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By RALPH CONNOR
^ liopo I may never become a mule. " "
I am willing to be led, or want to be at
any rate. I must do the best, not second
best, for her, for me. The best only Is
God’s will. What else would you have7
I3e good to her these days, dear did fellow.
Yours, . Craig.
How often those words have braced
me lie will never know, but I am a bet
ter man for them: "The best only Is
God’s will. What else would you
have?’* I resolved I would rage and
fret no more and that I would worry
Mrs. Mavor With no more argument or
expostulation, but, as my friend had
asked, "be good to her."
WMc
"Do you mean that people"—she be
gan anxiously.
"No; I am not ‘people.’ I have eyes,
and my eyes have been opened.”
“Opeued?"
"Yes, by love."
Then 1 told bar openly how weeks
ago I struggled with my heart nnd
mastered it, for I saw It was vain to
love her because she loved a better
man, who loved her in return. She
lodkcd at me shyly and said:
“1 aui sorry."
“Don’t worry,” l snid cheerfully. “1
didn't break my heart, you know. I
Btopped It in time."
"0111" bIio said, slightly disappointed.
Then her lips began to twitch, and she
went off into a lit of hysterical laugh
ter.
"Forgive me,” she sail humbly, "but
you speuk as If it had been a fever.”
"Fever Is nothing to It,” I said sol
emnly. "It was a near thing."
At which she went oil again. I was
glad to see her laugh. It gave me time
to recover my equilibrium, and It re
lieved her intense emotional strain. So
I rattled on some nonsense about Craig
land myself till I saw she was giving
no hood, but thlnkiug her own thoughts,
and what those were it was not hard to
guess. {
Suddenly she broke in upon my talk:
"Ho will tell mo that I must go from
him."
"I hope be is no such fool," I said
emphatically and somewhat rudely, I
fear, for I confess I was impatient
with the very possibility of separation
for tlieBe two, to whom lovo meant so
much. Some people tako this sort of
thing easily and some not so easily,
but love for a .woman like this comes
once only to a man, and then ho car
ries it with him through tho length of
his life nnd wnrms his heart with it in
death. And wliou a man smiles or
sneers at such lovo as this I pity him
and say no word, for my speech would
ho in an unknown tongue. So my
heart wnq^soro ns I sat looking up at
this woman who stood before me, over
flowing with the joy of her now lovo,
and dully conscious of tho coming
pnlu. But. I soon found It was vain to
urge my opinion that she should re
main and share tho -work and life of
tho man she loved. She only answer
ed:
"You will help him nil you can, for it
will hurt him to have mo go."
The quiver in her voice took out all
tho anger from my heart, and before I
know I had pledged myself to do All I
could to holp him.
But when I came upon him that
night, sitting In tho light of his Are, I
saw ho must be lot nlono. Some bat
tles we light side by side, with com
rades cheering us and being’cheered to
victory, but there are lights wo may
pot share, and these nro deadly fights,
whore lives are lost and won. So I
could only lay my hand upon his shoul
der without a word. Ho looked up
quickly, read my face nnd said, with a
groan:
"You know?”
“I could not holp It But why
. groan?"
"She will think it right to go," he
said desperately.
"Then you must think for her. You
must bring some common sense to bear
upon the question.”
"I cannot see clearly yet," he said.
“The light will come."
"May I show you how I see it?" I
asked.
"Go on," he said.
For an hour I talked, eloquently, even
vehemently^ urging the reason and
right bf iny, opinion. She would be do
ing no more than every woman does, no
more than she did before. Her motli-'
er-in-law had a comfortable home, all
that wealth could procure, good serv
ants and friends. The estates could be
managed without her personal super
vision. After a few years’ work here
they would go east for little Marjorie’s
education. Why should two lives be
broken? And so I went on.
He listened carefully, even eagerly.
“You make a good case,” he said,
with a slight smile. "I will take time.
Perhaps you are right The light will
come. Surely it will come. But;" and
here he sprang up and stretched his
arms to full length above his head, "I
am pot. sorry. Whatever comes I am.
not sorry. It is great to have her loye,
but greater to love her as I do. Thank
God, nothing can take that away. I am
willing, glad, to suffer for the joy of
loving her."
Next morning befqre I was awake he
was gone, leaving a note for me:
My Dear Connor—I am due at the Land
ing:. When I see you again, I think my
way -wtll be clear. Now all ia dark. At
tlmea I am a coward and often, as you
-come time* kindly infoisji,©*. JWP.JUPU but
the
CHAPTER XII.
LOVE IS NOT ALU
r^HOSE days when we were
waiting Craig’s return we
spent in the woods or on the
mountain sides or down in
ennyon beside the stream that
danced down to meet the Black Rock
river, I talking and sketching and read
ing and nlie listening and dreaming,
with often a hapfry smile upon her
face. But there wero moments when
a cloud of shuddering fear would i her head like a queen.
that face. “Go In and lie down: I’ll
bring you something."
"Wake me in the afternoon,” he said.
"She Is waiting. Perhaps you will go
to her.” His lips quivered. “My nerve
! Is rather gone.” Then, with a very
I wan smile, he added, “I am giving you
a lot of trouble.”
| '‘You go to thunder!" I burst out, for
; my throat was hot and sore with grief
for him.
"I think I’d rather go to sleep,” he re
plied, still smiling.
I could not speak and was glad of the
chance of being alone with Dandy.
When I came In, I found him sitting
with his head in his arms upon the ta
ble fast asleep. I made him tea, forced
him to take a warm bath and sent him
to bed, while I went to Mrs. Mavor. I
went with a fearful heart, hut that was
because I had forgotten the kind of
wolnan she was.
She Was standing in the light of the
window waiting for me. Her face was
pnle, but steady; there was a proud
light In her fathomless eyes, a slight
smile parted her lips, and she carried
sweep the smile away, aud then 1
would talk of Craig till the smile came
back again.
But tho woods nnd the mountains
and the river wore her best, her wis
est, friends during those days. How
sweet the ministry of the woods to
lior! The trees were in their now sum
mer leaves, fresh nnd full of life.
They swayed and rustled above us,
flinging their interlacing shadows upon
us, arid their swaying and their rus
tling soothed aud comforted like the
voice nnd touch of a mother. And tho
mountains, top, in all the glory of their
varying robes of blues and purples,
stood calmly, solemnly, about us, up
lifting our souls into regions of rest.
Tho changing lights and shadow^ flit
ted swiftly over their rugged fronts,
but loft them ever ns before in their
steadfast majesty. "God’s In his beav
en." Wlint would you have? And ever
tho little river sung its cheerful cour
age, fearing not tlio great mountains
that threatened to bar its passage to
the sea. Mrs. Mavor heard the song,
and her courage rose.
“Wo, too, shall And our way,” she
said, and I believed her.
But through those days I could not
make lior out, and I found myself
studying her as I might a new ac
quaintance. .Years had fallen from
her. She was a girl again, full of
young, warm lifo. She was as sweet
as before, but there was a soft shyness
over her, a half shamed, half frank
consciousness in her face, a glad ( light
in her eyes that made her all new to
me. Her perfect trust in Craig was
touching to see.
"He will tell me what to do," she
would say till I began to realize how
Impossible it would be for him to be
tray such trust and be anything but
true to the best.
So much did I dread Craig’s home
coming that I sent for Graeme and old
“Come in,’’ slia said. "You need not
fear to tell me. I saw him ride home.
Ho has not failed, thank God! ’I am
proud of him, I knew he would be
true. He loves me”—she drew in her
breath sharply, and a faint color tinged
lior cheek—“but he knows love Is not
all—ah. love Is not all! Oh, I am glad
and proud!"
“Glad!" .1 gasped, amazed.
“You would not have him prove
faithless!" she said, with proud de
fiance.
“Oh, it is high sentimental non
sense!" I could not help saying.
“You should not sny so," she replied,
? nd her voice rang clear. “Honor,
aith and duty are sentiments, but
j they are not nonsense."
' In spite of my rage I was lost in
I amazed admiration of the high spirit
I of the woman who stood up so straight
■ before me, but ns I told how worn
! and broken he was she listened with
! changing color and swelling bosom,
her prpud courage all gone and only
love, anxious and pitying, in her eyes.
“Shall I go to him?" sho asked, with
timid eagerness and deepening color.
"He is sleeping. He said he would
come to you,” I replied.,
"'"I shall wait for him," she said soft
ly, and the tenderness in her tone went
straight to my heart, and it seemed to
me a man might ‘ suffer much to be
loved with love such as this.
In the early afternoon Graeme came
to her. She met him with both hands
outstretched, saying in a low voice:
"I am very happy."
“Are you sure?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes,” she said, hut her voice
wns like a sob, "quite, quite surel"
They talked long together till I saw
that Craig must soon be coming, arid I
called Graeme away. He held her
hands, looking steadily into her eyes,
and snid:
“You are better even than I thought
mau Nelson, who was more and more ! I’ 111 £°l n S to be a better man.”
Grueme’s trusted counselor and friend.
They wero both highly excited by the
story I hud to tell, for I thought it best
to.tell them all, but I was not a little
surprised and disgusted that they did
not see tho matter In my light. Iu vain
I protested against the madness of al
lowing anything to send these two from
each other. Graeme summod. up the
discussion In his own emphatic way,
but with an earnestness In his words
not usual with him.
“Craig will, know better than any of
us what is right to do, arid he will do
that, and no mail cun turn him from it,
and," he added, “I should be sorry to
try." •
Tliep my wrath rose, and I cried:
“It’s a tremendous shame! They lovo
each other. You uro talking seutl-
montnl humbug and nonsense."
"He must do the right,” said Nelson
in his deep, quiet voice.
“Right! Nonsense! By what right
does he send frpm him tho woman he
loves?"
“ ‘He pleased not himself,’" quoted
Nelson reverently. '
“Nelson is right,” said Graeme. “I
should not like to see him weaken."
“Look here," I stormed. i ‘,I didn’t
bring you meu to back him up in his
nonsense. I thought you could, keep
your heads level."
“Now, Connor," said Graeme, “don’t
rage. Leave that for the heathen. It’s
bad form and useless besides. Craig
Will walk his way where his light falls,
and, by all that’s holy, I should hate
to see him fail, for if he weakens like
the rest of us my North star will have
dropped from my sky."
“Nice selfish spirit," I muttered.
“Entirely so. I’m not vji saint, but 1
feel like steering by one when I see
^hen, after a week had gone, Craig
rode up one early morning to his shack
door, x his face told me that he had
fought his fight and had not been beat
en. He had ridden all night and was
ready to drop with weariness.
“Connor, old boy," he said, putting
out his hand, ‘‘I’m rather played. There
was a bad row a,t. the Landing. I have
just closed poor Colley’s eyes. It was
awful. I must get sleep. Look after
Dandy, will you, like a good chap,”
"Oh, Dandy be hanged 1” I said, for
-I knew it was not the fight nor the
.watching nor the long, ride that had
shaken his Iron nerr^andgire? him
Her eyes filled with tears, but her
smile did not fade as she answered;
"Yes, you will be u good man, and
God will give you work to do.”
. 1-Ie bent; bis head over her hands and
stepped back from her ns from a
queeu, but he spoke no w * 0l 'd till we
came to Craig’s door. Then he said,
with humility that seemed strange in
him:
“Connor, that is groat—to conquer
oneself. It is worth while. I am go-
lng~to try.”
I would not have missed his meeting
With Craig. Nelson was busy with tea.
Craig was writing near the window.
He looked ap as Graeme came in and
nodded an easy • good evening, but
Graeme strode to lilm and, putting one
bund on his shoulder, held but his oth
er for Craig to take.
After a moment’s surprise Craig rose
to Ills feet and, facing him squarely,
took the offered hand In both of his
and held it fast without a word.
Graeme was the first to speak, and his
.voice was deep with emotion.
"You are a great man, a good man.
I’d give something to have your grit."
Poor Craig stood looking at him, not
daring to speak for some moments.
Then he said quietly: .
"Not good or great, but, thank God,
not quite a traitor."
“Good man!” went on Graeme, pat
ting him on the shoulder. "<£ood man!
But it’s tough.”
Craig sat down quickly, saying,
“Don’t do that, old chap!”
I went up with Craig to Mrs, Ma
yor’s door. She did not hear us com
ing, but stood near the window gazing
up at the mountains. She Was dressed
in some rich soft stuff and wore at her
breast a bunch of wild flowers. I bad
never seen her so beautiful. I did not'
wonder that Craig paused with his
foot upon the threshold to look at her.
She turned and saw us. With a glad
cry, "Oh, my darling, you have come
to me!” she came with outstretched
arms. I turned and fled, but the cry
and the vision were long with me;
It was decided that night that Mrs.
Mavor should go the next week. A
miner and his wife were gbirig east,
and I, too, would join the party.
The camp went into mourning at the
news, but it was understood that any
display of grief before Mrs. Mavor
was bad form. She was not to be an
noyed.
But when I suggested that she should
leave quietly and avoid the pain of say
ing goodby she flatly refuted.
“I must say goodby to every man.
They love irie, and I love them.”
It was decided, too, at first, that
there should be nothing in the way of a
testimonial, but when Craig found out
that the men were coming to her with
all sorts of extraordinary gifts he
agreed that it would be better that they
should unite in one gift. So it was
agreed that I should buy a ring for
her. And were it not that the contribu
tions were strictly limited to $1 the
purse that Slaviu handed her when
Shaw read the address at the farewell
supper would have been many times
filled with the gold that was pressed
upon the committee. There were no
speeches at the supper except one by
myself in reply on Mrs. Mavor’s behalf.
She had given me the words to say,
and I was thoroughly prepared, else I
should not have got. through. I began
in the usual way:
“Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentle
men. Mrs. Mavor is’’—
But I got no further, for at the men
tion of her name the men stood on the
chairs and yelled until they could yell
no more. There were over 250 of them,
and the effect was overpowering. But
I got through my speech. I remember
it well. It began:
“Mrs. Mavor Is greatly touched by
this nmrk of your love, and she will
wear your ring always with pride."
Aud it euded with:
“She has one request to make—that
you will bo true to the league- and that
you stand close about the man who did
most to make it. She wishes me to say
that, however far away she may have
to go, she is' leaving her heart in Black
Rock- and she can think of no greater
joy than to come back to you again."
Then they had “The Sweet By and
By," but the men would not join in the
refrain, unwilling to lose a note of the
glorious voice they loved to hear. Be
fore the last verse she beckoned to me.
I went to her standing by Craig’s side
as he played for her.
"Ask them to sing," she entreated. “I
cannot bear It.”.
“Mrs. Mavor wishes you to sing in
the refrain," I said, and at once the
men sat up and cleared their throats.
The singing was not good, but at the
first sound of the hoarse notes of the
men Craig's head went down over the
organ, for he was thinking, I suppose,
of the days before them when they
would long in vain for that thrilling
voice that soared high over their own
hoarse tones. And after the voices
died away he kept on playing till, half
turning toward him, she sang alone
once more the refrain In a voice low
and sweet and tender, as if for him
alone, nnd so he took- it, for he smiled
up at her his old smile, full of courage
and full of love.
Then for one whole hour she stood
saying goodby to those rough, gentle
hearted men whose inspiration to good
ness she had been for five years. It
was very wonderful and very quiet. It
was understood that there was to be no
nonsense, and Abe had been heard to
declare that he would “throw out any
cotton backed fool” who couldn’t hold
himself down, and, further, he had en
joined them to remember that her arm
wasn’t a pump handle.
At last they were all gone, all but
her guard of honor—Shaw, Vernon
Winton, Geordle, Nixon, Abe, Nelson.,
Croler and ruvaelf.
iO Bii CONTINUED. -
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