A large store of information may be put into a receptive mind in two years. Levis, watching his sturdy young Ellen to see that her bright cheeks did not grow pale or her alert step slow, proceeded to find out how much she could acquire. It was a new and interesting occupation, but his pleasure was tempered by a remorseful wonder as to how much could have been accomplished if he had not been so certain that his own blood and the spirit of the age would keep Matthew and Ellen safe. Ellen continued her mathematics and concluded her geography. She had studied Beginner's Latin with Amos, and her father required her to translate French. Furnishing his pupil with an outline of English history, he prescribed reading and the relating of what she read. Elementary astronomy, botany, and physiology she absorbed like a sponge. He sent for books which he had long wished to possess, but had denied himself, a many-volumed illustrated history of art, a history of music, a history of architecture in sumptuous dress. He sat late at night thinking over plans for Ellen, and even brought his accounts up to date and sent out bills, so that nothing might be denied her. The summer and another winter passed and between the farm and the Kloster there was no communication. Ellen saw Matthew and Millie walking together, and hid by the roadside or turned back. There drifted to Levis's ears a report that Matthew wished to marry, but that Millie's father was obdurate. Millie should not marry a penniless man, the two must wait; when Matthew's prospects improved, then marriage might be discussed. He had, it was reported, spoken his mind plainly. "You should have stayed in the nest. What if you couldn't go to meeting for a while? You are now near twenty-one and then you can do as you choose. You should have consulted with some one." Ellen had little idea of what college would be like, and still One Sunday afternoon she went to sit on her favorite stump in the woodland. Before starting she looked at herself in the mirror, at her curls and rosy cheeks, made redder by a reflection from her scarlet tie. She held up her hands and saw with satisfaction that they were whiter than any other hands she knew. Her inspection had the result which usually follows the self-inspection of seventeen—she wished that there was some one at hand to admire. Perhaps in the woods she would meet a stranger! There she could at least dream of meeting one. She had been established on the stump for an hour, now reading, now sitting idly, her chin in her hands, when, lifting her head, she observed that the farmhouse was about to receive an unusual visitation. Since the house stood near the main road, she saw daily the cars of tourists who were starting across the country, or who journeyed to Gettysburg or Pittsburgh. Once, sitting on the fence, she had talked to several elegant ladies who walked about while a tire was being repaired. Now a car, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, was turning up the lane and approaching the farmhouse. Its passengers had come, no doubt, to ask for some small favor, and she, alas, was not there to wait upon them! A month ago she would have run, now she descended in as rapid a walk as dignity would permit. To her astonishment she found when she reached the porch that the occupants of the car, except the driver, had gone into the house. Curious as she was, she was seized with sudden shyness and wished herself back under the trees. But in plain view as she was from the office windows there was nothing to do but to proceed. Her father appeared at the office door, his face flushed and smiling. Stephen Lanfair, halting for a moment at his gate, had seen his name on the letter box and had come in with his wife. He had passed unknowing, he said, many times. Levis's heart throbbed so that he had to draw deep breaths of air. "Oh, Ellen, come here," he said, not without pride. "I was just going to find you!" Ellen felt his arm across her shoulders. It was silly to be afraid of meeting strangers. She lifted her head and went in smiling. "This is my daughter." She felt her hand taken in a long, firm grasp, and received a general impression of height and grayness and alertness and very bright eyes. She looked up into them and smiled, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. She was sensitive and she had as yet received few impressions which were not those of childhood. This stranger, who was younger than her father and much older than herself, was the first person like her father whom she had ever met. "Your daughter!" said a low voice. Then she heard another voice, and courage vanished and embarrassment returned. It was that of a woman, seated in her father's chair, and looking about with appraising eyes. She was small, and the old chair in which she sat seemed much too large for her. Ellen saw in a flash the handsome and slightly bizarre dress, through the yoke and sleeves of which her flesh showed faintly pink, the strange and pretty face with brows which almost met. It was not in the least a happy face, but Ellen was not critical. Hilda was not interested in this plain mÉnage or in Stephen's old acquaintance, recalled thus suddenly to his mind. But it pleased her for the moment to be friendly. "Come and shake hands with me," said she, and Ellen obeyed, feeling young and awkward and ill at ease. "Do you go to school?" "I go to school to my father." "Have you brothers or sisters?" "I have—" "One brother who is at his grandfather's," Levis answered for "In school together!" Hilda looked from one to the other. "Impossible!" Stephen halted suddenly. He had been moving about restlessly, now picking up one of Ellen's books, now reading the titles on Levis's shelves. He was at once glad and ashamed to have found Levis. But he should have come alone, he should not have brought Hilda. He stood close to Levis, his tightly closed hand thrust into the pocket of his coat. "Levis was an instructor and a Senior at once, and I was a Sophomore," he explained. "He left school and married and I continued to study. I didn't begin to practice till he was well settled in life." He turned his head and looked at Levis, and from eye to eye a message flashed. In Stephen's there was regret and a childlike desire to be restored to the good graces of an older person. Levis returned the glance steadily and with the same expression with which he looked at Ellen, as though Stephen needed, as Ellen needed, love and care. She saw the exchange and curiosity and admiration quickened. She glanced at Hilda who was taking in from under half-lowered eyelids the old sofa, the little table, and the doctor's medicine cupboards. Her stare made Ellen determine to examine carefully all these articles of furniture. Had the never-failing broom of Mrs. Sassaman left lint, or had her own dust-cloth touched them too lightly? A restless step brought Stephen to her little table. "Are these your books?" Ellen explained her course of study. His bright eyes were kind; she looked frankly into them and smiled while she talked. "I'm going to college in the fall. I can hardly wait." Levis, after a second's reflection about the present temper of Mrs. Sassaman, spoke to Hilda. "Won't you stay and have supper with us? Now that we have you here, we'd like to keep you." Hilda uttered effusive regrets and Levis looked at her curiously. Her expression had changed; it was no longer that of slightly bored curiosity, but of anger, sharp and unpleasant. Her eyes darted to her husband, then back to Levis, and then "Oh, thank you. It's really very good of you, but it's impossible, really. We have guests ourselves this evening. We should be going now. We sail for Europe on Tuesday." "Medical convention at Vienna?" asked Levis, his keen, curious eye fixed upon her. "Yes; that is, my husband is going there. I'm going to Paris for clothes. I don't like conventions. Nor medicine," said Hilda as she rose. She laid one hand in the other and kneaded them together in a strange gesture. "It's time to go!" said she. Hearing the sharpened voice, Ellen turned swiftly. How fairylike this stranger was, now that she was standing! She determined in a flash to live on bread and water, to take some sort of medicine, to do anything to resemble her. She saw the small, arched foot, set in absurd, high-heeled shoes—how did she manage to stand, and how to walk? But she did both gracefully. Ellen had heard the invitation; she hastened to second it. "I do wish you'd stay!" Stephen looked down at her. There was a quality in Ellen which was hard to describe unless one said that she gave herself with every smile. He had dismissed the thought of children as he had dismissed his father's creed, but from his deeper consciousness an instinctive longing rose. "I wish I had her or one like her!" said he to himself with sudden startled hunger. "Won't you stay?" said Ellen to him. Then Ellen was conscious that something unpleasant had been said or done. She could not tell what it was, but she felt that she had given offense. Hilda went out quickly into the hall and stood waiting. She did not speak to Levis or to Ellen; she only said once more, "I said that it's time to go!" "You're not really going this minute!" protested Levis, his sharp disappointment quickening his throbbing heart. "Yes," said Stephen. His voice was louder than it had been and even a little more pleasant. "We really must be off." He held out his hand. "I haven't forgotten anything, not anything!" Hilda followed across the grass to the car and stepped in. "I think she behaved in a very queer way," said Ellen. "I agree with you," said Levis. He went into his office and stood looking at the books in his case, and Ellen followed closely. "Who are they?" "He was a friend in college. I haven't seen him for years." Frowning, Levis took down one of a set of volumes and went to his desk. "He was a nice boy." "Was he married when you knew him?" "No; I remember hearing that he had married a rich wife." "She must be very rich. Did you know they were coming?" "No, indeed." "Where do they live?" Levis had opened his book at the letter "D," and did not answer. The uneasy sensation in his heart had sharpened once or twice in the last hour to an acute though fleeting pain, gone as soon as it was felt. He had seen Stephen, but the visit seemed to make impossible all that he had hoped for. For a moment, in curiosity about Hilda's behavior, he forgot his own problems. He had found the article which he wished to consult under the letter "D," but he could not fix his mind on what he read. It was in reality something within his own breast which disturbed him, but it seemed to him that it was Ellen hanging over his shoulder and cutting off the air which he needed. "I wish you'd run away, Ellen, for a little while. I'll talk to you later about these people." "All right," said Ellen cheerfully, remembering her own unwillingness to be interrupted. She read over his shoulder—"'Dementia'—Father, who has that?" "No one that I know of, Missy." "I expect you think I have it. Well, read away, I won't bother." Levis smiled at the tone of maternal indulgence, then he returned to his book. Again he put his hand over his heart uneasily. The sensation was now of weak fingers moving gently. He coughed, then he looked at Ellen who had sat down at her table. Presently Ellen returned to her place on the stump and there sat for half an hour. "I think she was very disagreeable," she said, beginning to speculate about married life. She, Ellen, would never make her husband uncomfortable! "If I get one!" said Ellen. "And he was splendid!" They must live in a very grand house—perhaps she and her father might some day visit them. She realized that she didn't even know their name—how strange the whole incident was! At the end of half an hour curiosity sent her back to the house. Her father had now had time to read all he wanted, she was sure. She remembered that to-morrow a dressmaker was coming to get her ready for school and she sang for joy as she walked. But in the half-hour that she spent in the woodland, life had taken a long stride. Levis sat with his treatise open at "Dementia," his eyes still bent upon the page. He had not moved since she went away. "Father!" she cried gayly. He answered without lifting his head. "I've been taken suddenly with a bad stitch in my side, Ellen, and I don't wish to move until I've had medicine. You'll find it in the right-hand cupboard in a blue bottle. Bring me a pellet." Ellen obeyed quickly, growing pale. Levis broke the pellet in his hand and held it close to his nostril, then he straightened his shoulders. It was exactly like a tiger that the thing leaped upon one! "I'm going over to the couch. Don't be frightened if I go slowly. Lend me your shoulder." Ellen made her shoulder like iron. "Telephone Dr. Wescoe." Ellen flew. It seemed when she returned that her father's face was less terribly gray and drawn. "What shall I do now?" Levis managed a wry smile. "You'll make a capital doctor. Bring paper from your desk and sit here, beside me. You must be brave and steady." Ellen obeyed swiftly. "I've known for some time that my heart was a bit out of order. I'm likely to have another attack, but probably not before the doctor gets here. I want you to write something down." Ellen looked steadily at Levis. If she held his eyes with hers, they could not become blank, unseeing, as they were a moment ago! There was in his face now a dreadful eagerness. In spite of the last hour he turned in desperate need to the memory of Stephen's old affection. Stephen had forgotten for a while, but he meant to remember and he would help him now. He felt the same fearful despair which he had felt as a boy when he needed food and did not know where to get it. He had heard the Creator called upon at too many death-beds to ignore entirely that refuge, but he was not one to turn even in such a moment to a help which he had denied. The "sum and term" of education had not been his, the loss by death of one whom he had deeply loved. If his wife had died in their earliest married life, or if Ellen had died, his spiritual history might have been different. But what was it he had meant to do? Ah, yes! Ellen was waiting, pencil in hand. "I give to my daughter Ellen all my property and make my friend—" "'Make my friend,'" repeated Ellen after a pause. "Can you remember his name, Ellen?" "I don't think I heard it!" "It'll come to me! Listen! You and Matthew inherit this farm from your mother. What I have besides you must take. Don't let them shame you out of it! Remember it's my will. If you wish, you can live economically and share with Matthew after you've had your education. I feel better, darling." He took suddenly a long, relieving breath. After all he was not to be cut off now from life, from Ellen. He looked deeply into her frightened eyes. His smile stiffened suddenly and drops of perspiration appeared upon his forehead. Was everything then over? He put out his hands and took Ellen's face between them. "Don't let them keep you here! Remember!" "I'll remember," promised Ellen. Her head dropped to his breast, pressed by his hands close to his heart. She could see nothing, but she could hear a strange beating sound like a wooden hammer upon flesh. Her body was cramped; it seemed to her that she could not breathe; then her father's embrace relaxed and she rose quickly. Her wild glance sought the window. Mrs. Sassaman drove slowly up the lane, Dr. Wescoe's car turned in from the highway, but their coming now made no difference. |