when we get before that preacher?"

"Of course, silly——"

"I never saw a wedding in my life."

She pressed his hand tenderly.

"Honestly, Jim?"

"I swear it. You'll have to tell me how to behave."

"We'll rehearse it all tonight. I'll show you. I've seen hundreds of people married. My father's a preacher, you know."

"Yes, I know that," he went on solemnly; "that's what gives me courage. I knew you'd understand everything. I'm counting on you, Kiddo—if you fall down, we're gone. I'll run like a turkey."

"It's easy," she laughed.

"And this license business—how do we go about that? What'll they do to us?"

"Nothing, goose! We just march up to the clerk and demand the license. He asks us a lot of questions——"

"Questions! What sort of questions?"

"The names of your father and mother—whether you've been married before and where you live and how old you are——"

"Ask you about your business?" he interrupted, sharply.

"No. They think if you can pay the license fee you can support your wife, I suppose."

"How much is it?"

"I don't know, here. It used to be two dollars in Kentucky."

"That's cheap—must come higher in this burg. I brought along a hundred."

"Nonsense."

"There's a lot of graft in this town. I'll be ready. I've got to get 'em—don't care how high they come."

"There'll be no graft in this, Jim," she protested gayly.

"Well, it'll be the first time I ever got by without it—believe me!"

The ease with which the license was obtained was more than Jim could understand. All the way back from the City Hall he expected to be held up at every corner. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

Arrived in her room, they discussed their plans for the day of days.

"I'll come round soon in the morning, and we'll spend the whole day at the Beach," he suggested.

She lifted her hands in protest.

"No—no!"

"No?"

"Not on our wedding-day, Jim!"

"Why?"

"It's not good form. The groom should not see the bride that day until they meet at the altar."

"Let's change it!"

"No, sir, the old way's the best. I'll spend the day in saying good-by to the past. You'll call for me at six o'clock. We'll go to Dr. Craddock's house and be married in time for our wedding dinner."

The lover smiled, and his drooping eyelids fell still lower as he watched her intently.

"I want that dinner here in this little place, Kiddo——"

She blushed and protested.

"I thought we'd go to the Beach and spend the night there."

"Here, girlie, here! I love this little place—it's so like you. Get the old wild-cat who cleans up for you to fix us a dinner here all by ourselves—wouldn't she?"

"She'd do anything for me—yes."

"Then fix it here—I want to be just with you—don't you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered. "But I'd rather spend that first day of our new life in a strange place—and the Beach we both love—hadn't you just as leave go there, Jim?"

"No. The waiters will stare at us, and hear us talk——"

"We can have our meals served in our room.

"This is better," he insisted. "I want to spend one day here alone with you, before we go—just to feel that you're all mine. You see, if I walk in here and own the place, I'll know that better than any other way. I've just set my heart on it, Kiddo—what's the difference?"

She lifted her lips to his.

"All right, dear. It shall be as you wish. Tomorrow I will be all yours—in life, in death, in eternity. Your happiness will be the one thing for which I shall plan and work."

Ella was very happy in the honor conferred on her. She was given entire charge of the place, and spent the day in feverish preparation for the dinner. She insisted on borrowing a larger table from the little fat woman next door, to hold the extra dishes. She dressed herself in her best. Her raven black hair was pressed smooth and shining down the sides of her pale temples.

The work was completed by three o'clock in the afternoon, and Mary lay in her window lazily watching the crowds scurrying home. The offices closed early on Saturday afternoons.

Ella was puttering about the room, adding little touches here and there in a pretense of still being busy. As a matter of fact, she was watching the girl from her one eye with a wistful tenderness she had not dared as yet to express in words. Twice Mary had turned suddenly and seen her thus. Each time Ella had started as if caught in some act of mischief and asked an irrelevant question to relieve her embarrassment.

Mary could feel her single eye fixed on her now in a deep, brooding look. It made her uncomfortable.

She turned slowly and spoke in gentle tones.

"You've been so sweet to me today, Ella—father and mother and best friend. I'll never forget your kindness. You'd better rest awhile now until we go to Dr. Craddock's. I want you to be there, too——"

"To see the marriage—ja?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

"Oh, no, my dear, no—I stay here and wait for you to come. I keep the lights burning bright. I welcome the bride and groom to their little home—ja."

A quick glance of suspicion shot from Mary's blue eyes. Could it be possible that this forlorn scrubwoman would carry her hostility to her lover to the same point of ungracious refusal to witness the ceremony? It was nonsense, of course. Ella would feel out of place in the minister's parlor, that was all. She wouldn't insist.

"All right, Ella; you can receive us here with ceremony. You'll be our maid, butler, my father, my mother and my friends!"

There was a moment's silence and still no move on Ella's part to go. The girl felt her single eye again fixed on her in mysterious, wistful gaze. She would send her away if it were possible without hurting her feelings.

Mary lifted her eyes suddenly, and Ella stirred awkwardly and smiled.

"I hope you are very happy, meine liebe—ja?"

"I couldn't be happier if I were in Heaven," was the quick answer.

"I'm so glad——"

Again an awkward pause.

"I was once young and pretty like you, meine liebe," she began dreamily, "—slim and straight and jolly—always laughing."

Mary held her breath in eager expectancy. Ella was going to lift the veil from the mystery of her life, stirred by memories which the coming wedding had evoked.

"And you had a thrilling romance—Ella? I always felt it."

Again silence, and then in low tones the woman told her story.

"Ja—a romance, too. I was so young and foolish—just a baby myself—not sixteen. But I was full of life and fun, and I had a way of doing what I pleased.

"The man was older than me—Oh, a lot older—with gray hairs on the side of his head. I was wild about him. I never took to kids. They didn't seem to like me——"

She paused as if hesitating to give her full confidence, and quickly went on:

"My folks were German. They couldn't speak English. I learned when I was five years old. They didn't like my lover. We quarrel day and night. I say they didn't like him because they could not speak his language. They say he was bad. I fight for him, and run away and marry him——"

Again she paused and drew a deep breath.

"Ah, I was one happy little fool that year! He make good wages on the docks—a stevedore. They had a strike, and he got to drinking. The baby came——"

She stopped suddenly.

"You had a little baby, Ella?" the girl asked in a tender whisper.

"Ja—ja," she sobbed—"so sweet, so good—so quiet—so beautiful she was. I was very happy—like a little girl with a doll—only she laugh and cry and coo and pull my hair! He stop the drink a little while when she come, and he got work. And then he begin worse and worse. It seem like he never loved me any more after the baby. He curse me, he quarrel. He begin to strike me sometimes. I laugh and cry at first and make up and try again——"

Again she paused as if for courage to go on, and choked into silence.

"Yes—and then?" the girl asked.

"And then he come home one night wild drunk. He stumble and fall across the cradle and hurt my baby so she never cry—just lie still and tremble—her eyes wide open at first and then they droop and close and she die!

"He laugh and curse and strike me, and I fight him like a tiger. He was strong—he throw me down on the floor and gouge my eye out with his big claw——"

"Oh, my God," Mary sobbed.

Ella sprang to her feet and bent over the girl with trembling eagerness.

"You keep my secret, meine liebe?"

"Yes—yes——"

"I never tell a soul on earth what I tell you now—I just eat my heart out and keep still all the years, I can tell you—ja?"

"Yes, I'll keep it sacred—go on——"

"When I know he gouge my eye out, I go wild. I get my hand on his throat and choke him still. I drag him to the stairs and throw him head first all the way down to the bottom. He fall in a heap and lie still. I run down and drag him to the door. I kick his face and he never move. He was dead. I kick him again—and again. And then I laugh—I laugh—I laugh in his dead face—I was so glad I kill him!"

She sank in a paroxysm of sobs on the floor, and the girl touched her smooth black hair tenderly, strangled with her own emotions.

Ella rose at last and brushed the tears from her hollow cheeks.

"Now, you know, meine liebe! Why I tell you this today, I don't know—maybe I must! I dream once like you dream today——"

The girl slipped her arms around the drooping, pathetic figure and stroked it tenderly.

"The sunshine is for some, maybe," Ella went on pathetically; "for some the clouds and the storms. I hope you are very, very happy today and all the days——"

"I will be, Ella, I'm sure. I'll always love you after this."

"Maybe I make you sad because I tell you——"

"No—no! I'm glad you told me. The knowledge of your sorrow will make my life the sweeter. I shall be more humble in my joy."

It never occurred to the girl for a moment that this lonely, broken woman had torn her soul's deepest secret open in a last pathetic effort to warn her of the danger of her marriage. The wistful, helpless look in her eye meant to Mary only the anguish of memories. Each human heart persists in learning the big lessons of life at first hand. We refuse to learn any other way. The tragedies of others interest us as fiction. We make the application to others—never to ourselves.

Jim's familiar footstep echoed through the hall, and Mary sprang to the door with a cry of joy.



CHAPTER X. THE WEDDING

Ella hurried into the kitchenette and busied herself with dinner. Jim's unexpectedly early arrival broke the spell of the tragedy to which Mary had listened with breathless sympathy. Her own future she faced without a shadow of doubt or fear.

Her reproaches to Jim were entirely perfunctory, on the sin of his early call on their wedding-day.

"Naughty boy!" she cried with mock severity. "At this unseemly hour!"

He glanced about the room nervously.

"Anybody in there?"

He nodded toward the kitchenette.

"Only Ella——"

"Send her away."

"What's the matter?"

"Quick, Kiddo—quick!"

Mary let Ella out from the little private hall without her seeing Jim, and returned.

"For heaven's sake, man, what ails you?" she asked excitedly.

"Say—I forgot that thing already. We got to go over it again. What if I miss it?"

"The ceremony?"

"Yep——"

He mopped his brow and looked at his watch.

"By the time we get to that preacher's house, I won't know my first name if you don't help me."

Mary laughed softly and kissed him.

"You can't miss it. All you've got to do is say, 'I will' when he asks you the question, put the ring on my finger when he tells you, and repeat the words after him—he and I will do the rest."

"Say my question over again."

"'Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?'"

She looked at him and laughed.

"Why don't you answer?"

"Now?"

"Yes—that's the end of the question. Say, 'I will.'"

"Oh, I will all right! What scares me is that I'll jump in on him and say 'I will' before he gets halfway through. Seems to me when he says, 'Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?' I'll just have to choke myself there to keep from saying, 'You bet your life I will, Parson!'"

"It won't hurt anything if you say, 'I will' several times," she assured him.

"It wouldn't queer the job?"

"Not in the least. I've often heard them say, 'I will' two or three times. Wait until you hear the words, 'so long as ye both shall live——'"

"'So long as ye both shall live,'" he repeated solemnly.

"The other speech you say after the minister."

"He won't bite off more than I can chew at one time, will he?"

"No, silly—just a few words——"

"Because if he does, I'll choke."

Jim drew his watch again, mopped his brow, and gazed at Mary's serene face with wonder.

"Say, Kiddo, you're immense—you're as cool as a cucumber!"

"Of course. Why not? It's my day of joy and perfect peace—the day I've dreamed of since the dawn of maidenhood. I'm marrying the man of my choice—the one man God made for me of all men on earth. I know this—I'm content."

"Let me hang around here till time—won't you?" he asked helplessly.

"We must have Ella come back to fix the table."

"Sure. I just didn't want her to hear me tell you that I had cold feet. I'm better now."

Ella moved about the room with soft tread, watching Jim with sullen, concentrated gaze when he was not looking.

The lovers sat on the couch beside the window, holding each other's hands and watching in silence the hurrying crowds pass below. Now that his panic was over, Jim began to breathe more freely, and the time swiftly passed.

As the shadows slowly fell, they rang the bell at the parson's house beside the church, and his good wife ushered them into the parlor. The little Craddocks crowded in—six of them, two girls and four boys, their ages ranging from five to nineteen.

Sweet memories crowded the girl's heart from her happy childhood. She had never missed one of these affairs at home. Her father was a very popular minister and his home the Mecca of lovers for miles around.

Craddock, like her father, was inclined to be conservative in his forms. Marriage he held with the old theologians to be a holy sacrament. He never used the new-fangled marriage vows. He stuck to the formula of the Book of Common Prayer.

When she stood before the preacher in this beautiful familiar scene which she had witnessed so many times at home, Mary's heart beat with a joy that was positively silly. She tried to be serious, and the dimple would come in her cheek in spite of every effort.

As Craddock's musical voice began the opening address, the memory of a foolish incident in her father's life flashed through her mind, and she wondered if Jim in his excitement had forgotten his pocket-book and couldn't pay the preacher.

"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered together here in the sight of God——"

Mary tried to remember that she was in the sight of God, but she was so foolishly happy she could only remember that funny scene. A long-legged Kentucky mountain bridegroom at the close of the ceremony had turned to her father and drawled:

"Well, parson, I ain't got no money with me—but I want to give ye five dollars. I've got a fine dawg. He's worth ten. I'll send him to ye fur five—if it's all right?"

The children had giggled and her father blushed.

"Oh, that's all right," he had answered. "Money's no matter. Forget the five. I hope you'll be very happy."

Two weeks later a crate containing the dog had come by express. On the tag was scrawled:

Dear Parson:—I like Nancy so well, I send ye the hole dawg, anyhow.

She hadn't a doubt that Jim would feel the same way—but she hoped he hadn't forgotten his pocketbook.

The scene had flashed through her mind in a single moment. She had bitten her lips and kept from laughing by a supreme effort. Not a word of the solemn ceremonial, however, had escaped her consciousness.

"And in the face of this company," the preacher's rich voice was saying, "to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is commended of St. Paul to be honorable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."

Craddock paused, and his piercing eyes searched the man and woman before him.

"I require to charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it——"

Again he paused. The perspiration stood in beads on Jim's forehead, and he glanced uneasily at Mary from the corners of his drooping eyes. A smile was playing about her mouth, and Jim was cheered.

"For be ye well assured," the preacher continued, "that if any persons are joined together otherwise than as God's Word doth allow, their marriage is not lawful."

He turned with deliberation to Jim and transfixed him with the first question of the ceremony. The groom was hypnotized into a state of abject terror. His ears heard the words; the mind recorded but the vaguest idea of what they meant.

"Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Jim's mouth was open; his lower jaw had dropped in dazed awe, and he continued to stare straight into the preacher's face until Mary pressed his arm and whispered:

"Jim!"

"I will—yes, I will—you bet I will!" he hastened to answer.

The children giggled, and the preacher's lips twitched.

He turned quickly to Mary.

"Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

With quick, clear voice, Mary answered:

"I will."

"Please join your right hands and repeat after me:"

He fixed Jim with his gaze and spoke with deliberation, clause by clause:

"I, James, take thee, Mary, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Jim's throat at first was husky with fear, but he caught each clause with quick precision and repeated them without a hitch.

He smiled and congratulated himself: "I got ye that time, old cull!"

The preacher's eyes sought Mary's:

"I, Mary, take thee, James, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

In the sweetest musical voice, quivering with happiness, the girl repeated the words.

Again the preacher's eyes sought Jim's:

AND THE MAN SHALL GIVE UNTO THE WOMAN A RING——

The groom fumbled in his pocket and found at last the ring, which he handed to Mary. The minister at once took it from her hand and handed it back to Jim.

The bride lifted her left hand, deftly extending the fourth finger, and the groom slipped the ring on, and held it firmly gripped as he had been instructed.

"With this ring I thee wed——"

"With this ring I thee wed——" Jim repeated firmly.

"——and with all my worldly goods I thee endow——"

"——and with all my worldly goods I thee endow——"

"In the Name of the Father——"

"In the Name of the Father——"

"——and of the Son——"

"——and of the Son——"

"——and of the Holy Ghost——"

"——and of the Holy Ghost——"

"Amen!"

"Amen!"

The voice of the preacher's prayer that followed rang far-away and unreal to the heart of the girl. Her vivid imagination had leaped the years. Her spirit did not return to earth and time and place until the minister seized her right hand and joined it to Jim's.

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder!

"Forasmuch as James Anthony and Mary Adams have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a Ring, and by joining hands; I pronounce that they are Man and Wife, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The preacher lifted his hands solemnly above their heads.

"God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with His favor look upon you, and fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace; that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. AMEN."

The preacher took Mary's hand.

"Your father is my friend, child. This is for him——"

He bent quickly and kissed her lips, while Jim gasped in astonishment.

The minister's wife congratulated them both. The two older children smilingly advanced and added their voices in good wishes.

Mary whispered to Jim:

"Don't forget the preacher's fee!"

"Lord, how much? Will fifty be enough? It's all I've got."

"Give him twenty. We'll need the rest."

It was not until they were seated in the waiting cab and sank back among the shadows, that Jim crushed her in his arms and kissed her until she cried for mercy.

"The gall of that preacher, kissing you!" he muttered savagely. "You know, I come within an ace of pasting him one on the nose!"



CHAPTER XI. "UNTIL DEATH"

The lights burned in the hall with unusual brightness. Ella stood in the open door of the room, through which the light was streaming. With its radiance came the perfume of roses—the scrub-woman's gift of love. The room was a bower of gorgeous flowers. She had spent her last cent in this extravagance. Mary swept the place with a look of amazement.

"Oh, Ella," she cried, "how could you be so silly!"

"You like them, ja?" Ella asked softly.

"They're glorious—but you should not have made such a sacrifice for me."

"For myself, maybe, I do it—all for myself to make me happy, too, tonight."

She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand and placed the chairs beside the beautifully set table.

"Dinner is all ready," she announced cheerfully. "And shall I go now and leave you? Or will you let me serve your dinner first?"

A sudden panic seized the bride.

"Stay and serve the dinner, Ella, if you will," she quickly answered.

Jim frowned, but seated himself in business-like fashion.

"All right; I'm ready for it, old girl!"

With soft tread and swift, deft touch, Ella served the dinner, standing prim and stiff and ghost-like behind Jim's chair between the courses.

The bride watched her, fascinated by the pallor of her haggard face and the queer suggestion of Death which her appearance made in spite of the background of flowers. She had dressed herself in a simple skirt and shirtwaist of spotless white. The material seemed to be draped on her tall figure, thin to emaciation. The chalk-like pallor of her face brought out with startling sharpness the deep, hollow caverns beneath her straight eyebrows. Her single eye shone unusually bright.

Gradually the grim impression grew that Death was hovering over her bridal feast—a foolish fancy which persisted in her highly-wrought nervous state. Yet the idea, once fixed, could not be crushed. In vain she used her will to bring her wandering mind back to the joyous present. Each time she lifted her eyes they rested upon the silent, white figure with its single eye piercing the depths of her soul.

She could endure it no longer. She nodded and smiled wanly at Ella.

"You may go now!"

The woman gazed at the bride in surprise.

"I shall come again—yes?"

"Tomorrow morning, Ella, you may help me."

The white figure paused uncertainly at the door, and her drawling voice breathed her parting word tenderly:

"Good night!"

The bride closed her eyes and answered.

"Good night, Ella!"

The door closed. Jim rose quickly and bolted it.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed fervently. He fixed his slumbering eyes on his wife for a moment, saw the frightened look, walked quickly back to the table and took his seat.

"Now, Kiddo, we can eat in peace."

"Yes, I'd rather be alone," she sighed.

"I must say," Jim went on briskly, "that parson of yours did give us a run for our money."

"I like the old, long ceremony best."

"Well, you see, I ain't never had much choice—but do you know what I thought was the best thing in it?"

"No—what?"

"UNTIL DEATH DO US PART! Gee how he did ring out on that! His voice sounded to me like a big bell somewhere away up in the clouds. Did you hear me sing it back at him?"

Mary smiled nervously.

"You had found your voice then."

"You bet I had! I muffed that first one, though, didn't I?"

"A little. It didn't matter." She answered mechanically.

He fixed his eyes on her again.

"Hungry, Kiddo?"

"No," she gasped.

"What's the use!" he cried in low, vibrant tones, springing to his feet. "I don't want to eat this stuff—I just want to eat you!"

Mary rose tremblingly and moved instinctively to meet him.

He clasped her form in his arms and crushed with cruel strength.

"Until death do us part!" he whispered passionately.

She answered with a kiss.



CHAPTER XII. THE LOTOS-EATERS

It was eleven o'clock next morning before Ella ventured to rap softly on the door. They had just finished breakfast. The bride was clearing up the table, humming a song of her childhood.

Jim caught her in his arms.

"Once more before she comes!"

"Don't kill me!" she laughed.

Jim lounged in the window and smoked his cigarette while Ella and Mary chattered in the kitchenette.

In half an hour the scrub-woman had made her last trip with the extra dishes, and the little home was spick and span.

Mary sprang on the couch and snuggled into Jim's arms.

"I've changed our plans——" he began thoughtfully.

"We won't give up our honeymoon trip?" she cried in alarm. "That's one dream we MUST live, Jim, dear. I've set my heart on it."

"Sure we will—sure," he answered quickly. "But not in that car."

"Why?"

Jim grinned.

"Because I like you better—you get me, Kiddo?"

She pressed close and whispered:

"I think so."

"You see, that fool car might throw a tire or two. Believe me, it'll be a job to have her on my hands for a thousand miles. Of course, if I didn't know you, little girl, it would be all sorts of fun. But, honest to God, this game beats the world."

He bent low and kissed her again.

"Where'll we go, then?" she murmured.

"That's what I'm tryin' to dope out. I like the sea. It lulls me just like whisky puts a drunkard to sleep. I wish we could get where it's bright and warm and the sun shines all the time. We could stay two weeks and then jump on the train and be in Asheville the day before Christmas."

Mary sprang up excitedly.

"I have it! We'll go to Florida—away down to the Keys. It's the dream of my life to go there!"

"The Keys what's that?" he asked, puzzled.

"The Keys are little sand islands and reefs that jut out into the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The railroad takes us right there."

"It's warm and sunny there now?"

"Just like summer up here. We can go in bathing in the surf every day."

Jim sprang to his feet.

"Got a bathing suit?"

"Yes—a beauty. I've never worn it here."

"Why?"

"It seemed so bold."

"All right. Maybe we can get a Key all by ourselves for two weeks."

"Wouldn't it be glorious!"

"We'll try it, anyhow. I'll buy the doggoned thing if they don't ask too much. Pack your traps. I'll go down to the shop and get my things. We'll be ready to start in an hour."

By four o'clock they were seated in the drawing-room of a Pullman car on the Florida Limited, gazing entranced at the drab landscape of the Jersey meadows.

Three days later, Jim had landed his boat on a tiny sand reef a half-mile off the coast of Florida with a tent and complete outfit for camping. Like two romping children, they tied the boat to a stake and rushed over the sand-dunes to the beach. They explored their domain from end to end within an hour. Not a tree obscured the endless panorama of sea and bay and waving grass on the great solemn marshes. Piles of soft, warm seaweed lay in long, dark rows along the high-tide mark.

Mary selected a sand-dune almost exactly the height and shape of the one on which they sat at Long Beach the day he told her of his love.

"Here's the spot for our home!" she cried. "Don't you recognize it?"

"Can't say I've ever been here before. Oh, I got you—I got you! Long Beach—sure! What do you think of that?"

He hurried to the boat and brought the tent. Mary carried the spade, the pole and pegs.

In half an hour the little white home was shining on the level sand at the foot of their favorite dune. The door was set toward the open sea, and the stove securely placed beneath an awning which shaded it from the sun's rays.

"Now, Kiddo, a plunge in that shining water the first thing. I'll give you the tent. I'll chuck my things out here."

In a fever of joyous haste she threw off her clothes and donned the dainty, one-piece bathing suit. She flew over the sand and plunged into the water before Jim had finished changing to his suit.

She was swimming and diving like a duck in the lazy, beautiful waters of the Gulf when he reached the beach.

"Come on! Come on!" she shouted.

He waved his hand and finished his cigarette.

"It's glorious! It's mid-summer!" she called.

With a quick plunge he dived into the water, disappeared and stayed until she began to scan the surface uneasily. With a splash he rose by her side, lifting her screaming in his arms. Her bathing-cap was brushed off, and he seized her long hair in his mouth, turned and with swift, strong beat carried her unresisting body to the beach.

He drew her erect and looked into her smiling face.

"That's the way I'd save you if you had called for help. How'd you like it?"

"It was sweet to give up and feel myself in your power, dear!"

His drooping eyes were devouring her exquisite figure outlined so perfectly in the clinging suit.

"I was afraid to wear this in New York," she said demurely.

"I can't blame you. If you'd ever have gone on the beach at Coney Island in that, there'd have been a riot."

He lifted her in his arms and kissed her.

"And you're all mine, Kiddo! It's too good to be true! I'm afraid to wake up mornings now for fear I'll find I've just been dreaming."

They plunged again in the water, and side by side swam far out from the shore, circled gracefully and returned.

Hours they spent snuggling in the warm sand. Not a sound of the world beyond the bay broke the stillness. The music of the water's soft sighing came on their ears in sweet, endless cadence. The wind was gentle and brushed their cheeks with the softest caress. Far out at sea, white-winged sails were spread—so far away they seemed to stand in one spot forever. The deep cry of an ocean steamer broke the stillness at last.

"We must dress for dinner, Jim!" she sighed.

"Why, Kiddo?"

"We must eat, you know."

"But why dress? I like that style on you. It's too much trouble to dress."

"All right!" she cried gayly. "We'll have a little informal dinner this evening. I love to feel the sand under my feet."

He gathered the wood from the dry drifts above the waterline and kindled a fire. The salt-soaked sticks burned fiercely, and the dinner was cooked in a jiffy—a fresh chicken he had bought, sweet potatoes, and delicious buttered toast.

They sat in their bathing suits on camp-stools beside the folding table and ate by moonlight.

The dinner finished, Mary cleared the wooden dishes while Jim brought heaps of the dry, spongy sea grass and made a bed in the tent. He piled it two feet high, packed it down to a foot, and then spread the sheets and blankets.

"All ready for a stroll down the avenue, Kiddo?" he called from the door.

"Fifth Avenue or Broadway?" she laughed.

"Oh, the Great White Way—you couldn't miss it! Just look at the shimmer of the moon on the sands! Ain't it great?"

Hand in hand, they strolled on the beach and bathed in the silent flood of the moonlit night—no prying eyes near save the stars of the friendly southern skies.

"The moon seems different down here, Jim!" she whispered.

"It is different," he answered with boyish enthusiasm. "It's all so still and white!"

"Could we stay here forever?"

He shook his head emphatically.

"Not on your life. This little boy has to work, you know. Old man John D. Rockefeller might, but it's early for a young financier to retire."

"A whole week, then?"

"Sure! For a week we'll forget New York."

They sat down on the sand-dune behind the tent and watched the waters flash in the silvery light, the world and its fevered life forgotten.

"You're the only thing real tonight, Jim!" she sighed.

"And you're the world for me, Kiddo!"

She waked at dawn, with a queer feeling of awe at the weird, gray light which filtered through the cotton walls. A sense of oneness with Nature and the beat of Her eternal heart filled her soul. The soft wash of the water on the sands seemed to be keeping time to the throb of her own pulse.

She peered curiously into the face of her sleeping lover. She had never seen him asleep before. She started at the transformation wrought by the closing of his heavy eyelids and the complete relaxation of his features. The strange, steel-blue coloring of his eyes had always given his face an air of mystery and charm. The complete closing of the heavy lids and the slight droop of the lower jaw had worked a frightful change. The romance and charm had gone, and instead she saw only the coarse, brutal strength.

She frowned like a spoiled child, put her dainty hand under his chin and pressed his mouth together.

"Wake up, sir!" she whispered. "I don't like your expression!"

He refused to stir, and she drew the tips of her fingers across his ears and eyelids.

He rubbed his eyes and muttered:

"What t'ell?"

"Let's take a bath in the sea before sunrise—come on!"

The sleeper groaned heavily, turned over, and in a moment was again dead to the world.

Mary's eyes were wide now with excitement. The hours were too marvelous to be lost in sleep. She could sleep when they must return to the tiresome world with its endless crowds of people.

She rose softly, ran barefoot to the beach, threw her night-dress on the sand and plunged, her white, young body trembling with joy, into the water.

It was marvelous—this wonderful hush of the dawn over the infinite sea. The air and water melted into a pearl gray. Far out toward the east, the waters began to blush at the kiss of the coming sun. The pearl gray slowly turned into purple. So startling was the vision, she swam in-shore and stood knee-deep in the shallows to watch the magic changes. In breathless wonder she saw the sea and sky and shore turn into a trembling cloud of dazzling purple. A moment before, she had caught the water up in her hand and poured it out in a stream of pearls. She lifted a handful and poured it out now, each drop a dazzling amethyst. And even while she looked, the purple was changing to scarlet—the amethyst into rubies!

A great awe filled her in the solemn hush. She stood in Nature's vast cathedral, close to God's heart—her life in harmony with His eternal laws.

How foolish and artificial were the ways of the far-away, drab, prosaic world of clothes and houses and furnishings! If she could only live forever in this dream-world!

Even while the thought surged through her heart, she lifted her head and saw the red rim of the sun suddenly break through the sea, and started lest the white light of day had revealed her to some passing boatman hurrying to his nets.

Her keen eye quickly swept the circle of the wide, silent world of sand-dunes, marsh and waters. No prying eye was near. Only the morning star still gleaming above saw. And they were twin sisters.

Four days flew on velvet wings before the first cloud threw its shadow across her life. Jim always slept until nine o'clock, and refused with dogged good-natured indifference to stir when she had asked him to get the wood for breakfast. It was nothing, of course, to walk a hundred yards to the beach and pick up the wood, and she did it. The hurt that stung was the feeling that he was growing indifferent.

She felt for the first time an impulse to box his lazy jaws as he yawned and turned over for the dozenth time without rising. He looked for all the world like a bulldog curled up on his bed of grass.

She shook him at last.

"Jim, dear, you must get up now! Breakfast is almost ready and it won't be fit to eat if you don't come on."

He opened his heavy eyelids and gazed at her sleepily.

"All righto——! Just as you say—just as you say."

"Hurry! Breakfast will be ready before you can dress."

"Gee! Breakfast all ready! You're one smart little wifie, Kiddo."

The compliment failed to please. She was sure that he had been fully awake twice before and pretended to be asleep from sheer laziness and indifference.

The thought hurt.

When they sat down at last to breakfast, she looked into his half-closed eyes with a sudden start.

"Why, Jim, your eyes are red!"

"Yes?"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You're ill—what is it?"

He grinned sheepishly.

"You couldn't guess now, could you?"

"You haven't been drinking!" she gasped.

"No," he drawled lazily, "I wouldn't say drinking—I just took one big swallow last night—makes you sleep good when you're tired. Good medicine! I always carry a little with me."

A sickening wave went over her. Not that she felt that he was going to be a drunkard. But the utter indifference with which he made the announcement was a painful revelation of the fact that her opinion on such a question was not of the slightest importance. That he was now master of the situation he evidently meant that she should see and understand at once.

She refused to accept the humiliating position without a struggle and made up her mind to try at once to mold his character. She would begin by getting him to cut the slang from his conversation.

"You remember the promise you made me one day before we were married, Jim?" she asked brightly.

"Which one? You know a fellow's not responsible for what he promises to get his girl. All's fair in love and war, they say——"

"I'm going to hold you to this one, sir," she firmly declared.

"All right, little bright eyes," he responded cheerfully as he lit a cigarette and sent the smoke curling above his red head.

She sat for a while in silence, studying the man before her. The task was delicate and difficult. And she had thought it a mere pastime of love! As her fiance, he had been wax in her hands. As her husband, he was a lazy, headstrong, obstinate young animal grinning good-naturedly at her futile protests. How long would he grin and bear her suggestions with patience? The transition from this lazy grin to the growl of an angry bulldog might be instantaneous.

She would move with the utmost caution—but she would move and at once. It would be a test of character between them. She edged her chair close to his, drew his head down in her lap and ran her fingers through his thick, red hair.

"Still love me, Jim?" she smiled.

"Crazier over you every day—and you know it, too, you sly little puss," he answered dreamily.

"You WILL make good your promises?"

"Sure, I will—surest thing you know!"

"You see, Jim dear," she went on tenderly, "I want to be proud of you——"

"Well, ain't you?"

"Of course I am, silly. I know you and understand you. But I want all the world to respect you as I do." She paused and breathed deeply. "They've got to do it, too, they've got to——"

"Sure, I'll knock their block off—if they don't!" he broke in.

She raised her finger reprovingly and shook her head.

"That's just the trouble: you can't do it with your fists. You can't compel the respect of cultured men and women by physical force. We've got to win with other weapons."

"All right, Kiddo—dope it out for me," he responded lazily. "Dope it out——"

Her lips quivered with the painful recognition of the task before her. Yet when she spoke, her voice was low and sweet and its tones even. She gave no sign to the man whose heavy form rested in her arms.

"Then from today we must begin to cut out every word of slang—it's a bargain?"

"Sure, Mike—I promised!"

"Cut 'Sure Mike!'"

She raised her finger severely.

"All right, teacher," he drawled. "What'll we put in Sure Mike's place? I've found him a handy man!"

"Say 'certainly.'"

Jim grinned good-naturedly.

"Aw hell, Kiddo—that sounds punk!"

"And HELL, Jim, isn't a nice word——"

"Gee, Kid, now look here—can't get along with out HELL—leave me that one just a little while."

She shook her head.

"No."

"No?"

"And PUNK is expressive, but not suited to parlor use."

"All right—t'ell with PUNK!" He turned and looked. "What's the matter now?" he asked.

"Don't you realize what you've just said?"

"What did I say?"

She turned away to hide a tear.

He threw his arms around her neck and drew her lips down to his.

"Ah, don't worry, Kiddo—I'll do better next time. Honest to God, I will. That's enough for today. Just let's love now. T'ell with the rest."

She smiled in answer.

"You promise to try honestly?"

He raised his hand in solemn vow.

"S'help me!"

Each day's trial ended in a laugh and a kiss until at last Jim refused to promise any more. He grinned in obstinate, good-natured silence and let her do the worrying.

She watched him with growing wonder and alarm. He gradually lapsed into little coarse, ugly habits at the table. She tried playfully to correct them. He took it good-naturedly at first and then ignored her suggestions as if she were a kitten complaining at his feet.

She studied him with baffling rage at the mystery of his personality. The long silences between them grew from hour to hour. She could see that he was restless now at the isolation of their sand-island home. The queer lights and shadows that played in his cold blue eyes told only too plainly that his mind was back again in the world of battle. He was fighting something, too.

She was glad of it. She could manage him better there. She would throw him into the company of educated people and rouse his pride and ambition. She heard his announcement of their departure on the eighth day with positive joy.

"Well, Kiddo," he began briskly, "we've got to be moving. Time to get back to work now. The old town and the little shop down in Avenue B have been calling me."

"Today, Jim?" she asked quickly.

"Right away. We'll catch the first train north, stop two days, Christmas Eve and Christmas, in Asheville, and then for old New York!"

The journey along the new railroad built on concrete bridges over miles of beautiful waters was one of unalloyed joy. They had passed over this stretch of marvelous engineering at night on their trip down and had not realized its wonders. For hours the train seemed to be flying on velvet wings through the ocean.

She sat beside her lover and held his hand. In spite of her enthusiasm, he would doze. At every turn of entrancing view she would pinch his arm:

"Look, Jim! Look!"

He would lift his heavy eyelids, grunt good-naturedly and doze again.

In the dining-car she was in mortal terror at first lest he should lapse into the coarse table manners into which he had fallen in camp. She laid his napkin conspicuously on his plate and saw that he had opened and put it in place across his lap before ordering the meals.

The moment he found himself in a crowd, the lights began to flash in his eyes, his broad shoulders lifted and his whole being was at once alert and on guard. He followed his wife's lead with unerring certainty.

She renewed her faith in his early reformation, though his character was a puzzle. He seemed to be forever watching out of the corners of his slumbering eyes. She wondered what it meant.



CHAPTER XIII. THE REAL MAN

They arrived in Asheville the night before Christmas Eve. Jim listened to his wife's prattle about the wonderful views with quiet indifference.

They stopped at the Battery Park Hotel, and she hoped the waning moon would give them at least a glimpse of the beautiful valley of the French Broad and Swannanoa rivers and the dark, towering ranges of mountains among the stars. She made Jim wait on the balcony of the room for half an hour, but the clouds grew denser and he persisted in nodding.