Chapter XXIII: The Moving Finger Writes

To the Queen came the guard full of zeal:
Haled in bonds the Pretender:
"Shall it be noose or knout, rack or wheel?"
But her proud face grew tender.
Down she stepped from her throne--made him free;
"Love," she said, with a sigh,
"What is rank? You are you, we are we, I am I!"
--_The Cheating of Zenobia_.

I should like to write, just here, a little disquisition on Crises. I should show how all nature moves ever on and on toward certain cataclysmic events, each of which marks a point of departure for new ascents in progression. I should begin, of course, with the Nebular Hypothesis, its crash of suns, followed by the evolution of the star and its system of planets, its life, cooling, death, and a fresh crisis forming a new nebula. I should end with either Revolutions or Malaria, depending on whether I should last consider the subject in its relation to sociology or to pathology; but in any case, somewhere along in the latter third of the work, I should treat of Love and Marriage, and therein of the Crisis and Catastrophe in Romance.

I have a good mind to do it!

But, no; crises in general must wait, seeing that our particular one stands clamoring for solution. The concrete bids away with the abstraction. None of our friends of this history could be brought just now, for a single moment, to seek solace in philosophy, unless it might be Professor Blatherwick--and he is entirely oblivious of the fact of the crisis having made its appearance.

Not so, for instance, with the professor's extraordinary daughter, whose feelings were so lacerated by the culminating proof of the fickleness of Brassfield at the Pumphreys' reception that she wondered how she could ever have thought of keeping him in that perfidious plane of consciousness in the hope that therein he would cleave to her only. Better a good friend in Amidon, said she, than a false lover in Brassfield. Howbeit, she isolated herself and mourned, thinking much of the wrong her deed of the reception had done to Amidon, and wondering how it might be remedied.

Nor with Mr. Amidon, who, while ignorant of the full extent of his misfortune in the eyes of Elizabeth, yet knew that he was deep, deep in disgrace with her, and found so many plausible reasons for it that the episode at the reception seemed the least of them. He knew enough of Brassfield to believe him guilty on any charge which might be brought against him. The only doubt he allowed himself was as to how far he, Florian Amidon, was morally responsible for Brassfield's wrong-doings. He had no doubt that Miss Scarlett had a real grievance against Brassfield, and, in an extremity of woe, made up his mind that Amidon must hold himself to the sorry trade of answering a debt he never contracted. He knew from a brief interview with Alvord that the political situation was bad, but for this he had scarcely a thought since the tragic breaking-up of their little Belshazzar's Feast. It was his relations with Miss Waldron and Miss Scarlett which placed him beyond the reach of philosophy.

So also is Judge Blodgett, who has been busy since the banquet, some of the time with a towel about his brow, searching through Edgington's library, to which his connection with the Bunn's Ferry well case gave him the _entree_, for the law of breach of promise of marriage as defined by the Pennsylvania decisions. Edgington himself was apparently always from his office. Blodgett's call on Fuller and Cox was most unsatisfactory, Mr. Fuller with some acerbity disclaiming all knowledge of any such case as Scarlett versus Brassfield, and Mr. Cox being invisible.

"They act," said he to Florian, "like people who are out for revenge, or a vindication, or something besides money. I don't consider their attitude favorable to a compromise."

"Well," said Amidon, "that does not surprise me at all."

"It doesn't, eh?" went on the judge. "Well, I can't say that anything surprises me; though I was a little taken off my feet by a rumor that something took place between you and the plaintiff at that party the other night. How was that?"

"There may have been something," said Amidon calmly, "but you must get particulars from some one else--Clara, perhaps. You see, she was giving tests, and put me into that--Brassfield state, (why, I can't understand)--and I don't know what occurred; but there was something."

"I'd like to know about that," said the judge contemplatively, "I'd like to know. That stairway episode--that collision, you remember--may not count for much on the trial; but with a few corroborative circumstances, eh, my boy? Farmer jury; pretty girl; blighted affection; damned villain, you know. But say! she's got something to prove if she wins, under the authorities here, and there are more cases in this state than there ought to be in the whole world; but a summer-resort engagement, girl of mature years, a little bit swift down the quarter-stretch and all that--cheer up, Florian, we'll win, or we'll make it a great case----"

"Blodgett," answered Amidon, who heard with horror the lawyer's forecast of the trial, "she may not have to prove anything. There may not be any trial. I must know these facts! I may owe her reparation. I may--anything! I must know; and no one but Madame le Claire can help us, and she must act through that accursed scoundrel who has got us into all this--Brassfield! Go to her, Blodgett, and tell her that she must see us. I have asked for an interview a dozen times since that reception but she won't see any one. Get an interview for this afternoon; and you must be present and hear her bring out of him a full confession; not as my attorney, but as my friend, as a gentleman. If you find out the worst, as I believe, I shall offer----"

Judge Blodgett gave Amidon's hand a warm grasp.

"That's like you, Florian," he exclaimed, "and it's the part of a man! But I'd see her in Halifax first! Why, you may be called to give up--have you considered--Miss Wald----"

"No no!" said Amidon, "that--_she_ is no longer a factor in the case. It's all over with her anyhow, if---- I can't talk of that; but can't you see that this other matter must be cleared up--before I can even come into her presence? Can't you see----"

"I'll see the madame," said the judge. "Yes--I'll see her! I'll see her at once. I guess you're right about it, Florian."

Madame le Claire was keenly conscious of the converging lines of fate, the meeting of which was so rich in baleful promise. She was prostrated at the result of her work at the reception. She had seen Florian in a position of utter humiliation. She had observed the gray pallor in Elizabeth's face as she walked from the room, and felt on her conscience the murder of their happiness. She had seen--and this hurt her more than she would to herself admit--she had seen Brassfield walk from a whispered conversation with herself--an amorous, wooing conversation--to a secret meeting with Daisy Scarlett; so that she felt despoiled of the hold she had had on the affections of even Amidon's false second self, Brassfield. For all this she blamed herself because of the little jealous spite, to gratify which she had made Brassfield walk his disastrous hour on the stage. What should she do? What could she do? She secluded herself and pondered. On this second day, she made her resolve: she would see Miss Waldron, and if possible explain as much of the mystery as might serve to satisfy her with reference to the affair of the East Room. Accordingly, a note went up to the house with the white columns, asking for a meeting. And as the messenger departed, the card of Judge Blodgett came in.

"No!" said Madame le Claire, to his request, "no, I must be excused! I can not conscientiously put him in that state again. If you could have seen him when last----"

"Exactly!" said the judge, filling in the pause. "And as I didn't see that reception affair, you must tell me about it. It's important for me to know."

When he had been told, the judge walked back and forth in evident perturbation, fingering over the leaves of a little square book which he took from his pocket.

"Did you ever," said he at last, "happen to hear what was the rule laid down in the breach of promise case of Hall versus Maguire?"

"Breach of promise!" ejaculated the young woman, inferring a volume from the words. "What do you mean?"

"These facts of which you inform me," said he, "bring Mr. Amidon's case within the rule in Hall versus Maguire, square as a die! Oh, I forgot to tell you! Mr. Amidon, doing business under the name and style of Eugene Brassfield, has been sued by Miss Daisy Scarlett, for breach of promise. No publicity, as yet, but----"

"Oh, it must be stopped!" exclaimed the occultist; "it shall be stopped! He is not guilty. He was irresponsible--ask papa about it; he will tell you so. This girl is coming to see me here to-day: I'll tell her how wrong----"

"No, no, my dear!" said the judge in a fatherly manner. "That would never do, never! You may have given a hint as to this matter of irresponsibility, worth considering. Promise of marriage--civil contract; abnormal state--irresponsibility: it looks pretty well! You should have been a lawyer. But this thing of having dealings with Miss Scarlett except in the presence of and through her legal advisers, Messrs. Fuller and Cox--not for a moment to be thought of by an honorable practitioner: not for a moment!"

Madame le Claire regarded him with a lofty scorn meant for these antiquated scruples of his; but before she could find words, the knock of the bell-boy called her attention to the door.

"Miss Waldron is below!" said she. "Judge, you may bring Mr. Amidon up in half an hour. I shall then be at liberty, and may grant his request. Please leave me, now; I have asked Miss Waldron to be shown up, and must see her alone."

Elizabeth Waldron, in this plexus of disasters, found nowhere a gleam of comfort. Her fine chagrin at the thought of such things as she feared might be censurable as overfree self-revelation to her lover in such things as letters and the sweet concessions of the new betrothal--all this was past, now. Tragedy has this of comfort in it: its fateful lightnings burn out of the atmosphere of life all the noisome littlenesses which have seemed worthy of concern. So it was with Elizabeth, as she now faced the very annihilation of all for which she had lived--centered in that "perfect lover," who was now worse than annihilated in this descent to a plane which made every act of homage to her so mean and common that she would have felt his status uplifted by some proof of great guilt on his part. And she could see no way of acquitting him. There was mystery in it, but no exculpation. Mystery----

With the idea of mystery came in the image of the strange girl with the fascinating glance and the party-colored hair. Could it be possible that the occult power possessed by her might somehow furnish an explanation of her lover's strangely base behavior? More and more did this fixed thought engross her mind. She felt that she must know--must see this woman and her colorless father. Desire grew to resolve; resolve bred inquiry as to ways of compassing an interview; and in the midst of the inquiry, came Madame le Claire's messenger. Her answer was the putting on of her cloak for a visit to the occultist's parlors.

The two women faced each other like hostile champions in a truce. Elizabeth's first aversion to the other had been swept away in the flood of righteous jealousy created by the Scarlett episode. Madame le Claire's unreasoning feeling of injury had been mitigated by the same baleful affair, and her sense of justice fought for Elizabeth; but no two women loving the same man ever met without antagonism.

"I thank you," said Miss Waldron, "for this invitation. I think you owe me the benefit of such light as you can give on some--some things--which are dark to me."

A little angry flush rose to Madame le Claire's cheek at the tone in which the first part of this speech was uttered. It passed away, and was replaced by a gentler expression at the doleful and faltering conclusion.

"I owe you," she answered, "more in the way of knowledge than you imagine. I expect other visitors. Will you step into this little rear room? I may be called away from you for a while, but I shall return."

"I need not tell you," said Elizabeth, "how vitally important it is to me to know whether there was anything in your mesmeric influence over--Mr. Brassfield--which would cause him to do--things unworthy of him--as he did. Did you impose any such thing on him by your power?--could you have been so cruel?"

"Before I answer that," replied Clara, "there are many things to tell. When did you first meet Mr. Amidon.--Brassfield, I mean?"

"Why do you call him by that name?" cried Elizabeth. "That is what Mrs. Hunter called him! One moment he told me he knew her; the next, he denied it to her face. What is there in this matter of names?"

Madame le Claire looked with a fixed and unwavering calmness at Miss Waldron, and answered in a tone of perfect reassurance.

"There is nothing in it which can't be easily explained. You have known Mr. Brassfield a long time?"

"Since I was seventeen. He did my aunt and me a great favor, which lifted us out of poverty--about some land we had, and oil discoveries--I went away soon after this, but he has always been very kind and good--until--until this----"

Elizabeth walked to the window and looked out for a long time, during which Madame le Claire regarded her fixedly and tried not to hate her.

"Did he tell you much of his past?"

"No, he said it was a very ordinary past, and that he would tell us all about it some time; and then the subject never came up again. I never really cared!"

"Let me tell it to you," said Madame le Claire. "He was, all his life, a man of wealth and standing. He was a scholar and a student of the fine arts and letters. He was the pride of his town and his university. Then, all at once, nearly six years ago, came on him one of those strange experiences of which I, through my profession, am able to speak to you as one having knowledge. He became another man. His mind had drawn across it a dead line cutting off everything back of a certain date. He did not tell you of his life, _because he did not remember it himself_."

Elizabeth gasped, and turned pale.

"This life of his----" she began.

"--was a life which was in every way better--which will add to your pride in him. But you must be prepared for some strange and unexpected things. Now, for instance, a name--a name seems important; but what is it? This loss of personality--of self-consciousness relating to the past--it was loss of name, of mode of life, of all memory, except certain blind, unconscious reflexes, in which the brain had no part. How the name of Brassfield was suggested to this new-born personality of his, no one can tell, he least of all. But----"

"Then his name--his name is--is not----"

Now here was a situation for a diplomat. To say that Brassfield was an assumed name, an alias, was to shock the girl's womanish conservatism to its very base. Madame le Claire proved herself a diplomat.

"Why," said she, as if the matter were, after all, of no importance, "the name of Brassfield is his, legally, Judge Blodgett says, and morally. These business names, as distinguished from others, are quite common now, I am told--take mine, for instance. Eugene Brassfield was not his name until five years ago, when this happened. He is really Florian Amidon, son of the chemist Wilford Amidon, of whom, I have no doubt, you have read."

The fact that the name of Wilford Amidon had never reached her ears, did not occur to Elizabeth. Madame le Claire's choice of expression sounded like the announcement that Florian was a prince just throwing off his incognito. The subtle sophistry of this way of putting it found grateful harborage in Elizabeth's hungry soul. For a moment she felt comforted. Then came back the thought that, after all, she had found out nothing of the matters she had come to search out.

"It is very strange," said she, "but, after all, it only adds to the mystery. Why did he do those things? Did you make him do them? And why did he say that he knew Mrs. Hunter, and then deny it? And if he knew about his past when he said he knew her, did he not know it as well afterward? I can not be blinded to these matters by a statement of things merely mysterious and strange. I must have----"

"My friend," said Madame le Claire, "all these things will be explained, trust me. The person tapping at the outer door is Judge Blodgett with Mr. Am----with your future husband. Things will occur of which you should know, and which can not take place if they know you are here. It will be most honorable for you to stay. Remain here and note well what happens, and you will get much light on your troubles, and on his--of some of which you do not yet know, which I do not understand, but which will be cleared up. You will say nothing, but watch and listen."

Before Miss Waldron could protest, the other woman was gone. Florian and Judge Blodgett were brought into the middle room, and seated with their faces from the portiere, behind which Elizabeth waited, wondering what she should do, feeling that she had the right to know, and obedient to the mesmerist's commands. Mr. Amidon began _in medias res_, too full of grim determination for any circumlocution.

"Madame le Claire," said he, "recently, as I sat at supper, I was notified that this Miss Scarlett has begun suit against me for breach of promise."

"Yes," said Madame le Claire, "I have heard of it. It is most unjust."

Elizabeth, astounded at Amidon's statement, heard her new friend's reply as some far-off note of succor in doubtful and deadly battle. She sat close, now, and listened.

"Ever since I came to myself," went on Amidon, "and through your wonderful power found out about this life of mine here in Bellevale, the name of Miss Scarlett has come up from time to time as connected with it. I have always shrunk from having you find out just what our--relations--have been, and the whole thing has been dark to me--dark and forbidding. What wrong I--this man Brassfield--may have done her, I can not know without your aid. I must know this, now. If she has been wronged, she shall have reparation, as full as I can give."

"What do you mean," said Madame le Claire--and Elizabeth held her breath--"by full reparation?"

"First let us know the wrong! If that exists, the reparation will be for Miss Scarlett and her advisers to name."

"But they may name the keeping of the promise they say you have made!"

"I have thought that all over."

"But your engagement to----"

"The lady you are about to mention," said Amidon, "must have ceased to care much for me, after what I am told took place the other night; and when she learns of this other disgrace, as she must before she sees me again--if she ever does--it will be all over--for ever--except the wrong to her--for which reparation can never be made. I----"

"Oh, it is too dreadful!" cried Madame le Claire. "And for that worst thing--the other night--I only am to blame! I put into you the character in which you have become weak and drawn aside by suggestions not natural to your own character. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I have never thought of blaming you!" he protested. "You? Why, no one ever had so good a friend; all the chance I have had to win happiness here, you gave me. I have lost that--by misfortune. Now help me to make things as near right as I can. Put me back into the world of Brassfield, and let me know the worst that I--he--has done."

"Coom een!" said the voice of the professor in the corridor. "Coom een! Clara iss not here now: den she must be someveres. Pe bleaced to sit vile I look. Anyhow, she vill soon return. Ach, Herr Cox, ve missed you creatly at our supper--eatings of reasons and sdreams of souls! Ach! Here iss our friendt te chutche, ant Herr Amidon--Brassfield, I mean!"

Madame le Claire appeared in the archway.

"Ah, Miss Scarlett," said she, "you are early. May I ask you to return, in----"

"No!" It was the voice of Miss Scarlett which replied. "No, I'm not going! And if 'Gene Brassfield is in there, Billy Cox has something to say to him. Here, Mr. Alvord, you come in, too; he's out there hunting for 'Gene. Billy, do your duty now!"

"Pardon me," said Mr. Cox, advancing into the next room, followed by Miss Scarlett. "Pardon me, Judge Blodgett, I have a few words for you and your client. Miss Scarlett has made me agree to apologize to Mr. Brassfield about that summons; and if 'Gene Brassfield thinks I owe him any apology for putting it on to him a little before his out-of-town friends, I'll make it. But here are the facts, and he knows it: for four years he's been rawhiding me at every chance with his practical jokes. He had me arrested and detained for a whole day on fake telegrams at Wilkesbarre, only last fall; and just before that he got everybody at the Springs to thinking I was Tascott, and induced a rural constable to take me into custody. Why, Alvord here in his worst estate hasn't been as bad as he's been. If he's lost any opportunity, I don't remember it; and, of course, I've got back once in a while, and may be about even. But everything has been good-natured and brotherly, as ought to be between members of the gang. _And_, of course, when the cannon-crackers began to go off that night, I knew he was doing it. I was over in Major Pumphrey's parlor, where Daisy had invited me, during the eruption, and I told her about these things, and wished for some way of getting even, and--and some one spoke of this breach of promise suit, and we--that is, I--got up the summons, and I told Ed Tootle to serve it on you at your orgy--you had no business to expect me to enter any free-for-all inebriates' competition--you know that, 'Gene! It may have been a little extreme as a joke; but if you'd laughed it off as you always do, nobody would have thought anything of it except to chaff you about it. But what do you do? You make as serious a thing of it as if you hadn't been trotting with our crowd for five years or so. You set this old--my learned friend from the West--briefing it up, and you make a fool of me. Worse than that, you place Daisy in a most objectionable position; and, by George, 'Gene, I claim the apology is due from you, to me and Daisy!"

That he, Florian Amidon, had ever been guilty of playing such pranks as the ones described by Mr. Cox, seemed incredible; but his sense of relief at the way his burden rolled away in the light of Cox's indignant apology overcame all other sensations. He sprang forward to offer his hand cordially to Mr. Cox.

"I agree with you!" said he. "I do owe you an apology, and I freely offer it. As for the offense I have given Miss Scarlett, I can only say that I have had a very strange mental experience lately, of which my friends here can tell you, or I should never have--never have taken the matter--as I did. I beg you both to forgive me!"

"'Gene," said Miss Scarlett, offering her hand, "I'm too game a sport to go mourning because I lost out, and you ought to have known--I declare, I believe you've been crazy! I told Billy--Billy and I are engaged, now, and are really going to be married--I told Billy how, when we were at the watering-place, I insisted that it seemed a shame not to be engaged, and how we fixed it to be engaged for a week, and it made him furious! But as good a fellow as I've been, the way you took our joke was shabby. You people may know some good excuse, but----"

Madame le Claire was not only a diplomat: she was a strategist. Now, she saw, was the supreme moment in which to complete for Florian the good work she had begun.

"Please excuse Mr. Brassfield," said sha. "He is wanted in the back parlor; come, Mr. Brassfield, give me your arm!"

Through the portiere she swept, bearing Amidon as on wings. There sat Elizabeth, her face bowed down upon her arms, on the back of a sofa. She rose as they entered.

"Elizabeth!" cried Florian. "My darling!"

He stretched out his hands pleadingly, and walked toward her. She shrank back; and Madame le Claire retreated, knowing that the struggle of Amidon's life was before him.

Yet, gentle reader, why should not Amidon win? To us, a thousand things might seem to need explanation; but to Elizabeth, all this separation of Amidon from Brassfield was so new, so little realized, that her love bridged the chasm, and nothing was required except the clearing up of a week or two of curious happenings, most of which had already been so glozed over by Madame le Claire's generous plea, that what girl in love would require any greater price in humble wooing than Florian yearned to pay? Why, mesmerism alone covers all sorts of odd and suspicious doings. The case, for instance, of---- But that is beside the point. The point is, that with half of Brassfield's skill, Amidon will win handsomely. Some scenes ought not to be painted--in this plain and flippant prose. Let us wait, therefore, until the arrival of the voices of Florian and Elizabeth at the pitch of ordinary conversation admonishes us that the prose writer's psychological moment has arrived. Then we may take and transcribe some notes.

"Of course," Florian said, "he must have had some redeeming traits--superficially, or you would never have cared for him----"

"Oh, don't say such things!" she protested. "Your real, real self came uppermost, I am sure, in your behavior to me. You were perfectly lovely, even if you didn't understand me as I wanted you to do--as you do now."

"Dearest!" he whispered. "You never loved him as you do me, did you?"

That little laugh that first charmed him filled the pause.

"Don't say 'him!'" she commanded. "Think of the original absurdity of being jealous of a rival, and that rival yourself! And remember that 'he' was my sweetheart, and for my own sake, don't abuse him. Why, it was you all the time; and I always felt, even at the worst, that hidden in the Brassfield personality was the one man for me in all the world. It was this woman's instinct, that men never believe in, and the girl's eyesight. I look at you, and I know you are the same. Don't slander yourself as you appeared in your other mental clothes. I won't have it--but don't change back, dear!"

"But really," said Elizabeth, "is it necessary for us to live in Bellevale?"

"Would you go away--with me?"

There was a silence here, during which something seemed to take place which removed the necessity of answer; for surely, Elizabeth would not have allowed this question to go unanswered otherwise.

"Oh," said she, "there are more places I want to go, and more things I want to see and study--you never would believe it! It will take years and years."

"Well, why not?" answered Florian. "'Whether in Naishapur or Babylon', I want to go to every one of those places myself--and always have. We won't build that house. We'll have Blodgett stay and look after the closing up of the business here by Stevens. We'll run out home so I can say hail and farewell to Jennie and greet my new nephews and nieces there, and then, ho! for Japan and India and the East, on our way to those high places where you want to erect your idolatrous altars. Elizabeth! Do you realize what a Paradise we're planning?"

"There!" she said quaveringly. "I knew it was too perfect to be true, and that we'd find some obstacle, and I've found it! That miserable office you'll have to fill!"

Chillingly the wet blanket descended on their fervid joy, and they looked at each other in consternation. This public call on Mr. Brassfield now became an incubus to Mr. Amidon, pinning him to earth as he essayed to rise and fly. Gradually, as he looked fondly in his lady-love's face, the hope dawned in his heart that perhaps her desire that he should have a "career" might not be much greater than his.

"Dear," said he at last, "would you feel very sorely disappointed if we were to give it up--the state and national capital life, and all that?"

"I disappointed!" exclaimed she. "Why, could you bring yourself to give them up? I hate to say it--but--I just detest the whole thing!"

"So do I!" said Amidon.

They wondered in the next room what could have excited so much hilarity.

"What a beginning!" said Elizabeth. "To start out in our life with such a mutual deception! But I wanted to have a part in your life, whatever it might be; and I could organize Primrose Leagues, and succeed in them, if it were necessary to help in any ambition of yours. So there! Oh, it was silly to write in that way--but you really seemed at that time----"

"I never did, my dear! It was that Brassfield; and when I was caught and restored by Madame le Claire, I should have declined if it hadn't been for the--the Washington career, you know----"

"Oh, please don't say any more----"

"And I had Blodgett get up a letter of withdrawal----"

"Do you suppose he has it yet?" she cried.

"'Letter of withdrawal!' It sounds so sort of parliamentary and correct and comforting!"

"It does," agreed Amidon, "especially in view of the fact that I believe I'm beaten anyhow. Judge Blodgett thinks I am, and Mr. Alvord----"

"Poor Jim Alvord!" interposed Elizabeth. "His wife says he would desert his family for you."

"For Brassfield, she means," said Amidon. "It is really not the same thing, dear. But I was saying that even he half confesses defeat. I've made an awful mess of this thing, Elizabeth, on account of not really knowing anything of the people or their opinions or desires. Even that platform of ours couldn't pull us through. No wisdom--and I haven't much--could keep a man from making blunders when he went out to do things for himself, knowing nothing of the situation except what he got from his inner consciousness, and from what he was told. A political situation is too delicately balanced for that. If I had done nothing, I should have remained undeservedly popular and reaped the reward of Brassfield's cunning and hypocrisy--don't stop me, please! But you and I tried to impose righteousness on the people from the outside and above. It never comes in that way, but always from the inside and below, like lilies from the mud. I'm really a most unpopular man, opposed by most of the 'good citizens' and all of the bad except a few who still believe me dishonest, and will desert me as soon as their fellows can convince them that I'm sincere--isn't it a pretty plot! Facing defeat because of my advocacy of principles everybody concedes to be right, because I'm suspected of an actual intention to act according to my platform pledge; when that man Brassfield, who was preparing to carry out a policy of selfish spoliation, could have carried every precinct!"

"It does me so much good," she said, "to see you in such a glow of indignation, that I allowed you to go on with that unjust condemnation of my Eugene. Well, then, it seems my noble platform actually ruined you. How nasty of the people! Can't we elope--run away--and never come back, or look at a paper or think of it again? Or shall we use Judge Blodgett's letter of withdrawal--bless him!"

Something--perhaps it was the elopement proposal--induced eventualities which delayed the conversation again for some minutes.

"Let's go out," said she, "and ask him to--to do whatever they do with letters of withdrawal--at once!"

The room into which Amidon led the shy Elizabeth had been a clearing-house of confused ideas during their long tete-a-tete. Madame le Claire had explained the mystery of dual personality as well as it can be explained, with some comment on the fact that such things happen to people occasionally, no one knows why. Alvord and Judge Blodgett agreed that the candidate for mayor should be withdrawn. Alvord even raised the question as to whether, the nomination papers being issued to Brassfield, Amidon could be legally elected. Judge Blodgett said it raised the finest legal question he ever had encountered, and if carried up would be a case of first impression in the world's jurisprudence. Alvord assented to this without argument.

Then Le Claire told them of Amidon's life in his old home as she had learned of it, of his bewildered application to her in New York, and how he had been helped. She was a long time telling it, and all the while she was thinking of the tender things happening in the next room. She heard the murmuring of their voices, as full of meaning as the flutings of mating birds. And she faltered and stopped.

"Papa, papa!" she cried, "help me out! Tell them the rest."

"You vill vonder, berhaps," said the professor, "at sairtain egsentricities of gonduct of our friendt, in his later Brassfield phace, in vitch he has shown de kvality of sportiness--or sportif--vat iss de vort?"

"Sportiness," said Miss Scarlett, "is the word."

"T'anks!" said the professor. "Vell, de egsblanation is dus: te Brassfield state vas vun of gontinuous self-hypnotismus. It iss apnormal. Its shief garacteristic is suchestibility. Now, if ve find dat te supchect hass been frown into de society of people of--vat you gall?--sporty tendencies, he vould gradually yield to te suchestion of dese tendencies. He vould----"

"I am glad I heard that," said Elizabeth. "We must not allow you to return to this abnormal state!"

"Mr. Cox," said Judge Blodgett, "do we need a detective to run this sporty influence down? or shall we look among the Christian Martyrs?"

"It will relieve me," said Miss Scarlett, hugging Mr. Cox's arm, "if you won't look. I'm afraid to be searched!"

Elizabeth and Florian appeared in the archway. Her eyes were shining with the soft radiance which, like the flush of dawn, comes only once in the day's journey, and never returns. His sought her face in a worship that she would never have seen had Eugene Brassfield looked out from them.

"I am taking Miss Waldron home," said Mr. Amidon. "Matters have just taken such a turn that I shall leave soon for my former home in Wisconsin, where I have large interests, and I may not be able to return. Such being the case, we do not feel that it would be just to the people of this city to continue in the position of a candidate for public office, and--pshaw! why not be honest? We're beaten, and we don't want the office, anyhow. Judge, have you that letter of withdrawal convenient?"

"I have," said the judge. "I figured all the time that you'd need it."

"Thanks!" said Amidon. "Take it, Mr. Alvord, and give it to the world at large. You understand, do you not, the peculiar change of personality which makes it improper----?"

"Sure," said Alvord. "The man who put out that platform of ours can't afford to be caught short-changing the public by switching candidates on them on the eve of election. And right here let me say, that be it Amidon or Brassfield, the ties of brotherhood still hold with Jim Alvord, in F. D. and B., and I hate to use this letter. I believe still we could pull through, with proper management from now on, and, confound it! I'd rather be licked with you than to win with any other man on earth!"

"In all phases of my life," said Amidon, grasping the little man's hand warmly, "I'm going to take the liberty of holding you as my friend. I know faithfulness and unselfishness when I see it, no matter if I don't quite fall in with its methods."

Alvord's eyes filled, as his emotions rose with the parting. Yet he could not allow his methods to be questioned even by implication.

"Well, now, as to methods," he began, "theoretically you may be right about publicity and that platform, but practically--well, let's forget it! But, 'Gene--or whatever your damned name is!--don't forget me! Good-by!"

The judge, the professor, Miss Scarlett, and all the rest had gone on their various ways, and Madame le Claire was in one of the inner rooms attended by Aaron, whom she had summoned.

"I'm not going to adopt poor Jim's language yet," said Elizabeth, when she and Florian were again left alone. "'Florian, Florian!'--I like that name. But think how hard it was to learn to call you 'Eugene.' Do you remember where we were when I first called you that?"

"Don't you realize, dearie," said he, "that I know nothing of all that? And except for your sweet letter, I knew nothing of you before that day when I came from New York?"

"O----h!" she cried. "And all the lovely things you did to win me---- Oh, dear, I never thought of that. And you remember nothing--nothing at all? Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful! No wonder I almost hated you that night!"

He put his arm about her and kissed her lingeringly.

"Dearest! Sweetheart!" he said. "The loss is all mine! And to make up for it, you must let me do them all over again--every one, a thousand times. Come, let us go!"

At the door, she stopped and turned back.

"I must see Madame le Claire," said she.

Already the rooms were filled with the disorder of packing, and Aaron was busy preparing for one of their Arab-like flittings. Madame le Claire stood looking down into the street.

"Are you leaving Bellevale?" said Miss Waldron.

"On the next train," answered the hypnotist. "Our tour has been a long time delayed."

"I hope," said Elizabeth, "that we shall see you again some time."

"It is quite probable," said Clara. "We are wanderers, and public characters. Almost everybody sees us from time to time--if they desire."

"I'm not going to leave you this way," said Elizabeth, with hurried obscurity of expression. "You have done for me more--much more--than--than I can say; but you know, you know!"

"I know you would do as much for me!"

"No, no!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "I never would. I'm not good enough. I'm going away now, to be very, very happy, and I want you to see--to know--how I feel toward you--oh, oh, I can't say what I mean! But some time, when you get settled down from the agitations we've had, after a long time, write and tell me that you're happy, won't you?"

She had put her arm around the slender waist, and faced Madame le Claire, gazing at her intently. Le Claire kissed her forehead, and looked long, with the varicolored eyes, into those of Elizabeth. She seemed to speak in that way, as an easier mode of communication at this time than by the words which would not come in any adequate form. So the two girls stood as Professor Blatherwick came in and noticed the labors of Aaron.

"Packing, Clara?" said he. "Vell, vere shall ve vork te hypot'esis ant te bublic next? I shall pe glad vunce more to hit te pike. Dis gase, vile supliminally great stuff, is pretty vell vorked out: not?"

"Quite worked out," said Clara, "to the end; indeed, indeed, it is completely worked out!"

Elizabeth's arm tightened about her waist, and Elizabeth's breath was caught in a quick little sigh. Madame le Claire replied to these inarticulate expressions of sympathy as if they had been words.

"Don't think that!" said she, looking Elizabeth again steadily in the face. "Don't let that haunt your mind in this new life of yours; for it will not be so. Let us be friends though we never meet. Yes, I will write to you; but it will not be necessary. Whenever you think of me, this is what you will think, because I command it: 'She is busy with her wandering life. New things are dimming the memory of me--and mine. She has found the love her soul covets. She is happy!'"