When William reached his home, he went directly to his private apartment, telling the attendant who let him in to send James to him at once. He had no more than removed his coat, when there was a rap on the door, and in answer to his "Come in" an aged man appeared, small in stature, but very erect, the personification of neatness and exactness. Looking at this man, one would not suppose he had ever made an error in system, or forgotten any of the rules respecting cleanliness and order.

It was easily to be seen at a single glance his whole soul bowed down in admiration and homage to his master, whom he loved with that degree of fervor that passes the bounds of ordinary affection, and servitude, and enters the realm of adoration or reverence.

The horizon of his present and future was bounded by this man's pleasure and displeasure. His eyes fastened themselves at once upon his master's when he was bidden to enter. The most careless observer would have said, could he have obtained but one glimpse of his attitude and deportment, "that man is a slave to his master, still I would not want to stir the depths of his nature towards me as an antagonist, for he is no ordinary character, but a power whichever way he may incline."

For a brief interval after he entered, no word was spoken by either. James, the newcomer, was looking at his master, while William hesitated and seemed confused. Finally he spoke, but anyone would have noticed the hot flush which diffused his face, and which was a very foreign expression to his usually pale and colorless hue.

"James, I have sent for you to impart a most unusual command. Ever since you came into my service, you have been faithful, loyal and considerate of my every pleasure and comfort. Not once have I had any occasion to censure you or doubt your loving service. Such faithfulness demands recognition. During the darkest days of my life, you guided and thought for me, when I was unable to think coherently or strongly for myself. Such service can never be rewarded.

"I hope I have proved myself to be, at least, a kind and considerate master. If I have failed in any respect, it is because I lacked wisdom to express myself, as my heart has overflowed with gratitude."

"Do not say any more, Professor. Never was a poor servant blessed with so kind a master before as I have been here. I have been with you too long not to read the expression of your face aright. You are in sore trouble. This is a chance for me to show the depths of my devotion to you. Bid me make any sacrifice, ask me to perform any work, however delicate or dangerous, and you shall see how much James loves you. Believe me, Professor, I know only one aim and object in life,—that is to further and guard your happiness, or I should say your bodily comfort, for I know you are not happy, though the Gods have given you riches, power and wisdom.

"You are too good a man not to have somewhere in store for you the same amount of pleasure you are always striving to give to someone else. Surely, you are ill—I will bring you some wine."

"No, James, I do not want it."

"But you have eaten nothing at home for a whole day. Your bed has not been disturbed, and you tremble so I know that you are not well. Let me send for Dr. Harrington."

"NO."

"There, I implore you, take some wine. Rest, and I will see no one disturbs you."

"Sleep! I feel as though I could never sleep again. Wine is impotent to restore my calmness, James. Only a powerful exercise of will can do that. By and by I will gain it. I sent for you to help me pass a darker condition than has heretofore entered my most disappointing and troubled life. You have never yet failed me and I do not think you will now. I would not have permitted any other person to see me so unmanned, but when you came in just then, it brought too forcibly for me to control myself, those old times, when your coming was the signal for my happiness, and now the contrast is so great, it for a time overcame me. I will be myself again soon."

"Pardon an old man's inquisitiveness. You know it can only arise from my love for you, for I have given as good a test as one man can give another of my faithfulness. I have never seen you so agitated and upset since that awful time you forbade me to ever mention. I have been as silent as the grave, but I feel you could not be so upset but by something connected with that or some tidings of it. Forgive my speaking of it when you have commanded my silence, for this is my first disobedience in all these years."

"James, Clarissa is coming here to-day."

"Master—do my ears deceive me? My little Clarissa? My beloved Clarissa? My beautiful lady?"

"James, are you beside yourself?"

"How can I be calm when I shall welcome my blessed lady? You say she is coming. Blessed be the day when her feet cross your—"

"That will do. I see you still love her better than me, who have tried to be your friend, when she forsook and forgot you. Such is the gratitude of this world."

"There is no test or sacrifice any man can pass through, I would not gladly and cheerfully endure to prove my loyalty to you. You tell me Clarissa is coming here, then condemn me for rejoicing, when there hasn't been a day passed for years I have not prayed for this very thing. How can I help rejoicing at your happiness? Why do you look so serious? I know—My God! They will bring her poor dead body here. Poor child, we will cover it with flowers. I will cut all those we were saving for the public exhibition. You will not care, will you Professor? It is the last favor a poor old servant can do. You know I always keep one plant of her favorite blossoms growing. There is only one spray of them, but she would like them in her hand. I always felt she would come, and I wanted her to find them in season, or out of season her flowers, a fit sign of the constancy of the love we felt for her."

"Stop! You are giving her more credit than I feel is her due. Your love for her is stronger than I had dreamed. It is well you have not told me before of your keeping a particular blossom among my plants for her, otherwise you would not have preserved the plants, and remained in my service. If your love for her is stronger than for me, I will release you from your allegiance to me, and you had better seek her service."

"Remember, I am an old man, no longer quick to understand. Let that fact be my excuse. No other master will I ever serve willingly. I know not how to talk or act. You say she is coming, yet you are angry when I feel joy. Why does she come, if not dead?"

"By her own wish."

"I always told you she loved you."

"She is not coming because she loves me. She has heard I am a powerful mesmerist, and wishes me to mesmerize her."

"No! No! You do not mean to say she is coming here unbidden and unwelcomed by you."

"You may be sure I have extended her no invitation. I suppose she thinks she can deal with me as before. If she can come unbidden, I am a very weak man, if I cannot act the part of an hospitable host."

"There must be some mistake here; Clarissa is too proud to place herself in such a place. She does not know whom you are."

"Why doesn't she? She went to Dr. Baxter and solicited his influence to do for her what she knew I would not."

"My poor old brain is numb; but I know that Clarissa has some motive good and true, or she would not humble herself to you. I know she thinks by bending her pride, you will forget and forgive. She knows you too well to believe you will seek her, although we all were to die of lonesomeness and sorrow. That is the way she used to do when she was small. Be imperious and wilful as a little queen, then come and—"

"There,—reminiscences are not interesting to me. They might be to her. You have the privilege to choose between her and me, as you did once before. There will be the same conditions attached to the bargain. You cannot serve both. Consider yourself entirely free to choose. You have served me well—I appreciate your faithfulness, but could not hope to vie—"

"Do not say any more,—my head is going round and round. Won't you tell me why she is coming here?"

"I have told you."

"Master, you do not think that is the only reason? I know she is hungry to see you. You will not go to her, so she is coming to you. She is proud, and must have suffered awfully before she could do it. When you see her, you will forget what she did, same as I used to when she had picked all my choice—"

"Enough. There is not the slightest resemblance between a man's heart and a flower, though she does seem to think so. I told you Merle was sick, and you professed to be sorry, as you said you thought him to be an unusually fine young man."

"I meant it. He is, next to yourself, the best man I ever saw."

"What do you suppose caused his illness?"

"How could I know?"

"Your idol of admiration and worship—Clarissa."

"No, it cannot be so. She would not make an insect to suffer. I remember—"

"I do not care to hear remembrances. He told me so himself. He had been her lover at one time, and the knowledge he was only one of several ruined his life. He had not seen her for some time, but, coming suddenly into her presence, being weak from long entrancement, he received such a shock he has been weak and feverish ever since. The same old story, you see!"

"I do not think Merle would lie, Professor, but I cannot believe Clarissa would willingly ruin any man's life. Everything seems to be tending to a more dense darkness. When she comes, I will take her the bunch of flowers I have raised for her, and tell her how perplexed I am. She will explain. She always told the truth, no matter what she did."

"How she must have changed since childhood."

"Do not laugh like that."

"That was a droll remark. She always told the truth, no matter what she did.—Well, time is flying. She will soon be here. Which are you going to be loyal to, her or me? You have not much time to decide. That is her fault, not mine. If you conclude to remain in my service, you must make a quick decision, as I shall insist upon both you and your wife's shutting yourselves up in your own apartments while she is here, that she may neither see you nor know you are here."

"Not even see her? Not one glance?"

"No. Not and remain in my service; furthermore, your wife must not even know she is coming. I do not trust women. She might promise secrecy, but would yield to the temptation to look at her, to see how she had changed. While she was looking, the famous Miss Earle would see her, and then such a scene would follow as I don't wish Baxter and Harrington to see. What are you looking at me like that for?"

"You do not mean that Miss Earle, the great singer, is Clarissa?"

"None other, James. Time makes many changes. But quick,—you must choose."

"I never did, nor never will condemn or believe anything against her."

"Then you decide to go to her? No doubt she will be glad to have you with her again."

"I did not say that. I said I trusted her, and I do. She had reasons I did not know, and probably never shall, for doing what she did. I shall serve you lovingly and faithfully as long as breath remains in my old body, unless you send me away. I had rather die than know that she was here though, and not hear the sound of her sweet voice, or feel the touch of her soft, white hands, but I will follow your directions, and so shall Nancy. I will keep her working. May I ask just one question?"

"I have never refused to answer you, have I?"

"Shall you mesmerize her? If you do, may I not take just one look at her? She will not know it."

"I shall have nothing to do with her."

"But, master, everyone says you have wonderful power. I do not understand it. Couldn't you mesmerize her and find out why she left us?"

"Nonsense. I know well enough."

"If you wanted to do so, could you make her tell you in that way?

"Yes."

"Then why do you not do it?"

"It is not worth the trouble. I want to thank you for your loyalty to me. You will never be the loser, James. I trust you to keep both yourself and your wife from sight while she is here. To reward you, I will tell you the principal account she gives of herself during the interview, after she has gone. I am done with you now. Do not look so solemn, James; your part is far easier than mine."

"If you should mesmerize her, may I see her?"

"I can easily promise you that—"

"I will put those flowers in the library, under your picture, just where she loved to see them. She will know she isn't forgotten here. When you want me, tell Robert to come to my private room. Nancy and I will be there.—I was only saying to send Robert to my room when you wanted me, as Nancy and I would be there."

* * * * *

As the door closed, William threw himself into the nearest chair, repeating James's words "rather die than know she was here and not hear the sound of her sweet voice, or feel the touch of her soft, white hands." His lips closed firmer and firmer together, as he felt how much easier it was not to see her than to meet her as he must; as a stranger; calm and collected, while his whole being was swaying with emotions so varied and conflicting; he could not separate nor enumerate them himself.

Of all the bitter lessons life had furnished him, this was certainly the bitterest. Then came the thought, "I must control my thoughts. I will be brave and calm—apparently satisfied and happy with my lot in life. If she has the heartlessness to seek me, she shall witness no ravages her perfidy has made upon me. She shall not gloat over my misery. I will dress now. I will show her that there is at least one man who can resist the witchery of her presence, despite her fame."