Edward Burton

The day upon which the incident at the Shore-Walk occurred closed in an eventful manner at the Bonbright cottage. It was nearly midnight when the noise of carriage wheels and loud voices aroused the family from their peaceful slumbers. The commotion was so unusual that Mrs. Bonbright, Helen, and Rosamond hastily robed themselves and hurried from their apartments to make an investigation. By the dim light of the hall lamp, they saw two young men standing over a prostrate form, which was stretched at full length upon a sofa. A glance showed that Van Roden—who had effected an entrance with his latch-key—was one of the two, and that the other was a stranger; and, further, that the robust figure upon the sofa was—Adelbert. Notwithstanding their utmost efforts to quiet him, he was giving utterance to incoherent nonsense, and his maudlin condition was at once apparent. Van Roden was deeply embarrassed, but immediately proceeded to offer an explanation.

“This is a very unfortunate experience,” he observed. “We were invited to spend the evening at a young men’s club, and, unexpectedly to me, wines and liquors were profusely served, and urged upon us. I observed that Adelbert was indulging freely, and suggested that he restrain himself; but he continued, with this unfortunate result. I hoped that we might convey him to his room without disturbing any one, but he became boisterous, and we found it impossible to quiet him. I regret it exceedingly. Please all retire, and I will take him to his room, and care for him.”

Adelbert soon became utterly unconscious of his surroundings, ceased his loud muttering, and sank into a torpid stupor. Van Roden thanked the young man who had rendered assistance, and assured him that his services were no longer necessary, upon which he returned to the carriage and was driven away. While Van Roden was explaining matters, Helen had kneeled beside the sofa, and was stroking her brother’s head, and kissing his forehead.

“Dear Bertie,” said she, “how did it happen? By God’s aid you shall yet crush the monster. Your false and lower self will be brought under control, and you shall yet be free.”

Mrs. Bonbright paced the room, wringing her hands, and bewailing the calamity.

“Why should he be ruined?” she exclaimed. “I was very careful in his training, and gave him many warnings. Oh! you ungrateful boy! But I cannot reprimand him until to-morrow.”

Rosamond was distressed for the reputation of the family.

“What a disgrace!” she exclaimed, “that Bert should forget that he is a gentleman, and so lower himself. It will be the gossip of the whole town.”

“Mother dear,” said Helen, “will you and Rosamond please retire, and you also, Mr. Van Roden, and kindly leave Bert with me? I will stay by him until he is able to go to his room.”

Van Roden urged the acceptance of further service, but Helen’s quiet yet firm persistence prevailed, and she was left as the sole guardian of her unconscious brother. She sat by him for two or three hours before he was restored, and when she finally kissed him good-night at the door of his chamber, the gray of early dawn was apparent.

Adelbert Bonbright belonged to that small and not well-defined class known as the “fast set” at Harvard. He was intensely fond of athletic sports, and was social, generous, and popular. At the club and convivial gatherings he had occasionally been overcome by indulgence in drinking, but had been quietly cared for by fellow-students, so that the family was entirely unaware of the facts. His warm, social, and exceedingly generous impulses were his source of weakness. In his club he was distinguished for prodigality, and at champagne suppers was at the front. At times he had serious misgivings; indeed, he had repeatedly made some very definite resolutions, but under the spell of his social circle they were as flimsy as cobwebs. He, however, persuaded himself that the habit was not strong, and that he could break it at any time by a serious effort. It was a trivial matter, and there need be no haste. Men now gray and sedate, when young, had sown a few wild oats; why not he? Otherwise life would be dull and insipid.

The last person who really suspects that he is a slave to the cup is the man himself. So gradually, stealthily, and softly does the monster coil itself around the human will, that, like a fish in a net, he is a captive before he sees the snare. The poor dupe fancies himself only a temperate and self-controlled drinker, until a crash comes, which reveals his slavery. Each one regards himself as an exception to inevitable tendencies, laws, and logical results. Resting in fancied security, he suddenly awakes to find himself bound hand and foot, and “cast into outer darkness.”

Adelbert Bonbright was young, and, notwithstanding a few falls, the appetite was not confirmed. It was rather the social influence which was too strong for him.

His chains were being forged by the tyrannous American fashion of social importunity and “treating.” Possessed of unbounded physical courage, its moral counterpart was lacking. If his own honor, or that of his family, college, or country required vindication, there was none braver, but he was a slave to social tyranny.

With all our boasted liberty, bondage of some kind is almost universal. How rare that measure of truth which makes men free! Negro servitude has been abolished, yet slaves abound everywhere. The clanking of chains is heard in drawing-rooms, in churches, in places of amusement, in societies, in colleges, at home and abroad. Though an unconscious captivity, it is none the less real. There are slaves to appetite, to passion, to business, to custom, to fashion, to creed, to the opinions of “sets,” clubs, and societies, to politics, to religious externals, and to the animal nature. These are intangible masters, but often they are more cruel and exacting than those of flesh and blood. How little freedom! What a boon would be involved in general emancipation! Perhaps there is no more beautiful delineation of freedom than that given by the gifted Channing.

“I call that mind free,” said this eminent man, “which masters the senses, which protects itself against animal appetites, which contemns pleasure and pain in comparison with its own energy, which penetrates beneath the body and recognizes its own reality and greatness, which passes life, not in asking what it shall eat or drink, but in hungering, thirsting, and seeking after righteousness.

“I call that mind free which escapes the bondage of matter, which, instead of stopping at the material universe and making it a prison wall, passes beyond it to its Author, and finds in the radiant signatures which it everywhere bears of the Infinite Spirit helps to its own spiritual enlargement.

“I call that mind free which does not content itself with a passive or hereditary faith, which opens itself to light whencesoever it may come, which receives new truth as an angel from heaven, which, whilst consulting others, inquires still more of the oracle within itself and uses instructions from abroad not to supersede but to quicken and exalt its own energies.

“I call that mind free which is not passively framed by outward circumstances, which is not swept away by the torrent of events, which is not the creature of accidental impulse, but which bends events to its own improvement, and acts from an inward spring, from immutable principles which it has deliberately espoused.”

Slavery is not the normal condition of man. God made him free, and in His own image. The human Ego must vacate the damp, morgue-like, sensuous basement of mental materialism, and domesticate itself in more stately apartments, where the windows are open to receive spiritual light, air, and liberty.

Early on the morning after Adelbert’s escapade, Mr. Bonbright arrived for another short vacation. He was troubled and careworn. His cheek was paler and his form less erect than was wont. Things had gone wrong. A financial depression had caused some of his favorite schemes and enterprises to miscarry. The Great Consolidated Eastern and Western Railroad Company, in which he had a large interest, had passed its dividend, and a crop failure had caused a great decline in its stock and bonds. Two large manufacturing corporations, in one of which he occupied the position of president, and in the other that of managing director, had been compelled to stop production. Other misfortunes super-added to these formed an apt illustration of the old adage that “it never rains but it pours.” Mr. Bonbright found it necessary to escape the pressure by a retreat almost precipitous. His losses were severe, but his greatest humiliation was caused by the conviction that his conspicuous foresight, keenness, and business judgment, upon which he had always prided himself, had proved notably faulty. He was depressed in mind, body, and estate.

Mrs. Bonbright lost no time in informing him of Adelbert’s disgrace. The young man had not made his appearance when his father arrived, and Helen, fatigued by the labors of the previous night, was still in her room.

“The young scapegrace!” exclaimed Mr. Bonbright. “I’ll find out if he is going to play such a rôle. Fine use of his advantages.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Bonbright, “our strict early training for his advantage is all forgotten the moment he is beyond home influences. All efforts to reform him will doubtless prove unavailing, for I fear that he has become confirmed in his habits.”

Under Helen’s sisterly love and influence, Adelbert had become very penitent, and solemnly promised that he would abandon the “fast set,” and in future avoid all social temptation. He was softened and melted by her tender solicitude, and shed bitter tears of repentance.

After an interview with his father and mother, full of reproach and threatenings, his condition of repentance and hope was changed into one of defiance and anger. However, the whole matter was hushed up, and nothing was heard of it outside the family. While the stormy interview that morning cast a general gloom inside the cottage, outside, nature was radiant and serene.

An excursion to the top of Green Mountain had been arranged by the young people to take place on the first clear day. That morning the sun rose with unwonted clearness, and a gentle northwesterly breeze and warm temperature betokened perfect conditions for a good view. Adelbert declined to join the party, on account of a “bad headache.”

The large buckboard was again called into requisition to convey the party to Eagle Lake, across which a small steamer made trips to the foot of the mountain railway. The winding, picturesque highway leading to the lake followed gracefully around the flank of the mountains, here and there affording unexpected vistas and surprises. Eagle Lake is a gem of the first water fastened in a setting of horseshoe-shaped mountain background. On its right are two bold, rocky protuberances called the “Bubbles,” in front Pemetic Mountain, and ranged on the left are Great Hill, White Cap, and, towering above all, Green Mountain. The railroad was operated by a cog-wheel appliance modelled after the Mount-Washington road, but on a diminished scale.

As the party neared the summit and more distant views were spread out before them, their enthusiasm was quite beyond expression.

No other point on the eastern shore of America affords such a prospect. In front was the limitless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, whose glistening waves were unbroken until they mingled with the heavens in the far-away, misty horizon. Eastward, long tongues of shining water and variegated land alternated, as if each had made bold advances and retreats in a mighty contest. Blue shimmering ribbons of water wound themselves around islands, capes, promontories, rocks and villages, in charming confusion, as if to melt them in their warm embrace. Irregular masses of land seemed floating in a network of molten silver. Northward, the notched outline between earth and sky was hazy and mystical with a softened mellowness; and faintly, like a dim shadow, in the most distant background, rose up Katahdin, the great northern monarch of unbroken forests.

Almost at their feet lay the houses and streets of Bar Harbor, on the scale of a toy village. Within its confines, black specks were moving to and fro. The great hotels were like small boxes, around which swarmed human midgets passing in and out. How tiny they were, and yet how much of the world they filled, as estimated by their self-consciousness.

There is something about high altitudes that rebukes everything that is petty. They inspire great thoughts, lofty purposes, noble resolves. The human soul responds to the influence of a grand environment.

For a little while the party were so lost in contemplation that silence prevailed. At length, Van Roden, glancing at the ranges of peaks to the westward, observed,—

“What a wrinkling and crowding-up of the earth’s crust happened here during the final cooling-down.”

The remark seemed to be a sort of soliloquy, hardly addressed to any one, but Miss Jenness replied,—

“The term happened, which you made use of, seems hardly appropriate in that connection. To happen is defined to come by chance, or accident; and as these mountains are the result of unvarying law, your remark is perhaps inaccurate.”

“Oh, I admit that it all happened in accordance with law,” said Van Roden, “but our definitions of law might not coincide. Law, to me, defines and classifies tendencies which are inherent in matter. As these tendencies unfold themselves, they operate in an orderly and uniform manner, and the method of this operation we call law.”

“Do you regard material law as the only and ruling force?” inquired Tapley.

“Most assuredly. Nothing else is scientific, and only this can be measured and proved. Science takes nothing on trust. Like mathematics, its conclusions must be capable of demonstration.”

“How about inherent spiritual laws, and laws of mind?” observed Burton.

“There is no proof or demonstration that mind lies beyond the realm of highly refined and attenuated matter,” replied the medical student. “Science has no relations with sentiment or imagination.”

“Allow me to observe that I regard your assumption that science is purely material as fallacious, indeed as extreme dogmatism,” exclaimed Burton.

“Permit me to demur,” replied Van Roden. “The province of science is within solid, tangible premises, and deductions from them. Fancy, and even what you call intuition, lie beyond its domain.”

“You remarked upon the uniformity of law,” said Burton, “but you limit law, and also science, which is its application, to the seen and material. Truth is like a complete and well-rounded globe, but materialism recognizes only the lower and least important hemisphere. In your estimation what is the most important discovery of modern times?”

“As to that, opinions would probably differ,” replied Van Roden. “Some might say the art of printing, others steam and its applications, and still others applied electricity. Please answer your own question, Burton.”

“Willingly. The greatest discovery of modern times is the universality of law. That truth will revolutionize the world. Take an illustration. Imagine an infinite number of parallel lines projected into space. Let these represent laws—spiritual, moral, mental, and physical. They are of relative importance, in primary causation, in the order enumerated. They represent the direct working methods of the All-embracing Spirit, the Immanent God. The term God originally meant good. There is a beneficent purpose in every one of these millions of lines or laws, and all progress, parallel and in unison with them, involves harmony, happiness, naturalness, and wholeness. All crossing of these lines, or deflection from the same direction, inevitably produces friction, evil, abnormity, and pain. Even the suffering caused by such a deflection is beneficent, if rightly understood; for it places obstacles in the wrong pathway to induce us to turn our faces about, and regain harmony by moving with the lines and not across them. Spiritual law is no less scientific than that which is material. The higher lines of law are as regular and unswerving in their course as the lower, and they have a superior and ruling potency. That love responds to love; that virtue leads to happiness; that spirit has eyes and ears as truly as body, are propositions as exact and scientific in their nature as is a definite presentation of the law of gravitation or cohesion. The spiritual domain has been denominated as supernatural. If this term be used merely to signify that which is higher than the material, it is well. It, however, has often been understood to describe something special, abnormal, exceptional, not always the same under like conditions, which definitions are misleading and erroneous. Pseudo-science claims that the physical senses are the only sources of knowledge, and refuses to accept any other testimony. True and comprehensive science finds that the physical senses are no part of the real man. He is spirit. His material organs are only temporary and often misleading instruments for external convenience. The mind hears, and the ear is only a natural trumpet. The teacher tells the child that five and five make ten. The child replies, ‘I see it,’ but the seeing is with the eye of the mind. The outer eye testifies that the sun sets, and only when looked at by the mind’s eye is the error corrected. The intrinsic man has spiritual ears, eyes, tastes, and feelings, which if properly exercised, and thereby rendered robust and vigorous, are infinitely more useful than the organs of sense. Under the teachings of materialistic science we have so long looked at these dust bodies as being ourselves, that the spiritual eyesight is only rudimentary, or, at the best, incipient.”

“Your reasoning has a plausible appearance,” replied Van Roden, “but I still insist that it is not scientific to magnify subjective certitude at the expense of objective proof. I find no room for that quality called faith when it submerges and drowns reason. We should rely upon the logical faculty, and our conclusions must rest upon evidence. A poem may have a kind of poetic truth, but that is quite different from exact or scientific truth. To me, the existence of logic in spirituality or religion is as visionary and baseless as the proof of magic, or the science of witchcraft. They have a subjective and poetic vitality, but are beyond the domain of evidence and demonstration.”

“You make much of logic,” observed Burton. “May I ask, is it logical to deny the existence of that which others plainly see, but which you persistently put beyond the range of your own vision, by adherence to a material standpoint? A blind man might visit a picture-gallery, and deny not only the beauty of art, but its very existence. The trend, analogy, and inter-relation of all law point to God as the Universal Spirit and Lawgiver, and to man as his thought and reflection. Such a universal trend and analogy are proof of infinite wisdom and design. The physical senses are no more a part of man than is the pot of earth a part of the blooming rose. Spirit is substance; matter is shadow. Matter is utterly incapable, and is nothingness, except as it is acted upon by forces higher than itself. It is the external expression of what is behind it. Spirit is self-existent and eternal, while its external shadow gains its only reality from the unreliable testimony of the sensuous nature. The higher and controlling of the parallel lines before mentioned are life, love, truth, goodness, and purity. Their application, laws, conditions, and consequences are orderly and uniform; therefore, exact and scientific.”

While the discussion was in progress, Lord Percival and Rosamond had strolled away, and by themselves were enjoying other views, and conversing upon topics more mundane.

After a hearty luncheon at the Summit House, the party separated as they felt inclined, and dispersed to different vantage-points of observation. It was noticeable that the zigzag wanderings of Miss Jenness did not hinder Van Roden from being as constant as her shadow.

Was this the same young man who less than four weeks before had ridiculed women, and love, and everything pertaining thereto as silly and frivolous, and matrimony as slavery? His curiosity of the first few days had been succeeded successively by interest, friendship, admiration, and finally love. The transition between these various stages had been so easy and rapid that a review made him dizzy. It was an example of “rapid evolution.”

It now had been a full week since he capitulated and passed a unanimous resolution within himself to the effect that positive, unequivocal love was on the throne, and he its willing vassal. Under these conditions, to his logical mind, there was but one proper course of development, which successively included a declaration, an offer, its acceptance, an engagement, and, in due time, matrimony. Van Roden prided himself upon being logical, but it gave him no uneasiness that the concrete logic of recent events had upset the abstract logic of previous years.

True, Miss Jenness had never showed any marked partiality towards him, but that circumstance gave him not the slightest disquietude. She had been polite, friendly, ready to converse, and willing to listen, but nothing more. No matter for that. All women wanted to marry, and, after a little finessing, were ready to accept an offer from any respectable source. Matrimony was the chief aim of woman, and upon any favorable opportunity she would slide into it as gracefully as a vessel glides down the well-oiled ways into her native element. To a man like himself, of good prospects, attractive personality, fine education and family, an offer naturally involved acceptance.

For the last week he had become assiduous in all those little special attentions which admirers bestow so bountifully. She had accepted them as a matter of course, but had not returned the slightest sign or intimation that she regarded them as unusual. All this did not trouble him, for he knew that women were instinctively shy. They were a kind of game which expected pursuit. Like a wary trout, they enjoyed dallying with the bait before swallowing it. “This,” said he to himself, without doubting the final result, “makes the chase more interesting. I am more fond of her than if, like an over-ripe apple, she dropped at the first shake of the tree.”

The most propitious time and form for a declaration of his love, were subjects upon which he had bestowed some thought during the past few days and nights, without coming to any settled decision. The main question, however, was decided.

Love’s flood-tide had left him stranded and helpless, and all his former cynical philosophy had been swept away by its surging currents. He had analyzed and dissected every phase of the subject, and the declaration only awaited favorable conditions.

At length the air began to grow crisp, and the lengthening shadows admonished the party that they must descend, and again become pygmies of the plain. All were reluctant to turn their backs upon the broad panorama, and again occupy themselves with the petty pleasures and pursuits of life below, but “the inaudible and noiseless foot of time” bade them hasten.

They had planned to walk down from the summit by the bridle-path to a point on the main road where the buckboard was to meet them. This would not be fatiguing, and would furnish additional diversion. The path wound along the slope of White Cap, by the side of Great Hill, till it joined the “Eagle Lake drive.” It was built as a wagon-road away back in the “fifties,” but had become much overgrown, and in places entirely washed away.⁠[1] At this time it was only in occasional use by pedestrians. About half-past five all were invited to “fall in” for the descent.

Burton took the lead, and, in company with Miss Tapley, started in advance upon the downward march.

Since the episode at the Shore-Walk, Burton had experienced some embarrassment. He had been careful to afford Tapley and Helen every opportunity for the enjoyment of each other’s society without interruption on his part. While hallowing the very ground Helen walked upon, he delicately avoided special intimacy on one hand, or coolness on the other. He showed friendly cordiality—nothing more, nothing less. Helen Bonbright belonged to his friend, and his love for him would permit of no shade of disloyalty. Tapley was his “Jonathan,” and their mutual affection and esteem were more than brotherly.

It must not, however, be assumed that Burton’s tranquillity of mind remained perfect and unbroken, as was the case for a little time immediately after his supreme effort at the Shore-Walk. At times his affection for Helen would so sweep away his unselfish resolutions that he was utterly desolate and humiliated. His soul would become thrilled with her presence, while externally he preserved his usual calm and cheerful bearing. A period would follow when his peace, resignation, and serenity would become so perfect that they shone through his face like a benediction. These extreme conditions alternated. No one outside suspected his intense conflict of mind. Fierce charges and repulses, victories and defeats, successively swept over his inmost being. But there was no jealousy towards Tapley. She loved Tapley—Burton accepted the situation.

Van Roden was exerting himself to entertain Miss Jenness when the start was made, and they brought up the rear of the procession. All soon made their way down from the bald, rocky summit of Green Mountain, and struck into the dense forest which skirts the flanks of White Cap.

Of late Van Roden had avoided the discussion of his favorite topic when in company with Miss Jenness, and exerted himself to be agreeable. There was no surplus of poetry in his nature. To a great degree, he was destitute of that indefinable charm and mystic sentimentality which characterize the ideal lover. The influence of his pet theories had made him heavy, apathetic, and cynical. With such a character, love-making was business-like and ungraceful.

As the party left behind them the slopes of White Cap, and plunged into the deeper forests of Great Hill, Van Roden and Miss Jenness had fallen somewhat in the rear. The voices of their companions in front had died away, but the pair kept steadily along, thinking soon to overtake them. At length the path grew dimmer, and finally faded out. Van Roden realized too late that he had become somewhat oblivious to surroundings, and, now, what was to be done?

“As sure as fate we have lost the path,” he exclaimed. “We must have left it where some wood-roads crossed about half a mile back. Confound my carelessness! I hope you are not much fatigued,” he continued in rather tender tones.

“Oh, not at all,” responded Miss Jenness; “but shall we not hasten back, or can we strike across and find the path farther down?”

The sun was already low in the horizon, and in a dense forest, with but a vague idea of the direction of the missing path, Van Roden suddenly realized that the situation was awkward. After a little calculation, he concluded that the distance across to the path could not be long, and, while he carefully guarded Miss Jenness from collision with projecting branches, they made their way as rapidly as circumstances would permit. Crossing one or two overgrown wood-roads of indefinite destination, they pressed on, but the desired path did not appear. It was now becoming quite dark. At length Van Roden decided to abandon the search, and to follow the descending ground, hoping to strike some point on the carriage-road. The way seemed endless, and the darkness made it necessary to proceed with great caution. At length the moon arose, and about the same time they caught a glimpse of distant lights in the valley below. Hurrying forward, they finally came upon the highway at some undetermined point. It was about eight o’clock, and Miss Jenness had become much fatigued, and also uneasy in contemplating the probable anxiety of friends in Bar Harbor.

“Here is a great rock by the roadside,” said Van Roden. “Please be seated and rest yourself. Our friends, after a long wait, have probably returned to the ‘Harbor’ to leave the ladies, and then they will come back with lanterns, provisions, and re-enforcements to look for us. I think they must soon be here.”

This theory seemed reasonable, and as the air was soft and the moon bright, the two sat down side by side, to await the return of friends, or the advent of some other possible conveyance. Miss Jenness had much force of character, was not easily discomposed, and did not regard the situation as in any way serious. Now that all danger of a night in the forest was past, she was inclined to view the adventure in a ludicrous aspect.

“If you are going to play the part of conductor or pilot, it would be profitable for you to study the chart,” she observed in a jocose manner.

“I will study the chart, and do want to play the part of conductor on a much longer tour than this has been,” he responded in a serious tone.

He had “broken the ice,” and was about to take a plunge. His heart gave several intense thumps until it seemed as if it would choke him.

“Do you refer to the trip back to Harvard? and whom are you going to conduct?” said she with assumed nonchalance, although a well-defined suspicion for the first time flashed through her mind.

“A longer trip—a life trip—with you. I want to be your conductor, my dear Miss Jenness.”

An ominous black cloud at that moment sped along, and obscured the light of the moon.

He was “in for it” now, and continued: “May I not call you my—my—dear Eva? I love you! I had rather tell you so at once than by degrees.”

He tried to take her hand in his own, but found it gently withdrawn. Realizing that he had precipitated matters with startling suddenness, he continued,—

“You must pardon my abruptness, Miss Jenness. You are aware that I am matter-of-fact in manner, but my heart is yours. I am your slave! Love’s chains hold me captive. My affection for you has been growing daily since the first time we met. True, we differ in regard to some matters of theory, but they are of no importance. My dear Miss Jen—Eva, will you not give me a ray of hope?”

The hooting of an owl from a tree-top across the road was the only momentary response. The brief period of silence which followed was construed by Van Roden as a sign of capitulation.

At length she replied: “Mr. Van Roden, you are my friend, but I think the fatigue and excitement of the evening have thrown you off your guard. When you have taken time to examine yourself more carefully, you will doubtless find that the feeling you express is but a passing sentiment. You are soon to go back to your profession; let us drop the subject, and you will shortly remember me only as a friend, whose pathway in life chanced to meet yours.”

“Miss Jenness, if you will not yet allow me to address you less formally, I am not mistaken. My affection is genuine, and will be lasting. I admit that I have been cynical, and ridiculed love and matrimony, and spoken of your sex as shallow and flippant; but all that is past, and happened before my eyes ever rested upon your dear self. I was mistaken. My recent experience has been a new revelation! I am a suppliant at your feet. Will you not—can you not grant my affection some consideration?”

“Mr. Van Roden, I must be honest with you. It is best that we should understand each other perfectly. I will be your friend, but more is impossible.”

“That last word is a hard one, and has a definite meaning, Miss Jenness. Why decide so hastily, and leave no loop-hole for a possible retreat? Take a little time. I will be devoted, and perhaps after a while, if not at present, you may learn to respond to my affection.”

“It is not in the nature of things, Mr. Van Roden. There is one barrier which is insurmountable, even if all others were removed. But let us drop the subject, and make no allusion to it again. Our friends must soon be here.”

“I cannot drop the subject, Miss Jenness. I must know what that ‘insurmountable barrier’ is.”

“You must excuse me, Mr. Van Roden, from being more definite. You have my answer; I implore you to dismiss the subject.”

“I cannot dismiss it, Miss Jenness. I am of respectable character, family, and education, and have good professional prospects. I must press you to define the ‘barrier.’”

As these words dropped from his lips, the thought flashed upon him that his impetuous demand was quite foreign to the gentle cooing of an ideal lover. But before he had time to soften his demand and sue for pardon, she had begun her unwilling response.

“As you insist upon it, I will make answer. I implored you to drop the subject, but you refuse and demand my explanation. The absence of response by the heart is enough in the case of any woman, but, aside from that, you insist upon the definition of the ‘barrier’ of which I inadvertently made mention. You are welcome to it.”

The heavy black cloud had spread itself over the face of the sky, the darkness had become dense, and, after a flash, a peal of deep thunder reverberated among the mountains. As its echoes died away, she continued,—“You are a materialist. Materialism shrivels all the activities of the spiritual and emotional nature, and develops only those faculties which are shared by the brute. With you there is no God, and nature is but an aggregation of blind forces moved by natural selection. The dust belief takes no account of the great entities of love, goodness, spirituality, harmony; and, including all, Divinity. Assuming to be scientific, it delves only in the mud beneath our feet. By its downward gaze, it becomes blind to the jewels hanging within its reach, but above the range of its distorted vision. My explanation shall be complete. You fancy that you love me, but it is impossible. You are incapable of affection in any true sense. You can love only my body. That is not me. No real love is possible except between soul and soul. All else is its counterfeit, passion. You have driven me to speak earnestly. You have my definition of the ‘barrier.’”

As the last sentence fell from her lips, she arose, and with a rapid and majestic movement started down the road. Van Roden was dumb. At that moment a blinding flash filled the horizon, and the thunder shook the very foundation of the mountains, and heavy raindrops as advance skirmishers of the great storm struck like bullets among the leaves.

Another flash!—that of lanterns!

Another rumble!—that of wheels, which, with the music of voices, announced a friendly rescue.