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THE MASTER OF BERYL HEIGHTS
CHAPTER XVIII.
NE sunny Saturday Dr. Gordon was
detained late at the company of
fice of the factory overlooking
some accounts that he and another
official had disagreed about. The
day had been full of the tender
brilliance of early spring, and as
he stood in the door enjoying the
balmy brightness of its close, he
O
saw a troop of girls descending the hill from
the direction of the chapel. As they came near
er, he perceived a certain air of neatness about
their dress, all of calico though they were,
which struck him as a new departure, but he
had no time to wonder about it. His position
was not conspicuous under the stone arch of the
doorway, and it w'as evident that they were not
cognizant of his presence, from the animated
discussion which assailed his ears.
‘‘ I didn’t like her at fust neither, ’’ a girl de
clared, who walked in front of the party,
swinging a sunbonnet by the strings with a
nervous grace, “but I’m pritty nigh as foolish
’bout her now as Miss Brown, and she say she
air afeerd she haint no woman at all, but a
angel. ’ ’
“Shaw! what stuff,” ejaculated a tall girl in
magenta from the rear, “you know she haint
nothen but shore nuff flesh an’ blood, like the
rest of folks.”
“Yes,” assented a voice that had a finer fi
ber in it than either of the other speakers,
though Dr. Gordon can not see the owner of it,
“but this evenen when she were talken to us
’bout that good lady, Miss ’Lizabeth Fry, what
went to see folks in prison, an’ done good to
everybody she come close to ever day of her
life, (I jest thinks to myself) she is the beauti
fulest creeter I ever set my two eyes on; an’ I
never heered a mortal what could talk so like
readin’ outen a book, ’les it was Mr. John Gor
don himself.”
Dr. Gordon returned to his work with a
frown, but the ungrammatical truth uttered by
the fresh young voice rung in his mind. The
sun was almost down, and the shadows had be
gun to lengthen on the hillside across the lit
tle stream, that was the driving power in this
small world. As he stepped into his buggy,
some thought made him hesitate as he took up
the lines, and then he turned his horse into the
road which led to the chapel. He stopped at
the open door, and getting out, ascended the
few steps. Before a large gothic chair, used
on Sunday by the cripple superintendent, a fig
ure knelt with the bronze brown head pillowed
on the cardinal cushion. He paused until he
discovered that the girl was asleep, then walk
ing up the aisle to within a few feet of the
chair, he stood and looked down on her face
with curious attentiveness. Her expression was
restful and glad like that of a child dimly con
scious of being in its father’s arms, and re
buked as if he had trespassed upon her at
prayer he turned away. Half-way down the
aisle he looked back at the girl with the rich
light from one of the end windows stealing
over her, and the factory woman’s words came
back to him and he frowned darkly in self
disgust. Then we are sorry to record that Dr.
Gordon gave the door a terrific slam behind
him, and, stepping into his buggy, drove home
alone. That night at the supper table Dr. Gor
don was conscious of feelingly slightly un
comfortable, when his brother inquired:
“Paul, why did you not drive by the chapel
for Lynne, as I asked you?”
“I thought Miss Heywood might prefer to
walk.”
“Possibly, but I never permit her to walk
there and back, the distance is too great. ’ ’
‘ ‘ An English girl would hardly find it a good
after breakfast constitutional.”
By Odessa Strickland Payne, Author of the “Mission Girl”, “Esther FerralVs Experiment”, Etc.
The Golden Age for July 20,1911.
Lynne entered at the moment and the con
versation terminated abruptly. Dr. Gordon
rose and set her chair back from the table with
gallant grace. John smiled, well pleased, and
Lynne looked up in astonishment. Dr. Gordon
bowed coldly.
“I beg pardon—l thought it was cousin
Floyd.”
“You limit your courtesy to those you like.
Thanks. ’ ’
There is a swift flash in the brown blue eyes,
a momentary straightening of the slender fig
ure, and then Miss Heywood sat down to her
supper as cold and impassive of face as usual.
John, well content, sat at the table after they
had all left, trifling idly with his spoon. He
has seen the first electric spark from the sword
of destiny which was yet to accomplish his will.
His brother found him hours after in the study
dreaming, with his feet elevated to the win
dow, like any other common American mortal.
After some desultory conversation, Dr. Gordon
said:
“Hasn’t Miss Heywood sufficient income to
dress and go into society like other young la
dies ? ’ ’
“Possibly. Her income has doubled under
my management.”
“Then, why in the name of common sense
does she do it?”
“Because she prefers to do something else
with her life and means, I suppose.”
“Well, I think, as your ward, she ought to
have her presentation to the world, and if she
prefers to become a recluse afterwards your
skirts will be clear.”
“Absolutely; but what has awakened this
sudden interest in Miss Heywood’s society de
but ? ’ ’
“Well, I have been asked so much about her
exclusiveness and peculiarities that I am tired
of it. I don’t stand the interviewing very
amiably, as you may imagine, for I know noth
ing about her.”
“It is your own fault. You do not treat her
with the least consideration. Women like her
do not hold men by their coat collars while
they make voluntary revelations of them
selves.”
“Indeed! Well, my opinion of her has got
ten a brighter color.”
‘ ‘ What is it ? ” There is a tension in the crip
ple’s deep voice that is almost pathetic.
“I think she is good as well as common
place.”
Then Dr. Gordon rose, and standing by his
brother’s chair, laid his hand affectionately on
his shoulder.
“John,” he said, “I have a new prescription
that I want you to try so much, and not at
all.”
“That is paradoxical, Paul.”
“Perhaps. It will be harder, I apprehend,
for me than for you to take.”
“How is that? What can it be?”
He sat down on the arm of his chair, as he
answered.
“I want you to go to a surgeon friend of
mine for treatment.”
“Well, I can do that very easily, can’t I,
provided you can convince me of the necessi
ty for it.”
“Not so very; he lives in Paris.”
“Ah!”
“He has almost performed miracles in the
way of making the lame to walk. I had a let
ter from him yesterday in answer to one I
wrote about your case, and while he has the
conscientious scruples of a Christian gentle
man, he says he knows he can relieve you, and
he believes that he can cure you. My brother,
will you go, if I diagnose your own case to you
and let you see the hopeful hypothesis upon
which we build?”
“I can not tell you. I must have time in
which to consider this subject.”
“Os course. But first read his letter.”
And Dr. Gordon laid a foreign-stamped let
ter on his brother’s knee, and left the room.
CHAPTER XIX.
Dr. Gordon’s plan for his brother met the
strong disapproval of his family and friends,
as he had half anticipated, but he believed im
plicitly in the soundness of his own judgment
and that of the French physician; and, inspired
by the hope of his final restoration, he urged
a speedy departure. He wanted to get him
away from the activities of the small world’ in
which he lived, as they were, both in a business
and benevolent sense, too much in excess of his
delicate strength. Lynne and Mrs. Gordon re
belled against the experiment, but Floyd, as
usual, warmly seconded her cousin. Dr. Gor
don appreciated her sympathy, as he would
not had he known that it grew out of her love
for him, and her indifference to the
Lynne tried faithfully to discover the wisdom
of the plan; but as the weeks swept by, bring
ing nearer the fatal month in which he was to
sail, her aversion to the idea increased. She
went often to the study, for she felt she could
not afford to miss an hour of his presence and
conversation when it was possible for her to be
with him. They rode frequently in the long
mellow afternoons; and there was not a family,
rich or poor, in the village that they did not
call upon when Schiller made his farewell vis
its. So constantly were they together that it
became rumored that the master of Beryl
Heights would not go alone to Europe. Dr.
Gordon heard it, and 1 he took himself one af
ternoon into the great, sunny room of the left
wing to interview his brother about it. He
did not credit the rumor, yet he was conscious
of being vaguely troubled. He found John in
his arm chair reading with an intensity that
did not argue much for Cupid’s power. He
laid down his book as Paul, having taken pos
session of the couch by the window, exclaimed:
“Well, old fellow, this is splendid. But,
like most things of the kind, it don’t seem in
tended for me.”
John looked indulgently at the superb
stretch of the giant figure whose head was pil
lowed, boy-like, on his folded arms, while his
boots projected some distance beyond the end
of the couch.
“What are you reading?”
“Carlyle’s Sartor Resartus, and when I fin
ish it I shall have read everything the dear old
‘Coeur de Lion’ has ever given to the public.
And I like him. There is thought, thought in
every line —a soul, and an immortal one, in
every book he ever wrote.”
“Yes, but I like him better for his terrible
determination, his imperturbable patience.
What man, out of millions, would have re
written that manuscript of his which was burn
ed, The French Revolution? Something more
than the book went into the fire, and what a
heroic heart it took to gird one’s self anew
for a conflict already once won.”
“You leave out the inspiration which
brought him back from the depths and helped
him once more to go to work.”
Dr. Gordon answered with a significant
smile: “I did leave out the lady friend who
got him to review a novel, and whose influ
ence helped the giant to pull through, but I
thought it was always understood that there
was a woman at the bottom of everything
good, bad and indifferent. Apropos of that,
Madam Rumor says that you are going to Eu
rope because of a woman, and unfortunately
not away from her, but with her, just to grati
fy her wish to see the old world.”
(Continued on Page 15.)
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