MISS LATHBUN'S STORY

Curiously enough, just as Mrs. Wiley abruptly terminated her call on her friend Mrs. Ray, owing to the unpleasant twist given their conversation by the Lathbun family, Lassie and Alva were speaking of the same two ladies, whom Lassie had met in the dining-room an hour before. Alva had introduced her to both with that pleasant courtesy which was given to none too careful social scrutiny. It was Alva's habit to deal with all humanity on a broad footing of equality—a habit which her well-born friends politely termed a failing, and which those of other classes accepted as the thirsty accept water, just with content.

"Well, I'm glad I've seen them; now I feel as if I'd seen everything, except the Lower Falls." Thus spoke Lassie, when the bedroom door was shut, and she and her friend seemed well away from all the rest of the world for the next ten hours, at least. Lassie, be it said, en passant, had now sufficiently digested her first shock of surprise over her friend's future, to be able to be pleasantly happy again.

"What did you think of them?" Alva answered, half absent-mindedly. She held in her hand a letter which the belated mail had brought, and her thoughts seemed to quit it with difficulty.

"I thought that they were rather common," said Lassie, frankly. Lassie was well-born, and had judged Mrs. Lathbun and her daughter by no higher standard than that of their blouses.

"Do you know, I thought so, too,—at first," her friend replied, putting the letter down and going to the window where she remained with her back to Lassie, looking out into the dark. "I thought at first that Mrs. Lathbun looked like a cook—"

"She dresses exactly like one," interposed Lassie.

"But I've come to like them very much, indeed. Of course so few days are not enough to really know any one, but the night before you came such a curious thing happened. You know I told you that the daughter had a love affair? Well, that was the night that I learned about it. I never had anything come to me more strangely. Do you know, dear, I am continually more and more convinced that nothing happens by chance, never."

"What did she tell you?"

Alva turned from the window and sat down by the lamp-table. "I'll tell you; only you mustn't misjudge Miss Lathbun for confiding in me. People become friends very quickly in a lonely place like this, you know."

"I won't misjudge her; I'll be glad to change my opinion of her. She looks so like a restaurant girl."

"Lassie, you're incorrigible."

"But that dress, with that black cotton lace over that old red silk."

"I never even noticed it."

"Do you mean to say you've never noticed that dirty red silk front?"

Alva shaded her eyes with her hand. "Lassie," she said, almost sadly, "why does nothing count in this world except the front of one's frock?"

Contrition smote the young girl. "Oh, forgive me, forgive me," she pleaded; "I didn't think. I am interested! Play I didn't speak in that way; I won't again. Indeed, I won't."

"Of course I'll forgive you, dear; it's nothing to forgive, anyway; but it makes it so hard to tell anything serious when one sets out in such a way. I wonder how many good and beautiful thoughts have died unexpressed, just because their first breath was met with mocking!"

"Don't say that; I won't be that way—I'll never be that way again. I do like Miss Lathbun—truly I do; I think she has sort of a sweet face, and she must be clever to have been able to make a front of any kind out of that lace. See, I'm quite serious now; and so interested. Do go on!"

Alva looked at her for a minute with a smile.

"You can't possibly overlook the front, can you?" she said; "but I will go on, and you will learn never to judge again, as I learned myself; for I must tell you, Lassie, that all you feel about them, I felt at first—until I learned to know better. I didn't notice the front, but I noticed some other things—little things like grammar; but American grammar isn't a hard and fast proposition, anyway, you know."

"They just call it 'dialect' in so many places," said Lassie, wisely.

Alva smiled again. "Yes, they do," she assented.

"And now for Miss Lathbun's story?" suggested the girl.

"Yes, certainly. Well, my dear, you see, I was sitting here alone one evening, and she came to the door and—and somehow she came in and we fell to talking. You know how easy it is for any one to talk to me, and after a while she told me her romance."

Lassie's eyes opened. "To think of a girl like that having a romance! Please go on."

Alva hesitated, then smiled a little. "I suppose I can trust you to keep a secret?" she asked.

Lassie began: "Why, of—" and then stopped suddenly, remembering the morning's betrayal, and blushed crimson.

Alva leaned forward and touched her cheek with one petting finger.

"Dear," she said, "don't feel distressed. I know that you told Ronald and I don't mind."

"You know!" cried Lassie, astonished.

"Yes, dear, I know. I saw it in both your faces when I came across the bridge. I don't mind—I think it's better so. Truly, I do."

"Oh, Alva—" the young girl's tone was full of feeling.

"But you mustn't tell him Hannah Adele's love affair," Alva went on, smiling; "remember that, my dear."

"I promise. Now tell me all about it." Lassie drew close, her face full of eager curiosity mixed with content over being pardoned so simply.

"It's just like a story," Alva said, thoughtfully; "it's more wonderful—almost—than my own. I never heard anything quite so wonderfully story-like before. Tell me, did you notice at supper how Mrs. Lathbun watched every one that came off of the train? She can see the station through the window from where she sits, you know."

"No, I didn't notice. Does it matter?"

"Oh, no; only I used to notice it and now I know why she does it."

"Is she looking for the lover?"

"She's afraid of him, dear."

"Afraid!"

"Yes, afraid he'll find them."

"Goodness, are they hiding from him?"

"Mrs. Lathbun thinks that they are."

"And aren't they?"

Alva lowered her voice to a whisper. "He watches outside of this house every night!" she said impressively.

Lassie quite jumped. "Watches! Outside this house! Oh, is he there now?"

"I don't know, perhaps so."

"What fun! Who does he watch for?"

"For Miss Lathbun, of course."

"But why does he do it?"

"She doesn't know; she only knows that he watches there."

"And her mother doesn't know that he is there?"

"No."

"How perfectly thrilling! Do go on!"

"It's really a very long story."

"I'll be patient."

"It taught me a big lesson, Lassie; it taught me not to judge. Just see how quiet and simple these two look to be, and yet that plain, ordinary appearing woman is trying to hide her daughter from a rich man."

"A rich man!"

"He's a millionaire."

"Who told you so?"

"She did."

Lassie stared. "Alva!—you don't believe that! That woman's never hiding that girl from a millionaire. It isn't possible!"

"But she is, my dear. She's a true, good mother; she doesn't want her daughter to marry him, because he is so dissipated."

"But I should think that they would run away and get married. I'd marry a man, anyway, if I loved him."

"Ah, Lassie, you don't know what you'd do if you were in the position of that poor girl. Her mother has taken her away and is stopping here in this very quiet and unassuming way to avoid all notice or being found out."

"But he has found them out!"

"Yes, but Mrs. Lathbun doesn't know it."

Lassie looked almost incredulous. "Mrs. Lathbun doesn't look a bit like a woman who would hide her daughter away from a millionaire," she said, obstinately.

"You see how easy it is to misjudge any one, Lassie; because that's what she's doing."

"Mrs. O'Neil says they haven't any trunks or any clothes. She said so this afternoon."

"I know; I've heard her say that before."

"Well, tell me the whole story."

Alva looked at her for a long dozen of seconds and then her lips curved slightly. "I'm going to tell you," she said; "but, do you know, it just comes over me that you are surely going to disbelieve it."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because it's so strange."

"But you believed it?"

"But I can believe anything. Believing is my forte. Once 'heretic' and 'unbeliever' meant the same thing; well, I am a believer."

Lassie laughed a little. "Go on and tell me the story," she said, "I'll try to believe;" then, her face changing suddenly, she added, "it can have a happy ending—can't it? Sometime?"

Alva flashed a quick, sad flash of understanding at her. "All stories will have that some day," she said, gently. It was the first reference on the lips of either to that morning's revelation.

"Do tell me the story," Lassie begged, after a minute's pause; "tell me the whole. Do you think that perhaps he is out there now?"

Alva shook her head in protestation of ignorance as to that. "It seems very medieval and devoted for him to be out there at all, don't you think? And these nights are so cold, too."

"I should think that some one would see him sometimes?"

"I should, too."

"Well, go on. Has she known him always?"

"No; it seems that he lives in Cromwell where her mother was born, and she met him there two years ago when they went there to visit."

"Did he fall in love with her at first sight?"

"I think so. She said the first thing that she knew he was talking about her all the time, and then he began watching outside of their house at night."

"Didn't he ever talk to her, or come inside the house?"

"Oh, Lassie, what makes you say things like that? They make the story seem absurd; and I began it by telling you that her mother was bitterly opposed to him on account of his reputation."

"I forgot," said Lassie, contritely; "is he so very bad?"

"I'm afraid so. He drinks and gambles and does everything that he shouldn't, she says."

"But if he's rich he can afford it, can't he?"

Alva turned quickly. "How can you say a thing like that? As if money can condone sin. Don't you know that a thoroughly bad man is a soulless thing, and that to marry a man like that is either heroic or deeply degrading, just according to whether one does it for love or for money."

"But you said that she loved him."

"Yes; but you said he could afford to be wicked!"

Lassie clasped her hands meditatively. "To think of that girl having a millionaire watching outside her window, nights! And Mrs. O'Neil says she hasn't even a nightgown with her, so she can't possibly get up in the cold to peep out through the blinds."

"I suppose she couldn't do that, anyway," said Alva; "you see her mother doesn't know he's there, so she couldn't get up to look."

"How does she know herself that he is there, then? perhaps he tells her he watches and really stays in bed at some hotel."

"Lassie!"

"What's the use of his watching, anyway? Does it do any good? I should think that she'd be afraid that he'd take cold. I—"

"Lassie, don't you see that it's his only way to prove his devotion? He can't write her, so he watches outside her window, nights. She says that he takes a handful of sand and throws it against the side of the house, and she hears it and knows that he's there."

"Do you believe that?"

"I believe the whole story."

Lassie regarded her friend with amazement.

"I don't see how you can;" she said; "why, those two women would go almost wild for joy if any man wanted to marry either of them."

"No, dear," Alva said, smiling; "no, they wouldn't. The world isn't altogether worldly; there are simple, true, wholesome natures in it that look at life in a straightforward way without any illusions. And Mrs. Lathbun is one of those. Poor she may be, but she knows very well that no possible happiness can come to her child from marrying a bad man who has money."

"But her daughter wants to marry him, and he wants to marry her."

Alva paused before replying; then she said slowly:

"Lassie, there's the puzzle. Does he want to marry her?"

Lassie looked startled. "Doesn't he?" she asked.

"She doesn't know," said Alva; "you see, they have hardly ever exchanged a word."

"Well," said the young girl, "this is the craziest love story I ever heard in my life. Do you mean to say that you believe that a man who had never heard a girl speak would go and stay outside her window, all night long? What does he do all night, anyhow; walk about, or sit down? Alva, you can't believe that story? Not possibly!"

"Yes, I believe it," said Alva, cheerfully. "I believe it for two or three very good reasons. One is that there is no reason why the girl should construct such a silly lie for my benefit; another is that truth is always stranger than fiction; and the third is that she has a little picture of him, and as soon as I saw the picture I saw why Fate brought the Lathbuns and me together, and why the man waited outside her window all night."

"Why?" Lassie's tone became suddenly curious.

"My dear, the man is the image of the man that I love. They might be twin brothers. And men of such strength put through whatever they lay their hands unto."

Lassie appeared dumbfounded.

"He looks like—" she stammered and halted.

"Yes, dear," Alva said, simply; "he looks exactly like him! Now you see why I am interested. Now you see why I find it easy to believe. A bad man—a thoroughly bad man—is a creature that for some reason has not come into his heavenly birthright. If that girl, plain and pale and unassuming as she looks, has the power to draw him from nights of dissipation to nights in the cold outside her window, she has the power to call a soul to him or waken his own that is but sleeping. It takes a great deal of living and learning to attain to the faith which I have, but I have it and I am firm in it, and I believe the story and I believe that good is brewing for that man. I'm sure of it."

Alva spoke with such energetic earnestness, such dominating force, that Lassie was silenced for the minute.

"I suppose that I am just stupid," she said, after a little; "I've had so much that was different to try and learn to-day."

There was a pathos in her tone that led the older girl to lean quickly near and take one of her hands, drawing her close as she did so. "I know it, dear, I know it. And I appreciate it all more than you guess. We won't talk of Miss Lathbun any more just now, and, dear, believe me when I say that I'm truly very glad that you met Ronald just as you did this morning and told him what I had told you. I see all this from all its sides, and the views that differ from mine don't hurt me—believe me, they don't. I understand exactly how Ronald's fine, robust manhood would revolt quite as you yourself revolted; but, you and he, with all the possibilities of your gorgeous, glorious youth, can no more measure the joy of these days to my love and myself, than the gay little birds measure what life is to you. To us, you two and your ideas are very much like the birds; we are glad to see you enjoy the sunshine, and our better gladness we know is quite beyond you."

Lassie turned her face upward to the earnest look and tender kiss, and then they sat still for a little until Alva rose and began to make ready for bed.

"Tell me," she said, as she loosened her hair; "it was like this, wasn't it? At first Ronald was almost angry; and then his feeling changed and he felt that because it was I, it was rather a different thing from what it would have been if it had been any one else."

"Yes," said Lassie, in an awestruck tone, "it was just like that. How did you know?"

Alva laughed. "Not because I am a witch," she said, "but just because I know Ronald. You see, Lassie, I am much stronger than Ronald; I am stronger than Ronald, just as Ronald is stronger than you. He could not condemn me; he has to own I am right. Right is a might so great that wherever it holds good it rules its kind. Ronald gives me my due; you will, too, after a while. Only I must not drive either of you forward too quickly." She laughed a little. "I must give you time," she added.

Lassie was taking down her own hair. She shook it apart now, and looked forth from between the parted waves, her expression one of deeply stirred interest. "I believe that this is going to be the most wonderful time in my life," she said; "I feel as if everything were getting deeper around me."

"Ah, dearest," said her friend, with a sigh that was not sad—only a long breath; "that's very true. I should not have sent for you, only that I knew that when you came to leave me and go back to the world to wear your white gown and make your dÉbut, you would have become a stronger, better, wiser, sweeter woman all your life through, for this experience. You see, dear child, the rarest thing in the world of to-day is sincerity—absolute truth. I am not especially gifted or very remarkable in any way, but I have learned the value of being sincere. It isn't a small thing to learn in life, Lassie, and it isn't a small privilege to live for a few days with one who has learned the lesson. When you see what truth really is, and what it may really do for one, you won't be revolted by my marriage; you will never wonder over me any more, and you'll learn to look at strange stories with a new light of comprehension."

Lassie went close to her, put up her lips and kissed her.

"And I can tell Mr. Ingram about Miss Lathbun, too?" she asked very simply; "or must I keep that secret, as you said at first?"

Alva put her arms fondly about the pretty young thing. "Lassie," she said, "you are a dear, and I don't mind how much you discuss me with Ronald; but you musn't tell him Miss Lathbun's secret. It wouldn't be right."

"Very well, then, I won't," said Lassie; "and I will keep my word, too."

"Thank you," Alva said, patting her face caressingly; "thank you, and heaven bless you and give you a good understanding."

Lassie looked up with a smile. "You think I may learn to look at things in your way?"

"I think so," said Alva; "looking at things in my way has made me a very happy woman, and so I desire the same for you."

Then she kissed her good night.