The San Francisco call., 1904-12-18


one things failed utterly, you don't
risk much by trying another"
They came to the top of the hill
which runs down to Milldean. Christine
sighed.
Poor old Harriet. She was a Jolly
I've had some good times with Harriet.
Do you think she is at peace, Grant
ley?"
''She has paid" said he. "She has
paid for what she was and did. 1 hope
she's at peace"
Christine's ewes grew dreamy; her
voice fell to a gentle nurmur
Il wonder if it's quite silly to fancy
that she's paid something for some Of
US too. Grantley? / was thinking some
thing like hat-somehow-when l said
Poor old Harriet"
Il daresay it's silly. but don't know
that II seems so to me-" he answered.
Just once again he felt the tiny vel
vety touch. So they came to Milldean-
The twofoid pity which had reused
Grantley from a IethSrgy Of feeling,
miScOnCeiVed as self-control had its
counterpart in the triple blow with
which the course of events assailed
Sibylla's estimate of herself. In the first
place, the news about young Blake
announced in Janet Selford's letter
indirectly indeed, but yet with conf
dent satisfactiOn-made her ask wheth-
or her great sacrifice had been offered
at a worthy shrine, and her great offer
ing received with more than a shallow
and transitory appreciation. In the
second, the thought and image of the
Courtland children spoke loud to the
instinct which her ideas had lulled to
sleep, bitterly accusing her desertion
of the child and her indifference to his
fate, rousing her ever underlying re-
morse to quick and vengeful life. Last
ly, she was stirred to see and rec
ogniZe the significance of the third turn
of fate-the meaning of the nemesis
which had fallen on Harriet COurtland:
how she had let her rage spare nothing.
neither self-respect, nor decency. nor
love; and how, in the end. thus en-
throned in tyranny, il had not spared
herself The three accusations, each
with it's special import, each taking
UP q distinct aspect of the truth and
enforcing it with poignant example.
joined example, joined their indictments
into one, and, thus united, cried out
their condemnation Of her, taking for
their meuthpiece Christine Fanshaw's s
pretty lips, using her daintily scOrn-
full voice, and the trenchant uncOmprO-
missing words from which the utterer
herself had afterward TecOiled as too
coarse and crude to be a legitimate
weapon of attack. The logic of events
was not so squeamish it does not deal
in glosses or in paraphrase: it Is blunt,
naked and merciless, and must be. since
only when all other appeals and warn
ings have failed does its appointed work
begin. 1t fastened with what almost
seemed malicious gIee on Christine's
biting word, and enforced it by pitt
less vividness of memory, an unceasing
echo in Sibylla's thoughts. Her emo
tions had gone "sprawling" over every
thing. The description did not need
elaboration. 1t was abominably ex
pressive and sufficient. And it did not
admit of pleading or of extenuation.
1t showed her touching, on one extreme.
Blake's shallow and spurious senti-
ment on the other, Harriet Courtland 5
license of anger. 1t pointed her at
tention to the ruin of Toms life. to the
piteous plight of his children, to Har-
riets fate, TO Blake's facile fOrgetful
ness of love too heedlessly and wanton-
ly offered 1t stripped her fantastic
ideas of their garish finery, leaving
them, in the revulsion of her feelings,
bereft of all beauty and attractiveness.
Impelled to look back, she seemed to
find the sans trail over everything
even in those childish days of which
Jeremy Chiddingfold had once given
a description that would not have re-
assured her; even in the beginning Of
her acquaintance with Grantley, in
the ready rapture of her first love, in
the intoxication of the fairy ride.
Changing it's form. now hostile to her
husband instead Of with him, the same
temper showed in all the events which
led up to the birth of little Frank: its
presence proved that her madness over
Blake was no isolated incident, but
rather the crown of her development
and the truest interpreter of char
acter empty Of worth, strength, or sta
bility. Many bitter hours brought her
NrrwNrN
came the very temper she condemned
was in her still, and turned the cool
ness of recognition and analysis into
an extravagant heat Of Scorn and self
contempt.
What was the conclusion? Was she
to throw herself at Grantleys feet,
proclaiming penitence, imploring par
don. declaring love? No, noE she
cried. That would be so easy so short
a cut, so satisfying to her reused feel
ings. She put the notion from her in
horror; it was the suggestion OF her old
devil in q new disguise. Her love for
Grantley had bitten too deep into her
nature to be treated like that, with
that levity and frivolity of easy i'm
pulse, that violence of headstrong emo
tion, those tempests Of feeling so re-
mote from true sincerity of heart The
cure did not lie in pamperinS sick emo
tions into a plump semblance OF
healthy life. Where did II lie, II II
were possible at all? 1t must lie in
the most difficult of all tasks-a change
rot Of other people or Of their bear
ing and feelings toward her, but
change of herself and of her own at
titude toward others and toward the
world. and in her judgment and her
ruling of herself. If things were to go
differently with her, she must be diff
ferent The arrogance of her nature
must be lowered. The thought struck
on her almost with despair. So hard
seemed the lesson, so rough the path
And it seemed path which must be
trodde.l alone. 1t was not as the easy
pleasant road Of emotion. beguiled by
enchanting companionship, strewn
with the flowers of fancy, carpeted
with pleasure. This way was hard,
bleak. and solitary. Merely to con-
template it chilled her. Even that
happiness with her child, which had so
struck Christine and afforded matter
for one OF these keen thrusts at Grant
ley Imason. appeared to her in a sus-
picious guise. She could not prevent it
nor forego it-nature was too strong:
but she yielded to it with qualms OF
conscience, and its innocent delights