Chapter XIII

In September Athalie Greensleeve wrote her last letter to Clive Bailey. It began with a page or two of shyly solicitous inquiries concerning his well-being, his happiness, his plans; did not refer to his long silence; did refer to his anticipated return; did not mention her own accumulating domestic and financial embarrassments and the successive strokes of misfortune dealt her by those twin and formidable bravos, Fate and Chance; but did mention and enumerate everything that had occurred in her life which bore the slightest resemblance to a blessing.

Her letter continued:

"My sisters Doris and Catharine have gone into vaudeville
with a very pretty act called 'April Rain.'

"That they had decided to do this and had been rehearsing it
came as a complete surprise to me. Genevieve Hunting is also
in it, and a man named Max Klepper who wrote the piece
including lyrics and music.

"They opened at the Old Dominion Theatre, remained there a
week, and then started West. Which makes it a trifle lonely
for me; but I don't really mind if they only keep well and
are successful and happy in their venture. Their idea and
their desire, of course, is to return to New York at the
earliest opportunity. But nobody seems to have any idea how
soon that may happen. Meanwhile the weather is cooler and
Hafiz remains well and adorable.

"I have been out very little except to look for a position.
Mr. Wahlbaum is dead and I left the store. Sunday morning I
took a few flowers to Mr. Wahlbaum's grave. He was very kind
to me, Clive. In the afternoon I took a train to the Spring
Pond Cemetery. Father's and mother's graves had been well
cared for and were smoothly green. The four young oak trees I
planted are growing nicely. Mother was fond of trees. I am
sure she likes my little oaks.

"It was a beautiful, cool, sunny day; and after I left the
Cemetery I walked along the well remembered road toward
Spring Pond. It is not very far, but I had never been any
nearer to it than the Cemetery since my sisters and I went
away.

"Such odd sensations came over me as I walked alone there
amid familiar scenes: and, curiously, everything seemed to
have shrunk to miniature size--houses, fields, distances all
seemed much less impressive. But the Bay was intensely blue;
the grasses and reeds in the salt meadows were already tipped
with a golden colour here and there; flocks of purple grackle
and red-winged blackbirds rose, drifted, and settled,
chattering and squealing among the cat-tails just as they
used to do when I was a child; and the big, slow-sailing
mouse-hawks drifted and glided over the pastures, and when
they tipped sideways I could see the white moon-spot on their
backs, just as I remembered to look for it when I was a
little, little girl.

"And the odours, Clive! How the scent of the August fields,
of the crisp salt hay, seemed to grip at my heart!--all the
subtle, evanescent odours characteristic of that part of Long
Island seemed to gather, blend, and exhale for my particular
benefit that afternoon.

"The old tavern appeared to me so much smaller, so much more
weather-beaten and shabby than my recollection of it. The
sign still hung there--'Hotel Greensleeve'--and as I walked
by it I looked up at the window of my mother's room. The
blinds were closed; nobody appeared to be around. I don't
know why, Clive, but it seemed to me that I must go in for a
moment and take one more look at my mother's room.... I am
glad I did. There was nobody to stop me. I went up the stairs
on tiptoe and opened her door, and looked in. _She was there,
sewing._

"I went in very softly and sat down on the carpet by her
chair.... It was the happiest moment I have known since she
died.

"And when she was no longer there I rose and crept down the
stairs and through the hallway to the bar; and peeped in. An
old man sat there asleep by the empty stove. And after a
moment I decided it was Mr. Ledlie. But he has grown
old--old!--and I let him sleep on in the sunshine without
disturbing him.

"It was the same stove where you and I sat and nibbled peach
turnovers so many years ago. I wanted to see it again.

* * * * *

"So I went back to New York in the late golden afternoon
feeling very peaceful and dreamy,--and a trifle tired. And
found Hafiz stretched on the lounge; and stretched myself out
beside him, taking the drowsy, purring, spoiled thing into my
arms. And went to sleep to dream of you who gave me Hafiz, my
dear and beloved friend.

* * * * *

"Write me when you can; as often as you desire. Always your
letters are welcome messengers.
"ATHALIE."