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THE MASTER OF BERYL HEIGHTS
~ IHE1 HE dear, distressed, little old maid
turned her head then and looked
X at Lynne shyly at first, then with a
fff prolonged stare; and Dr. Bard took
|y advantage of the lull in her talk to
ml leave the table. Lynne’s face was
always pale, and except that the
blue-brown eyes are a trifle darker
-■ and the wide, sweet mouth a little
more compressed than usual, there was nothing
about her to denote cither grief or excitement.
Miss Hester picked up a fork and drew a tri
angle on the table-cloth.
“Don’t you care?” she asked curiously.
“About Dr. Gordon going away? Yes, 1 sup
pose so, but it rather elevates my opinion of
him. 1 have thought, with his artistocratic
tastes and wealth to help him, he might develop
into that non-effective and most execrable type
of minister, the man who thinks more of his
own personal dignity than of the cause of his
Lord; more of ecclesiastical preferment than
how he may win souls; who studies that he may
become aD. D., or if he has a great genius, a
bishop, who eschews the poor and rugged ways
if he can, and if he cannot, accepts them only
as stepping stones.”
“Well, really, you have had an exalted opin
ion of Paul. If he had aimed at nothing but
distinction, he had enough of that, Ignatius can
tell you, when he joined the Church. There is
not a young man in the South who stands high
er than Paul in the medical profession; nor one,
as I have heard it affirmed, who has filled with
so much ability, the various chairs in several
colleges during the winter, as he has since he
came back from Europe.”
Lynne laid her soft hand on Miss Hester’s
bony fingers, which were nervously drumming
on the table.
“Dear Miss Hester, do not misunderstand me.
I believe in Dr. Gordon’s sincerity of purpose
as entirely as you do, but I have thought that
the very constitution of his nature would be
against him in the learning of those lessons of
humility and patience appointed by the Master,
which constitute so large a part of the neces
sary preparation for efficient work in His vine
yak”
“You may be right, child, but if ever there
was a nobler, truer or tenderer man than Paul
Gordon, these old eyes have yet to witness the
phenomenon. His manner may seem cold to
some people, because he is so dignified, but if he
is not manly and good to the heart’s core, I do
not know anything about analyzing character,
and that’s all there is about it.”
Lynne bent her head in silent acknowledg
ment, and left the room. Was it because she
could not trust herself to finish the conversa
tion?
The afternoon was warm and sunny, full to
the brim of sensuous sweetness and the colorful
blossoming perfection of mid-summer. Quite
late, Lynne, attired in a street suit of black silk,
with a black lace scarf knotted around her
white throat and a blue veil tied over her hat
for a disguise, went out quietly by the side door,
because she was afraid of Miss Hester’s prohibi
tion. To walk again along the well shaded fa
miliar streets is a joy in itself not easily dissi
pated ; she can remember having called at every
stately mansion standing back amid its shrub
beries of unfolding green, along her way, a row
of artistic homes with whose owners the Gor
dons had often exchanged visits. That store
confronting her from the first business corner
recalls a scene which exacts both a smile and
a tear. She can see a carriage standing before
the door from which the curtin has been cut off
so that the passer-by has an uninterrupted view
of the occupants.
A child in mourning dress and a battered
straw hat, a woman in faded brown silk, with
a diamond gleaming upon one of the thin hands
By Odessa Strickland Payne, Author of the “Mission Girl”, “Esther Ferrall’s Experiment”, Etc.
The Golden Age For November 9, 1911.
which grasp rope lines—connecting links be
tween the vehicle and a long-eared dilapidated
mule, branded with the august initials of the
government. She missed the musical falter of
the cripple’s step by her side as she went on,
turning into their old haunts, but she took the
road which passed the Factory none the less
resolutely. She has a heavier burden to bear
today than ever since his loss, and now that she
is out of sight of men, she begins to listen to
the deep pulsings of the under-currents of her
self-consciousness —today they have but one
voice. She throws herself down presently, un
der the branching shade of a giant oak, remov
ed her veil and laid her head down on her arms,
like a little child, with no thought of her rich
dress, nor the long white ostrich plume that
trailed from the picturesque hat in the dust
and the leaves whisper above her, and the
stones cry out around her, “Going to Japan.’
Awhile, and she arose tearless but fearfully
pale, and went on her way like one in a dream.
She seemed to have forgotten where she was
or what she was doing, as she followed the
windings of the white country road, up hill
and down, through sunlit openings and dusky
depressions.
She came at last to a hill that overlooked
the mill building, and the white-washed walls
of the cottages of the hands; she paused, lifted
her hands after a time and shaded her eyes to
look at the familiar scene below, an instant on
ly, then she turned into a well worn footpath
on her right, which led her through the woods,
but soon brought her in sight of the chapel
ruins. The debris from the roof covered the
ground, and the walls had fallen in except the
one at the pulpit end, which stood squarely
outlined against the blue of the summer sky.
She climbed up among the broken bricks and
sat down —ah, with what memories, while the
sunset gilded and glorified the village at her
feet. How vividly it all came back —the last
Sabbath afternoon of Schiller’s stay at home —
she can see him with her eyes unclosed stand
ing inside the altar, with the bright eyed host
of his Sunday School facing him, while they
listen to his parting words.
But his work was done, and the good which
he accomplished for the factory people was not
in ruins if the chapel he had built for them
was. The seed which he had sown had been
in heart soil, not in mortar and stone, and
there were children living who thought of his
counsels during the days, and talked about
him in the long twilights.
Lynne stood on the ruins looking at the sun
set infinite, the shine on her face, (radiant now,
from the remembrance of where all true suffer
ing life shall lead) while the soft wind tossed
her black lace scarf about her slender erect fig
ure. A one-horse phaeton elegantly appointed
came slowly up the winding road, and its oc
cupant had ample time to wonder who it was
standing straight and graceful on the ruined
pile, before a sharp angle in the road brought
him recognition. He lifted his hat only and
Lynne bowed in acknowledgment, as it Dr.
Gordon had been the merest stranger. She was
almost his equal in pride and sell-control, and
yet she was deeply hurt. After all these years
of toil and separation, he might have been guil
ty of the small courtesy of a hand clasp. He
had called her once the daughter of the house
of Gordon, but he treated her with as little con
sideration as if she had been a servant instead.
Well, her cup was abrim with the bitter wine
of life, and what did one drop more or less
matter ?
Philosophically enough Lynne abandoned the
ruins and started resolutely homeward. She
felt as if she had climbed the last heights of
self-renunciation, and though she was entirely
unconscious of it, she was simply defiant. She
gathered a bunch of ferns at the mill-branch
and presented them to Miss Hester on her re
turn, who, seeing the wild rose color on her
cheeks as she sank exhausted into a rocking
chair by the center table, where the lamp light
is in a vivid glow, said:
“Thanks my dear. Yes, I am a very senti
mental old maid and fond of flowers according
ly. I need not ask you if you enjoyed your
walk —that beautiful flush tells the story for
you.”
Lynne closed her eyes and leaned back, not
wishing to contradict her, but the delicate lips
quivered with the pain they would not utter.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
One afternoon—two months after Lynne’s de
sire for rebuilding the chapel had become a
settled fact, the contractors having agreed to
do the work for two thousand dollars and
strangely enough that happened to be the
amount she had received from her publishers
for the MS. of her book, she was astonished to
receive a call from Dr. Gordon. She had come
to the conclusion that he intended to ignore her
existence.
It was an afternoon in early autumn, sunny,
spirit.uelle, suggestive—at least Lynne translat
ed it that way as she knelt in the middle of the
floor in the sitting room making bouquets for
some of the Doctor’s poor patients. She looked
the embodiment of severe classical simplicity.
Her hair was drawn back and coiled low in
Madonna meekness at the back of her large
head; her dress was of white, India mull, unre
lieved by any color except the blush of two
rose buds caught with their leaves in the lace
tangle at her throat.
Miss Hester —who had been keeping up the
supply of flowers by frequent raids into the
front yard—suddenly entered and, emptying
her brown-linen apron of all its many-hued
contents, said with half vexed emphasis:
“Paul Gordon was opening the gate as I
came in, and 1 have got on my wrapper, and
the housemaid and cook have gone to their s’-
ciety meetin’. For mercy’s sake make my ex
cuses. He is so fastidious that I do not like to
meet him in your presence in such guise. Why
bless my heart —”
Miss Hester disappeared with the ejaculation
as Dr. Gordon lifted his hat outside the open
window to the kneeling priestess of Flora with
in. She arose composedly as he entered, and
gave her hand into his for one-half second. They
had both made an effort to meet with a re
spectable degree of friendliness; and, as far as
outward appearance went, had certainly suc
ceeded. Lynne heard the roar of the seas in
her ears, and her heart beat like a caught
bird’s, but she sat serene and signless.
“I am glad to find you looking so well,” he
said with an icy graciousness as he turned his
steel blue eyes in a steady gaze of penetration
upon her. “I had inferred from Dr. Bard’s
words, that you were quite an invalid.”
“Ah! that was when I first returned, I sup
pose. Miss Hester was greatly alarmed about
me, and I guess infected him with her fears.”
“You have recovered, then?”
There was no inflection of fear nor solicitude
in the tone; and as Lynne knew that he had
asked the question merely to fill the silence, she
answered with half-malicious quietude:
“As far as I shall ever be. Dr. Bard has told
me that strength and longevity are two things
I need not hope to enjoy.”
“Bah! Ido not like to reflect on my senior,
but I am sure he has made a grave error. You
do not permit yourself to believe him?”
“I do not concern myself about the matter.
In my early youth I entertained a sentimental
desire to leave the world sad and aghast over
(Continued on Page 14.)
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